#but managing the weights and descriptions of six whole men

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Part VII *Mature*

Summary: It’s a battle to survive and not everyone will make it.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 17,431

Rating: M - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Dark Themes: Severe Angst, Violence, Torture, Kidnapping, Traumatic Death, Blood, Life Threatening Injures, Severe Trauma, Life Changing Events, Hurt/Comfort, and a teeny bit of Fluff

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

Author’s Note: This is the final official Chapter of The Immortal Sky, I will be doing a short Epilogue to round things out though. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for all the love, comments and support! A super thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for being a great support, listening to my crazy thoughts, giving me amazing suggestions and ideas, and just being an all around amazing friend!

You gasped, sitting up on your elbows, heart pounding and drenched in a cold sweat as the nightmare continued to dig its claws into your waking moments.

“Henry?” You called out, instinctively, before remembering he wasn't there.

Still.

Letting out a hard and shaky breath, you dropped back onto the mattress, damp from your sweat. You stared up at the ceiling, gripping the blankets in shaking fists as hot and furious tears dripped over your temples and into your hair.

“He isn't coming back.” You choked on your own snot. “They've captured and killed him, I just know it. He's died trying to protect me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. To make up for it, so his pain and death weren't in vain.” You took gasping breaths and only choked more on your tears. “I'm so sorry Henry. Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You wailed, crying without abandon.

You beat your fists on the mattress, outraged at your negativity and ease of giving up on him. Henry wouldn't have given up on you, he would have stayed strong and came for you, like he had when you ran away from him in London. Jerking up, you sat on the edge of the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking under your shifting weight.

“He's still alive.” You forced yourself to say out loud. “Henry is still alive, and I will find him.”

Resolved to this conviction, you stood up and dressed, pressing his shirt to your face and took a deep breath, inhaling his earthy and masculine scent, fortifying you, before slipping it on over your own shirt and finished tying your shoelaces. You weren't completely sure what to do or how to go about finding, and potentially saving, Henry. You weren't the amazing and seasoned High Marshal Henry was, is. You tried putting yourself in his shoes, hard as it was to fill size eleven boots. So, you started in the only place that made sense to you, the Black Bone pub, where your brother and his handler were known to frequent. So, locking your room, you trekked the six blocks from the hotel to the dingy pub, heart pounding in your throat as you entered.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender asked you as you approached the counter.

“Um,” You looked at the stained menu taped to the bar top. “A Virgin Mojito, please.”

The bartender lifted a brow at you, shrugged his shoulders and turned away from you. A minute later, he set the tall glass in front of you and held out his hand, wanting payment. Sighing, you dug out the meager change you had and slapped it into his hand, picked up your drink and took a seat in the corner, the same corner you occupied with Henry the day before.

You tried your best to look as inconspicuous as you possibly could, keeping your eyes on the tv, like Henry had, swirling your drink with the thin black straw inside of it and checking out everyone in the room from the corner of your vision. It was slightly more busy than it had been the morning before, but there was no sign of your brother, Knox or Henry. What your inexperienced eye failed to notice, was the bartender keeping his eye on you, for several minutes, before going to the back of the store room and making a phone call.

“Yeah, Ashe. It's me, Bruce, the owner of the Black Bone. You asked me to keep an eye out for a lady.” He rattled off your description. “Told me to call if I saw her around.”

“And?” Ashe replied, staring at the black, web-like, 3-D printed cast on the hand he busted in his fight with Henry.

“She's back.” Bruce told him, stepping out of the store room and peeking around the corner, to make sure you were still there, clearly ignoring your drink. “Sitting in a booth, right now.”

“Excellent.” Ashe grinned, wolfishly. “I'll be right over, let me know if she leaves.”

Bruce hung up with Ashe and moved back to serve his new customers, keeping his eye on you the whole time. You finally took a sip of your drink, the mint was refreshing to your taste-buds with the slight twinge of the lime's tartness, when the door of the pub chimed as it opened and from the corner of your eye you saw who entered, making your blood run cold, the man from the day before, who had given Henry the creeps and chased you both down the alleyway. Your hands shook as he glanced in your direction, a faint smirk on his thin lips, you noticed the cast on his arm and drew conclusions; knowing he and Henry must have gotten into a fight. Wishing you had the bartender put the rum into your drink after all, you gulped it down and tried to get up as casually and calmly as possible, eyes darting to the lopsided and hand written sign above the bathroom door and headed that direction.

The bathroom was big enough for a discolored and filthy toilet and a teeny window above that. Locking the bathroom door, you climbed top of the toilet, wobbling on the unstable tank to peek out the cloudy windowpane. There was another alleyway behind the pub, but you couldn't see where either end of it led out too, but you weren't going back out into the bar area with Ashe there, waiting to pounce on you. The window was wedged into the frame, sticking it into place from years of hard rains and freezing winters, swelling and warping the wood. Biting your lip, you started bashing it with the heel of your hand, the wood protesting and squeaking with each blow, until it suddenly flew open.

Glancing over your shoulder to the latched door as the dented handle started to rattle, you wasted no time, jumping and diving halfway through the window, legs flailing and kicking the dingy wall. Scrambling to get a footing and wiggle the rest of the way through the window, the rough wood scraping and cutting up your sides and ripping holes into your jacket. The bathroom door started to shake, a shoulder driving into it, you knew it wouldn't be long before Ashe busted through and hauled you out of the bathroom. Growling in frustration, you kicked hard at the wall, breaking through the crumbling drywall and used it to boost yourself up more. Punching more and more holes into the wall with your feet to you wiggle and shimmy through the window.

You gasped as your hips passed through the window frame and scrambled to get a footing on the other side, before you fell face first into a pile of two week old trash. You had just managed to flip yourself as you fell out of the window, landing on your butt on top of the overstuffed black plastic bags with a grunt. The eruption of Ashe charging through the bathroom door exploded above you, followed by his flurry of curses as his head popped through the window, the only thing small enough to fit through it.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared, pushing an arm through the window with his head to try and grab at you.

You struggled to your feet and stumbled away from Ashe and the window, out of breath and bleeding. Knowing he wasn't going to get through the window, Ashe jerked back inside and stormed out of the bathroom, shoving and knocking people aside as they came to see what all the commotion was about. Not waiting around for Ashe to reach you, you bolted down the alleyway, slipping on the slimy pavement and tripping over trash, just making it to the end, when two shadows blocked the way. Startled, you tried twisting around to run the other way, but they were faster than you were, grabbing the hood of your jacket and yanked you back, making you choke in the process.

“You ain't going anywhere.” One of them huffed as you were slammed chest first into the wall, scraping the side of your face on the rough surface.

Your arms were harshly yanked behind you and hands slipped through the loops of thick black cuffs, before your captor pressed a button on the handle connecting the cuffs and they automatically tightened around your wrists, painfully cutting off circulation and into your skin. They jerked you off the wall and faced you out of the alleyway, one of them clamped a hand down on your shoulder, making you whimper in pain and try to shrink away from him, only to be struck in the side.

“You should have stayed in London.” Ashe's angry voice growled as he approached the three of you, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Or just not have been born at all.” He hissed, letting go of your head with a jerk. “Get her in the van.” He ordered the two men, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, to the van parked at the curb, its back sliding door open and waiting.

You looked up and down the sidewalk as they pushed and shoved you towards the van, frantically hoping someone would see the four of you and rush to help you, stop them for kidnapping you. But, as you looked at the full street, you noticed everyone looking everywhere but at you, not wanting to get involved, knowing doing so would land them in the same hot water you were finding yourself in. But, to your utter shock, one face did look back at you, just as stunned to see you as you were to see them.

“Michail.” You mouthed, blinking like it was just a fragment of your frantic mind. “Mikey!” You screamed out, realizing it wasn't your mind toying with you, before you were thrown into the van and the door was slammed shut behind you.

“Let's go grab a pint.” Knox said, throwing on his jacket. “Come on, Keagan, one pint won't kill you. We have a load of time before your first big run.”

Michail sighed and rubbed at his face, his back ached from hunching over the map of his first run as an Adjutant Runner for Quinn. He had been staring at it non-stop for two weeks and the run was due to happen in three days. But, Knox was right, an hour's break to enjoy a frothy pint at the pub would do him and his brain some good. So, stiffly raising from his chair, he grabbed his own jacket and followed Knox to the lift and down the four floors to the ground floor and out onto the street. They chatted about the run as they walked down to the Black Bone, Knox's usual establishment for a good pint, hammering out more details and clearing up any misunderstanding about what was to go down, once it did happen.

But, they were interrupted by a small scuffle ahead of them, near the pub.

Looking away from each other and to the altercation, they saw three sizable men roughly handling a woman, her hands tied behind her back. Michail felt the breath in his lungs freeze and his heart drop out into his stomach as he met the woman's eye, watching her mouth his name, before yelling it out.

“Mikey!”

“Issy?” He whispered back, too stunned to manage anything louder before you were manhandled into the van.

“You know that woman, Mike?” Knox asked, his eyes panning between the speeding away van and him.

“She's my sister.” Mikey replied, his mouth hanging open, shocked and speechless to not only find you in Bristol, but being carted away by those ruffians. “But, she should be back in London.” He blinked, slowly regaining himself. “What the hell is she doing here in Bristol? Do you know who those guys were?” He asked, looking at Knox.

“Only one of them.” Knox replied, narrowing his eyes. “The blond is Ashe James, he works as a free agent, working several different jobs in every Sector.”

“Why would he take my sister like that?” Mikey asked himself, deeply troubled.

“We'll find out later, let's get that pint.” Knox answered, clasping Mikey on the back and pushed him towards the pub.

Henry spit nothing, but blood, as Emilio gave him another crack punch to the face; which was multicolored and inflamed. A cut high on the bridge of his bloody nose and upper lip, his bottom lip was split and bleeding as well, blood caked in his beard and curls, as well as his chest; soaking into the fabric of his jeans. His eyes burned from the unyielding and bright lights illuminating the room. He was spent and exhausted, leaning forward with his head lulling and eyes half rolled and swollen shut. A forest of marks and box cutter cuts littered his body, partiality around the surgical site of his artificial kidney. He was more than sure every one of his ribs were broken or cracked, making him wheeze and hiss with every breath he took.

Henry wasn't sure how much more of he could take, but that didn't mean he would break.

“I don't think you have much more blood in you, mate?” Emilio huffed, shaking his throbbing hand, his fingers puffy and bruised from hitting Henry so many times. “Usually, the people I—set straight—have given up by now. But, no. Not you, you're tough. I respect that.” He said, shrugging his sore shoulders.

“To a point.” He chuckled, slapping Henry in the back of the head, making him whimper. “Why don't you tell my boss where the girl is? Then, we can let you off. But, if you don't, you'll just end up dying here.”

Henry remained quiet, he had run out of witty and smart-ass comments hours before. So, he kept his mouth shut and reserved his energy and strength to withstand their assault on him. The one saving light was the thought of you safe and sound in your room. He knew, by now, you were freaking out and panicking. There were no clocks and only one mirror that Henry knew, without a doubt, was a two way, but he could catch a glimpse of Emilio's expensive watch. He had been in the room for nearly twelve hours, all night and most of the morning.

He sighed, grimacing as he swallowed another mouthful of blood that was pooling in his mouth from his bloody nose, cut lip and the cuts on the inside of his cheeks; his stomach cramped and twisted as he swallowed it down, adding to his discomfort. His mind started to wonder, his pain was beginning to numb his battered nerve-endings, he wondered how much longer he would survive, what blow would potentially kill him.

He counted each blow.

One.

Two.

Three.

The door came flying open and Benji waltzed in, the door slamming closed behind him, as he grinned and looked chipper after getting a good night's rest, having left not long after Henry's torture started. But, he seemed overly happy, too happy, for Henry to be comfortable with, he knew something. That's when Henry's fear finally spiked and his abused body tensed and his bloodshot, blue orbs widened with panic, showing that growing ounce of fear outwardly for the first time.

“Well, Mr. Cavill, I see that you are still alive!” Benji quipped with an amused smile, grabbing the back of Henry's sweaty and bloody curls, and jerked his head back, roughly. “I am quite impressed by your stamina. I bet the ladies love it.” He teased, lowering himself to meet Henry's gaze.

“I have a surprise for you, Henry.” He cooed, menacingly, his brown eyes darkening to a black hole of evil and danger. “I'm quite sure you'll be relieved to see it.” He said softly, running a finger over the freshly bleeding cut on Henry's brow, making him hiss as heavy beads of sweat mixed into it, then straightened up.

“Bring it in!” He yelled, moving away from Henry and turned towards the two way mirror.

The door swung open again, revealing Ashe, who pressed his back against it, to keep it open, and motion into the hall for someone to come forward. Henry's shoulders fell with his face, the last bit of his strength he had draining out of him as you were shoved into the room, stumbling and almost falling if Ashe hadn't grabbed the handle of your zip cuffs and steadied you.

Your mouth dropped open seeing the pitiful and terrifying condition Henry was in, covered in blood, bruises, cuts and god knows what else. You struggled to swallow down your throbbing heart and blinked back the searing tears that burned your eyes, biting hard into your lip to keep yourself from falling apart. Henry licked his split and chapped lips and blinked slowly at you, trying to keep himself together, but not to cry, but to not lose his temper, his muscles flexing as his anger flared and surged beneath his blue and purple, blood covered skin, straining in his restraints, like a bull seeing red.

“Two very different reactions.” Benji commented, watching the pair of you through the two-way mirror. “Interesting.” He hummed, turning on the heels of his expensive dress shoes. “I've been looking for you.” He said, stepping closer to you. “Thank you for making it so easy to find and get a hold of you.”

He smiled, touching the tip of his finger to your cheek and drew a smiley face on it.

In Henry's blood.

“Release her hands.” He ordered, snapping his fingers.

“Boss, is that a good idea?” Ashe asked, hesitating with the key to your cuffs. “She's pretty cunning.”

Benji's cool broke and slapped Ashe across the face, ripping the key out of his hand and releasing the cuffs from around your wrists. “I know what she is, you moron. But, what is she going to do? They're in my house, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of my men. Even if, they managed to get out of this room, they wouldn't make it out of the hall, before we either killed or incapacitated them. So,” He smirked at you, giving you a sour taste in your mouth.

“Let's leave them be.” He chuckled, making a motion with his hand and cleared the room, other than you and Henry.

You stood frozen for several moments, unable to move as you and Henry stared at each other, your silent tears finally escaping down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Henry.” You sniffled, gulping thickly.

Henry closed his eyes and sighed, groaning and gently shaking his head. He knew, he knew you had left the room to come look for him, the guilt and evidence of it was all over your face. “It's all right.” He finally replied, his voice dry and raspy. “I know you were scared.”

“I was worried.” You whimpered, slowly approaching him. “I still am.” You told him, dropping to your knees before him, looking over his battered body. “I'm sorry, Henry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me. Least of all, you.”

Your emotions started to overwhelm you, reaching out to gently cup his face in your shaking palms and pushed up on your toes to touch your forehead to his temple. Henry frowned and nudged your face with his, trying to give you what comfort he could, while still tied to the chair. Your wet cheek smeared more blood on the both of you, as you wrapped your arms loosely around his bare waist.

“I told you to wait for me.” He whispered, meeting your damp eyes.

“I tried.” You protested, pulling back from him. “But, I-” You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“I told you, I'd come back for you.”

“How?” You snapped, incredulous. “You're tied to a fucking chair and practically bleeding to death!”

Henry narrowed his eyes at you. “I'll be fine, I just needed more time. I've done this before.” He told you, shaking his head, then regretting it.

“That doesn't make me feel any better or convince me, Henry.” You replied with a huff. “How are we going to get out of here?” You asked, lowering your voice, sure they were eavesdropping.

“I'll think of something.” Henry answered, looking around the room, but there was very little to aid you in that endeavor. “Just stay strong for me.” He added, turning his face into yours, his chapped lips brushing your ear.

“Nugget.”

Benji stood in the room adjoined to the interrogation room you and Henry were held in, watching the two of you interact and talk, when a phone started to ring. Flexing his hands, Benji turned on his men, glaring each of them in the eyes until one of them shied away from his gaze.

“Answer it, Luis.” He hissed at the smaller man. “Now!” He roared, making everyone flinch.

Luis slipped a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open and answering it. “Hello?” He squeaked, his voice high pitched with fright. “Um,--” He shuttered, eyes glued to Benji. “It's Monroe, Sir. He's asking about the girl, why she was nabbed this morning.” He explained, holding his phone out to Benji.

“Knox!” Benji roared into the receiver. “Why are you asking about the girl?” He demanded.

“My new Runner, they know each other.” Knox replied, cool as ice, he was used to Benji's outbursts. “We saw Ashe and the boys dragging her out of the Black Bone, she saw us too, and called out Keagan's name. When I asked how she knew him, he answered that she was his sister.”

“Her brother?” Benji said slowly, turning back to the mirror and staring at you as you huddled close to Henry. “Bring him to me, I want you here within the hour.”

“You got it, boss.” Knox replied, hanging up.

“The bubble of intrigue just keeps growing around this girl.” He said, studying you. “I love it.”

“I just got a call from headquarters.” Knox said as he approached Mikey at their table. “We need to go in, they're having a Runner meeting we need to attend to get the new details on our run in a couple days.” He explained.

“All right.” Mikey nodded, wiping the foam off his upper lip as he finished off his pint. “Are we going straight there?” He asked, standing up.

“Yep.” Knox nodded, clapping him on the back and directing him to the door, waving to the bartender as they left.

They hailed a cab to the Hernandez building, it was the tallest building in all of Bristol, showing the power, presence and money they had, running their empire of drugs and violence. The twenty minute ride there was quiet, and Knox almost felt bad for Mikey, knowing the kid had zero clue what was about to happen to him, but he wasn't sorry for the fact he was related to you, who could possibly bring down the business that kept him employed and out of the Slums.

“Mr. Hernandez is expecting us.” Knox told the receptionist at the front desk.

Nodding her head, the receptionist picked up her phone, dialed a number and waited for it to pick up. “Mr. Monroe to see you, sir.” She said, then hung up. “He'll meet you at lift number three.” She told Knox, then returned to her paperwork.

“Come on, Keagan.” Knox called, motioning Mikey to follow him.

Mikey followed him, unaware and naive to what was about to happen to him, to what was waiting for him, as the lift doors slid open and revealed Benji and Ashe. It was seeing Benji and Ashe that Mikey got a strange feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it, figuring it was just nervous jitters from meeting the most powerful man in Bristol.

“Knox.” Benji smiled at his prized Runner, then settled his cold eyes on Mikey. “Mr. Keagan, how nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much.”

“All good, I hope.” Mikey gulped.

“Of course.” Benji chuckled, motioning for the two men to step into the lift with them. “Let's go to my office to speak.” He suggested.

The ride in the lift was silent and stiff, no one speaking or moving, not even making eye contact for the several minutes the ride took, until the ding announced their arrival to the floor and the sleek metal doors slid open. Benji stepped off first, followed by Knox and Mikey, with Ashe bringing up the rear. They walked down a long hallway and Benji stopped beside a door, scanned a key card and pushed it open, motioning for Mikey to go in first, wanting to see his reaction as he entered.

Biting his lip, Mikey did as he was told, a nervous sweat breaking out on his brow as he moved into the dark room, noticing the wall length window to one side. He stopped in front of it, looking through the two way mirror and felt his jaw and heart hit the floor.

“Issy.” He gasped, seeing you pacing the bright room, then noticed the large and beaten male tied to the chair in the room as well.

His shoulders slumped as it all clicked in his head, he had been lied to too and was now as much a prisoner as you and Henry were. A cold sweat broke out all over his body and his hands started to shake, gulping several times to try and keep his composure.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, eyes snapping to Benji as he watched Ashe lock and block the door, leaving Knox in the hallway.

“Who is that girl to you?” Benji asked, lightly tapping the glass of the mirror. “And answer truthfully.”

Mikey steeled himself. “I don't know.” He huffed, puffing out his chest.

Benji rolled his jaw and banged on the mirror, grabbing Emilio's attention. Smirking, Emilio pushed himself off the door he had been leaning against and strode over to you, startling you and making you stubble away from him.

“NO!” Henry and Mikey both screamed at the same time as Emilio grabbed you roughly by the hair, yanking your head backward and making you cry out as he shoved you closer to the mirror.

“Who is she to you?” Benji asked again, slowly.

“A friend.” Mikey whimpered, clenching his fists together as he felt and saw your pain.

Benji knocked on the window again. This time, Emilio twisted you around by the hair and slammed your back up against the mirror and wrapped his meaty hand around your slender neck. Henry jerked and squirmed in his chair, roaring with madness and cursing loudly as Emilio choked you, trying desperately to break free and pull him off of you, before it was too late.

“Stop!” Henry roared, letting his anger and frustration out in a violent scream. “Let her go! Do it to me!” He begged Emilio. “Let her be!”

Mikey doubled over, his hands braced on his thighs as he gasped for air, like a goldfish out of it's tank. “Please, stop this.” He begged Benji, in a wheeze.

Benji tilted his head as he watched Mikey, watching his distress as it mirrored your own. Curiously, he banged on the mirror again and Emilio, still choking you with one hand, drove the fist of his other into your stomach, making you yelp around his hand, incapable of more as you struggled for air. Mikey stumbled back into a shelf behind him, nearly losing his footing. Benji's fingers caught the underside of Mikey's chin and jerked his head back, thick strings of drool on his lips and chin.

“Tell me who she is to you?” He hissed in his face.

“Please.” Mikey begged him, weakly.

“Tell me, and I'll make him stop.” Benji told him, his face twisted with smug malice.

Mikey whimpered, hearing you struggling and Henry's desperate protests. “She's my sister.” He broke. “My twin sister.” He admitted, weakly.

“Your twin?” Benji echoed, intrigued. “So, you feel what she feels. Does she feel what you do, I wonder.” He let go of Mikey and knocked on the mirror twice, signaling Emilio to release you, which he did, causing you to collapse to the floor. “Ashe, go in there and tell me if she feels anything from him.” He ordered, keeping his eyes on Mikey.

Nodding, Ashe left the room and entered yours and Henry's, nodding at the mirror, so Benji knew he was in position. Smiling, Benji promptly drove his knee into Mikey's stomach and looked behind him and saw Ashe smirking and chuckling to himself.

“The connection between twins.” Benji laughed, amused to all ends. “I love it. Let's have a proper little family reunion, shall we!” He declared and motioned to Luis to grab Mikey. “Bring him.” He ordered, marching out of the room. “Good news everybody!” He declared, bursting into the room with you and Henry.

“It's family time!” He laughed, as Luis shoved Mikey into the room with the two of you.

“Mikey.” You coughed and rasped, holding your bruised neck.

“Issy.” He rasped back, crawling over to you. “Where have you been?” He asked, cupping your face in his shaking hands. “We thought you were dead.”

“I went looking for you, to try and patch things up with our parents, after the fight.” You explained, fresh tears dripping down your face. “But, I was caught by the Traffickers and was held by them. Henry,” You looked up at him, still straining in the chair, his blue eyes wild. “he saved me and I've been with him the whole time.”

Mikey blinked up at Henry, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Saved you?” He echoed your words, but not your sentiments and appreciation. “The only reason a person goes into a Trafficker's warehouse, if they're not merchandise, is to buy.” He hissed, his face darkening. “You bought my sister from a fucking Trafficker. Typical Upper, buying and enslaving us just because we were born in a lower Sector than you.”

“Mikey, it wasn't like that?” You panted, shaking your head at him, desperate for him to understand.

“How can you fucking defend him!” Mikey barked, gritting his teeth at you. “Unless he's already brainwashed you, convinced you that owning you didn't make you any different than him.”

“I don't own her.” Henry growled, low in his throat.

“Is that so!”

“It is!” You barked back, regaining yourself. “He never registered me for an Ownership Bracelet. Henry's never treated me like a Slave, or even a Slummer, for that matter. He's been good to me, Mikey.” You told him, cupping his tense neck in your hands and pressed your forehead to his. “He's been helping me to find you.” You whispered to him, holding his eyes.

“He's been protecting me.” You said quieter.

“I was originally meant to follow her until you were found, then bring you both back to London.” Henry added, his eyes on you. “So, she could testify against him.” He jerked his chin at Benji. “and to turn you in for your part in the Running business. But,” He paused and sighed. “But, I changed my mind and decided to just help her bring you back home, safely. Make up some story about why I didn't bring you in, then once she testified, I was going to release her to go back home to your family.” He explained.

Mikey opened his mouth to ask why a High Marshal would bother to do something like that, when he finally felt it, a warmth that came from you, and met your eyes and saw the cause of your warmth, towards Henry. You were in love with the High Marshal, and looking to Henry, he could tell that Henry felt just as strongly about you.

“I've been a complete brainless prick.” Mikey sighed, feeling guilty, if he hadn't decided to become a Runner, then none of this would have happened, the two of you and Henry would still be safe and sound in London, going about your lives as should be.

“I'm sorry, Issy.”

“Well, you're just a stupid boy, what do you know anyway.” You huffed, smiling softly and shrugging it off.

“Well, isn't this all well and sweet.” Benji huffed pushing off the wall.

“But, we all have an issue. The three of you are a threat to my business.” He said, folding his arms. “You, High Marshal, are on the case that threatens my business. You,” He looked at Mikey. “Being a Runner, know the routes and procedures of my business, and you,” He settled his eyes on you. “Are the witness to my operations and hold the key to ruining my business in London and putting away one of my best Traffickers.”

“I can't let you live.” He said, looking at the three of you. “So, we're going to play a fun little game.” He smirked, greedy and giddy, as he rubbed his hands together. “Luis, your gun.” He ordered, holding his hand out to the other man. “Ashe draw yours as well, and Emilio, why don't you untie Mr. Cavill over there, we do out number them with people and firearms, so I doubt either of them will be stupid enough to try something.” He said, motioning Emilio towards Henry.

Obeying, Emilio removed the key to Henry's bonds from his front pocket, while Ashe had his gun trained on him, anticipating any attempt Henry, you or Mikey might make to try and be a savior. Emilio unlocked the ties around Henry's chaffed ankles, then his wrists. Henry let out a relieved sigh as the strain and tension of his shoulders and arms released, almost slumping out of the chair.

“Henry!” You gasped, dashing forward to try and catch him.

“Ah, no!” Benji barked, stopping you in your tracks. “Leave him be.” He hissed at you. “Get up, Cavill.” He demanded of Henry. “Now, or I'll start putting holes in her!”

Groaning, Henry forced himself to stand, swaying on his throbbing and injured legs and almost falling, but caught himself on the back of the chair. Assured that Henry would be able to reasonably stand, then took the gun Luis was still holding out to him, Benji removed the clip from the firearm, checking how many rounds it had, reloaded the clip and cocked the slide, securing a bullet into the chamber.

“Take it.” He snapped, holding it out to you.

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head and taking a step away from him.

“You either take it, or I kill all three of you now, starting with the High Marshal, then your dear brother and you last, so you can watch as your brother and the man you love, die.” He threatened, with an eerie calm.

Taking a shuddering breath, you stepped forward again and, with a shaky hand, took the heavy weapon from Benji's hand. You looked at Henry and Mikey with wide and frightened eyes, visibly shaking with terror. They both looked back at you with the same fright and worry.

“So, this is our game.” Benji grinned, licking his lips, like an evil serpent. “You get to choose who dies first, and get the honor of killing them.” He told you, grinning sinisterly.

“No.” You whimpered, slowly shaking your head. “No, I can't. Please, I can't.” You begged him, trembling, and staring down at the gun, like you expected it to swallow you.

“None of you are going to leave this room alive. So, you might as well put each other out of your own misery.” Benji tried to reason with you. “Do you want them to suffer because of your selfishness?”

“Don't listen to him.” Henry snapped, drawing your attention. “You don't need to do this, just give me the gun.” He told you, reaching out a hand to you.

“He's right, Issy. You don't.” Mikey agreed, holding his own hand out. “Just give it to one of us, we'll figure this out.”

Both Henry and Mikey knew why Benji had given you the gun. You would never have considered hurting anyone, with or without the firearm; unlike Henry and Mikey, who would.

Your eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure who to give it to. What would Henry do, if you were to give him the gun? Would he manage to kill Benji, Ashe, Luis and Emilio before they could do any real damage to the three of you? What about Mikey? Did your brother even know how to use a gun? What would he do once he had it? Should you even give it to them? What if one of them turned on the other, what if Henry turned on Mikey? He had originally been sent after you to bring you back to testify and take care of Mikey, because of his involvement with Benji and Bristol. Would Mikey try to kill Henry, because he was a High Marshal, maybe try to save face and show Benji he could be trusted, to save himself, and maybe you too.

You knew neither of them would turn on you or harm you in any way. You weren't afraid of them; you were afraid for them, and what they might do if they had the gun themselves.

It took all you had not to throw up, then and there. Everyone was staring at you waiting for your decision, but you couldn't decide, you wouldn't decide. You loved Henry and you loved your brother, you would rather kill yourself than one of them; and it was as if they sensed your mind go in that direction, for both Henry and Mikey jerked towards you, startling you.

“No!” Henry hissed, his eyes wide with panic. “Don't you dare.” He panted heavily, spots in his eyes as his advanced blood loss started to take its toll on him, on top of everything else going on. “Don't you dare turn that gun on yourself.” He whispered, half begging and half ordering you.

“Listen to him, Issy.” Mikey agreed, nodding his head. “Don't harm yourself. We can figure this out.” He said, eyeballing Benji over your shoulder.

Tears dripped down your face, like a waterfall after a heavy rain, it was too much, it was all too overwhelming for you to take. Mikey looked between you and Henry, he saw the absolute terror and worry in Henry's eyes, his pupils eating away the cobalt blue and speck of brown of his irises. Your own blown out pupils doing the same as you started back at him. It was something that Mikey wasn't used to. When things became scary and too much, it had always been him that you looked to in those moments, but this time, it was Henry you were seeking comfort and protection from.

“You fucking prick!” Mikey growled, trying to lung at Benji.

“Ah ah!” Benji barked back, grabbing Luis's wrist and forcing him to point his gun at you. “If either of you try and act a hero, Luis will kill her, out right.” He warned, meeting Mikey and Henry's eyes.

Biting his lip, Mikey took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, Benji had the three of you cornered. He was forcing you to kill one of the men you loved with your own life, while stopping Henry and Mikey from trying to save the day, by threatening to kill you, knowing they both would die to keep you safe.

What a twisted and poisonous web that was being weaved in the room. But, sooner or later, the strings of that web would start to snap and unravel, taking all of you with it.

Mikey took a hesitating step forward, his heart pounding and choked inside of his throat, his eyes daring between you, Benji and Luis. Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, feeling the weight of the gun you held in that hand. The pounding pulse in your wrist drummed against Mikey's fingers, and he felt his own heart become attuned with yours. From the day the two of you came into the world, you several minutes before him, the pair of you were in sync, but as you grew older, you became less so. You had taken the right path, following the law, doing the job assigned to you, making the best of the life you had been dealt, without a complaint. While Mikey rebelled and became restless, wanting to be more, wanting the people he loved to be and have more than you already did, failing to see the wealth he already had, in you, your parents and little brother.

It was too late now to go back and fix those things, to see and cherish them properly, like Mikey now realized he should have.

The two of you synced together, heart beats the same steady, but pounding rate, breathing heavy and as one, flowing in a way that only twins could. You read his face, like it was the page of an open book and knew what he was doing. Your hand grasped the grip of the gun tighter, eyes widening and head softly shaking.

It's all right, Issy. His face and eyes said to you.

No. Your eyes begged back, blinded by collecting tears. Not like this. Don't do this. I can't live without you, Mikey.

You'll be fine, Sis.

He looked away from you, to Henry, who stood there, supporting himself on the back of the chair he had spent hours being tortured in. Henry looked back at Mikey, confused, just like everyone else in the room to what was transpiring between you, narrowing his eyes and frowning, shaking his head at Mikey, wanting to understand. But, Mikey looked back to you, squeezing your wrist and pressing his free hand to your chest.

You have the High Marshal to care for and protect you now. His eyes said to you. And he'll do a better job at it. He can give you the love, life and protection you need and deserve in life.

You shook your head at him, eyes screaming at him. Don't do this! What about our parents? Our little brother? What will I tell them? They will be crushed.

I'm no good and we both know this. Let me do this, and prove I still have some good left in me.

His hand slowly slipped down yours, gently prying your fingers from around the gun's grip, carefully taking it from you. Your hands shot out, gripping Mikey by the sleeves, one last plea for him to reconsider, to help you and Henry find a different plan and outcome, to give it a chance. But, he shook his head and took your arm in his free hand, leaned in to kiss your cheek, then gently shoved you in Henry's direction. Henry just managed to catch you before you stumbled over your feet, and himself from falling as well, blinking between you and Mikey, starting to realize what was going on.

“Mikey, n--” You started to scream as he raised the muzzle to his temple.

Henry's thick arms wrapped around you, somehow mustering the strength to hold you back as you struggled and thrashed in his embrace, trying desperately to stop what was about to happen.

A loud pop and a high pitched ringing filled your ears, muting out all other sounds that were being made, the sounds of your scream that you only knew was happening by how sore it made your throat, the warm spray of droplets against your face and neck, the world ending sight of your brother crumbling to the ground, the gun falling from his limp hand and slid across the blood covered floor, spinning under the chair at Henry's foot.

But, the chaos didn't stop there.

As Mikey hit the floor, Ashe came to life, using the distraction of Mikey's decision, to pull the gun out of his back waistband, smoothly flipping off the safety with his thumb, cocked and pointed it at Luis. All of it was in slow-motion, ears still screaming, as another pop filled the room, this time taking out Luis. Henry's body tensed up against yours as he watched Luis instinctively pull the trigger of his own weapon, the bullet whizzing towards you both. Henry wrapped his arms completely around you and threw you both down onto the floor; caging you in with his heavy and bloody body, using himself as a human shield as more muffled shots rang out.

You felt Henry's body jerk once against yours and the hot breath of him groaning against your neck, then a searing pain in your thigh, before the room went quiet and dark.

You started to come back around to the sound of Henry yelling your name, above the ringing that was still filling your ears and mind. You shook your throbbing head, feeling him pat your cheeks, trying to get you to open your eyes and respond to him.

“Can you hear me?” Henry asked, blinking down at you.

You blinked back up at him, only catching every other word he said. “A little bit.” You wheezed back, your thigh felt like an overfilled, hot water bottle as it throbbed.

“Good.” He nodded, then looked down the length of your body, just then noticing the slow puddle of blood pooling around your leg and cursed. “You've been hit.” He huffed, wrestling with his body's want to panic, but kept calm.

Spotting the tattered remains of his shirt, that Emilio had cut off, Henry grabbed it. “This is going to hurt, but, I need to control the bleeding before you lose too much.” He explained, carefully bringing your leg up, then wrapping the strip of his shirt around your thigh, just above the bullet wound, and tied it off as tightly as he could without causing any more complications.

You winced and whined as he did, gripping his bicep and digging your nails into his skin. “What happened?” You asked, out of breath, you couldn't see most of the room, Henry's body blocking your view, mostly on purpose.

“It seems, we have a friend.” Henry replied looking over his shoulder to Ashe. “We're going to get out of here.” He told you, fussing over your wound as a thin and steady stream of blood continued to flow from it, tightening his shirt more.

“We can't leave without--” You paused, remembering. “Oh god, Henry!” You gasped, it all rushed back to you.

“I know.” He frowned at you, crushed.

“We have to take him with us.”

“We can't.” Henry whispered, licking his cracked lips. “It'll slow us down.” He told you as carefully as he could. “I'll get him back for you. When we get back to London, I promise you.” He said, helping you sit up.

“Henry--” You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck and buried your face into his sweaty and sticky chest.

“I know, love. I am so so sorry.” He whimpered in your ear, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed.

“We need to go.” Ashe's rushed voice came from the door. “Now, before the alarms go off.” He said, looking back into the hall.

He felt for you, he really did, never expecting all of this to happen, but now that it had, the three of you needed to put as many kilometers and as much time between you and Bristol as you could, because Benji's men would be coming after you in no time.

“Come on.” Henry grunted, pulling himself up to his feet and taking you with him, wrapping your arm around his neck, to support you out of the room.

Your breath caught in your throat as Henry helped you stand up, seeing Mikey's body laying there in a large pool of blood, but also Luis, Emilio and Benji's bodies as well. In the chaos of Mikey taking his own life to save you and Henry, Ashe had sprung, pulling his weapon and dispatching them in the confusion. Luis and Emilio let off several rounds from their own guns, one of them nicking Henry in the side and another going through your thigh.

“Is he on our side?” You wheezed, as you and Henry followed him down the hall.

“Yeah.” Henry nodded, shifting you against his side as you started to slip. “He's a Alpha Marshal, from London.” He explained to your questioning brow lift

“How did you not know that?” You asked him, frowning, you figured since Henry was a High Marshal, he would know all of the other Marshals.

“He finished Marshal training four years before I went in, and was recruited straight out of it to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and climb the ladder as far as he could. Seems he got as high as being Benji Hernandez's personal enforcer.” He explained, stopping as Ashe secured the hallway around the corner.

“Which is damn lucky for the two of you.” Ashe commented, coming back. “The way is clear, there's a back service lift that goes down to the garage. I have a car there we can use to get the fuck out of Bristol.”

“Let's go.” Henry nodded, antsy.

You looked back down the hall, to the still open door to the room that held all that carnage, and shuttered. Henry looked at you, feeling the shiver and frowned, reaching up to brush your hair out of your sweaty and bloody face. He couldn't understand the level of pain and anguish you must be in, after watching your brother commit suicide to save you. But, he knew that Mikey would want him to protect you and get you the hell out of there, with or without his body, and that's what Henry planned on doing.

“You can do this.” He whispered to you, blood crusted fingertips brushing your cheek. “He would want you too.” He added even softer.

“I know.” You gulped down tears, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Let's go, before I lose my nerve.” You said, looking away from the door.

Nodding his head, you and Henry supported each other down the hall to the lift, leaning against the wall as it went down to the dark underground garage. Finding Ashe's car, he unlocked it and helped you and Henry get inside, before rushing around to the driver's side, tearing out of the garage and onto the street.

“Here.” You sighed and removed your torn and filthy jacket, revealing Henry's shirt beneath it, and took it off, seeing Henry's shiver.

“Thanks.” Henry whimpered, carefully pulling the shirt on his sore and battered torso. “How are we getting out of here, Ashe?”

“There's a gate out of this Sector that most of Benji's top men use for dealing with business outside of Bristol. I know the guard that works it, he'll let us through and keep his mouth shut.” Ashe explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “From there, I'll drop you both off at the drop location I use for sending my information into London.”

“What Sector is that in?” Henry asked, checking your makeshift tourniquet.

“Three.” Ashe replied, slowing his car down as they approached the gate he spoke about. “Let me do the talking.” He said over his shoulder, rolling his window down as a stocky male with a semi-automatic weapon approached the driver's side.

“James, it's been awhile. How have you been?” He asked, staring through the open driver's window.

“Been all right.” Ashe replied casually, as if nothing was amiss, like the two bleeding people in his backseat. “I need to run an errand outside the city, if you don't mind opening the gate and letting me through.”

“Sure thing.” the guard replied, chipper and oblivious to you and Henry, unable to see through the black tinted windows.

Stepping away from Ashe's car, the guard moved into a small booth beside the gate, turning a key and held down a large red button. The large and scuffed up gate groaned to life, screeching and protesting as it slid out of the way, revealing barren land and an uneven road on the other side. Waving back as the guard waved Ashe through the gate, he drove through, letting out a relieved breath as the gate closed behind you, everything so far going smooth.

“It's a two and half hour drive to your drop off location.” Ashe said, breaking the silence.

“That's fine.” Henry replied. “It took us nearly a week to walk here.” He added with a huff, that felt like a year ago at this point.

“What about you?” You asked Ashe. “What will you do now? Will you not come into London with us?” You inquired, interested, since his life and the long years he spent undercover in Bristol was now blown apart because of you, Henry and Mikey.

“I'm not originally from London.” Ashe replied, stiffly. “I'm from Chester. My father was killed in an accident and my mother couldn't take care of me. So, she had a smuggler bring me to London where I have a wealthy aunt. She took me in, adopted me and raised me as her own son, enabling me to have a better life. With her connections, I was able to attend the Marshal Council Academy, graduated top of my class and was recruited directly out of training to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and the Hernandez family. I've been there ever since, running and doing whatever job Benji and his family tell me too, while sending the information back to London and half of the money I make back to my mum in Chester.”

“I've wanted to return to Chester for a long time, I haven't seen my mother, in person, since I was eight. So, I plan to go back there, after I drop the two of you off.”

“Won't they go looking for you there?” You asked, concerned for him, you had dragged so many people into this mess.

“No, as far as they know, all my family is dead.” He answered, glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. “My backstory was I was orphaned as a baby and raised on the streets of London, where I got in with Runners and came to Bristol to be more big time. So, I don't know who my parents are, let alone, know if I have any other family or where.”

“And they believed that?”

“For more than a decade.” Ashe chuckled, smiling at you.

The rest of the drive was quiet, you and Henry huddled together in the backseat, Henry's heavy head resting on your shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he didn't find any sleep, still too worked up to find it with the state you both were in. You rested your cheek on the top of his head and closed your own eyes, your head still throbbed and your leg was on fire, but had stopped bleeding so much. Both of you were worn, spent and weak, desperately needing proper medical attention and rest after everything that had happened.

“Henry?” You whispered softly into his messy curls.

“Hm?” He hummed back.

“What are we going to say, when we get back to London?” You asked him, biting your lip.

Henry sighed, picking up his head as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed his lips to your temple. That had been brewing in his mind for the last hour, trying to figure out how to explain all your injuries and absence to everyone that asked. The only person that truly knew the nature of your and Henry's disappearance was Reyes, and he didn't know what Reyes would do when the pair of you showed back up in London in the sorry state you were in, and without Mikey.

“We'll cross that road, when we get there, love.” He finally replied, kissing your temple again.

You crossed that road an hour and a half later, when Ashe pulled up to a door that had been built into the wall of Sector Three. He helped you and Henry out of the car and approached the door with you, pointing out an intercom box beside the door.

“The code is 8391, it'll ring whoever is working the door today, they'll come down and ask for credentials, tell them you're a High Marshal and you'll get all the assistance you need.” He explained to you, heading back towards his car.

“Ashe!” Henry called after him, before he could get into the car and leave. “Thank you.” He said, when Ashe turned back.

“We're Marshals, we're trained to look out for each other.” Ashe replied, nodding his head to you both and got into his car.

Henry waited until Ashe's car disappeared from sight, before limping up to the door and pressed in the code Ashe had given you. A buzzer went off and five minutes later, the door opened, revealing a Beta Marshal, who frowned between you and Henry.

“High Marshal Henry Cavill.” Henry told him, as the Beta Marshal started to open his mouth. “We require aid and you need to get a call into Supreme Commander, Dylan Reyes.” He said, grabbing your hand and pushing through the door.

“Now, Beta Marshal, before we finish bleeding to death.” Henry hissed at him, annoyed and impatient.

“Of course, sir.” the Beta Marshal squeaked, saluting Henry and showing you both to his service car. “Supreme Commander Reyes, this is Beta Marshal Grant, down at the Security Door. I have a High Marshal here, wishing to speak with you.” the Beta Marshal explained, as his call to Dylan connected over the car's speakers.

“Who would that be, Grant?” Dylan's voice asked back.

“It's me, Dylan.” Henry huffed, slumping in the seat.

“Henry!” Reyes's voice snapped in surprise. “You're alive!”

“For the time being.” Henry sighed, rubbing at his face.

“Do you have the girl and her brother?” He asked, sounding desperate and frantic.

“I have her, but not her brother.” Henry explained, glancing at you. “It's a very long story. But, right now, we both need medical attention. She's been shot in the leg and bleeding heavily and I've spent the last thirteen hours being tortured.” He revealed to his boss.

“Grant, get them both to the Marshal Council Hospital right this second and make sure they don't spare any medical intervention and assistance. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Supreme Commander.” Grant replied, with a hard nod of his head as he started his car and directed it towards the Marshal Council Hospital, in Sector One.

“I'll be there promptly.” Reyes replied, clearly rushing out of his office for the parking garage.

So much of the tension went out of you and Henry, you were finally back in the protective and safe walls of London, no more worry about people trying to find and kill you, no more filthy and bare essential hotel rooms and days of endless walking. You were home and free, and with Henry. Now, you both just needed to get looked over and have your injuries treated, then you could go back to the comfort of your own flat.

You and Henry were rushed into the hospital, dozens of doctors and nurses swarming you both, poking this and pulling on that, asking a barrage of questions too fast for either of you to answer properly. The leg of your leggings was cut all the way to your hip as they removed Henry's ripped and blood soaked shirt to examine your gunshot wound. You screamed in pain as they pushed around it, and apologized profusely for it, and became more gentle about touching it.

“Good news is, it went through, relatively clean.” The doctor explained to you, standing beside your bed.

“The bad?” You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried preparing for it.

“The bullet nicked your great saphenous vein, it's the longest vein in the human body, running the entire length of the leg; which is what's causing a lot of your bleeding. ”

“Am..” You gulped down a hot lump of vomit trying to surge up your throat. “Am I going to lose my leg?” You asked, frightened beyond belief and wished Henry was in the same room as you, but they had separated the two of you after coming in with Beta Marshal Grant.

“No.” The doctor chuckled at you, shaking his head. “We have a procedure that will stop the bleeding and help the wound heal in no time. But, I must warn you, it is rather painful.”

“As long as I don't lose my leg, I don't care.” You told him.

You had already lost too much.

“Excellent, I'll have the nurse bring in the instruments and we'll get down to treating you.” He smiled at you, sweetly, trying to be supportive and calming. “Do you have any questions, before we get started?”

“Yes, how's Henry—the High Marshal.” You asked, correcting yourself.

“High Marshal Cavill has lost a good amount of blood.” He told you, his brow creasing with his concern. “We gave him a blood transfusion and an army load of fluids, while we treated his wounds. He has broken and cracked ribs and sternum, a broken nose, a severe concussion and very deep cuts on various parts of his body.” He explained to you, as gently as he could.

“But, he will make a full recovery. He's a tough young man, and has the best medical care London has.”

“Good.” You sigh, relieved.

The doctor smiled at you, gently resting his hand on your shoulder before leaving the room to prepare your treatment. A nurse came in a moment later, pushing a cloth covered cart, then put an IV port into your arm and hung up a bag of fluids, antibiotics and blood; since you had lost so much blood from your bullet wound. You hissed as she gingerly rotated your leg and slipped a triangular shaped pillow under your bent knee, an oval notch cut in the top of it for your knee to rest comfortable and securely, while they treated you.

She removed the cloth from the metal cart she brought in with her, and you saw what looked like a short caulking gun, a tube with a fat nozzle and two packaged patches. Picking up one of the patches, she ripped it open and dipped it in a small bowl of solution, the patch absorbed some of the liquid solution and became almost rubbery and gel-like. She moved around to your stabilized leg and gently pressed the ice cold patch to the bruised and puckered hole on the inside of your thigh, where the bullet exited, more than halfway up. You hissed as the cold gel patch touched the heated and angry skin of your thigh, whatever the solution she dipped it in stung and burned like liquid fire as it covered your wound, adhering to your skin with a firm hold.

“This will keep your wound protected, clean and sterile. It has antibodies that will recognize any infections or foreign matter and attack it, preventing your wound from going bad.” She explained to you, pressing her palm to it and held it there with firm pressure.

“And that?” You asked as she let go of the patch and picked up the caulking gun-like device and slotted the tub into it.

“This is Nanite Gel. It has antibodies in it, as well as stem cells and biological Nantes, that will start working to repair the severed muscle, skin, tendons, nerve endings and tissue inside your leg; closing the wound right up.” She replied. “The doctor will insert the nozzle into your wound and slowly draw it out, while filling it with the Gel. The patch also works as a barrier, since the projectile went through one side and out the other, preventing the Nanite Gel from squirting and leaking out.” She described to you.

“Fantastic.” You replied, with a nervous sarcasm.

You gulped with anticipation as the doctor came back in, with an additional nurse, and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. He smiled at you, took his position beside your leg, and took the injector from the first nurse. The second nurse grabbed your ankle and the top of your knee, pinning your leg down as the doctor lined up the tip of the nozzle with your uncovered and slightly bloody wound.

“Deep breath.” The doctor instructed you, taking a deep breath with you. “Ready?” He asked as the first nurse carefully dabbed at the blood with a wad of gauze at the end of a clamp, keeping your wound clean, so the doctor had an easy time guiding the nozzle in, which was easily bigger than your actual wound.

“More than I ever will be.” You replied, bracing yourself.

Nodding his head, the doctor pressed the nozzle to the opening of your wound and started to push it inside. You tensed and jerked, screaming again, but the second nurse had an iron grip on your leg, keeping it still as the doctor continued to push inside. You had strobing spots in your eyes and your jaw was so tight it felt like your teeth were going to shatter at any second. The doctor barked at the first nurse to give you twelve micrograms of Fentanyl for your pain, and she scurried out of your room and came running back a minute later with a IV syringe full of the opioid, pushing it directly into the tube of your IV. Within a couple of seconds, the painkiller washed over your whole body, like a hot comforter out of the dryer, and allowed you to relax, going slack on the bed.

“Good.” The doctor nodded, seeing and feeling you relax and finished pushing the nozzle the rest of the way in.

Shifting his hand, the doctor pressed down on the trigger of the injector and slowly drew it out again, filling the tunnel the bullet made with the blue-ish gel. You didn't feel the pain of it, but you felt the pressure in your leg. Your eyes were heavy, glazed over and half lidded, you felt absolutely nothing and you were so sluggish from the opioid that you couldn't even form words to think, it felt nice after all the trauma and hardship you had gone through in the last week.

So, you let it take you, pulling you under the crashing waves of exhaustion, pain and the high of the painkiller, your body going totally limp. It alarmed the doctor and nurses for a moment, fearing you had blacked out. But, once they checked you out and determined you had simply fallen asleep, they relaxed and finished tending to your wound, filling it with the gel, then covering it with another patch, like the other one, and lightly wrapped it with a bandage.

They left you to rest, closing the blinds over the window and turned down the lights, before softly closing the door behind them.

“How is she?” Henry asked Reyes as he came into Henry's room; he had heard your screams of pain from his room, across the hall.

“She's doing fine.” Reyes assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “They treated her gunshot wound with Nanite Gel, gave her some strong pain medication and she's asleep now.”

“Good.” Henry nodded, relieved, but still wanted to see you, to be by your side.

“So, what the hell happened?” Reyes asked, pulling up a chair next Henry's bedside.

Henry started to heave a sigh, but stopped, clutching his rib-cage with an arm as his ribs screamed. “I chased after her, like I said I would. It took me nearly three days to finally catch up to her. She's crafty, in a good way. She'd make a great Marshal.” He chuckled, carefully. “I was going to bring her straight back to London to testify. But, she was dead set on finding her brother, so I went with her, figuring I'd kill two birds with one stone.”

“Get her back to London to testify and have her brother prosecuted.” Reyes nodded, understanding.

“Well, when we got there, we had no clue on how to find him.” Henry continued on, staring out his room window. “I recalled that a Beta Marshal that had been banished to Bristol for dealings with Runners and Crime Bosses. Ramsey Kellan. We found him in Sector Fifteen and he gave us the information we needed.” He rubbed the side of his face, he really wished he could just take a nap, but continued to fill Reyes in.

“Somewhere along that time frame, we were outed as being in Bristol, and looking for her brother.”

“Over a decade as an undercover, and your first blown cover happens with the girl.” Reyes laughed, greatly amused.

“Yeah.” Henry frowned, not finding it funny, if his cover with you hadn't been blown, so much of this wouldn't have happened. “As I said, our cover got blown in a pub in Sector Three of Bristol. Benji Hernandez sent his best guy to track us down there. I was able to get us out of the pub and down an alleyway, where I boosted her over a wall, to keep her safe, and faced the guy. We fought, he tazed the fuck out of me, and the next thing I knew, I'm waking up in a bright room, cuffed hand and foot to a chair.”

“They tried beating and reasoning me into telling where she was, but I refused.”

“Where was she, when this was going on?”

“The hotel room we got before going to the pub.” Henry replied with a sigh.

“But, she was clearly found.” Reyes pointed out. “How?”

“I told her I would return in an hour. When I hadn't returned by morning, she got worried and decided to try and find me. Which ended up with Benji's men, who had been keeping an eye out for her, capturing her and bringing her in.”

“And the brother?” Reyes pushed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed to his thighs.

“They saw each other as she was being thrown in a van to be taken to Benji. His handler, Knox Monroe, had found out that they were siblings and outed him, and he ended up in the room with us.” Henry replied, gingerly shifting to find a more comfortable position.

“So, where is Keagan?”

“Dead.” Henry replied, bluntly. “Benji gave her a gun and forced her to decide which one of us would die first.”

“She killed her own brother?” Reyes asked, stunned and gobsmacked.

“No.” Henry shook his head, the image still burned in his mind. “She couldn't do it. She wouldn't choose either of us, she almost turned it on herself. Before, Michail managed to take the gun from her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the image out his mind, the sound of your screams as you were forced to watch.

“He took his own life, so she didn't have to choose.”

“And Hernandez allowed the pair of you to leave afterwards?”

“No, I'm sure he would have forced either her or I to kill the other, then kill the last one himself.” Henry answered, opening his eyes again.

“Then, how did the two of you make it out?” Reyes asked, tilting his head at Henry.

Henry looked at Reyes. “Do you know Alpha Marshal Ashe James?” He asked, his eyes scrutinizing his boss.

“I do.” Reyes nodded back, his brows drawing together. “My predecessor, Eric Banner, told me, when I took over his position, when he retired, that he had a man on the inside of Bristol and to expect his reports regularly.”

“He was the one that saved our asses.” Henry explained with a sigh. “He was the one that stunned me in the alleyway. When Mikey killed himself, Ashe took the opportunity to pull his weapon and dispatched Benji and his men.”

Reyes blinked at Henry. “Are you telling me that Hernandez is dead?”

“I am. Unless, there's some way Nanite Gel can repair a hole in the brain.” He replied, with slight sarcasm. “Which I know there's not. So, he's now out of the way.”

“This is great.” Reyes grinned at Henry. “That'll be a massive blow to the Hernandez family, their operations and Bristol. Especially, when she's healthy enough to testify against Twist and his trafficking business.”

“It will be.” Henry agreed, but the only thing he was concerned with was the two of you getting well again. “I'm guessing, they'll be postponing the trial for a few weeks.”

“I still have to call the Cleric and Royal Councils and report everything that's gone down. But, I'm sure they'll delay the trial, for at least, a month.”

“Good, I want to take care of her first.” Henry added, nodding and relieved.

Reyes frowned at Henry and leaned back in his chair. “What is it between the two of you?” He asked, he had the suspicious feeling in his gut about the two of you for a while, but had only just had the time and place to ask.

Henry's cheeks warmed slightly and glanced away from Reyes, making his boss laugh out loud, seeing it in Henry's body language.

“You're in love with her.” He blurted out, tickled at the notion. “The great Upper, Henry Cavill, is in love with a Slummer, that's meant to be his Servant and Slave.”

“She's not my Slave! And, don't fucking call her a Slummer, either.” Henry roared, huffing angrily through his nose, like a bull about to charge. “I never registered her, and I never will register her, either.”

“Oh, I know you never registered her for an Ownership Bracelet, Henry.” Dylan continued to chuckle at his friend. “I checked and I got a copy of the paperwork you both filled out for her Life Pin.”

“And, you didn't say anything?” Henry asked, surprised.

“Not my business what you do with your private life, Hank.” He replied with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, you pressed me into buying her.” He hissed back, eyes wide.

“I did.” Reyes nodded, pressing his lips together. “We needed the paperwork, a trail to link Twist to trafficking, and to Benji. What you did, or didn't, do with her outside of that, was purely on you, and her.” He confessed, running a hand through his short black hair.

“I was also hoping you'd find a lover or mate.” He added, clearing his throat.

“You were what?” Henry barked, taken aback.

“I should let you rest.” Dylan sighed, getting up, then carefully rested his hand on Henry's shoulder. “It's good to have you back, and alive. You did good, taking care of her and everything else. Take all the time you need to recover, the Council will be here, when you're ready to get back into it.”

“Thanks, Dylan.” Henry replied, giving him a respectful nod of his head, still brewing on what he said.

“Do you want me to call your family?” Reyes asked as he stopped at Henry's door.

“No, I'll call them, when I'm ready.” He shook his head, feeling that new wave of stress hit him. “Last time you called them about me being in the hospital, I almost died, and ended up needing a kidney replacement.”

“Fair enough.” Reyes laughed, and saw himself out.

A day later, Henry slowly limped into your hospital room, across the hall from his, and found you sitting up in bed, eyes glued to the tv and eating a jell-o cup. Your eyes shot over to Henry as he came in, setting your cup down and turned off the tv, relieved to finally see him. The two of you had only been given random updates on each other through your shared nurse, who also, gratefully, passed messages between you as well.

“Henry, should you be out of bed?” You asked as he stopped at your bedside.

“Well, I wasn't the one shot in the leg.” He chuckled and grinned at you, before leaning in to kiss you. “I just had to see you for myself.” He confessed, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

You took a deep breath, tilting your head into his hand. “Like I got shot in the leg.” You chuckled back at him.

“Other than that, Nugget.” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“I feel fine. Sore, but fine.” You assured him with a nod. “How about you, Puppy?” You asked, looking him over in his hospital gown, a warm and playful smile spreading across your lips.

“Same. Sore and ready to go home.” He smiled back, his stomach full of butterflies.

“I'm ready to go home too.” You concurred with him, sighing at the thought.

The butterflies in Henry's stomach wilted and died, a nauseous, heart-shaped lump forming in his tight throat, hearing you wanted to go home. His shoulders dropped, trying to get a hold on his heartbreak, before you saw it and had your mood ruined.

“You know what I've missed about it?” You asked, looking up at him, just as he managed to hide his disappointment.

“What?” He replied, pained.

“Kal.” You chuckled at him, oblivious, until you saw his shocked face. “What? You think I would miss you, when we've been together practically the whole time?” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“No.” Henry squeaked, confused and relieved at the same time. “I just thought..” He paused, looking away from you.

“You just what, Hen?” You frowned at him, seeing his face and became worried. “Henry, sit down.” You ordered him, becoming concerned for him as you put down the arm rail, so he could sit on the edge of the bed with you.

“Tell me.” You whispered, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I thought you were talking about going back to your family's home.” He whispered, faintly. “When you said you were ready to go back home, and that you missed them.”

“Well, I do miss them, Henry.” You told him, pressing your cheek to his bruised and nicked shoulder. “I would love to see them again. But, I wanna stay with you.” You whispered, looking up at him.

“Unless, you don't want me too?”

“I do want you too.” He replied, quickly. “I love you and I want to be with you. I want you to come home and stay with me.” He confessed to you, nosing the hair at the top of your head. “And, Kal.” He added, softly.

“Your place has become more of a home to me, than my parents' place has ever been.” You told him, honestly.

You had grown a lot in the time you shared with Henry, and a lot had also changed you. You didn't get kidnapped in your own city, imprisoned in a pitch black and freezing cold cell, either not fed or fed food crawling with unmentionables, cut off from most contact with people, other than the traffickers that had put you there, when they dragged you out for another line up for another snobbish, stuck up and entitled Upper, or to beat you into submission, without something changing you.

You still had nightmares about being in that cell.

You also changed from all the things Henry exposed you too. New foods, tv shows and the luxury of being in the upper Sectors of London, like taking you to that Royal Dinner party with his family. Henry had taken the mostly naive and sheltered Slummer and opened the world up to you. You would always appreciate and love him for that, and for taking care of you and protecting you through the long months after saving you from Twist.

Henry and Kal had become your new home, and the three of you had made a new family.

“I love you, Henry Cavill, and nothing will ever stop or prevent that.” You told him, kissing his cheek tenderly.

“So, you'll come back home with me?” He asked, looking down at you, hopeful.

“I don't want to be anywhere else.” You replied, smiling back at him.

Henry's face broke out into a smile and cupped your face in his hands. “Neither do I.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours and kissed you.

“Henry!” A frantic voice came from across the hall.

“Mum!” Henry called back, breaking away from you. “Mum, over here.” He yelled out, limping to your room door as his mother rushed out of his empty room.

“Oh, thank god, Henry!” She cried, rushing him and throwing her arms around him.

“Easy, Mum.” He winced, but hugged her back. “How did you know I was here?” He asked, he hadn't gotten around to calling her and his family yet.

“A report came across my desk about you being injured in the line of duty with a Slummer, and that you were still recuperating here in the hospital. I was afraid it was serious, when you hadn't called me to tell me you were all right.” Marianne explained, shaking her head at her son. “What were you doing with some Slummer that caused you to get so hurt?” She demanded, upset.

“I hope they get the punishment they deserve for getting you into such danger.”

“Mum.” Henry snapped eyes wide and looked back at you.

Marianne blinked and looked into your room, seeing your sheepish and hurt expression, then looked up at Henry. “She's a Slummer?” She asked him, surprised, as she recognized you.

Henry took a deep breath, biting his lip. “We need to talk.” He said, stepping aside, so Marianne could enter your room and followed her, closing the door behind him.

“What's going on?” She asked, taking a seat as Henry sat back down on the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his.

“Several months ago, I was undercover in Sector Thirty-One. I was tasked with infiltrating a trafficking warehouse run by one of Benji Hernandez's men. I did so, with my usual skill and process, but after finally getting an appointment with the guy and seeing the people that had been imprisoned there, Dylan told me I had to—make a purchase—to nail the traffickers and for them to get properly arrested and prosecuted by the Councils.” He explained to her.

“One of the people they had kidnapped and had for sale, was her.” He said and looked at you, giving you a soft and loving smile. “So, I purchased her, and was meant to take care of her, until the trial happened and she testified.”

“So, you bought a Slum-”

“Don't call her that.” Henry hissed, angrily, but recalled himself. “Don't call her that.” He repeated, calmer.

Marianne took a deep breath, glaring at her son. “So, you bought her, in a sting operation, took her home and acted like none of this happened, taking her to events and other functions.” She summed up, studying the two of you. “When she is, technically, your Slave.”

“Yes. But, I don't and didn't want her as a Slave. That's why I never registered her for a Bracelet.” Henry replied, licking his lips.

“So, how did the two of you end up in Bristol, of all places?” She asked, looking between you.

“I ran away, to find my brother, who got himself into a situation, as a Runner, in Bristol.” You answered, before Henry could. “I wanted to go there to try and convince him to come back home. I didn't expect Henry to come after me, when he found out where I went.”

“But,” Henry sighed and bit his lip. “I did. I was worried about her safety, and Dylan asked me, unofficially, to bring her and her brother back here. So, she could testify at the trial and her brother could face justice for his hand in the whole thing.”

Marianne looked at you, her expression stern. “And where is your criminal brother?” She asked, stiffly.

You gulped and licked your lips, staring at your covered legs and picked at the fuzz on your blanket. “He's dead.” You whispered, choking up and tears filling your eyes. “He gave his life, so Henry and I could live and get away from Benji and his men.” You blubbered, crushed.

“Sshh.” Henry hushed you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you against him.

Marianne blinked between the two of you, taken aback.

“They tried torturing her location out of me, that's why I'm so injured. They wanted to kill her to stop the trial against Twist and their operations. I refused, for obvious reasons. She tried to save me, but got caught. When they realized her twin brother was her sibling, they brought him in as well. He died for us, and she got shot in the leg during the escape. Another undercover Marshal helped us get away and back here, to London.” Henry finished explaining to his mother.

“That's what happened.” He sighed, his eyes still on you.

“You're in love.” Marianne blurted out, seeing it as plain as day now.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, looking up at her. “I don't care that she was born in the lower Sectors, mum. I love her, with my heart and soul, and she loves me.”

“I do.” You replied, gulping down your tears and clinging onto him.

Marianne sighed and pressed her lips together, she had waited, a long time, for Henry to finally find someone to fall in love with and share his life. He was the last of the five Cavill boys to find love, settle down and start a family. If she was honest, she didn't care about what social standing the girl he fell in love with was, as long as he was happy, and by the looks of it, you and Henry were more than happy and in love with each other.

“All right.” She whispered softly, nodding her head. “I approve.”

Henry lifted his head and blinked at his mother. “Really?” He asked, shocked to hear it. “You don't care that she's from the lower Sectors?”

“Honestly, Henry? No.” She replied, sighing and shaking her head. “Love is love, and nothing is stronger than true love, not even differing social status.” She told him, honestly. “But, you both know that if, and when, people find out about it, there will be issues. They'll gossip and make comments, some might even turn away from you, shunning you for being with a Sl—someone of a lower standing.” She said, looking between the two of you with an authority of a Royal.

“Do you think you both, and your love, can survive that?”

You and Henry looked at each other, a silent conversation happening between you, before Henry looked back to his mother. “Yes.” He answered, firmly.

The two of you had gone through a lot worse than people talking behind your backs and shunning you.

“All right then.” Marianne replied, standing up. “Then, you have my, and no doubt the rest of the family's, approval, respect and support in the choice of your relationship.” She approached the bed, hugging Henry and kissing his cheek, then turned towards you.

You gulped at her, like a mouse getting stared down by a hungry cat, before she leaned in and hugged you as well; you were surprised by her move, but gave her a hug back. Breaking the hug, Marianne left the room, leaving you alone with Henry again.

“That went incredibly better than I thought it would.” Henry commented, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“You can say that again.” You agreed with him, staring at the open door of your room. “What do we do now, Henry?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Now, Nugget.” He smiled, kissing your forehead. “We get you well enough to go home.” He said, squeezing you against him.

Four days later, with the help of some crutches, you left the hospital with Henry, going back to his flat in Sector Two. Kal was over the moon to see you guys again, Charlie having dropped him off at the flat that morning. Henry had body block the Akita to keep him from knocking you over and harming you, until you were able to sit down on the couch and he was allowed to greet you; pressing himself against you and licking at your face.

“Yes, yes!” You laughed, hugging his thick neck, trying to calm him down. “We missed you too, Bear. We missed you just as much.” You told him, kissing his face back and giving him scratches.

After getting settled back in, Henry carefully picked you up, making you laugh as he did.

“Where are we going, Henry?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you through the flat.

“We are both absolutely filthy and need a proper shower.” He told you, going into the bathroom and setting you down on the sink counter. “Lucy!” He called out, looking up.

“Yes, Mr. Cavill?” His flat's AI replied.

“Start the shower on preset two, please.” He said, pulling off the clothing his mother had brought him, before you both left the hospital.

“Right away, sir.” Lucy replied, and the shower came to life.

“Here, let me help.” He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

“Thanks.” You smiled, then eased off the counter, balancing on your good leg and grasping Henry's forearm.

Marianne had even been kind enough to bring you clothes as well. So, Henry's hands dropped to the ties of your loose sweatpants and untied the knot, pushing them down your hips to pool around your bare feet. You half limped and half hopped under the spray of the hot shower head, making you moan and groan as it cascaded over your battered and sore body. Henry chuckled and stepped in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your wet hair.

“I love you, so very much.” He whispered to you. “I'm glad you came back with me.” He added, even softer.

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his hips. “I love you too, Henry, and I don't want to be anywhere that you're not.”

“Neither do I.” He replied, kissing you gently on the lips.

Dried blood, dirt and grim swirled around the shower drain as you and Henry helped clean each other off. You scrubbed his skin with an exfoliating sponge, careful of his cuts and stitches, as he washed your hair, then switched, Henry washing you as you washed his hair.

“There's almost no better feeling than that shower clean feel.” You said, limping into Henry's bedroom and snagged one of his shirts out of his closet, slipping it over your head. “It's such a euphoric feeling.”

“What feels better than that?” Henry asked, coming in after you and pulling on a loose pair of pajama bottoms.

You smirked up at Henry, impishly. “I think you know.” You chuckled at him.

Henry laughed, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, tenderly, but passionately on the lips. “I agree with that.” He said against your lips. “But, you know what else feels euphoric?” He asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Tell me?” You giggled at him.

“A nap in that bed.” He said, pointing to his bed.

“Oh yes.” You agreed, biting your lip and staring at it. “The clean and divine smelling sheets, the warm and cloud-like mattress and pillows.”

“It's an orgasm in itself.” Henry cooed, staring at his bed with a wanting lust.

“I vote we sleep in it for the next year.” You said, looking up at him.

“I vote, the next decade.” He added, looking down at you.

“Deal.”

Henry scoped you up, carrying you to bed, and laid down with you. Cocooned under the soft and clean sheets, both of you moaned, as you melted into the mattress, like warm butter. You snuggled together, wrapped in each other's arms, and almost sound asleep the moment everything settled in around you. 

“Lucy, go to night mode.” Henry mumbled, his body feeling like a ton of rocks, he was so tired.

“Yes, sir.” Lucy whispered back.

Everything went dark, heavy drapes closed over the windows, the lights went out, the doors locked and the air purifier went on, with the soothing sound of ocean waves filling the bedroom, and you and Henry were out cold within minutes.

You slept the rest of the day and well into the next, only getting up because your stomachs were growling for food and your bladders were screaming for release, then you both crawled back into bed and slept even longer. Henry was the first one to officially wake up from your long and deserved hibernation, he laid in bed with you, stroking your hair and the nap of your neck. He traced your face, placing delicate kisses to your eyes, between your brows, the tip of your nose, both cheeks and finally, softly, to your lips.

“Henry.” You whispered, a smile tugging on your lips, before your eyes fluttered open and met his sparkling blues.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked, the tip of his finger ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Warm, content and happy.” You answered, snuggling in closer to him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You?”

“The same.” Henry replied, nuzzling your hair. “We should go see your parents.” He said suddenly, biting the inside corner of his lip. “They deserve to know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead to his chest. You had been trying to avoid this, avoiding telling your parents that you had been kidnapped and sold by traffickers, to the man you were now madly in love with, and that their son was dead, having killed himself in the pursuit of saving you and Henry from the same outcome.

How do you tell them that? You asked yourself.

“I don't know how.” You mewled, squeezing his thick bicep, like it was a lifeline.

Henry frowned into your hair, stroking the small of your back. “With honesty.” He whispered back, his heart hurting for you.

You stood in front of the door to your family's flat and it felt alien, you didn't feel the familiar nostalgia of coming home, of seeing your family after a grueling and mindless fifteen hour shift at the supermarket. It felt like you were there for the very first time, as if you had never been there before and didn't belong. You could hear the noise inside the flat, your brother running around the place, playing with his toys.

Henry rested his hand on the small of your back and gave you an encouraging smile. Biting your lip, you mustered the courage to knock on the door, it didn't feel right to enter the pin and walk in. You fidgeted as you waited for the door to be open, absentmindedly rubbing your thigh as it throbbed with even the slightest bit of your weight on it.

Finally the door ripped open and Christophe looked at Henry first, his eyes growing with shock, then looked to you, where his face lit up with surprise.

“Issy!” He shouted, and launched at you.

“Fuck.” You snapped, catching him in your arms as Henry caught you in his, keeping you both from tumbling to the floor. “Easy, Christophe. I don't need any more injuries.” You tried to scold him, but only ended up laughing at him as he hung from his arms around your neck, feet dangling.

“Where have you been, Issy!” He demanded, letting go of you and looking between you and Henry. “Who's this?”

“Is mum and dad home, Chris?” You asked, smiling down at him, nervously ruffling his hair.

“Yeah!” Christophe nodded and rushed back into the flat. “Mummy! Dad! Issy's back!” He screamed running around the house.

You looked to Henry and took a deep breath, shoulders rising, rolled your eyes, and stepped into the flat. Henry followed behind you, as your parents rushed into the living room, hot on each other's heels.

“Oh my god!” Your mother gasped and scrambled to you.

“Easy.” You warned her, unable to take a second person jumping you, and motioned to your leg as she lifted a brow at you.

“What's happened to you?” Your father asked, blinking at your wrapped thigh.

“I was shot.” You sighed, figuring it was best to be open and honest, and not sugar coat too many things.

“What?” They both roared, horrified.

“You might want to sit down.” You said, motioning towards the sofas.

Looking at each other, your parents shooed Christophe back to his room and sat down on one couch while you and Henry sat on the love-seat, across from them. There was a long, and awkward, silence, before any of your spoke.

“I'm sorry, I've been gone for so long.” You started, squeezing Henry's hand for support and comfort. “There's been a lot going on, and I didn't, we didn't want to risk your, or Christophe's, safety.” You tried to explain the best you could.

“What are you talking about?” Your father frowned, shaking his head at you and Henry.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you came out with it. “After I went looking for Mikey, that day, I was tricked and taken by a group of Traffickers in Sector Thirty-One. I spent several months in their warehouse, I don't want to go into details, I think that's best.”

“Of course.” Your mother nodded, clutching your father's hand.

“Henry here, is a High Marshal with the Marshal Council.” You introduced him. “He was undercover, trying to get information on the people running the trafficking warehouse, when he—uh—“ You gulped hard.

“He purchased me from them.”

“You what?” Your father hissed at Henry.

“It was part of his job, papa.” You cut him off, before his temper flared too much. “He had to do it for paperwork and other Council stuff. After he did that, he took me back to his place in Sector Two.”

“Is that where you've been this whole time?” Your father asked, his eyes narrowed angrily at Henry.

“It is.”

“And you couldn't contact us?” Your mother asked, upset. “Sent us something to tell us you were alive and all right?”

“She wanted too, many times.” Henry finally spoke up. “But, her life was in serious danger, and if she contacted anyone close to her, like yourselves, you would have been in grave danger as well. So, we didn't contact you for that reason.” He explained to them, hoping to ease that conflict.

“And how did you get shot?” Your father asked, still angry.

“I found out where Mikey was going.” You answered, quietly. “He was heading to Bristol, to advance his training as a Runner.” You gulped and looked up at Henry. “I ran away from Henry, and went to Bristol, trying to find him. I knew he was going to be in a load of trouble and I wanted to try and prevent that; to make him come home.” You explained to them, starting to shake.

Henry wrapped an arm around you and hugged you against him. “You can do this.” He whispered into your ear, gently.

Nodding and clearing your throat, you continued. “Henry came after me, trying to get me to return to London with him.”

“But, she wouldn't come back without Mikey.” He added, nodding his head at you, his eyes only on you. “I was meant to bring her back, so she could testify against her captors. But, I was also meant to bring Michail in, for his part in the Running business.”

“When we got to Bristol and started looking for him, people were looking for me, and they found us.” You picked up the narrative. “They took Henry after he made sure I was out of the way and safe. They hurt him.” You said, looking at his still bruised and cut up face. “I tried to go after him, but they got me as well.”

“While all that was going on, they somehow found out that Mikey and I were related and brought him in as well, locking us all in the same room.”

You stopped talking, trying to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed and turning into a sobbing mess. Your parents sat there for a long time, watching you try to control yourself and got the feeling something very bad had happened, worse than everything you were telling them.

“Where is Michail?” Your mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He's-” You licked your lips and shook your head, unable to get it out of your mouth.

“I am sorry to inform you both.” Henry replied for you. “But, Michail didn't make it.” He said gently, using his High Marshal voice, the only way he knew how to say it to your grieving parents.

“They were forcing me to decide which of the three of us would go first.” You sobbed, shaking. “Mikey made the choice to take his own life, so we could live.”

Your mother wailed and threw herself on your father, howling and sobbing, screaming at the top of her lungs about the loss of her beautiful and precious boy. You sat there with Henry, clinging onto him and wincing at each terrible and heartbreaking cry your mother made into your father's neck. Your father sat there, stoically, but silently crying as he held her and rocked back and forth.

“I'm sorry.” You whined at them, drained. “I tried. I tried so hard to bring him back.” You mewled at them, crushed.

Your father's eyes were on Henry as they both comforted the women they loved. “And you, what do you get in all this?” He asked, suspicious. “You bought my daughter, are you going to keep her from her family, still?”

“No, sir.” Henry replied, frowning back at him. “I love your daughter. I have treated her as my equal from the moment I saw her, and she will always be my equal. I don't want her as a Slave or a Servant.” He looked at you and wiped your tears away.

“I just want her.” He whispered, smiling gently at you. “Forever and always.”

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #The Immortal Sky *Fic* #The Immortal Sky #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill x You #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill/Reader #Language #Angst #Dystopian #Dystopian!AU #futuristic #Futuristic!AU #Henry Cavill AU #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #Final Chapter #viking-raider fics #Trauma

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 19

Description:

Notes: WC: 4.5k

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They had yet to tell you the master's name.

You weren't allowed to stand next to Ahkmen in line, either. They wanted you lined up by size, leaving you at the smaller end, and Ahk at the taller. After scanning the new recruits––of which there were only six new people––the estate's stewardess assigned you to gardening, and Ahk to patrol.

"Okay," you said with a nod despite no one else in line saying anything in response to their assignment. "I also do clean good."

The stewardess cocked a single brow.

"You can do that as well then. Share shifts with Zakiti," she said, pointing to a young girl digging into the loose dirt of the garden.

You bowed your head deeply before the six of you were set loose on the property, your slots established. Ahkmen followed you into the sun for a moment before someone caught him, bringing him back to the small hut he'd just been in, and where the tools were kept. He was handed a guard's outfit––long, white robes, unflattering, and reaching all the way to his ankles and wrists. An instant distaste grew on Ahk.

"I have to wear this?" Ahk asked the man, but fortunately he was speaking Egyptian, and the stranger could not understand him.

The job did, to your great comfort, afford you food that was given out in plentiful rations, and despite the dull taste, Ahk found himself enjoying beer and bread in the beating afternoon sun, though he wasn't allowed much due to time constraints. He'd been working throughout the whole day, circling the whole of the property in search of any trespassers. Lean muscles were now strained beneath the weight of his body and of the strange clothes, though certainly no more than his backpack was, and he often found himself rubbing his aching shoulders. He couldn't see his skin there properly, but he was half convinced he was genuinely bruised.

What was hardest about the job didn't end up being the heat, the strain on his muscles, or the overstimulation of long skirts and sleeves––it was the absence of you that he noticed above anything else. No one to listen to the strange comments during the day, a slot that had, for a while, been filled by Piye, and then more recently by you.

You always had something more fun to say. Sometimes way out of range from his own thought process, and sometimes reading his mind exactly.

And he wasn't there to hear what you had to say, either, in those random moments when deep thoughts blurted out in rough translations.

Later in the afternoon––bordering on evening––you were called back to the servant's quarters to be dismissed. The stewardess gave the six of you a rough look at your future schedules, revealing your hours to be lax and concentrated to only three or four days in the ten day week. You and Ahk side-eyed each other, ready to jump out of line at any moment with excitement as you bit back a grin.

The moment she said 'dismissed' you flocked to one another, automatically heading towards your quarters without word.

"I have been with thoughts, all day," you began, moving your hands animatedly. "We need to go to the beer house, like," you pointed over your shoulder, "you know?"

"The one from yesterday?" He asked in mild confusion.

"Yes!"

"Well I haven't got anything else to do," he said, looking to you with a lop-sided grin that you eagerly returned.

Even in the increasingly late hours of the day the market was aflame with life, filled with open carts and tables now half-empty after a long day of business. Ahkmen never had a job before––at least, not one that didn't have to do with politics or, very rarely, singing. Neither of those were any bit like the job he now had, standing on his feet for hours on end, watchful eyes patrolling a property that didn't and never would belong to him.

That ache continued in his chest, a feeling of tiredness that attempted to lag him down as he followed your excited steps. Unlike him, you were accustomed to physical labor, and retained much of your energy despite the hours of cleaning.

Orange and yellow tarps still hung above the darkened market, now blocking nothing more than the stars that shone a little dimmer than the two of you were used to. The small, red flags fluttered high above you in the gentle breeze coming off the Euphrates, twinned by the still fresh scents of baking bread and cooking beer. You needed only to follow the scent and the crowds that grew larger the further you got down the wide, stone street, coalescing into a large city center built by shops, bakeries, breweries, and glassmakers surrounding a pyre of white stone.

Winged creatures on four feet and bearing a man's head were carved into the large pillar, mounted by a disc resembling the light of the sun. Other such decorations trailed all the way down to the base, where lax soldiers lay among the ascending steps, their spears and swords at their side, and their mouths occupied by a stew whose scent tantalized the both of you.

"Did you eat today?" Ahkmen asked, unable to stop staring at the clay bowls steaming with the soup.

"I had a bread, in the - the kitchen," you said quietly.

"Hungry?"

"Yes, yes, we will eat?" You asked as you turned to him.

"I'd like to, considering I didn't really eat anything today," he said with a frown.

"What?? They did not let you eat?"

"More of I didn't have the chance," he said as he scratched the back of his neck, scanning the city square.

"I say we do get beer," you said, speaking slowly so as to fully think through your plan, "then we go to the house, and take their food. It is their job to feed you, yes? We work for them, they give food."

"Ah, Yogi," he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug, "I knew there was a reason I followed you to the end of the earth."

"We are not at the end of the earth now, not yet," you said with a chuckle.

"I will follow you there," he said in a sudden, sincere softness.

You looked up at him and said, "I know," though you chuckled and gave him a funny look.

Thick, warm, and sweet––the beer of Babylon was more similar to porridge than it was to the almost juice-like qualities of Egypt, and by extension your, brewing. You both held one of the large mugs given to you, sitting on the raised half-wall between the public center and the roofless brewery establishment. Below you, women and men churned the alcoholic mixture, and across from you wandered older shoppers and off-guard soldiers.

Both of you raised your cups at the same time, taking a long, slurping gulp as you looked each other directly in the eye. Laughs bubbled in the beer, forcing you to lower the cup and wipe your chin on your sleeve as you giggled. He chuckled as he lowered his mug in a more graceful manner than you had.

"Hey, weren't you here yesterday?" A woman asked in Akkadian. It caught your attention, but to Ahk, it was just part of the conversations he couldn't understand, so he didn't notice until you responded to her.

"Yes I was here," you said grinning, offering a small wave to what Ahkmen now saw to be one of the brewers, her skin glowing in the firelights beneath the churners.

Her skirt was long, the frail edge of it dragging along the ground over neat, red fabric shoes. Despite the modest skirt, she had no sleeves, and the white linen veiled her muscled body, smooth dips and veins built from the nature of her work. Long, curly black hair was pinned in a bun, with neat strands hanging from the pins like vines from a tree. Even with her dark skin he could see a blush on her flushed cheeks.

"Ah," she huffed, wiping her brow, "I thought you looked a little odd."

"Odd?" You questioned with a laugh.

"Well your friend is dressed very... um, different," she said as she gestured to Ahk, who was back in his Egyptian skirt. "You from Egypt, sir?"

"Oh, he does not speak Akkadian," you said.

At this point, Ahk knew you were talking about him, since the lady gestured to him and you brushed him off. The two of you continued for a moment more, the stranger's gaze switching between you and him as incomprehensible words flooded from her mouth before she finally said something he understood.

"You, uh, you speak Sumerian?" She said, and Ahk perked up.

"Yes, I do," he said, glancing between you two. "Yogi doesn't, though. How do you know Sumerian? I thought it was a... a dead language."

"I could ask you for the same," she chuckled, "but my brother is a priest. I live with him, he shows me much of what he does."

"Ah, alright," he said with a nod. "I learned from school in Egypt, trained in the temples to be a priest."

How easily the lie came to him now. Why wouldn't it? No one was around to know any different.

She nodded with him, but before she could reply, you were interrupting and her focus was back on you. You said something followed by your name, and with her reply you muttered to Ahk her name––Tiamat.

Ahkmen managed to finish his beer while you two were still speaking in tongues. Not too great a task for a man of his stomach, but the entire time he was sipping away he could think of nothing more than the feeling of alienation. The languages of the three of you were all mixed up, meaning he couldn't talk to her without excluding you, and you couldn't talk to her without ignoring him, a predicament with ended in the latter's solution.

In the meantime, you were hitting it off rather well with Tiamat; you got to tell her that you'd experimented with your own types of beer, and she was interested––at least mildly so––in your foreign recipes. It wasn't long until she noticed Ahk's silent eyes staring at you, and suggested something you translated to Ahk.

"There is a... a house of books and scrolls near to here," you said. "If you are tired to being here."

A black hole swelled in the pit of his stomach, instilling a sick feeling where his beer once was. He glanced between you.

It would be the first time he was willingly parted from you in months.

"Sure," he said slowly, repeating the word in Sumerian to Tiamat.

She gave him the directions and he left in a fluster, confused and somewhat disappointed in himself. He was a little confused as to the actual directions to the library, but the large building stuck out sorely amongst the middle and lower class homes, tiled in dark blue and having much of a stature of a temple rather than a library. No one came and went from the door, but the scent of searing meat was suddenly overpowered by burning incense. The mark of an inhabited and frequently prayed in temple.

Arches led to extensive gardens, held alight by the glowing moon shining above. There were few clouds out tonight, allowing a better view of the sky––a view reflected in the patterns of the gardens. Riverwater flowed through the terrace as the Milky Way split the sky, the stars marked by flowering trees that bloomed in deep red and a pure, clean white. Beyond the garden stood the temple itself, once more the center of his attention, and once more rising beyond the walls that encircled it.

Stairs led up into the heavens and towards the first door, a strong, metal gate left unprotected.

He slowly entered, passing through the open doors and into a dark threshold. Ripples and veins of wood ran beneath his fingertips, trailing across the large doors, their bolts hanging open and unlocked. His mouth went dry as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Despite the grand stature and preparations for the temple, the first room there was very little––containing not much more than a strange candle sat in front of a small idol representing a bloodied man. Red paint, or perhaps actual blood, was smeared across his face, leading down in claw marks to the offerings at his feet. Ahk's jaw gritted tight as he attempted to swallow through a tight throat.

Two doors flanked the wall behind the statuette. Light flooded suddenly in the pitch black room, only to disappear, the subtle roar of torchlight moving with it. In that single moment, within which the light appeared, Ahkmen's mouth fell open as writings were revealed upon the walls, carved in every available surface, their depths sharpened by harsh light.

Like Egypt, the comings and goings of rituals for the Gods overpowered any prayers citizens might have, leaving only the small entrance room for people to pray at. From there Ahk could safely assume that he would not be allowed in the inner temples, especially since he was a foreigner. Whatever scrolls or tablets Tiamat knew about were inaccessible to him, leaving him alone and directionless in the Babylonian temple, separated from everything comfortably familiar.

He knelt, though he wasn't sure why, and looked the statue straight on. At the stone base was script, cuneiform pressed into clay and announcing the God's name.

"Utu Shamash," he mumbled, reading the words aloud. The Sun God of Babylonian myth.

It made sense, considering the offerings of gold beads and wine in golden chalices––Utu was known as a lover of gold, as it was the lifeblood of the sun. And even though Utu Shamash was the God of the sun, his equal was the presence of Ma'at––the Goddess of truth and justice––instead of Ra, a more widely known God of Egypt.

He took advantage of the rarity of such quiet moments, and delved back into the studies he left behind in Osiris' temple, namely the study of cuneiform writing. The temple must've been an older one––which would explain the somewhat smaller size––as the words in the walls were a script he could recognize, the familiar Sumerian of thousands of years ago. Whoever took power in Mesopotamia could never outrule the hidden language, and thus the words persisted even into modern day. Singing and glowing off the stone.

You suspend from the heavens the circle of the lands

And everything that Ea, King of the counsellors, had created is entrusted to you.

Whatever has breath you shepherd without exception,

You are their keeper in upper and lower regions.

Regularly and without cease you traverse the heavens,

Every day you pass over the broad earth. . . .

Shepherd of that beneath, keeper of that above,

You, Shamash, direct, you are the light of everything.

His gaze fell from the blurry words to the small statue. At some point he had fallen to his knees in front of the altar, his chin resting on the surface holding up the offerings of the people. Staring into its' eyes brought recollection to him, and he remembered the wooden totem he had worked on throughout the Shamiyah desert, how avidly he hid it in hopes of surprising you. He shoved it in his bag somewhere around Rapiqum for the last time, and since then it was hidden beneath his belongings.

There was little else he could think to do in the small praying room, so he left on quiet footsteps, retreating away from manmade majesty and back into the natural flora scattered along the path back to main streets. Chirping crickets digressed into quiet conversation, leather sandals walking across brick stone streets, and the ever-present sound of crackling fires.

He returned to the small circle in which he'd left you, as he only remembered the path back to the estate from that single spot. When he crossed the plaza, he spotted the open-roofed brewer, and made his way across to inform you on his future whereabouts.

Peering over the ledge, he found you still enraptured in your conversation with the brewer. She appeared to be showing you the mixing process required for the porridge-type beer. Ahk jogged down the stairs and over to you.

"Aganu!" You said brightly, a very sudden smile overtaking your earlier seriousness. "How is the books?"

"Couldn't, uh, get inside. It's alright. They had writings on the walls, um – I'm headed back to the estate," he set a hand on your shoulder, "so shall I meet you there?"

"Yes, yes, I will come back close to now," you said with a nod.

"Alright," he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before he bid a hasty good-bye, waving himself out of the brewery. Your giggle followed him.

Things got quieter and less crowded the closer he got to the estate––whose owner he still didn't know––and by the time he stood before the servant's entrance, most of the lights in houses had gone out. The small, hostel-like accommodations for the servants still had a burning rushlight within, dimly illuminating the filled and empty bunks.

He squinted slightly to see through the wooden gate, his brow furrowing. There were very few beds left unoccupied.

With a long sigh he unlatched the gate in the way the stewardess taught him, quietly closing it behind him when he padded through with careful steps. His gaze was drawn to the small patio outside the hut––where you and him were assigned to your respective jobs––and there he spotted the bags the two of you left behind. He knelt and dug into his pack, drawing out his knife and the wooden totem that had been chipped into a much smaller size.

A whiff of the air from inside the bunk revealed to him that they weren't burning a rushlight; they were burning incense, drifting out in gentle smoke that pooled beneath the patio roof. He looked up, chuckling as he ran his hand through the thick clouds.

He took a seat on the dusty earth, his raised knees supporting his elbows that allowed for the proper movement of carving. The knife in his hand had dulled over time, matching to fit the refining scrapes Ahk was now using, smoothing out the harsher edges of the image within. Every now and then he glanced upwards, and each time he found the stars still veiled past the light of the city. He sighed, looked to the gate in hopes of seeing you, and returned to his wood carving after two minutes of silence.

Snoring hummed quietly from inside the servant's quarters, followed by rustling sheets and a smack of skin against skin. Ahk's eyes widened as he heard someone curse in Akkadian. Another slap and then silence.

A little while later, clinking metal and swinging hinges had his head shooting up to see you. A grin split across his face and he stood, abandoning his wood and knife on the ground in favor of jogging over to you.

"Aganu," you said in a giggle, gladly returning his hug when he scooped you up into his arms.

He picked you up easily, spinning you around in slow circles across the garden as your laughter followed in twirls. He chuckled as he set you down, his hands remaining on your waist, and his heart thumping like thunder.

"How was brewing?" He asked.

"So good," you giggled. "I did miss it for more than I think."

"Understandable. You do know a lot about it, after all," he said with a shrug.

"A little. We should eat now," you said, walking past him and leading him to follow you without word or gesture.

The main house of the estate wasn't an especially large house, but it was tall. Three different floors rose out of the ground like pikes, the edges rimmed with decorated shards of cutting stone, and the stairs guarded by figures of Lamassu, though they were much smaller than some of the statues he'd seen in other parts of Babylon.

Of course, that wasn't the wisest entry point. On the back side of the house, opposite of the street-facing side, a doorway led in to the kitchens illuminated by the windows built into the thick, stone walls.

Large domed brick furnaces were built into the home, but the storage cases were all made of wood and completely moveable. None of that mattered, however, because all of the food itself was kept in a storeroom below the ground, a fact you found out after speaking with Zakiti, your coworker. Long accustomed to the art of sneaking, the two of you easily snuck down the stairs and into the underground storage. basement.

A chill set over your skin, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. Every tiny scrape of your shoes against the dirty floor had tiny specks of dirt grinding against each other, producing an unpleasant sound that nearly woke the landowners.

You picked a variety of things, too scared of taking multiples of one object and getting caught by the missing evidence. Once everything was chosen, you and Ahk hid the food in the folds of your clothes, and ran back across the estate to the servant's house.

He barely caught his breath before you were climbing up the stone walls of the bunk, using the wooden pegs to left yourself up to the roof. Ahkmen chuckled, but something else came to mind, and he rushed off to grab something else before he joined you in the midnight stillness. In the end, however, he required your help in lifting everything up, and that left nothing to surprise you with but the totem he could carry in his hand while he climbed.

He huffed as he landed beside you. While waiting for him you'd set out the blanket he fetched, the length of it laying flat on the mud roof baked in the sun. You already had your lute in hand, small fingers tapping thoughtlessly over the strings as he revealed what he'd hidden from you for a good while now; an object of his vigilant attention.

Your mouth fell open when you saw it, drawing a breath between your lips that caught in your throat.

It wasn't of anyone distinctive. Technically. The proportions gave away far more than he was comfortable with, but you'd already seen it now, and there was no taking that back. For weeks he'd been carving the image of two people embracing, one much taller than the other, who pulled the smaller's head into its' chest, an abstract hand petting the absent hair. The only features actually shown on the two were their eyes––closed, and quietly so, with no strain or note of fear.

He let you stare until he grew uncomfortable with your silence, which ended up happening rather quickly as he boiled in his own blushing.

"What do you think of it?" He asked in a voice that nearly cracked.

"I... it is beautiful," you murmured, your hands going lax around the instrument.

You reached forward as he handed it to you, and you held it with such a tender, careful touch that Ahk wished for a moment he was the statue instead. It was a very long moment that stretched into near painful yearning.

"This is what you made in the Shamiyah?" You said, tearing your eyes away from the figures to meet his gaze.

"Yes, well.. I... I had a lot of time," he partway mumbled, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his gift to you. There were edges and areas he could've added better detail.

"And I had a lot of time," you said with a chuckle. "But I did not make any thing. It is beautiful, Aganu."

Burning desire to hear his name. His true name. Not once had you uttered it in any way not befitting a stranger.

"Thank you," he choked out after forcing down the words you're beautiful.

How pathetically cliche, how his cheeks burned even brighter yet, his imagination just barely reigned in by his common sense. He couldn't just kiss you––you depended on him for safety to get to a new home after your last became intolerable, and breeching that trust wasn't something he was so readily prepared to do.

So instead he looked at you, ignoring how his gaze always fell to your lips, ignoring how he leant into you without ever having to feel your touch. Pathetic, he thought, and drew himself back, restraining his rampant thoughts. It all faded as you plucked at the strings, the hum of it filling up the space between you with warmth. Stars that crested your face fell to the earth in the form of fireflies that floated around you.

But you wouldn't sing. You looked to him, waiting for him to start, and giggling when he remained in his strange trance.

"You are the singing, yes?" You said quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping servants below the rooftop.

"Oh," he said, his back straightening. "Um, alright."

He recalled many of the poems and songs he'd heard at festivals, as well as the more popular ones sung in the house of life. His eyes flickered up to the red dot on your forehead above your brow.

"My love is one and only, without peer, lovely above all Egypt's lovely girls," he began to sing, keeping as quiet as you kept your playing. "On the horizon of my seeing, see her rising, glistening Goddess of the sunrise star; bright in the forehead of a lucky year. So there she stands, epitome of shining, shedding light, her eyebrows gleaming darkly, marking eyes which dance and wander."

He let out a long sigh as he lay down, stretching his arms above his head before he released them, one falling on his stomach, and the other extended to you. You chuckled at his sleepy mannerisms, continuing to pluck thoughtlessly.

"Tired?" You asked.

"Yes," he mumbled, his eyes falling blissfully shut.

The wooden lute clattered against the mud roof before fabric shifted and you were lying next to him, balanced on your side to face him. He turned to you and opened his eyes. You were much closer than he thought.

Neither of you said a word; silence in the hazy stare between you. Ahk only noticed his brow was knotted when it began to ache, at which point he also realized he'd raised his hand, and the back of his fingers were tracing down your cheek. No going back now––you still stared at him head-on, blinking slowly as he drew in a shaky breath.

His fingers drew the rest of the way down to your jaw, melting him at the soft warmth of your skin.

You're going to drive me mad.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader

[sparklingchan]

Mischief Managed || Kim Doyoung(NCT)

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Doyoung

Word count : 7k+

Warnings : A few cuss words here and there, gets suggestive towards the end, not proof read I’m sorry :(

Genre : Fluff, a hint of angst , romance, Hogwarts au, fake dating au.

Description: You are forced to befriend Kim Doyoung under unexpected circumstances but as two lonely souls meet, you find yourself enjoying his company a little too much.

A/N : I had the idea for this fic while I was travelling but I was too lazy to actually write it until recently. Harry Potter aus just never seem to bore me no matter how many times I write them ( it’s fate at this point XD)

Enjoy!

Doyoung is bad at taking criticism. Not even sulky bad but angry, tantrum throwing bad. He'd rather be slapped than criticized. Metaphorically, of course.

"What do you mean she won't go on a date with me?" Doyoung hisses ,his voice an octave lower than usual. The bedroom consisting of three noisy boys suddenly falls silent at his words. For the first time in forever.

Jaehyun shifts in his place , the soft mattress dipping under his weight. He looks at his friend full of concern. "Look , you're not the only person trying to ask her out. I heard that some Gryffindor boys were trying to shoot their shot this morning. And that's just the beginning."

Doyoung clenches his blanket into his fists, "Claire is mine. They can't have her."

Johnny scoffs from his bed , his eyes never leaving the book he had been reading from the past one week, "Are you sure the sorting hat did a good job by putting you into Ravenclaw? That pride of yours sure does sound like Slytherin to me."

"Oh shut up. That's not even the point right now. I need Claire to go on a date with me. It's not a matter of interest anymore, it's a matter of pride. I will not back down just because there's competition." Doyoung shoots back.

The boys' room erupts with Johnny and Jaehyun's laughter, their beds shaking with vibrations and their voices probably disturbing the people sitting outside in the Ravenclaw common room. But it's been a long time since either of them have cared for what other people say. Ever since the three boys met on the Hogwarts Express six years ago , they've been inseparable, finding a home , a family in each other. And as time passes by, they're only formulating a stronger bond , unbeknown to the rest of the world.

By the time Jaehyun and Johnny come down from their laughter high, Doyoung is already throwing a fit , muttering under his breath , and clutching his blanket like his life depended on it. Typical angry Kim Doyoung.

"Everything else is fine, Dodo, but does Claire even know you?" Jaehyun asks, fanning his red face.

"Of course not , Jae. But in the sea of all the other boys ,she'd obviously notice our Doyoung first!"

Doyoung sucks in a deep,frustrated breath, reaching under his pillow to find his wand - Alder Wood, Dragon heartstrings core (11 inch) - his one true best friend.

"Aguamenti." Doyoung murmurs, ponting his wand at them. With a big splashing sound , a stream of water squirts out from the end of the wand , wetting everything that comes in contact with it - including Jaehyun and Johnny and everything else they possess.

That night , as the two boys try to dry themselves and the rest of their belongings, Doyoung stares up at the wooden ceiling, carved beautifully into swirls and waves and flowers ,he wonders why his friends think he wouldn't be able get Claire to go out with him, why did they make it seem so hard when it really wasn't.

His ego feels hurt, injured even. Maybe Johnny is right - maybe Doyoung is more Slytherin than Ravenclaw, but it didn't matter anymore. Because the Slytherin princess Claire would be his by the time Halloween arrives, no matter what and his ego and pride would be restored.

Or at least that is what he had initially planned.

 ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Everyone has that one subject they truly hate with every fiber of their being. They might not be particularly good or bad at it , but they often wonder the significance of this immeasurably disliked subject in their lives. For Doyoung, it is the potions class.

Brewing potions, remembering the recipes, knowing the job of each ingredient seemed too heavy a job for a divination loving man like Doyoung. Potions is way too practical, way too boring.

"Psst, Jae." The class must have been going on for about barely ten minutes when Doyoung decides he's had enough and that he would rather get in trouble for disturbing his friends.

"Jae, I'm bored. Johnny is in quidditch practice too." Doyoung pokes Jaehyun's back with the end of his wand. The latter squirms in his seat, subtle enough to not disturb anyone in the class, who unlike a certain Kim Doyoung were attentively listening to the professor.

"What?" Jaehyun turns back only enough to meet Doyoung's bored gaze.

"I think I'm going to ask Claire out today. During dinner. What do you think?" Doyoung whispers.

Jaehyun shakes his head , putting his quill down on the table, "Are you sure? You guys haven't even talked properly yet."

Doyoung stays silent for a few seconds because yes, Jaehyun is right. He doesn't even know what she likes , where is she from, who her friends are but he is willing to take the risk. For someone as beautiful as Claire, Doyoung would risk the whole world.

"I mean I can try, right?"

There's a sudden scoff escaping from your lips - whose name Doyoung never bothered to ask - sitting next to Jaehyun, the green of your robe hinting at your belongingness to Slytherin. "You're stupid, Kim Doyoung. Claire is not going to go out with you. Especially not when you're being such a creep." You say, your eyes fixed on the professor and your quill writing notes in quick movements.

Creep? Did you just call Doyoung a creep?

"Y/n, it's none of your business." Jaehyun rolls his eyes , "Stay out of it."

"Why? Is Mr.Snowflake here too egoistic to face the truth?" You turn around to look at Doyoung, a smirk finding it's way to your lips.

Doyoung clenches his fists, nibbling at his bottom lip as anger fills him up like water filling up in an empty jar; quick and to the brim.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion, " he says, then bitterly adds, "Miss Y/n ,who no one happens to care much about."

The sound of scratching of quills and quiet mutter of spells fills the air for a few seconds before you say something.

"I'm not giving you my opinion, it's just an advice. From first hand experiences. Many men have tried to win Claire over yet only a few of them have ever succeeded. " you say, "And boys like you often tend to seek her only because she's good looking so she actively makes sure to avoid your kind. ,"

Jaehyun looks at you ,stunned, "How do you know all that? Are you guys friends?"

Doyoung is not sure what to say anymore - he's as confused as Jaehyun is, maybe a tad bit more. For someone he'd properly talked to for the first time today, you sure do have a lot to say about his personal choices and ambitions. Big words do not faze him anymore.

"No , we're not friends." You giggle, "I'm her cousin. You almost couldn't tell, right?"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"It's finally Hogsmade weekend again. I thought I was going to suffocate in that stupid common room of ours." Johnny sighs , waddling towards his bed and slumping down like a little boy.

"Yes, I also need a cup of butter beer the first thing we arrive there." Jaehyun says, "What about you, Dodo?"

Dodo ,on the other hand is far too gone in the sea of his thoughts to pay heed to what his friends have to say. His eyes are on the patterns of the ceiling but his mind is with Claire and mostly with you, who he unintentionally might have offended today during potions class. Doyoung didn't have any particular interest in you per se but as Claire's cousin, it is important for Doyoung to be accepted by you first. You might be a know-it-all ,annoying and ghostly but he needs to befriend you again, start everything from scratch. And who knows ,if he got lucky enough, you'd put in a word or two on his behalf to Claire.

"What's he thinking about?" Johnny whispers to Jaehyun, "Did something happen?"

Jaehyun shrugs, "Usually, I'd say he's thinking about Claire but today,I'm not so sure."

The next morning is as noisy as all of their Hogsmade mornings have been. Doyoung only remembers hearing Jaehyun's yells and Johnny's giggles and the Hufflepuff girls singing a beautiful Winter song on the journey to Hogsmade village.

No matter how hectic it is, he has always liked these weekends the best.

"Have they changed their services to self service or what?" Johnny asks ,tapping the marble surface of the table in the Three Broomsticks, "Where's Madam Rosmerta?"

Doyoung shrugs ,his eyes scanning the unusually quiet room. He realises that the only company they have is the empty chairs and tables and the flying bottles of water emptying themselves into small glasses. "Should we just grab our drinks and put the money on the counter?" Jaehyun offers.

Before either of them could answer, the main door of the room slams open, urgent with force and the three boys see you rush inside, panting and huffing and murmuring. Your hair is messy and your clothes are disheveled, yet Doyoung thinks you look...different. Different from what you look like at school at least. Better ,even.

"I'm sorry I'm late. We weren't expecting guests so early. I hope I-" you stop mid sentence when you realize Doyoung and the other two boys were the only ones in the pub, "Oh. It's just you three."

"Yes,y/n, it's just us. Can you get us three butterbeers please?" Jaehyun says.

You sigh with disappointment. A 'hi, y/n, how are you?' would have been nice but then again when has anyone ever bothered to greet you with so much sweetness? Jaehyun and you are study partners , to say in a way. You never bothered to befriend him and he never bothered to do the same so that's just how its been since first year - studying together in the library and pretending the other person doesn't exist under normal circumstances. You liked it that way but sometimes, just sometimes you did wish Jaehyun tried to treat you in a more friendly way.

"What's she doing here?" Doyoung ,who is genuinely taken aback by your presence, asks.

"She works part time here. Madam Rosmerta is a family friend of hers." Jaehyun answers.

If Madam Rosmerta is a family friend of yours then she must be a family friend of Claire too, Doyoung connects in his head, and Claire's name somehow ignites a fire of enthusiasm within him.

He drags his chair across the floor and gets up , walking toward the counter where you're working. A little nervous Doyoung is , but he still manages to start a conversation with you, "Hey, y/n ,right?"

You swiftly twirl your wand around in the air , and ten cups of butterbeer and gillyweed water present themselves on a tray. You turn away from him to clean up the other plates , "What do you need?"

"I um..wanted to apologize for the insensitive comment I made yesterday. We started off on the wrong foot, I'm really sorry." He says, rubbing the back of his neck. Autumn is starting to set in slowly, but Doyoung feels the sweat sticking to his skin as if it were a hot summer morning.

You pause for a second. What was he apologizing for? You honestly couldn't recall and whatever it might have been, you are sure that it wasn't worse than what your other classmate have said before ; which is why you don't remember Doyoung's supposed insensitive comment.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, " You say, "I've had worse, actually."

Doyoung's heart drops - there is no phrase more pain inducing than the one you'd just spewed out so carelessly. And for some god forbidden reason, Claire suddenly slips out of his conscience mind.

"No, no. I want to start anew. Be your friend." Doyoung insists, leaning against the cold wooden counter.

You sigh, "Are you sure that's what your intention is? Because I don't think so. "

Doyoung scowls, "Of course that's my intention. What else would it be, y/n?"

You swing your wand and three glasses of butterbeer arrive directly in front of him. His eyes widen for a split second but he bounces back quickly.

"Just say that you need help with Claire." You sigh.

Oh,right ,Claire. Shit how could I forget? Doyoung feels silly.

"I mean...in a way yes. But that's for the later part. Let's first be friends, yeah?"

You shake your head , "If I help you out with Claire ,will you stop trying to be my friend?"

You absolutely despise yourself at times like these - when you are trying so hard to push people away when they're only trying to befriend you (for whatever reason it might be). You're so lonely yet so afraid of attachments that you always tend to do this. The same repeated routine. You hate it. You sometimes wonder what it would feel like to be in Claire's place, to be loved by everyone, to have people lining up just to take you out on one date . But it would never happen, because Claire is Claire : the Slytherin Princess and you are just you..someone who has barely ever talked to more than one person at school.

Doyoung gulps and then nods, "Okay. I will." Because befriending a Slytherin outcast will never be more important than scoring a date with the Slytherin Princess.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The Hogwarts Library is most empty during noon, something which you've concluded with years of experience and getting shoved out of your seat by your classmates who are way above you on the social ladder.

"So, " Doyoung finds a comfortable seat opposite to you , his hands fiddling with the pages of his diary, " how have you been?"

You give him a tired smile, "Can we get straight to point? I hate casual conversation. "

Doyoung snickers, "Wow, aren't you approachable today."

You lean back into your chair , eyes scanning Doyoung's face for any signs of regret . You'd never been the warm, bright sunshine kind of a person and you have accepted it without much protest. But of course, people take a lot of time to grow used to your sharpness and more often than not, people walk away even before you soften around them. It's a survival mechanism, you always convince yourself.

"What do you want help with? Do you want to know about her interests or past relationships or something else ?"

Doyoung pouts, his mind filling up with all sorts of ideas to impress Claire. It's like he's hit a jackpot by meeting you.

"I want to know what I have to do to gain Claire's interest. Be her friend and then eventually, a boyfriend, if I'm lucky enough." He suggests.

"First of all ,you need to stop gawking at her from afar. You need to start conversations with her ,no matter how short. She likes it when people approach her first." Talk about having a big ass ego.

"Okay, noted." One quick wave of his hand and his quill is immediately noting down sentences in his diary, " You seem to know her quite well. You guys are close, I am assuming."

You and Claire used to be close. Used to. In the past tense. As children you were inseparable, but as you slowly grew up, she realised how boring and uncool you were and that you belong to the shadows while she belongs in the spotlight. She's not tried to talk to you first for a long time now. But you weren't about to explain all of this to Doyoung, who is visibly smitten by your estranged cousin so you just shake your head , "No, not anymore."

Your ears perk up at the unexpected sound of approaching footsteps towards you and before you could ask Doyoung to relocate to a more secluded area, you hear her loud and clear voice.

Claire.

"Oh, hey, Doyoung!" She greets the man in front of you, walking upto his side. Her shiny shoes creating a tip-tap noise against the floor, and the green of your robe almost feels dull as compared to her bright one.

When her eyes fall on you,  her mouths twists as if she had one of those stupid vomit flavored chocolates. "What are you doing here, y/n?" She sneers at you.

If you could ever get a hold of the invisibility cloak, the first thing you'd do is slap this bitch right across her face. She has always had this sense of superiority , even when she's never done anything quite as heroic or deserving of that fame. And it infuriates you even further when you see Doyoung freeze in his seat, eyes glued to Claire's face.

"We were studying. I was about to leave now anyway." You mumble , gathering your books and tucking them under your arm.

When Doyoung hears your chair drag across the floor , he snaps out of his trance.

Why were you leaving? You promised you'd help, why couldn't you put away your past tensions and deal with it?

"Hey, where are you going?" He grabs your arm out of the blue, sending a wave of shock jolting through your body.

You immediately pull your hand back, "I'm hungry. I want to eat something."

Claire glares at the two of you and how suspicious your behavior is , you'd always been weird but she never took Doyoung for the weird kind at all.

You quickly jog away from the scene , cheeks tinted red.

Doyoung suddenly comes with a horrendous idea and he knows you'd hate it but in the heat of the moment, this feels like the only sane idea to make you stay and help him . He looks at Claire directly in the eye ,making sure to keep his voice as loud as possible so you could hear it too,

"Y/n and I are dating."

 ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The red, orange leaves rustle under your feet , disrupting the otherwise silent walk back to the Slytherin dormitories. A cold wind blows and you tighten the muffler around your neck.

"Y/n, I've been looking everywhere for you. "

And there is that leech again, making sure you don't come to have a single second of peace in your already hectic daily lives. For the past one week, Kim Doyoung has latched himself onto you like a leech latches to it's host. Wherever you go, he goes. It's maddening.

"I told you to stay away from me, Doyoung! Our deal is over. " you yell at him , your feet picking up a faster pace.

Without even looking back, you know that he is groaning under his breath, the look of hopelessness evident in his otherwise sparkling eyes.

"Our deal was that you help me. You're not helping me out at all! You're treating me like I'm invisible." he replies.

Just how I'd been invisible for years to you, you think.

"I didn't agree to be a bait in this stupid love game of yours. You literally pushed me down the cliff to save yourself. " you say. You feel a sudden gush of wind on your face and Doyoung is standing right in front of you - inches away, instead of a few feet behind you.

You gasp, "You apparated! Kim Doyoung, this is against the school rules."

Doyoung bites down on his lower lip, throat growing dry with anxiousness. He couldn't explain why - he'd apparated before within the school grounds and it's been okay then why is he feeling dizzy all of a sudden? But on second thoughts, maybe it wasn't the apparition that caused the dizziness, maybe it was the spooky possibility of you hating him for lying about you two dating that triggered it. And like salt dissolves in water and disappears into the liquid, Claire- who is the original cause of all of Doyoung 's concern, disappears from his thoughts. All that matters to him now is that you speak with him again and forgive him for his impulsive words . He wants to assure you that you aren't a bait , at all.

"Just hear me out, please. I promise. " he says, "if you don't talk to me, I'll try to be your friend. I assume you don't want that."

You sigh , pressing a hand to your face, "Okay, spill. And be quick. I have club work."

Doyoung nods, a small smile forming on his lips. He leads you under a bushy tree nearby, sitting down on the stone bench constructed there. You follow suit. "I'm sorry for telling Claire that we're dating but I was in a critical situation at that time, okay?"

You frown, "That's all you had to say? You aren't here to persuade me into fake dating you so you could make Claire jealous?"

Gosh , Doyoung , why do you keep forgetting your main motive of talking to y/n?

He blinks at you awkwardly, "Primarily, yes. But now that you've said it...it does sound like a good idea. "

You deadpan. Your eyes close as your lips heave out a tired sigh. Just when you thought he was here to actually talk to you and not about Claire.

"Fine ,whatever. Just don't be a creep or I'll bury you alive." You huff.

Doyoung giggles as his eyes curve into cute little cresent moons.He has a pretty smile , you catch yourself thinking.

He scoots over closer to you ,pinching your cheek. "Okay ,madam. I won't creep you out but I cannot guarantee that I won't flirt with you . I have a thing for Slytherin girls, you know.", He winks.

Your cheeks heat up involuntarily.

"Bye. I have work." You get up, walking away hastily.

"Bye! See you tomorrow at The Three Broomsticks," he calls out behind you,"Babe."

You'd never smiled so wide in your life.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Your part time job at The Three Broomsticks has never felt so much like a blessing than right now - when Kim Doyoung casually sits on the floor with you and helps clean the utensils.

"Are guests rare on weekends?" Hs asks as a white cloth floats around in the air, drying up the freshly washed utensils.

"They're less in the morning but it gets very crowded by sun down. Aunt Rosmerta joins me by that time." You reply.

Doyoung nods ,his eyes glaring at the white cloth when it falls at his feet. "Wingardium Leviosa. " he mutters and the cloth goes back to doing its work, while Doyoung carefully guides it using his wand.

"When do you have to go back?" You ask, purely out of curiosity as to why he is so into the role of your boyfriend when no one is even watching. You would rather die than admit it , but you liked this attention. A lot more than you thought you would.

"Whenever you're done. A good boyfriend accompanies his girlfriend ,right?"

Oh, the beating of your heart that suddenly picks up its speed at his words. A combination of words you'd never thought you'd hear in this lifetime, from anyone at all.

"Yeah,whatever. " you whisper under your breath.

Doyoung giggles ,leaning forward toward you , "Why are so shy ,y/n?"

"I'm not shy." You smack his forehead, "You're just being a creep."

Doyoung fake gasps, clutching the left side of his chest and blinks his eyes as if he were tearing up. "Ouch ,y/n,how could you say that to your own boyfriend?"

You roll your eyes but the smile on your lips doesn't disappear.

Before either of you could reply , the door of the pub clicks open and you immediately get up , dusting off your clothes , ready to welcome guests. Doyoung, who is very new to this , tries to mimic your careful, calculated actions.

"Hello, welcome to the Three Broomsticks-" your words are cut off when you see Claire , as glamorous and confident as ever, walking toward the both of you. Your heart sinks. You feel betrayed , annoyed even ; just the way little children feel when their favorite toy is taken away from them and given to someone else and Claire has, in fact, had a history of taking away a lot of your favorite toys when you were kids.

"Good morning, Doyoung," she greets him with the prettiest smile but it fades away as she turns to you, "You too ,y/n."

"What do you want?" You ask her, rather terse in tone.

She tilts her head , her bright red tinted lips sending a flirty smile in Doyoung's direction, "I'm here to see my friend Doyoung and well ,his new girlfriend. "

You scoff - since when has Doyoung become her friend? Last you checked, Doyoung wasn't even sure she knew him.

"Since when have you and Doyoung been friends, Claire? That's some news to me." You say.

Claire glares at you, "Well, I've always liked Doyoung. Too bad a dumb girl like you got to him first. I shouldn't have waited for him to approach me first , right?"

Doyoung - who until a minute ago was genuinely mesmerized by Claire's unexpected visit is now turning to frown at her. "You can take him if you want. I don't mind." You suggest ,turning away from them.

"Yayy, Doyoung ,you heard your girlfriend? Come on , let's go to the candy shop and enjoy there! It'd be so much fun!" Claire pulls at his blue-black muffler. He backs away a little. The image of Claire he had in his head was ..well, different from this arrogant , possessive woman in front of him. He feels disappointed but also relieved?

"Um - actually I'd rather stay here and help y/n, " you snap toward him faster than light , "I dislike candies anyway. Sorry, Claire."

When Claire's mouth gapes with surprise, Doyoung leans backward and pulls you into him , arm wrapped around your shoulder and chin resting on your head. Your heart hammers hard against your chest as all your senses blur away , only the feeling of Doyoung's warm body pressed against yours is what keeps you grounded to reality.

Its fake, y/n , get yourself together.

"Fine. " Claire growls and stomps away, mumbling curses under her breath.

The moment she walks out of the door ,you shove Doyoung away , "What the hell are you doing! She invited you to hang out with her and you let the chance go!"

He blinks at you , puzzled as if he is finally coming back to his senses. "Oh - oh ,its okay. I'll get another chance since she apparently likes me too. Don't worry about it."

I'm not worrying about it , you idiot , I'm happy about it , you want to say to him. But there are some words you'd rather never say out loud.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Where are we going?" Doyoung huffs , jogging down the lush green hill leading straight to the Forbidden Forest. Fear is evident on his face , and it's rather amusing to see him like this.

"The Forbidden Forest, obviously," you say , pointing at the tall, strong tress that patiently await your arrival into the forest.

"What? Y/n, that's against the school rules. It's way past sun down now!" He hisses but still keeps jogging beside you.

You grin at him, "Says the man who apparates in broad daylight!"

The woods are as cold and spooky as ever , but not unfamiliar. To you atleast. You often come here when you need to get away from everyone else. You would sit at the top of the tallest tree, the soft breeze blowing away all your worries along with it. And the creatures in the forest have never bothered you anyway. You don't know why you are bringing Kim Doyoung - your pretend boyfriend- to a place that holds so much importance to you and is like your escape from the world, but this place was the first and only one to come into your mind the moment Doyoung said you should choose the location for your next 'date'.

"So how do we get up there?" Doyoung and you stand at the roots of the tree. He looks up at the branches in awe and you look at him with admiration - when he's not running his mouth around uselessly everywhere ,he's not that bad to be with , you realize.

"We apparate , you idiot." Wrapping a firm hand around his arm, you apprate to the topmost branch of the tree, the wind suddenly knocked out of your lungs at the sudden shift. You laugh a little.

"Wow, you're breaking rules." He comments. He doesn't bother to remove your hand from his and neither do you - so you end up sitting there , shoulders touching and breaths matching.

"You know when I first met you , I almost took you for a Ravenclaw. If it hadn't been for your robe, that is." He says , looking at the beautifully lit school building that seems to be floating around near the horizon. This is more magical than any magic he's ever been taught , he thinks , he'd never seen Hogwarts this way - so far away yet so close, so peaceful, so breathtaking. The starry sky acts like a beautiful backdrop and your soft hand wrapped around his arm makes him ten times more attentive to every sound and every sight. He wants you to never let go - even if Claire or anyone else somehow appears out of nowhere.

"I get that a lot, actually. " you chuckle , "and ironically ,I almost mistook you for a Slytherin."

Doyoung looks at you in amusement. What a peculiar coincidence!

"But now that I think about it, it doesn't matter what kind of traits you show. The sorting hat doesn't put just traits into consideration- it puts in your will too. You belong where you want to belong. Nowhere else." He replies.

You stare at him, and get embarrassed at how wonderfully close he is to you right now. All your life ,this is what you've craved; this warmth , this closeness and fake or not, you're thankful for it.

"Wow, that's some deep words, Kim Doyoung. I didn't know you had them in you." You comment.

"Hey, why can't you call me something cute?" He whines , "Kim Doyoung is too formal."

You pinch his cheeks, adoration pumping through your veins for the man in front of you. "Okay, I'll call you Dodo then. "

He is left wide eyed again, his face red with embarrassment. He never took you for the observant type at all.

"I heard Jaehyun call you that."

The moon shines at your face , highlighting your features like no make up ever could. He notices your hooded gaze and the happy stretch of your lips and the strands of hair that sway with the wind. He leans in closer , "Hey, now that I look at you up close , you're not that bad to look at."

You're not that bad to look at either, Dodo.

 ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Jaehyun has this annoying habit of tapping his wand against the table when he is studying , and he has never even tried to rectify himself whenever you call him out several times.

"Can you stop that? I'm trying to study. " you groan in a quiet voice.

The library- much to your dislike - is packed with people this afternoon. Yellows and reds and blues and green , all of them seem to have decided to use the library in the afternoon today of all days.

"Yeah. Sorry. " he says and puts his wand down, flipping the pages of his notebook carelessly ,"but um -y/n, can I ask you something?"

Looking up from your Potions book , you nod , "Yes, of course. "

Jaehyun shifts and gulps ,visibly worried and anxious about whatever he is about to ask you. It's not like him to ever be so nervous around anyone. He was usually very uptight and spoke only when spoken to. This is very new.

"How long are you and Doyoung going to continue this fake dating thing on for? It's been half a month already." He asks.

Now it's your turn to be nervous.

"I-I don't really know. It depends on how fast Doyoung is able to get Claire to go out with him. I guess." You reply with an awkward laugh, "I hope the day comes soon."

You'd been so immersed in fake dating Doyoung all along, trying to spend every waking hour with him , taking care of him, laughing at his stupid jokes that you almost forgot everything was just a show to get Claire to go out with him. And as Halloween comes closer , you are sure the end of your supposed relationship is coming closer too. Your heart breaks at the sudden reality check. Like a glass vase thrown on a hard ,wooden floor.

"Okay, don't tell Doyoung I asked you about it - " he pauses when you both hear a woman's voice from behind you , startling the two of you.

"Hello, dear cousin. " Claire says with a big smile. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, robe loosely tied around her body,"What are you doing in this stupid library on your birthday, y/n? Shouldn't you be celebrating with Doyoung ?"

Her words have never slapped you as hard as they do right now. She's been mean to you for almost half your life , but this time it hurts worse. You've always been insecure about your birthday, and Claire knows it. She knows how much you hate bringing attention to yourself and you'd rather get some small gifts from your parents than big gifts from people who you barely know. And she's now using all that against you.

"Or did he not bother to ask you, just like all of your former friends?" She smirks.

You know that feeling when there's a small wound on your body and a single contact to the wounded area hurts unbearably? That's what her words made you feel like. Sick and pathetic.

But you don't let it surface on your face. You muster up all your courage before speaking up, "Claire, are you so jealous of me dating Doyoung that you're bringing up past incidents to make yourself feel good?"

Claire is left astonished by your new found boldness and for the first time in forever, she doesn't comment back at you after you turn on your heels and walk away from the scene.

You are far too weak and slow to actually walk down to the Forbidden Forest, so you settle yourself on the top floor of the astronomy tower. The cold ground under you feels weirdly comfortable and the ticking of the grand clock helps you calm down your nerves.

Claire has never treated you like an equal in your entire life and you've tried so hard to ns like her always . To fit in to her ideas of an interesting person. She was your sister, she is your sister yet you've never despised anyone as much as you do now. And to imagine that Kim Doyoung, your Dodo might end up dating her just makes you feel sick to the stomach. Jealousy is an intense feeling but so is hatred.

You hear quick footsteps walking up the stairs and by impulse, you point your wand in that direction,"Expelli-"

"Hey, hey. Don't 'expelliarmus' me. I'm just here to celebrate my best girl's birthday. "

Kim Doyoung stands in front of you , hands occupied with bags of delicious candies and sweets. He smiles at you sheepishly as you call him over to sit beside you.

"Why didn't you tell me its your birthday today? This is all I could manage in a span of fifteen minutes." He complains ,placing the bag softly in your lap, "Happy birthday, y/n."

You smile , a little embarrassed but thankful still , "Thanks. Jaehyun told you?"

Doyoung nods ,scooting over closer to you. In presence of so much space on the floor, he somehow manages to almost cuddle with you in a small corner of the place. Your heart is no longer sitting in the cage of your chest ; it's escaped and landed onto Doyoung's palms ,giving him full freedom to do whatever he wanted with it.

"Doyoung ,I..um.."

"Yeah?"

Words , oh ! words have never been your forte. The only thing you were good at was actions - to express, to show , to communicate . That's all you've ever known.

So you lean in towards his face and place a chaste kiss on his lips. It lasts for a fraction of a second but your lips are left burning with the desire for more. More of him, more of this.

But when you see his face once you pull away, your blood runs dry. For a moment, you think so you see a flicker of happiness which quickly gets replaced by coldness, frustration, some degree of anger.

"Y/n, you know I like Claire!" He says , separating himself from you. Your body feels bare, "This was all for her. How could you ever think doing this would be a good idea?"

No,it wasn't for Claire. It was barely an excuse to bother you more, to see you roll your eyes at him , to spend time with you, but as Johnny says , his ego is too big to accept his liking towards you and not Claire.

He gets up.

"I-I will be leaving now."

He hasn't completely put a full stop to your fake relationship, he hasn't even said anything much yet but you know that he's left not just the astronomy tower, he's left you. All alone. As they always do.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Only the heavens know how you've barely managed to make it through a whole week avoiding Doyoung. The tear stains on your pillow , the muffled sobs in the washroom, the torn pages of your notebook are the only witnesses of your turmoil. For everyone else, you were still y/n, the girl who barely talks to anyone . And maybe, that's everything you'll ever be no matter how hard you try.

It is Hogsmade Weekend and Halloween which means you'll be packed with guests at the Three Broomsticks. It's a good thing ,you hope, it'll help keep you distracted from any painful thoughts and memories.

The cups and glasses and bottles dance around you as you put the chairs in place, your wand doing most of the work while you quietly murmur spells. It feels rather abnormal not having Doyoung around to help you. It feels too quiet ,even though the quietness is familiar to you.

A faint click sound echoes in the room and you immediately snap to look at the main door.

"Y/n?" Doyoung's head gently pokes in through the small gap in the door, “Happy Halloween.”

Your heart stops beating for a solid second, brain going fuzzy with a mixture of fear, excitement and relief. You want to run towards him and jump into his arms like how people do in those muggle movies but you restrain yourself; since it's not your place to do that. Not after you'd kissed him out of nowhere a week ago.

"Y-yea?" You stutter nervously, dragging a chair away from the table just to make it look like you are busy with work.

"Can we talk?"

Doyoung has always been very persuasive and he knows exactly what to say at a given instance. He's a Ravenclaw, after all. So he finds his way towards the table ,shyly so , and he pulls a chair for you to sit on ,"I won't take long, I swear."

You nod and sit. Better to be done with it than avoid it. "What is it? Shouldn't you be at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop? Enjoying with Claire and the other cool people?" You ask.

Doyoung gulps ,"Yes, I was there a minute ago. But it's too noisy there. I don't like it." And it's too dull without you.

"Okay. What did you want to talk about ?"

He plays with the buttons of his warm looking purple coat, his eyes shifting from the tablecloth to the glasses of gillyweed water to his fingers - anywhere but you.

"I'm sorry about running away that night. It was wrong of me," he begins, "And I regret it. I really do." "When I went back to the dorms, all I could think about was you and how much I loved hanging out with you and how pretty you look even when you're not trying and how desperately I wished you'd kissed me a second longer that night so I could have kissed you back. Because I really wanted to. "

When you start to reply , he shushes you, "No, it's not Claire that I want. Maybe it never had been because I don't even know her! But I know you and I think you're the coolest person in Hogwarts. I cannot love Claire, who I know nothing of but I can love you. I want to love you. If you'd let me."

You stare at him , your tongue suddenly losing all it's sense of functioning. Your eyes bore into his ,and you see it - the sincerity, the adoration, the desire. And you realise it has always been there. Just the two of you were too stupid to see it earlier.

"Okay. I guess." You reply , rubbing the back of your neck shyly. Your cheeks are tinted red but you put no effort in hiding it anymore, " I'm sorry, I don't know how dating works. What am I supposed to do?"

Doyoung giggles , tenderly taking your face in his hands, "Just do whatever you want to. It's just me."

"I really want to kiss you. " you whisper and he immediately tilts his head such that his lips easily captures yours. The kiss is warm and cozy yet fierce. His hands are locked on either side of your face while your lips perfectly mold around his, as if they were meant to be that way since the inception of time.

You don't believe in miracles , given your magical allegiance but you do believe in fate and soulmates. You believe that there's someone for everyone out there - no one knows how or when they'll cross paths with you, but they will surely do it one day. Because no force can stop one from getting the love you deserve. It's just like a string - there's one person at each end and you're so thankful that it is Doyoung that happened to be at the other end of your string.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

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[ffangirlingsince2001]

Nothing Alike: VI

Description: Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with taking out a fellow Witcher who has decided to settle down in a town. She has no intention of leaving and Geralt is forced to take matters into his own hands.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: gore, a lil torture, angst, language, kidnapping

MASTERLIST

It was practically impossible to catch a Witcher, and yet the men surrounding them had managed to catch two.

Geralt had been shaken awake with a knife pressed to his throat and a sly smile staring down at him in the morning sun. Y/N was already bound to a tree, a gag in her mouth (at least their captors were smart, this situation could only be made worse by her big mouth). Much to his surprise, she wasn’t struggling at all. She sat there limply, head slumped against her chest.

“What’s wrong with her?” he growled, trying to sit up but the knife only pressed harder against his throat, a small trickle of blood appearing on the sharp blade.

“Nothing to worry about, old man,” he growled, “Now I’d learn a lesson or two from your keep and do exactly as we say.” With disgruntled ease, Geralt allowed himself to be tied to a tree, watching Y/N closely. She looked roughed up, hair matted, part of her shirt was torn, exposing skin. She must have been knocked out when they caught her, that was the only explanation for her lack of movement. And then the captors looked away for a moment, conversing quietly between themselves, and she looked up shooting him a sly wink. When their captors returned, she instantly returned to her state of submission.

He was absolutely bewildered.

“Alright missy, up you go,” one said, yanking her free of the ropes by the forearm. She promptly burst into tears, begging him to let her go. Now Geralt really was confused. Last he checked, Y/N was a fighter, who wasn’t going to let anyone put their hands on her, even if it was pretend, and yet she continued to sob.

“Please, my father has money, I’ll give you whatever you want,” she was pleading, throwing all her weight into the mans grip until he was forced to drop her to the ground. She didn’t run as Geralt had anticipated, simply kept crying.

“If the man has money, he can go to auction just like everyone else,” the captor growled and Geralt’s eyes widened. The auction, they were going to try and sell two witchers at an auction? Well, maybe only one, he couldn’t be sure they knew she was a Witcher with the way she was weeping all over the place.

“But how is he supposed to know I’m there?” she continued to weep, soaking the dirt with crocodile tears. The dirty man above her showed her a yellow grin.

“Call it, father’s intuition,” he laughed, before grabbing her and throwing her over his shoulder, walking out of the clearing. He listened for her crying as long as it stayed within earshot. He returned his golden eyes to the three men still within the clearing and glared at them. They were clearly nervous about moving the Witcher, and rightly so.

None of them seemed to be the first to approach. He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, it wasn’t as if he could breathe fire. Eventually, the man who had dragged Y/N away returned and scoffed at the cowardly men.

“Not a brain among the lot of you,” he mocked before marching right up to Geralt and slammed the pommel against his skull, sending Geralt to sleep once more.

When he woke again, it was dark. A few torches lit the area, and he was able to take in his surroundings. He was in a prison cart sitting across from an amused looking Y/N. There were no tears, and she was only lightly bound. A single knot bound her wrists (loosened by the looks of it) and nothing more, even the gag was gone. He on the other hand was bound to the bars themselves, arms spread eagle, a complicated and well-practiced knot keeping his feet bound to the bars across the cart. She offered him a smug smile, noting the difference in bindings.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” she whispered, “I was getting bored.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Almost the whole day, I’m surprised he didn’t shatter your skull, not that anything could get through that thick skull of yours,” she teased, pulling one of her hands free from the bindings and scratching her nose, if only to mock him. With ease she slipped it back inside the ropes, grinning all the while.

“Do they know you’re a Witcher?”

“Speaking of your thick skull. Of course not, well at least they didn’t until you yelled it for the whole world to hear.” He rolled his eyes, still as dramatic as ever.

“Why didn’t you escape when he dropped you?”

“And leave you to rot?”

“You could have killed all four and you know it.” Her eyes widened and she stuck out her bottom lip.

“Poor little me, I’ve never killed anyone in my whole life?” Her tone was so sweet it turned his stomach.

“Shut up, why didn’t you?”

“Curiosity.”

“So, you’re interested in auctions?”

“Maybe.” She had a plan; he just knew it. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had purposely let herself be caught just to fuck with someone other than him.

“And what happens when they sell you?”

“Who knows, I’m sure I’ll go accustom to being someone’s whore, just as I’m sure you will.” He growled, lunging at her, but the ropes held him back. “Feisty,” she laughed, “they’re not going to like that at the auction, you might even earn yourself some lashes.” He lunged again, shaking the cart and drawing the attention of the driver.

“Quiet, Witcher,” one called, and he glared at her. She only smiled innocently.

“How many are there?”

“Six, but only two of them have any brawn in this, the rest are just hoping to make some money to feed their families.”

“You sound sympathetic.”

“Do I?”

“Very, and what’s happened to our swords.”

“They’re in the front, they plan on selling those too. Thought it was funny you had four.” He rolled his eyes and leaned back to ignore her, hopefully finding a few more minutes of sleep, but he was deeply disappointed. The cart slowed to a stop and she brought the knot to her teeth, tightening it before huddling into a corner. He could hear footsteps behind him, and the door flew open. The well-dressed man allowed his gaze to drift around his two captives with a twisted smile. Eventually, he settled on Y/N and crooked a finger, motioning for her to come forward.

She had the audacity to whimper.

“Come now, I won’t hurt a pretty prize like you.” She nodded submissively and crawled over his legs slowly, clumsily pulling herself forward with bound wrists. He growled at her, and she squeaked, earning himself a jab to the side with the mans walking stick. She practically fell into the man’s arms, stumbling over her apologies as he helped her down. “No worries my dear, all the fault of that monster.”

A man who hated witchers, truly, how original.

“Now, I have some questions for you, and I need you to answer them for me as honestly as you, do you understand?” She looked up at him with wide eyes but said nothing until his grip tightened against her skin.

“Yes,” she yelped and he must have released the pressure because she relaxed. He set her down and stood before her, looming over the huddled figure.

“Very good. First question, what’s your name?”

“Elvina.”

“See, easy questions, now what are you doing all alone in the woods with nothing but a monster to keep you company.”

“I’m a child surprise,” she whispered and Geralt swore he was going to strangle her the moment he was untied.

“You told my men your father had money, and this may be true, but you don’t have a father if you are a child surprise. Isn’t that correct.” Geralt held his breath, waiting for her response. The lies were already catching up to her. They were both going to be dead before sunrise. She was barely visible in the darkness, but he could tell she had slumped over as she began to cry.

“I was scared. I didn’t know what to say, I lied, please don’t kill me,” she begged, holding the hem of the man’s coat. Patiently, he pushed her back to the stump she had been sitting on.

“We will deal with your lies later, but for now I need you to continue to be honest.”

“I’m so sorry,” she cried again.

“Later, we will deal with that later. Now, Elvina are you pure?”

“Yes, yes of course,” she lied through the tears. Geralt was surprised was able to contain his laughter, he was sure she hadn’t been pure since she learned what sex was.

“Very good. Do you have any skills?”

“I can heal all right, and sew, but I’m a terrible cook, sir. The Witcher always yells at me for my cooking.”

“That’s alright, I’m sure there are uses other than cook for a pretty thing like you.”

“Are you really going to sell me?”

“Yes.” She started crying again. “Now, none of that, there will be tears to shed in a moment. Heinrick, come here,” he ordered and the dirty man who had knocked him out earlier emerged from the darkness.

“Yes sir?”

“Elvina here lied to us earlier about the money.”

“A real shame, sir.”

“Yes, I agree, but you know what must be done, don’t you?”

“I do, sir.”

“Then, I’ll leave you to it.” With that, the well-dressed man disappeared from sight, leaving Y/N alone with Heinrick. The man stood over her, raising a hand that summoned to other men. They approached from behind her crying figure and quickly snatched her from the ground. One took her by the waist, pulling her to his lap as she screamed in surprise. The other held one of legs down while she struggled.

“What are you doing, let me go,” she cried out, and for a moment Geralt thought she might not be acting anymore.

“Not yet, we have a tradition for liars,” he said with a grin, pulling something from his pocket that Geralt couldn’t make out. She was silent as she watched, but he could tell she was still struggling.

And then the screaming started.

It wasn’t fake. No one could fake something so horrible as the scream that filled the quiet darkness. If he had been any closer, he was sure his ears would have bled from sheer pain. He never wanted to hear anything so awful ever again, especially not from her. She was so strong, so unwilling to show fear, and yet all he could hear was fear and pain. He wanted to call out to her, but he could already hear her chastising him about blowing their cover, so he did his best to remain quiet as she screamed.

When the screams disappeared, he could hear the men surrounding her laughing as she panted. One whispered something into her ear, and she whimpered, only making the men laugh harder. Quickly, she was hauled towards the cart and tossed inside, followed by a small bundle of cloth.

“Don’t let yourself bleed out,” came the unsympathetic call before he too disappeared into the darkness. Geralt tried to see the damage, but it seemed that there wasn’t any, until his eyes landed on her exposed feet.

Two toenails were gone, completely pulled from the roots. Her whole body was shaking as she wrapped the cloth around her foot. It was red in an instant, dripping onto the wood beneath them.

“Y/N,” he whispered but she didn’t look up, she just kept tightening the bandage. “Y/N,” he tried again and this time she looked up at him.

He wished she hadn’t.

Her face was streaked in tears, eyes still full of them. Her bottom lip was quivering, and there was no one to act for. Finally, she let out a shaky laugh mixed with a sob and leaned back into her corner.

“This is going to fun, very fucking fun.”

He was sure somewhere deep in her twisted mind she was right; he could only hope someone would pray for mercy on their souls, because he surely wouldn’t.

Taglist: @stuckupstucky​ @aurora-sweet​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @dreams-of-sunlight-and-starfire @auds24

#the witcher #the witcher angst #the witcher fluff #the witcher smut #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher x reader #the witcher x reader angst #the witcher x reader smut #the witcher x reader fanfic #the witcher x reader fluff #geralt imagine #geralt fanfiction #geralt angst #geralt fluff #geralt smut #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt x reader smut #geralt x reader #geralt x reader fanfic #geralt x reader fluff #geralt x reader angst #geralt x reader imagine

[kaetastic]

Mafia Aside

pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

summary: Despite being part of the criminalizing life in the mafia, Luca Changretta needs the surprise birthday for his girl to be perfect. Needs- all letters capitalized. [requested: @imaginesbymk]

word count: 3.2k

warning: halted smut, fluff, slight angst? angory luca

note: thank you so much @imaginesbymk for this request!! I hope this is alright! I felt like Luca was OOC though 🥺🥺

Luca’s eyes fluttered open from the rather merciless jab of the morning light. It was an unfair battle of swerving swords as he had just charged up his engine. A sigh brushed his lips when his back muscles sprinkled happiness at the finally fulfilling sleep which he had been promised at the end of the week. Six days of enduring work when you don’t want to; six days of sleep, if all hours of slumbering had been added up, would be equal to a day of working. To summarize it all up, Luca had been the dangling bait teasing himself over the warmth of his bed.

Now that it was finally the weekend he had been longing for for far too long, he couldn’t help but smear the aching muscles with the good news. The good realization which almost sounded fake. Almost as if it was a too-good-to-be-true sort of dream. However, with a pile of evidence and the remembrance of the promised day, every single tendon in his body melted into the warm bed. The warm bed he had his overnight breath plastered all over.

“Mhm.” The woman who had been hogging his body into hers hummed, annoyed at his excessive movements. She knew he was beginning to stir up; she hated it. Time was sure to be purchased for them to rest in bed. Y/N wasn’t surprised he had woken up at such an early hour in the weekend, it had been the same time he would get up of bed for work. The torturous hours of work had implemented the time to wake up in his head.

Luca groaned, his left side sore and numb, sleeping from the weight that had rested on his arm overnight. Pulling his arm away to feel shivers crawl up his skin from the lack of response, his numbness was overlapped by Y/N’s irritated sigh. With a huff she flipped to her other side, her back facing him, “Go back to sleep.”

The words fell off her lips in an exhausting trail, a string as evidence of spending a whole day at her future mother-in-law’s home to learn Luca’s favourite meals. While Luca busied himself with work, there was barely anything to do at home when he was away. Sure, Y/N could sweep some dust that reverts to its original home despite her relentless wiping; don’t even mention the number of times she had organized and reorganized the fridge. Her daily routine was so monotonous. It was dull and grey when she’s stuck in the walls of the home alone. That was until Luca would come back.

“I’m wide awake now.” He chided, pushing his body up to the headboard of the bed, eyes never leaving her resting body. Y/N groaned. It should’ve been a day of resting and possibly, a lot of cuddling in bed. His warmth was always there for her when her eyes were shut tight. Lately, work had been the blade grazing his back. In other words, it had been a pain in the ass. The corners of his lips crept up as she now faced him, eyes still glued shut. 

“Just close your eyes.” Although her lips were mumbling the words, each syllable lingered in the air for less than second, Luca managed to make of what she said. The Italian chuckled, his fingers brushing her hair. 

“How can I? It’s morning.” Finally snapping her eyes open, she beamed at the man who wore his signature smirk. The infamous quirk of his lips. Rolling her eyes at the obvious observation, she shifted closer to the radiating heat of his bare chest. As her nose caressed his pillow, the scent of him warming up her lungs, she snuggled into the smell. The smell that would only plaster against the side of his bed with a diluted tone after he had left to do work.

“Thank you for informing me, Mr Changretta for I would be lost without your great insights.” He chuckled, head shaking as his fingers hovered over the jar of matchsticks on his bedside table (something Y/N had pestered over years). With the wooden stick pressed against his bottom lip, he nudged it with his tongue. The redhead of the match rolled from left to right.

“What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook.” 

Y/N quirked her eyebrows, “Oh, are you the chef for today, Mr Changretta?” Luca said nothing, the curled corners of his lips speaking for him. “Quit talking ‘bout breakfast. From now on, everything that requires going out of bed and is related to morning activities, are banned. We are cuddling.” 

His string of laughter quivered through her draped arm that rested on his bare chest, sparking tingles of his husky voice. The woman didn’t bother to meet his eyes as her lungs were warmed of the addicting scent of him, “Cuddling is part of our morning activities.”

The Italian’s eyes didn’t quiver from her intense gaze as she pushed herself up to straddle his hips, her knees pooled into the mattress of their bed, “We haven’t cuddled this whole week,” Luca had to ponder for a second if what she stated was true. Despite his squeaking gears on replaying every day of the previous week, he was curious to how she could remember so. “There are other stuff we can do that remains in our... regulations.”

“Your regulations,” Luca chided, his matchstick pointed at her direction. “What do you have in mind?”

There was a glint in his eyes. The glint that Y/N had been so familiar with. The glint she had missed ever since Luca had wrapped his body around sheets of work. Tilting her head in lost of thoughts, she hummed while his hands were splayed against her thighs, “Not sure, it might take up the whole day...”

Every muscle in Luca’s body was pulled taut, dipped in frozen ice. Y/N didn’t notice. She didn’t pick up the way his chest went rigid, his chest barely moving a centimetre to respire, her focus heavily placed onto his reaction. As her fingers danced on his bare chest, thumb grazing over his recovering scars, Luca’s head stung of rapid thoughts. And that was when her body went flying back to her side of the bed. Scrambling to stand in the middle of the room, chest out in the open with a loose trouser around his hips, the Italian’s mouth parted. Mouth left wide open, she watched as he scurried to find the right words, “I have some... work to do.” 

Luca nodded at his own words as if he was convincing himself to the new plan, liking the idea. Leaving Y/N all alone in their bed.

“What the fucking shit is this?” The Italian spat out. Well, the words and the saliva-covered crumbs of the cake that left an unpleasant aftertaste. The ceramic plate slammed into the wooden table, singing an echoing song before it was met with a splat from the fallen sample of the cake that was to be the birthday cake for his girl. How could such a shitty flavour be the cake for his girl? Everybody would choke and die if he was to accept the third sample he had tried for the day. The third sample. What a joke. 

The first two was no different. It would just take a caress of his tongue against the crevices of his teeth to find the remaining residues of the previous samples. A man whose familiar with the taste of lingering iron would have a loaded gun in his hand. There was no way Luca would bring a cake that tasted like iron for a birthday party. A surprise birthday party at that one. The Italian hoped it remained unknown for he knew how some of his sisters could get a bit... mouthy. 

The man who owned the bakery quivered in fear, hoping the warmness that streamed in his pants was not what he thought it was. Although his sister, Rosa, had assured him that the bakery had made countless unforgettable cakes for her and her love for throwing parties, Luca could not find a sole point that would match to his sister’s descriptions and her high set experience with the bakery. Or, maybe it was due to the fact that Luca had only wanted the best of the best. Usually, it wouldn’t be that hard to find the best firearm that suited him. But cakes? He had to pour a gallon of patience to hold himself back from storming out. Should’ve just asked mamma to make the cake.

“It’s pineapple cake, straight from Hawaii, sir-” Luca grunted out, shutting up the stuttering man. Fingers pressed into his temples, the Italian attempted at the silly advice of counting down, given by his youngest sister who had claimed Luca had wavering moments of temper. It worked. 

“You know what? I’m not spending another hour shoving your cakes down my throat. I’ll take the chocolate, two layers, and put some fucking decorations on it, like sprinkles or some shit. Looks bland, whose funeral are we going to?” No one spoke up. Who would? This was the man who had strutted up and down the streets with his infamous patted suits. 

“Luca,” Matteo called out, scurrying after his boss who had just splat a wad of cash. Why does it sometimes feel like he’s always chasing after a little boy who had just thrown a tantrum? “Where are we going now?”

“The party hall.”

“What does it take for you people to fucking get my words through your heads?” The running veins along his neck bulged, grazing to the surface of the air in pulses. Today must be a joke. Everything had tested him. It was as if someone was playing a game to see how short of a temper he has. Occasionally, he would be composed; he wasn’t one to spring to the bullet, head-first. Planning events was not rolling of dices. 

Bodies quivered, shivering at his scolding as if a flock of wind had engulfed the warmth they once sheltered in. Luca had been mistaken as a cold man multiple times. It wasn’t hard for a stranger to take a glance at his posture and his gait, to not portray him as the wolf stalking through their buildings. That was what he was. If only they had done it right, they wouldn’t have to face the consequences. The line of men who had been assigned to the arrangement of the tables were abruptly yanked to stop their last-minute adjustments. To only be scolded as if children. Despite the growing orb of seething anger they had for being the stock of embarrassment in the room, they couldn’t do anything. So, they directed to a more acceptable choice, swallowing the fury down into an abyss, a void. Because who was mental enough to oppose what the powerful man said?

“Put that fucking table there, and move those three back.” With his fingers as the direction informant, the string of men dispersed without any mumbling. Not even one had slipped under their breath as the risk had been too high. The room had fallen into a defeaned silence, present eyes were stuck on those who had been responsible for the arrangement of the tables. However, with a quick glance from even his known bodyguard, Matteo, there were no longer on-lookers for they had resumed with their work. 

Just four more days before it was the big day. A sigh of relief, mixed in with gratitude and joy fell from his lips, “Finally. See? It is better now.”

The intense whirlwind that had descended down from the ceiling had evaporated, vanishing into thin air. The heavyweight sitting on their shoulders were no more as sunshine glittered through the windows which had been protected with velvet curtains on the sides. They could even hear birds singing a song. A victory of a battle song. Except, the smiles on their faces had been wiped off when the man demanded, “Pass me the liquours we’re serving.” 

Oh lord. Matteo felt as if his job was no different to clinging onto the clanking chains of a wild dog. The splatter of the whiskey he had allowed to smear a small area of his tongue was gushed back into the cup. His bewildered eyes and his furrowed eyebrows had been enough to scare the man who brought a sample of the whiskey, “Did you scoop up sewer water?” The terrified man shook his head, lips shut tight. “We fucking distribute alcohols and you got yourself the shittiest one.”

With a quirk of his eyebrows, the man scurried to the kitchen for another bottle. It was indeed going to be a long day. 

“Did none of you write down what I said?” Luca’s eyes blared onto his accompanying men. All they could do was swing their jaw, eyes never meeting the man who had directed his anger towards them. Except for Matteo and Frederico. It seemed it was always them who had the courage to do so. Maybe it was because they had been used to the Italian, and his... personality. “Carlo, is there something missing?”

The brunette who held his fedora to his chest craned up his neck, young eyes landing dead-centre of Luca’s electrifying gaze, “The balloons and flowers?” 

“Good, and where are they?”

“Luca, we still have four days.” Matteo spoke up when he noticed the man who was about to be Luca’s punching bag could not find the answer in his head.

Hair prickling like a dagger, it grazed Luca’s forehead as he reverted his focus towards his henchman, “I’ve been planning this shit for months. We have four days left? Everything should’ve been ready by now.” Fingers digging into the lapels of Matteo’s suit, Luca stared down, his figure towering prominently. There was a glint that sparked a bonfire in his eyes. 

“Antonio, go with Carlo to check up on the balloons. Make sure there are two and a half dozen. You better fucking count each and every one.”

Antonio, followed by Carlo scurried out. The roaring noise of an engine faded into the distance. Luca cleared his throat, “Great. Let’s check up on the flowers.”

“Luca! Could you just shut up? Your presence is not needed.” Elena huffed out, the muscles in her arm urging for her to grab the nearest sharpest tool to remind her oldest brother he was as annoying as a screeching seagull. Her gaze craned down from his shadowy figure to the flowers in her hands. The task of flowers was given to Elena, the middle child of five, just three years younger than Angel. Luca glared at the bundle of mess.

“It clearly is. What are you doing with pink and blue?” Defeated, she leaned her back into her chair, her lazy eyes (not from her hard-working efforts but from the fact that her brother had ruined her mood) followed his fingers as he brought a pink and peach coloured flowers into a pairing. “See? So much appealing to my eyes.

Knowing her brother with his stubborn character trait, she could only roll her eyes and followed the man’s instruction. Luca stalked towards the balcony, the purple sky caressing his skin. Everything was going to plan.

“Where are we heading off to?” It might’ve been the hundredth time she had asked the driver, but it didn’t hurt to inquire. Maybe it had been for Matteo’s ears which had been throbbing with agonizing pain from the clueless passenger. Questions floated in his head: why had he been the one to be assigned to driving her to the party- surprise party? “Are we getting closer?”

His grip around the driver’s wheel tightened, the uncut nails dug deep into the polished wood. Matteo snapped his neck, a deathly noise popped into the air. It answered Y/N’s question. Even though all he wanted to do was scream for her to remain quiet, he had to remind himself that this was Luca’s girl. He would not come out alive at the end of the day if the Italian finds out about the mistreatment. The echoing voice in his head that called out the nearing to the party hall, Matteo wanted nothing but to halt the car. He feared he would swerve into a tree that would end the torturous journey. Just round this corner.

Matteo had been slightly difficult to get closer to, despite the counting years of Luca’s and Y/N’s relationship. Befriending Frederico was simple, sure, the man had been collected and quiet, but it was more tolerable than the hot-headed Matteo.

Y/N’s lips parted open to let out another question, but the screeching of the tires cut her short, “Here we are.” The driver didn’t even bother to crane his neck as she got out of the vehicle.

Y/N knew that she and Matteo had not exactly passed acquaintance. But, she did not expect him to zoom down the street, leaving her alone. She watched as the vehicle fade into a faint fog, her eyes blinking at what had just happened. Averting her gaze to the building he had dropped her off at, she couldn’t help but gulp. Associating herself with the mafia had meant a whole list of issues that could place a potential problem. Some normal things she could’ve done as a normal citizen were cut off, all for her safety. Well, that’s what Luca would say. 

The corners of her lips curled down at the mention of the Italian. Even though he had promised her, assured every second he could- saying that he had planned something for her birthday, the distance between the two on the special day had only allowed her head to gush of overreacting thoughts. Y/N had tried her best to convince herself that Luca might’ve just been busy with work, while she had stumbled upon his other men enjoying their times in pubs. No matter her efforts in opposing the consuming thought, there was just evidence that something might’ve happened between the couple. She had even run her mind whenever she had occupied herself with work to think of what she could’ve possibly done to push him away. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? But, nothing. 

When she had returned home from a leisure walk in the park, although, it was quite stressful for Y/N as she knew she had been sauntering on the green path with at least (to what she could see) three familiar men- Luca’s men, she laid her eyes on the box with a silk ribbon tying it, a note encased under the small bow. Wear this. Matteo will honk at seven. 

Shoving down the idea of a trap, Y/N managed to grab all her courage and barge through the doors, “Surprise!” Frozen in time, all sorts of colours blinded her eyes; names of faces she could only recall if she walked slowly in deep contemplation.

“Buon compleanno, amore mio,” (happy birthday my love) The too familiar voice of a husky Italian whispered against the shell of her ears, the warm puffs from his lips grazing across her skin in shivers of coldness. “You thought I forgot? Never.”

#luca changretta #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta oneshot #luca changretta imagine #luca changretta oneshots #luca changretta imagines #luca changretta fluff #luca changretta angst #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta ff #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders angst #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

To Dance With Danger | Jurdan Whump Fic

Anon asked: “Can you write something about how Jude gets hurt somewhere and the Court of Shadows and Cardan go looking for her”

Summary: “The only thing he knew was the weight on his chest, two boulders sinking into the concavity of his lungs. How furious he was with Jude, and how much that didn’t matter. That her favourite flower was the blue bellflower, and its petals were falling from the throne.” Please forgive me.

Rating: T

CW: Mild cursing. Minor mentions of abuse (~) and vomit (*); Paragraphs containing these sensitivities have been marked with the allocated warnings. Major descriptions of pain and delusions.

Part I    |    Part III    |    AO3    |    Masterlist

Part II- Follow You Down To the Red Oak Tree

She’d never considered herself stupid. 

Foolish, maybe once or twice. But Jude Duarte-Greenbriar was never an idiot outright. So it came as a great shock to her when she found herself bleeding out in a cave in the middle of the Milkwood.

Wouldn’t this be a hilarious way to go? All her life, Jude had been worried about time peeling her right out of her own mortal skin. Yet here she was, dying from a paltry cut.

That last thought, she knew was stupid. This was more than a paltry cut. It throbbed like a second heartbeat and burned like her knee was a plate of scrambled eggs someone was pushing around with a fork.

A small pool of spilled blood darkened the ground near her ankles. Sometimes, her vision narrowed, blurred.

Perhaps this was one last way for the stars to taunt her. Give her everything she ever wanted and more than she could possibly hope for; a grand feast befitting of a Queen, spread out just for her; then rip her away from herself like the tablecloth in one of those mortal magic tricks.

Jude was not afraid. 

When you’d lived your whole life knowing the promise of death was the single certainty of your existence, you tended to come to terms with it. So Jude did not fear dying. Only the horrible, yawning oblivion that came after.

☽☽☽☽☽

It was a quarter past one, and Cardan’s feet were flying. Out his chamber doors, down the spiral stairs, right to the little wooden door opposite the library, which he promptly began pounding on.

There was a groan within, some shuffling. Then, “It’s the middle of the day, for Mab’s sake,” a groggy voice came muffled from behind the door. “What could possibly be so—oh.”

The Bomb, all messy-haired, eyes squinting at the brightness of the hall, let the door creak open a fraction before realising who exactly had summoned her from sleep. She opened the door in full.

“Cardan—erm, I mean… Your Majesty,” she said, brows furrowing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Another even-more-groggy voice came from inside the room. “I’ve got a mallet hammering at my brain thanks to him. Bloody pusher. You can tell His Majesty to kindly sod off.” The Roach held a pillow over his gnarled green head and a rude finger up in the direction of the door.

“Van,” the Bomb tutted over her shoulder. She pulled her dressing gown tight around her and faced the High King again. Only then did she seem to register the look on his face.

“Liliver,” Cardan said, frantic. His mind was all static, hollow—so very full of nothing. Words felt like they came through a tangle of tree sap and brambles in his throat. “It’s Jude.”

That’s all it took. 

The Court of Shadows was moving, the guard summoned. Even the Roach managed to scrape himself together. The Ghost slipped into their ranks just as they were passing through the throne room, and informed the High King he’d done a sweep of the palace, just to be sure.

“And?” Cardan demanded, pivoting on his heel to face the sharpshooter.

“She’s not here,” the Ghost said.

Cardan’s mouth set into a grim line. He gave a curt nod, but his stare lingered on the dais. Where the pair of thrones sat, a latticework of woven roots and blossoms. They seemed to be holding their breath, too.

From the back of the leftmost royal seat, a deep blue flower petal shivered. Then it was falling in listless swoops and dives, whispering across the seat of the chair.

Hurry.

“Get a carriage,” Cardan said, just loud enough to be heard. The room was silent as a snowbank. “Go.”

There was a beat. Then, the din of metal and rushing of boots and they were all moving again.

The High King and his men took to the forests, guarded with crossbows and swords that might as well be spoons for how much they would protect against the glimpses.

Cardan didn’t know why his wife had decided to catch a glimpse. He had even less of a clue as to why she thought she had to do it alone.

The only thing he knew was the weight on his chest, two boulders sinking into the concavity of his lungs. How furious he was with Jude, and how much that didn’t matter. That her favourite flower was the blue bellflower, and its petals were falling from the throne.

☽☽☽☽☽

Night was encroaching. This, Jude only knew because the game she’d invented—finding pictures in the cracks and shadows of the cave wall to beat back the tide of sleep—was becoming more and more difficult.

She shivered. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there, but the fever had set in.

Jude couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a fever. It must’ve been when she was six or seven. When she was still living in the mortal world, and her mother was still alive to take care of her and getting fevers was the most of her worries.

Eva had climbed into her bed with two washcloths and snuggled up real close. 

She’d sat there for hours, pressing the warm compress to Jude’s forehead when she was too cold and the cold compress to her forehead when she was too warm. Telling her stories of magical places. Feeding her saltines and seltzer.

Jude had wholly forgotten how it felt to have a fever. It was as if she was being filled to the brim with hot wax and dunked in a bucket of ice water at the same time.

She’d only recently rediscovered how it felt to be comforted. She wondered if she’d ever feel that again.

Maybe, Jude thought, she could imagine herself some comfort. She was so very good at lying, after all. Maybe she could lie to herself. Just for a little while. 

She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the woeful sighs of the glimpses ebb and flow from outside the cave.

She imagined lying next to Cardan in their bed in the Royal Chambers. With nowhere to be and nothing to do, Cardan would cocoon them both in satin sheets, trace lazy shapes around her bare shoulders with the tips of his fingers. Pepper her back with nips and kisses. 

He would agree to be the big spoon for once since she was the one in need of comforting.

“Jude,” he would say softly, caressing her cheek, brushing the hair away from her eyes, “You are perhaps the single most important thing in my life.”

She’d turn her head to nuzzle the crook of his neck. “And you, mine, my love,” she’d say. He smelled like fallen leaves. And burnt toast.

Jude crinkled her nose. Odd. He didn’t usually smell like burnt toast. Had they just had breakfast? She couldn’t remember….

“I don’t understand.” Cardan’s voice was dipped in worry, and he paused the soothing circles of his fingers.

“Cardan,” Jude said, rolling her eyes, “We’ve been over this. I want to be here. I want to be with you. I love you.” 

Sometimes her husband just needed a little reminding. Sometimes she preferred to give him that reminder in other, much more wicked ways. Perhaps today she would give him both.

A sinful smile curled the corners of Jude’s lips. She turned around in Cardan’s arms to face him fully and was about to seal the morning off with a kiss, followed by further disreputable behaviour, when she noticed the look on his face.

It was the same one he wore when he’d looked at her from the riverbank after pushing her in a lifetime ago. The same one that had graced his face when she’d first placed that crown atop his head.

Now, in the bed they shared, Cardan looked at her with nothing but cold ire. “How could you do it?” he whispered, and Jude’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?” She didn’t know why, but something slick like tar settled in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him to smooth the crease between her brows. To kiss her forehead and call her his darling god.

But Cardan’s face remained a glacial effigy of the man she’d come to love. With nothing but disdain, he looked down his nose at her and asked, “How could you kill him? How could you murder my brother?”

*Jude sat up straight and vomited all over the cave floor. Then, she was pulled out to sea by a riptide of sleep.

☽☽☽☽☽

The High Queen of Elfhame was spinning. Round and round, a circle of fever dreams.

It was like sitting on a merry-go-round and looking in towards the centre where all those mirrors usually hang. Watching whirling versions of things and lights and yourself pass you by in the reflective panels moving in the opposite direction. 

One terrible vision after the next.

Locke’s water-logged body, blue-green and covered in seaweed, standing at the mouth of the cave. Valerian, dirt pouring from between his teeth as he smiled, walling up the entrance with stones, then filling the cave with blood. Balekin ensorceling her to kiss him, then turning into a giant moth right as her lips touched his. Cardan’s head on a pike with upturned eyes, jaw dropped as if mid-warning. A voice in her head.

Heeding requests, even my own, is the singular skill which evades her grand arsenal.

No key fits every lock.

I do not want Balekin dead.

How could you do it? How could you murder my brother?

Perhaps this is what she deserved. Perhaps she was a monster who couldn’t control herself long enough to keep from hurting those she loved, no better than Madoc. Perhaps Valerian’s curse was coming to fruition, after all.

If Jude could have laughed, she would have. But she could not. Dark waves lapped at the shores of her consciousness; and who was she to ignore the sea?

☽☽☽☽☽

Eventually, there was another voice in her head.

Shit, it said. Yes, she really was in very deep shit.

I FOUND HER, it bellowed, splintering her thoughts. She wondered if she should tell the voice to shut up. Though, it probably already knew that’s what she wanted, since it was in her head, and had probably heard her think it.

It was getting crowded in here. Her head was a swollen, throbbing balloon.

Fucking shit, the voice repeated.

Well, she thought, that was quite rude. No way to address a lady, such as herself. Whoever she was.

Something prodded her leg. 

A sudden, violent wave of pain swept over her.  It rose and rose and rose, but never fell. Darkness pulled her to its depths again.

☽☽☽☽☽

Can you hear me?

Stay awake. Stay. Awake.

*The voice was urgent. And constant. And very annoying. It felt like a cheese grater running down her mind. Her throat burned. Maybe the voice had run a cheese grater over that, too. Her hand slid into something wet. It smelled like sick.

Then, there was a cold compress on her forehead.

“Mom?” she croaked, her voice like cracked plaster. She lifted the heavy weight of her eyelids.

A figure was looming over her. It was too dark to see who, but her heart thrashed against her chest, all the same. This was another terrible dream. She was not sure she could take another one of those. Then again, she was in no position to fend it off if it decided to come. She was in no position to do anything, really.

“Not mom, Your Majesty,” the figure sighed, removing the compress. “You’re burning up.” 

Not a compress. Hands.

“Whose Majesty?” she asked through the haze in her mind. Everything was so confusing. Everything was also spinning.

She heard rummaging. Next thing she knew, a match had been struck, and the room filled with warm light. The figure looking down at her was indeed a woman, though it was indeed not her mother.

She had familiar plumes of white hair circling her head like smoke. Full, wine-red lips pressed into a weak smile. “Hello, Jude,” the woman said.

Yes, that must be who she was. She opened her mouth to thank the beautiful woman for the reminder, but all Jude could seem to do was squint. She knew this woman from somewhere.

“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?”

Jude could not muster the wherewithal to reply. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, slid gingerly under her knees. Then, the world tilted, shifted, until she was right up against something warm and solid.

Jude looked up at the woman. “You’re ethereal,” she murmured, staring up at the soft planes of her face. Blush blossomed a stain of pink across the woman’s cheeks. “Are you god?”

The woman snorted, then. Jude didn’t understand what was so funny. It seemed a perfectly reasonable question to ask. Since she was dying, and all.

“That’s quite enough of that, Your Majesty,” the woman said. “Let’s get you home.”

Home, Jude mused. She’d thought she was home, but maybe… she was wrong? Wherever home was, it sounded nice. She should like to go there someday.

☽☽☽☽☽

She was deep inside a cave. She could see nothing, but echoes of conversation pinged off the walls.

Delirious. Didn’t know who I was.

Reckon it’s the fever?

The infection perhaps?

Could be, but you need to keep her awake.

Can I hold her? Please?

The moon was a Cheshire cat smile above her. It grinned, then shattered into one hundred panes of opaline glass—a dragonfly’s wing, splitting her knee wide open.

☽☽☽☽☽

When Jude woke again, she knew she was home. 

She was being jostled around a bit, and her leg felt like someone had set it on fire, but she didn’t mind. She was wrapped in something soft. The sound of hooves on packed earth thundered in her ears.

Her name was being called.

“Jude,” someone said, over and over, a litany. A curse. “Jude, my love, you mustn’t fall asleep. You must stay awake. Can you do that for me, Jude? Please, stay with me.”

She opened her eyes. Blinked slow. The disembodied voice belonged to someone. That someone cradled her in his lap, holding her face between his hands. Everything was blurry, but she’d know those hands anywhere.

“Jude?” he whispered.

She summoned the tattered bits of her strength, lifting her hand to cover one of his. It was shaking.

“I know you,” Jude said, willing her eyes to focus. A keening sound tore from him.

Him. She knew his name. What was it? Her mind was so muddled by exhaustion and the riot of pain in her left leg, she could not remember. She was so angry at herself for not remembering.

Jude frowned. Huffed. Tried to refocus her eyes. It was the most important name, more important even than her own. She was a terrible person for forgetting it. She was pretty sure she was a terrible person anyway, but forgetting his name made her even worse.

She lifted a hand to his cheek. Her frown deepened. “Why is your face wet?”

“Because I’m very worried for my wife,” he said, in a strained sort of voice.

“You have a wife?” Envy billowed, a parachute in her chest. Which was ridiculous. She couldn’t even see this man. How could she possibly know if she was jealous?

He breathed a laugh. “Yes,” he told her, stroking her hair gently. “She is a headstrong, ornery fool who holds a vendetta against my poor nerves.”

Everything was quite difficult at the moment. All Jude could think was how beautiful this man’s voice sounded and how very badly she wanted to go back to sleep.

“Hmm.” She closed her eyes again. “She sounds awful.”

“No,” he said. “She is not.”

☽☽☽☽☽

*Watching his wife being carried off like a rag doll into the Royal Chambers, blood-spattered and covered in her own sick, Cardan Greenbriar had never felt so small.

~He felt smaller now than when Dain had tricked him, and he’d been kicked out of the palace for a murder he did not commit. Smaller now than all the times Balekin had removed his belt. Smaller now than when he was a kid crawling beneath the dining table, scrounging for scraps of food and attention.

The Bomb had explicitly forbidden Cardan from accompanying them further than the ante-chamber.

“If I’m going to heal her,” she’d said to him firmly, pausing outside the bedroom doors, “I’m going to need the utmost focus. Which will certainly not be achieved by you being in there, all blubbering and sentimental. So unless you know anything about mortal biology…”

Cardan had never in his life wished to be mortal; but suddenly, the desire to be one was visceral. He’d never wanted to lie more than he did in that moment. He tried to will the words past his lips, but they snagged in his throat. 

He was unable as ever.

So he’d been kicked out of his own bedroom. Away from his own wife. Who may or may not be dying.

The matter was still inconclusive. Cardan read it on the faces of the cycle of people poking their heads out in intervals to check on him or bring him tea. Sometimes, it was the Roach. Sometimes, the Ghost. Only once was it the Bomb, who had been hard at work for endless hours, and needed a break. 

Her face was just as dour as the rest.

“I know how you’re feeling,” she muttered, sliding down the wall to sit next to him on the floor just outside the bedroom doors. “If you need to talk—”

“What I need, Liliver, is for you to heal her,” Cardan snapped. 

He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. She was only trying to comfort him. She, too, had once been forced to watch as her beloved toed the line between life and death. Right now, though, the High King did not have the strength to feel sorry for anyone but himself.

The Bomb only nodded. Once, short and curt. She left him to his misery after that. Cardan supposed he’d probably have a lot of apologising to do to a lot of people by the end of this.

A while later, and rather belatedly, he realised he could very well just barge in there and demand to stay. Magical oath or not, he was still High King. They would still listen to him. 

But maybe the Bomb had a point. Maybe it would only make him more anxious, to be in there; he did not want to impede on Jude’s progress. Maybe nothing was the most he could do.

All his life, he’d spent doing most every childish thing. He’d tugged on the tails of cats, threw tantrums when he didn’t get his way, threatened people when they offended him. 

Now, Cardan sat there on the floor with his head in his hands, doing absolutely nothing, and felt more like a child than ever.

☽☽☽☽☽

Jude was a dragonfly hovering over water, dipping in and out of sleep. She was flying and then sinking and then flying again.

It went like this for a while. 

She’d fall asleep in one place and drift to the surface of consciousness in another. Sometimes she felt no pain. Sometimes she felt a great deal of pain all at once. The latter would usually send her careening back into nothingness.

On occasion, she’d awaken just long enough to recognise the faces floating in and out of her vision. The Roach, with his scythe of a nose. The Ghost, with his sandy hair and silent demeanour. The Bomb, who Jude had a strange, vague feeling was blushing every time she looked at her. She even recognised a nurse or two.

Always, there were people. There was one face, however, that she did not see.

“Bomb,” Jude rasped, and the faerie’s eyes met hers. “If I die, would you tell him I hated him? Tell him, that’s why I did it.”

“What do you mean?” The Bomb asked. But Jude was already drifting again.

☽☽☽☽☽

Next Part

Last Part

Masterlist

AN: I am…so sorry. I’ll be the first to say, I am the absolute worst for telling you guys this was going to be a two-shot and then leaving this on such a cliffhanger and making you wait for a third part. Don’t hate me? The good news is, I have a lot of the last part written. The bad news is, the last part is what has been keeping me from updating-- writing it feels more and more like giving birth with each passing day.

So if you enjoyed this part, and would like to give me some writerly encouragement in the form of a comment/reblog/keyboard smash/message/ask, any and all of the above would basically be like giving me a dose of that sweet, sweet epidural and I would be forever grateful :’)

If you’d like to be updated on the next part of this Three-Shot (to come very soon), let me know and I’ll add you to the tag list! Back to the woods now. -em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Follow You Down to the Red Oak Tree by James Vincent McMorrow

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @knifewifejude​ @clockworkgraystairs​ @jurdanhell​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @hizqueen4life​ @nite0wl29​ @mysweetvilllain​ @thesirenwashere​

#i wrote this in literally one day #i'm SO SORRY #please don't hate me #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude greenbriar #tcp #twk #tqon #qon #tfota #holly black #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #the folk of the air #high queen jude #high queen of elfhame #queen jude #high king cardan #king cardan #high king of elfhame #prince cardan #my writing #to dance with danger #ember writes #follow you down to the red oak tree

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 1 of the food of love is here!

{kristanna / t /modern au / humor and fluff / pride & prejudice inspired}

Legendary food critic Hayden West is known for their scathing reviews of restaurants and wickedly sharp wit. Restaurant owners tremble at the thought of the day the mysterious reviewer will walk through their doors-- never suspecting that Hayden West is, in fact, the redheaded woman with a sketchbook eating a quiet meal alone.

It's an easy enough job for Anna, and she's got her routine down pat, especially with the help of her assistant, Olaf.

And then comes the day she walks into Kristoff Bjorgman's restaurant-- and gets much, much more than she bargained for.

Pencil-- check.

Sketchbook-- check.

Phone, wallet, and keys-- check.

Anna took one last glance at herself in the mirror, smoothing down the navy skirt of her nondescript dress. Her hair, that couldn’t be helped; a wig would stand out even more than the fiery shade of auburn, but she’d pulled it up into a ponytail to keep it mostly out of sight. Simple makeup, plain unbranded shoes-- she appeared entirely unremarkable.

Perfect.

She hummed to herself a little as she locked her apartment and headed towards the stairs. This week’s assignment was easy enough; some new little bistro on the edge of an area that was trendy five years ago. 

She liked the little, unfussy places. It was easier to hide when no one cared if she lingered with her sketchbook, easier to see what she was looking for at places where you could hear what was happening in the kitchen while still watching the manager wander around trying to figure out who Hayden West was. 

The only clue they ever got was the day Hayden would be there; no photos existed of the mysterious restaurant critic, no matter how many times their scathing reviews went viral. “The Gordon Ramsay of newspaper critics,” that was what the Times had called Hayden after a withering review of a seafood place had garnered a hundred thousand retweets for its description of particularly horrible crab cakes that “deserved neither to be called crab nor cake but perhaps a vaguely saltwater scented cement patty that should be patented and marketed as an instantaneously effective weight loss supplement.”

Anna had been particularly proud of that one. It was a rare day when the food was actually bad enough to warrant such a review on its own; the fact that the manager had gotten into a screaming match that reduced a sixteen year old waitress to tears was simply motivation to hold absolutely nothing back. 

She wondered, sometimes, what people would think if they knew the truth: that in fact Hayden had never existed at all and was in fact a twenty-four-year-old woman who’d unexpectedly been promoted into the gig after the man she’d been interning under was unceremoniously given the boot for drunkenly relieving himself on the editor’s lawn, where he had gotten caught by a ferocious Maltese.

The restaurant, thankfully, was only a few blocks away; her car was in desperate need of a replacement everything, but she didn’t have the heart to get rid of it, not when it’d seen her through thick and thin for nearly ten years, from her sixteenth birthday to her college move-ins to her hour long commute to the Tribune’s office for her barely-more-than-unpaid internship. 

It came to a creaky halt in front of the restaurant at ten to noon; she’d have just enough time to get seated without having to wait, but she’d bear witness to the midday lunch rush and its aftermath. The place wasn’t much to look at, though she could tell by the small garden out front and the stenciled outlines on the white-painted brick wall that it wasn’t for lack of effort. It had opened only a month ago, the latest in a long line of valiant attempts to put something interesting on this block. If she remembered correctly, six months ago this space had been a design-your-own-lasagna place (wonderful idea, but impossible to execute efficiently); before that, there had been a sugar-free bakery that had been run out of business in two weeks when it was discovered that the only sugar-free thing it sold was bottled water; and even before that, it had been, like most places that were cursed with a constant “for lease” sign, a Jenny Craig. 

And now it was just BB’s, a name that was so simple it made her worry that this venture would fail like all its predecessors, especially considering its lack of marketing and online presence; she’d had to send her intern to do some scouting for her to even get her hands on a menu in advance.

“This place is great, boss,” Olaf had said through a mouthful of food as he’d called her on his way back to the office. “They’ve even got cheesecake.”

“With--”

“Chocolate sauce, yeah, yeah, I know how you are. I got the menu for you and had the cute waiter circle all his recommendations, and that was top of the list. Well, not literally top, the desserts are all at the--”

“I knew what you meant, Olaf,” she’d said as she rolled her eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And thanks.”

Now, Anna found herself hoping he had been right about this place when she pushed the door open, bells jingling overhead; it had been far too long since she’d gotten the chance to write an enthusiastic endorsement of a place that really deserved it. To her surprise, only one other table was taken by two men, one broad-shouldered and blond, the other dark-haired and sporting a wide smile the second he laid eyes on her.

“Hi!” he said brightly, leaping to his feet and wiping his hands on his apron. “Welcome to BB’s! Table for one?”

“Yes, please,” she said, returning his smile after a moment’s confusion; if the place was as good as Olaf had said, why was it this desolate on a Saturday at lunchtime?

“I’m Ryder, and I’ll be taking care of you today,” the waiter said, pulling a chair out for her at a table next to the window. “Let me grab you a menu, okay?”

“Thanks,” Anna said, her focus instead on the other man as he rose to his feet and ambled over to the door that led to the kitchen. He was even taller-- and broader, Jesus but those shoulders-- than she’d realized at first. 

This place must have been an old-fashioned diner once upon a time, judging by the window to the kitchen through which she could still see him. He was handsome, she supposed, if you liked men with strong jaws and broad noses and floppy golden hair.

And brown eyes, she thought, her cheeks turning bright red as he looked up and caught her staring. She jerked her attention away just as Ryder said cheerfully “Here you go!” as he put a laminated menu on the table in front of her. “The soup of the day is minestrone. What would you like to drink?”

“Water, please, and a coffee,” she said, still trying to cover her embarrassment.

“I’ll brew some fresh for you and be right back,” he said, that broad grin still plastered to his face as he bustled back to the kitchen.

Anna fidgeted a little in her seat as she pulled out her sketchbook. The whole point of her job was going unnoticed, but if she was the only customer in the restaurant today-- shit, this could blow her whole cover, considering each restaurant knew in advance that Hayden was coming that day.

For now, though, she had to worry about her notes, and so she began to sketch the interior of the restaurant in the notepad. She was no great artist by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the best way she’d found to remember her thoughts and impressions of a restaurant without having to worry about prying eyes reading over her shoulder. With each detail she drew, she thought of something specific-- friendly waiter as she scribbled the outline of the door, not busy, why? for the back of a chair, clean, good health rating posted for the box of the kitchen window.

And the menu-- she glanced over it as she doodled it. Simple, Italian-American fare; judging by the names-- Cliff’s Favorite, a deep-dish pizza with meatballs, and Ronnie’s Ravioli-- these were family recipes. She couldn’t help but wonder about what the chef’s family was like as she dared to steal another peek at him. He was working on prepping something, his forehead furrowed in concentration, and if she noticed the way his shoulders strained against his white t-shirt as he did so...well, so long as he didn’t catch her looking again, what did it matter?

The bells over the door jingled, startling her, and she turned to see a chattering group of six friends come in. A feeling of relief washed over her; she hated to see places like this go under fast.

Ryder set her coffee down in front of her, winking as he dropped a couple of creamers beside it, before scurrying over to seat the newcomers. She took a sip as her phone buzzed with a text from Olaf.

how is it?

Good so far. Decent coffee. Not many people here, though, can you send some friends?

aye aye, captain. i’ll remind them to do a better job of pretending not to recognize you this time lol

God, it was hard to remember how she’d used to do this without him. When Hans had first been fired and she’d been unceremoniously promoted into his newly vacant position, she’d spent the first few weeks scrambling to find a restaurant that actually deserved the sort of bad review Hayden West was known for. Hans, of course, had never had such scruples, but it felt wrong to Anna to make a mockery of a place and risk running it out of business when it was run by perfectly nice people, even if they did have a watery hollandaise. She’d used to rely on word of mouth and her own scouting expeditions to try and find places that really deserved it, but it wasn’t until she’d found the place with the shitty crab cakes that she’d finally found a manager who was a big enough asshole to deserve every bad review the place got.

The problem, though, was that when the review had gone viral, it had spelled a complete shutdown for the restaurant. After spending two sleepless nights worrying about the impact it’d have on the rest of the staff, Anna had gone for a second visit-- this time ordering a simple salad that still managed to be disgusting-- and pulled one of the waiters aside, asking about the plans the rests of the staff had for a next job.

And, because that had been her lucky day, the waiter had been Olaf, and he’d been just as enthusiastic as she was about helping connect the rest of the staff with new places more than willing to hire them on-- and he didn’t ask any questions about why, exactly, she cared so much. But when Anna had asked what Olaf himself was looking for as a next step, he’d blushed and admitted, “Honestly, I’m on a break from college right now. Journalism major-- not sure if it’s worth finishing, you know?”

Anna had confessed then for the very first time that she was, in fact, the legendary Hayden West-- or at least his successor-- expecting him to react with shock and, if she was being honest, a bit of awe, but instead Olaf had burst into laughter.

“Obviously,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “I saw the way you were looking around the place and heard the questions you were asking. Secret’s safe with me, though.”

She’d called her boss the same day asking to bring him on as a paid intern, and neither of them had looked back since. Olaf had a knack for finding disgruntled waitstaff in the Tri-State area complaining on Twitter and Reddit about their shitty bosses, then following up with them after Hayden’s reviews were published to make sure that they and their coworkers had a better place to work, either because their managers had seen the light or because they had moved on to greener pastures.

One of the tricks they’d developed together was sending in decoys if Anna was ever worried about getting caught. Olaf had a whole network of friends who were more than willing to show up to restaurants at a moment’s notice and eat a meal on the Tribune’s dime. 

Today, though, she needed a certain pair of them to make sure this went smoothly.

Send the two improv kids, she texted back. They’ve got their work cut out for them-- this place is deserted. They have to act extra Hayden-y.

Olaf replied with only a thumbs-up emoji. Anna sighed and sat back in her seat, and a moment later Ryder appeared by her side. “Ready to order?” he asked, wearing another bright smile.

Extra attentive-- she’d add that to the sketch later. “Yeah,” she said, skimming the menu quickly again. Honestly, so far, this place hit every mark of a restaurant worth one of Hayden’s really positive reviews, which, thanks to the column’s usual reputation, went even more viral than the venomous ones-- not every day that a renowned cynic actually liked something.

There was just one more test, the one that elevated a good place to a great one, great enough that she’d come back to on her own time and money and bring her sister along for the ride.

“I’ll just have the spaghetti, please,” she said with her sunniest smile.

Ryder nodded and turned away, whistling to himself, and she glanced up at the clock over his head. 

Five minutes and counting, she thought. Fingers crossed this goes the way I want.

---

a/n: THANK YOU to molly, laura, and melissa for helping me brainstorm and plan this one out!!extra thanks to molly and to johanna for helping me with some of the restaurant stuff, to ronnie for helping me decide what kind of restaurant kristoff would have, and as always, to creative director gabi :')

#kristanna #my fics #p&p&p

[bitchin-beskar]

Hi! Could you do prompts 12 and 22 for Pedro? I love your writing, and as as long as you are willing I will keep requesting more. Your writing makes me happy and allows me to escape from everything for a little bit which is really nice! Thank you!!!

Anon, you’re going to make me cry this is so sweet, I’m so happy you like my writing! As long as you send in requests, I will happily write for you! That being said, I will be writing a second part to this story. It was originally just going to be a one-shot, but the more I wrote, the more I wanted to split this into two chapters. I’m not sure when I will be able to have the second chapter out, as I have other requests and my own stories I need to focus on, but I promise you will get a second chapter!! The beginning ended up being darker than I originally planned, but I hope you still like it!!

Close Call

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This story is rated M just to be safe, there are mentions of kidnapping and threats of forced prostitution (but not descriptive), so if that is triggering to you at all, please be aware. 

Requested: #12: “I don’t know if I can exist in this world without you.” and #24: “I don’t know where I am. Help me.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

God, you were an idiot. Why, why didn’t you listen? 

Your friends had offered to get you a ride, why had you turned them down?

Cause you were an idiot. That was the only explanation. You’d been sure you knew the way back to your Airbnb, you swore to them that you’d be fine to walk home from the bar. You had pepper spray, you had basic martial arts training, you knew all the little tricks in case you were jumped. 

You should have known better, dammit. How many times has it been drilled into your head that you don’t walk unfamiliar streets at night. You blame the alcohol. You weren’t drunk, but clearly tipsy enough that your judgement was impaired. 

The longer the walked, the more you sobered up, and the more worried you became. You rubbed your cold fingers together to try and warm them. You didn’t recognize any of the street signs, and of course, you didn’t have the address of the Airbnb saved. Your friend had made the reservations, and you hadn’t thought to write the address down, and of course tonight was the night she was out with her boyfriend at the theatre.

You cursed your bad luck as you stopped under a streetlamp, digging through your purse for your phone. It takes way longer than it should to find it, considering the size of your purse. As you’re fishing your phone out, you hear… something. 

Pausing, you listen intently. It had sounded like… someone talking? It had been faint, and you looked around suspiciously. It’s dark, and the streets around you appear empty. Sighing, you figure it must have been your overactive imagination combined with the paranoia that came with walking strange streets at night.

You begin walking again, opening up your phone to check and see if you could find any texts that gave you an inkling of where you were staying when you heard it again. There was definitely someone talking. You tried not to panic, but you could feel your hands beginning to shake, and not from the cold. Maybe it was someone else who was out at night, walking home, just like you were. There was no reason to panic. You turned a corner, and discreetly glanced behind you. 

Okay, now you should panic. Three men, each at least six feet tall if not taller, and built like offensive linemen were walking not even twenty paces behind you. You tried to stay calm, and picked up the pace, walking faster, but not quite at a jog. You listened intently as they rounded the corner, and your heart stopped as you heard them start to move quicker as well. You held your phone protectively in front of you, hiding it from the men stalking you. 

Shakily, you dialed 911, holding it carefully to your ear so that you could avoid tipping the men following you off. You continued to walk quickly, praying for someone to just pick up the damn ph–

“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?” 

You could have sobbed with relief, but instead you answered, your voice as low a whisper as you could get while still being audible. “Please, I need help. I’m walking down the street and there are three large men following me,” you paused for a quick breath, and to check the street signs. “I’m walking by the corner of Maple and Edgewood, please help me.” 

The woman on the other end responded quickly. “I’ll send a cruiser immediately, I need you to stay on the line for as long as possible.” You wanted to feel relieved, but in that moment, one of the men behind you must have realized that you were calling for help, because you could hear their pace speed up into a fast jog. “Oh god,” you breathed, immediately beginning to sprint. “They’re running now, please, please help,” you spoke louder, your breaths coming in pants as you ran. You weren’t worried about staying quiet, not now. Now you were just trying to run faster than the men chasing you.

You could hear the woman on the other end speaking, but there was blood rushing in your ears, too loud to hear her. As your feet pounded into the pavement, you were so grateful you’d chosen pants and flats to go drinking in, as they certainly would have caught you had you been in heels. 

Despite your sprint, you could hear the men behind you catching up. There were tears streaming down your cheeks as you ran, but you ignored them, trying desperately to hold out until the police cruiser got to your location. There was a sudden weight on your back, rough hands snatching your waist in a bruising grip as you went tumbling to the ground. Your head smacked on the concrete, and your vision went black. 

When you opened your eyes, it took you a while to realize you weren’t in bed. For one, you couldn’t see a thing. You blinked a couple of times, and it took you longer than it should have to realize there was something over your eyes, and in your mouth,

Confused, you tried to touch your face, only for you to realize your hands were restricted, bound. Shit. 

Suddenly, the memories came flooding back, the walk back to the Airbnb, the dark streets, the men chasing you, running, running, falling– 

You squeezed your eyes shut, even though you couldn’t see anything, whimpering quietly around the fabric shoved past your lips and between your teeth. God, where were you? There was a sharp clang somewhere to your left, and your whole body jerked, flinching back away from the noise. You listened intently, and realized there were faint voices coming from… underneath you? 

Maybe you were on a second story, or even higher, and you slumped in disappointment. Even if you managed to get your hands free, and the blindfold and gag off, the chances of you being able to escape were slim to none. You curled into a ball as best you could, and tried to keep the tears at bay. You didn’t want your captors to see you cry.

You heard the scrape of something against the floor, and as heavy footsteps began to move, getting louder and moving upwards, you realized someone was coming up to check on you. You couldn’t control the flinch your body gave, and the dark, raspy laugh that followed sent shivers down your spine. 

“Ah, our little guest is awake,” the voice crooned, and you faintly noticed that his voice would have been almost handsome, if not for the dark, twisted way his tongue wrapped around his words. “You’ve been out for quite some time, little girl.”

A hand snatched your chin, and you couldn’t help the desperate whimper that left your mouth. “Aw, are you scared, little girl?” His voice was heavy with a dark amusement as he jerked your chin from side to side, likely examining your face. “There’s no need to be frightened. I’m sure the company we sell you to will treat you well.” 

You could feel the blood draining from your cheeks, and another dark chuckle rang out from in front of you. “Well, so long as you please their customers of course!” His thumb ran over your bottom lip, and you shuddered. “Some of them can get kind of… violent.” His voice lowered, as though sharing a secret with you. “But you look like you could take it. Oh I wish I got to watch them break you little girl,” he leaned in, and you felt something wet and slimy run across your cheek. Oh god, was that his tongue??

His grip tightened on your aching jaw. “You don’t have much longer to wait, little girl. They’ll be here within a couple hours to pick you up.” He patted your cheek sharply, more like a slap. There was a rustling, and you heard his footsteps begin to move away and back down the stairs. 

You wanted to sob, but you held back, knowing that if you broke down now, you were never going to have a chance at getting out of there. You heard the door open and slam shut a couple of times, and you realized they must have left. Listening for god knows how long, you waited to see if there was any indication that there was anyone else in the building.

After what seemed to be an eternity, you began to move, experimenting with how much leeway your hands had. After a couple experimental tugs, you realized your hands had to be tied to something in front of you. Leaning forward was awkward, and your fingernails scratched your skin a couple of times before they were able to grab the blindfold. Yanking it off, you sat back, blinking rapidly to adjust your vision.

It looked like you were in some kind of warehouse, clearly old and abandoned going off of the graffiti lining the walls. You focused on the ground in front of you, and saw this metal ring soldered to the ground, with your hands bound in rope to it. You wanted desperately to rip your gag off, but it was tied too tightly, and you wouldn’t be able to undo it without being able to move your hands behind your head. 

You twisted your hands back and forth, struggling to see the knots in the dim lighting of the warehouse. The rope used to bind your wrists looked old, and the metal ring soldered in the ground had a couple of screws sticking out of it, so you began to rub the rope back and forth across the screws as fast as the rope would allow you to.

Back and forth, back and forth, you weren’t sure how long you’d been rubbing the rope when you heard a snap. The rope loosened, and with a few quick, sharp tugs, the rope completely unraveled, and your hands were free. 

Your fingers flew to the rag between your teeth, clawing at the fabric until it finally came loose, and you pulled it from between your lips with a gasp. You sat there for a moment, hands shaking now that they were no longer bound to the ground. You slowly stood, your legs numb from sitting in an awkward position for so long. 

Once you’d finally regained feeling in your legs, you slowly crept towards the stairs. You had to get out of this warehouse, and as far away as possible before they came back. You’d been on the phone with 911 when they’d attacked, but you had no idea how long you’d been asleep.

At the top of the stairs, you paused, listening once more for any signs of life downstairs. After a few tense moments, you crept downstairs, eyes roving all around you as you descended. The bottom floor of the warehouse seemed to hold some kind of kitchenette and living area. You didn’t do much more than look for the guys who’d taken you, too scared to take in the décor. 

Thankfully, the first floor of the warehouse was empty, and you could have jumped for joy when you saw your purse and cell phone resting on the rickety table in the middle of the kitchen. You grabbed them quickly, before making your way to the door, grasping the handle and opening it quietly. 

As you peered out, you saw it was still night, and you were relieved that it couldn’t have been more than a couple hours. Slipping out the door, you crept towards the bushes lining the warehouse, trying to stay out of sight. You still didn’t see any signs of people but that didn’t mean you wanted to risk it. 

As you reached the back of the building, you realized you had two options. You could either take the road, and risk running into your captors whenever they returned, or you could take your chances in the woods, and hope that you could get far enough away before they got back and found you missing.

Making up your mind, you headed for the dense woods, plunging into the foliage. You couldn’t run through the woods, the undergrowth was too dense, and it was dark, but you moved as fast as you could. You tripped and stumbled over hidden roots and jagged rocks, your pants catching on thorny vines, but still you pushed on. 

You had no idea how long you’d been stumbling through the woods, but you were hopelessly lost. There were no signs of civilization anywhere around you, and it was getting colder. Your head had started throbbing, and when you reached up to rub at the pain, you felt a large lump on your forehead, likely from when you’d been tackled. 

The only comfort was the fact that you couldn’t hear anyone chasing after you. You had no sense of direction or time, the only thought running through your head was getting as far away as possible. It was only when your knees began to give out underneath you that began to look for somewhere to hide. 

You tripped over yet another root, falling to your knees on the forest floor, hands slamming into the soft dirt as you fell. You knelt in the dirt, arms shaking as you tried to stay upright, waves of nausea crashing over you. Black spots swam in your vision, and you fought to stay conscious. 

Once your vision cleared somewhat, you were able to crawl to a small, covered spot underneath a large tree. Curling up underneath the overhang, you made yourself as small as possible, both to try and stay warm, and to make sure you stayed out of sight. 

You were drifting in and out of consciousness, the pain in your head flaring sharply and then dulling over and over. You heard a ringing, and at first you ignored it, thinking that it was just another part of the massive headache. But as it continued, you realized that it was your phone ringing, not your head. 

Fumbling with your purse, you finally turned it upside down in frustration to get at your phone. You couldn’t read the name on the screen, your vision too blurry to make out much more than the answer button. 

You clumsily answered the phone, your cold, shaking fingers missing the button multiple times before you got it right, bringing it to your ear. “H–H–Hello?” Your voice was a whisper, you weren’t sure you could speak any louder, as it suddenly registered just how much your throat hurt. 

“Hermosa, oh dios mío. Sweetheart, where are you? Are you okay?” The frantic voice on the other end of the line confused you for a moment. You knew that voice, but you couldn’t remember where–

“Por favor, sweet girl, please answer me!”

It hits you suddenly. “P–Pedro?”

You hear a gasp on the other end. “Oh dios, sí hermosa, yes, it’s me. Where are you? Your roommate called, she told me you were missing, what happened?” Tears jump to your eyes at the sound of his voice, and you can’t help the sob that escapes your lips. 

“T–They grabbed me, I–I was w–walking back and they came out of nowhere, t–they grabbed me, o–oh god, h–he said they w–were gonna s–sell me, an–and I r–ran, but–” 

You have to stop, your voice is shaking so much you’re not sure your words even make any sense, and your head hurts and your throat hurts and oh god you just wanna go home.

There’s a strange sort of hissing noise that you slowly realize is Pedro shushing you over the phone. “Shh, shh sweetheart, it’s ok, just tell me where you are, we’ll come and find you darling, lo prometo.” His words are confident but his voice is unsteady, and you realize you must be scaring him, but you can’t muster up the words to apologize. 

Suddenly his words hit you, and you feel your lungs seize up. Your breathing picks up, and suddenly your hyperventilating. “I–I don’t know!” You gasp out, your vision swimming as you start to lose consciousness. “I–I don’t know w–where I am. H–Help me.”

The first time you wake up, you don’t even open your eyes. The first thing you’re aware of is that your whole body hurts. Your arms and legs feel weighed down, and your chest feels as though it’s filled with cotton. Your head is throbbing, and your eyelids seem sewn together for all that you’re able to move them. You try to take a deep breath, and you feel... something in your throat blocking you from taking in a lungful of air. 

You hear a beeping from somewhere next to you, speeding up quickly the more you struggle to breathe. You try to move your arms, and panic fills you when you realize you can’t. There’s a sudden, warm weight on your hand, as though someone’s touching you, and that's the last thing you remember. 

The second time you wake up, you’re still unable to open your eyes. You’re still paralyzed, and there’s still something in your throat. But before you can panic, you hear a soft voice somewhere next to you. It takes you a minute to recognize that the voice is singing, and it takes another couple of minutes for you to realize the song is in spanish. 

You’re unable to decipher the words in your drugged state–for that’s what it has to be, you think, there’s no way you’d be this out of it naturally–but the voice is soothing, and you fall asleep once more.

The third time you wake, you’re able to open your eyes. It takes a herculean effort, but you force them open, despite the pain. You look up blearily at the ceiling, and for a minute, that’s all the effort you can muster. 

Once you feel up to it, you try to look around the room. The walls are white, and the sheets of the bed you’re on are white, the floor is white, the door is white, everything except for the figure in the recliner is white. 

Your eyes snap back to the recliner, and it takes you a minute to recognize just who is sleeping there. Pedro has one leg tucked underneath him, his glasses halfway down his nose and a book in his lap as he snores softly. You realize he must have fallen asleep reading, and your heartbeat quickens as you watch him. 

There had been a few moments where you thought you were never going to see him again, when you’d been delirious with pain and fear and likely a mild case of hypothermia. Seeing him sitting here, in the flesh, makes you want to cry.

As tears begin to roll down your cheeks, the sore skin around your eyes flares up in pain, and there’s a sudden increase in the beeping next to you. You can’t do anything but watch as Pedro startles awake at the noise, and his eyes sweep the room in a mild panic before they land on you. 

You watch as his eyes widen, and he drops the book from his lap onto the floor in his haste to get to you. He’s by your side in an instant, hand coming up to gently brush away your tears. You see tears of his own well in his eyes, and you try to move your hand, only to feel a sharp pain as you do so, and a broken whimper tears out of your throat.

Pedro gently covers your hand with his own, careful not to jostle the IV in your hand, his other hand resting on your cheek. “It’s alright, it’s okay, sweetheart, just relax,” he croons, voice quiet and soft. “You’re safe, hermosa, you’re in the hospital.” He must see the questioning look in your eyes, but he shakes his head. “I’ll explain everything later, you need to rest. Please, please rest sweetheart, you need to get better.”

You stare pleadingly at him for a moment before giving in. You’ve never been able to fight him, not when he looks at you like that, and to be honest, you don’t really have the strength to fight him at the moment. As you allow your eyes to drift shut, you see him leaning down, and you feel his lips brush against your forehead, and you hear him say one last thing, his voice breaking a little.

“I don’t know if I can exist in this world without you.”

#requests #pedro pascal #reader #reader fic #no use of Y/N #angsty #and a little dark #but there’s fluff at the end #i promise! #masterlist #fics

[danetobelieve]

Standing Vigil || Ricky, Rio and Winston

Location: the beach beneath the cliff’s which the Roommate Squad lives on. 

Timing: the morning of the 18th of June

Tagging: @3starsquinn, @ricky-corderbro & @danetobelieve

Description: Nell and Luce liberated some selkie skins which they gave to Kaden who in turn gave to Ricky. The boys (and Winston) give their fallen friends a proper farewell.

Warnings: no official warnings; this is as close to a funeral as we’ll probably write though so bear that in mind. 

Everything about this was wrong, and that ate at a small sheltered core of Ricky’s heart that sounded and smelled like the waves off Rinn Mhaoile. It should have been elders. It should have been all selkies. There should have been names, clan members standing in the shallows to recount stories, give benedictions, request boons from the waves for safe passage. But instead it was a single selkie, a magician, and a repentant hunter, and Ricky only hoped it would be enough to grant the souls passage to the Deep Tides. He’d woken up early enough to give himself some time to get read; traditionally burials happened at sunrise as the tide ebbed back into the ocean deep, and he’d given himself time to shower and have a cup of coffee and take some time to think. He tied his hair back with a ribbon that his mom had used, slid the silver ring on his finger that bore her mark, and gathered up the skins from where they had been sitting on a chair in his bedroom, making his way downstairs clad only in a swimsuit to start to head towards the beach, his own skin draped over his shoulders. Even though they were both human, or at least more human than he was, Ricky deeply and fervently appreciated that both Winston and Rio had agreed to help with the burial, “It’s uh…. It really means a lot to me that you guys agreed to do this.” He managed to keep his voice from sounding too choked as he hugged the skins close, “Tide should start going out soon so we should uh head down to the beach.”

Winston hadn’t slept. They knew that they were going to have to be up early and they’d tried to get an early night’s sleep but they were still trying to work out if and how they would be able to get rid of the eye in their hand, their research had dragged on into the night and before they knew it the alarm they’d set to wake them up had been blaring and they decided that it was time to get ready. They could sleep later, it wasn’t like they had work for a while. Heading down and outside of the house with their friends, Winston shivered in the cold morning air. But they were dressed equally appropriately, though they wore a hoodie to keep them warm and still felt the early morning chill in the air. “Of course Ricky,” Winston replied, looking up at Rio. He looked- Winston forced themselves to look away, this wasn’t the time to be obsessing over Rio. They had work to do. “We’re always going to be here to do these things, especially after what we have learned about this … person,” Winston could hardly comprehend a being so evil that it would do this, “they deserve to be given a proper funeral.” Winston set off, their sandals crunching through the gravel and loose sand as they wound their way down the cliff path to the beach. 

Orion was out of place. He didn’t deserve to be here. It was because of people exactly like Rio that Ricky has to do this funeral in the first place. Rio didn’t know the whole situation. Hunters had to be involved with this, right? Weren’t they always? And Rio was just like them. But as sure as Rio was that they didn’t deserve to take part in such a bittersweet ceremony, how could he say no? This wasn’t about what Rio thought he should or shouldn’t be a part of. Ricky wanted him there. So Rio needed to be there. Even if he didn’t deserve to be. And even if Winston was there, the sombering mood of the morning making it even more obvious that the two had too much going on between them. But Rio was dedicated to not making this awkward. Even if he was about to be knee deep in water wearing a long sleeve shirt and track pants. He figured he could at least roll the track pants up a bit to avoid getting too soaked. “Just let us know what you need from us.” Rio agreed with Winston, offering whatever they could to help Ricky out.

Ricky made most of the trek down to the darkened beach in silence, fingers carding over the smooth skins he held in his hands. As he crunched down the path he struggled internally with his own worthiness to complete this ritual. He was thousands of miles from his clan, he was too young, he just wasn’t the selkie his mother had been. How could he send these poor men and women off to the deep when he hadn’t even been able to do that to his own mother. “Not much.” He muttered quietly as the path gave way to the silent beach, the crash of the ebbing tide the only sound, “I can say everything that needs to be said. There just needs to be three people. To stand for them in death, and to watch over their ashes as they join the sea.” He hadn’t bothered with shoes as he’d left the house, so the transition from beach to wave he could make without stalling. Barely feeling the frigid cold of the waves he strode out until he was almost waist deep in the water, turning back to his friends “You guys don’t have to come out this far. Knee deep is fine. Just within earshot and spell-shot. We uh…. We can start whenever.” 

Winston had been feeling slightly better about everything with Rio after the night they’d spent with Skylar watching Cell’s at Work. It had been a good way to diffuse the tension, though it remained ever present. “We can of course do that, it’s an honour even if we’re not the ideal candidates,” Winston couldn’t help but feel out of place. But the fact that Ricky trusted them to do this meant more then anything else right now. Slipping out of their sandals and tossing their hoodie and t-shirt down with it, they left them in the sand and made their way forwards. The waves foamed up against their toes, greeting them and guiding them towards the sea. Wading in so they were only a few feet away from Ricky. Shivering slightly in the early morning air, Winston kept as silent as they could. “Just give me one second, I want to do this properly.” Winston took a moment to center themself, taking a long breath and exhaling before repeating the motion once more and exhaling a thin tendril of fire that they caught between the index finger and thumb of both hands, holding it there as a tight ball, Winston looked at Ricky, “tell me when you’re ready and I’ll light them.” 

Orion was more of a placeholder than anything else. Unlike Winston, Rio had no real purpose to be here. It was better that way. Too much involvement wouldn’t feel right considering the situation. His eyes were glazed over and he felt empty inside. If Rio felt this away about the senseless death of these people, people he didn’t know and had no kind of connection to, he could only imagine how awful Ricky must feel right now. He watched Ricky curiously, trying to decipher what was going on in his head right now. He was so ridiculously strong. He never let fear or sadness show up on his face. Because he always thought he needed to be strong for everybody else. It was noble, but stupid. Rio wished that Ricky would break down with him once in a while. It might help Ricky process whatever he was going through. Rio shot a glance over towards Winston, carefully studying their face as the fire they was holding illuminated it. Rio didn’t need the light to see them, his hunter sight took care of that. But he did like the way their face looked through the ambience. Though the weather didn’t bother Rio much considering his attire, the water was freezing cold against his feet. The cold continued as Rio followed in deeper, nipping at his ankles and following up to his shin, where the prickling sensation finally ceased when the water found his track pants and favored that over his knees. Here they were. At this point, Rio didn’t have much to offer to the group aside from his support. He smiled at Winston, nodding in acknowledgement of the moment before turning his focus back on Ricky. Time to get started, it seemed.

Nodding as Winston conjured an impressive ball of fire in his hands, Ricky turned his gaze back out to see, towards the pale peach fingers of a rising dawn, holding the skins out towards the sun as it peaked over the horizon, their cool weight draped over his arms. “You deserved better than this.” His voice cracked sharply and he took a brief moment to collect himself as he felt a few tears roll down his cheek, “You died far from clan and shore, from those who knew and loved you, and were deprived your chance at rest. We stand your vigil now to try to fix that.” He cast his gaze over his shoulder to look at Rio, standing cold in the water behind him, “Behind me Orion Quinn stands vigil for your past. As the light from his namesake is already long-past history by the time it reaches us, he stands in the ebbing tide to honor the life you lived.” He gave a weak smile and turned back to face the sun. “I am Ricardo Cordero, son of Clan Muirgen, and I stand vigil for your present. For the span of life you were supposed to live and was robbed from you. For the light you were meant to bring into the world, and the strength we were robbed of by your absence.” Turning to look at his best friend he wiped tears from his face with his shoulder, “And Winston Dane stands vigil for your future. The cleansing fire, not born of earth or sky, that will return you to the Deep Tides and the clans that swim in the calm and dark. We do not know your names, and cannot tell your clans that you have been rescued from bondage. But a recollection of you will be carved in the Tidestone of Clan Muirgen. Six unknown souls laid to rest. May the Deep Tides call you home, may your ancestors welcome you into those hidden shoals, and may you rest in peace knowing your vigil has been kept.” He barely managed to make it to the end of the sentence before his voice broke entirely, and he held the skins out in front of him, gripping the tops as he nodded mutely to Winston.

 It was a sobering moment. Winston was so new to all of this. The idea of all of this, of everything that was going on, it was hideous. Winston hated it. The apparently hidden and silent war that raged beneath the surface of the supernatural world. Hunters butchering werewolves, vampires killing slayers, wardens hunting fae, it was all so violent and Winston hated the amount of it that they had already seen. Standing vigil now was a bittersweet privilege. They were lucky that they were never really involved unless they stepped up. A cold bead of sweat trickled down their back as the waves of the ocean lapped against their body. Taking a deep breath, Winston slowly willed thin ribbons of fire to expand off of the surface of the ball, they hovered for a moment before weaving together and darting forward. The tendrils of flame colliding with the skin. For a moment they blazed across the surface before slowly, yet surely the skins took the flame and began to pass it along their surface. It devoured them with such veracity and hunger that Winston let the magic go and slumped in the water for a moment. The cold quickly brought them back to awareness and they watched as the skins truly caught alight. The fire growing now, greedily swallowing the pelts up. 

Orion wasn’t sure when he started crying. It had been teetering there for a while. He was familiar with the sensation, the heavy feeling weighing down his eyes as they decided whether or not the tears would fall. At some point, they had given up the fight. Probably when Ricky’s voice broke, which may have been the most heartbreaking thing he had ever heard. Rio forced his palm over his mouth, afraid that the sniffling would interrupt Ricky’s flow or ruin the ceremony. Tears rushed down his cheeks now and he was full on blubbering, the sounds of his gasping breath mumbled slightly by the hand he held tightly against his face. When Ricky spoke his name as part of the ceremony, Rio used his free hand to give a slight wave out into the ocean. Did Selkie’s believe in spirits? If they were real, were they watching over the three of them now? Once it was done, Winston set the pelts on fire. The sight was beautiful, but sad all at once. But Rio understood why they did it. What a way to go out.

The sound of the crackling flame at once stood in opposition to and in harmony with the waves crashing around his waist, and Ricky held onto the pelts until the very last possible moment, until the flames had started to lick blisters and angry red wounds onto his hands. As he released them to the dawn sky, the flames were so voracious that not a single hair fell to the waves before it was ash and he heaved a deep and rumbling sigh as he watched the twisting motes of black make their way out to sea. Turning his back onto the sunrise he trudged his way slowly through the waves back to where his two friends had been standing in more shallow water, pulling them both into a tight hug. “Thanks.” He managed to get out as he squeezed them both, “I couldn’t have made it through that without you two.” Wiping at the tears drying on his cheeks with the back of his hands he released them both and steadied himself, trying to put the face of jovial control he usually wore. “Come on. We’ll dry off and I’ll buy you both breakfast. Raise a mug of coffee in a toast. We’ve done all we can for them now.” 

#wickedswriting #p: orion #p: ricky #para #chatzy para #chatzy #standing vigil

[brettgallegos-blog1]

SAP C_TS4C_2020 Certification Description

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[sparklingchan]

Mischief Managed || Kim Doyoung(NCT 127)

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Doyoung

Word count : 7k+

Warnings : A few cuss words here and there, gets suggestive towards the end, not proof read I’m sorry :(

Genre : Fluff, a hint of angst , romance, Hogwarts au, fake dating au.

Description: You are forced to befriend Kim Doyoung under unexpected circumstances but as two lonely souls meet, you find yourself enjoying his company a little too much.

A/N : I had the idea for this fic while I was travelling but I was too lazy to actually write it until recently. Harry Potter aus just never seem to bore me no matter how many times I write them ( it’s fate at this point XD)

Hi, dumblr please don’t EAT MY GODDAMN POSTS. Thank you.

This is for the #neohalloween evented hosted by @nct-writers​ <3

Enjoy!

Doyoung is bad at taking criticism. Not even sulky bad but angry, tantrum throwing bad. He'd rather be slapped than criticized. Metaphorically, of course.

"What do you mean she won't go on a date with me?" Doyoung hisses ,his voice an octave lower than usual. The bedroom consisting of three noisy boys suddenly falls silent at his words. For the first time in forever.

Jaehyun shifts in his place , the soft mattress dipping under his weight. He looks at his friend full of concern. "Look , you're not the only person trying to ask her out. I heard that some Gryffindor boys were trying to shoot their shot this morning. And that's just the beginning."

Doyoung clenches his blanket into his fists, "Claire is mine. They can't have her."

Johnny scoffs from his bed , his eyes never leaving the book he had been reading from the past one week, "Are you sure the sorting hat did a good job by putting you into Ravenclaw? That pride of yours sure does sound like Slytherin to me."

"Oh shut up. That's not even the point right now. I need Claire to go on a date with me. It's not a matter of interest anymore, it's a matter of pride. I will not back down just because there's competition." Doyoung shoots back.

The boys' room erupts with Johnny and Jaehyun's laughter, their beds shaking with vibrations and their voices probably disturbing the people sitting outside in the Ravenclaw common room. But it's been a long time since either of them have cared for what other people say. Ever since the three boys met on the Hogwarts Express six years ago , they've been inseparable, finding a home , a family in each other. And as time passes by, they're only formulating a stronger bond , unbeknown to the rest of the world.

By the time Jaehyun and Johnny come down from their laughter high, Doyoung is already throwing a fit , muttering under his breath , and clutching his blanket like his life depended on it. Typical angry Kim Doyoung.

"Everything else is fine, Dodo, but does Claire even know you?" Jaehyun asks, fanning his red face.

"Of course not , Jae. But in the sea of all the other boys ,she'd obviously notice our Doyoung first!"

Doyoung sucks in a deep,frustrated breath, reaching under his pillow to find his wand - Alder Wood, Dragon heartstrings core (11 inch) - his one true best friend.

"Aguamenti." Doyoung murmurs, ponting his wand at them. With a big splashing sound , a stream of water squirts out from the end of the wand , wetting everything that comes in contact with it - including Jaehyun and Johnny and everything else they possess.

That night , as the two boys try to dry themselves and the rest of their belongings, Doyoung stares up at the wooden ceiling, carved beautifully into swirls and waves and flowers ,he wonders why his friends think he wouldn't be able get Claire to go out with him, why did they make it seem so hard when it really wasn't.

His ego feels hurt, injured even. Maybe Johnny is right - maybe Doyoung is more Slytherin than Ravenclaw, but it didn't matter anymore. Because the Slytherin princess Claire would be his by the time Halloween arrives, no matter what and his ego and pride would be restored.

Or at least that is what he had initially planned.

Everyone has that one subject they truly hate with every fiber of their being. They might not be particularly good or bad at it , but they often wonder the significance of this immeasurably disliked subject in their lives. For Doyoung, it is the potions class.

Brewing potions, remembering the recipes, knowing the job of each ingredient seemed too heavy a job for a divination loving man like Doyoung. Potions is way too practical, way too boring.

"Psst, Jae." The class must have been going on for about barely ten minutes when Doyoung decides he's had enough and that he would rather get in trouble for disturbing his friends.

"Jae, I'm bored. Johnny is in quidditch practice too." Doyoung pokes Jaehyun's back with the end of his wand. The latter squirms in his seat, subtle enough to not disturb anyone in the class, who unlike a certain Kim Doyoung were attentively listening to the professor.

"What?" Jaehyun turns back only enough to meet Doyoung's bored gaze.

"I think I'm going to ask Claire out today. During dinner. What do you think?" Doyoung whispers.

Jaehyun shakes his head , putting his quill down on the table, "Are you sure? You guys haven't even talked properly yet."

Doyoung stays silent for a few seconds because yes, Jaehyun is right. He doesn't even know what she likes , where is she from, who her friends are but he is willing to take the risk. For someone as beautiful as Claire, Doyoung would risk the whole world.

"I mean I can try, right?"

There's a sudden scoff escaping from your lips - whose name Doyoung never bothered to ask - sitting next to Jaehyun, the green of your robe hinting at your belongingness to Slytherin. "You're stupid, Kim Doyoung. Claire is not going to go out with you. Especially not when you're being such a creep." You say, your eyes fixed on the professor and your quill writing notes in quick movements.

Creep? Did you just call Doyoung a creep?

"Y/n, it's none of your business." Jaehyun rolls his eyes , "Stay out of it."

"Why? Is Mr.Snowflake here too egoistic to face the truth?" You turn around to look at Doyoung, a smirk finding it's way to your lips.

Doyoung clenches his fists, nibbling at his bottom lip as anger fills him up like water filling up in an empty jar; quick and to the brim.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion, " he says, then bitterly adds, "Miss Y/n ,who no one happens to care much about."

The sound of scratching of quills and quiet mutter of spells fills the air for a few seconds before you say something.

"I'm not giving you my opinion, it's just an advice. From first hand experiences. Many men have tried to win Claire over yet only a few of them have ever succeeded. " you say, "And boys like you often tend to seek her only because she's good looking so she actively makes sure to avoid your kind. ,"

Jaehyun looks at you ,stunned, "How do you know all that? Are you guys friends?"

Doyoung is not sure what to say anymore - he's as confused as Jaehyun is, maybe a tad bit more. For someone he'd properly talked to for the first time today, you sure do have a lot to say about his personal choices and ambitions. Big words do not faze him anymore.

"No , we're not friends." You giggle, "I'm her cousin. You almost couldn't tell, right?"

"It's finally Hogsmade weekend again. I thought I was going to suffocate in that stupid common room of ours." Johnny sighs , waddling towards his bed and slumping down like a little boy.

"Yes, I also need a cup of butter beer the first thing we arrive there." Jaehyun says, "What about you, Dodo?"

Dodo ,on the other hand is far too gone in the sea of his thoughts to pay heed to what his friends have to say. His eyes are on the patterns of the ceiling but his mind is with Claire and mostly with you, who he unintentionally might have offended today during potions class. Doyoung didn't have any particular interest in you per se but as Claire's cousin, it is important for Doyoung to be accepted by you first. You might be a know-it-all ,annoying and ghostly but he needs to befriend you again, start everything from scratch. And who knows ,if he got lucky enough, you'd put in a word or two on his behalf to Claire.

"What's he thinking about?" Johnny whispers to Jaehyun, "Did something happen?"

Jaehyun shrugs, "Usually, I'd say he's thinking about Claire but today,I'm not so sure."

The next morning is as noisy as all of their Hogsmade mornings have been. Doyoung only remembers hearing Jaehyun's yells and Johnny's giggles and the Hufflepuff girls singing a beautiful Winter song on the journey to Hogsmade village.

No matter how hectic it is, he has always liked these weekends the best.

"Have they changed their services to self service or what?" Johnny asks ,tapping the marble surface of the table in the Three Broomsticks, "Where's Madam Rosmerta?"

Doyoung shrugs ,his eyes scanning the unusually quiet room. He realises that the only company they have is the empty chairs and tables and the flying bottles of water emptying themselves into small glasses. "Should we just grab our drinks and put the money on the counter?" Jaehyun offers.

Before either of them could answer, the main door of the room slams open, urgent with force and the three boys see you rush inside, panting and huffing and murmuring. Your hair is messy and your clothes are disheveled, yet Doyoung thinks you look...different. Different from what you look like at school at least. Better ,even.

"I'm sorry I'm late. We weren't expecting guests so early. I hope I-" you stop mid sentence when you realize Doyoung and the other two boys were the only ones in the pub, "Oh. It's just you three."

"Yes,y/n, it's just us. Can you get us three butterbeers please?" Jaehyun says.

You sigh with disappointment. A 'hi, y/n, how are you?' would have been nice but then again when has anyone ever bothered to greet you with so much sweetness? Jaehyun and you are study partners , to say in a way. You never bothered to befriend him and he never bothered to do the same so that's just how its been since first year - studying together in the library and pretending the other person doesn't exist under normal circumstances. You liked it that way but sometimes, just sometimes you did wish Jaehyun tried to treat you in a more friendly way.

"What's she doing here?" Doyoung ,who is genuinely taken aback by your presence, asks.

"She works part time here. Madam Rosmerta is a family friend of hers." Jaehyun answers.

If Madam Rosmerta is a family friend of yours then she must be a family friend of Claire too, Doyoung connects in his head, and Claire's name somehow ignites a fire of enthusiasm within him.

He drags his chair across the floor and gets up , walking toward the counter where you're working. A little nervous Doyoung is , but he still manages to start a conversation with you, "Hey, y/n ,right?"

You swiftly twirl your wand around in the air , and ten cups of butterbeer and gillyweed water present themselves on a tray. You turn away from him to clean up the other plates , "What do you need?"

"I um..wanted to apologize for the insensitive comment I made yesterday. We started off on the wrong foot, I'm really sorry." He says, rubbing the back of his neck. Autumn is starting to set in slowly, but Doyoung feels the sweat sticking to his skin as if it were a hot summer morning.

You pause for a second. What was he apologizing for? You honestly couldn't recall and whatever it might have been, you are sure that it wasn't worse than what your other classmate have said before ; which is why you don't remember Doyoung's supposed insensitive comment.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, " You say, "I've had worse, actually."

Doyoung's heart drops - there is no phrase more pain inducing than the one you'd just spewed out so carelessly. And for some god forbidden reason, Claire suddenly slips out of his conscience mind.

"No, no. I want to start anew. Be your friend." Doyoung insists, leaning against the cold wooden counter.

You sigh, "Are you sure that's what your intention is? Because I don't think so. "

Doyoung scowls, "Of course that's my intention. What else would it be, y/n?"

You swing your wand and three glasses of butterbeer arrive directly in front of him. His eyes widen for a split second but he bounces back quickly.

"Just say that you need help with Claire." You sigh.

Oh,right ,Claire. Shit how could I forget? Doyoung feels silly.

"I mean...in a way yes. But that's for the later part. Let's first be friends, yeah?"

You shake your head , "If I help you out with Claire ,will you stop trying to be my friend?"

You absolutely despise yourself at times like these - when you are trying so hard to push people away when they're only trying to befriend you (for whatever reason it might be). You're so lonely yet so afraid of attachments that you always tend to do this. The same repeated routine. You hate it. You sometimes wonder what it would feel like to be in Claire's place, to be loved by everyone, to have people lining up just to take you out on one date . But it would never happen, because Claire is Claire : the Slytherin Princess and you are just you..someone who has barely ever talked to more than one person at school.

Doyoung gulps and then nods, "Okay. I will." Because befriending a Slytherin outcast will never be more important than scoring a date with the Slytherin Princess.

The Hogwarts Library is most empty during noon, something which you've concluded with years of experience and getting shoved out of your seat by your classmates who are way above you on the social ladder.

"So, " Doyoung finds a comfortable seat opposite to you , his hands fiddling with the pages of his diary, " how have you been?"

You give him a tired smile, "Can we get straight to point? I hate casual conversation. "

Doyoung snickers, "Wow, aren't you approachable today."

You lean back into your chair , eyes scanning Doyoung's face for any signs of regret . You'd never been the warm, bright sunshine kind of a person and you have accepted it without much protest. But of course, people take a lot of time to grow used to your sharpness and more often than not, people walk away even before you soften around them. It's a survival mechanism, you always convince yourself.

"What do you want help with? Do you want to know about her interests or past relationships or something else ?"

Doyoung pouts, his mind filling up with all sorts of ideas to impress Claire. It's like he's hit a jackpot by meeting you.

"I want to know what I have to do to gain Claire's interest. Be her friend and then eventually, a boyfriend, if I'm lucky enough." He suggests.

"First of all ,you need to stop gawking at her from afar. You need to start conversations with her ,no matter how short. She likes it when people approach her first." Talk about having a big ass ego.

"Okay, noted." One quick wave of his hand and his quill is immediately noting down sentences in his diary, " You seem to know her quite well. You guys are close, I am assuming."

You and Claire used to be close. Used to. In the past tense. As children you were inseparable, but as you slowly grew up, she realised how boring and uncool you were and that you belong to the shadows while she belongs in the spotlight. She's not tried to talk to you first for a long time now. But you weren't about to explain all of this to Doyoung, who is visibly smitten by your estranged cousin so you just shake your head , "No, not anymore."

Your ears perk up at the unexpected sound of approaching footsteps towards you and before you could ask Doyoung to relocate to a more secluded area, you hear her loud and clear voice.

Claire.

"Oh, hey, Doyoung!" She greets the man in front of you, walking upto his side. Her shiny shoes creating a tip-tap noise against the floor, and the green of your robe almost feels dull as compared to her bright one.

When her eyes fall on you,  her mouths twists as if she had one of those stupid vomit flavored chocolates. "What are you doing here, y/n?" She sneers at you.

If you could ever get a hold of the invisibility cloak, the first thing you'd do is slap this bitch right across her face. She has always had this sense of superiority , even when she's never done anything quite as heroic or deserving of that fame. And it infuriates you even further when you see Doyoung freeze in his seat, eyes glued to Claire's face.

"We were studying. I was about to leave now anyway." You mumble , gathering your books and tucking them under your arm.

When Doyoung hears your chair drag across the floor , he snaps out of his trance.

Why were you leaving? You promised you'd help, why couldn't you put away your past tensions and deal with it?

"Hey, where are you going?" He grabs your arm out of the blue, sending a wave of shock jolting through your body.

You immediately pull your hand back, "I'm hungry. I want to eat something."

Claire glares at the two of you and how suspicious your behavior is , you'd always been weird but she never took Doyoung for the weird kind at all.

You quickly jog away from the scene , cheeks tinted red.

Doyoung suddenly comes with a horrendous idea and he knows you'd hate it but in the heat of the moment, this feels like the only sane idea to make you stay and help him . He looks at Claire directly in the eye ,making sure to keep his voice as loud as possible so you could hear it too,

"Y/n and I are dating."

The red, orange leaves rustle under your feet , disrupting the otherwise silent walk back to the Slytherin dormitories. A cold wind blows and you tighten the muffler around your neck.

"Y/n, I've been looking everywhere for you. "

And there is that leech again, making sure you don't come to have a single second of peace in your already hectic daily lives. For the past one week, Kim Doyoung has latched himself onto you like a leech latches to it's host. Wherever you go, he goes. It's maddening.

"I told you to stay away from me, Doyoung! Our deal is over. " you yell at him , your feet picking up a faster pace.

Without even looking back, you know that he is groaning under his breath, the look of hopelessness evident in his otherwise sparkling eyes.

"Our deal was that you help me. You're not helping me out at all! You're treating me like I'm invisible." he replies.

Just how I'd been invisible for years to you, you think.

"I didn't agree to be a bait in this stupid love game of yours. You literally pushed me down the cliff to save yourself. " you say. You feel a sudden gush of wind on your face and Doyoung is standing right in front of you - inches away, instead of a few feet behind you.

You gasp, "You apparated! Kim Doyoung, this is against the school rules."

Doyoung bites down on his lower lip, throat growing dry with anxiousness. He couldn't explain why - he'd apparated before within the school grounds and it's been okay then why is he feeling dizzy all of a sudden? But on second thoughts, maybe it wasn't the apparition that caused the dizziness, maybe it was the spooky possibility of you hating him for lying about you two dating that triggered it. And like salt dissolves in water and disappears into the liquid, Claire- who is the original cause of all of Doyoung 's concern, disappears from his thoughts. All that matters to him now is that you speak with him again and forgive him for his impulsive words . He wants to assure you that you aren't a bait , at all.

"Just hear me out, please. I promise. " he says, "if you don't talk to me, I'll try to be your friend. I assume you don't want that."

You sigh , pressing a hand to your face, "Okay, spill. And be quick. I have club work."

Doyoung nods, a small smile forming on his lips. He leads you under a bushy tree nearby, sitting down on the stone bench constructed there. You follow suit. "I'm sorry for telling Claire that we're dating but I was in a critical situation at that time, okay?"

You frown, "That's all you had to say? You aren't here to persuade me into fake dating you so you could make Claire jealous?"

Gosh , Doyoung , why do you keep forgetting your main motive of talking to y/n?

He blinks at you awkwardly, "Primarily, yes. But now that you've said it...it does sound like a good idea. "

You deadpan. Your eyes close as your lips heave out a tired sigh. Just when you thought he was here to actually talk to you and not about Claire.

"Fine ,whatever. Just don't be a creep or I'll bury you alive." You huff.

Doyoung giggles as his eyes curve into cute little cresent moons.He has a pretty smile , you catch yourself thinking.

He scoots over closer to you ,pinching your cheek. "Okay ,madam. I won't creep you out but I cannot guarantee that I won't flirt with you . I have a thing for Slytherin girls, you know.", He winks.

Your cheeks heat up involuntarily.

"Bye. I have work." You get up, walking away hastily.

"Bye! See you tomorrow at The Three Broomsticks," he calls out behind you,"Babe."

You'd never smiled so wide in your life.

Your part time job at The Three Broomsticks has never felt so much like a blessing than right now - when Kim Doyoung casually sits on the floor with you and helps clean the utensils.

"Are guests rare on weekends?" Hs asks as a white cloth floats around in the air, drying up the freshly washed utensils.

"They're less in the morning but it gets very crowded by sun down. Aunt Rosmerta joins me by that time." You reply.

Doyoung nods ,his eyes glaring at the white cloth when it falls at his feet. "Wingardium Leviosa. " he mutters and the cloth goes back to doing its work, while Doyoung carefully guides it using his wand.

"When do you have to go back?" You ask, purely out of curiosity as to why he is so into the role of your boyfriend when no one is even watching. You would rather die than admit it , but you liked this attention. A lot more than you thought you would.

"Whenever you're done. A good boyfriend accompanies his girlfriend ,right?"

Oh, the beating of your heart that suddenly picks up its speed at his words. A combination of words you'd never thought you'd hear in this lifetime, from anyone at all.

"Yeah,whatever. " you whisper under your breath.

Doyoung giggles ,leaning forward toward you , "Why are so shy ,y/n?"

"I'm not shy." You smack his forehead, "You're just being a creep."

Doyoung fake gasps, clutching the left side of his chest and blinks his eyes as if he were tearing up. "Ouch ,y/n,how could you say that to your own boyfriend?"

You roll your eyes but the smile on your lips doesn't disappear.

Before either of you could reply , the door of the pub clicks open and you immediately get up , dusting off your clothes , ready to welcome guests. Doyoung, who is very new to this , tries to mimic your careful, calculated actions.

"Hello, welcome to the Three Broomsticks-" your words are cut off when you see Claire , as glamorous and confident as ever, walking toward the both of you. Your heart sinks. You feel betrayed , annoyed even ; just the way little children feel when their favorite toy is taken away from them and given to someone else and Claire has, in fact, had a history of taking away a lot of your favorite toys when you were kids.

"Good morning, Doyoung," she greets him with the prettiest smile but it fades away as she turns to you, "You too ,y/n."

"What do you want?" You ask her, rather terse in tone.

She tilts her head , her bright red tinted lips sending a flirty smile in Doyoung's direction, "I'm here to see my friend Doyoung and well ,his new girlfriend. "

You scoff - since when has Doyoung become her friend? Last you checked, Doyoung wasn't even sure she knew him.

"Since when have you and Doyoung been friends, Claire? That's some news to me." You say.

Claire glares at you, "Well, I've always liked Doyoung. Too bad a dumb girl like you got to him first. I shouldn't have waited for him to approach me first , right?"

Doyoung - who until a minute ago was genuinely mesmerized by Claire's unexpected visit is now turning to frown at her. "You can take him if you want. I don't mind." You suggest ,turning away from them.

"Yayy, Doyoung ,you heard your girlfriend? Come on , let's go to the candy shop and enjoy there! It'd be so much fun!" Claire pulls at his blue-black muffler. He backs away a little. The image of Claire he had in his head was ..well, different from this arrogant , possessive woman in front of him. He feels disappointed but also relieved?

"Um - actually I'd rather stay here and help y/n, " you snap toward him faster than light , "I dislike candies anyway. Sorry, Claire."

When Claire's mouth gapes with surprise, Doyoung leans backward and pulls you into him , arm wrapped around your shoulder and chin resting on your head. Your heart hammers hard against your chest as all your senses blur away , only the feeling of Doyoung's warm body pressed against yours is what keeps you grounded to reality.

Its fake, y/n , get yourself together.

"Fine. " Claire growls and stomps away, mumbling curses under her breath.

The moment she walks out of the door ,you shove Doyoung away , "What the hell are you doing! She invited you to hang out with her and you let the chance go!"

He blinks at you , puzzled as if he is finally coming back to his senses. "Oh - oh ,its okay. I'll get another chance since she apparently likes me too. Don't worry about it."

I'm not worrying about it , you idiot , I'm happy about it , you want to say to him. But there are some words you'd rather never say out loud.

"Where are we going?" Doyoung huffs , jogging down the lush green hill leading straight to the Forbidden Forest. Fear is evident on his face , and it's rather amusing to see him like this.

"The Forbidden Forest, obviously," you say , pointing at the tall, strong tress that patiently await your arrival into the forest.

"What? Y/n, that's against the school rules. It's way past sun down now!" He hisses but still keeps jogging beside you.

You grin at him, "Says the man who apparates in broad daylight!"

The woods are as cold and spooky as ever , but not unfamiliar. To you atleast. You often come here when you need to get away from everyone else. You would sit at the top of the tallest tree, the soft breeze blowing away all your worries along with it. And the creatures in the forest have never bothered you anyway. You don't know why you are bringing Kim Doyoung - your pretend boyfriend- to a place that holds so much importance to you and is like your escape from the world, but this place was the first and only one to come into your mind the moment Doyoung said you should choose the location for your next 'date'.

"So how do we get up there?" Doyoung and you stand at the roots of the tree. He looks up at the branches in awe and you look at him with admiration - when he's not running his mouth around uselessly everywhere ,he's not that bad to be with , you realize.

"We apparate , you idiot." Wrapping a firm hand around his arm, you apprate to the topmost branch of the tree, the wind suddenly knocked out of your lungs at the sudden shift. You laugh a little.

"Wow, you're breaking rules." He comments. He doesn't bother to remove your hand from his and neither do you - so you end up sitting there , shoulders touching and breaths matching.

"You know when I first met you , I almost took you for a Ravenclaw. If it hadn't been for your robe, that is." He says , looking at the beautifully lit school building that seems to be floating around near the horizon. This is more magical than any magic he's ever been taught , he thinks , he'd never seen Hogwarts this way - so far away yet so close, so peaceful, so breathtaking. The starry sky acts like a beautiful backdrop and your soft hand wrapped around his arm makes him ten times more attentive to every sound and every sight. He wants you to never let go - even if Claire or anyone else somehow appears out of nowhere.

"I get that a lot, actually. " you chuckle , "and ironically ,I almost mistook you for a Slytherin."

Doyoung looks at you in amusement. What a peculiar coincidence!

"But now that I think about it, it doesn't matter what kind of traits you show. The sorting hat doesn't put just traits into consideration- it puts in your will too. You belong where you want to belong. Nowhere else." He replies.

You stare at him, and get embarrassed at how wonderfully close he is to you right now. All your life ,this is what you've craved; this warmth , this closeness and fake or not, you're thankful for it.

"Wow, that's some deep words, Kim Doyoung. I didn't know you had them in you." You comment.

"Hey, why can't you call me something cute?" He whines , "Kim Doyoung is too formal."

You pinch his cheeks, adoration pumping through your veins for the man in front of you. "Okay, I'll call you Dodo then. "

He is left wide eyed again, his face red with embarrassment. He never took you for the observant type at all.

"I heard Jaehyun call you that."

The moon shines at your face , highlighting your features like no make up ever could. He notices your hooded gaze and the happy stretch of your lips and the strands of hair that sway with the wind. He leans in closer , "Hey, now that I look at you up close , you're not that bad to look at."

You're not that bad to look at either, Dodo.

Jaehyun has this annoying habit of tapping his wand against the table when he is studying , and he has never even tried to rectify himself whenever you call him out several times.

"Can you stop that? I'm trying to study. " you groan in a quiet voice.

The library- much to your dislike - is packed with people this afternoon. Yellows and reds and blues and green , all of them seem to have decided to use the library in the afternoon today of all days.

"Yeah. Sorry. " he says and puts his wand down, flipping the pages of his notebook carelessly ,"but um -y/n, can I ask you something?"

Looking up from your Potions book , you nod , "Yes, of course. "

Jaehyun shifts and gulps ,visibly worried and anxious about whatever he is about to ask you. It's not like him to ever be so nervous around anyone. He was usually very uptight and spoke only when spoken to. This is very new.

"How long are you and Doyoung going to continue this fake dating thing on for? It's been half a month already." He asks.

Now it's your turn to be nervous.

"I-I don't really know. It depends on how fast Doyoung is able to get Claire to go out with him. I guess." You reply with an awkward laugh, "I hope the day comes soon."

You'd been so immersed in fake dating Doyoung all along, trying to spend every waking hour with him , taking care of him, laughing at his stupid jokes that you almost forgot everything was just a show to get Claire to go out with him. And as Halloween comes closer , you are sure the end of your supposed relationship is coming closer too. Your heart breaks at the sudden reality check. Like a glass vase thrown on a hard ,wooden floor.

"Okay, don't tell Doyoung I asked you about it - " he pauses when you both hear a woman's voice from behind you , startling the two of you.

"Hello, dear cousin. " Claire says with a big smile. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, robe loosely tied around her body,"What are you doing in this stupid library on your birthday, y/n? Shouldn't you be celebrating with Doyoung ?"

Her words have never slapped you as hard as they do right now. She's been mean to you for almost half your life , but this time it hurts worse. You've always been insecure about your birthday, and Claire knows it. She knows how much you hate bringing attention to yourself and you'd rather get some small gifts from your parents than big gifts from people who you barely know. And she's now using all that against you.

"Or did he not bother to ask you, just like all of your former friends?" She smirks.

You know that feeling when there's a small wound on your body and a single contact to the wounded area hurts unbearably? That's what her words made you feel like. Sick and pathetic.

But you don't let it surface on your face. You muster up all your courage before speaking up, "Claire, are you so jealous of me dating Doyoung that you're bringing up past incidents to make yourself feel good?"

Claire is left astonished by your new found boldness and for the first time in forever, she doesn't comment back at you after you turn on your heels and walk away from the scene.

You are far too weak and slow to actually walk down to the Forbidden Forest, so you settle yourself on the top floor of the astronomy tower. The cold ground under you feels weirdly comfortable and the ticking of the grand clock helps you calm down your nerves.

Claire has never treated you like an equal in your entire life and you've tried so hard to ns like her always . To fit in to her ideas of an interesting person. She was your sister, she is your sister yet you've never despised anyone as much as you do now. And to imagine that Kim Doyoung, your Dodo might end up dating her just makes you feel sick to the stomach. Jealousy is an intense feeling but so is hatred.

You hear quick footsteps walking up the stairs and by impulse, you point your wand in that direction,"Expelli-"

"Hey, hey. Don't 'expelliarmus' me. I'm just here to celebrate my best girl's birthday. "

Kim Doyoung stands in front of you , hands occupied with bags of delicious candies and sweets. He smiles at you sheepishly as you call him over to sit beside you.

"Why didn't you tell me its your birthday today? This is all I could manage in a span of fifteen minutes." He complains ,placing the bag softly in your lap, "Happy birthday, y/n."

You smile , a little embarrassed but thankful still , "Thanks. Jaehyun told you?"

Doyoung nods ,scooting over closer to you. In presence of so much space on the floor, he somehow manages to almost cuddle with you in a small corner of the place. Your heart is no longer sitting in the cage of your chest ; it's escaped and landed onto Doyoung's palms ,giving him full freedom to do whatever he wanted with it.

"Doyoung ,I..um.."

"Yeah?"

Words , oh ! words have never been your forte. The only thing you were good at was actions - to express, to show , to communicate . That's all you've ever known.

So you lean in towards his face and place a chaste kiss on his lips. It lasts for a fraction of a second but your lips are left burning with the desire for more. More of him, more of this.

But when you see his face once you pull away, your blood runs dry. For a moment, you think so you see a flicker of happiness which quickly gets replaced by coldness, frustration, some degree of anger.

"Y/n, you know I like Claire!" He says , separating himself from you. Your body feels bare, "This was all for her. How could you ever think doing this would be a good idea?"

No,it wasn't for Claire. It was barely an excuse to bother you more, to see you roll your eyes at him , to spend time with you, but as Johnny says , his ego is too big to accept his liking towards you and not Claire.

He gets up.

"I-I will be leaving now."

He hasn't completely put a full stop to your fake relationship, he hasn't even said anything much yet but you know that he's left not just the astronomy tower, he's left you. All alone. As they always do.

Only the heavens know how you've barely managed to make it through a whole week avoiding Doyoung. The tear stains on your pillow , the muffled sobs in the washroom, the torn pages of your notebook are the only witnesses of your turmoil. For everyone else, you were still y/n, the girl who barely talks to anyone . And maybe, that's everything you'll ever be no matter how hard you try.

It is Hogsmade Weekend and Halloween which means you'll be packed with guests at the Three Broomsticks. It's a good thing ,you hope, it'll help keep you distracted from any painful thoughts and memories.

The cups and glasses and bottles dance around you as you put the chairs in place, your wand doing most of the work while you quietly murmur spells. It feels rather abnormal not having Doyoung around to help you. It feels too quiet ,even though the quietness is familiar to you.

A faint click sound echoes in the room and you immediately snap to look at the main door.

"Y/n?" Doyoung's head gently pokes in through the small gap in the door, “Happy Halloween.”

Your heart stops beating for a solid second, brain going fuzzy with a mixture of fear, excitement and relief. You want to run towards him and jump into his arms like how people do in those muggle movies but you restrain yourself; since it's not your place to do that. Not after you'd kissed him out of nowhere a week ago.

"Y-yea?" You stutter nervously, dragging a chair away from the table just to make it look like you are busy with work.

"Can we talk?"

Doyoung has always been very persuasive and he knows exactly what to say at a given instance. He's a Ravenclaw, after all. So he finds his way towards the table ,shyly so , and he pulls a chair for you to sit on ,"I won't take long, I swear."

You nod and sit. Better to be done with it than avoid it. "What is it? Shouldn't you be at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop? Enjoying with Claire and the other cool people?" You ask.

Doyoung gulps ,"Yes, I was there a minute ago. But it's too noisy there. I don't like it." And it's too dull without you.

"Okay. What did you want to talk about ?"

He plays with the buttons of his warm looking purple coat, his eyes shifting from the tablecloth to the glasses of gillyweed water to his fingers - anywhere but you.

"I'm sorry about running away that night. It was wrong of me," he begins, "And I regret it. I really do." "When I went back to the dorms, all I could think about was you and how much I loved hanging out with you and how pretty you look even when you're not trying and how desperately I wished you'd kissed me a second longer that night so I could have kissed you back. Because I really wanted to. "

When you start to reply , he shushes you, "No, it's not Claire that I want. Maybe it never had been because I don't even know her! But I know you and I think you're the coolest person in Hogwarts. I cannot love Claire, who I know nothing of but I can love you. I want to love you. If you'd let me."

You stare at him , your tongue suddenly losing all it's sense of functioning. Your eyes bore into his ,and you see it - the sincerity, the adoration, the desire. And you realise it has always been there. Just the two of you were too stupid to see it earlier.

"Okay. I guess." You reply , rubbing the back of your neck shyly. Your cheeks are tinted red but you put no effort in hiding it anymore, " I'm sorry, I don't know how dating works. What am I supposed to do?"

Doyoung giggles , tenderly taking your face in his hands, "Just do whatever you want to. It's just me."

"I really want to kiss you. " you whisper and he immediately tilts his head such that his lips easily captures yours. The kiss is warm and cozy yet fierce. His hands are locked on either side of your face while your lips perfectly mold around his, as if they were meant to be that way since the inception of time.

You don't believe in miracles , given your magical allegiance but you do believe in fate and soulmates. You believe that there's someone for everyone out there - no one knows how or when they'll cross paths with you, but they will surely do it one day. Because no force can stop one from getting the love you deserve. It's just like a string - there's one person at each end and you're so thankful that it is Doyoung that happened to be at the other end of your string.

#NCT-WRITERS #neohalloween #nctcreations #kpop au #kpop fanfics #kpop nct #nct #nct au #nct imagines #nct f #nct doyoung #nct doyoung fic #nct x reader #nct x y/n #nct 127 doyoung #nct angst #nct smut #nct fluff #kim doyoung #nct scenarios #nct edits #nct gifs #nct doyoung edits #nct gfx #nct doyoung ff #doyoung x reader #doyoung angst #doyoung fluff #NCTzens #neocity

[anubislover]

Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya Chapter 6: Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

“The Grand Ballroom” was certainly an apt description. The marble dancefloor was inlaid with veins of gold and sparkling quartz, its flat surface so polished it hurt to look at. Plush, wine red carpet lined the perimeter, perfectly matching the cushions of elaborately carved loveseats and couches. Six-foot tall, solid gold candelabras were scattered throughout the room, the flickering flames dancing as gracefully as the guests. Enormous, stained-glass windows depicting hedonistic scenes stretched from floor to ceiling, the colored glass obscuring the view of the outside world. Burgundy velvet drapes trimmed in gold were artfully hung throughout the room, their heavy material casting deep shadows in private nooks perfect for illicit rendezvous.

To the side was a massive buffet, the tables straining under trays of assorted meats, exotic fruits, decadent pastries, tartlets, brie, beef wellingtons, deviled eggs, and more. A literal fountain of wine stood at the center of the smorgasbord, cherubs pouring the intoxicating liquid out of decanters into the guests’ crystal glasses.

The ceiling was the most impressive aspect, though. Above the crowd hung eight massive, golden chandeliers in the shape of octopi, each winding tentacle clutching a light the size of a human head. Multi-faceted crystals dripped off their bulbous bodies like drops of water, making it appear they’d just emerged from the sea and casting shards of light and prismatic rainbows dancing about the walls and floor.

Not to be outdone, the guests that milled about wore their finest costumes, with ballgowns, doublets, tailcoats, hats, capes, masks, and jewelry made from silks, satins, chiffon, precious gems, and exotic furs and feathers. Maids clad in short, tight, copper uniforms wove through the crowd, offering drinks, hors d’oeuvres, and petit fours. A small orchestra was set up in the far corner of the room, filling the air with their slow, elegant music.

It was exactly the kind of party that had Nami salivating. Rich men with thick wallets and wealthy women wearing expensive jewelry were laid out more temptingly than the food.

Still, the décor did bring up a few questions. “If the Baron hates seafood so much, why all the octopi?” she asked curiously, studying the ceiling.

Behind the mask, Law looked thoughtful. “I’d assume it’s a vanity thing; according to my intel, he was touted as ‘The Golden Octopus’ during his time in the Navy.”

“Why?”

“Probably a reference to the number of organizations he was involved in, though there were also rumors about him having an octopus-related Devil Fruit. That seems unlikely, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“No Devil Fruit user would keep his important files in a Seastone safe. Just touching the damn thing would drain his energy. Besides, don’t you think the World Government would have made that common knowledge to strike fear into pirates? They’ve never exactly been shy about bragging about their officers’ powers.”

Nervously checking her cat mask to ensure it was tightly secured, she said lowly, “You’d better be right; if it turns out he can turn into an octopus or something I’m charging you for shitty intel.”

Casually, the pair meandered through the crowd, giving polite greetings and sizing up potential prey. The Cat Thief had already picked out a few marks; men who’d cast her salacious leers, despite her being on another’s arm. They’d be easily distracted by her cleavage and flattery and wouldn’t even notice their pockets getting progressively lighter. Even better, Law’s presence would also give her the ideal excuse to turn down their inevitable, unwanted advances. Nothing fended off creeps like a jealous boyfriend, after all, and in high society, you never wanted to risk causing a scene. She’d just have to make sure he knew when to step in.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Law murmured in her ear, “I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight, so if you need me, adjust your hairpins and I’ll come to your rescue.”

“‘Rescue’ is a strong word, but I appreciate it,” she responded, tone dripping with false affection as she straightened his lapels, acting as the ever-attentive beau. “Tell me, Adrian, are you the type to tolerate other men flirting with your girlfriend?”

“Of course not. What’s mine is mine, and men challenge that claim at their own peril.” His reply was smooth as polished obsidian, one hand possessively resting on her waist as he steered them over to the side of the dance floor. The thick leather of the black glove shielded her from the heat of his palm, but the weight and press of his fingers into her delicate flesh made up for it.

Teasingly, she tapped the tip of his beak. “That doesn’t sound very doctor-like. Isn’t there a Hippocratic Oath you’re supposed to be following?”

“There are exceptions to every rule.” Long fingers gently lifted her chin so he could gaze deeply into her eyes. “There’s no oath I wouldn’t break to keep my woman at my side.”

Damn, that line should not be so hot, she thought, the faint blush painting her cheeks visible just beneath the bottom of her mask. It was surprising how easily Law managed to turn on the charm and hide the far creepier meaning of his words. If she were an average woman with no knowledge of his criminal activities or identity as one of the most feared up-and-coming pirates of the current generation, she might swoon a little bit.

Nami really needed more practice dealing with handsome men flirting with her. She was far too used to friendly, harmless perverts like Brook and Sanji, or disgusting lechers like Absalom. Besides being physically attractive, Law’s flirtations were harder to brush off because she completely believed him when he said he was pickier about his women than the rest of his crew. Perhaps that was why he got her so flustered; he didn’t wear his desires on his sleeve, so his attention felt more…focused, like sunlight through a magnifying glass, burning away her defenses.

“And what about you?” he coaxed, lifting her hand to delicately press the tips of her fingers to his lips as his eyes bore into hers. Electric shocks tingled up her hand as heat coiled within her belly. It was way too easy to imagine him giving her that look in a dark bedroom as he slowly stripped off her clothes. “Are you the type to play with a man’s heart? The type to stray? Or are you just so naturally charming you don’t realize the kind of thoughts you put in men’s minds?”

It took her a moment to realize he was asking for the sake of the cover; to establish his reaction when he barged in on her flirtations with other men.

His interest and sensual actions were solely for the sake of the cover. For business, not pleasure. None of it was real, and she grasped that fact like a lifeline. It was so much easier to remain in control if she remembered that it wasn’t Law that was flirting with her, but Dr. Goodheart Adrian, Chaton Bellemere’s surgeon lover. Hell, he was wearing a mask—she could easily pretend that he wasn’t her dangerously attractive temporary captain, but another mark she could tease and deceive with no consequences.

Lips quirking in a saucy, mischievous grin, she leaned in close, breath ghosting across his throat as she replied, “I’d never cheat, but I am the kind of woman who likes to see if she can get her boyfriend jealous. There’s something so arousing about seeing such a normally composed doctor so worked up over little old me.”

Her response made Law pause, blinking owlishly in surprise before his grip on her hand tightened ever-so-slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “How jealous do you want?” he rasped, giving the pad of her middle finger a light nip. “I’m happy to break a few jaws before I carry you off.”

A tiny hiss of pleasure escaped between her teeth before she regained control. Pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his sharp jaw, just below his ear, she murmured, “I’m sure these men don’t want any trouble; just come up with an excuse to lead me away. A little decorum goes a long way, after all.”

She’d planned on flouncing away and getting to work mingling and stealing, but her whole body froze as she caught a familiar scent.

Tobacco smoke, thick and sweet wafted up her nose, and as her heart stuttered in her chest, Nami slowly turned her head to the side, following the grey trail to a large, imposing figure glowering at the crowd as if he’d like to arrest half the people in the room. His formal suit was as white as his hair, his forest green tie and matching domino mask the only pop of color. With the long scar down his face and signature cigar, the mask did nothing to hide his identity.

“What the hell is he doing here?” she squeaked, panicked and already trying to figure out the best way to escape.

“Hina, what the fuck am I doing here?!” Smoker growled, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Beside him, a beautiful woman with long, sakura pink hair and a cigarette dangling from her full, red lips sighed. She was dressed in a stunning, form-fitting silver gown embroidered with fluttering blackbirds, the silk flowing down her figure like mercury. Her mask, also silver but with a black feathered plume, hung absently from her fingers. “Because you owe me. After all the strings I’ve pulled over the years to keep you from getting demoted back down to Chore Boy, this is the least you can do.”

“Look, Hina, I know I owe you, but you could have asked me to do your paperwork for a month or something. Fancy crap with stuffed shirts isn’t my thing, especially when it means playing nice with that bastard. Why couldn’t you take someone Fullbody or Django? They’d be happy to shower you with attention and ask you to waltz and that other gentlemanly shit.”

Shoulders tense as she carefully observed the crowd, she stated, “Precisely because this isn’t your thing. I need you to stand next to me looking grumpy and miserable to keep stupid ass-kissers and perverted old octopi from asking me to dance. Hina hates that old creep.”

Though his teeth ground against his cigar, the corner of his mouth lifted into the barest hint of a smile. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I am the perfect man for the job.”

“Did you know they were going to be here?” Nami asked under her breath, pressing close to her partner. Smoker was only about fifteen feet away, but the din of the crowd and orchestral music helped mask her voice. Her every instinct screamed for her to run, but she knew any sudden movement around the pirate hunter would capture his undivided attention, like a rabbit trying to escape a wolf. Inwardly, she seethed; if Uni had managed to modify the guest list, surely he would have known a certain Marine was coming, right? Why didn’t anyone warn her? Everybody knew there was nothing Smoker would like better than to capture and imprison the Straw Hats.

Her anger ebbed slightly as Law pulled her a bit closer, doing his best to shield her with his body. Though his poker face was still in place, she could feel the tension coiled in his muscles. “I knew Black Cage was invited, but her RSVP was a ‘no.’ I’d assumed she was cleaning up the mess of the war or helping track down the prisoners Mugiwara released from Impel Down. White Chase was definitely not on the guest list.”

“What do we do?”

“Keep calm. It’s a big party, and it shouldn’t be too hard to avoid them. Even if they notice us, our disguises should allay suspicion, and there’s no way they’d expect the two of us together.”

He was right; even if they did somehow recognize Law, they’d never expect the navigator of a rival crew on his arm, meaning she might be able to make a break for it. She wasn’t too worried about his safety; he was a strong fighter and could teleport himself to the other side of the island in a heartbeat. She was the one who would be screwed if she caught a Marine’s eye.

Surreptitiously, Nami peeked around Law’s chest to watch the pair, hoping for some sign they’d move on to another part of the ballroom, but soon found herself staring at the beautiful captain. Bad as her experiences with the World Government were, she couldn’t help but admire a strong Marine woman. And though the hairstyle was different, the color and cigarette briefly brought visions of her adoptive mother, and she wondered if Hina had heard of Bellemere. There weren’t too many female officers in the Marines; had she been renowned enough for someone like Hina to look up to? Or was her decision to give up military life to raise two orphaned girls treated as a disgrace? The Navy hadn’t offered any financial assistance or seemed to care when she’d been murdered by pirates, so the latter seemed more likely.

Of course, a trained soldier would sense she was being watched, and Hina inclined her head towards the incognito couple. “You’ve been staring at me. Why?” she asked suspiciously, taking a long drag of her cigarette as her dark eyes narrowed.

Luckily, years of swindling, being a member of Arlong’s crew, and generally always needing to get herself out of trouble had made Nami a pretty good actress, even under pressure. “I was just admiring your dress. It’s absolutely gorgeous!” she gushed, making her voice as airheaded and overexcited as she could under the Marine’s scrutiny. “Wherever did you get it?”

Apparently, her ruse worked, as she gave a small but pleased smile. “Thank you. There’s a shop in Alabasta that carries beautiful silks. I stumbled across it while on a mission and decided to treat myself. When I learned I’d be attending this…party, a dressmaker on Sabaody made them into a custom gown for me.”

“Alabasta! How exotic! Oh, darling, can we go there on our next holiday?” she asked, looking up at Law, wide brown eyes begging him to play along. “I simply must have a dress like that!”

Catching on, the doctor once more pulled her close, dropping a kiss to her hair. “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Nothing’s too good for you, sweetheart.”

She gave him a dazzling grin, wrapping her arms around his waist in an enthusiastic hug. “Really?! Oh, thank you, cuddle bear!”

Internally, Nami cheered in victory as his jaw tightened and blue tint came to his cheeks. She might not get to kick his ass, but she could still make his night hell in all the little ways. “You’re…welcome,” he ground out.

“Hina-chan!” a loud, overly cheerful voice called out from the crowd, and an older, obese man strode over. His tuxedo was gold silk and embroidered with scarlet octopi, a long, crimson cape trailing behind him. His grey hair was thin, braided into eight little rattails, and slicked back with so much oil it gleamed like grease on the water. A gold octopus mask hung from his neck, the tentacles a writhing mass and encrusted with rubies for suckers. “How marvelous! You were able to make it after all!”

Both Marines noticeably stiffened at his approach. “Well, after your call, my superiors were convinced that attending your party was more important than attending to my duties,” she said, tone so frosty it made Drum Island seem like a tropical paradise.

“Oh, don’t be that way, Hina-chan,” Baron Harpin chuckled, giving her an appreciative leer. The way the captain tensed further made it clear the feeling wasn’t mutual. “Always so serious, even back when you were a trainee. Really, you should be grateful I pushed so hard to get you a night off—it pains me to think of such a beautiful flower wilting on the battlefield. I swear I’ll never forgive Sengoku for denying my request to have you as my personal secretary.”

“Hina’s too damn good a soldier to waste on some pathetic desk job,” Smoker’s deep, rough voice cut in, muscular arms crossed tightly over his massive chest. “And she ain’t wilting—she thrives out there.”

The Baron regarded him with undisguised disdain. “I don’t recall inviting you.”

“I’m Hina’s plus-one, or did you not notice that on the RSVP? Pretty sloppy for the head of Navy Intelligence. Sorry—ex-head of Navy Intelligence.”

The pirate hunter’s biting comment struck a nerve, as disregard turned into outright hatred. “Careful, Smoker; I may be retired, but I’ve still got plenty of pull with the Admirals, plus several other organizations. One word from me and your career is over.”

A threatening step forward was all Smoker was able to take before Hina held him back. “He’s not worth it,” she murmured before insistently leading him away.

“Just one moment, Hina-chan,” their host sing-songed. When the woman in question acknowledged him over her shoulder, he gave a haughty grin. “I know I permitted you a plus-one, but that’s because I’d assumed you’d bring along someone with more…class. I surround myself with only the finest things, after all. I’m rather inclined to have him escorted out for the sake of my invited guests; trash like him tends to ruin the ambiance.”

Turning fully towards him, though still keeping a restraining hand on Smoker’s bicep, she stated, “What do you want?”

His returning leer was as greasy as his hair. “A smile. Surely such a rare and radiant thing will counteract your…date’s foul appearance.”

“Oh, that fuckin—” Smoker growled, but Hina’s silent glare stopped him. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, the Marine captain plastered on a bland, completely hollow smile for their former superior before dragging her old friend out to the gardens to smoke in peace.

“Be sure to save me a dance, Hina-chan!” he called after them, entirely too gleeful to have the last word. As he beamed at his guests, his black, watery eyes fell on Nami, and she swore she could feel his gaze creep over her like a writhing mass of tentacles.

Not wanting to hang around lest Harpin decided to come over and introduce himself, she gave Law’s elbow a slight tug, and he willingly let her lead him away towards one of the little alcoves. “Well, he seems…yeah, he’s a total creep.”

“I feel like I need a chemical shower just being in his presence,” Law conferred lowly, grabbing them both a glass of champagne before ducking behind the curtains. The drapes mostly hid them from view, but he strategically positioned himself so his shoulder blocked the slight gap in the heavy velvet, yet still allowed him to notice anyone approaching. “Pity Black Cage didn’t deck him in the jaw.”

“I was hoping Smoker would make him eat his own mask.” She swiftly changed the subject, unwilling to risk one of their fellow guests overhearing them badmouth their host. “I was not expecting those two. I mean, not just here—do you think they’re dating?”

Law rubbed his chin in consideration. “I hope not. Any progeny they might produce would be an absolute nightmare to pirates the world over. The tobacco industry would be thrilled, though.”

Unbidden, a giggle escaped her as an image of a tiny Marine with Smoker’s scowl and Hina’s pink hair popped into her head, an oversized cigar comically protruding from the child’s mouth.

“Of course, that’s assuming they don’t both die of lung cancer before then,” he added absently, sipping his drink. Grey eyes swept the room over his shoulder, noting that most of the guests had the tact to look away from the alcoves, especially those occupied by couples engaged in private moments. A long arm wrapped around Nami’s tiny waist, pulling the gorgeous woman against his hip so he could murmur in her ear, “But enough about that. What else should I know about my lovely Bellemere? How did we meet?”

Playing along, she ran the tips of her fingers along his chest beneath his jacket. They should have discussed this earlier, but in the craziness of the mission prep, it had fallen by the wayside. “At an auction, of course,” she supplied easily. “There was a wonderful mermaid piece that I had taken an interest in.”

A low chuckle caressed her as he wound a lock of purple hair around his finger. The easiest lies to keep up were ones based on truth, and there was no hiding his amusement at how she’d spun the debacle at Sabaody. “Of course. You and your companions got separated, and I graciously offered to keep you company until you could be reunited. Not long after, I performed life-saving surgery on your friend, and you’ve been at my side ever since.”

His arrogant tone made her roll her eyes. “Does Dr. Goodheart have any notable achievements to his name? I can’t imagine I’d be interested in a mediocre doctor, and you must have gotten your medical license somewhere.”

“Gotten a what now?”

When she stared at him in open horror, jaw dropping to the floor, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “I reattached a girl’s leg during my first year at Serenity Hospital in the North Blue,” he stated with a grin. “I was accepted into med school at fifteen and finished my surgical residency in only three years, and I also have several published papers on the effects of lead poisoning in children.”

“Really?” she replied, skepticism dripping from her lips.

“Of course. I could only learn so much through books and practicing on my friends, so I took on the identity of Goodheart Adrian so I could perfect my skills. ‘Trafalgar Law’ was a name I didn’t want gaining notoriety until I had the power and skills to protect myself.”

Well, that was quite the revelation. Frankly, she’d always figured he was only a doctor in the back-alley sense, since no hospital would be crazy enough to give him an actual license. But to have had a second identity for so long…

“Why?”

Grey eyes narrowed behind his mask at her inquiry. “Focus on questions relevant to our current situation, sweetheart.”

Cheeks puffed out indignantly, she let the topic drop, mostly out of irritation that he was right. Besides, she didn’t want to get to know the real Law, did she? “Fine. Where’d you take me on our first date? I’m sure a doctor’s salary could afford a fancy dinner, at least.”

As if a switch had been flipped, his charming persona returned. She knew it was all for show, especially given how the alcove didn’t completely hide them if someone really felt like being a voyeur, but did he have to rub those distracting little circles against her spine? “Since you have such expensive tastes, we went to the En L’iar Rose restaurant on Chardonnay Island. It’s known for its exquisite wines and decadent foods. You ordered the Pane Caldo while I had the stuffed mushrooms, and we shared a plate of assorted artisan cheeses, fruits, and chocolates for dessert.”

“That’s…an acceptable choice, I suppose.” A small, irrational coil of envy tightened in her belly. She wasn’t mad that Law had probably taken some other woman on such a romantic outing—just that no guy had put that much effort into a date with her.

His smirk was decidedly wicked. “You were such a tease with that fruit, eating it so seductively I nearly lost my mind. It took all my willpower not to pin you down and have my way with you.”

Memories of how she’d teased him with the mikans made her thighs clench, as she was suddenly all too aware that she’d been playing with fire that day. He’d definitely enjoyed her attentions and it so easily could have been turned on her. The tips of her ears turned pink as she instinctively tried to push him away, but his muscular arm kept her anchored to his side. “Too bad I’m a classy lady who doesn’t just give it up to a guy because he bought her a fancy dinner,” she snapped quietly.

“Of course you’re not; I wouldn’t have taken interest in you if you were,” he assured, tilting her face to the right and pressing a kiss to her masked cheek to hide her pissed expression. “I’m a man who likes a challenge—a woman easily seduced would bore me. And it’s intriguing how you’re so flirtatious one moment, yet easily flustered the next; makes me wonder what you’ll be like once I finally do get you in my bed.”

Face flushing to match her ears, Nami wasn’t sure if it was due to anger or embarrassment. She also wasn’t sure if he was speaking as Adrian or Law, and it was playing havoc with her sense of control. “Well, you’ll be wondering for quite some time—at the very least until you’ve gotten me a 300-carat diamond.”

A low chuckle rumbled deep in his chest as he released her. “I think we’ve got enough of the basics down to pass as a new couple. Ready to get to work?”

It took a moment and a few deep breaths to regain her composure. Her heart was beating too quickly for her liking, and she desperately needed some distance. “Hell yes. Time is money, and right now, I don’t have nearly enough of either.”

XXX

Over an hour later, Nami was immensely pleased with her haul. She’d swiped the wallets of six dance partners, along with a gold wristwatch, emerald-studded cufflinks, and some rings. She’d been extremely careful not to steal more than one thing from each target, and plenty of her dance partners had left unscathed; after all, if every man she came in contact with found their wallets missing, she’d be the prime suspect.

Finding dance partners and wealthy marks alike had been easier than getting Sanji to bring her tea. Men had practically swarmed her the moment she’d broken away from Law, and though she could feel his piercing gaze on her back, he stayed out of her way so she could work her magic.

So far, he’d only had to step in once, when a man with a face like a horse and a unicorn mask to match had gotten a little too handsy, swooping in like a bird of prey and sending her victim scurrying off with nothing more than a sharp glare and a couple cutting remarks. Still, the way he’d clutched his cane told her he’d wanted to do a lot more, reminding her that the Surgeon of Death was not a man to be messed with. While a jealous boyfriend was a great creep deterrent, too much could put off her potential marks. For the sake of that evening’s profits, she vowed to only call him in as a last resort.

She would swear until her dying breath it had nothing to do with the thrill she got at hearing Law defend her honor in his deep voice or the way she could feel the muscles beneath his suit flex when he clutched her to him possessively.

It was nearly nine-thirty when a skinny man in an elaborate peacock mask and flamboyant suit to match lead her onto the dancefloor. He’d approached swinging an emerald and sapphire-encrusted pocket watch like a pendulum, strutting about in a way that instantly practically begged her to rob him. Only men with more money than brains walked like that.

“So, Ms. Chaton,” Kujakumaru began as he pulled her close, “what do you do for a living?”

As easily as Zoro drew a sword, she turned on the charm. “Oh, I’ve done a little modeling,” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes. “Mostly swimsuits and the like.”

“Really? You?”

She blinked, brows furrowing behind her mask in confusion and mild annoyance. “Yes. Not in any big magazines, but I’ve only just started, after all.”

“Ah, no wonder I hadn’t heard of you,” he stated, looking her up and down, eyes lingering on the swell of her chest. “I’ve dated quite a few models, actually. I suppose when you surround yourself with the most gorgeous women in the world, you don’t notice those who are less than a perfect ten.”

An annoyed tic formed on her forehead, thankfully hidden by the cat mask. Sure, he couldn’t see her face, but the way his eyes were practically glued to her cleavage proved he didn’t find her hideous. And what right did he have to call her less than a ten? Her bounty poster was ogled by pirates all over the Grand Line! “Well, sorry I’m not up to your usual standards, Mr. Kujakumaru,” she ground out as politely as she could.

At the brief display of temper, he quickly backtracked, “Oh, I never said that! Of course you’re beautiful, but I’d only rank you less than a ten because you’ve still got a few more years to go before you’ve fully bloomed!” he insisted, gaze flickering between her face and breasts pointedly.

Oh, nice save, she thought sarcastically. It was all too easy to catch onto this idiot’s game; he was trying to bring down her confidence in hopes preying on any insecurities. Women who knew their worth were much harder to lure into bed, after all. “Well, my boyfriend hasn’t had any complaints,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“I’m sure he hasn’t; after all, looks aren’t everything.” When her hazelnut eyes narrowed, he continued, “You misunderstand me; I mean that modeling is just as much about who you know as what you look like. Making friends with the right people and whatnot.”

“Of course.” It was almost funny; the whole night, she’d put up with men looking to get into her pants without so much as blinking, yet this guy was making her lose her cool. Then again, none of the others had tried negging her. People like that deserved a very special place in hell as far as she was concerned. If they’d been in a bar instead of some fancy party, he’d be unconscious on the floor for his comments.

“If you really want to be a model, I have some connections to the West Blue’s top agencies. Of course, I only pass along the names of people I’m personally close to.”

Though she plastered on a smile, inwardly she rolled her eyes. He was the third man that night offering to help her “modeling career” with his “connections,” but they’d at least done their best to stroke her ego first. He hadn’t even waited for her response before slipping his hand off her waist to slide across her rear.

That little grope just cost him eighty million belli, she thought, using his moment of distraction to carefully undo the chain of his pocket watch from his doublet. To disguise the action, she pushed him back slightly, looking away coyly. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you! Unfortunately, it’s more of a hobby than anything else; if I became some big star, I wouldn’t have as much freedom. I love traveling and shopping too much to waste my time in some studio.”

“Sounds like an expensive lifestyle,” he pressed, undeterred by her refusal, just like she’d anticipated. Nami was plenty familiar with men like him; born with a silver spoon in his mouth, raised to believe that he was entitled to anything he wanted and when a woman rebuffed him, she didn’t really mean it.

He was the kind of guy she would love to have Sanji kick into the sun.

Lacking the chivalrous love-cook, however, Nami settled for her current bodyguard. “It is, but Dr. Goodheart has been an excellent provider. His research takes him to so many interesting places, and he’s been adamant about bringing me along. He gets lonely without me.”

“Then I’m surprised he’s letting you dance with another man.”

A mischievous smirk touched the corner of her lips. “We have an arrangement—he doesn’t like to dance, but I simply can’t get enough of it. So, he lets me have as many partners as I please, so long as I never dance with anyone more than once.” As the last notes of the waltz floated through the air, she knew now was the time to make her getaway. Pushing up onto her tip-toes, she murmured in his ear as she carefully lifted the watch from his pocket, slipping it into the tight cuff of her billowy sleeve, “Otherwise, he gets terribly jealous. Normally, he’s so cool and collected, but he’s got a dark temper. It’s hot, if I’m perfectly honest.”

She felt Kujakumaru shudder against her as her hot breath caressed his skin. “Is dancing the only thing he gets jealous about?” he croaked, staring at her with obvious desire, hands impotently grasping at empty air as she stepped out of his reach. “Perhaps we could find a nice, quiet corner and continue our discussion about your modeling career; a beauty like you deserves to be shared, not hoarded away for one man to enjoy.”

Relieved that she could finally turn around and roll her eyes, she strolled towards the wine fountain, calling back over her shoulder, “I appreciate the thought, but I really must get back to Adrian.”

She halted as a thin, sweaty hand wrapped around her wrist. “At a party like this, a man’s never lonely for long. I’m sure he’s found some pretty young thing to keep him company, so why not do the same for me?”

Lifting up her free arm, she allowed the cold metal of the stolen watch to slide down her sleeve into her bodice, grateful that he’d grabbed her left wrist. It would have been disastrous if he’d stumbled upon the payment she’d taken for putting up with his bullshit. Absently, she played with the shimmering barrettes in her hair, making sure they caught the light like an emergency beacon. Surely Law would be there any moment; this was definitely serious enough to get him involved. “Adrian’s quite adamant that I’m the only woman for him, so I doubt it. And if a man’s not lonely for long, I’m sure you’ll find yourself in pleasant enough company soon enough.”

“I want your company. Your little boyfriend can wait until I’m finished with you.”

“He’s hardly ‘little.’”

“He must be if he can’t satisfy a woman as obsessed with ‘dancing’ as you. In fact, how about I invite a few friends to join us?’ You said he doesn’t care how many ‘dance partners’ you have, right?”

Brown eyes darted about nervously, desperately trying to catch sight of her raven companion. She was certain she’d left him by the window next to the fountain, so he should have been at her side already. What, had he wandered off to take a leak? If he didn’t show himself in the next five seconds, she was going to have to do something drastic, like pluck the peacock’s feathers herself.

“What was that you were saying about him not looking at other women?” Kujakumaru crowed, roughly turning her towards the dancefloor.

Her jaw dropped. His height made him easy to spot on the dancefloor, casually leading Black Cage Hina in a foxtrot.

That absolute bastard! Nami thought, rage bubbling up inside of her. He abandoned his partner to deal with some clingy creep so he could dance with a Marine? Was he trying to get them caught?!

“Well, since your boyfriend is otherwise occupied,” the man beside her sniggered, pulling her against him, “what say you and I go someplace private—”

The hard point of a cane slammed into his foot, causing him to yelp ungracefully and release Nami from his clutches. Gratefully, she turned to her liberator, hoping Law had abandoned Hina to finally come save her, only to find herself face-to-face with a rotund, yet rather elegant-looking gentleman dressed as a knight, complete with silver shoulder pads, royal blue cape, and plumed helmet. The faceplate was up to reveal piercing black eyes and a disapproving frown made even more exaggerated by his bushy grey mustache.

“I believe this young lady made it quite clear that your time with her is over, nephew,” he said sternly.

Kujakumaru looked like he wanted to argue, but when he reached for Nami again, the knight brandished his cane like a sword. “Oh, please, do try. Beatrix may spoil you rotten, but I’m certainly not above turning you over my knee right here and now.”

That threat was all it took to send the peacock flying off into the crowd, managing nothing more than, “I’m telling mother!” over his shoulder before he disappeared.

Relieved to finally be free of such sweaty clutches, the Cat Thief studied her wrist to ensure no perspiration had leaked into the luxurious fabric of her sleeve. A handkerchief entered her field of vision, and she smiled thankfully.

“So, did you pick your costume intending to go about rescuing young ladies, or was that just a happy accident?” she asked, wiping off her hand.

He savior’s hard frown morphed into a smile as he offered her his arm. “I had hoped such services would be unnecessary, but it never hurts to come prepared, especially with my family is involved. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

She allowed him to lead her away from the whispering crowd. If she gathered too much attention, it’d be harder for her to sneak away once the plan was in motion, and until Law finished his little dance with Hina, she’d rather not risk being confronted by more creeps who couldn’t take a hint.

Her natural suspicion only briefly entertained the thought that her hero could turn out to be just as bad. Whether it was his protective aura or his mustache, he reminded her of Genzo, and that would always earn a man the benefit of the doubt. “I’m fine. I suppose I should have been clearer that I wasn’t interested.”

“From what I overheard, you made yourself plenty clear,” he huffed. “That boy’s never learned a speck of respect. My sister spoils him, and he takes entirely too much after my brother.”

“Eh, men like him are hardly rare. I appreciate you scaring him off, though.”

“Happy to be of assistance. I hope you don’t mind if I linger a bit? I’d rather avoid the inevitable argument Beatrix and I will have for a little while longer, and I think I should have a talk with your boyfriend about leaving his lady undefended.”

“Oh, no need for that,” she growled, clenching her fist as a murderous flame crackled in her eyes. “I’m happy to do it myself.”

Surprised, the knight let out a full-bellied laugh. “I’m starting to think my rescue was unneeded; you seem plenty capable of handling yourself!”

“Damn right I can!” she snarled before remembering herself. Swiftly plastering on an innocent smile, she amended, “I mean, I wish I could, but a delicate thing like me wouldn’t stand a chance without a big, strong man looking after her.”

Laugh simmering down to a chuckle, he waved off her excuse. “Relax; a lady with spirit is a great thing. You remind me of my granddaughter, actually!” With a deep, proper bow, he introduced himself. “Harpin Reginald, at your service.”

“Harpin?” she asked, suddenly nervous. “Are you related to our host?” If he was, she was in so much trouble. Puzzle pieces began to connect in her head, and the picture they were forming was not pretty.

His massive mustache waggled side-to-side in distaste. “Alas, he’s my elder brother. I don’t particularly like either of my siblings, but our mother asked us on her deathbed to try to get along, so he’s bound to invite me, and I’m obligated to attend. The rest of the time, I put as much of the Grand Line between the three of us as possible.”

“So, was that the Baron’s son?”

“No, my sister’s, though Gerald was the one to teach him such wonderful manners.” He glared disdainfully across the room to where their host was casually groping one of the maids. “I swear, he threw a masked ball simply because he knows how much I detest these things.”

“What, you don’t enjoy the opportunity to dress up as a white knight?” she managed to tease. Her heart was still quaking at the revelation that she’d inadvertently pissed off a former Navy Intelligence officer’s nephew—when she found Law, she’d have to warn him that she’d earned some problematic attention.

After she kicked his ass for abandoning her, of course.

Whether her was ignoring her nervousness or simply failed to pick up on it, Reginald chuckled at her comment. “Well, that I don’t mind, but you’ve seen how outrageous these people get when they have anonymity—Kujakumaru is a perfect example. I doubt you’re the first woman he’s tried to coerce tonight.”

“You have a point, but I’m starting to think every high-class party is a masquerade in its own way.”

A grey eyebrow raised inquisitively. “How so?”

She shrugged, adjusting her cat mask so it rested more securely on her face. “Everyone’s still putting on a disguise; pretending to be more important than they really are, acting like they don’t despise each other with fake smiles and forced politeness, putting up with some creep’s innuendos because if they slap him like they really want to, the illusion’s broken and everyone will hate them for it.”

Reginald rubbed his chin, but a small, approving smile curled his lips. “You sound like you don’t enjoy these kinds of affairs.”

“Honestly, I always thought I would, but I guess I’m a simple girl at heart. I like expensive things, but this,” she pointed at the ballroom, “is disgusting. How much of the buffet is going to go straight in the trash? My friend’s a cook, and he’d have an aneurism over so much food waste.”

“I agree. I wish Gerald would at least send the leftovers to the town; every year, I swear those people look worse and worse. I tell you, I’d much rather be at one of the shindigs my wife’s family throws. Everyone comes for miles to sing and dance and share food, and it doesn’t matter what your status is; you’re welcomed with open arms.”

Nami smiled wistfully. “Yeah. I wish I was back with my friends—Brook’s music is way better than some stuffy orchestra, and Franky would show off some bizarre new move or hairstyle, and Lu—” she caught herself, realizing that she was getting too close to outing her identity as a Straw Hat, “—cy would make up ridiculous games and do stupid impressions, and we’d drink and laugh until dawn.”

“That sounds a hundred times more fun than any affair my siblings have thrown. Perhaps next year I’ll claim to have a prior engagement and seek out your friends’ party,” he joked.

She grinned, elbowing him playfully. “If you can find us, you’re welcome anytime. Heck, you can even say we kidnapped you if you need a better excuse. Consider it my thanks for the daring rescue.”

The playful glint faded from his black eyes. “Speaking of excuses, you’ll probably want to come up with one to leave—even if Kujakumaru doesn’t go crying to his mother, by midnight, this place will be nothing short of an orgy.”

She nearly choked on her own spit. From his dry tone, she doubted he was exaggerating. “Good thing my boyfriend and I already planned to be out by then.”

“See that you do. Why the Navy ever employed a hedonist like my brother, I’ll never know, much less as head of Intelligence.”

From what she’d seen that night, she couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. “Well, you don’t get rich enough to own your own island by not having connections; maybe the Navy felt they were useful enough to excuse his…lifestyle.”

With a huff, he nodded. “Probably, though I also have no doubt that’s why he was eventually convinced to ‘retire.’ He never would have left on his own volition; they would have had to pry it from his sticky, greedy grasp. Gerald’s always hated giving anything up, even if he doesn’t really want it.”

Nami wanted to pry further—this was a goldmine of intel on the man she was about to rob—but she was distracted by a certain man in a raven mask approaching.

Rage once more bubbling up like a geyser, she whirled on Law. “Oh, have you finished dancing already?” she asked sarcastically. “Good thing I didn’t need your help fending off some creep!”

Behind the mask, she could see an array of expressions cross his face; surprise, annoyance, guilt, anger, before finally settling on mildly apologetic. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, reaching out to gently run his fingers across her cheek. When she jerked back, glaring harshly, he sighed, “I saw another lady in need of rescuing and got distracted.”

“Yeah, sure, because Black Cage Hina would ever need to be rescued,” she scoffed.

“Actually,” Reginald said from beside her, “if it’s from my brother, then yes, she would. He’s always had a…thing for her, ever since she was a recruit.”

Law nodded, though he did give the older man a suspicious glance. “I was simply helping her avoid the Baron. But I truly am sorry,” he murmured, hooking Nami’s fingers with his own and carefully drawing her to his side, brushing a kiss across the corner of her mask. “I should have made sure you weren’t in harm’s way, first; you’re always my top priority, and I promise not to leave you alone again.”

Nami really wanted to stay mad at him, but for the sake of both their cover and the job, Bellemere had to forgive her boyfriend’s chivalrous stupidity. The Cat Thief didn’t, though, and she vowed to give him an earful once they were alone. So, she forced herself to wrap her arms around his waist, giving him a tight squeeze as she grumbled into his vest, “Apology accepted, but only because I was lucky enough to have a knight in shining armor to rescue me.”

“I guess so. Care to introduce me?”

Gratefully pulling away from Law’s heated body, she turned to her new friend. “Adrian, this is Harpin Reginald. Reginald, this is Dr. Goodheart Adrian.”

“Goodheart?” the old gentleman asked, eyes lighting up in recognition. “From Serenity Hospital?”

“Yes?” the surgeon replied, immediately on guard. He’d made the connection to their host even more quickly than she had, and the fact that her new friend could identify him didn’t bode well.

“You were the one who reattached my granddaughter’s leg!”

Law blinked in surprise. “Melody-ya was your granddaughter?”

Nami’s eyes widened at both the connection and the way the surgeon’s accent slipped. Even when it was just the two of them, he hadn’t added -ya to anyone’s name since they’d arrived.

Grasping Law’s hand in both of his own, Reginald shook it enthusiastically, tears of joy practically streaming down his face. “Indeed! I honestly can’t thank you enough!” He turned to Nami, smile shining brighter than his armor. “You have no idea how much I owe this man. Melody was involved in a terrible accident that tore off her right leg. The doctors were able to stabilize her, but they said she’d need a prosthetic replacement, and possibly never be able to walk again. But Dr. Goodheart was able to reattach her leg so perfectly, there wasn’t even a scar when they removed her stitches! It was practically a miracle!”

If you count the powers of a Devil Fruit as a “miracle,” she thought wryly, though she found it hard to stay cynical. As unlikely as it seemed that Law would meet the grandfather of one of his former patients here, she’d learned that fate had a funny way of bringing people together. She’d never expected to meet Brook, Laboon’s long-missing friend, on Thriller Bark, and yet he was now a member of her crew, sailing with them to the end of the Grand Line to fulfill his promise.

“I simply did what I could to the best of my ability with the tools I had at my disposal,” Law insisted, though his lips did lift in a slight smile. It was strange to see him acting humble, and somehow, it felt authentic. “How has she been? Any problems with the leg?”

“She’s well on her way to becoming a marathon runner, I can tell you,” Reginald said proudly. “Quick as the wind and eager to see the world! And it’s all thanks to you!”

“Any surgeon would have done the same in my position. I’m just glad she’s made such an excellent recovery; it’s the greatest reward any doctor could ask for.”

Reginald looked like he wanted to sing “Dr. Goodheart’s” praises further, but there was a sudden screech of “WHERE’S THAT WORTHLESS LITTLE BROTHER OF MINE” from the other side of the room, and the knight went rigid.

“Ah, it seems I can’t delay my argument with Beatrix any longer. Keep your heads down while I try to lead her off. Better yet, hide until some other drama occurs—maybe then you could sneak out more easily.”

Law frowned while Nami gave an appreciative smile. She was more than happy to run rather than get pulled into some family spat. “Thanks again for your help, Reginald. Best of luck with your sister.”

Pulling her partner deep into the crowd, the thief refused to stop until they were safe at the far end of the ballroom, the sound of the orchestra covering up their conversation.

“So, exactly what kind of trouble did you get yourself into while I was gone?” Law asked.

“Long story short—the Baron’s nephew propositioned me and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, so Reginald put him in his place.”

Anger flashed in the Dark Doctor’s gaze before simmering down to annoyance. “Of all the people you had to piss off…”

“Well excuse me for being a loyal girlfriend,” she snapped. “Unlike you! Why were you really dancing with Hina?” she whispered harshly, poking his chest.

He raised a black eyebrow, and Nami blushed as she realized just how jealous she sounded. “You’re the one who thinks acts of kindness are a weakness,” she insisted, “so there’s no way you helped her out for chivalry’s sake. If it affects the plan, I deserve to know!”

“White Chase had to take a piss, and I noticed our beloved host making a bee-line for her. In the interest of the night not suddenly going to hell ahead of schedule, I figured I’d offer her a temporary escape. Entertaining as it would be, my plan doesn’t factor in the Baron getting murdered this early in the evening.”

“What if she had recognized you?”

“Worried about me, sweetheart?” he teased, stroking a gloved finger down the smooth side of her mask. “I’m sure you’d be able to make an easy getaway in the confusion.”

“If anything happened to you, your crew would be heartbroken and I’d be roped into breaking your ass out of Impel Down,” she argued half-heartedly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not some powerhouse with more luck than brains like Luffy. You shouldn’t have taken such a risk!”

“Then I promise not to dance with another woman for the rest of the night,” he replied, pulling her close, hands resting gently on the small of her back, rubbing those distracting little circles along her spine. Leaning down, he whispered, “Seriously, I was doing it for our sake; Black Cage apparently has a rather unpleasant history with Harpin, so I dropped a few hints that she and White Chase should call it an early night. Things will go much easier with them out of the way.”

It was funny; despite the knowledge that Law was a sadistic, dangerous pirate and potentially one of Luffy’s greatest rivals to become Pirate King, being in his arms was beginning to feel…not comfortable, but almost normal. If anything, she should be more eager to escape his clutches than any of the handsy men she’d endured that night; at least they were weak enough to clobber if they got her alone. But she didn’t feel gross when Law touched her.

It dawned on her that, despite playing the role of her lover, his touches throughout the night had been relatively innocent. His hand went nowhere more inappropriate than her waist. His eyes stayed locked on her own instead of falling to the plunging neckline of her dress. Even though he’d kissed her several times, for the most part it had been to her wig or mask.

Deep down, she’d expected him to take advantage of their situation; to grope and kiss and tease her, using their cover as a couple as an excuse, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Why the hell did Nami feel so disappointed that he didn’t?

Shaking herself free of such confusing thoughts, she replied, “How much longer until phase two?”

Taking a glance at his pocket watch, he said, “It’s currently 9:40pm. Shachi’s team will act at 10:25pm, Ikkaku’s at 10:31pm, and Penguin’s at 10:37pm. Be ready to move no later than 10:15pm.”

“So we’ll just waltz into Harpin’s study?” She’d been sure to memorize the mansion’s blueprints, so she knew it was three floors above the ballroom. No matter what route they took, getting there would take time, and Law seemed fairly against using his powers unless strictly necessary.

“When we leave the ballroom, head towards the foyer but take the first right; about fifteen feet down that hallway, behind the red drapes between the painting of Dionysus and the statue of Venus is a hidden door the servants use. Those passageways lead all throughout the house, so we should be able to get around more easily. I’m sure there are guards or at least servants positioned to deter guests from wandering into certain parts of the mansion, but once our little distractions hit, it’s unlikely to be a problem.”

Even with his reassurance, Nami couldn’t help but be nervous. So many things could go horribly wrong, and even if Smoker and Hina left, she doubted they’d ignore the “distractions” Law had in mind.

Either he could see the tension in her shoulders or feel it in her spine, because he immediately set to taking her mind off such concerns. “We still have over a half-hour; I bet you can’t steal ten more wallets before showtime.”

Eyes flashing with greed and pride, she replied, “What’s the prize?”

“Me and the crew always have a party to celebrate a successful job, but I also take the time to treat myself to a nice dinner as a personal reward. Since you’ve been so instrumental to my plan, I was thinking about inviting you along.”

Immediately, she knew what he was proposing. “Loser pays for dinner?”

“Damn right.”

“You’re on.”

To the Dark Doctor’s surprise, she didn’t run off to find a new dance partner; instead, they milled about, wandering past small groups of guests, Nami occasionally stopping to apologize for bumping into someone or to compliment a particularly elaborate costume. By the time they reached the other side of the ballroom ten minutes later, she pulled him towards one of the stained-glass windows, turning them away from the party under the pretense of studying the elaborate scene of a satyr ravishing a forest nymph.

Reaching into the slit of her dress, the Cat Thief pulled out her haul, fanning herself haughtily with the wallets. “Seven down; three to go.”

Impressed at how quickly and subtly she worked, he smirked, patting his pocket to be sure she hadn’t added his to the collection. “Saying this now; my wallet doesn’t count.”

She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Fine, but only because I already know how easily I could take it.”

“Careful, Nami-ya, or you’re going to find out how easily I can take everything you’ve stolen tonight.”

A strange, pleasant shiver ran up her spine as his dark baritone caressed each syllable of her name. Had he always said it like that? Or was she just noticing now because he’d been calling her “Bellemere” and “sweetheart” all night?

None of that mattered at the moment, as a shrill, angry shriek from behind them quickly soured the mood.

“You! You’re the wretch who insulted my precious Kujakumaru!”

Nami barely had time to slip the wallets back into her gown before five long, sharp, acrylic nails buried themselves into her clavicle. She let out a yelp of pain as she was aggressively spun around, coming face-to-throat with a tall, thin woman with a severe frown, red cheeks, and the same black, watery eyes as the Baron. She was dressed in a chartreuse silk gown, her hair done up in a tight updo, and she clutched a domino mask adorned with yellow and green sequins. But Nami barely noticed that, as her eye was immediately drawn to her necklace; three rows of small, exquisitely cut white diamonds hung around her neck like a collar, framing a heart-shaped yellow diamond the size of a peach stone.

The sharp sting of yellow-painted talons scratching the skin of her collarbone brought the thief’s attention back up to the woman’s face. “I’m sorry; I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Nami ground out through the pain.

“That’s because trash like you doesn’t even belong in my presence! You should be honored my perfect son even glanced your way you harlot!” Looking the younger woman up and down, she scoffed. “I mean, look at the way you’re dressed. Kujakumaru, did you ask this girl to dance out of pity? Such cheap, ugly jewelry for a cheap, ugly girl!”

“Yes mother,” the man in the peacock mask sneered, pushing his way to the front of the crowd, a look of righteous glee in his eyes. “It was an act of charity, and when I refused her advances, she made uncle Reggie beat me!”

Furious at both the insult and the blatant lies, Nami struggled to pull away, but that only made the claws sink in deeper. “Your son’s the one who came onto me,” she snapped, “and maybe if you’d bothered to teach him to respect women, he wouldn’t get so butthurt over a girl rejecting him.”

“How dare you?!”

The woman looked as if she might continue to berate her, but she shrieked in surprise as Law wrenched her hand from Nami’s shoulder, his large fist clenched around her scrawny wrist so tightly she could hear the leather creak. Or maybe it was the bones.

“Lady Beatrix, I presume?” the Surgeon of Death asked, voice cold as chipped ice as he glared with murderous intent. “Regardless of however your son was insulted, I’d appreciate it if you kept your damn hands off my woman.”

As the Baron’s sister trembled under Law’s scrutiny, Nami inspected her shoulder, dismayed to find that the psychotic bitch had drawn blood. No wonder he’d stepped in; regardless of whether or not the Cat Thief could handle herself, he’d paid for her dress, and it already stood to get ruined. Bloodstains were not easy to get out of gold satin, after all.

“U-unhand me, you brute!” Beatrix screeched, writhing about like an eel. “My brother—”

“—would only care if I got your blood on his million-belli carpet. If he actually did give a shit about you or your worthless son, he’d be confronting me himself.” With predatory intent, Law’s eyes swept over the small crowd that had gathered, landing squarely on the man in the peacock mask. “Speaking of, I’m not exactly pleased that he propositioned my lover. She did tell you she was already spoken for, right?”

Smug triumph melted off his face like candle wax, and Kujakumaru looked ready to piss himself. “Sh-she said you had an arrangement! That you didn’t mind her having as many partners as she wanted!”

“Dance partners!” Nami insisted, frowning at Law’s raised eyebrow. “I specifically said ‘dance partners;’ he’s the idiot who took it the wrong way!”

Nodding in understanding, he turned back to the trembling man. “Even if I was the type to share, a lady has every right to refuse a man’s advances. Either you don’t know how to handle rejection, or you’re so pathetic that you couldn’t even pay a woman to sleep with you. I’d put my money on the latter.”

Nami shrieked as Beatrix’s claw-like free hand lashed out at him, but Law managed to catch it mere inches from his face, his cane dropping to the floor with a dull thud. The look in his eye turned sadistically amused at the attempted assault, and Nami had the feeling that if she didn’t put an end to this now, their cover would be blown as the Surgeon of Death decided to find out if the mother and son really did have blue blood.

Grabbing his arm, she yanked as hard as she could, forcing him to release Beatrix’s left wrist. “Darling, that’s enough!” she insisted. “It’s not worth it!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he replied calmly, thought the dark aura failed to dissipate.

More people were gathering to watch, and Nami knew she needed to do something drastic before they managed to catch the Baron’s, or even Smoker and Hina’s, attention. Grabbing his chin, she yanked his face down to her level, cutting off his protests with a desperate kiss.

Law’s lips were softer than she’d expected. Life on the sea was rough, the salty air and burning sun resulting in chapped lips for almost everyone, but perhaps he was one of the few men smart enough to use lip balm. On top of that, they were dry and warm, the smooth skin pliant beneath her own. The man himself didn’t move for a moment, completely caught off-guard by her actions, but after a few agonizing seconds, he tilted his head to better slant his mouth over hers.

It was clear her plan worked when she felt both his hands cup her shoulders, and the harsh click of Beatrix’s heels as she scurried away, not wasting the opportunity to put some distance between herself and the man who dared threaten her.

Part of Nami was tempted to drag the kiss out, especially when she felt Law’s blunt teeth nibble at her bottom lip, requesting entrance. Heat pooled in her belly as his tongue swept over the seam of her mouth, but the sound of the clock striking ten doused it in ice water as she remembered they didn’t have time to waste.

Drawing on every shred of acting ability in her repertoire, she forced tears to well up in her eyes as she shoved him away. “I thought you were different, Adrian!” she sobbed. “You know how much I hate violence!”

“Wha—”

“I can’t believe you’d even consider harming someone, especially a defenseless old woman! I—I never should have come out tonight. I wish we had just stayed home!”

Tears streaming out of her eyes, she gathered up her skirts and sprinted away, weaving through the crowds, effortlessly dodging the concerned hands that reached out for her. Behind her, she heard another shriek, followed by exclamations of “Fire! Put that curtain out you fools!” and in the chaos, she managed to escape into the hall, guests and servants alike paying her no mind in favor of the ruckus that broke out. Nami chanced a glance over her shoulder, bright eyes widening as she saw not one, but at least four fires of varying sizes had sprung up throughout the ballroom, candelabras apparently having been knocked over by the panicked guests.

Not one to look the gift horse in the mouth, she dashed into to the hallway Law had spoken of, eyes quickly locking onto the curtain hiding the servant’s entrance. Hopefully, she’d be able to hide in there and wait for her companion. Not that she was particularly looking forward to being alone with him now; god, what had she been thinking, pulling him into a kiss? A slap would have been better, or maybe a swift kick to the shin!

Hand trembling with fear and adrenaline, she grabbed the corner of the drape, only to be halted by an arm coming out of nowhere to wrap tightly around her waist. Another hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her startled scream.

“You didn’t think you’d escape me that easily, did you?” came a dark voice at her ear.

#lawna #law x nami #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x nami #trafalgar D. Water Law #law trafalgar #nami #one piece nami #straw hat nami #heart pirate nami #Fic: Welcome to the Heart Pirates #heart pirates #dr. heartstealer #masqurade #op nami #cat burglar nami #Cat Thief Nami #Surgeon of Death #smoker #smoker one piece #black cage hina #hina #one piece hina #One Piece Fanfiction #one piece smoker #lawxnami #namixlaw #one piece fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own

[talhawicks-blog]

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The"SAP Certified Application Associate - SAP S/4HANA Production Planning and Manufacturing" C_TS422_1909 certification examination confirms that the candidate possesses exactly the fundamental and core knowledge required of their SAP S/4HANA Manufacturing consultant account. This certification demonstrates that the candidate has an overall understanding and in?depth technical abilities to engage as a member of a project team at a mentored role. SAP C_TS422_1909 Notes To ensure success, SAP Suggests combining Education classes and hands on knowledge to get ready for your own C_TS422_1909 certification exam as queries will examine your ability to use the knowledge you've attained in coaching. You're not allowed to use any mention Materials throughout the C_TS422_1909 certification test (no accessibility to internet documentation or to any SAP system). SAP C_TS422_1909 Topic Areas Please see Beneath the listing of subjects that will Be coated within this certificate and the courses that pay them. Its accuracy doesn't represent a legitimate claim; SAP reserves the privilege to update the exam material (themes, things, weighting) at any moment; point. ? Advanced Planning in SAP S/4HANA> 12% ? Generation Orders in SAP S/4HANA> 12% ? Master Data at SAP S/4HANA> 12% ? Substance Requirements Planning at SAP S/4HANA8% - 12 percent ? Lean Manufacturing at SAP S/4HANA8% - 12% ? Capability Planning in SAP S/4HANA8percent - 12 percent ? Demand Management in SAP S/4HANA< 8% ? Introduction to SAP S/4HANA Production Planning< 8% ? Introduction to SAP S/4HANA Supply Chain Planning< 8% ? Procedure Orders in SAP S/4HANA< 8 percent

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[sindar-elven-maidens]

Chapter One 

Nyvari Oakenshield was an elven dwarf in the realm of Middle Earth, a rare race that didn’t occur very often or at all with that she was cast aside from the elven communities in Middle Earth. Her mother Aerin did her best to make sure Nyvari had a good life, taking her to Lord Elrond in Rivendell where she would be safe. Unfortunately, her mother stayed behind to fight wargs and orcs, until her timely demise sending her own daughter with their horse, It was a memory that Nyvari would never forget only being a baby at the time, many were surprised that Nyvari could remember such a thing from a young age.  Nyvari had known from a very young age where she had come from, her father the king under the mountain Thráin II the son of Thrór he succeeded his father and died a prisoner in Dol Guldur. 

Aerin on the other hand was a very well respected elf until her downfall with Thráin, in conceiving her daughter she was cast away from her home in Mirkwood. Forcing her just after the birth of her daughter Nyvari to make her way across Middle Earth,  ensuring her daughter was protected by Imladris. An Elven town and the house of Elrond described as "The Last Homely House East of the Sea”. Unfortunately with her mother’s demise unable to do anything from that young 0f an age, Nyvari always felt some kind of guilt that she couldn’t have done more. Making her feel such a fool as the years grew on the older she got the worse her feelings became to her situation, many elves in the home of Rivendell would describe Nyvari almost like she was a reminder of an elf from very long ago her name was “Fui”.  

The death goddess dwelling in halls that bore her name and had a roof of bat wings, she was the spouse of Vefantur eerily Nyvari reminded them of Fui. Nyvari had shown great promise from a young age her archery skills surpassed many of Lord Elrond’s elves, but as the years went on the more she had grown her purpose in this life. Became clear to the others around her she would be needed in many adventures, celebrations, and wars. Many had the feeling that once she left Rivendell on the side of good, they knew this elf would bring death and carnage to all who stood in her way, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Lord Elrond’s description of her can vary over the years that he raised Nyvari, but many in Rivendell can describe her as porcelain-skinned with a bloodless skin tone. Dwarven Elves as they describe can take on any genetics out of both races, but Nyvari, in particular, was appearing in her early twenties but was five foot and eight inches tall, which to many was short for an elf but tall for a dwarf. Many could never guess how much she weighed but if anyone could guess it would be around one hundred and thirty pounds, her physical bodily appearance was slim and curvy and could be seen through armor and the clothes she wears, her dark hair matched that of the Durin line dark black-brow, the length of a maiden to her lower back it sat the stature of her hair was beach waves, down or up into a ponytail she never liked to damage her hair, but her eyes were the rarest in all Middle Earth a grey color with flecks of green and amber, but the most notable thing that the elves of Rivendell knew about her, the distinguishing marks she can be known and found with dimples, deep scars that resemble Thranduil’s facial scars, due to the trauma she had endured while she was captured by orcs for six months and has enough scars to last a lifetime. A birthmark in the shape of the lonely mountain on a visible part of her neck.

The one thing anyone can make out of Nyvari is her favorite outfit a black and blue dwarvish outfit that looks like a female version of thorin's blue outfit with a choker with a small piece of Arkenstone dangling from it, no one really knows how she came to have a piece of the Arkenstone, but many across Middle Earth assume that Thráin had given a piece to his unborn daughter, which allowed Aerin to have a necklace made by the elven-smiths of Eregion, making the perfect tight fitting elvish necklace only made and perfected with the best this was Aerin’s only gift that she had left for her daughter, she has never taken off the necklace. 

The first time Nyvari left Rivendell she was captured by orcs, for about six months she was held captive in Dol Guldor by Azog the defiler she could hear the orcs around her talking about the Mines of Moria, Moria had been overrun with legions of orcs led by the vilest of their race Azog the Defiler, the Gundabad orc was swearing to wipe out the line of Durin, starting with the king Thrór beheading him just outside the mines of Moria as he had tossed his head three hundred feet and landed in a rabbit hole; thus the game of golf was invented. Nyvari was terrified of Azog just by his intimidating appearance fearsome-looking, and herculean orc, Azog is also a very large and extremely powerful orc, as tall if not taller than even the most advanced Uruk-hai, and far bulkier, his skin is bone-white, differentiating Azog from other orcs are his piercing blue eyes and smoother skin, with deep, tattoo-like incisions covering his face and torso. A metal claw replacing his severed forearm; the aft end of the prosthetic ends in a spike protruding near his elbow, the fact that Azog can sustain this prosthesis is an example of his immense ambitions to survive.

She lost herself in the trees

Among the ever-changing leaves

She wept beneath the wild sky

Though inside she knew not why

To overcome her hearts wounds

To rise from the ashes

For all she was told and all she saw

Shall soon be gone

The line of Durin shall fall

Though carry on it will

With the moon in her favor

 watching over her aimless journey

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Tamriel Gallilyn resides from a place known as the Grey Havens. A noble Noldor elf from the undying lands as she had returned to Arda after being requested home by her father. While she had returned back to Middle Earth she had gone to travel to the woodland realm upon hearing of the birth of the king's new son as she was to give a blessing to the child; though on her way was taken by the same orcs who were after Nyvari’s bloodline. Taken to Dol Guldor and held captive until her escape thousands of years later. 

Though as she had managed to get out she also managed them to be on her tail as she ran despite being weak. She ran day in and day out to avoid going back as she had soon run into a group of guards near Mirkwood as they had taken her to the king and fought off the remaining scouts who failed to retake her. As Thranduil had seen her he immediately contacted Lord Elrond and sent her to Rivendell heavily guarded along the way as she hadn’t woken the whole journey there which concerned the elven leaders of the three elven kingdoms. 

Her appearance was of a soft ivory complexion as well as her Honey gold eyes which sparkled in the light of the sun and moon. Her hair a shade of Blonde which was quite uncommon for her race of elf as was her eye color. Her height was normal as well as her weight though her archery and sword skills were yet to be determined.

An ember astray

When the last of the crow’s feathers fall

An old forest shall grow quiet

Sorrows grow restless

Mithlond falls still in the greys of time

 in search of golden eyes

Will lead the world out of grey

And into the light of day

into the hands of men.

#hobbit #lotr #thranduil #lotr frodo #oc #fanfic #fanfiction #quotev #writer #coauthors #love #romance #lord of the rings #fantasy #bilbo baggins #fellowship of the ring #arwen #elves #sindar #noldor #elrond #rivendell #mirkwood #lothlorien #dwarfs #king under the mountain #thorin #Oakenshield #kili oakenshield #thorin oakenshield

[hergrim]

On Michael Livingston's Alternative Location for the Battle of Agincourt

From a recent answer on /r/AskHistorians:

Introduction

For over a hundred and fifty years, the location of the Battle of Agincourt has been known with 100% certainty. The two best, most reliable chronicles - by eyewitnesses, no less - give it a very precise location. That is, in the fields between the villages of Azincourt and Tramecourt. The terrain even matches the description of the battle, with the French being "funneled" from the wider northern end to the narrower center of the field and becoming so compressed as a result that they couldn't use their weapons.

So, the question is, if we know everything there is to know about the Battle of Agincourt and it all matches up perfectly, why has Michael Livingston chosen to dispute these well known facts? After all, he says himself in a recent podcast that he has no desire to go around being contrary about the location of battles just for the sake of it. The answer to this question is that there are actually a number of inconsistencies between primary sources, physical evidence and issues such as the area needed to fight a battle on the scale of Agincourt, and Michael Livingston is not the first to raise some of the problems, which have been slowly gaining attention since the mid-2000s.

With that said, I can't say that I agree with Michael Livingston's interpretation and I think that the traditional location is much closer to where the battle was fought. Livingston does bring up a number of good points, in particular the issue surrounding the length of the English line, and I think these are enough to render the precise traditional location invalid, but I ultimately don't think the bulk of the evidence supports his proposal. But more on this and my own alternative site later. Let's start with where current scholarship agrees the Battle of Agincourt was fought.

The Development of Tradition

By and large, the placement of the Battle of Agincourt between the villages of Azincourt and Tramecourt is down to Jean Le Fevre’s chronicle of the 1460s and the close collaboration or copying by Jean de Waurin at around the same time. They are very specific that the French a) camped between Azincourt and Tramecourt and b) that the battle was fought there the next day. Although Waurin was only 15 at the time and not an active participant, both he and Le Fevre (a herald) had strong connections to the English and Burgundian factions and both were well versed in war. Waurin would even fight less than a decade later at the Battle of Verneuil, which has been described by some as a "second Agincourt".

These two authors, along with Enguerrand de Monstrelet, whose chronicles both authors relied heavily upon, have become the main accounts used to reconstruct the battle, with other sources being used to supplement, rather than inform, the narrative. This is most a result of the clear, non-nonsense style of the authors and the fact that Le Fevre and Waurin, being eyewitnesses and steeped in the military culture of the period, must have been offering their own considerable experience to the mix.

Broadly speaking, the result of this is that the traditional location has been regarded as well established and unambiguous. While there have been minor modifications to how the armies were arranged and the exact place where the English halted their advance (compare J.H. Round to Clifford J. Rogers, this has had no effect on the consensus. And this is where Tim Sutherland and Michael Livingston come in.

The Heretical Archaeologist

In 2002, battlefield archaeologist Tim Sutherland was hired to survey the traditional location of the Battle of Agincourt as part of a Battlefield Detectives documentary on the battle. To his surprise, virtually no medieval artifacts were found in the fields surveyed and no arrowheads at all. Having worked previously on the site of the Battle of Towton, Sutherland expected there to be many arrowheads as well as other medieval finds - buckles, broken pottery, coins, etc. The lack of these, combined with a lack of the alleged mass graves after a 2007 survey, started him thinking seriously about alternative sites for the battle.

His initial proposal was a site to the north, with the French positioning themselves near Ruisseauville and the English taking up position several hundred meters north of Agincourt, with a small valley between them. He drew this conclusion from a combination of the oldest maps placing the battle to the west of Agincourt, a number of chronicles referring to the battle as being close to Agincourt and Ruisseauville, some references to the land the English were standing on being much firmer than the land the French were standing on and his reading of the Gesta Henrici Quinti, which he suggested said that a small valley lay between the two armies on the 25th of October.

The major problem with this interpretation is that the valley between the armies was only a factor in the stalemate of the 24th of October, and it was also equally clearly near Blagny, not Ruisseauville. The Gesta is clear that, as the English made their way up from Blagny and the Ternoise river valley, the detected the arrival of the French army on the other side of this small valley, which runs from Tramecourt to the Ternoise. After a stand off, the French moved off towards the English left (i.e. towards Tramecourt) and the English changed position to remove any chance of their being outflanked.

Subsequently, Sutherland has suggested that the valley in question might have been a small valley to the west of Maisoncelle known as the "Morival" (the "Valley of Death"), based on the Chronique de Normandie's specific statement that the battle was fought in a valley, the attested closeness of a valley in the Gesta and an area known on the 1825 as L'Anglais ("The English") that would be appropriate for an English camp if the French were on the western side of the Morival. This is where Michael Livingston comes into play.

The Accidental Revisionist

As I've noted above, Michael Livingston doesn't mean to suggest that centuries of scholarship about the location of battlefields is wrong, he just ends up doing so when he sees a disconnect between the primary sources and the landscape. Perhaps his most controversial piece of revisionism is his total relocation of the Battle of Crecy several kilometers south east of the traditional location to Domvast, but which was presented along side an incredibly valuable collection of primary sources in both original text and translation.

Michael Livingston's Proposed Site

Understandably, Livingston's article in the Medieval Warfare Magazine is significantly less comprehensive and I'm going to be upfront that there may well be elements that were edited out for reasons of space but which might add more weight to some of his arguments. Nonetheless, for such a short piece of work, Livingston managed to provide a wide array of arguments as to why the Battle of Agincourt couldn't have been fought at the traditional location. What I'm going to do is go through them point by point, summarising them and providing an assessment on how well they stack up.

1) The Traditional Battlefield Is Too Cramped

The argument that Livingston starts his article off with is that, even assuming the lowest number of English (5900) and reducing that by 10% to account for casualties on the march, the English army would be too broad to fit. With 5300 men arranged in ranks four deep, the English line would be 1325 men abreast and, with 1.5m2 needed for each of them to fight effectively, the English line would be a total length of 1987 meters long. Even placing the archers forward at a 45 degree angle, which he has doubts about, the formation would still be 1435 meters from tip to tip and couldn't possibly fit on the traditional site.

This is Livingston's most solid argument. Almost every author has assumed that Tito Livio Frulovisi’s remark that the English were "scarcely four deep" refers only to the men-at-arms and that the English archers were seven or eight ranks deep. This is necessary in order to fit the English into the traditional location, even with the more usual allowance of 90cm per man. The only other author whom I'm aware of placing the archers only 4 deep is Robert Hardy, who maintains that archers can't shoot past each other on flat ground if they're placed more than three or four deep. And, reading the context of the line, where the Frulovisi is comparing the English and French armies, I think that it's clear that the whole of the English army is being referred to here, not just the archers.

With that said, I do disagree with Livingston's interpretation of each soldier needing 1.5m2 of space to fight in. I'm not sure where he sourced this figure and I agree with it, but I believe the evidence points much more towards it the area needed being 1 meter wide and 1.5 meters deep, not 1.5 meters wide and 1 meter deep.

Secondly, the space between ranks is often more important than the space between files. Thomas Digges, for instance, required that every pikeman have only 3 feet of space across their front, but seven feet of space total in front and behind (three in front, three behind, pikeman occupies one). This is also similar to the similar spacing to the three feet by six feet given by Vegetius, Polybius and later Hellensitic authors. Christine de Pizan, although not specifying a spacing, emphasizes that the vanguard of an army, fighting on foot, should "arranged close together, so that one should not pass another". Combined with the iconographic evidence above, this strongly suggests that the men-at-arms at Agincourt would have been fighting in relatively close files, but not necessarily in close ranks.

Firstly, there are a large number of contemporary manuscripts with miniatures depicting quite tight, compact battles where the lance is the primary weapon. Even those where some grappling or fighting with swords, axes or daggers occurs heavily resemble 16th century depictions of pike combat.

As the use of lances by the French is well attested, phrases such as "the first mingling of lances" are used to describe the battle and the English had a long history of fighting with lances while dismounted, both before and after Agincourt, it's most likely both sides were in close order and fighting with either short or long lances and therefore in close order.

2. There's no Archaeological Evidence

Livingston notes the work of Tim Sutherland and rightly suggests that a proper re-examination of the battle site is necessary. I'm in total agreement here.

3. The Oldest Maps Show the Battle Elsewhere

As noted by Sutherland, the Cassini map of the area showed the battle off to the west of Azincourt rather than the traditional location between Azincourt and Tramecourt. Livingston, in conjunction with J. Wesley Snyder III, has found an even earlier map, from the start of the 18th century, by Guillaume de l’Isle that shows the battle in the same location.

The issue with this is whether Cassini copied de l’Isle's location of the battle or arrived at it from his own research. The question is unlikely to ever be answered since, while Cassini undoubtedly had access to de l’Isle, his maps had much greater detail and showed more local features. This might suggest that Cassini had access to local knowledge, but it doesn't prove that he used it. Livingston certainly hasn't put much faith in Cassini before, arguing that he misplaced the Battle of Crecy through either his own misinterpretation or by the misinterpretation of an earlier scholar, so I consider this a very weak argument.

4. The Woods on the English Left Were West of Maisoncelle

Livingston, using the Gesta, recreates a sequence of events where the English and French faced off across the valley to the right of Maisoncelle, shifted position during the afternoon and then moved off to their quarters for the night. As the woods to the English left in this scenario were west of Maisoncelle, the French much have bivouacked there. Azincourt would be too far away in this scenario for the two camps to still be within earshot - as the sources make very clear was the case - so the traditional battlefield can't be where the battle was fought.

This is where we come to the major flaw in Livingston's argument. Livingston's summary of the movements is accurate up to the point where the two armies are facing each other across the valley. The problem is this sentence: "Gesta next describes the two armies jockeying for position, likely gauging the other’s intentions and trying to organize themselves." This completely reverses the order of events given by the Gesta:

In addition to this primary source evidence (the same details are given by other English sources), just looking at the topography makes the sequence of events presented by Livingston unlikely. While the valley is relatively easy to cross close to Tramecourt, this is the area where Henry would likely have tried to keep one flank, in order to prevent the French from crossing easily, so that they would need to deal with steep slopes closer to the Ternoise. And, if Henry didn't manage to get in position to stop an easy crossing close to Tramecourt, the English and Burgundian chroniclers would not have presented the situation as a stalemate where both sides prepared for battle but nothing happened.

When for a while the opposing ranks had seen and considered our measure and smallness of number, they brought themselves to a field that lay beyond a wood, which was near on the left between us and them, where our route towards Calais was. Our king, supposing that the men would thus either encircle the wood, so that they could come upon him via that route, or else would go round through the more distant woods that neighboured it and surround us on every side, immediately removed his columns and positioned them in constant opposition to them.

The author is completely unambiguous. The first movement the two armies made was the French going off to evening quarters to the left of the English position. The English, afraid they were going to be attacked on the flank, then moved position to oppose the French movement. Then, thinking that the French might "go round through the more distant woods that neighboured it and surround us on every side", they re-positioned again to take that possibility into account. This sentence is of particular importance, as the early maps show that the the woods are primarily along the top of the river valley. The cadastral maps similarly show a heavy bias towards woods along the top of the valley rather than closer to the villages, and reinforce my view that there were no significant "more distant woods" that the French could circle around behind to come around the English rear. However, if the English had maintained their initial position then they could reasonably have expected to be cut off if the French went around the woods at Azincourt to come at them from behind.

5. References to More Varied Terrain

As Sutherland noted in his own works, a couple of French sources refer to valleys being involved in the battle or to terrain that isn't as flat as the traditional location. A allegorical poem written soon after the battle says: "The shepherds in that flat place cried out with great, strong and high voices making the deep valleys and high trees resound with such raging that it seemed all would fall into the abyss itself at the sound of the very cry” and, at the end of the battle, "The streams run through the valleys, the rivers run red". The Chronique de Normandie also specifically mentions the battle being fought in a battle. In addition to these references to different terrain, Livingston questions whether the muddy field that formed such a crucial part of the battle could have formed at the traditional location.

I don't put much stock in La Pastoralet offering any significant evidence about the immediate circumstances of the battle due to its allegorical nature. There were what might be poetically "deep valleys" behind and in front of the battlefield, while the rivers running red with blood is a pretty generic and heavily poetic term that I don't believe has to refer to literal rivers or streams playing a role in the battle. As for the Chronique de Normandie, it is the only source to suggest that the battle took place in a valley, in comparison to many other sources heavily implying flat terrain.

The second part, about how the ground where the battle took place could be so muddy if it was as flat as the traditional location, is easy to answer: Thomas Walsingham, the Monk of St-Denis, the Chronique de Ruisseauville and the three Burgundians specify that the ground had only been ploughed and sewn recently. The Monk of St-Denis and the Burgundians add that the French camping on this ground had worsened the situation - the Burgundians in particular blame the exercising of the horses in front of the camp during the night for the quagmire - and the well attested rain the night before completed the mess. Since the area between the Azincourt and Tramecourt is relatively flat, it does not drain as well as the land that slopes back towards Maisoncelle and Blagny, the water would have absolutely saturated the ground and, as recent tests have shown, is in any case far more clingy than most mud.

6. The Road to Calais Doesn't Go Through the Battlefield

This argument is based on the English sources specifically mentioning that the French were camped across the road to Calais. The main road at the time went through Azincourt and then on to Ruisseauville, which means that the French could only be camped across this road if they were west of Maisoncelle and literally camped on this road.

This can be easily countered. Firstly, a minor road did run from Maisoncelle, between Azincourt and Tramecourt, and up to Ruisseauville, where it joined the road to Calais. While the author of the Gesta might have been referring to the main road, he might also have been referring to this one.

Secondly, a number of chroniclers mention the French sleeping at Azincourt and Ruisseauville the night before the battle. In addition to Monstrelet, Waurin and le Fèvre, the Mémoires de Pierre de Fenin (written by a nobleman from the area) and the Chronique de Ruisseauville both specify that the French slept in those villages. As Azincourt and Ruisseauville are both on the main road to Calais, the French would indeed have been camped long the road to Calais and barring the English way.

Thirdly, from a tactical point of view, the English had no choice but to attack the French when they camped between Azincourt and Tramecourt and drew up their lines of battle on the morning of the 25th. Had the English attempted to march around the woods of Azincourt to take the road to Calais, they would have exposed their flank to an attack while they were in order of march. And, even if the French didn’t attack them then, they could still easily re-position themselves to attack the English when they came around Azincourt. That limited Henry to one option alone: attack the French.

7. The Names From the Cadastral Plans are Significant

A final substantial part of Livingston's argument is that the Morival, being the "valley of death", in addition to some other names on the cadastral map, such as "L'Anglais" ("the English"), “La Fosse a Rogne" ("the pit of rotting/the pit of rage") and "La Cloyelle" ("the enclosure") all point towards his new location for the battle.

With regards to these, while "valley of death" certainly sounds like an appropriately named feature of a battle, the others are less useful. "L'Anglais" is only a relatively small area and nowhere near the whole English army could have camped there, so there's no reason to think that the English were concentrated there.

“La Fosse a Rogne" seems to be mistranslated as, according to the late 18th century Nugent's French Dictionary, "rogne" means scurf/scab (skin diseases in particular associated with sheep), which is the main definition in the Dictionnaire du Moyen Français. There is also a definition covering "growl/grumble", as well as one meaning "clippings/cuttings" (especially of coins or nails). The modern informal association with anger may have around in the early 19th century or earlier, but the medieval equivalent "growl/grumble" is rather different from "rage" or "rotting". The term thus almost certainly has nothing to do with the battle or the burial of the bodies afterwards.

Finally, while Livingston notes that "La Cloyelle", which presumably comes from “clayel”/”claiel” and means "the enclosure", right behind where he would place the English men-at-arms and would be where he expects French prisoners to be taken. However, the cadastral maps show it both further north, towards Azincourt and east, towards Tramecourt, as well as the area directly behind when Livingston has place the English men-at-arms. While this may refer to where the battle took place - and I use it in my own argument - it could just as easily be a reference to the fact that the area is "enclosed" by the woods and villages and is spread over too great a distance to support Livingston's argument.

A Revision of Tradition

By now I hope I've demonstrated pretty thoroughly that Livingston's argument doesn't hold much water. However, he does raise one very important point, namely that the traditional site is too small for the English army, that I think allows us to recontextualise some of the primary sources and propose a new site for the battle; still between the villages of Azincourt and Tramecourt, but at the southern end, near Maisoncelle, not at the northern end.

Positions the Night Before the Battle

The change in location that I’m proposing is a relatively modest one, shifting the French a few hundred meters south towards the Maisoncelle end of the field. This is heavily based on Monstrelet, Waurin and le Fèvre’s account of the battle, as they’re the only authors to provide solid geographic information, but a number of other sources support the sequence of events those three provide. Having established that Waurin and le Fèvre’s account of the French camping between Azincourt and Tramecourt is correct, it’s worthwhile looking at their phrasing when they talk about the camp and where the battle was fought. There are two occurrences:

Now we must speak of the French. On the Thursday night, as was said before, they lodged in the field between Agincourt and Tramecourt, where the battle on the next day.

and

The truth was that the French had ordered their battles between two small woods, one close to Agincourt, the other to Tramecourt.

The first quote, on where the French camped, says that they camped on the battlefield, while the second confirms that it was between Azincourt and Tramecourt. The Monk of St-Denis also mentions that the French "had to bivouac in a terrain of considerable extent, newly worked over, and that torrents of rain had flooded and converted into a quagmire", with the later implication that this was ground the marched across to meet the English.

The specification that the French lodged between the woods at the site of the battle has tended to be ignored by authors, with A.H. Burne suggesting that the French camped a little beyond Azincourt, Juliet Barker that the French slept in the villages rather than the field and Christopher Hibbert places them behind the woods of Tramecourt. Anne Curry does acknowledge the French camping between the two towns, but says that their position is hard to place on today’s map.

A large part of the glossing over of Waurin and le Fèvre’s placement of the French almost certainly comes down to the belief that the French started the battle at the northern end of the field and then “funneled” into the narrower section of the battle somewhere near the road between Azincourt and Tramecourt after the English had advanced to there and provoked them. Since the French would have had to have packed up all their tents and chests and moved all their baggage as much as a thousand yards to reach this location if they’d camped in the fields closer to the English, they must therefore have camped beyond the woods, right?

The Gesta’s account of the French moving to “a field that lay beyond a wood” after facing the English across the small valley has added to this interpretation. What most authors ignore, though, is that the Gesta has the French moving off to the nearby “hamlets and shrubbery” once nightfall arrived, which suggests a movement from their position on the distant end of the woods to a more convenient camp.

Additional evidence comes from the multiple references to how close the two armies were camped. Thomas Walsingham wrote that “scarcely 1,000 paces” separated the camps, and Waurin and le Fèvre’s “quarter league” (about 812 meters) is a similar distance. Monstrelet gives the distance as “three bowshots”, which could be anywhere between 200 and 330 meters depending on whether we’re speaking of the “military” bow shot or the “flight” bow shot, and Pierre de Fenin provides a similar distance of 4 bow shots. At the extreme end we have Tito Livio’s “scarcely 250 paces” separating the two camps.

Other chronicles, while not giving distances, do mention that the English could hear the French calling out to one another and that the French were close enough to be disturbed by the quietness of the English. The Gesta talks about the English, still in battle order on the evening of the 24th, listening to the French calling out to each other as they went into their evening quarters, and Monstrelet, Waurin and le Fèvre also mention this tale.

The point of all this is that the French were camped within 1000 paces, most probably within 800 meters, and certainly within distant earshot. With this in mind, they can’t have camped at the far end of the battlefield, as this is about 2000 meters from where the English camped at Maisoncelle. For the French to have camped at the far end of the field and still been within 800 meters of the English, the English would have needed to camp at the southern end of the woods, where the traditional interpretation has them drawing up for battle the next day. This isn’t impossible, as Henry V could simply have camped at Maisoncelle while the bulk of the English camped at the mouth of the woods, but it makes more sense to me for the English to be close to their commanders on the night before such an uncertain battle.

Positions Before the Battle

This in turn changes where the French are positioned at the beginning of the battle. If they camped part way down the field between Azincourt and Tramecourt, then it makes less sense for them to then retreat back to the far edge before they drew up in preparation for the battle. It’s much more likely that they would have advanced their lines beyond their evening camp in preparation for battle. I’ve placed the French vanguard in the area just beyond Tramecourt where there is a slight rise of 130 meters for several reasons. First and foremost, I’m operating under the assumption that the French camp was not significantly beyond the village of Tramecourt and so their vanguard would need to be beyond that point, but not so far as the English couldn’t advance to the woods without hitting the French vanguard.

Secondly, Monstrelet states that Henry sent 200 archers “near Tramecourt, quite close to the rearguard of the French”, while Waurin and le Fèvre, in denying the incident, say that they were allegedly deployed “towards Tramecourt to a meadow close to where the vanguard of the French was positioned." Both of these accounts place either the vanguard or the rearguard near to Tramecourt and, while this could be on the far side of the village in Monstrelet’s version, Waurin and le Fèvre’s version has the archers going towards Tramecourt, not beyond it. This also ties in well with Monstrelet’s account of the English scouts finding no men-at-arms at the village of Agincourt on the morning of the battle and burning a house and barn to try and frighten the French. If the French had been in the traditional location, there still wouldn’t have been any men-at-arms in the village, but burning buildings in front of an army is far less likely to frighten it than burning buildings to their rear and so the attempt would likely not have been made.

Thirdly, there’s some evidence that at least one flank of the battlefield had hedges and thorn bushes or trees. Tito Livio and Pseudo-Elmham mention these on both sides, and the Chronique de Ruisseauville speaks of the French having a hedge of stakes on one side and the woods on another. These are tenuous threads of evidence, as the Gesta, Waurin and le Fèvre in particular don’t mention the hedges or thorn bushes. However, there are two pieces of evidence in favour. Firstly, Tito Livio’s patron, and probably his source for much of his information, was Henry’s brother, Duke Humphrey, who was present at the battle. Secondly, the Napoleonic cadastral maps show two fields west of the area I’ve placed the vanguard that talk about hedges. The furthest is the “end/tip of the hedges”, while the closer is “above the hedges of Azincourt”, which suggests that there were notable hedges east of both fields.

Finally, also based on the Napoleonic maps, the area right in front of where I’ve placed the English was known locally by the early 19th century as “La Cloyelle”. A couple of different etymologies have been suggested, with Anne Curry preferring “clouer” (“to fix/nail”) as the root word and Michael Livinston suggesting the meaning is “enclosure” (presumably from “clayel”/”claiel”), but both are quite appropriate to the position I suggest for the English. If, as Curry suggests, the name derives from the clinging nature of the mud in that area, then it’s more appropriate for it to be there, in front of where I have positioned the English instead of several hundred meters behind them. On the other hand, if Livingston is correct, then this would be a good description of the area “enclosed” by the stakes of the English archers that the French men-at-arms marched into.

The reason why the French chose to position themselves in such a narrow place, which has puzzled even contemporary writers (c.f. the Monk of St-Denis), is in my opinion the result of a deliberate choice rather than sheer incompetence. As many authors over recent decades have pointed out, the French men-at-arms were experienced and good warriors, and even those who were young had seen some fighting, so their choice of terrain is baffling. However, if the plan was to take advantage of the unique terrain and situation they found themselves in and force the English to halve their numbers - as they would need to do if they attacked in a straight line in a line - then this makes sense of their choice.

While the French drew up in the fields between Azincourt and Crecy, Henry V drew his small army up in a single line roughly between the Morival and where the terrain started to drop off towards the valley leading from Tramecourt to the Ternoise. His front covered nearly 1500 meters and was as straight as the terrain allowed. This contradicts previous views of the initial deployment, but I believe that it's very well supported and makes military sense in light of the new French positioning.

From a military standpoint, Henry needed to place his wings very far forward, at an angle of about 45 degrees, if he was to advance in a single battle and this made the vulnerable to attack during their long march forwards (the most distant archers were 400 meters in front of the men-at-arms), and also made them vulnerable to attack from the rear without the traditional forest to protect them. It would be a risky move sending them forwards, and the French might be able to launch an attack that caught him while still deploying.

From the point of view of the sources, there's a lot of support. For starters, the Gesta and Thomas Elmham both state that the English army was too large for the position they were fighting in, even after their advance towards the French, which is something that very few authors have considered fully. While French and Burgundian authors are quick to stress that the narrow position was detrimental to their side during the battle and didn't allow them to properly engage, the fact that two English authors, one an eye-witness and the other close to the king, say that even the English couldn't properly fit is pretty important in light of Livingston's reassessment of deployment width.

More tellingly, however, are the sources which place the wings going forward only during/after the initial English advance:

Thomas Walsingham: "With the banners raised, he ordered his men to proceed in order. He made the archers go first from the right and also from the left."

The Monk of St-Denis: "After he had said these words, he had his army advance about a bow shot and seeing that they were in a vast plain added, ‘we must stop here, regather our courage and await the enemy on firm ground in close battalions without dividing our forces. Our 12,000 archers will range themselves in a circle around us to sustain as best they can the shock of the enemy."

Le Fevre and Waurin: "Then after the king of England had thus admonished his men, again on his little horse, he put himself in front of his banner and then marched with his whole battle in very good order towards the enemy. Then he called a rest in the place where he stopped...After the discussion had taken place between the two battles and the emissaries had returned to their own men, the king of England ordered a veteran knight, called Sir Thomas Erpingham, to draw up his archers and to put them in the front in two wings

While it would be ideal if the Gesta had echoed these deployments, it's clear that soon after the battle - on both sides of the conflict - it was thought that the English archers were only deployed forwards in wings after the initial battle. Years later, other authors who had been present at the battle wrote the same thing, diverging quite considerably from Monstrelet, whom they often don't differ from to such a degree.

Positioned as they were, the English were in a good defensive position if the French advanced to meet them, and their baggage was well protected behind their lines. However, they also needed to force a battle and couldn't afford a delay of more than a couple of hours. They were tired, wet, cold, hungry and likely diseased at this point, and time favoured only the French. Thus, when the negotiations had stalled and the English could see that the French were relaxed, with most of the cavalry gone off to exercise or feed their horses (c.f. the Berry Herald in particular), the English seized the opportunity to advance and risked an attack while they deployed in the hope that the French couldn't rally in time. As it turned out, this worked out well.

The English Offensive

The battle that followed was not too different in my view than Clifford J. Rogers' view, with the exception that the French cavalry probably attacked second, after an initial advance by the vanguard, but that's an argument for another day.

Bibliography

"Where Was the Battle of Agincourt Fought?" by Michael Livingstone, in Medieval Warfare Magazine IX.I

"The Battlefield" by Tim Sutherland, in The Battle of Agincourt ed. Anne Curry and Malcolm Mercer

The Battle of Agincourt: Sources and Interpretations, by Anne Curry

"The Battle of Agincourt" by Clifford J. Rogers, in The Hundred Years War (Part II) – Different Vistas ed. Andrew Villalon and Donald Kagay

Vegetius: Epitome of Military Sience, tr. N. P. Miller

Polybius: The Histories, tr. William Roger Patton

An arithmetical warlike treatise named Stratioticos, by Leonard Digges and Thomas Digges

The Book of Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry, tr. Sumner Willard

#battle of agincourt #medieval warfare #the king #michael livingston #medieval warfare magazine #heresy

[songketalliance]

“Kurus Sudah Lawa”: My Experience with Anorexia

“People could compliment my looks all they want when I got thin, but most days I couldn’t see it, and if I managed to feel good looking in the mirror, it would only last a brief moment because I knew about all the little flaws, the stubborn fat and stretchmarks I was hiding underneath my clothes.”

A contribution by Iddie Mo

People appear surprised when they find out how I used to be anorexic, either because I’m a pretty big guy, or simply because I am a guy.

While my mother was pregnant with me, she rapidly gained weight. The doctor felt it was necessary to conduct a caesarean two months prematurely- basically, yes, I was born that way.

There’s this idea of anorexia that people have, been guilty of it myself, where the person afflicted must be extremely sickly looking to ‘qualify’; the expression “you’re skin and bones” would have to be a literal description, or else, is it really anorexia?

My body didn’t look skeletal when the doctor gave me six months to live.

It’s easy to blame the media for unhealthy representations of an ‘ideal body’. While I won’t completely dismiss its influence, my main source of criticism growing up came from family, teachers and peers. These weren’t imaginary people on a television screen, pictures on some ad or magazine cover; they were people I had to interact with every day, the ones I’m supposed to trust and learn from the most.

In kindergarten, a girl had refused to sit next to me because she thought my fat was disgusting. There’re home videos of me crying because someone told me my hair was messy or my teeth weren’t white enough. I was an annoyingly sensitive child who learnt very early on that having good looks meant being respected.

Being big boned and having a very slow metabolism is an unfortunate combination, top it off with a bit of stress eating.

For years, family would pinch my body, waddle my chin, teachers would randomly ask me about my meals and laugh or smirk afterwards.

Eventually enough was enough and I got myself a workout VCD pushing myself to move more in a short period of time than I ever had before in my life.

It started out alright, but I wasn’t seeing the results that I wanted, so I worked-out longer. Instead of doing the work-out segments partially, depending on the day of the week like the instructional video said to do, I just did the whole shebang every day. More work, more payoff, right? “No pain, no gain”- so I made sure to feel pain.

‘Obsessive’ would be an understatement, if I missed a day, I’d double my work-out time the next day to make up for it. After some time, if I felt like my body could withstand the pain a bit more, I would take advantage of adrenaline and powered on.

There were days when I’d be working out for fourteen hours.

Logically, to “aid” my terrible metabolism, I’d have to burn off more than what I consumed, so I consumed less and then, illogically, way less.

My diet initially consisted of items like tuna, chillies, high-fibre crackers, cucumber sushi and a cheese cube. I would practice restraint by drinking lots of water and seeing how many days I could stretch these foods for, rationing them as if it were the apocalypse or something. Days where food wouldn’t be touched at all became more and more frequent as the illness progressed. Even when I experienced internal bleeding my crusade against fat persisted.

At some point, even being around the vicinity of food made me ill, the smell of wafting oily food cooking was especially bad. It felt like the oil in the air was attacking me inside and out, I had this disgusting image of the oils infiltrating my body and squeezing out like pus out of my pores. It made me want to rip my skin off; food was poison.

I was getting really skinny, but I have big bones so with clothes on I looked “normal”, but I still felt fat. I couldn’t believe I was thin, I really couldn’t “believe” it. The bit of fat that people would pinch was still goddamn there wasn’t it? So I must not be doing enough, I must still be fat.

You know those movies? Where the girl used to be fat and then she lost a lot of weight and she’s suddenly gorgeous and the target of affection by practically everyone around her? That obviously didn’t happen to me like in the movies, still;

I was treated better.

Folks spoke to me nicer and I would turn heads.

The ones who knew me since childhood were surprised and ecstatic that I had lost all that weight, I looked good and they didn’t hesitate to sing praises.

I’d even overhear people talking positively behind my back. It’s one thing to be complimented to your face, but when you catch people whispering behind you, saying stuff like how attractive you are, it is a huge ego boost.

I remember walking into the kitchen and my father suddenly having this big beaming smile plastered on his face. He told me I was beautiful. I gave him a sheepish smile asked him if he was sure he didn’t mean ‘handsome’. “Kurus sudah lawa”.

To my knowledge, my father had never called me beautiful. To my knowledge, my father hadn’t called me beautiful since then.

The euphoria from being complimented didn’t last too long though as I’d get too preoccupied with my ‘flaws’, too self-conscious.

“Could they see my fatty folds under this shirt? I should’ve worn two layers”.

“Can they see my stretchmarks? Are my arms waddling?”

“Shouldn’t have worn such a tight T-shirt, I must look like a stuffed sausage”.

Find myself subconsciously rubbing my “problem areas”, pinching the fat, scratching it. Sound familiar?

People could compliment my looks all they want, but most days I couldn’t see it, and if I managed to feel good looking in the mirror, it would only last a brief moment because I knew about all the little flaws, the stubborn fat and stretchmarks I was hiding underneath my clothes. I couldn’t seem to get satisfied, so my diet and exercise got even more intense, hoping everything would tighten up already, until the day I collapsed.

I was walking around in a supermarket and a woman in a yoghurt drink stand was offering samples. I thought to myself “Well I’ve been good with my diet. I hadn’t had anything in a while, might as well treat myself”. I accepted a strawberry yoghurt drink sample and that’s when it happened.

My vision started to go askew, my head spun; I tried to walk it off.

I fainted not long after.

The doctor didn’t hold anything back. He told me that if I didn’t stop treating my body like shit, I could possibly die in six months.

Should I have been shocked considering how badly I treated my body? I never thought the whole “you have six months to live” thing will ever be said to me, it sounded like something that would only happen in movies. I’ve seen pictures of women with anorexia, where they are so skinny and frail; it looked like a poke would break them apart. So I thought I was fine, my bones did not jut out as much as theirs, I still have “fat”- how could I be dying? This was my thought process, this was how I justified harming my body.

“Just eat” was easier said than done, most foods made me feel ill, but I had to get better. I started the recovery process by force-feeding myself small amounts of food, making an effort to keep the nausea at bay. Detested the idea of eating oily foods again, but I made a point to do it, because I knew I’d be confronted with all sorts and I needed to be okay with that. It wasn’t just my body I needed to fix; I had to heal my mind as well.

After the nausea issue lessened, my mind went through a tug-of-war, between all of my previous bad eating habits that included, the ones I’ve accumulated with anorexia nervosa and the stress eating I had before.

Took approximately two years after the incident in the supermarket, for me to be able to choose a meal for the taste, and not because I felt I needed it just for sustenance. This was a milestone for me- I considered myself ‘healed enough’, because realistically, there may never be a day when I’d be so completely comfortable in my own body; I am only human after all.

That being said, there were instances where I would catch my reflection and thought “I look good” and I let myself revel in it and work hard to push away the negative thoughts telling me I’m being so vain- I spent most of my life hating my body, I refuse to guilt myself for loving it.

In fact, I’ll go off on a tangent right now to overshare a little more and appreciate: my legs. I am a man who is proud of his damn sexy legs, these gams have to carry the rest of my (heavy ass) weight every day and it must’ve made them toned as fuck, my calves are chiselled; if Michael Angelo had a calf fetish, he’d love mine too.

Moving on.

When the weight came back, people’s attitudes did as well.

“What a shame” they’d say.

“Masa atu kurus sudah, eat less!”

“Ah, kau besar sebab malas tu, mesti exercise”.

Being big seems to give people this impression that they have some kind of right to explicitly voice out their negative thoughts and assumptions about you.

You’d think people would back off commenting on my weight after what had gone on, some kindly have, but the truth of the matter was most of them didn’t know or even considered anorexia a possibility. It was the early 2000’s eating disorders were still considered typically a ‘female issue’ and men need to ‘toughen up’ or ‘walk it off’. For the longest time, I didn’t say anything and partially convinced myself it wasn’t a big problem because, as a man, I should be able to handle it. So there would be those who rolled their eyes, not realising that despite being much heavier, I was the healthiest I’d ever been.

Now, I’m not saying that one should be delusional and dismiss the health benefits that come with being a certain weight, but while my body’s not perfect, I wholeheartedly believe that I have grown into a state of mind which is able to find a balance I could live with.

My body and mind are my responsibility.

To anyone who is going through any form of body dysmorphic disorder, know that your body and your mind is how you experience the world, no one else gets to be you. You can’t truly help someone who isn’t ready to help themselves, so when you recognise you’ve got a problem and you’re ready to get better, take control of your life, healing by your terms. You will have the biggest impact on yourself, be aware and choose wisely- understand and discover what that means to you- it is in my honest opinion, the best way to find some kind of inner peace.

Kurus sudah lawa? Sweetheart, have you seen these legs? =)

A contribution by Iddie Mo

Songket Alliance urges those with mental health conditions to seek out help, which are available in the form of school counsellors, in selected private clinics, as well as major health centres including RIPAS.

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