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killedbythehuntress · 2 months

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Stockholm Syndrome

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

Also on: AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

I want to apologise for the delay in this chapter, seasonal depression sorta kicked my ass. But hopefully this makes up for it.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

Chapter Seven.

"Sebastian." She calls with a huffed laugh, pushing herself up from where she'd fallen. No matter how many times she walked this path, she always seemed to trip over the same tree root. She supposed that was down to the denseness of the trees, the light filtering in through separate areas, and shadows being created where they shouldn't be. "Are you sure the cave you're looking for is around here?"

"I'm sure." He told her, although even he was sounding a little unsure of himself. That alone was enough to put her on edge, making her stop dead in her tracks as her hands found their way to her hips.

"You're not, are you? Tell me the truth." She glowered at him, annoyed. They'd been traipsing around the forest now for two hours.

"Okay, fine. We may have been a bit lost, but I'm starting to recognize things now." Her arms moved to cross over her chest, her eyebrows farrowing at him. "Look, I promise. I recognize that swirly thing." Her eyes followed where he pointed and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"It's a Merlin trial, and there's like a 100 of them, identical - scattered in the Scottish Highlands." She watched him deflate slightly and felt bad. "We're out here anyway though. Let's go."

Dropping her arms, she pushed forward towards the trial, digging into her bag for some Mallowsweet instinctively.

Why she felt compelled to do every one of these she found, she didn't know.

Sprinkling the herbs, she watched as the vines shifted off some pillars. "You look around here, give me a second." She told him, pulling herself atop the shortest before using the height vantage to plan her movements.

It took her less than five minutes - and one tumble and a restart - for her to complete it. Dropping down to sit on the edge of the tallest, and last pillar she'd landed on. She felt something wrapping around her ankle, shaking her leg, and looking down to find nothing. Frowning, her brows furrowed, perhaps it was one of the vines.

“It’s this way!” Her head whipped up, looking in the direction that Sebastian was, her frown deepening.

“Are you sure? There’s an Acromantula lair in there.” She offered, jumping from her perch and making her way to him while remembering her fight with The Absconder. They might be dead, but it wasn’t unlikely that another had taken its place.

She came to stand next to him, looking into the cavernous path, and shuddered. She felt another tug at her leg and looked in that direction, seeing nothing but feeling the need to brush something imaginary off her school robes. “Let's get this done, Sebastian. If I never see another spider, it'll be too soon.”

Shaking her head, she stepped over the threshold between freedom and spider lair, pulling the robes closer around her to stop them snagging against some webbing. She heard Sebastian following behind her as they made their way through, stepping over empty egg nests and web-covered remains.

After a while, Sebastian took the lead and she felt her stomach drop as they moved closer to where she'd fought the Absconder. “Seb!” She hissed quietly, hoping to not pull attention from anything lurking around. “Are you sure? Like really sure?”

She watched him turn to her, clearly a little annoyed at being questioned, before his eyes widened. She heard him call her name, a clear warning, but too late as she felt something wrap around her ankles and pull.

Feeling dazed, she rolled over onto her back, barely registering herself being pulled across the ground as she struggled to catch the breath that had been knocked from her, it didn't take long before she realized what had happened though. The large Thornback Matriarch towered over her form, webbing wrapped around her lower legs and torso as she was dragged towards it. “Sebastian, help!” She yelled, scrambling for the pocket she kept her wand inside, only to have another coat of the silky web trap he'd hand against her body.

Her free hand dug into the ground around her as Sebastian flung spells at the beast, her attempts at stopping the pull in vain - the spells seemingly having no effect on the thornback. It was only as she was pulled close enough to see the spider's fangs, glistening slightly in the low light that her panic increased. “Sebastian, please!” She cried, her voice cracking slightly.

“Avada Kedavra!” The flash of green was almost blinding, the tension that had been pulling at the webbing wrapped around her finally abating and she felt relieved, her head falling back onto the ground to look up at the sky - instead of the thornback curling up dead near her. A choked sob left her, her not trapped hand coming up to cover her lower face.

“Diffindo.” The word was quiet, but it worked, the web slicing down the center and allowing it to slide off of her. “Hey, Shh,” Sebastian murmured, falling to his knees next to her. “It's okay, I've got you. I've got you.” He continued to say, holding her against his chest with a faint rocking motion as she cried.

— — — — — —

“Shh, it's okay. I've got you.” The words were quiet but repeated over and over. The feeling of being rocked almost soothed her back to sleep. “I'm sorry, I'm here. I've got you, please wake up.” The feeling of someone pressing their face against the top of her head caused a wince, she must have hit her head at some point, and it hurt.

In fact, everything did. She was sure she was aching in places she didn't know could ache. Groaning softly, she tried to wiggle from the tight grip around her. “Seb?” She asked, voice weak.

Her eyelids felt so heavy as she tried to open them, almost as if trying to lull her back to sleep. The small slither of light broke through the tiny gap in her eyelids enough to send a sharp ache through her already throbbing skull with another groan.

“Shh, I'm here, I've got you!” The words were said against her hair as he pulled her tighter, a frantic edge to his voice. “I'm sorry.” She heard him murmur, almost as if he was hiding something.

Before she could ask though, she lost the fight with unconsciousness.

— — — — — —

Waking the second time, she could almost believe that the last couple of days had been some sort of nightmare, dreamt up as some stress-induced imagining of her situation.

Almost. That is.

Because when she tried to move to get up from the bed, her body screamed out in pain. Crying out, she instead turned onto her side and curled into the tightest fetal position possible.

As she lay in her own self-pity, she couldn't ignore the sounds of footsteps almost running across the main floor, the small tinkling sound of what was likely potion bottles pairing with them. It wasn't long before the mattress next to her dipped, ripping a whimper from her as it jostled her aching body.

“Shh, it's only me.” She heard, and that alone was enough for her to pull from her position if only to look up at him.

“Sebastian?” Even tinged with pain, her voice couldn't hide the awe she felt at seeing him again. She was sure he had been killed - or worse, captured. Lifting her hand and ignoring the pain, she trailed her fingers over his stubble-covered cheek.

Only once she believed this wasn't some elaborate dream or hallucination did she pull away.

And slap him.

“Where the hell have you been?” She demanded, her pain momentarily forgotten. “I've been so sc…” She cut herself off, instead watching as the look of regret - and perhaps pity? But she ignored that - passed over his face.

“I'm sorry,” Sebastian said quietly, holding up a small bottle, filled with bright green liquid. “Drink this first, and when we get you comfortable, I'll tell you everything.”

She watched as he uncorked the bottle with his teeth, using his other hand to hold himself up over her before he brought the rim to her lips. She couldn't help the skeptical look - or the feeling - of what was happening, but a part of her - a part that was growing more and more recently - told her he was only trying to help, she needed him after all.

Finally, she parted her lips enough for the Wiggenweld Potion to slip down her throat, many of the aches and pains lifting immediately.

Sighing in relief, she pushed back on the mattress with a little more ease, lifting her hand and watching as her nails grew back. She still felt several aches and pains - some areas burning and stinging depending on the wound - things that would take time and not just a simple Wiggenweld potion.

The most prominent pain came from her left arm - thankfully not her dominant arm - which she held cradled against her chest. Looking at it, the angle was off just enough to be noticeable.

The sight of it made her feel sick, her head pushing back into the pillow in an attempt to not see it from the corner of her eye as she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“I need a doctor.” She said finally, her voice warbling and raspy - clearly she'd be crying if she wasn't so dehydrated.

“No, you don't.” He told her firmly, stopping her attempt to sink into the mattress and pulling her into a seated position before bringing a glass of cold water to her lips.

His arm wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest as she drank greedily, a kiss being pressed against her hairline. “I'm so sorry I was away for so long.” He murmured, his face pressing against her hair with a deep inhale.

He refilled the glass for her twice before she'd drank enough to feel sated, her body and mind still tired as she slumped further into his hold, her heavy eyes falling shut. “Hey, hey.” He nudged her softly, “Let me fix your arm first, and then you can go back to sleep.”

She felt herself nod, her eyes drooping slowly. Had she been this tired a few minutes ago? Her brow crinkled as she tried to think, she was sure she hadn’t, so why was she? She struggled to think back to the glasses of water he’d given her, cursing internally that she’d ignored the slight purple hue of the second one. “Sleeping draught.” She slurred, attempting to sound angry that he’d essentially drugged her.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She heard him say, gently resting her down on the bed with a peck to her forehead. “But I figured it’d make this easier.” Had she not been so sluggish, she'd have realized what he was about to do sooner. The manipulation of the bones in her wrist, as he tried to get them back in position, wrenched a blood-curdling scream from her, even while half asleep.

The last thing she heard before the draught took her under was Sebastian uttering a spell.

— — — — — —

She was so thirsty…

Why was she so thirsty?

She wasn't sure what was happening, but the need to escape was strong.

Where was she?

She could see the Undercroft.

Is that where she was meant to go?

She was feeling a serious sense of deja vu.

The banging stopped and that made her stop, a loud bang echoing behind her before the doors slammed open, the entire cavern shaking and dust falling around her.

No, that wasn't right.

She scrambled forward, surely she just had to get to the Undercroft and her desire to escape would be satiated

Of course.

She was free.

She wasn't.

She watched as the path to the Undercroft was blocked by more stone - had this happened before?

The sound of scuttling rushing towards her.

No, not scuttling. Footsteps. In her desperate haze, had she heard wrong?

A screech.

No, it was her name. Someone was calling her name.

"No!" She screamed, watching as the rock collided with her wrist, the appendage being forced out of shape as she screamed.

— — — — — —

The memory of the pain pushed her back into consciousness. Her body jolted slightly before she took a moment to scan her surroundings.

She was still in the cavern. Still alive. Still in the bed and still aching.

She brought her hands up to her face, rubbing at her bleary eyes with a groan. It was then she noticed the pain in her wrist was gone, completely.

Pulling her hands away from her face, she elevated her arm to inspect her wrist properly.

No bruising, no weird shaping, no broken bones. Sebastian had repaired it somehow.

Considering he'd taught himself the unforgivables from books, it was no surprise he'd managed to master healing spells - even if he'd gone to Azkaban before healing classes had been an option able to be taken.

Sebastian…

Pushing herself into a seated position, she couldn't see him, but she could hear him downstairs. “Seb?” She murmured, feeling as though, if she spoke too loud the illusion she had brought of him would disappear.

The shuffling sound stopped for a moment and her heart sank, before she heard the sound of a chair scraping against stone and footsteps.

Her brain still felt hazy and she couldn't help the feeling of still dreaming, so she pinched herself once.

Twice.

Only on the third pinch was she satisfied that she was awake. She watched as Sebastian reached the top of the stairs, walking towards her and the bed.

“Think you’re up for a bath and some food?” He asked quietly, stopping a few steps away from her. Was he trying to avoid giving her the explanation he promised? Looking down at herself, she had to admit she was pretty filthy, the once white chemise was now an almost dark gray - and that thought was how she found herself nodding at him.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before she was downstairs and in the tub, the layer of grime and stone shedding from her body and turning the water a murky color. She watched Sebastian wave her wand, the water clearing before he picked up a bar of soap. “How’re you feeling, any pain still?” He asked softly, rubbing the bar over her back and shoulders, digging his fingers in lightly to loosen any tension.

“Just some aches…” She mentions, not really looking up from the water. “Where were you?”

“I went back to your cottage, get you some more things.” That made her look up, her gaze immediately falling onto Sebastian. “I’m serious, I figured you could use more than one chemise.”

“Sebastian, you were gone days.”

“I know, I thought I’d left enough time for any Aurors sniffing about would have given up.” He began, scooping up a small jug of water and using it to rinse her hair, tipping her head back gently with his other hand. “I was wrong though, I almost got caught.”

She’d had a feeling, but hearing it and thinking it felt different. Her heart dropped, her brows furrowed and her fists clenched under the water. She had been so close to dying here alone.

“I had to run, even apparated a few times but they still caught up.” She wasn’t sure if the water was getting cold or if the story was chilling her, but she felt herself shivering slightly. Another wave of her wand from Sebastian heated the water a little more for her. “It took a well-timed Disillusionment charm and for a group of poachers for me to give them the slip. I had to hide out in a cave for a little while to be sure it was safe to come back. Make sure no one was following me.”

A few days ago, the thought of Sebastian not being followed and no one finding her would’ve caused her stomach to drop in distress. This time though, she was sure she was feeling some sort of relief from the news. “Please don’t ever do that again.”

“You were gone for days, I was so scared.” She offered, her hand coming up and resting against his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do here without you.” She bit her lower lip, pushing the tears that wanted to slip down her cheeks back.

Sebastian leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I promise, I have no plans to leave for so long again. I’m so sorry.” He whispered, but being so close it was easy for her to hear.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, until the water started to cool again and she began to shiver. He then pulled her from the water gently, wrapping a towel around her.

“Go get dressed, the clothes I managed to get are in your suitcase in the sleeping area.” Nodding, she took over holding the towel around her, wondering what he would’ve picked up for her. “I’ll make up a bowl of stew for you.”

Turning, she began to make her way to the stairs, her gaze falling over the now completely covered wall that used to hold the passageway to the Undercroft. The sight of it took her back, the fear, her eagerness, the stress - the worry of dying all hit her in one fell swoop.

“Sebastian?” She called, turning quickly back to the returned man.

“Yeah?” He stopped stirring the stew he’d been checking, putting the bowl down on the counter to turn to her. She made quick work of the space she’d made between them, reaching him quickly.

Her hand came up, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him down into a desperate kiss. The first kiss she’d initiated between them since this whole ordeal began. She attempted to convey her feelings to him silently, feeling his hands hesitantly grab at her waist.

“I don’t want to be alone again.” She told him quietly, barely pulling away from his lips as she spoke, her eyes downcast as she showed some vulnerability to him, her grip on the towel loosening slightly.

#stockholm syndrome #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #beth writes #writing #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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anonymousblueberry · 10 days

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For @doreyg... 45 for Kylux (a kiss out of anger) (I'm so out of practice with this pairing)

Hux doesn't rage in his anger, not often. He simmers and stews and skulks around the ship, around his rooms. He lets it fester until it eats him from the inside out; pallid skin and darks circles under his eyes, caf sour breath and no appetite.

Kylo's drawn to it. He who wears his rage on his sleeve, who bleeds his pain and emotions out in sweat and fury and broken machinery. Hux to him is a reservoir of the dark side in a way that he has never manage to be.

So when the dam finally breaks and the rage spills, when Hux shoves him hard against durasteel in a corridor off the bridge and kisses him, barely, more bites and pressure, he drinks it in, let's Hux hold his shoulders down and drowns in the rage pouring out of him as they collide.

#beth writes #kylux #i am so out of practice with these two #it's been actual years since i wrote them

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refinedbuffoonery · 1 year

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Looking Through A Window (22)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

*****

Mac can’t wait to go home.

He falters a step when he realizes in this instance home means the safe-house apartment, not his house back in L.A. After more than a month of living there, it has begun to feel sort of home-y, in a way, although he chalks it up to Riley’s presence more than anything else. She feels like home. And after the day he’s had, he wants nothing more than to see just how close to home he can get. Preferably naked and in their bed.

Although he did promise her a date first.

But before that happens, he needs to rescue Riley from the Patriots’ warehouse. In what might be the dumbest idea she’s ever had, Riley suggested they divide and conquer—Mac buddy up with Conrad in an attempt to get closer to Cody, Riley with Ethan to plan the current governor’s (fake) assassination. So today while Riley was stuck with a man who loathes her very existence, Mac played golf with one of the biggest pieces of shit he’s ever met. And also Conrad.

(If Conrad hated her less, they would’ve switched roles. She’s actually decent at golf. Mac is terrible.)

Lengthening his stride as he navigates the nondescript hallways toward Ethan’s office, Mac finds himself driven less by the need to rescue Riley and more by genuine excitement to see her after a day apart. Call him co-dependent, but he missed her.

The route to Ethan’s office is one of the cleanest parts of the warehouse. The concrete floors have been swept, and there aren’t crates of ammo blocking the way like there are by the closet Conrad calls his office. But “out of sight, out of mind” doesn’t apply here, and the sheer number of guns in the building makes Mac’s skin crawl with desperation to get out of there as soon as possible. At least he himself isn’t armed today. Small mercies do exist.

Hopefully the universe will have mercy on him, and Riley will be ready to leave in the next thirty seconds. Mac slides his hands into his pockets to hide his crossed fingers—a gesture he learned from Jack but only became habit after the man was gone.

Voices echo down the hall; Mac can’t yet make out what they’re saying, but an insistent tone that makes him pause just out of sight.

“You’re an exciting woman, Genevieve. I’ve never been with a woman like you,” Ethan croons. “Your husband seems like a nice guy, but I see you. I see your ambition, your drive. I’m sure you wear the pants in your relationship.”

Riley says nothing.

“I thought so.” There’s another pause, and then— “Let me show you the big leagues.”

Mac grits his teeth, hands curling into fists at his sides. He’s ready to barge in there, show Ethan just what league he belongs in, but Riley says, “I like the league I’m in, and I love my husband. And if you want my help, you’ll respect that. Goodnight, Ethan.”

She walks out of his office, eyes widening when she sees Mac, but she signals for him to follow her down the hallway without so much as a hitch in her step.

When they’re clear, Mac mutters, “Unbelievable.”

“So you heard that.”

“I heard that you love me.”

Riley slips her hand into his, interlacing their fingers. Kisses him entirely too deeply considering where they are. “That I do.” She tugs him after her.

“I can’t believe he hit on you.” Mac would love to turn around and punch that asshole, but he has no business stepping in when Riley already handled it herself.

Riley scoffs, “That’s not even the worst thing he said today.”

Mac raises his brow. “Tell me.”

“Some racist shit I’m not going to repeat.”

There’s a weight on her shoulders, in her eyes, that Mac hasn’t seen since they confessed their feelings to one another. He’ll be the first to admit he’s been hiding behind those feelings and their shiny new relationship in order to avoid the reality of the Patriots. What they’re doing. What they believe in. Because the reality is that this is a group of white men who have turned their racism into a political agenda, backed by the kind of artillery no civilian has any business having. Artillery they have no issue using in order to get their way.

It’s not lost on Mac that this assignment is far worse for Riley than for him.

“I know we talked about going out tonight,” Riley says, “but can we just go home?”

Mac is learning the best thing he can do for her is create and maintain spaces she feels safe. So that’s what he’s going to do.

Outside, he opens the car door for her. “I’ll drive,” he offers, not because it’s the man’s job to drive but because she’s been on high alert all day and deserves a chance to zone out. The least he can do is get them home safe.

Let me carry this weight with you.

She lets him.

*****

When Desi arrives on their doorstep, Mac is struck with such a wave of homesickness that he pays little mind to the smug expression on her face. Or her goading, “I see once again nothing gets done around here without my help.”

And then their overwatch waltzes in like she owns the place.

Harley comes barrelling out of the bedroom, barking at the intruder in her space. Unfazed, Desi crosses her arms and tilts her head and says to the dog, “Honestly I’m offended you forgot me.” Harley quiets almost instantly and mirrors Desi’s head tilt as she decides whether Desi should be allowed to stay. Only after giving Desi’s shoes and pants a thorough sniff does Harley return to her usual observation spot on the end of the couch. She’s allowed, then.

Riley yanks her in for a tight hug, which Desi happily returns, leaving Mac to awkwardly watch. He and Desi don’t really do hugs anymore due to the whole ex thing. Even if he missed her.

“So,” Desi says, eyes sweeping the whole apartment before fixating on Mac and Riley. How close they’re standing. The wedding rings they’ve gotten in the habit of wearing even when alone. She definitely smelled that they used the same soap when showering (unfortunately separately) this morning; Riley isn’t wearing any perfume to cover it up. He sees the gears in Desi’s mind turning and wishes he couldn’t. The grin dawning on her face is downright diabolical. “Are you two fucking yet?”

Nevermind. She is a terror, and he didn’t miss her at all.

Riley chokes. “Excuse me, I have to go change my tampon.” After she all but runs from the room, Desi turns that smug expression on Mac. “Last I checked, a little blood doesn’t faze you.”

“Last I checked, you were all about keeping things professional.”

She shrugs and proceeds to give herself a tour of the apartment. Desi eyes the plants Mac keeps forgetting to water and lets loose a surprised huh at the lack of clothes (specifically Mac’s) on the floor before turning her focus on the bed. Pillows for two, sheets pulled back on both sides. In hindsight, they probably should have made it less obvious. “You’re not fucking,” she says slowly, “but you are sleeping together.” Not a question.

“We’ve been here for over a month. No one’s back can handle that long on a couch. Besides, it’s not like Riley and I haven’t slept together a hundred times before.”

Desi smirks.

He walked right into that one.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Desi doesn’t need to know about the condoms in the nightstand drawer. Although there’s a definite possibility she’ll go through all their stuff the moment he and Riley leave her alone in the apartment.

Or maybe not, considering Desi’s reaction after Harley sniffs through her bag and pulls out the small bottle of pain meds she has stashed. Harley brings Mac the bottle, and Desi frowns and says, “Your dog’s a narc.”

Out of habit, Mac quickly glances at the label, noticing that she’s taking the strong stuff again. He needs to keep an eye on that. When Desi isn’t looking, he gives Harley a treat.

They get straight to work planning the governor’s fake assassination once Desi settles in, mostly to prevent her from asking any more nosy questions.

Desi is much better at this than they are. In fact, one of the first things she does is tell them their plan leaves way too much room for error. That they need to account for every route the governor might take so that the sniper (her) won’t end up out of position. Sharing a look behind her back, Mac and Riley sigh as Desi proceeds to redo most of their work.

As the day passes, Harley becomes instant BFFs with Desi and, that night, even sleeps on the couch with her. Mac thinks their dog is a traitor. Especially when he catches her as the little spoon tucked snugly into Desi’s chest. He supposes they get along so well because they’re both so stubborn and bossy.

On the bright side, with Harley sleeping on the couch instead of her usual spot—in the middle of the bed, head on Riley’s stomach, ass in Mac’s face—he and Riley can actually have some alone time for the first time in, well, ever.

Of course, Riley wants to waste it by talking.

Talking.

“Do you think she knows?” Riley asks quietly, not wanting Desi to overhear. They’re both lying on their backs, not touching, which Mac thinks is ridiculous despite not being brave enough to grab her and pull her close.

“I don’t think we were that obvious, no.”

“She’s not stupid.”

“No she is not.” Believe me, Mac wants to say. I know.

“I know we agreed not to tell anyone until after this is all over, but now that Desi is here. . .” Riley trails off. “Should we tell her? It feels wrong to lie to her, of all people.”

It does feel wrong. They should be upfront about it. But no matter that the three of them are in a great place now, telling Desi will still be awkward. Mac isn’t wild about having to tell his ex that the thing she once confronted him about, years ago, did come to fruition after all. After Mac swore on his life that it wouldn’t.

Not to mention. . .

“Bozer’s feelings will be hurt if he’s not the first to know.”

Riley swears. “I don’t want to tell him over the phone. This is—” she reaches across the bed, grabs his chest— “too big for that.” Mac’s pulse skyrockets under her touch, even with his shirt between them.

“I agree.”

He needs more; her hand on his chest isn’t enough. He wants her under his skin. But since that isn’t physically possible, he settles for the next best thing: nestling her against his chest.

Her breath warm against his neck, Riley says, “If we don’t tell her, then we can’t do any PDA or anything else couple-y in front of her. Even if she figures it out, we still shouldn’t do it. It’s not fair to make her watch all that. Not when she’s stuck with us, not when she can’t leave.”

Mac recalls the time when their roles were reversed and Riley was the third-wheel roommate watching him and Desi be a gross couple. A time during which he now knows Riley harbored feelings for him. He kisses her forehead. “Are you thinking about when you were in her shoes?”

He almost misses her quiet, “Yeah.”

He holds her tighter. “I’m sorry I put you through that. If I had known. . . I wouldn’t’ve.”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

“And now?”

“Now,” Riley interrupts herself by kissing him. “I’m going to tell you I love you every day for the rest of our lives.” She checks to make sure the bedroom door is shut before straddling him, and he grips the backs of her thighs.

Good thing Desi sleeps like the dead.

*****

Electric heat runs through his veins. Her back is to his chest like it so often is, but they aren’t sleeping.

Far from it.

It’s the best dream he’s had in a long time.

His hand slips under her shirt, teasingly brushing his thumb across the underside of her breast. Only when she whimpers does he touch her with more purpose. Intent. The heady scent of her fills his nose. He can’t usually smell things in a dream, but Mac certainly isn’t complaining about it. Wanting her for so long has made him desperate to have her in any way he can. He nips at the sensitive skin below her ear, and her hips rock back into his.

He feels every inch of her against him, that tantalizing mix of soft curves and hard muscle. God, what a dream.

Fingers circle his wrist, and then she’s moving his hand down, down the smooth plane of her stomach, down to the elastic waistband of her shorts. She’s not wearing any underwear. Only the shorts.

He hears her breathless cry, then feels the very real pain of her nails digging into his forearm.

Mac’s not dreaming anymore.

He’s wide awake now, and when he opens his eyes Mac realizes his dream was not, in fact, a dream. Riley has a hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her cries as she guides his fingers over her body. Her hips grind into his, harder now. Encouraging him.

He has never in his entire life wanted something more than he wants her right now.

In the back of his consciousness, he registers nails clicking on the floor, followed by the soft sound of the front door shutting. Desi is awake and letting out the dog. They have just minutes before she'll barge in to use the apartment’s sole bathroom. Shit.

“Riles,” he murmurs, lips brushing her ear. He kisses her neck. “We can’t.”

“Just get a towel and it’ll be fine. There won’t be that much blood.”

“No, not because of that.” He removes his hands from beneath her clothes, resigning himself to finish this in the shower, alone. “I’m not fucking you when we have an audience.”

The front door again. Harley barks, demanding to be fed. Faintly, he hears Desi telling the dog to have some damn patience.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Riley groans into her pillow, and Mac strokes his fingers down her back in apology.

He scrambles to find something to say to make this better, ultimately landing on, “I could wake up every day like this.” She shivers, and he continues, “Do you know how badly I want you? Want this?”

Riley’s fist clenches around the sheets.

There’s a swift knock at the bedroom door, but before either of them have a chance to respond, it opens and Desi pokes her head in. Mac rolls away from Riley too late; there’s no way Desi didn’t see how close they were. And Riley—damn her—pretends to be asleep, leaving Mac to deal with their nosy overwatch on his own.

Desi walks in dressed for a run. She doesn’t say a word, although the look on her face says plenty, as she quickly uses the bathroom. When she emerges, she announces, “I’m going on a run and will be gone for exactly one hour. While I am cool with this—” she gestures between them, and her approval is odd to come to terms with— “I do not want to see either of your naked asses when I return. Got it?”

In translation: Do not waste this opportunity because if I catch you I swear to god I will kill you myself.

Mac bites his tongue to hold in an irreverent Yes, ma’am, fearing he’d get punched if it slips.

Something softens in Desi’s eyes as she observes the way the pillows are only squished in the middle of the bed, proof that Mac and Riley slept mere inches apart. She asks, “Do you love her?”

She asked him that question once before, but where that time was spiteful, this time is in earnest.

“I do,” he replies. “Please don’t. . . We haven’t told anyone yet.”

Desi smiles sadly. “Your secret is safe with me. That’s never changed.”

~ Tag List ~ Want to be added? Send me an ask.

@annmariestuff

@bluedrew12

@dreambelievergeek

@emilyscotson

@erika-amber

@fangirlfreak08

@g3svv

@hellishrose

@holbytlanna

@ijamaica5535

@likeit-or-leaveit

@macs-paperclips

@multi-fandomshipper101

@mylifequotesshowallofthem

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#beth writes #looking through a window au #macgyver #angus macgyer #riley davis

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elizabethcromwell · 2 months

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Chapter Two: Two Centauri, a Human and a Drunk Narn Walk Into a Bar

The weeks go by and I manage to return to some semblance of a normal, G’Kar free life. Of course we bump into each other and it’s awkward and tense but, no one has died and Michael’s face has healed.

In the mornings, I wake up slowly.

I put on water for tea and hop into a lukewarm shower. Hot water credits are expensive and the cold showers seem to help with the ache of missing G’Kar; the incessant need that he seemed to have satiated for me. I take my shower and drink my tea. I read until I have to head to the archives. I ignore the nagging thoughts of running straight to G’Kar. Every inch of me misses him. Not just the lusty parts. But the late nights and quiet mornings - we spent a lot of time together. Talking. Sharing everything. I knew a lot about the Narn empire, probably more than any other human, probably, in the galaxy. He did his reading, scrolling through messages and returning correspondences. And I read, curled up next to him, his arm around me. I shake my head and remind myself of what he said and how badly it hurt. The pain is sharper than the need and I can’t seem to get his voice out of my head: it is nothing.

I square my shoulders and dry my tears before I step out into the busy halls of Babylon 5.

My position in the archives is luxurious despite the cramped, dark rooms. I spend my days archiving and digitizing and scanning in thousands of books, papers, records and magazines and newspapers that get funneled into my literary cave. Anything historical or scientific gets sent back to the owner, government or library from whence it came. Anything that Earthforce deems important gets uploaded to the central data network. Everything else gets sold or incinerated. Which is why my personal quarters are plum full of romances and dramas and mysteries and thrillers. It’s a perk of the job. I get first dibs on anything that isn’t wanted - which is always the good stuff. I also act as a librarian of sorts - the staff and commanders, government agents and curious denizens all come to us for access to information. If it’s approved for the public, they may have a copy. Anything else needs a clearance.

I don’t have to wear a uniform and I have a little kettle and more tea to get me through the day. I have access to the staff commissary and cafeteria for minimal credits, if any. It’s not necessarily thrilling or cushy but, I get to live on Babylon 5 and have access to more books than I’ll ever be able to read.

That was how I met G’Kar. He came by one day, complaining about the lack of an assistant and in desperate need of, “one bloody map,” and the network wasn’t pulling it up for him. It had been one of those ridiculous, locked eyes, brushing hands, blushing and stuttering and smiling moments. Love at first sight. He’d come back every day for two weeks and I thought I was going to die by the time he finally asked me to dinner.

We hadn’t separated since.

Now, I’m back to spending my days reading and sorting and scanning and trying not to think about that certain Narn ambassador. I toss another few outdated encyclopedias into the incinerator and wish to the stars I could incinerate these stupid feelings. Tears well as I shut the fire door and press the green button, watching the pages burst into white hot flame and then disappear.

“Good morning!” A happy, familiar voice calls from the window in front of my desk, “Anybody home?”

“Coming!” I answer and make my way through the shelves of books and stacks of boxes, sniffling away any indication that I was crying in the corner. I come around the stack and see my friend standing at the window and offer a genuine smile, “Hello, Vir.”

“Good morning, Dove,” he sighs, though his eyes sparkle with the near constant joy and positivity I’ve come to associate with the ambassador’s attache, “I’ve brought my usual offering of a matcha latte and lemon scone,” he smiles - holding up the little paper cup and matching paper bag.

“My hero,” I smile and accept his gifts, “I don’t have anything new for Londo, though. I’m sorry,” I look through my notebook of standing requests and Londo’s appeals for anything Narn related. G’Kar has the same request standing for the Centauri. And Ambassador Delenn has an order for nearly everyone. Everyone who has an enemy has put in a request for information. Vir checks in twice a week and brings gifts in exchange for preferred treatment. Which he gets.

“Well, actually, I’m not here for that today,” Vir gives me a nervous look and I arch my eyebrow, “Ambassador Mollari requests your presence for,” he clears his throat, “Dinner.”

“Oh, no,” I shake my head and lean back in my chair, “Not a chance.”

“Oh, Dove,” Vir whines, “Please don’t make me tell him no.”

“Tell him no. Send him down here and I’ll tell him no.”

“Dove.”

“Vir,” I shake my head, “I’m not going on a date with a nonhuman ever, again. Let alone another ambassador. Let alone the sworn enemy of my ex-boyfriend nonhuman ambassador. Not a chance in the galaxy.”

Vir stares at me but doesn't prod - universe bless him for it, “Fine. But you know he’s not going to be happy.”

“So be it,” I nod, “Look at this face. This is the face of a thirty-three year old woman who simply cannot go on another date. Ever again.”

“It will be my great displeasure to tell Ambassador Mollari that you turned him down, Dove. But also,” Vir leans in, that sparkle returning as he lowers his voice, conspiratorially, “Do you want to get drinks with me tonight? We can… how did you say… talk shit?”

“I would love to. See you at eight? Nine?”

Vir nods, clapping quietly, “Nine o’clock.”

I watch Vir skip off - sending up a prayer that he doesn’t catch too much flack for returning without anything from the archives or a date for Londo. I go back to work - feeling a bit better about life with Vir’s latte and snack; looking forward to drinks with my friend. I take another stack of moldy, dated encyclopedias and dictionaries to the incinerator. I barely have a chance to toss them in before the little brass bell at the window is being beaten within an inch of its antique life, “Mercy me,” I return, “I’m coming! Nothing is that important here - oh,” G’Kar stands, straight and tall and looming, “Ambassador,” I greet him, folding my arms across my chest, “What can I help you with?”

“What do you mean she said no!?” Londo Mollari nearly jumps out of his chair, his desk and the contents spread across it shake and wobble, “She said no!?”

“She did,” Vir nods and wrings his hands, “But you have to understand - she’s still quite sad about Ambassador G’Kar. I don’t think she’s ready for that!”

Londo scoffs, “I am not asking for a… for anything, Vir! Just dinner,” Londo says and Vir gives him a look of exasperation, “Okay, perhaps I do not have such pure intentions. Nothing brings me so much joy as to piss off the Narn. G’Kar in particular. Chasing after the archivist,” Vir gives Londo another look and Londo sighs dramatically, “Chasing after Dove is the perfect way to achieve that,” Vir chews his lip, trying to keep his opinion to himself. Londo sighs dramatically, “What is it, Vir?”

“Dove is my friend,” Vir steps forward, “The Ambassador was not kind to her and I… well, I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Londo straightens and his gaze softens, “The only victim I intend to make is that of the Narn idiot down the hall, understood?” Vir nods, “Good. Now, what time are you meeting her for drinks?”

“G’Kar,” I exhale, on the verge of crying simply out of frustration, “Please, just go. I have work to do. I’m sure you do, too.”

“I miss you, Dove. I have made a terrible mistake.”

“You haven’t even apologized, G’Kar,” I shake my head and sink down into my chair, staring up at him, “Still, you can’t even say you love me without making sure nobody is around. You’re looking down the hallway right now,” I snap and G’Kar returns his gaze to me - I didn’t think Narn’s could blush but his cheeks darken and he lowers his face in shame, “I can’t do this G’Kar. I never asked you to parade me around here like your bride but, damn. You could have… said something, anything else to Na’Toth. Now please,” I hold up my hand when G’Kar makes to argue and he bows his head again, “Please, please go and let me move on with my life.”

“Dovey.”

“G’Kar, please.”

“Everything all right here?” Commander Sinclair appears next to G’Kar, brow furrowed. We exchange looks and he nods, “Did you need something from the archives, Ambassador?”

G’Kar shakes his head, “No, what I need is not available yet.”

“Then I trust you’ll be on your way. As you know Miss Dove is incredibly busy and her job is vital to Babylon 5’s productivity,” the Commander glares at G’Kar and G’Kar stares at me for a moment longer and tears prick and sting my eyes as I do my best to back.

“Just go, G’Kar,” I whisper and he nods, stepping back and giving me a curt bow before finally leaving, his hulking form disappearing down the hallway.

“Take the rest of the day off, Dove,” the Commander nods to me, “I insist.”

“I thought I was vital to the workings of the station, Commander.”

He smirks, “You are but, I also don’t want to get a work order in because some cried on the scanner and blew a fuse. And it’s not incredibly professional for me to present war texts with tear splotches, either. Take the day off. I’ll make sure G’Kar knows that he’s to use the other archivists for his needs.”

“Thank you,” I manage to squeak out, “I mean it.”

“See you back here in the morning,” the Commander nods with a smile.

G’Kar, esteemed ambassador of the Narn regime, is beside himself.

Well, perhaps he has been beside himself before. He’s prone to his emotions, he can admit that. But he’s never been this beside himself and this drunk before. But here he is. Sitting in his quarters with nearly an entire bottle of kriul burning in his belly while his heart breaks and tears stream down his face.

She had seemed so small, so delicate.

His Dove, his lovely Dovey, had looked up at him and he had seen only pain and tears in her eyes - both of which were his fault. He thought she’d come back, though, he did. He’d been wrong about that, it seems. He was wrong about everything with Dove. And he’d been an ass, “Ambassador,” Na’Toth appears in the doorway and the light is blinding to G’Kar’s poor, drunk eyes, “It’s late. You have an early morning.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Ambassador,” Na’Toth steps inside and the door slides shut - it’s little relief with Na’Toth holding firm in her disobedience, “I understand that you are upset but your drinking has increased significantly. You’ve been exhausted and sick for the last three days. I’m afraid at this rate, you’ll be drunk or unconscious - you have an important meeting tomorrow.”

“Unconscious? It would be a blessing, Na’Toth, now go.”

G’Kar does not want to hate Na’Toth, he thinks as he glares at her, hating her. She is good at what she does, one of the best. It would be difficult, to say the least, to replace her. Even more difficult to actually dismiss her. So he glares. And he hates.

“Ambassador, you must… you must snap out of this!”

G’Kar roars then, jumping up and nearly falling over - the entire room spins. He realizes that his words are nearly incoherent as he falls out into the hallway; the lights are far too bright and the halls far too busy, “If you will not leave, I will!”

The Zocalo is bright and loud and never, ever experiences a lull. If you’re looking for peace and quiet, perhaps one of the more exclusive bars on the outskirts of the chaos or the tea shop that closes before clubs open. Thankfully, peace and quiet is not what I need as I sit down next to Vir, “Dove! You made it,” he waves over at the bartender, “One for her,” he points to the ruby red, slushy drink in front of him, “Make hers a double.”

No sooner than my drink appears before me does Londo Mollari appear next to Vir, “Ambassador,” Vir gives Londo an uneasy look, “What a coincidence!”

“Yes,” Vir sighs and gives me a look that tells me it isn’t a coincidence at all, “What a coincidence.”

“And Dove! The most beautiful archivist on Babylon 5, nay, I say! The universe. The sun could not outshine you, the stars could not out sparkle the life in your eyes.”

I arch my eyebrow, “Hello, Ambassador.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Londo shakes his head, holding out his hand. I slip mine into it and he peppers it with kisses before standing up straight, “You will call me Londo.”

He stares at me expectantly and I can do nothing more than smile, “Would you like to join us?”

Londo is a terrible liar and he huffs and puffs and assures me he can’t. Even Vir is rolling his eyes, “Londo, just sit,” he says, “I know your schedule.”

“If you insist,” Londo says, “I’ll have what she’s having,” he calls, pointing to my drink, “Please.”

“I’ll have to warn you, Londo,” I take a long, cold sip from my straw and he watches my mouth for a moment before sliding his eyes back up to mine, “We came here to bitch.”

“Bitch?” he asks, nodding to the bartender as he pushes his drink across the counter.

“Yes, it means to complain. About everything and anything. Talk shit.”

“Oh, well,” Londo smiles, canines glinting in the light, waggling his eyebrows, “I do love to bitch.”

G’Kar cannot believe his drunk, tear-burnt eyes.

He’s sure he’s passed out somewhere and this is just some horrible, inebriated nightmare. But, he’s not waking up, is he? Na’Toth appears at his side, “You see? It is time for you to move on, too. She has a fetish, clearly.”

The words sting and G’Kar winces but, he doesn’t argue. Dove sits next to Londo Mollari, that Centauri bastard - they’re both staring at Vir while he tells a story, arms and hands flailing as he animates it. Vir jumps forward with a loud roar and Dove screams, clinging to Londo’s arm - all three of them falling into a fit of giggles. She leans over and whispers in Londo’s ear and, Londo puts his hand over hers and they both start laughing, again. She’s happy. Her cheeks are pink and her smile is wide. She’s let her hair fall out of that braid she keeps it tangled in.

G’Kar roars, stepping out into the noise and neon and all three turn, their smiles falling.

“Mollari, you son of a bitch!”

#beth writes #babylon 5 #londo mollari #g'kar #londo x oc #g'kar x oc #vir cotto #babylon 5 fic #fic #chapter 2

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copiousloverofcopia · 10 months

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Beth ( @the-cardinale )

You are absolutely KILLING me with Prime Mover Ad Omnes.

I need more desperately 😭

If you guys haven't read it....go do it lol

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mongreldyke · 8 months

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nothin' quite like how a dog loves

let dead dogs lie - silas denver melvin // red dog - elizabeth frink // how to be a dog - andrew kane // domestication syndrome - dhole b // no origin found // for your own good - leah horlick // it will come back - hozier // pleasure - beth cavener // i am a dog. i have blood all over my teeth. - sciencedfiction // same poem as directly previous

#canine poetry #dog poetry #silas denver melvin #poetry #art #beth cavener #dholes writing #andrew kane #how to be a dog #hozier #webweaving #webweave #web weave #web weaving #mecore

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bethereal · 1 year

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Beneath the Brine

Chapter 1

Up in the crow's nest, the salt of the sea stung his eyes less. Faryth saw that as about the only advantage of his position on the Prosperity. Despite thinking he would be of better use on deck, his captain had other plans for him.

Ever cunning, captain Ismene Hiemal knew that every member of her crew had a talent and they were assigned their duties accordingly. Faryth was the only one on board who could summon storms at will. Keeping him in the crow's nest meant he could keep an eye out for enemies and quickly strike them down from afar. It also meant that he had little time to get in fights with the rest of the crew. Besides that, Ismene was certain that she knew what was best for the boy. She was his mother after all.

Ismene emerged from the captain's quarters, invigorated by the breeze outside. Hands on her hips, she turned her eyes upward to check in with her son. "How are you faring, my boy?"

Faryth peered over the edge with a glare. "No better than I was an hour ago. Must I continue being useless up here?"

Ismene laughed heartily. "Oh, sweetheart, you aren't useless. You know very well that as soon as you left your position, a Guild Armada would suddenly come into view. Don't worry, we'll be at port within a day or two. You can go on adventures then."

Faryth rolled his eyes and retreated into his position. Taking one more glance below him, he saw a flash of golden skin and knew exactly who it was. Kaisys. The name conjured only venom in his mind. His mother's first mate was nothing but a roadblock to his happiness. She quickly put a damper on any shenanigans Faryth tried to pursue, even if they were mostly harmless. Ismene had adopted the woman when her biological parents perished during a ship raid. While they were siblings on a technicality, the only bond Kaisys and Faryth shared was the rivalry. Despite the tension between the two, their bond to Ismene meant that they had to be amiable. The woman would be devastated if anything happened to either of her protégés.

Kaisys approached Ismene, arms folded behind her back and head tilted upward. "Looks to me that we're on course. Should be pulling up to the port by midday tomorrow. It's only a delivery so we can resupply and have a quick turn around."

Ismene nodded. "Good. Glad to see we are making it on time for once."

Kaisys clicked her tongue. "Don't get excited yet. There is still the possibility that the Claremont Guild–"

Ismene lifted her hand, interrupting the other woman. "Faryth threw them off course once and he can do it again. I doubt we have much to worry about."

"Really? Tell me again, when has Faryth ever been competent?" Kaisys raised an eyebrow.

Faryth leaned over the crow's nest, half of his body dangling over the edge. "I can hear you, you know. You're not very quiet."

Kaisys gave the man nothing more than an annoyed glance. "We can't always rely on him. He's inconsistent."

Ismene crossed her arms. "I hold firm on my position. Faryth has his flaws, but lately, he is beginning to carry his weight and effectively follow orders. Give him a chance." She threw in a wink. "Please?"

Kaisys gritted her teeth, tapping her fingers against her crossed arms.

"Fine. But it's your funeral."

With that, she turned heel and walked away. Kaisys knew that Faryth was Ismene's blood relation, but she couldn't help but feel undermined by that connection. She had years of experience on the boy back when Ismene was in her golden age. Back when, well, when Numa was around. Kaisys didn't like thinking about what happened with Faryth's father. No one who was around for it did. She often wondered if things would be different if Numa were around. He always found ways to encourage her when she was younger. Maybe then she would get the respect she deserved.

Ismene sighed, rubbing her temples. She wished her two children could get along, but that would take a miracle. Unfortunately, she was all out of those. The only thing Ismene could do was try to maintain the peace. Despite many rage filled conversations, she knew her children cared about each other deep down. Whether or not they would ever admit it was one thing, but she hoped the repressed feeling would outweigh the disdain. It was the only thing that could keep things running smoothly. As if there weren’t already enough bumps in the road.

Seeing that they were on course and devoid of any disturbances, Ismene retreated to her captain’s quarters. She headed straight for her desk, picking up a bottle, and doing her best to ignore how empty the space was. Even after two hundred years, it was hard to adjust to the lack of a familiar presence. Ismene took a heavy swig before resting her head atop her hand and staring at the ship’s manifest.

The amount of cargo seemed lacking compared to previous exploits, but harassment from the Claremont Trading Guild made keeping surplus cargo a liability. While the Prosperity was amply armed, a surprise attack on their last trip caused a leak in the cargo hold and cost Ismene dearly. Luckily no one was injured, but many precious and profitable valuables were lost. With opposition occurring more frequently, Ismene made the decision to only bring what was necessary to avoid a loss of that proportion.

Additionally, Ismene was in the process of making amendments to her travel schedule. Normally, Ismene would travel to the Isle of Rochden every other month, as it was close to home port and nearby many other luxury buyers. It had been nearly six months since her last delivery, however, and she was nervous to see the state of the small island. Illicit as many of her deals may be, Ismene’s pledge to the people came first. Thanks to the monopoly the Claremont Trading Guild held over seafaring trade in the area, small nations like Rochden were often overlooked. They had become dependent on Ismene’s shipments to supply many essential goods, along with discount luxuries that they would likely never acquire otherwise. In recent months, though, the Guild has been keeping a closer eye on the seemingly inconsequential Rochden, along with Ismene’s trade routes.

Ismene was beginning to expect that this was starting to be about something more than just business competition. The Claremont Guild was watching her closely, and she had her suspicions as to why. She knew this day would come eventually, but she had hoped she and her progeny would be better prepared. In the meantime, she worked on emptying her bottle and hoping she could buy herself more time.

#beneath the brine #i havent written in a while so cut me some slack #I also didn't proof read because that is too time consuming lol #writing #d&d #dnd #dnd oc #dnd story #pirates #sailors #writeblr #writers of tumblr #part one #adventure #romance #fantasy #beth writes

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nurse-buckley · 2 years

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Too many ideas...only one fic to put them in...which to choose.

#beth rambles #beth writes #writing is hard

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briarlovesginny · 2 years

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what is god to me?

god is the love poured into it over the centuries

the devotion to their own love humans show, that’s

that’s god to me

#beth writes #cw god #im an agnostic that leans atheist btw #poetry #short poetry #early morning thoughts

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seagiri · 1 year

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"You deserve to survive in this world."

Fanart of @morelmorrow ‘s Zombie Apocalypse AU fic!

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never-blooms · 1 year

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what is sown, what is grown

Carlos/TK (rated M)

He’s tried many times to reconcile who he is with what they are, straddling the fence of I Am and Yo Soy and hating that the divide existed in the first place.

Who put it there, if not Carlos himself?

***

A Carlos Reyes character study and deep dive into the Reyes family, post s2e8 Bad Call.

part one // part two

#beth writes #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #this was born out of me rambling about the Latinx culture #so I rambled some more lol

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killedbythehuntress · 9 months

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Stockholm Syndrome

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

Also On: AO3 and Wattpad

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Beautiful art work below by @diligentcranberry - Thank you again, love!

Tags/Warnings:

Rape/Non-Con Elements, Twisted Love, Dark!Sebastian Sallow, alcohol use.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

Chapter One.

She doesn't know what makes her stop. She's walked past this stand a lot of times, the moving pictures barely catching her eye before she continues on her way. But something inside her makes her stop today. Hand over a sickle to the tender and take a copy of the Daily Prophet before she continues her daily errands.

It's not until she's home, everything unpacked, the door locked thrice and a cup of tea on the table in front of her did she finally pull out the bunch of papers she'd felt compelled to buy. The air suddenly feels like it's sucked out of the room and she can barely breathe.

Breaking News!

The Wizarding Community is on high alert at the news that Dark Wizard, Sebastian Sallow, has escaped Azkaban prison. The 24-Year-old has been in Azkaban since being convicted of the murder of his uncle in the winter of 1891. Nothing has yet been released on how he escaped the notorious prison, but we urge the community to stay safe and vigilant.

She doesn't even finish reading, instead, her eyes find their way to the picture next to it. A fifteen-year-old Sebastian stares out at her, a frown on his lips, dark eyebrows furrowed, and a look of sadness, betrayal, and regret in his eyes. She couldn't bear it, instead, she whipped out her wand and cast a quick Incendio, the Prophet immediately turning to ash on the table. How could she have been so naive to have thought the Wizengamot would've gone easy on him given everything? She may have only been 15, and while she'd been a part of the community for a good few months, she should have known that an Unforgivable - especially Avada Kadavra - would land someone in Azkaban for life. Something that Sebastian Sallow didn't deserve, regardless of his actions.

With another flick of her wand and the ash is gone, cleaned up, and almost forgotten. Her elbows rest on the table, her face buried in her hands as she sobs for the first time in years for what was lost - she'd only wanted him to learn his lesson, she hadn't wanted to lose him. Hadn't anticipated the entire fallout. Anne and Ominis had been beside her at the time, happy for her to be the one responsible to make the decision - probably to save themselves the guilt of it - but also likely using her naivety and lack of understanding of the Wizarding Law in hopes she wouldn't feel the guilt herself.

That had lasted all of three days when she saw the article detailing Sebastian’s sentencing. That had been the first time she'd broken down about her decision, she'd screamed at Ominis in the Undercroft for not telling her turning him in meant never seeing him again. She'd collapsed into his arms, sobbing into his chest but the thought that it wasn't Sebastian brought the sobs harder and faster until she pushed Ominis away and curled in on herself.

She'd finished her last two years of Hogwarts in silence, only speaking when a professor asked something of her. She pulled away from the many friends she'd made during that fateful year - not from their lack of trying - she just couldn't. She spent any time not in class in the Room of Requirements, she'd even gone through a period where she didn't eat because she couldn't face the Great Hall. But Deek had caught wind of that and made sure to always have something set on a table for her.

For as excited as she was to attend Hogwarts, leaving had felt like a relief. There were too many memories haunting her of him, and the friends she'd left behind. Part of her had wanted to run as far away from Scotland as she could, but the other part - the larger part - couldn't.

Even if she couldn't be with him, she wanted to be close.

The thought terrified her, he knew it was her decision. He'd looked so angry, so hurt as he was hauled away by the Aurors and the article detailing his sentence had quoted him. He'd promised he'd get revenge.

It was stupid of her - likely still naivety - that made her move from the Highlands surrounding Hogwarts to a small Hamlet in the northernmost area of Scotland. She'd managed to buy a single cottage on the outer edge of the hamlet, the back leading to the forest and while being there was lonely, she hadn't made much of an effort to befriend anyone. It was private, it was hers, and honestly, if Sebastian had to deal with life alone because of her. She felt she deserved it too.

Her sobs quieted after some minutes, the air in the room still heavy with the melancholy she felt. Her tea had gone cold, not that she felt she could stomach it. Her insides were in knots, she felt that any attempt to eat or drink could cause her to vomit. Any movement could cause her to collapse further in on herself.

She took a deep breath, a sigh escaping her as she reminded herself that no one knew where she lived. Not from lack of trying on their part, Ominis, Natty & Poppy had continued to try and open her back up for her last two years to no avail. Following their graduation, they'd reached out via Owl. Although the more she ignored them, the less they came.

A knock at her door pulled her from her increasingly spiraling thoughts and she frowned, pulling herself up slowly from the table. "Who is it?" She called cautiously, although it probably wasn't her best idea. It was likely just the friendly old woman down from the house closest offering her something she'd baked.

"Open the door, it's Ominis." Her eyebrows furrowed then, stepping closer to the door but not unlocking it.

"How do you know where I live?"

"I work for the Ministry, it wasn't hard." She felt a pang in her chest at his clipped words, she'd never admit it but she had missed it, missed him. Finally unlocking her door and pulling it open, she took a look at Ominis. The years had treated him well, his hair was still slicked back and his suit still made him look as regal as he always did.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, a little exasperated at the situation. Her words, while firm, still held the edge they did when she'd been crying and she hoped it had been long enough that her unexpected guest didn't notice.

"Checking in. I don't suppose you heard the news." And there it was, his way of letting her know he still cared but not in such a way she'd run and lock the door in his face. "Sebastian escaped." Stepping back slightly, audibly so that he knew he could come in.

"I did catch a glimpse at the Prophet, yes. Is that why you're here?" She asked, her voice needlessly harsh as she continued. "Here to see if I'm hiding him somewhere?"

"No, of course not." He mentioned with a frown of his own. "You surely remember what he said upon sentencing. I was merely worried about you." The words took all of the fight from her and once again she found her lip trembling as she held back her tears, another wave of guilt washing over her.

"How long has he been out?" She brings herself to ask, the newspaper was from today, sure. But if Ominis thought Sebastian could have already found his way to her, perhaps it'd been a few days.

"We think he escaped Monday, but we can't be sure. The guard he'd managed to switch with was in no condition to talk." Monday… They thought Monday and he'd only shown today for fear of her safety. It was Saturday for Merlin's sake. She felt a small flame of anger flicker in her chest. "No one realized until Thursday when the next guard was sent through."

She couldn't help but laugh at the sheer stupidity. No one noticed a guard had disappeared on his rounds. She knew the tales of Azkaban were horror stories, but for Helena's sake, she didn't expect them to be that bad. She could only imagine what it was like to be there full-time.

And that thought was enough to snuff out the anger and bring back the melancholy from earlier.

"If you're wanting to look around, just in case. I haven't been home for long." She murmured, not even sure why she'd said it. But Ominis was quick to nod, his wand flashing its usual red as he walked around the small cottage. Picking up the cup of forgotten tea, she couldn't help but feel on edge, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the news of Sebastian or if it was because there was someone other than herself in her house. No one else had been here since she moved in six years.

She busied herself doing the dishes, staring out the window into the small Hamlet until Ominis had finished his sweep. She could feel him standing by the table but she didn't turn, neither of them saying anything for a while.

"I think it's time you-"

"I want you to write to-"

They both spoke at the same time, and she finally pulled her eyes from the children she saw running in the field to look at her guest. "You first." He assured, clearing his throat. She suddenly felt a little awkward, her nose wrinkling slightly as she thought back on what she was going to say.

"No, you first." She finally decided it was for the best since she'd been about to tell him to leave.

"I want you to write to me, let me know you're okay at least weekly." Her brows furrowed and she felt another flicker of irritation.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, Ominis. I made sure that when I moved here no one would know me or that I'd moved here. Until you showed up, that is." She couldn't help the bitter tone in her voice, she'd tried so hard to make sure there was no way anyone could track her down. She supposed that even without that effort, his connections at work would mean he'd always known.

"I'm serious, I just want you to let me know you're okay. At least until he's back in Azkaban." The genuine concern in his voice was bittersweet, he clearly wanted her to know that he meant it. "If I don't hear from you, I'll have to stop by again."

Heaving a frustrated sigh, she gave the blonde boy a glare that he couldn't rightfully see. "Fine. If it means I'm left alone." Deep down, she realized she didn't mean it. She'd felt so lonely and part of her felt that perhaps she wouldn't follow through just so he would turn up. But then she remembered the guilt and knew that she had to be lonely because that's what she'd sentenced Sebastian to eight years ago. "Now I'd you'd be so kind to leave, it's getting late." She finished, leaving no room for argument as she stepped to the door and pulled it open.

"Take care of yourself, please," Ominis said as he stepped back through the door, still a small look of concern on his face that made her turn away.

Once he was out, she closed the door and once again triple-locked it before checking the windows. Only when she was sure everything was secure did she curl up on her couch with a blanket, and a book open in front of her - not that she paid it any mind. Her focus was on the flames licking in the fireplace as she waited for the time she'd move from the couch to bed.

— — — — — —

The feeling of something trailing over her forehead caused her to stir slightly, sleep slipping away from her. She groaned, turning over and burying herself further into the pillows and blankets of her bed before the realization struck her.

Sitting up quickly, she looked around the bedroom, the low light from the lamp on her dresser casting shadows. But besides her and her heavy breathing, the room was empty.

She was going crazy. Paranoid.

It had been a week since the article and Ominis' visit. A week of knowing that Sebastian was out there somewhere, likely looking for her. A week of constantly feeling like she was being watched when she wasn't. It was taking a toll on her.

She briefly contemplated asking Ominis if she could stay a few days with him, to see if she felt any different. But considering last Saturday was the first time they'd spoken in years, she likely wasn't welcome.

Sighing softly, she pulled herself up from her bed. Some tea would likely help calm her. Grasping at the lamp, she stepped from her bedroom and into the main room, heading for the stove and her small tea kettle. She got busy, setting the water to boil and taking hold of a cup she'd used earlier in the day. Her eyes settled out of the window just as they had a week ago. The streets of the hamlet were dark and empty, it was raining heavily, and for some reason that soothed her a little. She'd always liked the rain.

A loud bang from her bedroom jolted her from her thoughts, dropping the teacup she held as the sound of wind howled through her home. Once more grasping her lamp, she took her wand from the counter too and crept to the doorway, looking through it cautiously. The room was still empty, there weren't any hiding places after all. The room was only big enough for a bed and a dresser.

Her eyes lifted from their observation of the room to the window. Seeing it had flown open. Frowning, she stepped further into the room and towards the window until she was able to pull it closed, locking it. She swore she'd locked it before she'd gone to bed. But perhaps the stress of the last week was getting to her, her days blending together.

She had nothing to worry about. No one but Ominis knew where she lived and he wouldn't tell anyone. It had to have been the wind from the storm, she hadn't latched it properly before bed, clearly.

The sound of a quiet whistle sounded from her kitchen and she sighed. Right, yes. Tea. That's what she needed. Pulling her curtains closed, she made her way back into the kitchen to finish her tea, hopefully when she drank it she'd be able to get back to sleep.

— — — — — —

A few days later, she found herself stopping next to the stand holding the Daily Prophet, she glanced at the headline.

Sallow Still at Large!

She didn't bother picking up a copy this time, it was likely just going to be a reiteration of what was said in the original article. Instead, she forced herself to push on, the hood of her robe pulled up over her head.

The feeling of being watched magnified each time she left the house, to the point where she was seriously considering dropping her errands to one day a week and holing herself up inside of her cottage.

She stopped at the produce vendor, picking up some pieces of fruit and vegetables as she did often, paying quickly before turning on her heel. Usually, she'd make a stop at a few more stores, but right now, she wanted to go home. She wasn't in dire need of anything else - today at least.

Walking down the main street of the hamlet, her hood up and her head down to avoid being seen meant that she wasn't looking where she was going. So it wasn't surprising when she walked into someone, the bag she held falling to the floor.

"Merlin, I'm sorry!" She said, reaching down to collect her things.

"Don't be, miss. Accidents happen." A friendly voice said she looked up briefly to see a man of around her age, brunette hair and while his smile was friendly and it definitely wasn't Sebastian she was looking at, she couldn't help the flash of his face in place of the strangers.

Suddenly she was in a bigger rush to get home, her hands trembling as she fought to ensure everything she'd dropped was picked up.

"Let me help." The young man offered and she frantically shook her head, scooping the last of the produce into her bag and standing quickly.

"N-no n-need. It's fine. I must get home." She brushed off, pushing past the kind stranger that made her think of Sebastian and speed walked her way back to her cottage, not looking back. Although that feeling at the back of her neck, that she was being watched only grew as she stepped over the threshold and once more thrice locked her door. A sigh of relief fell from her lips as her clammy forehead rested against the cool wood.

— — — — — —

Two weeks. Two weeks had passed since she'd seen that article since Ominis had visited and nothing had happened besides her losing her mind from her paranoia.

Since her run-in with not-Sebastian, she hadn't left the house. A traitorous part of her brain just wanted him to be found and back in Azkaban so that she could go back to how life was before.

As much as she didn't want to leave, she had to head into town. If she didn't want Ominis stopping by again she'd have to drop off the letter she'd written him. She also needed to get some food.

She supposed she could be quick about it, not stopping beside the two shops she needed to and then heading straight back. Chewing on her bottom lip, she considered not leaving, her eyes staring at the front door as if it could decide for her. Taking a deep breath, she opened it and blinked against the bright sun. 'Quick, just be quick.' She told herself, closing the door behind her and heading towards the main street. And if she stopped to buy a bottle of fire whiskey while she was there, who was going to judge?��

— — — — — —

Slamming the door behind her, she panted - a slight panic overtaking her. She was definitely going crazy, she swore she'd seen Seb so many times in the small time she was out, only to do a double take and there would be no one there. She had to be going crazy.

Dropping the bag of food onto the kitchen counter, she rummaged through the bag until she found what she was looking for. The bottle of fire whiskey glinted in the sun streaming through the winter. Briefly, a voice in her head told her it was too early to drink, but she shut it up quickly as she pulled the top off and took a large drink.

The fiery liquid trailed down her throat and she held back a cough, even as the wince made it through. Dropping herself into the chair at the kitchen table, she held the bottle in an iron grip. As she took another long drag from the bottle, she could feel the familiar haze of calm falling over her.

She tried to remember when she'd last eaten and realized it had been breakfast yesterday. Pair that with the fact she didn't drink often and it was only normal for barely a quarter of a bottle to hit her so fast.

Time passed slowly, and the contents of the bottle also slowly dwindled as it got dark outside. At some point, it started raining again but she didn't care. She'd drunk a good amount of the bottle and she couldn't very well keep her head up off the table.

She'd never be able to get herself to bed in this state. Rolling her head to the side, she looked at the couch, wondering if she'd be able to make it there. It was only five steps, maximum.

Pushing herself up, grasping the edge of the table hard to steady herself as the room spun. Once she felt situated enough, she took a step.

So far, so good.

Another step, then another and that's when her knees buckled. Her stomach churned and she closed her eyes as she waited to meet the floor. But the meeting never came. Two arms had wrapped around her, catching her in her fall.

"Woah, there, Sweetheart. Missed me?"

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #writing #beth writes #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow fanfiction

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anonymousblueberry · 10 days

Note

Yasha & Jester 18 :D

"Yasha..." Jester's voice is light and steady, sweet as the scent of flowers that fill the room. "You're ruffling your clothes. Stay still, I can't reach from here."

She stops. Takes a deep breath. "What if this is all wrong?" She gestures wide, Jester ducking under her arm as she tries to fit yet more flowers across the broad width of Yasha's wings. "What if this isn't what she wants? That she's just..."

"Yasha." Jester grabs her hands and pulls them face to face. "When has Beau ever done anything she didn't want to? She loves you. Stupid, beautiful, perfect love. Now stand still and let me look at you."

She drops Yasha's hands and steps back, taking a good hard look, an appraising, artists look. Then she skips back the couple of steps and takes Yasha's hands again, hopping up to press a kiss against her cheek.

"Perfect. Now go get your woman."

#beth writes #mighty nein #yasha nydoorin #jester lavorre

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refinedbuffoonery · 1 year

Text

Looking Through A Window (20)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Happy New Year! Truly, I cannot imagine posting this chapter on any other day. There's a certain hopeful joy on New Year's Day, is there not? Fitting for this chapter, I think.

Please excuse the horrific number of metaphors in this chapter. In the first draft, there were more. So. Many. More.

I know it's hard to stay connected to a story that updates as infrequently as this one, so I dedicate this chapter to those of you who have been here since the beginning and are still here. Thank you for hanging on. I love you.

*****

Despite his exhaustion, sleep doesn’t find Mac easily. He tosses and turns, not bothering to conceal his restlessness from Riley since she’s tossing and turning too. The gray morning light peeking through the bedroom window isn’t helping either. When all else fails, Mac finally just throws an arm and a leg over Riley and pulls her close, wanting the comfort of her in his arms.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in, fighting the urge to press his lips into her warm skin. It feels so good to have her with him, despite not quite having her the way he wants. But he could. Have her, that is. They just need to cross that final bridge, but he’ll be damned if they don’t cross it together. They’ve come too far for him to rush and blow it at the finish line.

Between the precarious mission and the even more precarious state of their relationship, it’s a lot to worry about, all at once. But even though his anxious brain is keeping him awake, his body craves rest.

Mac tries one of the grounding exercises a Phoenix therapist taught him. He starts by noticing his breath, slow and deep. On his next inhale, he shifts his awareness to his feet; on the exhale, he lets them get heavy and sink into the mattress. Mac repeats the exercise moving up his body—legs, hips, torso, shoulders, arms, head. Another breath and his whole body sinks even deeper into the mattress.

Giving up on the hope of sleep, he does his best to ignore the fact that Riley’s laptop is currently open at the foot of the bed, programmed to alert them as soon as someone makes the first 911 call about the bomb.

Even though he’s waiting for it, the notification comes entirely too soon.

Live satellite imagery shows first responders from all over the city converging on the capitol. Or rather, what’s left of it. Mac’s chain of bombs worked a little too well—leveling not only the building, but the landscaping and a chunk of the parking lot as well.

Mac’s stomach drops as his mind immediately jumps to the very real scenario of a bomb having not gone off with all the rest. He can only watch the screen in horror as he pleads with the universe that some unlucky firefighter doesn’t stumble across an intact device. He wants to scour the place himself.

There’s no way Matty would let him do that. There’s no way Riley would let him do that.

It doesn’t take long before the news coverage begins, and Mac streams the live video on his phone while Riley keeps them tapped into the first responders’ radio network. They’re desperately listening for one thing, and one thing only: whether there were any casualties.

An hour passes. No bodies, yet.

Matty calls, confirming no one was in the building. She had analysts monitoring the security cameras all night long to be sure. She also assures Mac and Riley that they were not caught on camera. No one in the intelligence community has a clue who did this.

After Matty hangs up, a long time passes before Mac feels like he can breathe again. No one died. I didn’t kill anyone, he thinks.

But the anxiety kicks in, like it always does, questioning, But what if you did?

It’s taken a lot of time and therapy over the years to learn how to shut down thoughts like that, but Mac still struggles. He needs something to do with his hands, to give him something else to think about. Even though he’s not hungry, he says, “I’m going to make breakfast.”

Riley looks just as lost as Mac feels as she nods. There are dark circles beneath her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. “I need to lay back down for a minute,” she says. Riley closes her computer and flops onto the pillows, eyes closing. “I’ll help you in a bit.”

Mac squeezes her shoulder before heading to the kitchen and making himself a cup of coffee.

Working with his hands has always quieted his mind. Since he was a kid, Mac would turn to building something—or taking something apart—when he had something to work through in his head. There was a calm, focused order to his actions, which translated to a calm, focused mind.

It was only well into adulthood that Mac realized his strategy applied to cooking. Granted, he doesn’t have the instincts to make a good chef, not like Bozer, and often the results leave much to be desired where taste is concerned, but there’s an organization to cooking and baking that Mac’s brain likes. His pancake batter comes together quickly, and Mac is grateful that the agents who set up the safe house thought to stock the kitchen with nice cooking tools.

They don’t, however, have a griddle, so he heats up a large skillet and ladles batter into neat circles.

Step by step, he works through his stress about the bombing, through his anxiety over what the Patriots might ask for next, through his terror last night when Riley didn’t respond over comms. Mac’s heart races as the memory replays in his mind, first as it happened, then in a warped worst-case scenario. He sees Riley getting dragged across the grounds by those cops and roughly thrown into the back of their car. The powerlessness he feels is hard to swallow.

Mac takes a deep breath. That didn’t happen. He found her. He was there to help her.

He wants to be there for her for the rest of his life.

More than half the pancakes have been cooked by the time Mac hears the soft sound of feet on carpet, and then a bleary-eyed Riley turns the corner into the kitchen, still wearing those damn pajamas that make his brain cease to function. He’d really like to run his fingers along the gap between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her shorts, just to hear what sound she’d make when his fingers graze her skin. Seemingly unaware of his staring, Riley makes a beeline for the coffee pot, and Mac has to stifle a laugh when she overfills her mug and has to bend over to slurp some before even lifting it from the counter. His own half-drank cup is over there too, forgotten, and she refills it and brings it to him by way of greeting. Mac thanks her.

“You fell back asleep, didn’t you?”

“Yeah until Harley kicked me right in the stomach. She’s having another one of her weird dreams.” Mac sympathy-winces into his coffee. This new cup tastes better than the one he made himself.

“Breakfast is almost ready.” He checks the pancakes—still too pale.

“How can I help?”

Unable to help himself, Mac smiles at her. “Can you please wash the strawberries?” Riley nods into her coffee.

Mac loves how easy this is—still in their pajamas, seamlessly cooking together. His anxiety doesn’t feel so overwhelming when she’s around. Just being near her makes him feel warm and safe and at peace. It’s everything he wants.

Wants with Riley, no one else.

Her back is to him while she rinses the berries, but Mac can’t help smiling at her. He’s so in love with her that it hurts; his heart squeezes as those three little words rise in his throat.

“I love you,” he says.

Riley turns to him, lips parted.

“I am undeniably, irreversibly, in love with you,” Mac repeats. It’s exhilarating to finally say it. He takes the two steps across the kitchen to stand before her, cradling her face in his hands. “I love us. I love the trust we’ve built and how I feel safest with you by my side. I love that you continually push me to be the best version of myself. I love your determination and patience and compassion. And I love the way you ruined the possibility of ever loving anyone else the way I love you.”

Eyes lined with silver, Riley tugs him closer until their bodies are pressed together. “I love you too, you know.”

His heart squeezes. Shatters and re-forms with her inside it. Years of friendship and partnership and loving her crashes over him, surrounding him, filling him. “I do,” he says hoarsely.

A tear escapes her eye, then another, and Mac gently kisses them away, tasting salt on his lips.

Riley sniffs. “Mac.”

“You,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against hers, “are so beautiful.” He traces a fingertip around the outline of her lips, marking exactly where he plans on kissing her next, then tilts her chin upward. Deep in his chest, he feels this tugging sensation toward her, the atoms in his body desperate to intertwine with the atoms in hers. She’s close enough that he feels her breath on his face. She’s so close. She’s so damn close, but even after everything he still needs her to be the one to finally close the gap between them. To step through that door.

“Mac, the pancakes.”

“Fuck the pancakes.”

“Mac, they’re burning.” She pushes his chest for emphasis.

Mac groans, but he gives in, flipping the slightly burnt pancakes as fast as humanly possible. Setting the spatula down, he puts both hands back on Riley’s face. “Now, can I kiss you?” Riley smiles, and it’s like the sun shining in the kitchen, just for him.

“Yes.”

The first kiss is soft but sure, just as Mac has never been more sure of anything in his life than telling Riley he loves her. Riley parts her lips, but Mac doesn’t speed up as he tastes her. He just continues to kiss her slowly, deeply, thoroughly. And Riley kisses him back, each press of her lips like a puzzle piece finally sliding into place.

“I love you,” he whispers into her mouth, just because he can.

The second kiss takes a different turn, heated and desperate. It feels like the culmination of all the years of waiting and wondering and hoping. The burn of the surety of her lips against his proves that it was all worth it.

They only pause to take the pancakes off the stove.

By the third kiss, Mac has found the confidence to move his hands freely along her body, tugging at her waist, stroking his thumb across her ribs. Meanwhile her fingers have found the spot at the base of his skull that makes him want to melt in a puddle on the floor. Nails scratching lightly, she grips his hair and tugs, and the resulting surge of want is so strong it takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower not to lay her out on the floor. Or over the counter. Or against the wall.

No. The first time will happen in a bed. Nowhere else.

Mac is so absorbed in Riley that he almost doesn’t hear the knock at the door. Chest heaving, he rests his forehead against hers as he tries to catch his breath. The knocking only grows more insistent.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Riley mutters.

Sneaking in one more kiss on the cheek, Mac offers, “I’ll get it.”

It’s Carrie Ann at the door. Because somehow she always finds a way to insert herself in the middle of their major relationship milestones.

But his annoyance at her interruption is curbed by the look of genuine worry on her face. Before he can ask what she’s doing here, she asks in that intrusive but well-meaning way of hers, “Is everything alright? Last night I heard Harley barking, so I came over to check on y’all, and your car was gone. I kept a lookout and you were gone all night and have been real worried ‘bout you.” She crosses her arms.

They’d heard Harley whining when they returned early this morning, but learning she’d done that all night makes an acidic sort of guilt burn a hole in Mac’s stomach. The look on Carrie Ann’s face makes it clear she wants an explanation, so he scrambles to come up with a decent lie.

“Thank you for checking on her,” Mac begins, glancing over his shoulder to where Harley dozes on the couch. “We spent last night in the ER. Gen had some nasty vertigo that wouldn’t go away, but she’s fine now.” He’s surprised at how easily the lie rolls off his tongue.

Relief washes over Carrie Ann’s face, although the neighborly concern remains. “I’m glad she’s alright. Why don’t I bring you two dinner tonight so you don’t have to cook? You look like you could use some rest.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

Mac glances at the floor, embarrassed to be taking advantage of her generosity after lying to her face. But he looks her in the eye when he says, “Thank you. We would really appreciate that.”

“That’s what neighbors do. They take care of each other.” Carrie Ann smiles. “I’ll be back around six with your dinner, that work for you?”

Mac can only nod, a lump forming in his throat.

“Tell your wife to call me when she’s feeling better.”

The word wife hits Mac square in the chest. His lungs seize, halting as he tries to reconcile the roles they’re playing with the roles they’re choosing. They went into this as coworkers and friends and partners, pretending to be married. If they stay on their current path, they’ll be coming out of this still as partners, but of a different, deeper sort. Perhaps even on the road to getting married for real.

It’s too early to think that. But it’s not, because now he’s lived it and it’s everything he wants.

Wants with her. For real.

His eyes water as he returns to the kitchen, which Riley notices immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He wraps her in a tight hug, letting her anchor him amidst the current of thoughts and feelings flowing around them. “Just feeling a little emotional at the moment.” She laughs into his shoulder, sounding a little choked up herself.

After breakfast, Mac has every intention of kissing Riley for as long as she’ll let him. She tastes like coffee and maple syrup and peace, and his hands fit around her hips like they were carved from the same chunk of universe as he backs her against the cabinets.

His hands aren’t shy as they relearn her body in this new context. She feels warm and familiar, yet wholly new and different at the same time. He moves freely between parts of her he’s never touched and parts he’s touched a thousand times.

What he doesn’t do is rush. Not when this moment is years in the making. No matter how much he wants to, he resists the temptation to let his fingers tease the strip of exposed skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her shorts. Instead he keeps her clothes as a barrier—one that he’ll only cross with her express permission.

Riley pulls back, giving him that look that says she knows what he’s thinking. “You don’t have to be so careful, you know.”

“I do. Have to be careful, that is,” he clarifies. Kissing her is just as terrifying as it is exciting, and most of his fear is that he’ll do something to make her end this before it even begins. They’ve come too far, crossed too many lines—especially now that he knows how she tastes—to go back to being friends. And Mac doesn’t plan on losing her.

“I want this,” she reassures him, kissing him as if she’s trying to breathe confidence into his lungs. “And everything that comes with it.”

“Everything, huh?” Mac smirks.

Of its own accord, his thumb slips beneath the hem of her shirt, stroking soft skin. She gasps at the brush of contact—a sound that will ring in Mac’s eardrums until the day he dies.

Riley nods desperately, confidence reduced to speechlessness with one small gesture. Pride swells in Mac’s chest. He did that to her. He caused that reaction.

He wants to do it again.

Mac lowers his lips to her ear. “Tell me, exactly, what you want.”

She shivers.

“This?” He presses a kiss below her ear. “Or this?” He nips at the skin over her pulse. “Or maybe this?” He grazes his fingertips up her bare thigh.

The whine that escapes Riley’s throat is a straight shot to his ego.

“Do you even know all the ways I’ve imagined seducing you?”

Too much. He’s gone too far with that one, based on the way Riley stiffens. Mac backpedals, the beginning of a jumbled apology tumbling from his lips. But then Riley grabs his face with both hands and forces him to meet her gaze.

“I want you to show me what you’ve imagined.” She swallows. “And then I’ll show you mine.”

*****

Mac has never hated Conrad more than when the bastard blows up his phone while he’s got his mouth on Riley’s collarbone and his fingers undoing the drawstring of her shorts. He’s no murderer, but he might make an exception just this once.

There’s an emergency Patriots council meeting in an hour, and James and Genevieve are expected to be there.

Goddamnit.

They scramble to shower—one at a time, unfortunately—and drive over, pulling up to the Patriots’ warehouse with only a couple minutes to spare. They bring Harley with them, feeling guilty for leaving her home alone so much.

Predictably, they’re the last to arrive, and Conrad glowers at them as they take their seats. Harley sniffs the room before dutifully laying at Riley’s feet.

A perfect foil to Conrad’s foul mood, Ethan sits at the head of the conference table wearing a practiced neutral expression that even Matty would admire. Hands folded in his lap, he looks the picture of calm and at ease. If Mac were a fool, he’d think this was just a regular Wednesday council meeting.

But Mac’s no fool, and nearly a decade of black ops has taught him that that level of calm on a powerful person’s face should only elicit one emotion: fear.

Conrad snaps, “We have a rat problem.”

Mac stiffens. Almost immediately, Riley’s knee bumps his under the table, a silent reminder to control his reactions. He reaches down to scratch Harley’s head, forcing his lips into an irreverent smirk. A smug mask to hide the fear of getting caught too soon. “Need to borrow my dog, Conrad?” Mac goads.

Months from now, the glare Conrad levels at him will be laughable. No doubt spectacularly reenacted by Riley as they tell this story around Mac’s fire pit. Even now, a few snickers break out around the table until Ethan holds up a hand, silencing them.

“What he means to say,” Ethan begins, “is that there is a wrinkle in an otherwise perfectly executed demolition of the capitol.” The temperature in the room plummets. Mac wishes he could ask Riley if she feels it too, that it’s not just his imagination. Ethan continues, “There wasn’t a single injury or casualty this morning. You know why? The capitol was empty.”

A few murmurs break out, but the air in the room remains tense, frozen as they wait for the hammer to drop.

“It has come to my attention that capitol employees were given an impromptu day off. And since the only people who knew about this plan are in this room. . .” Ethan pauses, taking time to look each council member in the eye. “There is obviously a mole in our organization, and it’s one of you.”

Well. That’s inconvenient.

“We’re giving you twenty-four hours to come forward as the mole. If you come forward during that time, we’ll release you from service without repercussions.” A blatant lie if Mac ever heard one. “If you do not come forward, when we find you, there will be consequences for your actions.”

No doubt those consequences will be swift and bloody. A fate he’d like to avoid.

“James. A word.” Ethan rises from the table, and Mac and Riley exchange a brief look before following. No need to piss him off even more.

In his office, Ethan elects to stand, fingertips pressed into the lacquered wood of this desk. On instinct Mac positions his body slightly in front of Riley like he can shield her from the verbal lashing they’re about to receive. But she bumps him with her elbow—a move so subtle anyone else would think it an accident—and steps forward so she’s even with him. Equal partners, always.

It’s nice to have someone to share the burdens of this job.

“My first instinct is to blame the two of you for this mishap,” Ethan says, his too-casual tone making Mac internally cringe. “Care to share your thoughts on that?”

Without missing a beat, Mac replies, “It only makes sense. We’re new and thus the least trusted. You’ve looked into us, I’m sure, but we’re the outliers in this equation. New features to an already well-oiled machine. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust us either.” If Riley was in his ear rather than at his side, no doubt she’d be yelling, What the fuck are you saying? But she’s trapped in a position where she has no choice but to show a united front, and Mac continues his misdirection without interruption. “Because of this fragile trust, we did not take certain creative liberties we might’ve otherwise. Our planning was exactly to Conrad’s specifications, from the number of bombs to their placement to the time of detonation. So if you’re looking to point fingers, I wouldn’t aim at us.”

Mac didn’t lie. Every word of that speech is true. It’s just carefully crafted to avoid any mention of evacuating the building.

“That doesn’t change the fact that the governor is still alive. We’ll have to do this again.”

In the last few days, Mac had honestly forgotten the point of all this was murder, not just making a statement. Now the conversation they overheard between Ethan and Cody at the gala comes roaring back, drowning out whatever Ethan says next.

“Perhaps,” Riley says, coming to his rescue, “our next attempt should be done with more finesse.” It’s like she knew Mac was lost in his thoughts, knew she needed to shift Ethan’s attention off him and onto herself. All without looking at Mac. She knows him.

Ethan slowly repeats the word finesse, turning it over in his mouth as he considers Riley’s statement. “Mrs. Turner—”

“You can call me Genevieve.”

“Genevieve,” Ethan amends, wearing an expression Mac can’t quite place. “And what would this finesse look like?”

It’s a test, obviously. A challenge to contribute without undermining Ethan’s authority.

“With all due respect, a big bombing is messy. Too many variables to ensure such a precise desired outcome.” Her voice is cold and unfeeling in a way Mac hasn’t heard in a long time. Like she locked her humanity in a box so all that’s left is that wicked brain of hers, solving a puzzle like a machine would, without the influence of morality. “If you want to assassinate the governor, it needs to be simple and precise. His security will be heightened after this, but no person is invulnerable. Getting out of their car is a good time to catch a man off guard, then all you need is a sniper on a nearby roof.”

“Public or in private?”

“You can do it in his own front yard for all I care.”

Later tonight, that sentence will haunt Riley’s nightmares and put her on her knees in front of the toilet. Keep her on the bathroom floor as she processes what she said. She’ll let Mac tie back her hair, let him hold her while she cries, but they won’t talk. He knows her.

“And are you my sniper?”

Mac swallows. Riley replies, “No, I am not. But I can put you in contact with someone I trust.”

“Is he discreet?”

“She is.”

Something flickers in Ethan’s eye at the pronoun correction, but he doesn’t respond right away. He makes a show of thinking it over, although Mac doesn’t pay him much attention as he’s too busy trying to keep up with Riley’s scheming himself. Obviously the sniper is Desi; they’ll have to get her on board. And if she gets involved. . . perhaps they could fake the governor’s death, at least temporarily.

“I won’t tolerate being disappointed again,” Ethan warns.

It feels like damning himself as Mac promises, “We won’t.”

*****

Back at the apartment, the rest of the day passes as planned. They sleep on the couch until Carrie Ann drops off dinner, which is surprisingly good. And when the nightmare of her own words drags Riley from bed, Mac brings a pillow and blanket to the bathroom. He doesn’t get to press a litany of I love you-s into her skin the way he imagined doing this morning. Instead it’s just one, whispered into her hair amid gentle shushing noises as he rocks her to sleep.

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