#goodwife au

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

So I was thinking about modern AU!Grima, and I had the idea of him having a secret fondness for trash TV courtroom shows; he loves the bickering and the drama and just the overall schadenfreude of it all, and I wanted to get your opinion: In a modern setting, what genres/films/shows do you think Grima would enjoy?

love modern AU!Grima - he's a hot mess no matter what but now he has access to Twitter.

(oh no, the worst person you know has access to twitter [affectionate])

I can totally see him being into things like Law & Order, Run Away Jury (lol) and so on, but also Judge Judy and bad day-time television of that ilk. There's a part of me that also thinks he'd be into bad reality television like Love Island because he likes the interpersonal drama and chaos. He also is aware that they cut and edit for the greatest dramatic effect so likes to try and guess what was actually happening before the crew spliced it to make it Melodramatic.

He'd enjoy his political dramas like House of Cards (both UK and US versions), the Goodwife, Vice, Designated Survivor, Kingmaker etc.

We all know he watched Succession - I can't tell if he would be into it or mildly annoyed by it. The lack of real consequences might get to him after a while (like, 'oh no, they lost this $9million deal, what a shame. Too fucking bad it's just pocket change and doesn't mean anything to them' [grumpily eats pasta and complains to Eomer. idk, they're always together no matter the world or iteration I have going in my head]).

However, I can see him totally invested in their interpersonal dramas and how they're all utterly despicable people just living their lives (just like him). He'd have a Thing for Shiv. Literally just watches the show so he can see her in well-tailored trousers perching on a counter top or something. Eomer is like, 'Really?' and Grima's like, 'what?? I'm only human.'

I can't see him being into Game of Thrones or other shows and films of that nature because the politics are so unrealistic and nothing works Like That.

Eomer would be like, 'That's not the point. The point is terrible yet sexy people doing horrible things but also dragons and battle scenes.'

And Grima is like, 'so first off, the political machinations make no sense. Also "power is power" fuck that. That's not---ugh never mind. Second off, Ramsy Bolton's people would have lynched him. He's a quasi-Gilles de Raiss and they hanged and burned that bitch. Third off--'

Eomer, 'it's fine babe, you've made your point.'

Grima, 'I'm not done. I have a List.'

Because he likes puzzles, I can see him being into the slow, melancholic murder mysteries like Happy Valley, Three Pines, Bletchley Circle, Karen Pirie etc.

In general, I don't think he's a fantasy or sci-fi person. He likes his political dramas, biopics, some thrillers (but he's picky), some historical dramas (again, picky), some mysteries etc. He'd for sure be a bit of a pedant when watching shows or movies - but only about really specific things. Otherwise, he's fine if shows just follow Rule of Funny or Rule of Conflict/Chaos.

---

Thank you for the ask! <3 <3

[naivesilver]

GOOD EVENING!!!!

👀😊😊 perhaps 'are you still mad at me' or ' will you please tell me what happened?' for something court related? (Maybe Lampwick or pinocchio, of you're after something more specific?)

HELLO GOOD EVENING AND THANK YOU this is an excellent way to start this ask spree, considering that I can check at least ONE plot bunny off my mental list - we were talking about AUs of AUs, weren't we? 😏

Angsty Question Prompts

"Will you please tell me what happened?"

It is an average, unremarkable day in her house, which is why Leona is hardly surprised when her eldest child bursts in, holding his brother by the hand and yelling "Mama, Pinocchio fell!"

Leona sighs and sets down her needlework, turning to face the boys. It's a rather urgent order, the one she's supposed to be finishing, but of course she'd never be able to focus on her sewing with a sniveling child in the room. "Come here, honey, let me see."

Pinocchio complies haltingly, crawling in her arms and onto her lap as he rubs at his eyes. It took her falling in love and becoming a mother to realize that two boys of seven and six-going-on-seven respectively could be this different - Pierrot would be howling and clamoring for attention in this situation, but Pinocchio is quiet and subdued, crying silently and curling against her chest like a sullen little hedgehog.

At least he doesn't appear to be too injured: he has scrapes on the palms of his hands and on his knees, yes, but it's nothing that Leona doesn't already see about twice a week - she wets the corner of a rag and cleans it all nevertheless, albeit turning to Pierrot for questions. "Will you please tell me what happened, dear? Where did he fall from?"

She gets no response; instead, the boys share a quick glance, silent and not at all subtle. Of course. They might not be brothers by blood, this loud urchin she picked off the streets and the son of the man she is to marry, but they're thick as thieves all the same - chances are they were doing something she disapproves of, though nothing too dangerous, knowing them. It's almost a pity Geppetto is off delivering a table he's done fixing, otherwise he'd probably find their blatantly guilty looks very amusing. 

"He just stumbled," Pierrot finally says, sounding almost dubious. "He didn't fall from very high up."

"Well, that's a relief." If it's true at all, that is. She presses a kiss to Pinocchio's forehead and lets him slide off her lap, though the boy remains stubbornly pressed against her side, and pats the workbench at her other flank with a small, inviting smile. 

"Maybe it's better if you take a little rest, mh? I need to finish this dress for Goodwife Thompson, but you can stay here and keep me company. No more tumbling around, you understand?"

"Yes, Mama," Pierrot replies, because he is an obedient boy deep down, and climbs up to sit next to her with considerable cheer, leaning forward to rest his chin on her sewing table. "I want to put the thread in the needle, though. It's fun."

"I wanna do it," Pinocchio mumbles out of the blue, catching them both off guard. "You're too rough, you always miss the eye of the needle."

"Do not! Shut up!"

"Do too."

Leona sighs, heavy with fond weariness. "You can both take turns doing it, alright? You know how much thread I go through with every commission."

It is a challenge, to work on anything with two boys hovering over her and bickering over nothing of use, but she wouldn't have it any other way, truth be told. She'd rather they pester her every day for the rest of her life than living through the alternative - this way, at least, she knows they aren't afraid to come to her for comfort, aware that she'll kiss their scrapes better rather than scolding them for customary children's roughhousing. This way she feels love, and loved in turn, by these silly, precious boys she's raising by choice. 

She just hopes she'll manage to prevent them from stabbing themselves with a needle before Geppetto comes home, is all. 

[sabraeal]

The Vagrant’s Season, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written for @onedivinemisfit for her birthday, late by a couple days due to Life Constraints, and by that I mean two kids under 10 with head colds! This is part of Annie’s Shapeshifter AU, specifically a prequel to this piece

It may be muffled through wattle and wool, but Obi still hears the question loud and clear: “What do you think of the boy?”

Bark bites into his gloves as he stiffens, the chopped wood clutched tight to his chest as he presses against the wall. It can’t be possible the Goodwife’s considering the spring, not when there’s snow still piled in the streets and ice clings to every eave. There’s weeks yet until he has to worry, until the heat makes his scalp prickle worse than a bee swarm and he’s driven off just to satisfy the itch. Why, he still has to break through the ice on the well to get water in the morning, there’s no reason to think winter’s even halfway done--

Plink. Water splatters at the tip of his nose, hard enough to make him sniff.

“The boy? Obi?” Goody has no mate-- ah, no husband to speak of, but Harwin comes close enough to both. Not a thing he’s supposed to know, but this is hardly the first wall he’s heard too much through. “He’s a quick one, that’s for sure. Knows how to hold his tongue. Bit on the small side.”

Plink. Plink. His eyelashes flutter, flicking away the drops. They’re cold enough to sting, but there’s nothing to be done, not unless he wants to drop his whole load and give away the game.

“He’ll grow yet.” He won’t, but it’s kind of her to think so. Among his kind, he’s already tall enough, a full-grown male who peers over most heads. Last thing he needs is to stick out any more. “I thought I might speak to him. Ask if he wants to stay on through the spring. Might be nice to have another set of hands, specially when people start traveling the roads again.”

Plink. Obi looks up, licking the water from his lips. The icicle, it’s melting. Even now, he can see the next drop beading on its tip, trembling as grows bigger, no longer able to fight against the earth’s sway--

Ah, so it is time. 

Goody never has time for her little chat. Obi slinks in when the serving girls are all aflutter, asking about stews and trenchers and whether they’ll have enough ale in the cask for after sundown, leaving the wood by the hearth. It’s nothing to snag his sack then, filling it with what he can reach in the larder. Bread, cheese, dried meat-- anything that will keep; he’ll need it until the snow melts. There’s always forage to be found by those wise enough to see it, but nuts and winter berries make a thin meal indeed.

A meat pie on a sill makes for a king’s feast as he lets his feet carry him out of town, the stink of man fading away as he wanders from the well-trod road out to where stone cedes to pasture. Or at least it would, if the last storm hadn’t covered the fields. Might have been nice to stay on until the last frost; he had no proper bed, the way the serving girls did, but a mat rolled out on the hearth made for a warmer one than he’s used to. And if he was fed scraps...well, being fed was better than not being fed at all.

But winter’s comforts do not last spring’s thaw. The goodwife might find her boy handy now, but that would pass soon enough. All it took was a few custom asking about the gloves on his hands and the hat that never left his head, and folks would start looking at him sideways, start puzzling at a mystery never meant to be solved. Better to leave now, before his memory can sour.

By next year these folk will have forgotten him. After all, boys disappear off the streets all the time. No use remembering a scrawny one.

The pie loses its charm along with its warmth. Still, he’s eaten worse-- will eat worse, if history holds-- and he stretches it to its last crumb. After that first glut he keeps to a bite every few hours, ignoring hunger when it wraps its sticky fingers around his stomach. It’s hardly a stranger, after all. Practically an old friend. 

It’s a day’s walk to get to the forest’s edge. Not the one the townsfolk mark, just outside the glow of their little village, but the one he knows, long past where the stink of man has faded. Another day sees him safe, long past any trail even the most daring would mark. It’s only then that he dares to take off the cap.

It’s like being born again. All at once the world gains new dimension, a riotous cacophony that swells over him like a wave. His ears ache; both from the deluge of sound and from being pinned so tight for so long. A simple flick eases the physical discomfort, but the rest...

Obi breathes deep, cold burning his lungs. He’s dizzy, disoriented, but by all spirits in this wood-- as little as he can feet them-- he would take this over another second of pretending to be man’s child.

He dares a fire that night; a small one, just at the mouth of a cave he finds beneath a mossy outcropping. Sitting close, there’s enough light to stitch by-- and enough warmth that he can take off his trousers altogether. Still, he works quickly, ripping fabric and plucking out seams, squinting and swearing until they’ve been made new.

Getting to his feet with a wince-- ah, but these rocks are still cold, fire or no-- Obi pulls them on. It takes a moment to catch his tail, threading it through the hole he’s made. but when he’s finished...

Well, it’s easy to pick out his hasty work from the goodwife’s careful stitches, but at least his tail isn’t cramped inside a leg. Matted and sad as it is, it spreads over the rock like ash from a fireplace, or maybe ink from a quill. Given a few days, it’ll fluff up fine, the envy of every dog from here to Tanbar. And with these clothes, fresh from man’s world-- well, it’d be hard to keep the vixens off him, really. So long as the Keeper didn’t catch wind of a vagrant roaming around. That’s the last thing he needs, a wilder getting all curious about him.

He hulls a hunk of bread from his loaf, setting it to toast on a rock at the fire’s edge. It’ll make a meager feast even with the meats and cheese he’s got in his pack, but it’ll fill him. Until the snow melts, that’s all he can ask, unless he’d like hunger clinging to his shadow, a demon not even those mountain women can exorcise, try as they might. Worse comes to worst, he might be able to stave it off in his small form, feeding off the small rodents that peek their noses out of their burrows, but they’re a spare meal at best, hardly enough to keep him hunting. And still...

It’s not good to stay small so long. That’s what the wise women would say when he was just a kit, scolding the young when they’d play their hiding games out in the wood, seeing how long it would take for the other to find them. Obi had been the best at that game; he’d manage a day or two, enough that the patrols would have to find him, dragging him out from his warren by the back legs.

Stay too long like that and you’ll forget, one of them had creaked direly. You’ll forget what it’s like on two legs, on how to do anything but feed and flee. Wild in truth, that’s what you’ll be, and never able to come back.

He’d never taken the old witches seriously. Who could, when he was so used to the elders barking, make a face like that and you’ll get stuck! Yelp too much and you’ll only be able to howl! It was silly superstition, a way to make the kits behave.

Or so he had thought. Never again.

His mouth sours, so much that even water can’t wash it out. It takes a slice of sausage, salty enough to cleanse any spirit, to banish the taste. He’ll have to consider that though-- what he’s going to do during the weeks his supplies her sparse, and the forage is thin on the ground. Where he’ll go if he doesn’t want to hunker down and hope for spring.

Tanbar’s a fine enough stretch, so long as he stays out of the hills. He doesn’t need to get tangled up in territorial disputes, especially when the picking’s so slim. But go much further south and there’s patrols, two dogs to every pass, with noses sharp enough to pick out another in the brush. They’re not kind to vagrants there, even less so the ones they’ve marked before. Different Keeper, maybe, but Shenazards are either shrewd or stupid, and neither makes for a comfortable jailer.

There’s the Yuris Wilds even farther south, a long jaunt for a cold welcome, though the weather might well make up for it. But the Keeper...

Obi grimaces. The Valley’s his best bet. The snows may not melt as quick as further south, but there’s a patch that’s thick with winter berries not far past the territory’s edge, and plenty of tubers once the their stems peeks above the drifts. He’d hardly have to skirt far past the boundary to reap the rewards. Last time he’d gone there hadn’t even been a patrol; no point when the land’s been abandoned since the last Keeper’s time.

The toast burns his fingers when he plucks it from the stone, but even that can’t keep the grin from his face. There’s an extra slice of sausage when he takes his first bite, cheese and meat softening with the the warmth of the bread beneath it. His supplies may be scant this season, but he has something far better now: a plan.

He approaches the valley as a little one, cutting through the tall grass with as much substance as a shadow. The night covers him; as long as he keeps downwind and moves when the grass does, his pelt merely a darker spot among many. Not that there’s anyone keeping watch here-- he smells one dog at the most northern border, a sharp, unpleasant set that annoys more than unnerves, but once he skirts south it becomes all sweet with a hint of pine.

The patch is where he remembers it, nestled only an hour’s trot past the treeline. Dawn breaks when he reaches it, sun filtering through the thick canopy, dappling the snow like stained glass, and he flops into the underbrush with a relieves fwoosh. Three days of scant meals have left him famished, mouth watering as he stares up at the plump, ripe winter berries, but--

But he’s been traveling all night as a little one. Good for swiftness and stealth, but stamina...

His breath evens, chin resting on his paws. A small nap, that’s all he needs. Enough to let the sun come up and warm the air, and then he’ll shift, letting his clever hands take their bounty. Glut himself before he finds his next bolthole.

When Obi sleeps, he sleeps the sleep of victors. But when he wakes--

“Tulleri, lull, is he still alive?” The song cuts through the silence, bright as the sunlight itself, sending him stumbling to full wakefulness. “Far, far away in the forest.”

The vixen’s scent follows not long behind, carried on the same winds as her melody, a mix of sweet honey and bitter greens-- the same as the buds he used to pop with chubby fingers, their fluffy blooms spilling wetly across his fingers, leaving a stench the wise women would cluck over him for. Leave them, they would grouse, all three together, they taste better on the spit than they do your fingers, pup.

“Why yes, he is.” He’d slept so easy thinking it was simply the herbs growing beneath the snow, muted by the melt, but it’s her, her scent clinging to every branch. Foolish of him; the volva might warn against staying little lest the mind be forgotten, but they never spoke of this-- stay too long as a man, and go as nose-blind as one of them for your trouble. “The little one is lying in his cradle.”

Her words fade to a hum, certain in their uncertainty, and there’s no time to run, not when her next silent step brings her into sight.

She’s a tiny thing, even for a wilder. It’d be nothing for him to shift, to step out into into the patch with all the confidence his height could bring him and scare her out. Not his style; the men have saying-- they have one for everything-- you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Obi’s never tried to catch a fly, wouldn’t know why a man would, but he’s certainly had more luck with vixens playing sweet rather than sinister.

“I am busy, I cannot go out to the fields.” She drops to her knees as the next line hums through her lips, wordless, so close to him that his paws skitter back, folding beneath him. “Well, the wind blows and birch go, and the little one still sleeps so nicely.”

Obi had thought the town had been overwhelming with its hundred thousand scents, with pies being baked and men walking about their business, sweating and eating and leaving the scent of their mating upon them. He’d kept himself apart as much as he could, hiding his wilder-sensitive nose beneath a scarf, but this--

Honey and herb smother him, as palpable as a blanket over his nose, leaving it aching even as his eyes stung and watered. It’s too close, too much. And yet--

It soothes him. Soothes him so much his skin itches, even as he melts into the ground beneath his belly.

She reaches for the winter berries first, plucking enough to fill the basket she keeps at her side, singing the entire time. Children’s songs, enough that he’d wonder if she was a mother, if he couldn’t smell her innocence on her, like glazing on a cake. One left in the window, begging for clever hands to steal it.

Obi keeps his paws to himself. It’d be one thing to sniff around a vixen with a few seasons under her belt, but one unmated-- and as pretty as this one-- oh, that’d bring a Keeper down on him quick. And the last thing he needs is the attention of this one’s.

Instead he lazes, keeping one eye open as she works. He’s almost sad when the last berry falls onto her pile, but then--

Then she starts digging in the snow beneath. It parts under her hands like soap bubbles, crumbling to water and slush. Still, her fingers turn red as her cheeks, looking cold and swollen by the time she exposes the greenery underneath.

“There,” she murmurs, voice as sweet as her song. “Finally--”

Her breath catches, and it’s only then that he looks up, meeting her wide eyes in monochrome.

“Oh my.” His heart stutters when she smiles, the way females do at kits. “I didn’t know I had company, little one! Here.”

She takes a handful of berries, holding them out just beneath the bush’s shadow. “Would you like a snack?”

Obi whimpers, his stomach gurgling at the offer, but-- but--

She might think him a harmless little one, sleeping among the underbrush, but if he stepped out into the sunlight, notched ear and shadowed pelt, his brand just visible beneath the fur--

Well, he knows what welcome there would be for a male like him.

“Come on now.” Her lips purse, kissing at the air, coaxing him close. There’s a part of him that is tempted. Perhaps if he only stuck out his nose... “There’s plenty to share.”

Obi stares at her, sunk into his wary crouch, and when she reaches out a hand--

He bolts.

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch. 4

Rafael x Reader. AU; SVU x Good Wife. Set post s5 Good Wife, Dramatics Your Honor. References: s3, e.21 of TGW, with some dialogue borrowed from the episode itself. CW: continued angst, pregnancy talk.

***

Rafael entered his apartment with a heavy sigh of exhaustion. He tossed his leather briefcase to the side, and slipped off his suit jacket.

He slipped off his suspenders and undid his tie. Walking over to his bar cart, he poured himself a glass of scotch. He let the alcohol swirl around in his mouth before swallowing. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cellphone. He swore he wouldn’t do it, but curiosity’s got the better of him, and he looked up Will Gardner.

Hot Shot Lawyer Gunned Down in Court

Chicago Prominent Attorney Murdered

Attorney Shot and Killed, The Suspect Is a Longtime Client

Killer Jeffrey Grant Sentenced in Lawyer Death

The Downfall of the Gardners

The last headline caught Rafael’s eye the most and he clicked on it. Splashed on the screen was a picture of you, smiling, looking up at Will, a glass of wine in your hand.

Whomever wrote the article did a shoddy job, just gleaning highlights of your career, painting you as more of someone riding Will’s coattails. “Hmph,” Rafael huffed, knowing how impressive your resume was.

Rafael enjoyed working with you. You were clever, smart, and when you did let your guard down, he thought you had the most beautiful laugh.

The last time Rafael let anyone get close to him, it was Yelina and she shattered his heart. Rafael threw himself into his work instead. He thought back of that day where he met you in the park with Noah. You were stunning and had him completely enchanted.

But Rafael couldn’t do anything about it. It wasn’t just ethics. Grief, he knew, after his father’s death, was a beast. Rafael wasn’t sure how he would even approach you, even if he would allow himself. More so, he wanted to be respectful; you hadn’t even told him about Will.

Exhausted, Rafael made his way to his bedroom. Stripping down to his boxers, he turned down the sheets and climbed into bed. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, Rafael sat up, kicked off the sheets and reached into his boxers, seeking relief. Release came quickly, with your name on Rafael’s lips.

****

You groaned as you emptied the contents of your stomach once more. Beads of sweat rolled down your face as you reached for some toilet paper to wipe your mouth. You shivered as your sweaty skin touched the cold tile wall. Blowing your nose, you eyed the box of tampons that sat on the top of the toilet tank. You did some quick math in your head, and realized you couldn’t remember when you last had your period.

Panic began to form and before you could even fathom the possibility of pregnancy, your stomach recoiled again and you began to heave into the toilet once more.

The retching eventually stopped. You splashed cold water on your face and rinsed your mouth to get the awful taste out of your mouth.

Exhausted, you made a mental note to pick up a pregnancy test on the way home fromt the office before climbing back into bed.

****

Later that morning, you sat in your office, going through the copies of the evidence. A knock on the door stirred you. Pushing a strand from your face, you smiled at the handsome ADA leaning against the doorway, holding two large cups of coffee.

“How’s it going?” Rafael questioned, offering you a coffee.

Taking the coffee, you nodded with a bit of a shrug. “Okay; I think I found some stuff that may help us.” You took a sip of the coffee and frowned at your stomach lurching again. It didn’t slip past Rafael.

“You okay?” Rafael asked, before taking another sip of coffee.

“Yeah, I think I am just coming down with something,” you lied. “Thanks for the coffee.” You turned the papers in front of you towards Rafael. “There were these four receipts; four purchases, all on Terri Rooney's credit card the day after her death. And, more importantly, the day after Patrick Rooney was in custody.”

“Meaning Patrick Rooney wasn’t the killer,” Rafael murmured. “So where were these during the trial?”

“I don’t know,” you replied grimacing while taking another sip of coffee. “I want to talk with Judge Cuesta’s lead investigator at the time. Maybe his co-counsel at the time too. Because Cuesta should have been privy to this; I am sure he carried a huge caseload and even if he was overwhelmed, he would have had to at least pharm this out to his co-counsel.”

“So it’s either on Cuesta, which gets him removed for prosecutorial blindness, or on his co-counsel, which gets Cuesta off,” Rafael replied, now standing, heading to leave. “Good job, keep me posted. I’ve got court in an hour.”

Rafael winked at you as he left and you felt yourself blush. From the time you met him, you felt comfortable in his presence. He had a sharp tongue and a dry wit about him that reminded you of your former husband. You found yourself eyeing Rafael’s frame, focusing on his backside. Shaking your head back into reality, you reminded yourself to focus on the case at hand, and to pick up that pregnancy test.

***

Later that afternoon, you headed out from One Hogan Place, and made your way down the subway. It wasn’t long before you made your way to your destination. You looked at the paper in your hand; the address was correct. You entered the small wine shop, cautiously. “Hello? I am looking for Mara Stokes.”

“Can I help you?” asked an older woman with blonde hair. She ran her hands over her apron and smiled before squinting and looking at you more inquisitively. “You prosecution or defense?”

“I'm sorry?” You replied, a bit taken aback at her line of questioning.

“When I heard that Cuesta's head was on the chopping block, I figured one of you would come look his investigator up,” Mara replied.

“Then maybe you could help me,” you replied, shoving your hands in your back pockets. “Did Cuesta bend the rules to get a conviction on Patrick Rooney?”

Mara sighed. “Maybe. Cuesta fancied himself a true public servant.”

You nodded, frowning. “How was his co-counsel?”

“John Bullock?” Mara questioned rhetorically. “Nice guy, smart as a whip; I think he became a judge too after Cuesta. Both were gonna nail Patrick Rooney, come hell or high water.”

“Thanks, that helps,” you replied handing Mara your business card. “Here’s my card if you think of anything else.”

Mara nodded, before turning away. Taking out your phone, you called Rafael.

****

That evening you were in Rafael’s office going through your meeting with Mara.

“I think Cuesta, Bullock - they all had prosecutorial blinders on. They needed to pad their wins so that they could eventually get on the bench.”

Rafael nodded, running his hands through his hair. “Assholes,” he swore, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “Patrick Rooney did nothing wrong and he spent twenty years in prison for it. He had his wife snatched from him and then he was accused of her murder. All so these two could get secure their careers,” he seethed.

Rafael was so angry, you could hear his voice shake. “Yeah,” you replied quietly. “What are we going to do?”

“They nailed Rooney; so we are going to nail them right back,” Rafael replied. “I want to bring them both in, but separately. They’ll have their lawyers.”

You nodded, taking down notes.

Rafael looked over at you, your head was lowered and you were scribbling furiously. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. “Amanda told me.”

You stopped and looked up. “About what?” you questioned but you knew that Rafael knew.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rafael replied. “I can’t imagine...” he began but you cut him off.

“That’s right,” you began, your face getting hot. “You don’t know, so please, save me your pity.”

“I...,” Rafael began softly, sitting on the corner of his desk. He leaned over and reached out to clasp your hand. You felt a bit of a jolt of Rafael’s hand touching yours and you stared deeply into his green eyes. “I just wish...”

You felt a pang of loneliness. You were pretty sure it was evident on your face. As you stood, Rafael’s hand never left yours. Instead, he tugged you close to him. Your bodies were millimeters apart. Rafael brushed the strand of hair that had fallen across your face again, pushing it out of the way.

Studying Rafael closely, you could see their was some pain behind his eyes. “Wish what?” You asked quietly, your eyes now focused on his lips. You swallowed hard.

Rather than answer you, Rafael closed the distance between you and pressed his lips against yours. Throwing caution to the wind, you kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. The kiss grew with intensity and you both made way to his couch.

That pregnancy test would have to wait.

[erazonpo3]

WOWM

so What Once Was Mine came out and I read it.

My General Thoughts are that this book was something of a rollercoaster but in like a pop up carnival with dubious safety regulations and diseases in the DIY log flume water kind of way. I had some fun reading it but I also feel like I picked up a rash.

If you're like me and you enjoy picking a book apart for morsels of interesting concepts then you might enjoy it, if you think holy shit why the fuck is a literal real historical serial killer in this book I need to see this then you might enjoy it, if you care about engaging plots and character beats then you probably won't.

If you want to ask me anything specific go ahead, but otherwise for more in depth thoughts: spoilers ahead

Basic Summary of the Plot

Okay so here's the deal. The story has the framing device of two siblings in a cancer ward, where one tells the other a story. I'll get into that later, but that's how it starts. Our actual story starts with a pretty long prologue: We learn that the King & Queen got the Moonflower thinking it was the Sunflower, Rapunzel was born with silver hair, and then baby Rapunzel kills a maid who accidentally hurt her when brushing her hair.

Oh, by the way, Max is a human man named Justin Tregsburg. Yeah.

Anyway, the royal family puts out feelers for legit witches who can safely take care of Rapunzel because the baby is too dangerous, and Gothel shows up to take her away. Queen Arianna visits Rapunzel once (but is only allowed to watch through a peephole) and decides watching another woman raise her child is too painful and throws herself into restoring the kingdom's orphanages instead.

Now we're in the present. Rapunzel is nineteen and she wants to go and see the lanterns (a mourning tradition of the Dead princess in this story). She tries to argue with Gothel but gets shut down, and Gothel makes her kill a chicken to prove the point that she can't go outside because she's too dangerous. However we as the audience already know Gothel plans to sell Rapunzel off as a bride or a servant or a weapon to some other nobles, because she's evil.

Also by the way Gothel still has access to our Sundrop Flower and is using it to live forever that's just a thing that happens in the background.

When Gothel is gone Rapunzel watches as a man (Flynn) stores a satchel in a tree outside of her tower, and that motivates her to leave the tower for the first time. Then she goes back inside the tower with her prize of a crown, and a skink she found and named Pascal. Rapunezl and Gothel have another spat, and Rapunzel decides she will run off to see the lanterns and she will find Flynn and make him her guide.

She ends up at the Snuggly Duckling and she doesn't find Flynn but she does find Gina, a young career criminal girl looking to break the glass ceiling. Gina agrees to help her find Flynn. They find Flynn, and he agrees to help guide Rapunzel to see the floating lanterns for a split reward of the crown with Gina.

The Snuggly Duckling gets burned down by Countess Bathory (yes that Elizabeth Bathory) and the Pub Thugs are pissed about it and also they're helping Rapunzel even though she didn't sing the I've Got A Dream song don't worry about it. We learn that the nobles that wanted to buy Rapunzel are now hunting her down so she can go to auction.

Gina takes them to her adopted mother's cottage. Gina's mother is a white witch, who goes by the name of Goodwife. She doesn't get an actual name she's just The Goodwife. Anyhow, the cottage is a magic safe space (for now) and Goodwife teaches Rapunzel that her hair isn't inherently evil and may not even be all that deadly! Rapunzel learns that her hair has other powers too, like the ability to turn skink Pascal into a sentient Chameleon. Yeah.

Also Goodwife tells Rapunzel she's the dead princess but this isn't like, an immediate call to action. Not a lot happens until we get this story's version of the Mother Knows Best Reprise where Gothel finds Rapunzel again but has to flee, but this Rapunzel has a bigger support network and isn't buying it. Flynn and Gina decide the safest course of action is to bring Rapunzel to the castle, but along the way she gets kidnapped by the Countess.

Gothel is pissed because she still wants the money for Rapunzel, so she rallies the armies of all the opposing bidders. Flynn and Gina convince Max the Man to send for his troops, and he joins them in going to the enemy castle. Flynn tries to sneak in, gets caught, and meanwhile there's a bloody battle out the front between the noble armies. Max jumps into the fray, Gina turns around and rallies the Pub Thugs.

Rapunzel uses her shrinking magic (!) to disappear half the castle and escape with Eugene, and the Pub Thugs arrive and basically end the battle. The Captain is dying but it's okay! Rapunzel turns him into a horse :) Also Rapunzel sees Gothel and tells her to fuck off.

The story ends with a tearful reunion between Rapunzel and her parents, Eugene and Gina are implied to be biological siblings, and things are good but of course in direct parallel to Cass Gina leaves at the end to become an adventurer. The end.

(There are a few other smaller plot beats, but you get the idea.)

MY THOTS

So here are my thoughts™.

Framing Device

I'll just state that I didn't like that the story was told via the vehicle of an older brother telling his 16 year old sister a different version of the Tangled Movie in a cancer ward. From what I've heard it also isn't normal for the Twisted Tales series to use a framing device for the AUs either.

I sympathise with the author's personal story, of course I do. That doesn't mean I'm stirred with compassion every time the flow of the story is interrupted to remind you to be sad because this is a story being told to a girl sick with cancer. It feels more than a little tragedy-porny rather than emotionally touching, and maybe that's because I'm too burnt out on real life tragedy to waste emotional energy on fictional cancer patients but we don't need to do Fault In Our Stars discourse again.

Real World References

This story goes heavy with Real World references. And another issue with the framing device as above is that you do feel like this is a story being told by someone namedropping every historical figure they know which makes it harder to get into the story.

There's like... a lot of references to Christianity, particularly in the prologue. There's a priest that thinks Rapunzel's hair is the work of the Devil or whatever. It's a lot. The Patriarchy is a thing. And that's not even getting into the Countess. I put it very succinctly in my notes so I'll paste it here:

I wish she’d just been an OC who could exist to chew scenery because the fact that she was a literal historical serial killer is super. Off putting. Like, she could have been an obvious reference to Bathory, but it feels like Miku Binder Hamilton levels of uncomfortable to me.

I miss Lady D.

Which basically sums up my problem with trying to take the setting of Tangled and put it somewhere in the Real World and somewhere on the Timeline. Who thought this was a good idea.

Misc. Thoughts

So, I used the five highlighter colours my ipad allows to organise my thoughts and organised them accordingly: Yellow for out of place IRL references, Blue for worldbuilding/character points that aren't plot relevant but still interesting, Pink for when something I find personally amusing happens, Purple for when the story feels like it's trying to 1-up the movie in some kind of way and Green for Heterosexual Nonsense. I'll touch on those last two in the Character sections but be prepared.

Also: for a book about giving Rapunzel killer hair, her hair isn't very dangerous. I wanted to see Rapunzel kill someone, and I'm disappointed that I didn't.

Characters

I'll do a deep dive into my thoughts about the characters before wrapping it up. I'm starting with Gina because she's honestly the easiest to get through.

Gina

Gina is a new character introduced for the story. She's a young woman trying to make it as a career criminal but keeps hitting that glass ceiling. So here's the down low, for all those who want to know: Gina is basically Cass, only not really. She's implied to be Eugene's biological sister, as previously mentioned, but you can imagine she's Cass the entire way through without breaking your immersion because if you imagined Cass if she were adopted by a Goodwitch rather than the Captain and had a looser, more wilderness survivor than trainee guard upbringing then you get Gina.

I liked Gina! I think she's fun as her own character too, and her best moments are when she's interacting with her mother Goody Goodwife, and she of course picks up a natural sibling rivalry with Eugene, but I was disappointed with how little she really bonded with Rapunzel because she needed to make room for Eugene and Rapunzel's romance.

Rapunzel

Okay, here's our protagonist. There's a notable effort to make Rapunzel more active in her destiny and whatever, and sometimes it works but sometimes it doesn't. I was worried they'd try to go full butt-kicking girlboss with her but I was pleasantly surprised that Rapunzel was pretty useless in most scenes, genuinely love to see it.

With a more intimate look into Rapunzel's psyche through the medium of prose, we see Rapunzel really questioning Gothel's behaviour even before she leaves the tower, and while I appreciate that she can develop her own cynicism I feel it starts unnecessarily early. This is my purple colour; the movie needs to be "fixed" by showing the readers that this Rapunzel is quicker to distrust Gothel. She's also quicker to hatch a plan to go outside of the tower on her own, and she makes a plan to make Flynn her guide for the lanterns even though he never stumbles upon her in the tower- and even though she has a perfectly rational reason not to trust him which is that he is a stranger and a Wanted Thief.

In the moments where it does work is when Rapunzel is surrounded by her new support network: Flynn, Goodwife and Gina, who encourage her to question Gothel's sincerity, and Rapunzel comes up with her own defences for Gothel so that she can poke through them herself.

I have some other thoughts about Rapunzel's hair and her powers, like how the story provides the interesting concept that her hair gets different powers with the different phases of the moon, but a lot of the powers are uhhh stupid and also I feel like it really robs the story of the whole gripping conflict of "Yes I'm Rapunzel Yes my hair kills people what of it".

In as far as just Rapunzel herself though, she still felt pretty in character nonetheless, and maybe that's all I can ask.

Flynn Rider / Eugene Fitzherbert

My boy I am so sorry. They neutered my boy.

Long story short: Eugene in this story is the sexy lamp. He contributes nothing to the plot except to be there for Rapunzel to drool over. And of course because he won't get any character development, he starts from the very beginning as a sweet soft boi with none of the Flynn Rider characterisation from the movie because we don't have time for that, he needs to be husband material stat.

His whole character is the colour green for Heterosexual Nonsense.

So, here's the problem. In the movie, there's not a lot of time for ~friendship~ between Rapunzel and Eugene because they kind of immediately see each other as a romantic prospect. And whatever, it's a movie and there's only so much time. But this book had the opportunity to take things a bit slower and instead chooses to make Rapunzel get jealous whenever Eugene and Gina interact and for her to be constantly wishing he was holding her hand.

Say what you will about Lost Lagoon, but it tells a good romance story just by virtue of not intending to be a romance story, because the author is trying to convey a strong bond between Rapunzel and Cassandra without using "and they kiss" as a cheatcode. What Once Was Mine says "he was a boy, she was a girl, could it be any more obvious?" and leaves it at that.

Now as for how this all pertains to Eugene's character? Well, it just robs him of any flavour. In the movie there's a clear distinction between Flynn and Eugene, when we learn Eugene's real name about halfway through. We see a clear difference between the Flynn we knew- kind of an asshole, wanated to drop Rapunzel off at the Snuggly Duckling and get rid of her- and Eugene, who is sincere and chooses Rapunzel as his New Dream in opposition to his Old Dream of living alone on an island with a bunch of money.

This version of Eugene is basically Eugene all the way through, because the plot doesn't really need Eugene there but he has to be there because it's a Tangled AU so there's no Rapunzel rescuing Flynn from the guards and healing his hand scene, he just loves her immediately and that's that. They have a little spat at one point but it's cleared up later and not because they actually communicate but because they kiss.

Rapunzel only learns Eugene's real name at the very end of the story, and gives a speech about how Eugene is the real him, but it's just so flat because 'Flynn' has been sincere this whole time? Anyway he does nothing of value for the entire story except be there for Rapunzel to lust after. Eugene I'm so sorry.

Gothel

Gothel's sort of the Big Bad and is characterised as an abusive asshole, the usual. I wish there were a bit more nuance to her character but then again in this story she's not just being passively evil- taking care of Rapunzel for selfish reasons but nevertheless maintaining the status quo- she's being actively evil in trying to sell Rapunzel off.

It's notably funny that Gothel sees the Countess Bathory and is like "what the fuck".

Anyway Gothel in this story also feels very weak in part because this Rapunzel is more critical and in part because this Rapunzel has a new support network. It's for that reason the Mother Knows Best Reprise scene doesn't really work, because the original has Gothel pit Rapunzel against Eugene, whereas she can't do that here so it remains a Gothel vs Rapunzel thing.

She gets a boring death as an epilogue addendum that someone rips out the Sundrop flower, which tbh? lame. It would be a lot more fun if it were open ended but I am also preferential to Rapunzel actually using her killer hair to kill someone. Please

Captain Justin Tregsburg

It's Max. He was a human but then he got turned into a horse. what the fuck you guys

[villainousshakespeare]

Stalking the King Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Henry V/OFC

Multi-Chapter

Historical AU, Historical Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Angst, Sexual Tension, Bathing

Lisabet is a high born Lady of Oleans, France. When King Henry V conquers her city, taking her brother hostage along with other nobles, she vows to be revenged upon the foreign invader and rescue her brother. Dressed in boys clothing she hopes to escape notice in Henry’s camp, but the English King has a much more perceptive eye than she anticipated.

A bit of a plot heavy chapter, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

Lisabeta had seen no more than a glimpse of Henry’s sun kissed locks as he strode away that morning. Not, of course, that she wanted to see the King. She had seen enough of him last night. More than enough, she added, as the image of him in all his naked splendor slipped its way into her mind.

That vexing image seemed to be branded into her brain, so often did she find herself thinking of it when she let her mind drift. His skin, dotted with freckles and crossed with scars that somehow failed to detract from his masculine beauty. The breadth of his shoulders that tapered slowly, over a long distance, to his narrow hips. How could one so unquestionably awful be so unquestionably awe arousing? It was simply not fair!

She had barely slept last night, so active had been her mind. Her body also seemed more alive than usual. There was a curious heat within her, to the point that she wondered if she was feverish. Her skin tingled, and her stomach felt unsettled. Most distracting of all was the odd ache she felt in her womanly organs. She was not due for her courses for weeks, why was she feeling so out of sorts there? She didn’t know, but she was more than willing to blame the English King.

She hated him, more than she had ever hated anyone. He had toyed with her, she knew it! And yet, how could that be when to him she was simply one of his pages. The fact that he had treated her with such disinterest and disregard only meant her disguise was working, for no well born man, even an Englishman, would ever behave so in front of gently bread lady. And yet it maddened her to no end that he had been so with her. She wanted more than ever to find him and run him through with her sword. If she had to wait on him again, no doubt she would do so.

And yet, it was even more insufferable that he did not send for her. Lisabeta was not a woman used to being overlooked, particularly by men. She commanded attention the moment she arrived in a room by virtue of both her looks and her natural spirit. To be forced to sit idly waiting for Henry to call on her was not to be endured.

Around midday of the day following the tent incident she had been sent for, but it was not the King who had called her. She was beginning to wonder what pages were expected to do in a royal camp, and how she was to maintain her anonymity. The night before she had simply found a place on the ground near a fire, using her saddle roll as a pillow and her cloak as a blanket. It was a long night, with only restless sleeping on the hard ground, but she had endured it. In the morning she had snuck between a tent and a wagon towards the tree line and relieved herself, frantic lest someone should see her. It could not go on like this for long, and she knew it.

When summons had come, she assumed it was from the King. After all, who else knew she was there? Instead, she had been brought to a smaller tent not far from where the Royal Standard flew. A desk took up most of the space, somehow both neat and cluttered with papers and ink. Sitting behind it was a thin, balding man who looked less like a soldier that Lisabet herself. She guessed him to be her father’s age, and dark circles ringed his eyes.

“You are Phillipe Cavot, the King’s new page?” the man asked in a voice as tired as his eyes.

“I am, my Lord, what would you have with me?” Lisabeta struggled to make her voice sound more like an anxious page and less like a confident lady.

“King Henry thought I might make use of you,” the man sounded uncertain as he looked her over.

What! The King was handing her off like so much unwanted baggage to one of his underlings? Lisabeta seethed internally. How dare he be so high handed?

“Did he indeed, how generous of him,” she bit off.

“I thought it so, if what he says is true,” the man’s voice was mild and slightly perplexed at her answer. “Your hand, I take it, is decipherable? If so, you will be better than the last. I am Laurence, Henry’s secretary. I have a stack of documents to write, and time is not a friend to me of late. You will assist me here with all my work. I know it is less exciting task to aid a secretary than knight. But here at least some comfort does exist. There is a cot for you to sleep upon, and there behind the screen a chamber pot. Perhaps it is no luxury for you, but when one reaches my age, one will find such niceties are of a great import.”

Lisabeta was at first inclined to be outraged, if only because outrage seemed to be her reaction to all that Henry said or did. To be stuck in this tent with a reedy man with a reedy voice all day was not the reason why she had come here. On the other hand, it did neatly solve both of her core problems. It was as if providence had given her a way to stay until she figured out the next step in her plan.

In addition to all of this, it occurred to Lisabeta that this could be just the place she needed to be. If this man was King Henry’s secretary, then the documents scattered about his desk took on an entirely new interest to her. It was possible that hidden among the mounds of papers that looked to be mostly correspondences could be maps, perhaps even battle plans, detailing the English forces’ intentions. If she could put her hands on those documents, it could be a turning point in this war.

In her mind, Lisabeta pushed away the picture of Henry mercilessly and in its place forced in what must be seen as a happier view. She would wait until the secretary had left, of perhaps gone to sleep as it looked like he must soon do. Once he was out of the way, she would find the betraying documents, copy them down, and slip from the camp. How easy would it be then to send them via courier, or maybe even bring them herself, to the French King and his constable in Paris? Lisabeta could singlehandedly win this wretched war for France!

It was a plan, and she would see it done. She need never cross paths with the arrogant King Henry again. Let him preen around his camp in the mud for another day or two, she would not be there to wash it from his body. And all the better for that, she insisted to herself, even as she fought back regret.

***

“Your Majesty, what brings you to our tents?” Sir Stephen Boyd asked, beginning to drop to one knee in the mud before Henry waved away the need.

“My restless legs that needed room to stretched,” Henry laughed good naturedly. “How goes it with our enforced visitors?”

“Well, my Lord, when all is said and done. One little lad no more than three years old did give us all some trouble at the start.”

“Precocious lad! How did he manage that?”

“With screaming morn and night, to wake the dead. I tell you Sire, I’ve seen my share of war. I’ve fought in wars whose blood would fill a lake, and thought my life was ended more than once. But never have I known a greater fear than when the cub did last drift off to sleep and any noise did threaten our brief peace.”

Henry could not but laugh at the thought of the bluff old knight fearing a lad of three. The very sight of him proclaimed the battles he spoke of. Still, there lived inside the blustery warrior a soft heart. Henry remembered being found out by Sir Stephen after his first taste of battle. An overwhelmed squire, Henry had been horrified by the carnage he had witnessed. Ashamed of himself, he had hidden behind a wagon to empty his stomach before crouching down trembling from the shock, terrified lest someone should see him so unmanned.

But when Sir Stephen had discovered him, the older knight had not mocked or scolded him. Instead, he had hunched down next to him and handed over a flask of water for Henry to rinse his mouth. After Henry had stopped shaking, Sir Stephen had spoken to him in a matter of fact voice, telling him that all men of intellect were shaken by the reality of war. It was only the dull or the cruel who escaped unscathed. Any man worth following would react as Henry had, he opined, and he was proud that his future lord was such a one. With a nod, he had risen and walked away, leaving behind the water and a more thoughtful Henry.

It was because of this innate compassion that Henry had chosen him to have custody of the hostages. Other, higher ranked men had chafed, wanting the potentially lucrative position where they could extort money from anxiety ridden parents. Henry had thwarted them all, placing in stead an honorable man who would do his best to keep the young hostages safe and well looked after.

“A mighty terror indeed, how solved you it?” he asked now with a shudder.

“I handed off the boy to Mistress Mead,” Sir Stephen replied, face reddening. “She’s wife to Seargent Mead, a doughty man, and raised a brood of children of her own. I know your Grace did put him in my charge, but at his age he needs a woman’s care. I hope you know I meant no harm by it. I’d trust the goodwife my very life.”

“As I trust you with mine, my blustery friend,” Henry assured him. “I should have thought to do so from the start. I thank you, Sir, for seeing to it now.”

They stood in companionable silence for a while, watching a pair of lads in oversized helmets batter at each other. Henry wasn’t entirely sure why he had come here. He had been at his desk going over the papers his secretary had left for him, but his mind was not really focused. He needed to walk, to exercise. To get away from his tent where his eyes and mind kept drifting over to the large tub where the Gascoigne lass had bathed him two nights before. He had not been able to stop thinking of her since.

It was only because he had been celibate, he assured himself. That was the reason why he had responded so strongly to the chit. She was completely lacking skill in her ministrations. Her touch had been hesitant, shy, barely skimming over his skin. And yet, that had changed as she proceeded. She had grown bolder, pulling slightly on his hair, rubbing his aching shoulders and back. He had been loud in his appreciation, moaning as he felt the tension and stiffness melt out of him.

Well, it had melted out of his upper body, his lower body had been an entirely different story. As her hands drifted lower, his erection had become painful in its insistence. She was just inches away, all it would take was a small dip down for her soft hand to be wrapped around his length. He had wanted it with an intensity that left him throbbing. If he had not sent her away at that point, he would have dragged her into the tub with him.

It was a thought that kept occurring to him through the night and all the next day.

He thought he had hit on the perfect solution by handing her off to Laurence. The man could use an extra hand, and he could only imagine the girl’s education had included penmanship. He could not have her running about his camp, just waiting for someone to realize she was a woman, for god’s sake. She was a scandal just waiting to happen, in no small part because she seemed incapable of staying unobtrusive.

Laurance, on the other hand, could be trusted implicitly with her. The man was discreet to a fault, as one who preferences were as his had to be in their society. As Henry suspected, he had sussed out her true nature the first day, but rather than confront her with it had quietly brought it to his King’s attention. When Henry indicated that he knew her identity, but wished to do nothing for present, his secretary had sighed but nodded, mumbling that at least she had a passable hand a quick mind, if an even quicker tongue. She would be safe with him until he decided how to proceed.

He just needed to find out more about her, which brought him to his current location.

“Tell me, Sir, how does the young Gascoigne?” he asked, attempting nonchalance.

“Little Phillipe? He does right well, my Lord,” Stephen answered, slight curiosity in his voice. “That be him over there, the one in blue. He’ll make a proper Knight if ‘ere he grows. A bit to clever, like to one I know. But taking to account his lineage and vast side of the force he’ll one day lead, that is no bad thing, as I think you know.”

Henry watched the boy as he traded blows with another a head taller than him. He saw what Sir Stephen alluded to. The larger boy clearly had strength and reach on his side, but Phillipe easily side stepped the attacks launched on him. He had an excellent eye for what his opponent was about to do next. If only he had a better control of his own weapon. Acting on instinct, Henry strode forward, grabbing a practice sword from the wrack as he did.

“Your grip is wrong, if I may intercede?”

He didn’t raise his voice, he seldom did, but the two boys drew back, instantly lowering their blades. Phillipe dropped to one knee, and after a slight pause the other boy did the same, removing their borrowed helms.

“Rise up, Phillipe, I’ll show you how it’s done,” he offered, along with his hand to help the boy to rise.

He was a handsome lad, Henry observed. Very much the boyish version of his sister. Henry was continually amused at how everyone else took her for a boy. Her hips were obviously those of a woman, and the combination of padding and binding did not completely hide her other curves. On top of that, the planes of her face were more feminine, if older and sharper than the boy before him.

He spent the next hour happily helping Phillipe improve his grip. The boy had stamina, and after the first few moments lost his stiffness with the King. Henry enjoyed physical activity of all sorts and had been unhappy with the idleness. The lesson was just what he had needed to restore his good humor.

“Well done, my lad, I think you have the trick,” he said at last, setting aside his sword and ruffling the boy’s hair.

“I thank you, Sire, for sparing me your time,” Phillipe said shyly, panting a bit. “I father doth despair of my poor skill. Why even my own sister Lisabet can best me when it cometh to the blade.”

“Ah, Lisabet! That is your sister’s name!” Henry said, remembering now that he had heard the lovely moniker before.

“Why yes, my Lord, but know you Lisabet?”

Henry cursed silently, damning his tongue for saying the name out loud. A lovely name, he thought, although perhaps too soft for the sassy brat who had infiltrated his camp.

“By reputation only, to my woe,” he said with an easy smile to, “I hear she is the jewel of all of France.”

“So all do say, though I do see it not,” the boy made a face all brothers of sisters would recognize before continuing to ramble. “A willful fury, with a biting tongue is more the face that she does show to me. But those who know the fashion of the world have dubbed her oft an incomparable. My parents seek to make for her a match with every single gentleman of name.”

“And is there any one she most prefers?” Henry asked, irritated at the idea that the innocent vixen in his tent last night might be promised to another.

“No, not when last I spoke to her, my Lord. Papa would wed her to Lord Constable, I heard him say the match was all but made. But Lisabet just curled her lip at that. I think she fancies more to be a queen, or empress who could manage one and all. She certainly does like to get her way. But do not, please, mistake me good my Lord. Though she can be a right pain in my side, she is at heart a loving sister still. She wept when I did leave to be our pledge.”

“Belike she thought I meant to use you ill. I hope, Phillip, that has not been the case?”

“Why no, my Lord, though I should say it not, the days that I have spent here in your camp seem almost as a holiday to me!”

“Then I am glad to give you such a treat. You must inform your sister of the truth.

“I will when I am back at home with her. She will just roll her eyes and scoff at me and tell me that I do betray our house. She would have had us fight till all were dead, or ere she ever flew the flag of truce.” 

“She sounds a truly formidable foe. How glad I am I had to fight her naught.”

 “As you should be, she wields a blade with skill!”

“Gascoigne, will you talk the good king mad? Come over here and help to clean the blades!”

Chastised by the should from Sir Stephen, the boy ducked his head and bowed to Henry before running over to assist in the work. Henry smiled in reply, but him mind was elsewhere. So, his fiery, would be page was set to marry the Constable of France? And, moreover, she was a fierce opponent of the peace with England. That would not bode well for Henry or for Fance. He hoped to settle the matter of his sovereignty, and the good Constable was a stumbling block in his way. If the man were wed to a woman of passion who stood against Henry’s claim, he would be only more likely to dig in and voice his dissent. No, Henry did not think he could allow such a union to take place.

It had nothing at all, of course, to do with his own attraction to the woman.

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @yespolkadotkitty@maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston​ @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @ghostypau @justthehiddleswrites @ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza​

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #12: The Seal-Wife

Words: ca. 1,500 Setting: Scottish myth AU Lemon: no CW: coerced marriage

Long ago, when the world was younger and smaller, a township stood atop the great cliffs of Clo Mor. It was home to many, and one of those was a young woman named Anna. Anna was the apothecary’s apprentice, and a forester’s daughter besides, and so full well knew she the lore of the wild lands beyond the steadings, of the rivers and lakes, and of the great and endless Sea. She was a happy girl, or so folks would say, with a ready laugh and rosy cheeks, and her flame-kissed hair and emerald cloak left aught but smiles in their wake.

On the day her life would change forever, Anna walked the paths that led down the great cliffs, gathering golden samphire for her mistress. She stepped without a care down narrow ledges scarcely a hand’s-span across, for the heights held no fear for one who had walked their length since she could put one foot before another. Above her the sea birds squawked in their endless debate, and below her the waves beat the endless rhythm that every child learned in their cradle, and all things were as they should have been.

All things, save one.

On the rocks, far below, a patch of white seemed to glow against the umber cliffs. Anna climbed down, flower basket in hand, to see what had washed ashore. And when she had gotten a little closer, Anna was shocked to find it was not an old sailcloth, or a goodwife’s bedsheet blown far astray, but a woman. Naked she lay upon the sand, and for a horrible moment Anna thought her drowned. But her paleness was no corpse-pallor – her flawless skin was like cream on ewe’s milk, and her silver hair shone like moonlight. Anna could not help but drink down the sight of her from her stony perch. But then she spotted the tawny mass of fur piled next to the woman, like an old fireplace rug, and her breath caught. For the fur was no fur, but a sealskin, and the woman was no woman, but a maighdeann-ròin, or a selkie, as most folk named them, come to sun herself upon the shore.

Anna crept down the path as quickly as she dared, staying silent with all the craft she could muster. Two things she saw, as she came close. First was delightful confirmation that the selkie in her human form was the most breathtaking, exquisite creature Anna had ever laid eyes on, and so intent was she on her pale lips and the rise and fall of her breasts that Anna nearly stumbled from the ledge.

The second thing she saw was her brother, Kristoff, creeping down the rocky beach, one hand outstretched towards the sealskin.

Anna screamed, and half-ran, half-fell down the remainder of the cliff-side path, but it was too late. The selkie stood tall, and Kristoff was on his knees before her. In one fist she clutched fast his sandy hair. In the other, a knife of knapped flint pressed tight to his neck.

“Please!” Anna begged. She stumbled to a stop a respectful distance away. “Please, my brother wished no harm upon you. Please, do not hurt him!”

“No harm?” The selkie turned, and even through her terror the creature’s beauty struck Anna like a blow. She dragged Kristoff forward by his hair. He was a strapping lad, but she swung him forward with the same ease that Anna had swung her now-forgotten flower basket. “Tell your sister why you came upon me like a thief, man-o’-the-cliffs.”

Kristoff’s fearful eyes met Anna’s, and she prayed that he spoke true, even if his words damned him, for she’d been taught that selkies hated lies with a fury.

“It-it is said that if you can steal a selkie’s sealskin, she’ll not be able to return to the sea, and that for it’s safe return she’ll… she’ll have to… barter with you…” Kristoff’s voice trailed off, laden heavy with shame.

“Do you hear him, lass?” spat the selkie. “He intended not only to take from me what is mine, but to use it to compel me into some filthy act that he hasn’t even the gall to name.”

Kristoff’s eyes would not meet hers, and Anna knew that the selkie had the right of it. She felt disgust curdle in her stomach. “It’s just a story. A-a foolish lie boys tell each other when they’ve had too much drink and their blood is up,” Anna pleaded quietly. “Like pissing on wild oats or leaving mistletoe under the bed of a boy you like. It’s plain as day that he couldn’t have done you harm. Please, let him go.”

“Intention counts for naught, then, does it?” The selkie was still for so long that Anna was certain that her words had swayed her heart, but then she brought the flint again to Kristoff’s neck. “Nay, `twas my skin he sought to steal. And it’s his skin I’ll take in restitution.”

With a cry, Anna hurled herself at the selkie, and vainly she tried to pull the blade from her brother’s throat. But, however delicate her frame, the selkie’s arm was as iron forged, and Anna dropped to the ground at the creature’s feet, sobbing.

“Please,” she cried. “you have the right, but if it’s a skin you must have, take mine, I beg you!”

Kristoff cried out at this, but as hard as he thrashed in the selkie’s grip, he could not free himself. The selkie bent down and lifted Anna’s chin with the hand that still bore the knife. Her smile made Anna’s race. “And a far prettier skin it is, lass.” She sighed. “But… a man should pay his own debts.”

Anna clutched at her hand desperately. “If not my life you’ll take, then name your price. Anything I have, any service I can render, it is yours. Please, there must be something.”

At this, the selkie seemed to hesitate. “A… considerable offer, lass,” she muttered. She rose to her feet and offered her hand to Anna, who took it.

“My name is Anna,” said she.

“Well, Anna, tell me true: are there any oaths that bind you to the people of the cliffs? Any claims upon your person? Any debts you must repay?”

Anna did not hesitate. “No,” she lied.

The selkie pursed her lovely lips. “Say it out loud, Anna. Swear to it, on your brother’s life and fortune.”

“There are no oaths that bind me.” Kristoff sputtered at the lie, but Anna silenced him with a furious glance. “No man has claim upon me. I have no debts. So I swear, on my brother’s life and fortune. And my own.”

Her brother fell back onto the rocks as the selkie released her grip, and he gaped up at both of them.

“You are fortunate, little man, that your sister’s love speaks to your character better than your actions,” she said. “Now, go. Return to your homestead, and tell your kith and kin everything that transpired here today.”

Kristoff staggered to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere until someone tells me-“

“Kristoff!” Anna shouted. “Kristoff, please. Do as she says. And tell mother and father that I love them.”

He made as if to protest again, but finally he nodded in grim acceptance, and Anna and the selkie watched him scrabble up the cliff path until he was out of sight.

“That’s that, then.” The selkie turned to Anna, and she was somehow even more beautiful with the righteous anger gone from her face. She stepped closer still, and all at once Anna remembered that she was naked. Color leapt into her cheeks, and she had to struggle not to retreat from the selkie’s advance.

The selkie laughed softly. “Why do you blush, dear Anna? Could it be you’ve guessed what boon I intend to ask of you?”

“I have,” Anna said. And know full well she did, for if it wasn’t her life the selkie wanted, then only one thing would balance the scales against her brother’s insult.

“Lovely and canny. How lucky I am.” The selkie leaned forward, and Anna shivered as her lips brushed against her neck. Her hair smelled of salt and something wild. Anna yelped as teeth sank into her flesh, but in a moment the pain was replaced by a breathless, luscious feeling that rolled from her scalp to her toes and back again. She would have sagged to the ground if the selkie hadn’t held her fast.

“Elsa,” she mumbled to the air, though she knew not why.

The selkie held her tight as she caught her breath. “My mark will let you live in comfort `neath the waves for so long as you bear it,” she whispered into Anna’s ear. “And you read my name from it, just like that! Truly, the moon smiles down on me, to bless me with such a fine wife this day.”

And from the cliffs of Clo Mor, far above, Anna’s brother watched as the selkie led his sister by the hand into the great and endless Sea, until the red of her hair was lost in the churning foam.

[guqin-and-flute]

goodwife-two-shoes said: I have so many questions about Ouyang Zizhen.  How did he end up with the ducklings?  How did they meet?  He's so obviously the odd kid out, he even wears a round-collared tunic instead of the wraparound thing every single other person (besides his dad) wears.  He's like the one Canadian kid hanging out with his American friends.

(Pfff, my best friend is a Canadian who hangs out with a bunch of Americans so that makes me laugh) He’s also the person whose outfits change color the most dramatically (besides JGY)--he has a red outer robe and a blue one! His round collar robes are actually similar to what JGY wears in the Jin Clan, so doesn’t seem totally localized to his clan, but they are different from most of them!

In canon, he seems to have met them at Yi City/going on Night Hunts. In my fic/AU (which I’m not sure if you were asking about??) he meets Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi at various Cultivation Conferences if they come along on as Clan Leader kids!

[leanstooneside]

An opportunity to be involved in luxurious sexuality is coming

- words e.g i denied my baptism i forsook god and christ ils renient dieu la vierge et le reste vne renonciation expresse a iesu christ & a la foy but occasionally the words are given in full

- they would have perswaded this informer to have taken a lease of three score yeares or upwards.'[267] in new england some of the afflicted said of goodwife c that she had covenanted with the devil for ten years six of them were gone and four more to come'.[268] in modern france the belief in the contract for a term of years is recorded but nothing

- encores s'est il verifiac par plusieurs procez que l'obligation reciproque entre le diable & le sorcier contient quelquesfois le terme d'vn an deux ans ou autre temps.'[260] at faversham in 1645 joan williford said that the devil promised to be her servant about twenty yeeres and that the time is now

- delrio tells us that the devil useth to baptize them of new and to wipe off their brow the old baptism and our witches confess always the giving them new names the devil's mark useth to be a great article with us but it is not per se

- anne chattox said that mother demdike introduced her to the devil in mother demdike's own house

- league is made verbally if the party

- paction useth the words or signs which sorcerers use knowing them to be such renouncing of baptism is by delrio

- near approach to the ceremony of baptism is the blood rite

- elspet alexander of the same coven was also marked on the shoulder four weeks later the divill straiked hir shoulder with his fingers and after that shoe hade ease in the place formerly niped by the devill'.[292] the witch girls at lille in 1661 stated that le diable leur fait quelque marque comme avec une aleine de fer en quelque partie du corps'.[293] marie lamont of innerkip in 1662 confessed voluntarily that the devill nipit her upon the right syd qlk was very painful for a tym but yairefter he straikit it with his hand and healed it this she confesses to be his mark'.[294] in bute in 1662 margaret ncwilliam was tryed for the merk there was 3 merks fund one up her left leg next hard be the shine bone another betwixt her shoulders a 3aº ane uthyr up her hensh blew kat moore was tried and it was found undernethe her richt shoulder a little whyt unsensible spott'.[295] the somerset witches in 1664 were marked on the fingers it was stated of elizabeth style that the devil prickt the fourth finger of hir right hand between the middle and upper joynt where the sign at the examination remained of alice duke that the devil prickt the fourth finger of her right hand between the middle and upper joynt where the mark is yet to be seen and of christian green

- evidence five facts are clear

- view is supported by the fact

- solemnity confest by our witches is the putting

- meaner proselytes the devil fixes in some secret part of their bodies a mark as his seal to know his own by which is like a flea bite

- item confesses that she made a covenant with him and he promised that she wold not want meines eneugh and she promised to serve him and that he gave her a new name saying i baptise the mary.'[274]a€”jonet morisoune traysted with the divill at the knockanrioch being the second tyme of her meeting with him that shee made covenant with the devill quairin she promised to be his servant etc that shee asked quhat was his name his answer was my name is klareanough

- cases of polymastia or supernumerary breasts and of polythelia or supernumerary nipples are constantly recorded by modern medical observers

- local anaesthesia is vouched for in much of the evidence

- relevancy of this crime the first article useth to be paction to serve the devil which is certainly relevant per se

- department of entre sambre et meuse the full method of entering on such a contract is known si vous voulez venir au bois avec moi vous verrez un homme venir

- records of the baptism of candidates are rare

- witches mark or devil's mark as it is indifferently called is one of the most important points

- it is quite possible

- effect of paction yet with us it is relevant per se

- diuell and hell fier the other is when they

- renunciation of previous errors of faith and the vows of fidelity to the new belief are part

- renunciation by the witches was explicit but the records are apt to pass it over

- addition paction with the devil is divided by lawyers

- tradition seems to be founded on fact but there is also a certain amount

- christian man for foure yeares togeather did sundry times come to this examinate and requested this examinate to giue him her soule and in the end this examinate was contented to giue him her sayd soule shee being then in her owne house in the forrest of pendle.'[240] the two statements are not inconsistent

- they went to search the woman none were visible one advised to lay them on their backs and keep open their mouths and they would appear and so they presently appeared in sight.'[317] alice huson of burton agnes yorks in 1664 stated that i have i confess a witch pap which is sucked by the unclean spirit'.[318] abre grinset

- women the supernumerary nipple is observed to increase at the time

- ceremonies had lost their significance to a far greater extent than in scotland and are described more shortly probably because they

- there is nothing

- it be confest by them that they got that mark with their own consent quo casu it is equivalent

- paction is performed either by a formal promise

- greatest number of cases recorded in one place is in essex

- alledg'd by a nip in any part of the body and it is blew.'[237

- a woman searched margaret moone] she found three long teates or bigges in her secret parts which seemed to have been lately sucked and that they were not like pyles for this informant knows well what they are having been troubled

- it is not clear

- mark is given them

- devil then present or by presenting a supplication to him or by giving the promise to a proxie or commissioner impowered by the devil for that effect which is used by some who dare not see himself

- sexes laid one hand on the crown of the head the other on the sole of the foot and dedicated all that was between the two hands to the service of the master.[246] there is a slight variation

- new england only if the phenomena of polymastia and polythelia occurred in france and scotland there are no records

- delrio calls it stigma or character and alledges that it is sometimes like the impression

- mark is given to them

- lucy thompson had a lease of two and forty whereof two are yet to come and her lease

[loveinpanem-blog]

My first fanfic was The The Goodwife by silvercistern. I loved being able to follow the post Mockingjay journey of Katniss and Peeta. They made me laugh and cry. Then I got into the wonderful world of AUs the most impactful being With Eyes to Hear by amelia day and Crash my Party by Court81981. Then I found tumblr and I've read so many great Everlark fanfictions that I just feel so lucky that there are so many talented writers who share their stories with us.

Hi iliveilaughiloveiread.  Thank you for sharing with us!  

Unfortunately, we can’t like to “With Eyes to Hear” by Amelia Day, as the author has removed the story, but here are links to your other recommendations…

The Good Wife by Silvercistern 

Summary: “You’re an awful wife, sweetheart.” He’s said worse, and so have I, but something about this, maybe the fact that this is the second time I’ve been told the same thing in one day, makes me burst into tears. Katniss discovers that being married is hard.

and

Crash My Party by Court81981

Summary: Modern AU. Peeta Mellark has never been able to say no to Katniss Everdeen. But after years as friends with benefits, that’s going to have to change. Everlark.

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch. 8

Rafael x Reader. SVU x Good Wife AU. References: The Good Wife S.3, E.21 & S.5, E.12 & The Good Fight S.1, E.1

CW: language, talk about pregnancy/the idea of termination, some snogging.

Tags: @melsquared79 @madpanda75 @obsessionprofessional @dreila03 @bowieisawizard @sass-and-suspenders

*****

“Based on this sonogram, and based off your last menstrual period, I’d say you’re about twelve weeks pregnant,” the technician smiled. “Congratulations. Would you like to hear the heart beat?”

You stared at the grainy black and white monitor in disbelief. Suddenly you sat up. “Ummm - wait - are you saying I am three months along? How is that possible?”

“I’ll go get the doctor,” the technician stammered nervously. “I’ll be right back.”

The technician left the room, the door shutting with an audible click. You stared at the screen again and touched your abdomen covered in gel. You frowned at the sensation and wiped your hand on the paper covering the exam table.

There was a gentle knock on the door. “Come in,” you acknowledged.

“Hi, I am Dr. Weverly,” the red-headed physician introduced herself. “I was told you had some questions.”

“I... I...” you started, feeling your face turn crimson and tears beginning to form. You took a deep breath and exhaled, in an attempt to compose yourself. “I missed my pill once. I had no idea that I was - am - pregnant. My husband is dead. This was not in the plan.”

Dr. Weverly looked momentarily stunned and then gave you a soft smile. “That is incredibly hard. You of course have a choice - we can talk about that,” she stated. “Also - have you sought out any bereavement groups?”

You shook your head. “I don’t wish to terminate,” you replied.

“Ok. Well, from the looks of this scan, everything looks par for the course. Get dressed, we’ll talk about what to expect going forward in my office,” Dr. Weverly replied.

***

Your phone buzzed as you left the doctor’s office. Your hands were full with a copy of the sonogram and other papers filled about the “size of a lime” you were carrying. The doctor also gave you list of bereavement and single parent groups along with a name of therapist. You haphazardly shoved the everything in your bag in an attempt to free your hands. It was an email from Diane.

[8:45 AM; from DLock_@lockhartgardner.com]

[Subject: Will]

[Y/N, As a courtesy, the equity paperwork is attached. You’ll still need to come sign in person. Flight information to follow. See you soon.]

You clicked on the pdf and waited for it download. Quickly scrolling through, you reviewed the terms. Something seemed off and you gave an irritated sigh. You closed out of the email and dialed Rafael who answered after two rings.

“Rafael? I know it’s early, I am sorry. I think I need your help.”

“Y/N, it’s almost 9am; it’s not that early,” Rafael chuckled. “Is everything okay?” Rafael questioned further.

“Not sure,” you replied biting your nails. “Can I come over?”

***

A short cab ride later, you were at Rafael’s apartment door. You didn’t even have to bother to knock, as Rafael was leaning against the doorframe.

“Morning counselor,” you replied cheekily.

“Counselor? When did we get so formal?” Rafael replied, motioning for you to come in. “That’s not what you called me recently the last time you were here.”

You chuckled, as you made your way in. “Well, that’s the damn truth.”

“So what’s going on? I don’t think you’re here at 9am on a Saturday for a rendezvous,” Rafael questioned as he led you to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Yes? No - wait, yes,” you replied.

It was Rafael who now cocked a brow at you. You followed him into the kitchen, which was small at best. Despite the size, it was outfitted with a breakfast bar. Rafael handed you a maroon mug emblazoned with the Harvard logo and moved the creamer and sugar caddy towards you. You poured some creamer and shook a sugar packet. You took a sip of the warm liquid and relished the initial sip. Almost immediately, your stomach lurched and you frowned, pushing the coffee aside. “I’m pregnant.”

Rafael choked on his coffee. “Excuse me?” he sputtered. Drops of coffee splashed everywhere. Rafael reached for a kitchen towel and he wiped the drops of coffee off his shirt. He paused his actions to look at you. “Y/N, how are you feeling?”

“I think I am still in shock of it all. I just came from the doctor’s office. I’m about 3 months they said. I had no clue.”

“Y/N, whatever you need, I am here for you.” Rafael pulled a chair to sit next to you. “I mean it.” He took your hands into his and gave them a squeeze. You searched his green eyes intently and hummed in agreement.

“Thank you Rafa. I mean it. Thank you.”

“That’s not why you are here though, is it?” Rafael questioned.

You shook your head. “No, actually the partners at Will’s firm said he had some remaining equity that they wanted to resolve and pay out to me. I got a copy of the paperwork and after reviewing it, I think I need a lawyer to represent me.”

Rafael nodded. “I’ll help. Can you have them send me the contract?”

“I have it. Diane - she started the firm with Will - she sent me a copy on email

as a courtesy. She expects me to come sign them in person ASAP,” you explained.

“You’re not signing anything. I’ll go through it all. Let me move some stuff around and go with you to Chicago,” Rafael replied firmly. “Can you forward me the contract?”

“I can. I’ll send you everything,” you replied appreciatively. “But I don’t want to mess your caseload or what’s going on with Cuesta.”

“Y/N, it’s fine. If I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t have offered,” Rafael replied gently.

***

True to his word, Rafael spent the majority of the day going through the legal paperwork with a fine tooth comb.

“Everything seems standard to me,” Rafael replied, pushing back his chair. “By chance do you have a copy of the partnership agreement? I just want to check something.”

“It’s at home on my laptop, but I can run home and get it,” you replied.

Rafael didn’t immediately tell you but he suspected the firm was looking to undercut the compensation owed to you that remained from the transfer of ownership after Will’s passing. “Okay. Send it over when you can.”

****

Just a few days later, you sat with Rafael in the conference room of Lockhart Gardner. Memories of Will were everywhere. In the name on the wall, in the memorial plaque that hung in the waiting room. Never mind you were accosted by nearly everyone there - the widow of a name partner doesn’t get to just slink in and out inconspicuously.

You sighed nervously, subconsciously bringing your nail to your mouth and chewing. Your eyes trailed over Rafael, who looked sharp in his charcoal three piece suit. He wore a maroon striped dress shirt and a matching colored tie finished the ensemble. You stood and began to pace the room, waiting.

Since your mind was on other matters, you missed Rafael also taking your form in. You wore a navy sleeveless sheath dress fitted with a grey suede pumps. Small hoop earrings adorned your ears and you wore your necklace with Will’s ring. The dress fitted your form perfectly and Rafael appreciated the view. He knew exactly what was under the dress; his mind kept wondering if he’d get another opportunity to see what was under your dress again - to feel the softness of your skin, to taste the salt of your skin, to inhale your scent.

Shaking his head out of his reverie, Rafael had to also adjust his seat, trying to bring his mind to other things.

So he focused on your pacing.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Rafael teased.

“Rafa, I haven’t seen anyone since the funeral. I basically broke my lease and got the fuck out as quickly as I could,” you snapped. “I am sorry,” you apologized quickly, flushing with shame at your demeanor. “I am just anxious.”

You sat back down, this time next to Rafael. Rafael took your hand into his and gave it a comforting squeeze. For a brief moment, your mind returned to your interlude with Rafael and you recalled how skilled he was with those hands and how good you felt under his touch. You shivered.

Through the glass wall, you saw a familiar blonde in glasses.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” Diane greeted with her arms outstretched. You welcomed the hug and hugged her in return.

“Thanks Diane, it’s good to see you too,” you greeted. “Diane Lockhart, this is Rafael Barba,” you pulled away from the embrace to introduce Rafael.

“Rafael Barba? Your name proceeds you,” Diane extended her hand.

“Does it now?” Rafael beamed, shaking her hand. “Pleasure, Ms. Lockhart. I am here as Y/N’s attorney.”

Diane opened her mouth but you interrupted her before she could speak. “How’s Kurt? And your family?”

Diane smiled, “Maia is entering her first year of college. She’s thinking of going pre-law; I am quite proud.”

At that moment, a balding man with a Bluetooth headset barged in. “Diane, what’s this all about?” he began but stopped when he saw you cock your brow. “Y/N, it’s so nice to see you again.”

“David,” you greeted coolly. David Lee, another partner at the firm looked at Rafael and then back at you. “Who the hell is this?” he asked pointing at Rafael.

“I am here with my attorney Rafael Barba about the equity paperwork,” you explained.

David gave Rafael a once-over. “Can I have one of your cards? I imagine your you’re too new to be in the phonebooks.”

“Mr. Barba is the Manhattan ADA,” you replied smugly.

“ADA? Not enough crime happening in New York these days?” David questioned with a sneer. You rolled your eyes.

David looked at you. “We like each other. There’s no need for this.”

“David, stop it. You don’t like anyone,” you quipped, eyes rolling. Rafael stifled a laugh and David shot him a look.

“I liked your husband; not necessarily sure what he saw in you.”

You felt your blood pressure rise and looked at Rafael, whose face turned stony. “Did you actually like her husband or did you like that he made you a shitload of money?” Rafael snapped.

“Let’s all play nice here,” Diane reasoned. “I admit, David is right - to an extent. There’s no need for such formality. We just want to pay you your share of what remains from Will’s equity.” Diane removed her glasses and set them on the conference table.

“I’m here to represent Ms. Y/L/N’s best interest,” Rafael replied firmly. “I reviewed the equity paperwork and that’s fine. But I also looked at the partnership agreement. Normally when a name partner, such as Will Gardner dies, the partnership terminates and that’s the end of that. However, the original partnership agreement has a clause which states that a partner dissociates from the partnership when he dies. This means that the partnership will continue without the deceased partner, which has been the case here,” Rafael explained.

“The partner’s estate becomes a transferee of the partnership. A transferee has the right to receive compensation for the deceased partner’s share of the business but cannot participate in running the partnership. As Ms. Y/L/N is the executor of Mr. Gardner’s estate as his widow, she is the transferee and is entitled to all continued revenue that Mr. Gardner would have received if he were still living,” Rafael continued.

“Our current partnership agreement supersedes that agreement,” David angrily replied.

“Except Will didn’t sign the new partnership agreement,” you replied coolly. “He died before he could.”

Diane sighed in realization. “That week was such a blur, and he was still angry that Alicia left and started her own firm.”

“God, he was so angry with Alicia,” you said out loud to no one in particular.

“Thus the new agreement isn’t enforceable,” Rafael continued. “So you’re going to keep paying Ms. Y/N.”

“This is bullshit. How about we take this to a judge?” David questioned Diane.

“I’ll be happy to see you in court,” Rafael replied, crossing his arms. “Like you said, we have no crime in NY so I have all the time in the world.”

****

As the elevators came to a close, you squealed and hugged Rafael.

“Thank you so much Rafael! This is better than just the equity. I can’t believe the old agreement was still in effect. This really helps me... us,” you clarified, patting your stomach. “How can I thank you?”

Rafael broke the hug and looked into your eyes. He smoothed back a strand of hair that fell across your face. “I am just happy to have been able to help.”

You were quite aware of how close the two of you were. You could feel Rafael’s breath on your skin. He smelled of vetiver, patchouli and cedar - woodsy and earthy at once.

Rafael was also acutely aware of how close you were were to him. His gaze fell to your lips. Subconsciously you licked your lips and bit your bottom lip.

“You know, our flight doesn’t leave for another couple of hours,” you murmured. “We have some time to spare.”

“Whatever shall we do?” Rafael questioned, his voice hushed. You stepped closer to him, if that was even possible and pressed yourself against his body. You placed one hand on Rafael’s chest, feeling the warmth of his body and heart beat. Hesitatingly, you pressed your lips against his. Rafael returned the kiss, gently prodding your mouth open to slip in his tongue. You moaned into the kiss, your hands running through his hair.

The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival to the lobby. You broke the kiss reluctantly but not before gently nipping his bottom lip.

Rafael straightened his tie and jacket and you smoothed the invisible wrinkles on your dress.

You exited the elevator bank first. You peered over your shoulder to Rafael. “I have an idea as to where we can go,” you replied with a wink.

***

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch. 9

Rafael x Reader. SVU x Good Wife AU. References: The Good Wife S.3, E.21 & S.5, E.12 & The Good Fight S.1, E.1

CW: Smut, so much smut. Language. Def NSFW.

Tags: @madpanda75 @melsquared79 @glimmerglittergirl @sass-and-suspenders @dreila03 @obsessionprofessional @garturbo @themanwithsass @redlipstickandplaid @tropes-and-tales

*****

You rapped your fingers in annoyance on the counter, waiting for the young blonde at the front desk to finish what was clearly a personal call. Hotels in Chicago were a dime a dozen.

Rafael leaned against the counter, his back towards the desk and watched you with an amused look. You caught his stare and blushed.

“Patience isn’t a virtue, is it?” Rafael quipped.

“The longer she takes, the longer it’ll take us to get a room,” you winked.

“Ahem,” Rafael coughed. The front desk clerk looked at him in annoyance and held a finger.

“Oh good God,” You grumbled exasperatedly.

With a sigh, the front desk agent hung up the phone. “I’m sorry; how may I help you?”

“We would like a room please,” you replied, twitching your leg, anxious.

“Let me see what I have available. Hmmm... I have a suite at $1335.00 night.”

Before you could even protest the obscene price, Rafael slid his credit card forward. Rafael slid his hand up behind your neck, and then slowly brought it down and rubbed your back gently in concentric circles. Rafael’s hand then dropped and grazed down lower and lower, until he stopped just right at the small of your back. Your heart began to race a bit in anticipation of what was eminent.

****

The two of you wasted no time in peeling off each other’s clothes as soon as the hotel door shut with a click. Clothes landed in a heaps, forging a mini trail towards the bed. Without breaking the kiss, the two of you stumbled onto the bed and landed in a heap of tangled limbs.

Rafael rolled so you were laying on top of him. Rafael ran his hands down your sides and up your abdomen, stopping to cup your breasts. His thumbs ran over your nipples, which were already peaks. Desperate for some friction to relieve the ache between your legs, you ground yourself against Rafael’s member, feeling him hard against you.

You leaned forward so that you could continue grinding. Rafael took the opportunity to capture a nipple in his mouth. You moaned as his tongue ran over the hardened pebble, flicking his tongue back and forth before taking it fully in his mouth. Rafael gently nipped you with his teeth, which only spurred you on. Being pregnant, you realized had some perks as your nipples were extremely sensitive.

“So good,” you cooed as Rafael switched to your opposite breast.

You’re so beautiful,” Rafael murmured, inhaling the scent of your skin as he peppered your skin with kisses. Reluctantly, you pulled away so you could slink down Rafael’s body. You placed a kiss on his stomach, before settling in between his legs. Reaching into Rafael’s boxers, you gently freed his erection.

You spat onto your hand and began to give Rafael a hand job. Up and down, your hand went, stroking Rafael’s length. Rafael groaned as you did so. You were deliberately slow in your movements, relishing at how Rafael was falling apart.

“Please,” Rafael begged you. “Use your mouth.”

You smirked. “Sure thing counselor,” and with that, you opened your mouth to swallow him deeply. Rafael cursed as you rhythmically bobbed on his cock. You ran you tongue over his length, pausing momentarily to suck on the head, paying close attention to the spot along the underside where the head met the shaft.

Rafael wrapped his hands in your hair you continued your oral ministrations. Rafael lifted his head to watch his cock slip in and out of your mouth and his breath hitched at the sight.

“Mierda,” he moaned, throwing his head back as you continued to slobber all over him. You relaxed your throat and took him deeper. Your nose brushed his pubic hair. Rafael’s hips bucked as you swirled your tongue over his cock. You relished in the salty taste of his cum.

“Stop, I am going to cum,” Rafael moaned. Reluctantly you paused your actions and looked up at him. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his cock and Rafael groaned, rubbing his face in disbelief at the erotic sight before him.

You slowly made your way back up to him, kissing his thighs, his stomach, his chest. You fully sat up, your soaking folds rubbed against the length of his hardened cock.

Rafael looked up at you, his eyes heavy with lust. You took his hands and placed them on your breasts, encouraging him. Rafael squeezed your breasts, bringing them together before using thumbs to rub them over your hardened nipples. You groaned before you lifted up slightly. You reached down to guide him into you and paused.

Rafael sensed your hesitation and he gripped your wrist. “Are you okay? Is this okay? We can stop,” he rushed out.

You nodded. “I... just need a minute. Sensory overload.”

Rafael nodded. He sat up fully, so that you were in his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist. He pressed his forehead against yours and you both stayed like that for a minute, both your eyes closed. You felt Rafael’s heart thumping against your chest. You opened your eyes and pressed a small kiss on his lips. “Okay.”

Rafael nodded and you raised your hips, and he helped you guide himself into you. The two of you groaned at the sensation. You felt wonderfully full. You wrapped one arm around Rafael, the other braced his leg for support as you rocked and bounced against his cock.

“You feel so good,” Rafael cried out, as waves of pleasure coursed through him. “Fuck!”

Sounds of skin on skin filled the room. Rafael gripped your back, helping you down on each stroke. “I’m not going to last much longer,” Rafael moaned.

“Give it to me,” you whined. “I need it.”

Rafael brought you down harder, and you bit your lip so hard, you could taste blood. The two of you chased your orgasms. You reached down to rub yourself and Rafael swatted your hand away so that he could stroke your swollen nub. You used your hand that was braced on his thigh to cup his balls and you drew them away from his body. That was Rafael’s undoing and he shouted your name as he stiffened, his eyes squeezed shut as he emptied his load into you. You followed thereafter as Rafael’s rubbing brought you to your precipice and you fell apart, his name on your lips.

You fell slack against Rafael’s neck. You stayed intimately connected to Rafael as you waited to catch your breath.

“Wow,” Rafael panted. You nodded before peeling your sweaty body off to look at him. You gave a small giggle and nodded, your cheeks flushed.

****Four months later***

You huffed out of breath as you waddled down the hall towards Rafael’s office. You thought about all that had happened that had gotten you here.

Cuesta, through some travesty of the justice system, kept his judgeship. The judicial standards commission and inquest found Cuesta was biased and ordered him to take a six month absence from the bench and he had to pay a heavy fine. Cuesta’s cases were further ordered to be looked into. But he could keep his seat. “Judges, protect their own,” Rafael quipped.

You and Rafael continued sleeping with each other. Feelings began to develop on both sides, however. Rafael wished he had the dumb luck of meeting you first. He took it slow with you. You were still working out your grief but you knew Will would have wanted you to be happy.

As you knocked on Rafael’s door, you wistfully wished Will was around to meet his baby. You felt the baby kick in response.

“Come in,” Rafael called out from the other side. As you opened the door, you were greeted with a shower of confetti.

“Surprise!” the room cheered and you felt tears in your eyes as you scanned the room: Amanda, Sonny, Fin, Carmen, and Olivia. You locked eyes with Rafael and grinned.

“¡Felicidades!” Rafael stated, raising a glass full of champagne to you as he walked over to you. He handed you a glass of orange juice and winked.

Rafael led you further in, his hand resting on the small of your back. Fin pulled back a chair for you and you sat down, taking the sight before you. Presents adorned your feet.

“Thank you cariño,” you replied happily, locking eyes with Rafael once more. You stared into his green eyes and your felt your heart skip a beat. You rubbed your stomach, the baby kicked more.

“For you, anything,” Rafael replied.

***TBC***

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch. 7

AN: Welp, there was a delay. Work life has been intense and home life has been just as busy lots of sick going around. Add writer’s block and it’s never a good combination. But here! We! Are!

Rafael x Reader. SVU x Good Wife AU. References: GoodWife S.3, E.21 & S.5, E.12

ETA: tag list - @madpanda75 @melissagarner @sass-and-suspenders @dreila03 @bowieisawizard @garturbo @themanwithsass @obsessionprofessional @dreila03 - anyone else just ask; sorry if I forgot anyone.

***

Judge Cuesta was eventually found holed up in a secret chateau off 57th and Central Park West. He maintained his innocence of Bullock’s murder, asserting that he wouldn’t hurt his friend to maintain his reputation. “I had to hide; someone is out for revenge!” he barked angrily at Rafael, now back down at One Hogan Place.

“Your attitude, your honor, it will do more to condemn you than the evidence. You’re on this side of the bench now,” Barba snapped.

Your brows rose but you remained silent, rapping your fingers on a half empty can of ginger ale. You willed your nausea to abate. It did, and you cleared your throat before speaking. “We have solid alibi for Mr. Rooney. Despite your need to secure the conviction, he surprisingly holds no ill will to either one of you. You should be so humble,” you replied sternly.

Cuesta slumped forward, defeated. “I know. We shouldn’t have done it. We were greedy and righteous. I let that cloud my judgment. What now?”

“That’s for the court of inquiry to determine. You will likely be removed from the bench altogether,” Rafael replied.

Your phone buzzed and you reached into your pocket. “Y/L/N here,” you answered holding up a finger to excuse yourself. Rafael nodded and you took the call outside Rafael’s office. You half smiled at Carmen who returned the smile before continuing her typing.

After briefly talking with Liv, you returned to Rafael’s office. You motioned to Rafael and he came over. You whispered what Liv told you and his green eyes darkened. He nodded and turned to face Cuesta, clearing his throat. “We’ve got Bullock’s killer in custody.”

****

A partial print on the pen lead to the Rooney’s son, Patrick Jr. who was so angry about his father’s wrongful conviction, that he was hell bent on revenge. Patrick Sr. was devastated and any forgiveness he may have had at Cuesta and the newly deceased Bullock, was long gone.

“My wife is gone, and now, the only family I had left, is now behind bars. I may be a free man to others, but I forever live imprisoned thanks to selfish pigs like Judge Cuesta and Judge Bullock,” Patrick Sr. sobbed on the news.

Carisi reached for the remote and turned off the television. “Well, he ain’t wrong,” he sighed. He ran his hands through his hair and looked over at you. You were signing off on paperwork effectively closing out the case on Bullock’s murder. “Whatcha got going on this weekend?”

“Laying low,” you replied knowing full well you had a visit with an ob/gyn. “You?”

“It’s my anniversary with my girlfriend. Pulling out all the stops - home cooked dinner - making my ma’s lasagna from scratch, taking her for drinks and jazz,” Carisi replied excitedly.

“That sounds so lovely. I hope you guys have the best time,” you replied smiling. “How long have you two been together?”

“Two years; she’s really great. I am so lucky. This line of work... it can be hard to find someone,” Carisi stated. “I am sure you understand, with lawyers and long hours.”

“I do,” you acknowledged. “Keep that in mind yourself Fordham law,” you subsequently teased. “Happy anniversary,” you added after a beat. You furrowed your brows. Carisi noticed the crestfallen look on your face that quickly appeared and disappeared just as quickly.

“Hey, you okay? I’m sorry if that brought up any memories,” he began to apologize.

“No, no,” you reassured him. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Want to talk about it?” Carisi asked. You noted the concern in his voice. You shook your head, grabbing your bag. “It’s fine; we can talk about it later.”

Carisi opened his mouth to protest but you held up your hand. “I’ll be fine. Go - go enjoy your anniversary before another crime happens and you have to get called back in.” You waved Carisi off. Carisi nodded, and squeezed your shoulder. “Y/N, you can always count on me for a shoulder.”

You smiled. “Thanks Sonny. I appreciate that.” With a final wave, Carisi left.

You gave the paperwork in front of you a final look through. Satisfied, you dropped off the paperwork on Liv’s desk before heading out of the precinct and to your apartment.

As you walked down the street, your phone buzzed. Looking at your phone, you frowned. You recognized the 312 number.

It was Lockhart Gardner. You debated answering or letting it go to voicemail. After two more rings, you answered it, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Hello?” You questioned.

“Y/F/N? It’s Diane,” the voice on the other side answered.

“Diane! It’s nice to hear from you. How... how did you get my number?”

You could almost see Diane’s smile, even an hour away. “Kalinda.”

“Of course Kalinda,” you sighed. Lockhart Gardner’s own in-house investigator and a dear friend of Will’s, had her own ways - sometimes not so legal ways - of tracking people down. “Whats going on Diane? Is everything okay?”

The blonde name partner explained that Will had some remaining equity in the firm that they needed to absolve and as his next of kin, you were the one they needed to buy-out.

“Can’t you just email me the paperwork and I will Fed-ex overnight?” You asked wearily as you approached your apartment.

“No, unfortunately it needs to be done in person,” Diane explained. “With all the remaining partners present.”

You groaned. “Okay, I will see what flights are available. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

“Don’t worry about the flight dear. I’ll take care of it,” Diane replied.

Just as you were about to thank her, a thought occurred to you. “Diane, is Will’s name coming off the door?”

Diane sighed. “There was some talk about it. Particularly from David. But we voted to leave Will’s name. He and I did start the firm after all.”

You thanked Diane before ending the call. Finally, you reached your apartment. Your phone buzzed again. You groaned. ‘What now could Diane want?’ you wondered.

[Rafael, 6:47 PM]: You free?

You debated your response. You watched three dots appear on your phone. They stopped and then appeared again.

[Rafael, 6:48 PM]: If so, want to grab dinner?

[Y/N, 6:49 PM]: I am wiped. Not feeling too hot. Rain check?

[Rafael, 6:51 PM]: Of course.

You felt bad but you really were exhausted. You also very anxious about your appointment. You decided to play your cards to your chest. Once you had your appointment, you could make whatever moves needed to be made. Further, you now how to get ready for a day trip to Chicago.

You plopped on the couch and turned on the television. Before you could help it, you dozed off.

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch. 1

Rafael x Reader. CW: angst, gun violence, death of a loved one. Eventually language & smutty goodness. AU The Good Wife - for background - for those who didn’t watch, all you need to know really is that the amazing Josh Charles played Will Gardner on the Good Wife and he was killed off in season 5 (WAH!) He was a name partner at Lockhart Gardner, and the show was set in Chicago.

You sighed, taking in the empty apartment before you. It seemed so different empty.

“Mrs. Gardner? Anything else?” the burly mover asked interrupting your thoughts. You looked at him blankly before shaking your head, back into reality. “Ms. Y/L/N,” you corrected gently.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the mover apologized, taking note of your ring-less left hand. “Must’ve been a jerk.”

You hummed again, neither agreeing or disagreeing with him before turning to face the empty apartment once more. A breeze entered through the sole window that was open and you shivered. The necklace with your deceased husband’s wedding band felt heavy and you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders.

You dug into your jeans and pulled out the key to the apartment you shared with your husband - correction - dead husband- ‘was there a term for that?’ you wondered. You placed the key on the breakfast bar and shut the door.

“Goodbye Chicago,” you whispered. “Goodbye Will.”

****

About three and a half hours later, you were thrust back into the hum-drum that was JFK International Airport in Jamaica, Queens. ‘Home,’ you thought. Well, it had been for a long time until you decided to go to Northwestern University for undergraduate studies. You settled in Chicago after graduation, working at various agencies before getting your JD at Pritzker. It was after you received your degree that you started at Reddick, Boseman, & Kolstad before meeting the charming Will Gardner while being deposed as opposing counsel on a case you were investigating. Five years later, you two were happily married - both unaware of the tragedy that would befall just months later.

After grabbing your bag from the carousel, you decided to take the commuter rail to the subway, cutting your trip to Manhattan proper by an hour. Observing the outside world passing you from your seat, you felt very much like a tourist rather than a native. Chicago, like New York City, was very much an active city - but the vibe was very much different.

Hopping on the subway headed downtown, you wondered if anything would change. Your heart was heavy, and you recalled the events that occurred just two months prior.

*****

You furrowed your brow at the phone call coming through. It was Diane Lockhart, the co-managing partner of your husband’s firm.

You hit decline surreptitiously as you were in a meeting. The phone buzzed again and again, you saw Diane’s name. You hit decline again, trying to focus your attention back to your meeting. A few minutes later, you saw your assistant through the glass partition and you sighed. You motioned her to come in and you could see she was visibly upset.

“Y/F/N - Diane Lockhart is on the phone.”

“I can’t,” you began but your assistant shook her head.

“You need to take this call. It’s about Will.”

Excusing yourself, you took the call. You felt the floor give way and your wails filled the office.

*****

Blinking back the tears that brimmed your eyes, you focused back to the present. The subway lurched to a stop, and you realized you were at your stop. You bounded up the stairs back to the city before you and headed towards your new apartment on Broome Street.

Your phone buzzed and it was your sister-in-law - former, sister-in-law, you corrected yourself.

[Audrey, 3:44 PM: Landed safely?]

[Y/N, 3:46 PM: Yes. At new place]

[Audrey, 3:47 PM: Okay. Let’s talk soon. I miss you.]

You began to reply, when another text popped up.

[Audrey, 3:48 PM: Did you change your name on Facebook?!]

You groaned, feeling your head begin to pound. Instead of finishing your text, you deleted it and shoved your phone back into your bag.

After meeting with the building owner and getting a tour of your new apartment and its amenities, you decided to head back outside in search of food.

As you continued to walk, you heard the voices of children shrieking and laughing. Seeing that you were at a park, you entered, looking for a change in scenery while you continued hunting for food. You watched some children swing, while others ran around the elaborate jungle gym.

You leaned back against the chain link fence, wistfully watching the pure innocence in front of you.

“Ow! Ow!” A small boy began to wail, and instinctively you rushed over.

“Are you okay?” You questioned kneeling down, giving him a quick once over. “Where are you hurt?”

“My knee,” the boy sobbed. You looked at his knee that had a surface scratch and a goose egg developing.

“You’re okay,” you consoled him. “Just a small scratch. Are you alone? What’s your name?”

Just at that moment, a man clad in a suit jogged up to the two of you. “Noah! Are you okay?”

You looked up at the man in the suit. You stood and threw your hands up, automatically in defense. “Uh, your son fell. He’s okay.”

“Rafa’s not my dad. He’s my uncle,” Noah replied looking up at you with a toothy grin. “I’m fine,” he continued, forgetting about his injured knee. “Can I go back to playing?”

“Oh,” you replied. “Well, I think you gave your uncle quite a scare.”

“He did,” Rafael sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose. “Five more minutes Noah - ten cuidado!”

“I’ll let you get back to him,” you trailed, hitching your purse back onto your shoulder.

“Rafael Barba.”

“I’m sorry?” You replied, facing Rafael.

“My name. Rafael Barba.”

You gave him a small smile and rocked on your heels. “Y/F/N, Y/L/N. Nice to meet you.”

You watched Noah climb the monkey bars with ease. “Sweet kid you’ve got there.”

Rafael smiled. “Thanks. He had a tough start.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you replied, shoving your hands into your pockets.

A quietness fell over the two of you as you watched Noah. You reached for your cellphone again, and your keys clattered on the ground. Rafael picked them up and handed them to you, but not before running his thumb on the keyfob from Lockhart-Gardner.

“Lockhart-Gardner,” he murmured. “Great firm. A shame what happened to that lawyer.”

Your breath hitched. It hadn’t dawned on you that news of the shooting would make it all the way to the east coast. “Uh, yeah,” you replied quietly.

“Are you a lawyer?” Rafael inquired.

“In-house investigator,” you replied. “Or was,” you corrected. “Know anyone hiring?” You continued half joking.

“Actually,” Rafael replied, “I am.”

“Come again?” You asked. “You’re hiring an investigator?”

Rafael fished out his business card and handed it to you. “I am an Assistant District Attorney. I work with the Special Victims Unit, and I am in need of a new legal investigator. Call my office and speak with Carmen, my paralegal.”

“Thanks, will do,” you replied, placing his card in your purse back with your keys. “I better get going.”

Rafael smiled at you and you began to pivot, but you turned back around. “Sorry, do you know a good place to eat around here?”

Rafael’s brows furrowed. “Anything in particular?”

“Anything,” you replied.

“There’s a great sandwich shop two blocks over. Chipilo. Get the Italian sub.”

You nodded. “Thanks again.” You gave him a small wave. “Have a great day.”

Rafael nodded. As you walked away, you heard him call out. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

You looked behind you and gave another small wave before continuing on your way.

{TBC}

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch.5

Reader x Barba. AU Law & Order SVU x The Good Wife. References to S3,E.21 & S5,E.15

Tags: @sass-and-suspenders @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @dreila03 @imtherealriodallas @glimmerglittergirl - anyone else just ask 💓

CW: smut galore - def NSFW.

***

Pressing your body against Rafael’s, you returned his kiss. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck as his tongue dueled yours. Rafael’s hands ran up the sides of your body before briefly stopping your rib cage before making way to your breasts. His hands grazed the undersides before dropping back down to your hips, resting there.

Rafael broke the kiss, making his way to your exposed neck. His tongue trailed along your neck before sucking at the dip where neck and shoulder met. You whimpered as you craned your neck to give further access. Rafael placed kisses back up your neck before meeting your lips once more. You were having a sensory overload: Rafael’s cologne was woodsy and he tasted like a mixture of coffee and mint. It was hedonic and you lost yourself in the warm pleasurable sensations that overtook your body.

You started to paw at Rafael’s shirt when his hands stopped you. Rafael looked at you, your lips pink and swollen, your cheeks flushed. “No.”

A look of hurt flashed across your face. “I... “ you began but were unable to find the right words.

“Not here,” Rafael expanded with a soft smile. “My place.” He waited a beat before continuing, “If that’s okay with you.”

Your lips formed a silent oh and you nodded. “Okay,” you agreed. “Your place.”

Rafael grabbed his belongings and you followed him out of One Hogan Place. It had started to pour outside; the city smelled of petrichor. Though Rafael only lived a few blocks over, you both still got caught in the downpour. The two of you had your clothes sticking to your skin.

You followed Rafael into his apartment building and into the elevator. After pressing the button for his floor, he backed you against the wall, kissing you once more. You ran your hands through his wet hair, gently tugging. One of Rafael’s hands made its way between your legs and rubbed. “Oh, Rafael,” you moaned in between kisses, pressing against him eagerly.

The elevator dinged interrupting the interlude. Rafael took you by the hand and wordlessly led you to his apartment. Once inside, Rafael turned on the light and you took in the apartment before you. It was freakishly spotless and you wondered if you had entered a living ad for Architectural Digest. A huge painting of women depicted as a cross between birds and mermaids hung over the couch, and you recognized it as a Roberto Fabelo piece.

“Do you want something to drink?” Rafael asked, interrupting your thoughts. For a second you almost agreed but thought better of it and shook your head.

“You don’t mind if I do?” Rafael asked, loosening the knot on his tie.

“Go ahead,” you encouraged him as he made his way to his bar cart. Rafael tossed his jacket and tie onto his couch. You took in the rest of the apartment. “Nice place,” you complimented.

His back to you, Rafael poured what you assumed was scotch or whiskey or some other hard liquor. “Thanks,” he replied. He turned around and raised the drink to his lips but he paused at the sight of you.

You had stripped most of your clothes off, just now in a camisole and panties. The camisole was now near sheer, wet from the rain. Because you were also cold, your nipples cut through, hard as small rocks.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, clearing his throat.

“Take me to bed,” you ordered quietly. Rafael downed his drink in one gulp, tossing the glass to the side where it landed with a clatter.

Rafael approached you like if you were stalked prey and kissed you, hard. You jumped into his embrace and wrapped your legs around him and he carried you towards his bedroom where you both fell onto his bed as a heap of tangled limbs.

Rafael rolled, so you were under him and he raised your arms above your head and pinned you. You searched Rafael’s eyes, which were blown with lust. You could feel Rafael’s erection pressing against you. You squirmed against him, raising your hips.

Rafael sat up, and rested back on his heels. He slipped off his began unbuttoning his cuffs, then made way to his shirt. You sat up, leaning back on your arms and bit your lip.

Now shirtless, Rafael leaned back down, shifting his body over you. He cupped your face and moved a stray hair from your face. “Are you sure this is okay?”

You nodded. “Yes, I want this,” you replied shakily. “I...I haven’t been with anyone since Will.”

Rafael pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay; if at anytime you want to stop, just say so.”

You nodded. Rafael began placing kisses down your neck, to the top of your chest. He yanked down the top of your camisole, exposing your breasts. Rafael’s tongue swirled over a nipple, causing you to moan. He cupped your other breast, using his index finger and thumb to pinch the other nipple. You arched your back as he continued to move lower, raising the hem to expose your abdomen. Rafael dipped his tongue into your navel before continuing to make his way down to between your legs. You parted your legs wantonly. Rafael inhaled your scent before pushing your panties to the side. One arm draped over you, pinning you to the bed. Rafael used his free hand to open your glistening folds. “My, my,” Rafael purred. “So wet.”

You writhed under his hot breath, your heart was pounding in your chest, bracing for the inevitable. You cried out as Rafael began his oral ministrations, his tongue lapping and sucking you. Rafael traced you with his tongue, flicking it against your lips. He pressed the tip of his nose on your swollen clit, and moved his head to the side so he could slip a finger inside of you. His nose rubbed your clit as he lazily fucked you with his finger. You groaned, gripping the sheets. You could feel yourself soaking the sheets underneath you. “Fuck, Rafael, don’t stop.”

Rafael paused his actions causing you to whine. “I could eat you for hours,” Rafael he confessed huskily before resuming his actions. You grabbed at your breasts, tugging on your nipples. Another finger slipped inside. You pushed against Rafael’s hand, trying to somehow get him deeper. “Rafael, oh Rafa...” you cried out as your walls tightened against his digits. Rafael was relentless, continuing to fuck you with his hand, while continuing to suck on your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut as you came, chanting Rafael’s name. Rafael continued to lap at you as you rode out your orgasm. Slowly he pulled his fingers out and placed chaste kisses along your still quivering thighs.

“My turn,” you sat up and pushed Rafael onto his back. You kissed Rafael, tasting yourself on his tongue. You reached now and palmed Rafael’s erection through his trousers. “Too many clothes,” you murmured. Rafael took the hint and unbuttoned his pants before raising his hips to ditch them and his boxers.

You hummed in appreciation at the sight of Rafael’s hard cock. Meeting Rafael’s eyes, you took him in your mouth. Rafael groaned. You bobbed up and down on his length, using your hand to assist in jerking him. You ran your thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had oozed out. Rafael’s head fell back moaning and a hand pressed on your head, encouraging you to continue. Lifting his cock gently, you ran your tongue on the underside, at the spot where the head met the shaft and you sucked on it. Rafael’s head fell forward and you locked eyes as you continued. Rafael stroked your cheek, as he thrusted in and out of your mouth. You pressed your hands on his thighs and you could feel the tension in his muscles. Knowing you had such an effect on him, spurned you on.

“Fuck, y/n, fuck,” Rafael groaned. You chuckled and pulled off with a wet pop. Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “Tease.”

“I couldn’t have you coming just yet, counselor,” you purred before kissing him once more. You pulled away briefly, your face serious. “You have condoms right?”

Rafael nodded. “I do, top drawer.” You leaned over and reached into his nightstand. As you did so, Rafael massaged your ass, before slightly dipping a finger into your pussy. You moaned softly, as you grabbed a condom. Rafael continued to lazily finger fuck you as you ripped the foil open. Rafael slipped his fingers out and made a show of cleaning them before he grabbed the condom. Rafael unrolled the latex onto his member before shifting his body so he was squared on top of you. “Oh yes,” you squeezed your eyes shut and hissed at the feeling of Rafael’s cock rubbing against your most sensitive region.

“You sure you’re okay?” Rafael asked gently, stirring you from your reverie. You nodded but then pushed on his chest for a second.

“Just nervous,” you admitted. Rafael nodded and cupped your cheek. “I’ll take my time.”

“Extra lube?” You asked. Rafael nodded and handed you a small bottle of lube. Once that was squared away, Rafael re-positioned himself at your entrance. Bracing himself on his forearms, he pushed into you. You cried out and wrapped your legs around his hips. Rafael’s thrusts were slow initially but once you gave the okay sign, he began to thrust harder into you.

“Yes, oh yes, you take my cock so good,” Rafael groaned. Beads of sweat dropped off his body and onto you. You braced your hands on Rafael’s arms as he continued to thrust in and out of you.

“Oh yes,” you moaned. “Harder.” Rafael complied, speeding up his pace. The headboard rattled against the wall as Rafael continued to fuck you. You raised your hips to meet his thrusts.

“So close,” Rafael panted. “On top, please,” he pleaded, rolling your bodies so you were on top. You leaned back, your breasts heaving as you rode Rafael. He reached up and grabbed your breasts, squeezing. Bracing yourself on one arm on a thigh, you used your free hand to reach down to rub yourself. Rafael shooed your hand away, and he used the pad of his thumb to rub circles on your clitoris. You used the opportunity to reach around and tug on his balls.

“Coño, Y/N,” Rafael groaned.

“Fuck, Rafael, fuck, I...I...” You babbled incoherently as you felt your orgasm overtake you. Rafael continued to rub you through your orgasm, his thrusting not once unwavering. You shuddered on top of him. The feeling of your bliss was too much for Rafael and he felt his own release approaching.

“Fuck, I am going to come,” groaned Rafael.

“Come for me,” you begged Rafael. Rafael’s thrusting became more erratic and he pulled you down for a kiss. His hips froze and he gripped your hips tightly and he broke the kiss to let out a strangled cry as he came.

You looked at Rafael. “Wow.”

“You can say that again. That was amazing,” Rafael complimented. You moved off of Rafael and he pulled you close to him, so that your head was laying on his chest. Rafael moved slightly to reach around to remove the condom and he tossed it to the trash can on the side.

You ran lazy circles on Rafael’s chest hair and he pressed a kiss on your forehead. The sex with Rafael had been amazing; however, you felt an enormous weight over you. Rafael fell asleep shortly; but you remained awake, unsettled and unsure as to what the future would hold.

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch. 6

Rafael x Reader. SVU x Good Wife AU. References: GoodWife S.3, E.21 & S.5, E.15

Tags: @sass-and-suspenders @madpanda75 @dreila03 @melissagarner @tropes-and-tales @glimmerglittergirl - anyone else just ask.

****

You woke up with a slight start. You realized you weren’t in your bedroom; the arm wrapped around your body gave it away. You looked down; you could barely make out Rafael’s hand cupping a breast. You very carefully, removed Rafael’s hand and sat up in bed, agonizing on whether to stay or go. Your stomach made the decision for you, lurching and flopping. Quickly and quietly you dashed out of the bedroom, in search of the bathroom. Fortunately it was immediately across Rafael’s bedroom. Turning on the faucet, you hoped the sound of running water would hide your upchucking.

Once your emetic episode subsided, you splashed some water on your face and rinsed out your mouth. You stepped out of the bathroom and newly jumped out of your skin at the sight of Rafael in the doorway.

“Jesus Rafael!” you exclaimed. “How long have you been standing there?”

“I’m sorry,” Rafael began. You took in Rafael’s nude self and blushed. “You’re not in bed, I came looking for you. Wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh? Um, I am okay. Just needed relieve myself and freshen up,” you replied. You crossed your arms and legs instinctively, very aware of your nudity as well.

The two of you stood silently in the hall, the tension palpable. You debated leaving, but your stomach gurgled indicating you should stay lest you get sick on the way home. “Let’s go back to bed,” you smiled. Rafael smiled in return, seeming relieved. He outstretched his hand and you took it, leading him back to the bed.

Once back in bed, Rafael made you cum from a combination of his mouth and fingers. Twice. Rafael’s 5 o’clock shadow sent tingles down your body as he nuzzled your thighs while pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping core. What followed was delicious, languid sex that made forget all of your problems, even if only momentarily.

****

The next morning, you left early before Rafael had a chance to wake up again. You left a note for Rafael stating you’d see him in the office later to interview Cuesta and Bullock.

Entering the drugstore you scanned the aisle signs before you found what you needed. “How can there be so many types of pregnancy tests?” you murmured in dismay. Rapid response, digital response, pinky dye, blue dye, even ones that told you how far along you were. Not willing to take a chance, you grabbed one of each and headed to self-checkout machine.

****

Back home, you read and re-read the instructions. A quick Google search showed that peeing in a cup gave the best results as you could just stick the tests in it versus trying to urinate on a bunch of tests. So that’s what you did, finding a leftover Solo cup from your initial move-in.

You hopped into the shower while the tests did their thing. You felt delightfully sore as you cleaned yourself. Looking down at your body, you took stock on the hickeys along your abdomen. You noticed finger tip bruises on the tops of your hips too. You blushed at the memory of Rafael’s tight grip on your hips as you rode him.

Turning off the shower, you stepped out and dried off quickly, before slipping on a robe. Looking down at the sink, you froze.

+

Pregnant

||

3+ weeks.

You felt all the air get sucked out of your lungs and you gripped the wall to steady yourself as your legs threatened to give out. There were so many conflicting emotions occurring at once. Tears threatened to spill and you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat already forming. Your legs eventually gave out and you sat against the wall, still stunned.

Instinctively you touched your abdomen.

Your phone buzzed and you reached up and grabbed it. It was Rafael.

Rafael [7:42 AM]: I had fun last night. I’d like to do it again if that’s okay with you. If not, that’s okay too. See you later; let’s nail these assholes.

The tears that threatened to spill, now rolled off your cheeks. ‘God, this cannot be happening,’ you thought. ‘This isn’t how it was supposed to go.’ You and Will weren’t actively trying; you took your pill daily. And then it hit you.

You swayed in Will’s arms, tipsy from the obscene amounts of champagne you had. Will nuzzled your neck, whispering of the things he wanted to do.

You smiled lasciviously at him. “Mr. Gardner, you’ve got quite the mouth on you. I should hold you in contempt,” you teased. For a moment, you sobered. “My pill, did I take it?” you asked out loud. “Eh, I am sure I did.”

Will responded by kissing you before picking up your legs to wrap around him and carrying you to the bedroom.

Opening up the browser on your phone, you began searching for an obstetrician. You found the name of someone taking new patients and saved the number so you could make an appointment.

Eventually after some time had passed, you were able to muster the strength to make a cup of tea and get dressed. You tucked your button down into your jeans and slipped on some mules. You haphazardly threw your hair up and grabbed your tumbler so that you could meet Rafael.

Your phone buzzed again. It was Carisi.

There would be no interview. Not by you or Rafael at least.

Judge Bullock was found dead. And Judge Cuesta was missing. So was the murder weapon.