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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

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The Miys, Ch. 150

I think for the time being, I am going to quit calling myself ‘late’ posting as long as I get the chapter up on the right day of the week *facepalm*. Bc I am barely keeping ahead, much less remembering to queue things up.

I am so, so sorry about that....

Fair warning before anyone @s me: The French is a joke, so if I got it super wrong I am equally sorry to the degree of which it’s wrong.

Unless it’s obscene. Then I want to know so that I can laugh with you, and I am LEAVING IT.

As always, shouts out to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, and @charlylimph-blog!

Heaving an enormous Dutch oven onto a burner, I turned on the heat low and started chopping vegetables. After the first celery stalk, I glanced up at Derek, who sat across from Maverick in our living room. The quarters were shaped differently, which had distressed Derek initially, but the addition of his favorite blankets to the sofa had helped. Currently, he was completely distracted from even Mac: staring off into space, his fingers flying and flicking with a feverish, almost convulsive movement.

Maverick glanced up at me with a smile before following my gaze. “Yep, the cyber siege continues. He’s doing well, from what Zach told me.”

“I thought he was only supposed to attack human-managed systems,” I grumbled, thinking back to the cold shower I had been subjected to that morning. Turning back to the vegetables, I made short work of the celery before taking my frustration out on the carrots. Scooping the diced vegetables into a bowl, I started measuring out paprika, sugar, salt, pepper, basil, and oregano into another bowl. “Where’s Sam, by the way?”

“On the way,” Maverick promised. “With Terran-style tomatoes, he swears. And Derek is only attacking systems we manage. When BioLab 2 was set up, we had to take over water management, to protect the lab from any sort of contamination.”

The knife in my hand, brandished at three cloves of garlic, clattered to the work surface. “Seriously?” I glared at the tap, suddenly suspicious.

“Probably get water from the console,” he winced, nodding briskly at Derek, who nodded in confirmation without stopping his tapping and flicking gestures.

Groaning, I shook my head and crushed the garlic, removed the skin, and started mincing. All that was left was to wait on the tomatoes from Sam. The garlic was potent enough, and I wanted to avoid cutting any onion until absolutely necessary since Derek was clearly parked for the duration.

I was saved about fifteen minutes later when Conor and Sam stopped at the door. Sam waved cheerfully and held up the requested vegetables while Conor removed his boots. A quick shuffle later for Sam to remove his own shoes, and both came to the food prep area - too small to be considered a proper kitchen - to greet me.

First, Conor gave me a big, smelly hug and a kiss on my hair. “Did you already slice the bread?”

“Ew, you gorilla!” I laughed. “And I haven’t sliced any bread yet, I wasn’t sure how long I had and I didn’t want it to get too stale.”

“They’re toasties, love.” He shook his head with a grin before swatting me on the butt. “No one cares if the bread was a bit stale before you started.”

Over his shoulder, Derek’s head bobbed side to side. “I think someone disagrees.” I looked meaningfully past him. To Conor’s credit, he looked sheepish.

Sam squeezed around and handed me the tomatoes and gave me a hug. “Thank you for making soup.”

“I know it’s our favorite,” I winked before shooing him out of the area. “Not enough room for more than one in the kitchen. Y’all go unwind out there, and make sure you warn Derek that I’m about to start cutting onions.”

As he held up his hands and jokingly scurried away, I turned to the stove and started cursing myself. I’d forgotten to start boiling water. Snagging a small saucepan, I got a carafe of water from the console and started rectifying that, tossing in a generous pinch of salt. Gently, I cut an X into the bottom of each tomato and set them aside before peeling and dicing the onion. Immediately, the onion, carrots, and celery went into a food processor. “Derek, I’m about to be loud,” I called softly before counting to ten to give him time to cover his ears or step into the corridor. A quick blitz later, the vegetables were perfectly between a mince and a puree.

A quick swizzle of oil went into the already-hot dutch oven before adding the mirepoix and giving it a quick stir. As if on cue, Tyche and Antoine breezed through the door, noses twitching.

“I smell food,” she announced, stalking into the kitchen. One look at the ingredients was all it took. “Ooooo you’re making the tomato soup.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I am, and you know I don’t have room in here for spectators, unfortunately.” Arching an eyebrow, I pointed the spoon in my hand at the table.

She wasn’t having it. “One of these days, you’re going to show me how to make that. May as well be today.”

“Nice try, but I need some secrets. Besides, the longer I argue with you, the more likely the vegetables are going to scorch. Scoot!”

She scrunched her face at me but acquiesced. As I scooped the garlic into the pot, I heard her change topics. “How much longer is the stress test? My music keeps getting mixed up with Antoine’s. I don’t mind it, but…”

Antoine smiled softly and shook his head. “But it is quite a shock to expect classical music and instead her rock starts playing.”

Personally, I liked both, but still shuddered at what he was talking about. Carefully lowering three of the tomatoes into the now-boiling water, I glanced at the sauteing vegetables and gave them a quick stir to check. “We have about six more days before the repairs start, maybe four more after that?”

Conor sighed. “I wish we could ask if anything important was being hacked, not just annoying environmental controls.”

“Plants aren’t dead yet,” Sam pointed out, tipping his bottle of water toward Conor in a practiced gesture. Everyone laughed when, rather than being reassured, Conor leapt to his feet to check on his ‘babies’ in the room.

Cursing, I dipped the tomatoes out of the boiling water and dropped them immediately into an ice bath. A couple pokes with my trusty spoon showed they weren’t overcooked, thankfully. “None of my information for work has been acting up,” I admitted as I started peeling them. “But Pranav advised that more critical data would either go completely missing or not show any signs of infiltration. We won’t know until after the test is over.”

“Lovely,” Tyche drawled as she watched Conor fretting over the plants. “So it’s all or nothing.”

I shrugged and dumped the tomato paste - admittedly, from the console - into the pan of other vegetables. When I stirred, I was satisfied that the carrots, onion, and celery had cooked down to where they were soft. “In a weird way, it makes sense. They’re testing for catastrophic data breaches, which would pull everything down, or for data theft, which you wouldn’t want to leave traces of.”

The corner of Antoine’s mouth quirked up as I dropped three more tomatoes into the pan of boiling water. “No hidden boba tea this time, that is reassuring.”

Hands still moving without hesitation, Derek whipped his head toward Antoine, paused, and turned back to where he had been staring. Derek’s version of a glare.

“That was Charly,” I responded in unexpected unison with Maverick and Conor. I smirked while dumping the already-peeled tomatoes into the processor with another pinch of salt. “Seriously, Derek had nothing to do with that other than divine retribution.” I paused for a moment. “Although I do have to admit that the cold showers do seem to track with what Charly reported.”

That only got a shrug from Derek, which was as good as an admission.

The conversation shifted again - something Conor and Sam were working on in the aeroponics labs that I had already heard multiple details on, plus repetition. Tuning it out, I pulled out the last three tomatoes, dropped them in the ice bath, and took a platter with a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, and butter out to the table. “Mav, can you start setting up the sandwiches?”

He went to stand, but Tyche shooed him back down. “I got it. She may not let me help make the soup on this one, but I can prep a grilled cheese with the best.” Staring me in the eye, she started cutting slices from the loaf defiantly.

I just laughed it off. This was the only tomato soup either of us liked, and she had been chasing me for the recipe for ages. It had become a running joke at this point, so without hesitation, I moved back to the food prep area, peeled the remaining tomatoes, and gave another warning that I was going to be loud. Some more blitzing later, the now-pureed tomatoes went into the pan of veggies along with the spices I had already measured out, the juice from one lemon, and enough water to fill the pan three-quarters full. Leaving that to boil, I moved the boiling water off the stove and swapped it for a grill-pan.

“Sophie!” Conor cried from the armchair where he perched. “You’ve seen the plants we’re growing in the lab! Tell them we’ve managed a crop of roots!”

I winced. “Jury’s out… I’m not sure how aeroponic potatoes are going to turn out, but I can confirm they are in the process of finding out?”

Tyche’s knife fell to the table, and she moved her mouth silently in a very accurate imitation of a fish before managing to sputter. “Air-grown… potatoes?”

The confusion on Antoine’s face was painful to look at. He started to speak before stopping himself and instead pulling up his datapad, jotting a message, and flicking it out to the room.

When I read the message, the confusion was so clear that I hurt my sinuses snorting. Des pomme de terre en l’air? Pommes aeriennes? Talk about being lost in translation…. “Conor, Sam… I think Antoine has the perfect name for those if they work out. Just sayin’”

Tyche snorted and shook her head before handing me the platter, with a stack of perfectly buttered bread, two slices of cheese between every other slice of bread. The soup had just come to a simmer, so I was stirring intently and just nodded for her to start grilling sandwiches. Several appreciative sniffs and twenty minutes later, six bowls of soup and six matching sandwiches - three cut vertically and three cut diagonally, because it mattered and was not a battle I was willing to fight - hit the table. Tyche politely placed the salt cellar and a pepper grinder on the table, although the glare she dished out to the collected group promised strong retaliation to anyone who touched them.

I held up half of my grilled cheese in a mock-toast. “To soup night!”

“To air potato soup, soon!” Maverick offered up with a grin, only for everyone to echo his sentiment with the exception of Derek - who just held up half of his sandwich with one hand and tapped away with the other, not even relenting to eat.

Frankly, as long as he spared a hand to eat, I couldn’t bring myself to care. He took these tests very seriously, and generally only stopped when he was completely asleep.

Everyone dug in, but it was only after my first spoonful that I spoke up. “Considering how long it took to make sure the tomatoes wouldn’t be poisonous, I’m not sure the potatoes will be ready before we get to Von.”

Conor and Sam nodded, as did Tyche and Antoine, but Maverick stopped with his bowl halfway to his mouth. Setting it down gently, he angled his head. “What do you mean, poisonous?”

“They’re nightshades,” Conor told him, as calmly as if he was telling us that water was wet. “Tomatoes are the only edible berries of that family, and potatoes are the only edible tubers, so we have to be extra careful.”

Maverick’s eyes grew wide and turned toward his soup. Tyche just reached out and patted his hand. “You’ve eaten this soup for years, and you love tomatoes. They’re safe, I swear. And Sam won’t let Sophia near the new ones until he’s completely sure they’ll be okay to eat.”

Sam nodded, shoving a soup-covered wedge into his mouth. “We’re growing them in simulated Von-light, hoping that keeps the roots from creating chlorophyll. If we’re wrong, there’s a forty-three-point-six percent chance they won’t grow at all, ten-point-five percent chance they will give you a stomach ache, eighteen-point-four percent they won’t taste good, and twenty-seven-point-five percent they will taste good and be safe to eat at the same time.”

“Meaning they won’t kill you, you might get a tummy ache, but most likely for this generation, they just won’t grow,” Conor translated.

“Hang on,” I held up my spoon. “What kind of stomachache are we talking here?”

The mad botanists looked at each other and made a few thoughtful faces. Finally, Conor nodded and Sam spoke. “Unripe apples,” he stated flatly. “But just unripe apples.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad,” I shrugged and crunched into my sandwich.

Derek finished his half-sandwich and blindly reached for another. He had it halfway to his mouth before he looked at it and dropped it back to the plate in alarm. You would have thought it tried to bite him rather than vice versa.

Antoine shook his head and reached past the vertically cut sandwich Derek had dropped and delicately handed him a diagonally cut one. “Here you go, friend.”

Glaring at the sandwich like it may betray him, he bit it viciously before going back to the screen he could only see in his mind, seemingly satisfied that the sandwich would not change into the offending shape.

I told you, it matters.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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vanillachaldea · 3 years

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it was a sleep like any other,

if not, perhaps, more peaceful than usual for the last master of humanity.

in the depths of the consciousness of the chaldean master,

a strange, yet familiar, and maybe slightly embarrassing dream unfolded

for an audience of only two.

"to witness such a story is not a common feat, and we are of the very few who are granted a seat at this event."

"how exciting! i have never seen dreams such as these before."

"let us then enjoy the show, and have a grand time."

the snow packed itself against the spacers of the windows. sitting nearby and staring at the courtyard below was the average daughter of an average magus named vanilla; waiting to see a certain carriage pull into the courtyard below.

and also, if the fates felt kind, for a hole to open up in the ground, tear through two floors of her family’s estate, and send her straight to h*ll.

"ah. to curse one's fate, how human. but would our protagonist really wish to end up in such a place, had she been there?"

"speaking from experience, no?"

but if the fates were kind the root of her problem wouldn’t exist, of course. so she sat at the window and continued to mope, thinking of her second fondest wish: a drink.

a knock sounds out against the door before it swings open creakily to reveal a young, sweet-faced girl named...

“mash.” vanilla turns away from the snow-capped view to receive her visitor.

mash kyrielight hefts a tray in response, a warm smile on her face. “i thought you might want something warm to drink, senpai.”

(the nickname gave vanilla pause. and then: what was wrong with it?)

she felt like crying for a couple of different reasons. she did not, and let mash settle beside her on the wide windowsill of the drawing room as she took a carafe of eggnog into her hands.

“no sign of them yet?”

“unfortunately not,” says vanilla, taking another long swig of the eggnog and vaguely wondering about its alcohol content. “but we’re here early, so.”

mash lays a comforting hand on vanilla’s arm. “you know i’ll always be here for you, senpai. always.”

vanilla smiles in spite of herself. “thank you. same.”

“you’re always helping me out already, though…” mash hides behind the lip of her own carafe.

so engrossed in this exchange they were that vanilla did not notice the arrival of her long-awaited guests; their appearance marked instead by the swing of that same, poorly-oiled door.

in the doorway stood a pair of friends: a tall woman with sharp features and impossibly long, sleek brown hair, and a short, loudmouthed man with a coat that hung too big on his shoulders.

"until now, three familiar faces take upon their roles for this dream's further advance, as if we were in a real theater watching an opera, or a ballet."

"i wonder, if we see them for who they truly are, or do we see them as 'those we know'?"

"perhaps it is both or none. regardless, it is safe to assume they will not deviate exponentially from those we knew in life."

hans thrusted a gift bag at vanilla, the paper surface crinkling in her hands as she caught it. “here. a wedding gift. i figured you might appreciate it, seeing as we know nothing about your new other half.”

semiramis hums. “speak for yourself.”

“you know him after all, then?” a pang of hurt spikes through vanilla’s chest, though this she tries not to show. (she notes to herself, with great pain, the crack of her voice at the end. not that she was ever very good at this.) “uh, i mean… what did you hear?”

“that he is a wanted criminal currently being detained by some other mage family, and that the delay is your family bailing him out.”

vanilla’s heart drops into her stomach. “oh.”

hans looks off to the side, looking pensive. “hm. well i can’t say i wasn’t expecting that, but i wasn’t seriously expecting that. maybe i should get you something else,” hans says, reaching for the box in vanilla’s hands.

“what? no, it’s fine, i’ll take this. i mean, i’m surprised you’d ever take something like this back, but it’s fine.” vanilla says, holding it out of reach. (not very hard--vanilla is a little tall, and hans is positively tiny.) “what did he do to get locked up?”

“now that i’ve got no idea about. i suppose we’ll simply have to ask when we see him tomorrow, should nothing else come up.”

“mmm.”

the grandfather clock counts the seconds in silence.

“um,” mash cuts through, sounding tentative. “how about senpai and i show you to the guest rooms?”

“that’s right. i don’t know if i mentioned, but i... really appreciate you being here.”

“please.” semiramis says simply. “as if i wouldn’t. i must ascertain for myself if this man is worthy of you, my friend.”

“this was as good an excuse as any to skip out on my work and get some reference,” hans huffs. “don’t overthink it.”

"so he says.” semiramis sneers.

“oh, don’t worry. i already know,” she smiles. she’s still a little miserable, but glad for the company.

#mastersona #fgo master oc #vanilla mastersona #vanilla sp.au #:)#thank you caro also hi caro look #xviicprc

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missfangirll · 3 years

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as your shadow crosses mine

Fandom: The Husky and His White Cat Shizun Rating: General Relationship: Mo Ran / Chu Wanning, Chu Wanning & Xue Meng Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Canon Divergence, Chu Wanning has self-esteem issues Words: 3205 Summary: Chu Wanning wakes up after five years and nothing is like it used to be.

Read on AO3

Thank you, @stormy-seasons for being an amazing beta reader and enabling me to write angst. (It’s all your fault, really 😁) This is the first time I have written for 2ha and it was a ride. I need to look at cute puppies to make up for...this *waves hands* Anyway, have some RanWan fluff (eventually 😁)

- - - - -

Yellow diamonds in the light, Now we're standing side by side, As your shadow crosses mine. We found love in a hopeless place.

When Chu Wanning comes to, it’s not the way he remembers waking up from slumber, slowly taking in the sunlight filtering through his closed eyelids, breathing in the warm morning air. It is more like waking from a nightmare, breaths panting and heart thundering, immediately aware of his surroundings.

He is in his room, this much he can confirm, but it looks different somehow from how it should. There is no dust or clutter as far as he can see, a curious fact on its own, and there is nothing else to indicate what he has been doing the night before. Now that he thinks of it, what has he been doing?

His head hurts, as does his back, and he is almost inclined to explain this unfortunate matter with indulging in too much Pear Blossom White the previous evening - a reasoning that also would explain why he isn’t wearing his sleeping robes, as he notices with a frown - but his mouth doesn’t taste like bad decisions and his vision is comparably clear. Odd indeed.

As he tries to raise himself from his bed, however, the Yuheng Elder to his mortification discovers that his legs are, in fact, asleep, and very inelegantly tumbles to the ground in front of his bed, clearing the nightstand in the process in an attempt to steady himself. The crash rings deafeningly in the silence of the Red Lotus Pavilion, and while he winces with the sudden assault on his sensitive ears, more commotion is heard as first the outer door slams open violently, then the one to his room opens, more gently, but still hastily, to reveal a thoroughly bewildered Xue Meng.

They stare at each other for a heartbeat, Xue Meng’s eyes brimming with tears, Chu Wanning’s wide with shock. Then, slowly, as if he can’t believe his eyes, his disciple takes one step, then another, and soundlessly collapses to his knees in front of Chu Wanning, his forehead touching the ground in deep prostration.

“Shizun,” he hears through the curtain of black hair, voice hoarse and shaky and so full of emotion Chu Wanning has to swallow hard. Carefully, cautiously, he reaches for the other - had his shoulders always been this broad, he wonders idly - and places a hand on the back of his head. Xue Meng shudders, but doesn’t rise.

“Xue Ziming,” he rasps, then coughs drily. His throat feels parched from disuse and he wonders again what has happened.

Hearing his name seems to spur his disciple into action, as he scrambles to his feet, then through the still opened door into the other room. As he returns a moment later, he carries a large carafe and a cup, and Chu Wanning has seldom in his life felt this grateful.

When Xue Meng helps him back onto the bed and hands him the filled cup, he downs it in one gulp, then another, and two more, until he starts feeling slightly less like a dried-out corpse in a desert. All the while, Xue Meng stares at him without saying a word, just tracing his every movement with red-rimmed eyes as if he is afraid to look away, as if his shizun might vanish if he does.

After downing the last cup, Chu Wanning keeps it in his hands, fiddling with it a bit, then looks up to face his disciple.

“Xue Ziming,” he begins, then swallows. “What happened?”

He notices that Xue Meng’s bottom lip seems to tremble, a curious sight in a face that looks so much like his disciple but also not, like someone took the young, arrogant warrior and broke him apart, shaping him anew, while keeping all the features that made him Xue Meng.

“Shizun,” comes the careful answer, “what do you remember?”

That is an interesting question, he has to admit. What does he remember?

“Not much,” he says slowly, trying to sort through his memories, “there was a rift, and Mo Ran-” He stops, his eyes widening.

Xue Meng shakes his head, seemingly holding back a comment of another sort entirely, then a small smile graces his lips. “You saved him, shizun. You saved all of us, and then you brought him home, but-” Here his voice breaks, although he is still smiling, and Chu Wanning takes a shaky breath of relief. Mo Ran is alive.

Xue Meng is looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Do you remember anything after that?”, he asks cautiously, and when Chu Wanning shakes his head after deliberating the question for a moment, he sighs and begins to talk. It is a tale of death, of life, of ghosts and souls, of his shizun and his disciple, of old friends and new, and so much more that, after he finishes, Chu Wanning sits there, stunned, staring at the floor in front of him in contemplation. Xue Meng quietly clears his throat, and after no response follows, gets up silently to leave his shizun to his thoughts.

Chu Wanning only has one thought, though, echoing in his mind like someone has shouted it from a mountain top to make it known to the world.

Mo Ran. Mo Ran. Mo Ran.

- - - - -

What you said to me before, that the most wonderful dreams are rarely ever real.

You said that dreams that were too good to be true probably weren’t.

I thought I was dreaming, seeing shizun in front of me.

I was dreaming.

The most wonderful dreams.

Shizun.

Chu Wanning hastily closes the door behind himself, leaning against it, his breaths hard and shallow. The sleeves of his borrowed robe - Mo Ran’s robe, you are wearing Mo Ran’s robe, his mind helpfully supplies - being far too large for him, slip over his hands, and for a moment he distinctly feels a caress, a warm embrace, of strong arms around his shoulders, and his heart starts thundering in his chest.

Mo Ran.

His wayward disciple who has finally returned, who isn’t that wayward anymore, but rather… Grown. Matured. Who has sent a giant message in the night sky to welcome his shizun, who wanted to be presentable for their reunion, who is taller than Chu Wanning now, who… Groaning, Chu Wanning runs a hand over his face. Seeing Mo Ran like this, his golden skin glistening in the water, has shaken him to his core, has rattled loose the carefully fastened self discipline he girded himself with. Not just his physical appearance, the burning devotion in his disciple’s gaze, the open worship for his shizun on his face, it has unravelled him, and he is not sure how to put himself together again.

After his awakening the day before, he had thought a lot about his errant disciple, had missed his presence throughout the whole banquet, had been in awe as they all admired his fireworks. But he still had somehow clung to the hope that they could continue with what they had, before it all, before Butterfly Town. His disciple his usual obnoxious self without a care in the world, his own emotions carefully locked away in his heart, only examined in the sole company of a bottle of Pear Blossom White.

Contrary to what everyone seems to think, he isn’t oblivious and naive regarding matters of the heart. He just didn’t care for them, that is, until a certain disciple took his hand under a haitang tree and Chu Wanning suddenly understood what the fuss was about. But still, knowing his own feelings didn’t mean he’d act upon them, and he was content to stay Mo Ran’s shizun, to watch over him and love him from afar, in darkness and silence, but with what happened in the springs today… He groans again, slowly sinking down, his back still leaning against the door.

How can he face Mo Ran again, he thinks desperately, when all he sees upon closing his eyes is the image from tonight, golden skin over taut muscles, violet-black eyes lighting up the darkness, midnight hair swaying with the water… With another groan, he pulls his knees up to hide his face, which turns out to be a grave mistake. The robe he is still wearing is not his, and it smells different, smells like grass and freedom and sunshine and Mo Ran, and just like that, Chu Wanning is lost.

His face still hidden he breaks down, sobbing into his knees, the tears spilling out like water from a broken vase. He hasn’t cried much in his life, but now he does. He cries for the years he’s lost, for his disciples who had to move on without him, for Mo Ran who had to grow up on his own, without his shizun’s guidance and care. Mo Ran, who looks at him as if he hung the moon, as if he didn’t know how depraved his admired shizun is, how corrupted. Mo Ran, who can never know the depths of Chu Wanning’s feelings for him, who would lose all respect he still seems to have for his teacher if he knew how much Chu Wanning wants, how much he craves. He can’t know, and Chu Wanning can’t stop himself from wanting, and so he cries, desperately, for what can’t be.

Mo Ran is freedom, is warmth and open roads and Chu Wanning is nothing but a hindrance, an obstacle in his path he needs to overcome. Never in a hundred years will he look at his shizun and see anything other than this, a teacher at best, a monster at worst, but Chu Wanning has to be content with either.

Still sobbing, he doesn’t hear the movement at his back at first, until a noise startles him. The door opens a fraction, then closes again behind the person that had slipped in silently, with surprising agility, for it is a very tall-

With an inarticulate noise, Chu Wanning turns away from the intruder, tucking his face further into his knees. Almost, he snarls at him. Leave, he wants to hiss, when the person - Mo Ran of course, because who else would have the gall to come uninvited into Yuheng Elder’s private rooms? - carefully settles next to him on the floor, without touching him.

Leave me alone. Go away. You shouldn’t have to see me like this. Don’t come closer. Leave.

Leave.

Amid his racing thoughts, Mo Ran speaks, so quietly Chu Wanning almost doesn’t hear him.

“Shizun.”

No answer follows, as Chu Wanning is still hunched over, making himself as small as possible.

“Shizun, don’t cry.”

A violent tremor goes through Chu Wanning’s whole body, but still he doesn’t move.

“Don’t cry, please. Don’t… I’m here now, shizun, I’ll never leave again. Please, don’t cry.”

Don’t say that. Don’t say it as if you mean it, Mo Ran.

A ragged breath escapes Chu Wanning, but his sobbing calms down. Slowly, he lets his arms sink, hugging his knees, raising his head slightly to breathe.

Mo Ran doesn’t move, and they sit in silence for a while, Chu Wanning hardly daring to move. He feels raw, flayed open for all to see, his black soul displayed on a stage and waiting for judgement. It is wrong, wrong to love Mo Ran, wrong to want him, to want to make him his, and the agony he feels right now is what he deserves, if not more. It is not natural, not proper, and yet… And yet, with Mo Ran so close he feels safe, warm, cherished, and his heart almost breaks with the force of his longing. He wants, greedy and selfish creature that he is, and the smell of Mo Ran’s robe on him, of Mo Ran next to him is too much. Another sob wrenches itself from his chest, but before he can hide again, a large hand gently grabs his shoulder and pulls, making him lose his balance and topple to the side, into a waiting embrace.

Chu Wanning goes entirely still, freezing when an arm wraps around his waist, another reaches around to clasp his opposite shoulder, still careful, gentle, tender, and he takes a shuddery breath, suppressing the urge to flinch away. He is trembling, his heart beating so violently in his chest he is sure the other can hear it, there is not enough air to fill his lungs, only Mo Ran’s scent enveloping him. It is too much, and it takes all of him not to lean into the embrace, not to come closer.

“Mo Ran,” he starts, voice cracking, wanting to flee, to back away, anything, but the hand moves from his shoulder to cup his cheek, and suddenly he can’t say anything at all, can’t move away. Everything is reduced to this, the burning sensation of gentle fingers on his face, a thumb brushing featherlight over his cheek, brushing away his tears. Closing his eyes, he almost leans into the touch, until he remembers himself and flinches.

No, no. Don’t touch me, don’t make me think… Don’t touch me as if I’m worth it. Don’t let me think I deserve your adoration.

“Shizun,” he hears, almost inaudible, and can’t suppress a shiver at the tone. In it, he hears - desperation, yearning, devotion, and amidst the turmoil in his heart, cautiously, tentatively, a flicker of hope begins to glow.

He turns to look at the other, their faces suddenly so close he can see the heat in Mo Ran’s gaze, the adoration that surrounds him like a cloak, wrapping itself around Chu Wanning as well. With a hitching breath, Mo Ran closes his eyes, his grip tightening slightly on his shizun’s cheek.

“Shizun,” he breathes again, then, opening his eyes to fix the other with his burning gaze, “Wanning,” and Chu Wanning breaks. With another shaking sob, he all but throws himself at Mo Ran, wrapping his arms around his shoulders so forcefully the other’s breath hitches, until he is enveloped in a warm embrace, his face hidden in the crook of Mo Ran’s neck. Mo Ran can’t seem to keep still, one hand stroking soothing circles on his back, the other sneaking up to cup the back of his head. He keeps whispering as well, although much of it is lost in Chu Wanning’s hair, as he presses kiss after kiss to his temple, his ear, his neck.

Chu Wanning shudders violently, then, with a great effort, turns to face the other. Mo Ran regards him for a moment, waiting, hesitating, until Chu Wanning says his name, breathless on a shaky exhale, and Mo Ran leans in.

Slowly, as if not to frighten him, he meets Chu Wanning in a soft, tentative kiss, his lips brushing the other’s, not insistent, giving him space to withdraw if he wanted. But Chu Wanning is far past withdrawing, so he tightens his grip further, pressing their mouths together. He groans as Mo Ran licks the seam of his lips, coaxing them open, nibbling at his bottom lip. His head swims with the sensations, until there is only Mo Ran, kissing him, licking his mouth open.

It might be a minute or a month later, he doesn’t know, when Mo Ran pulls back slightly to draw a hitching breath, and Chu Wanning slowly regains his senses.

Eyes wide, he stares at the other, his scattered mind slowly reassembling the pieces of what just came to pass.

Mo Ran kissed him. Mo Ran embraced him and touched him and kissed him and- And Chu Wanning kissed back.

He had let himself go enough to enjoy this, to reciprocate, to let Mo Ran think… Let him think this was all right, was acceptable. That Chu Wanning was, too, acceptable, when all he could offer was darkness and silence, cold and filth, while Mo Ran was… Mo Ran is light and sunshine, warm eyes and a gentle embrace and everything Chu Wanning is not.

Realising the magnitude of it all, he tries to turn away again, but a gentle hand on his cheek doesn’t let him hide. Mo Ran’s violet-black eyes meet his, and his disciple takes a deep breath.

“Shizun,” he begins, and Chu Wanning almost crumbles under the weight of this gaze. “I need to tell you something.”

A pause, then, almost inaudible, “I need to ask you... No, actually,” another breath, “I just want to tell you.” There is nothing to reply, so he stays silent, his eyes still on his disciple’s face.

“Shizun, I love you.”

The world stops.

“Not in the way a disciple should love his shizun, I.. I’m sorry, shizun, I’m sorry, but I… I love you.”

Chu Wanning doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t do anything, really, isn’t even sure he still exists.

I love you.

After a few heartbeats of silence, Mo Ran inhales, raspy, shaky, and begins to pull away, but immediately, his hands are snatched in a white-knuckled grip. Chu Wanning doesn’t move otherwise, doesn’t acknowledge the turmoil in the other’s face, just sits and stares. Slowly, Mo Ran resettles in his hold, patiently waiting for his shizun to make a move.

Eventually, Chu Wanning looks up at Mo Ran, new tears spilling over his cheeks. “Why?”

Mo Ran looks confused, so he continues, “Why, Mo Ran, why me? I’m not… It’s not… Not…” He falters, biting his bottom lip, not able to voice his thoughts.

I am not worthy of you, not good for you. I am corrupted and stained, broken and filthy and everything you are not. You shouldn’t love me, shouldn’t even look at me.

To his surprise, the other chuckles, sounding slightly incredulous. “Why, shizun? Why not?” His face is turned once more to meet violet-black eyes. “How can I not? You’re everything, Wanning, everything.”

The look in these midnight eyes is so full of adoration, full of love that Chu Wanning’s heart skips a beat, two, three, then starts thundering in his chest. Mo Ran brushes a thumb over his cheek.

“It has always been you.”

Without letting him answer, Mo Ran leans in again, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. What felt hesitant before, careful and tentative, is now assured, steady, and Chu Wanning forgets what he wanted to say, losing himself entirely in the kiss.

After a few heartbeats, Mo Ran breaks the contact but stays close, whispering against his lips. “It has always been you, shizun, always will be. I love you, and there is nothing you could do or say to convince me that I shouldn’t. You are,“ a kiss, ”everything,” another kiss, “everything I ever wanted,” another, “and I-”

With a groan, Chu Wanning interrupts the flow of words, pressing his lips to Mo Ran’s, letting himself feel the benediction in that kiss.

When they part again, he leans back slightly to look directly at his disciple. “Mo Ran,” he breathes. “Mo Ran. I… Yes.”

A slow grin spreads over the other’s face, evoking that young disciple of the past, full of mischief and blinding kindness, with a gentle heart and a curious soul, and Chu Wanning is so in love his heart aches.

Smiling back, he leans his head against Mo Ran’s chest, closing his eyes, breathing in the other’s earthy scent, and for the first time in his life, feels home.

#2ha #erha #二哈和他的白猫师尊 #dumb husky and his white cat shizun #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan #otp: hell is too cold #my writing #fanfic #fic #writing

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thedevillionaire · 3 years

Text

Invasive Species

~3,000 words of my supernatural soap opera, Demonics Office edition. If you’ve read my fics before, you’ve met Cerberus and Kia already. Other Underworldians briefly appearing or mentioned here: Therion, Demonics Understudy - sort of the same thing as vice president, Crisis (Therion’s BFF, another Demon), Winter (Crisis’s bonded, Sorceress), and Belladonna (Therion’s bonded, Vampire). And of course, any questions, about anything, please do ask.

---

Heading home from the evening’s soiree more than a little later than intended, they’d only decided to take the detour to the Demonics Office last minute, Cerberus reasoning that collecting the necessary documents and notes for the introductory expedition he was directing in two nights’ time might as well be done now rather than waiting until tomorrow. It should be late enough that they wouldn’t be interrupting anything, anyway. They should, in fact, have pretty much the entire department to themselves at this hour – although it was a general truism that if any department was likely to have activity occurring at unorthodox hours, Demonics would be the one. He hoped for the best nonetheless, casually willing a few of the firebrands lining the walls aflame as he and Kia passed by.

Kia nodded towards the Office door upon their arrival. “It’s definitely unoccupied?” she checked again. “I mean, since you’re not expected in tonight at all and… Well, you know. Cat’s away, mice will play, all that.”

“Are you suggesting my Office could be the site of something…in flagrante?” Cerberus chuckled darkly.

“Oh, absolutely, babe. I’m just intending for it to be us.” She gave him a playful smile. “You know. Rather than walking in on it.”

“I’m not sure Therion’s a particularly likely candidate for that sort of thing,” said Cerberus, though he knocked lightly twice before opening the door anyway. “Or at least, if he is, he’s been careful enough to have never been caught.”

He stood aside for Kia to enter before him, and she paused, smirking. “Is that out of chivalry, hon, or are you just hoping that if someone is fucking on your furniture that I’m the one who gets to be the main witness so you won’t have to try to unsee it every time you come in here afterwards for the rest of eternity?”

Laughing, Cerberus kissed her lightly on the top of her head. “I’d not considered it to that degree, but now that you mention it, I hope you’ll forgive me for thinking that’s actually rather a good idea.” He smiled, half-bowed and waved her through.

Kia looked back at him in light-hearted reproach as she entered. “One day I’ll learn to shut up, you know.”

Cerberus closed the door behind them. “Oh, darkling, I very much hope that you don’t.” He paused for a moment, frowning slightly at a subtle, unusual scent that he couldn’t quite place, before disregarding it and following his bonded inside.

Kia semi-leapt with melodramatic abandon onto the couch, lay back and threw her arms wide. “Look! Completely fuck-free!” She grinned wickedly as Cerberus laughed again, and sat up, crossing her legs in a deliberate parody of primness. “Okay, okay, so remind me – what are you actually doing tomorrow or whenever?”

“First year Take direction. Standard introductory procedure. More necessary than interesting, unfortunately,” replied Cerberus, walking over to his desk and searching for the related papers he could have sworn he’d left here specifically, noting also that that wasn’t the only thing that seemed to be out of position or incorrectly placed or…flat out missing. Hmm. The carafe of cognac he kept there was also a significant degree emptier than it ought to be, too. “Something has definitely gone on here tonight,” he said, rubbing his nose absently against a faint but obstinate itch. “There’s been some…sort…” He broke off as the itch became abruptly definite, sneezing. “Hm. Pardon me.”

“Bless you!”

“Thank you, love,” Cerberus said vaguely, distracted by both the absence of the documents he needed and the disturbingly insistent tickle which seemed to have grown in intensity rather than to be at all relieved. He rubbed his nose again. “Why is nothing where it’s supposed to be?” he asked rhetorically, annoyed. “It’s not like it needed to…” he began, but soon lost his thoughts to other concerns. “Oh, excuse m… hh…” Breaking off again, he took a tissue from the box on the table, sneezing into it. “HuhTSCHuu!” He apologised and wiped his nose.

“Mmm, bless, babe.” Kia wandered across the room to meet him, pushing a few books aside to create enough space for her to sit on the desk, facing Cerberus and giving him a soft, suggestive smile as she curled an arm around his waist, the other behind his neck, through his hair. “You know…you could put off the document search for a little while, if you like,” she murmured, kissing him deeply and Mindsending a teasing, sultry :and do someone else instead.:

The rush of desire racing through Cerberus momentarily eclipsing all else, he returned her kiss with a promise Kia could feel, and she purred with pleasure as he drew her closer to him, wrapping one leg around his, feeling him covet her, and all she wanted was more. But it seemed like the fates had other ideas, as Cerberus found himself suddenly, unavoidably torn from the moment. His breath caught and he turned from her in haste, not able to do otherwise.

”HhTSSCHUU! Ah…ahTSCHUU! What the h…hh-AHTSSCHU!” He glanced back at Kia briefly, his brow creased in confusion and his eyes watering, before he had no choice but to surrender again as the need to sneeze again overtook him. “Hhh-hh-TSCHUU! Gods! Pardon me.” Sniffling wetly, he claimed several more tissues, the relentless irritation burning sinus-deep. “W-what…what the hell is…” Another hitch in his breath and he looked at the ceiling, attempting to settle the rapid, shaky inhalations but to no avail and he sneezed again, powerful and demanding. “Huh-ahhHEHTSSCHuu!”

“Oh, bless you! Are you alright?” Kia looked at her bonded in a mixture of concern and captivation, even as she thought to herself that he was clearly not alright and that it was fairly pointless to ask. “I mean, you’re not coming down with something, right? You seemed fine earlier…”

Cerberus, genuinely confounded, gave a brief shake of his head in answer and tried, not successfully, to steady his breathing against the compulsive, overwhelming prickle that simply refused to back down. “No, I…” He sniffled sharply and pressed the back of his hand firmly against his nose. “I…I’m not sick,” he said. “I have no…no idea wh… hhh-TSSCHUU! tshHUU! S-sorry, lov… ah-hh-MMPchh! Ugh.” He winced from the discomfort of stifling, a desperate measure he rarely resorted to, and wiped watering eyes. “Oh, my gods.” Taking yet more tissues, vaporising the used ones in a flash of Combust, he blew his nose and murmured another apology.

Kia leapt neatly down from the desk and half motioned, half physically directed Cerberus to take a seat, which he did, and she moved to stand behind him. “Okay. So, then, in that case…” She smoothed some disordered hair back from his face and kissed the top of his head. “What are you allergic to, hon?”

Cerberus shook his head once more. “Nothi…ii-AHHtchuu! hhtCHUU!” He had no chance of preventing the two rapid sneezes which took him completely without warning, and he blinked rapidly, wiping his eyes again, then his nose, both of which seemed to have no intention of stopping their near constant streaming now. “Nothing th…that I-I… Ah-TSSCH-uu!” He groaned, sniffling uselessly. “Ah, gods, excuse me. Nothing that I can think of, nothing that would…hh-HH…” Focus dissolving unstoppable, he sniffled several times more, uselessly, no respite or relief afforded, hurriedly claimed another few tissues, and sneezed again. “AHH-TSCHUU! Fuck!”

“Bless you, sweetheart.” Kia cast her gaze around the room, considering potential options and not recognising any viable ones. She gently neatened her bonded’s hair and rubbed his shoulders as he caught another convulsive sneeze in the tissues, and another immediately after that. “But maybe you need to think a little harder, okay?”

Other than the occasional reaction to dust, though – something he never let get out of hand in his immaculately kept Office – and of course unexpectedly or unsuitably cold temperatures and the like, again in this instance definitely not the case, Cerberus honestly couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be the cause of this.

“Gods, I-I don’t…” His breathing shaky, untrustworthy, he did his best to concentrate on something other than needing to sneeze and the fierce, unending, crawling itch that just. would. not. subside. “I have no idea. Nothing that should be in…in my Office, damn it,” he managed before an urgent, violent sneeze bent him double, leaving him gasping for breath. “AHHTSSCHHUU! Ugh. Honestly!” Scrubbing a rough hand under his nose, he sniffled strongly, looking back over his shoulder at Kia. He offered her a self-deprecating half smile, raising an eyebrow and giving a quick shake of his head. “I think I can see through time.”

Kia laughed. “Oh, hon. Well, I’m certainly not going to question your…many talents.” She stroked his hair and kissed him again, when her eye was caught by a salt-sketched pentacle on the floor of the ritual workings space in the furthest corner of the room, a small, lightly smouldering ceramic bowl at the pentacle’s apex northern tip, several unfamiliar symbols encircling it.

“Um…I’m no expert or anything, but isn’t that upside down for here?” She gently turned Cerberus’ attention towards it, pointing. “I mean, it’s not upside down but it should be, right? For Demonics.”

Cerberus followed Kia’s direction, finding focus difficult through reddened and watery eyes, but he nevertheless recognised a Sorcery cleansing set-up when he saw one. “What the…”

Before he could explore that thought further, though, the door opened suddenly.

Therion stopped dead in his tracks. Shit. He hadn’t planned on having to explain anything - just tidy up Crisis and Winter’s mess and leave again. “Uh…hey. I didn’t think you were coming in tonight,” he said, more than a little awkwardly. “I, um…” He indicated the pentacle. “That wasn’t me, man. But I am here to sort it…” A powerful sneeze from Cerberus interrupted him, and another following almost immediately.

Sniffling again, Cerberus cursed under his breath and tried to will himself to at least perhaps manage just a modicum of control, just for a moment, damn it, because he was fairly sure that any aura of authority and command, something that usually came so effortlessly to him and something he would very much like to have at least a semblance of right now, was going to be thoroughly undermined by this…ridiculous, unrelenting…sensation that he just...couldn’t… Gods, fuck… “Huh-TSCHHUU!”

Kia blessed him quietly, gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder and another quick kiss, and left his side to head over to the ritual space, something having occurred to her. :Just a sec, babe: she Mindsent. :I’ll be right back.:

“Gesundheit,” said Therion. “You got a cold?”

Before Cerberus could offer any sort of denial – not that he was in any real state to do so anyway, his concentration primarily on trying not to sneeze again – Kia held up the ceramic bowl, thin tendrils of faintly scented smoke still curling from it. “Therion!” she called, displaying it. “What’s in this?”

“Um…well, it’s Winter’s work, so I’m not really sure. It won’t be anything too fancy, though – it’s just a basic cleansing Sorcery herbal concoction thing, so, um…probably mostly birchbark and…” Therion broke off abruptly, eyes widening in realisation. “Oh… Shit.” He didn’t bother to check anything further and instantly Sent the bowl to Winter’s house, Mindsending her a hurried :Sorry, sorry, I’ll explain later, can’t talk now, tell Crisis we’re probably in deep shit, sorry.:

“It’s… HMPTch!” Appalled, Cerberus stifled another sneeze and winced, sniffling sharply. “It’s what?!” He grabbed a fresh handful of tissues, wiped his eyes and blew his nose, and rounded on Therion in no uncertain terms. “Explain this. Quickly. Now.” His words, though congested, carried enough vehemence in their undertone that Kia, having crossed the room to stand with him again, put a calming hand on his arm to try and call him back from doing anything perhaps more extreme than was necessary.

Therion tried to think of a reasonable starting point. Fuck. “Um…”

“Quickly,” repeated Cerberus tersely, rubbing his nose firmly to try and suppress the irritation still bothering him despite the source having been removed. Damn stuff will have permeated practically everything in here. He sniffled again, emphatically, repeatedly, and pressed the back of his hand against his nose but couldn’t stop two more sneezes, rapid and forceful, and he swore in frustration. Kia softly blessed him again, and he Mindsent her an apology, thanked her between a series of sniffles, stroked her hair.

Exhaling heavily, Therion sent a silent entreaty to the fates to please let Cerberus remember that for the vast majority of the time, he hadn’t made any monumental fuck-ups and they actually worked together really well usually, and hoped against hope for the best. “Okay, um, well, me and Bel and Crisis and Winter were just having some after-shift drinks, and Winter has an advancement thing coming up that she wanted to do a practice invocation for and so me and Bel left her and Crisis here because it…seemed okay at the time, I don’t know, man, we’d been drinking, and I didn’t ask her what she was gonna be doing but how bad could it be, I mean, fuck, she’s only level 7, I told them to clean up before they left but they only did the desk or some shit because they were still drinking after we left and… I fuckin’ don’t know, man. And then I found out they hadn’t sorted the Sorcery ritual space shit and so I came back here to deal with that and…well, you know the rest of it.” He looked at Cerberus in trepidation. “I’m really fucking sorry, man.”

Cerberus cleared his throat, sniffled and blew his nose again, excusing himself with annoyance evident, and tried to steady his breathing, still somewhat erratic. “You will impress upon Crisis without question that the only reason he’s lived through this night is because it’s you telling him the following rather than me. If he or anyone else ever either performs or allows a Sorcery ritual to take place in the Demonics Office again, there will be no…no further warnings such as this one, and I…” He inhaled shakily, another rising itch threatening to derail him, but he pressed a firm hand against his nose in ironhard determination and managed to see it off, at least for the time being. “And I guarantee that repercussions will not be delivered with mercy.”

Therion nodded, chastened but relieved, given what other…significantly worse outcomes could have transpired, and agreed to do as tasked.

Cerberus paused a moment, considering. “And also, Therion? You will do whatever it takes to fumigate this place by tomorrow, and if you ever allow anything like this to occur again, your Understudy position is forfeit. Clear?”

Therion nodded again. “Crystal.”

With a short, sharp sniff, Cerberus pushed several wayward strands of ebony hair from his face and rubbed still-itchy eyes. “I have had entirely enough of tonight,” he said. “By tomorrow, Therion. Oh, and find out where the hell Crisis thought he should file my papers for the Take introduction two nights from now. Because it’s nowhere that makes a-any… Huh-TSCHH-uu! Goddamnit! *SNF!*” He pushed his hair back again, more roughly this time, his tolerance for this nonsense absolutely done. “Any fucking sense.”

He sighed, recentering himself somewhat as he shifted his attention from Therion to Kia, and wrapped an arm around his bonded’s waist, kissing her on the top of her head. “Shall we?” he asked, indicating the door. :I can’t believe I actually would have preferred to walk in on couch sex.:

Kia burst out laughing, shaking her head and reining in her laughter to a degree as Therion looked at her in curiosity. “Nothing,” she said, “nothing.”

Cerberus gave her a wry, knowing smile, claimed a few more tissues, and they left the Office without further ado, Kia stopping him as soon as they were out the door.

“Okay, so, why didn’t you mention birchbark when I asked you about allergies?” She raised her eyebrows at him archly. “Because Therion obviously knew about it.”

“Well, I’m hardly ever in contact with it.” Cerberus wasn’t even sure he’d remembered its existence at the time he’d been asked, anyway. “It’s not used in Demonics, and I’m never involved in cleansing invocations. Ridiculous things, really. I have encountered it in the Sorcery department before, some time ago – though that is probably why Therion recognised it, I suppose.” He looked at Kia in vaguely perplexed apology. “It’s just…I’ve never really thought of it as an allergy. Yes, sometimes it makes me sneeze, but…”

“Sometimes?!” Kia gave him a look of incredulity. “Babe.”

Cerberus chuckled, low and dark, sniffling again. “Alright, I do realise how that sounds, love, but I’ve never—” A catch of breath, brow creased anew, and a momentary pause. “—never had that level of exposure before and… ah-HH…” He inhaled deeply as the burning tickle returned with fresh, demanding insistence. “HAHTSCHH-uu! *SNF!* Gods! Honestly.” He sniffled again, sighed and wiped his nose. “Sorry, love. Pardon me.”

“Bless you, sweetheart. Nice timing.” With a gentle laugh and softvisceral thrill, Kia embraced him. “Tell you what,” she said seductively, trailing a manicured fingernail down his arm and giving him a warm, inviting grin. “If you Teleport us home, I’ll get you out of these clothes and into a hot shower.”

She stood on tiptoe, curled a hand through his hair, kissed him with unmissable promise. :And some hot company.:

----

#snzfic #sneeze fic #my OCs #supernatural soap opera #cerberus #my writing #cerberus and kia #cerbia

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 8: Heartbreak and Lattes

From the Beginning, Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Only announcement for this week: I've started a new job, and my schedule is such that a weekly update is unlikely without the quality being verrrry questionable. Therefore, I've decided to move off a set schedule, but I PROMISE I will update at least twice a month. Thank you for your patience and understanding; I know a set schedule is preferable but I wanna make sure this doesn't go to shit. Also... apparently this isn’t showing up in the tags I use, which sucks - so reblogs help a lot if you’re able. I love you guys <3

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: In which decisions are made and overturned and many cups of coffee are drunk.

Words: 2666

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You were sulking.

Not enough to affect your work - you’d have to go through something much worse than heartbreak before you risked your internship. But your home life was beginning to resemble a timelapse straight out of an overdramatic teen movie wherein the protagonist’s crush asks someone else to prom. Your apartment was a pile of half-done laundry, takeout containers, and case files; your evenings filled with sad Spotify playlists and too much red wine.

And work? Not much better. Seeing him stride into the office every morning, filled with power and purpose and completely oblivious to the fact that he had shoved your heart into a metaphorical blender with a simple response to a seemingly innocuous question was really starting to wear you down. You had been so sure, that was the thing - so convinced by the team’s reaction to your story that it had all meant something. And maybe it had. But he had looked you in the face and told you it didn’t, so that was the answer that mattered.

So maybe sulking was the wrong word. ‘Spiraling’ was more accurate. A controlled spiral, mitigated only by the fact that 1. you had appearances and responsibilities to maintain and 2. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t actually the reason you showed up to work every morning, despite what it had seemed lately.

And it had seemed like that. You remembered getting the phone call that you had been accepted for an interview for the BAU internship, and the phone call that you made it to the final round, and finally the phone call that you had gotten the position - each more exciting than the last. You remembered meeting him, shaking his hand, completely oblivious to how much he was about to fuck up your life. Even when you first started to feel something for him, you convinced yourself it was nothing - a harmless crush wrought from your veneration and respect for one of the best in the field. Someone you admired. Someone you wanted to be one day. But then he’d made the unfortunate move of revealing bits and pieces of himself to you, exposing tiny slivers of humanity and emotion you were convinced didn’t exist, until you realized he was a person, an incredible one, and it wasn’t just admiration you felt anymore. It took all of a few months and a handful of genuine conversations until you were this far gone, and after he made it clear that your pining was one-sided, you knew you had to stop your fall there.

So you tried.

You kept your conversations strictly professional. Avoided driving with him or sitting next to him on flights whenever possible. Disallowed yourself lingering glances. But it was still too goddamn much. He was still too goddamn much.

The next case pushed you over the edge. It was bad (not just normal bad, BAU bad), and it was no one’s fault, not really. You got called in late, the evidence was shoddy at best, and when all was said and done, you caught the unsub, but only after he’d killed 4 women. The last one died moments before you arrived and apprehended the killer, and despite the delay of those few minutes being, again, no one’s fault, the team was at each other’s throats the whole trip home.

You were slouched in the corner of the plane trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Morgan and Reid were sniping viciously about something completely unrelated to the case, because despite everything they’d just endured, they would never outright blame each other for what went wrong. Hotch, deciding he’d heard enough, raised his head slightly and said quietly,

“They’re not always going to end the way we want. We did all we could.”

And you were just done. You couldn’t stand to be around this pillar of strength and compassion and resolve. You needed to hate him for rejecting you, and you couldn’t. So you marched over to his seat, and, steeling yourself, you said what you’d been wanting to say since he broke your heart:

“I need a day off.”

It had sounded more dramatic in your head.

“A day off?”

You nodded. Hotch gathered himself, seeming to realize that such a request wasn’t unheard of (though perhaps in his department it essentially was) and nodded.

“This case was difficult. I wish I could say exceptionally so. Get me your paperwork by tonight and take tomorrow off.”

You went back to your seat, relief overshadowed by disgust that it wasn’t, in fact, the 4 deaths you’d just been privy to that had broken you - it was the crush on your boss. You’d handled this case like a champ, in fact, because you were so absorbed in self-pity that you couldn’t feel anything else.

You needed to fucking recalibrate.

***

You were determined to make the next 24 hours the most self-indulgent, healing 24 hours you’d ever experienced. Quiet breakfast at a cafe? Planned. Self-improvement books? Downloaded. Vibrator? Fully charged.

No man was going to keep you from focusing on the internship you’d been gunning for for years. No man was worth that. You were going to cry, you were going to journal, you were going to masturbate, and you were going to get him out of your head.

You were going to march into the quaint little coffeeshop two blocks away that you’d Googled last night, you were going to order the cinnamon spice latte that an indie food blog had called “the epitome of fall,” and you were going to go for a nice, early morning walk.

Except you weren’t.

Because the next morning, when you turned to leave after grabbing your drink from the barista, you saw Hotch sitting at the table by the window. And Hotch saw you. And you weren’t equipped to handle this situation, because you were only 4 pages into your self-help book so far and honestly, the smile that lit up his face when you made eye contact would’ve broken you even if you’d read all the ‘how to move on’ manuals the literary world had ever produced.

So you obeyed his beckoning hand and sat down.

“Thought you’d be up to something much more exciting on your one day off.”

You smiled wryly. “This is exciting. I haven’t had coffee that wasn’t made out of an ancient breakroom pot or a hotel carafe in months.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake by coming here. Breakroom coffee is going to be impossible to tolerate now.”

“That good, huh?”

“Better. Try it.”

His eyes on you, you took a sip of your latte, and swallowed the most delicious concoction you’ve ever tasted in your life.

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed,” Hotch confirmed, ignoring your vulgarity. “I’ve been coming here before work for years.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I impose on your hangout,” you laughed. “I haven’t tried many coffee shops around here, but I imagine this is hard to beat.”

“Not at all. But just know - this is my table.”

You grinned. “Understood.”

You still went on that walk. Still read that book. Still spent the day trying to think about anything else but the softness of that moment - you and Hotch sipping lattes, bathed in the light of the early morning sun.

But on Thursday, the next day, bright and early, you found yourself at that coffee shop again. This time, you took a seat at the table adjacent to his. He looked up and smiled.

“Glad you heeded my advice.”

You smiled back and gestured to the heaping pile of files in front of him. “Not like there’d be much room for me anyways.”

You finished your coffees in relative silence and left at the same time for the office.

Friday, you learned Hotch’s coffee order: flat white with an extra shot of espresso.

Saturday, you happened to arrive before he did, so you ordered his drink and set it on his table. Ten minutes passed and you thought he wasn’t going to show up, but he soon bustled in looking frantic. You waved him over, and he smiled when he saw the coffee waiting for him.

“Sorry, got stuck on a phone call,” he apologized. Like you were expecting him. Like this was something you guys did now.

You supposed it was.

Sunday, you got called for a case before you even made it to the coffee shop. You sat down in the conference room at 6 am, groggy as all hell. Hotch entered after you and handed you a mug, saying nothing before moving to address the team.

There was a small sticky note attached to the mug that read, “It’s no cinnamon spice latte, but it’s caffeine just the same.”

You fought to keep a grin from splitting your face, and ignored the team’s knowing smirks.

The case was in a small town in Colorado. The motel the team was staying in was less than ideal because of the location - bare bones, broken heaters, probably had the same bedsheets since its opening over 50 years ago. There was a small coffee pot in your room, and after you arrived Sunday evening, you walked down the street to the small convenience store and bought a bag of ground coffee.

When you handed him the cup Monday morning, he looked at it like it was salvation itself. Which, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it may well have been.

“Long night?” you asked, loading into the back of the SUV.

“Always,” he responded from the front seat. He took a sip of the coffee. “I don’t mean to offend, but this is terrible.”

You gasped in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that is genuine Folgers pre-ground gas station coffee.”

“It tastes like it was made in a toilet,” he grumbled. He took another sip and smirked at you in the rearview mirror.

You’d long stopped trying to get over him.

After the case in Colorado, the team was given a merciful break from the rapid-fire calls they’d been caught up in the last few months.

You and Hotch continued your pre-work ritual, showing up to the coffee shop earlier and earlier each day. For you, it was a conscious attempt to spend more time with him. He didn’t acknowledge the extra 20 minutes that had worked its way into the morning routine, but you could only hope his intentions were the same.

One particularly chilly fall day, you burst in the door 10 minutes later than your unofficial meeting time. Hotch shot you a patented raised eyebrow as you unwrapped your scarf and took your seat.

“Overslept?”

“No,” you retorted, “I was trying to make breakfast and my stove stopped working. Again. Maintenance can’t come fix it for two days.”

“Did you eat?” he asked.

“No, I was just gonna grab a muffin or something here.”

He nodded and went back to his laptop.

The next day, you sat down to a metal thermos on your table.

“What’s this?” you asked him.

“Oatmeal,” he responded without looking up. “You said your stove was broken.”

You opened the thermos to a puff of brown sugar-scented steam and the feeling that your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, afraid your voice would crack if you spoke any louder.

He looked over at you with an expression softer than you’d ever seen him wear. “You’re welcome.”

A week later, you’d miraculously worked your way through the backed-up deluge of paperwork from the last few cases, and after clicking through the morning’s emails, you slammed your laptop shut.

“We should go for a walk,” you said to Hotch, who somehow still had a stack of files in front of him that was threatening to surpass the table’s weight capacity.

“A walk?” Hotch asked, looking at the aforementioned files as if he were afraid they’d hear him considering the idea of a break.

“Yeah,” you responded. “Come on. It’s so pretty outside, and it’s gonna be too cold soon. Besides, we’re more caught up with work than we have been in months.”

“Speak for yourself,” he quipped, but he packed his briefcase just the same.

It really was beautiful outside. As soon as you stepped out the door, a gust of wind sent red and orange leaves skittering across the sidewalk at your feet. You wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck and motioned to the park across the street.

“Want to walk through the park?”

Hotch shrugged, a noncommittal ‘yes’, and followed you.

The park was sprawling, packed with massive trees in the midst of displaying their autumnal colors. Despite the early hour, there were joggers and dog-walkers populating the dirt path that meandered through. You strolled side by side, making idle chat about the weather and the holidays coming up, until you came to a bench set beside a pond in a small grove. Hotch took a seat and you followed his lead.

Reclining your head against the back of the bench, you exhaled. “This is the closest I’ve come to being out in nature in forever. I need to do this more often.”

Hotch murmured his agreement. “I’d apologize for the lack of free time, but I’m afraid it only gets worse.”

“When you officially join the team, you mean?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Assuming that’s something you’re interested in.”

“Of course I am,” you said, “but I didn’t think it was really up to me.”

“It’s not - I give the final recommendation.”

“Better start buying you more coffees then,” you teased, looking over at him.

“Unfortunately, as Unit Chief, I have a responsibility not to accept bribery.” He smiled back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You studied his face - the stern curve of his brow, the carved structure of his jaw, the stress lines set in from decades of sleepless nights and unspeakable losses. Despite the increasing time you’d been spending in close proximity, you were mesmerized, as always, by the stormy intensity of his eyes meeting yours. You were close enough to smell his cologne, and you were reminded of the night in his apartment when he told you about his family. If you thought you’d fallen for him then, it was nothing compared to how you felt now, after starting each morning sitting beside him in the quiet peace of that downtown coffee shop.

“We should get going,” he murmured, not checking his watch, not shifting his gaze from yours. You nodded, not fully comprehending his words, feeling dazed at his nearness.

It was impossible to tell who made the first, imperceptible shift. All you knew is you scarcely had time to think before his hand was on your jaw, cradling the back of your head, bringing you to him. His mouth met yours and you closed your eyes instinctively, melting into his warm body beside you, fisting the front of his jacket in your hands.

You couldn’t remember ever having been kissed so decisively before. His fingers gripped into the base of your skull, his forehead nearly pressed against yours, and despite the chastity of your closed mouths, you whimpered into his. He stiffened at the sound and pulled back, still holding you, inches away.

You saw the shift in his eyes before he moved. It was as if he consciously closed some gate, walling himself off. His pupils, blown, started to retract to their normal size, frown returned, hand drew back. You watched, heart still racing, unable to speak as he turned to grab the briefcase sitting at his feet. Only then did he look back at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and if his low voice was meant to betray any hint of emotion, you didn’t hear it.

He stood, walked around the back of the bench towards the path, and paused.

“I’ll see you at the office.”

You were too shell-shocked to reply.

218 notes · View notes

sweetwritertanya · 4 years

Text

Nothing To Be Jealous About (Yoongi)

Summary: You know something is wrong with Yoongi but you can’t quite understand what or why. When you two finally discuss it, turns out is something you didn’t even realize and it leads to quite an unexpected result.

Warnings: SMUT!! This was not supposed to be a smutty fic, but I kind of had this idea and… well, I just had to write it in this installment of the series. The final two should be just fluffy one-shots! Anyway, for this one be prepared for: swearing, mention of past insecurities of reader, erotic body touching, belly kink, grinding, unprotected sex (don’t do as I write, do as I say!), pulling out, missionary position, aftercare.

Word Count: 4010

You know something is wrong. In fact, you are more than sure of it. You just couldn’t quite figure out what, or why.

Yoongi is extremely quiet. More so than usual as he drives you two back to your place, after an evening with your friends at a birthday party. Eyes set on the road, radio turned on but with no reaction from him, jaw tense and moving from side to side every other time. The last time he even spoke to you was to tell you he was leaving, just announcing it instead of asking if you were ready to go like he usually did. He knew you depended on him to drive you home, so he always made sure you were ready to leave, enduring the social gathering for a bit longer than he would if not for you.

You pressed your lips together and couldn’t help the way your eyebrows pulled together with worry. Maybe he was mad at you for convincing him to come to the birthday party when he wouldn’t know anyone there. Even with the promise of staying with him all the time, not letting him be pushed to the side and ignored, something you refused to do no matter the circumstance, maybe he still felt left out. It was the only reason you could come up with for him to be mad at you.

As your apartment building came into view after a curve down the road, your heart hammered as you weren’t sure how to procced. When he pulled by the sidewalk, without turning the car’s engine off and waiting for you to take your seatbelt off, you knew it was serious.

“Yoongi…” you start to say as the seatbelt rides up your torso.

“Goodnight, Y/N. See you tomorrow” he dryly says, in a low voice barely audible over the radio. He still refuses to catch a glance your way.

Defeated and hurt, you just open the door and step out. You watch from the sidewalk as the car drives away, the increase of the distance only incrementing the worry in your heart. But you knew Yoongi. He needed his space and time to himself, to his own thoughts. Unfortunately, that meant all you could really do was wait.

Sure enough, the next day you woke up to a text message from him, wishing you a good morning and reminding you he would pick you up after work, before going for a long recording session at the studio. It was like nothing happened, the same old caring Yoongi. You pondered if you should just play along and let it go, but you knew it would bother you forever of you did.

Determined to get to the bottom of the issue, you sent a text back telling him you two would talk then and went on with your day.

You weren’t the only one who was nervous and just a little bit edgy about it all, and it showed. As soon as you saw Yoongi with his dark glasses on and a beanie over his straight light brown fringe, smiling awkwardly and even waving a hand from the driver’s seat, you could tell he was anxious too.

“Hi” you greet as you open the passenger’s door, returning the apprehensive smile.

“Hi, sugar cup. How was your day?”

He doesn’t lean in for a kiss, but that wasn’t unusual. Outside of the house, his affections would only go as far as holding hands or resting his hand on your waist, as well as the occasional cheek pecks. It wouldn’t be anything new for him to keep his loving welcome for when you two arrived home.

“Fine, same as always, really. How about you?” you ask back as the car starts moving, seatbelt on and leaning slightly towards him to contemplate his reactions.

“Woke up late and spent most of the morning working on a new beat. Then I went out with the guys to grab something to eat before coming here to pick you up. In about two hours I need to go back to the studio again.”

“I thought you were trying to sleep early? Get on a healthier sleep schedule?” Your concern shows on your forehead and pursued lips.

“Yeah, well…” he sighs. “I couldn’t really fall asleep last night. I was so restless and I didn’t even take a shower or nothing…”

He scratches his head beneath the grey beanie as he mentions this. You were wondering why he was wearing a beanie in the first place. Although it was getting colder, since autumn was right around the corner, it was still not nearly cold enough to wear such a warm accessory. In fact, you were even wearing a skirt and a stripped black and white t-shirt next to him, a light denim jacket on top and some white sneakers. Turns out he was only hiding his unwashed hair.

“Was it because of what happened yesterday?” you inquire softly.

“Hum? What? What are you talking about?” he avoids the subject, turning his head slightly to his window and, even with the sunglasses on, you were sure he was avoiding eye contact. His voice tone kind of raised an octave and his satoori accent came out, dragging out the vowels sluggishly, clear indications of his uneasiness.

“We should talk about it, Yoongi. What made you mad?” you continue, leaning in closer to him even as he kept squirming in his seat.

“Mad? I was never mad, I don’t know what you are talking about” he persists.

“Did… Did I do something wrong? Is that why you were angry at me?”

That seems to get a different reaction from him. His head snaps towards you, thin lips slightly open as he shakes his head, the right hand that was holding the steering wheel coming to rest on top of yours, above your knee.

“You did nothing wrong, sugar cup. Nothing wrong, I promise” he assured with absolute honesty in his clear voice.

“Talk to me?” You place your other hand on top of the one he had holding yours. “Please?”

His lips press together and he squeezes your hand before removing it since you two had arrived back at your home and he needed it to park the car.

“Let’s talk inside, okay?” he requests.

“Sure. I’ll even make you a homemade iced americano before you leave. You must be sweating in those clothes” you speculate, tugging at his beanie.

He chuckles, an honest one this time, and follows you after locking the car, up the stairs of your building to your floor and inside the small apartment.

“Let me start brewing the coffee so that is nice and fresh to drink. Go ahead and get comfortable.”

You move to the kitchen after leaving your bag and jacket on the coat rack by the front door. Turning on the coffee machine, you fill it with water before putting in the beans and pressing the button to pour into a carafe.

As you watch the dark warm liquid starting to pour, two delicate arms slowly wrap themselves around your soft middle, just beneath yours, Yoongi’s chest pressing to your back as he ducks his head into your shoulder. You smile and lean into the back hug, that comforting sense of belonging almost making you forget anything had happened at all.

“I don’t mind hanging out with your friends. I don’t mind going to parties as long as I’m with you by my side” he starts in a low whisper against the skin of your shoulder, hot breath sending tingles down your spine. “I do mind that a guy touched your belly.”

Frowning, you fight the instinct to turn around and look at him in confusion, knowing he would rather keep his expression hidden against your neck.

“What? A guy touched my belly?” the incredulity was evident in your voice, as you pulled through your memory of the day before, not quite remembering such a thing happening.

“When he accidently knocked into you. Before I could catch you, he steadied you with a hand on your stomach and kept it there while he apologized” he explained, mumbling with still a bit of resentment in the tone.

“Wait, was that it?” His words brought back the memory and you did recall the incident. It was an exchange that couldn’t have lasted longer than thirty seconds. “Is that why you said you were going home soon after? Are you…” The mere thought sounded ridiculous. “Are you jealous, Yoongi?”

He huffed and puffed in disregard of such a theory, and yet his arms grew tighter around you.

“Shush. That’s such a stupid thing to get jealous over” he murmured through his teeth. But he wasn’t quite denying it either. “I remember it took me about ten months, you know?”

You leaned your head to the side in question, to which he started pecking the newly available skin.

“For what?”

“For me to touch your belly. To see you without a shirt on” he elucidated further. “Even in bed, it took so long for me to convince you to take your top off during sex. I was denied so long of this beautiful fluffy stomach and now another man just comes around and grabs it like it’s nothing. You used to scrunch up when I did that.”

Finally understanding where he was coming from, you turn around and take his delicate round face he had been hiding in between your hands. Thick and darker eyebrows drawn together behind his long fringe, small and sharp ebony eyes looking heavy with lowered creased lids, thin dry lips pouting cutely. Even if he was not proud of it, knowing in fact it was a bit ridiculous, and even if he would never admit it, he was jealous.

He was right. It took you a long time to be comfortable enough with him to show all of your bountiful physique to him. You struggled to understand he was actually interested in dating you. You struggled with physical demonstrations of affection. You were scared of revealing too much of your body in front of him. In particular, your plush potbelly. But Yoongi was patient and kind and empathetic. He was a big part of the reason you were so much more confident in yourself now. And he was right. If this had happened last year, before you met Yoongi, you would have panicked and flinch as soon as your stomach was touched.

“Love, you have nothing to be jealous about. The only reason I’m so comfortable nowadays is you. Because of you and all of the patience you had with me. Because I love you and, for some reason, you love me. All of me, just as I am.”

The corners of his lips tug upwards in a small smile as he closes his eyes and bumps his forehead against yours, the thumbs of the hands settled at your wide hips soothing the skin over the fabric of your skirt at the same time yours soothed the skin of his cheeks.

“How about we just pretend this all thing never happened?” he proposed, more for his own sake than anything.

“Hmm, I don’ know… This was actually pretty revealing” you ponder, your hands going around his shoulders and starting to play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Should I take this as a lesson and be a little more protective of my stomach around other guys? I wouldn’t really give it a second though before, but you seem to be very defensive of my belly.”

“It’s one of my favorite parts of you” he confesses, bumping his nose into yours playfully, a familiar smirk coming to his lips that you recognized.

“My belly? Really?” Your eyebrows shot straight up. That was news to you.

“Why do you think…” He interrupts his own sentence to land a short peck at your lips, making you giggle. “that I always ask you…” Another smooch. “to let me sleep on your belly?”

“I thought it was just a cute thing you do” you confess, leaning into him and tilting your head for another short kiss.

“You’re the cute one” he decides.

His lips caress yours lovingly in feathering meetings, mouths coming together once, twice, the count quickly lost as the kisses grew longer, deeper, passionate. His hands are all over your back and sides, pulling your closer to him, feeling your softness envelop him. Yours are grasping at his short hairs and stroking his shoulders and neck. The taste of mint with a hint of musk overpowers any other. He smelled of pine and myrrh.

Drunk by everything that made this magnificent man him, you don’t notice how he guides you across the room, your feet falling backwards as he pushes forward unknowingly. Living in a small one-bedroom apartment did have some advantages, namely the fact that the bedroom was never too far away. Before you knew it, the back of your knees hit the mattress of your bed and you fall with your back on the bouncy item.

You have barely any time to process the evolution of the circumstances for soon Yoongi was hoovering above you with his mouth sucking and licking at your neck and shoulders, hands relishing in the expanse of your legs and hips.

“Show me, sweetums.” He whispers hotly in your ear before leaning back just enough for you to see his dark, veiled with list eyes and pinkish cheeks. “Take your clothes off and show me all. Just for me. Only me.”

Gulping, your lift yourself up enough to reach his mouth and kiss him avidly, wondrously, guiding him up with lips still attached until he was sat on the bed. You broke the kiss only to attend to his request, standing up and pulling the zipper of your skirt down and forcing the fabric down your hips until it pooled next to your feet. You had simple white cotton panties underneath, but Yoongi didn’t seem to mind. Grabbing the hem of your t-shirt with both hands, you pulled the stretchy fabric over your head in one go, letting it fall alongside the skirt on the floor. The nude bra you had on and the panties was all the clothing you had left on your curvaceous body. And Yoongi was drinking it all in.

“My beautiful Y/N…” he hums, stretching his arms in an invitation for you to come closer as he sat at the edge of the bed.

As soon as they could, hands grasp your love handles and pull your bulky frame in, Yoongi’s mouth starting a hot and wet trail of kisses on your luscious tummy. His tenderness and devotion magnify the butterflies at the pit of your stomach by a thousand, this scorching wave of affection and love enveloping your heart and hazing your brain. You hold on to Yoongi’s shoulders to keep you standing straight as he keeps the caresses over your belly, with his eyes closed in bliss and greedy hands restless. The feeling of his black t-shirt bothers you, since all you wanted was his naked skin under yours, so you pull at the fabric and he moves back with arms up just enough for you to take off his shirt for him. Your hands could now stroke his soft pale skin directly as he continued the caresses on your middle.

Open-mouthed kisses suddenly turn into raspberry kisses that tickle your skin and make you laugh and push back, only for him to pull you back to the bed, your feet dangling over the edge as he lays on top of you. You sigh with pleasure as his mouth keeps kissing at your tingling skin, feeling the way Yoongi’s finger sink in crevices between the rolls of flesh, only to then knead at the fluffiness.

His mouth bites at the bump of flesh of your lower belly and you gasp not in pain but in surprise, for he had never done that before. He soothes the denting mark he left with his tongue while his hands searched around your back for the hook of the bra. Soon that garment is gotten rid of, his mouth moving slowly but surely up your abdominal area until it reaches the valley between your breasts.

“This… This is another favorite” he says against your feverish skin, just before his hands cup your tits and his mouth envelops one of your sensitive nipples.

“Y-Yoongi!” you exhale with a shudder, a particular strong rush of lust shooting straight to your core.

The tongue is merciless against the puckered nub, swirling around it, flicking it from side to side and up and down, mouth sucking on it and tongue flattening against it. The neglected hard nub is soon joining the torturous pleasure as his hand teases it just as much, thumb brushing it constantly and fingers pulling and tweaking.

The hands you have running down his back are leaving red trails on the skin in reaction to his ministrations, your hips starting to bucker up and brushing against the slim leg he has in between yours. The white cotton was already stained with your obvious need for more.

Desperately, your hands rummage around for his belt and start undoing the clasp, soon followed by the top button of his dark jeans and, finally, the zipper. You felt it as soon as you started to undo the button, the burgeoning stiffness of his cock, constricted by the fabric of the trousers. Pulling them down, the swollen member sprung completely up, tenting his black boxers.

“So eager, my Y/N” he notices, leaving your chest to lift himself up and level his eyes with yours. “So perfect.”

Lips clamping yours, you are taken by surprise when you feel him pull his boxers down just enough to release his throbbing erection and start rubbing it against your protruding tummy. You moan and grunt with building frustration as your womb clenches around nothing, the length you so much craved for grinding over the top of where your uterus would be.

Yoongi is all pants and silent grunts as he rubs his dick alongside the rolls of flesh, hissing every time the swollen tip would get caught in between the bumps, sinking into the heavenly warm skin as if in a tight hug. His hips are snapping against your belly almost of their own will, his face now crimson red hidden in your neck, where he leaves more kissed and bites of love.

“Oh, please, Yoongi!” you breathe out, clawing at his shoulder blades.

“What do you want, sweetums?” he asks, in the softest whispers against your ear, the movement of his hips coming to an almost full stop against your stomach.

“Yoongi!” you call in irritation. He knew damn well what you wanted.

“I wanna hear you say it. Say what you want from me, spell it out” he demands, kissing and sucking at your pulsing point, aggravating your already excruciating problem.

“I want you. I want you to fuck me, want your cock in me, deep and fast, please, Yoongi!” It all comes out so fast it could barely be called a proper sentence, but he understood it well enough to smirk against the skin of your neck.

“Such a good girl” he praises.

Holding himself up with one arm and lowering himself down, Yoongi takes himself in hand and slowly grinds his tip in between your puffy folds, opening them up and revealing the sticky mess he created. You watch as his body shudders without noticing how your own trembled and how your hips twitched at the first contact. Without warning, Yoongi positions himself in line with your entrance and yanks his hips forward, a blissful sting of stretch making you hiss before a guttural moan leaves your open lips.

He stills just for a moment, just enjoying the feeling just as much as you were, before the pounding started.

Just like you asked, he was going deep and fast, leaning down and holding his weight in his forearms as he kept himself on his knees, creating enough leverage to ram into you profoundly. He filled you up perfectly with each thrust, each drag of his staff against your inner walls resulting in a release of relief that was both immensely satisfying and still not enough. He kept sliding back almost all the way out only to plunge back in with force, in and out, in and out, and every time he bottomed out his bushy pelvic bone rubbed against you and triggered that fleshy button in between your pink and glistening with arousal lips.

“Ahh!... Ahh!... I’m… I…”

You couldn’t form a sentence, you were sure you couldn’t even spell out his name or yours at that point, the fever spreading from your womb so severe it was melting your brain. Yoongi rolled forwards in his knees and somehow managed to speed up even more, repeatedly and almost continuously pushing his cock against that particularly sensitive pad of nerves inside your squelching tunnel, sending sparks all over your body and that was it.

You scream out as you cum, hips writhing against him and body convulsing as your hands scraped at his back, the tension in your core secreting to your whole body before crashing down in sharp pleasure that made you dizzy.

Yoongi as slowed down to watch as you reach your orgasm, the way your skin gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, face scrunched up, eyes shut close and delicious lips opened up always incredibly beautiful in his eyes. He wanted to follow you, the stinging kindle with each throb of his staff incredibly painful.

He started to move again, aching hard and leaking, your walls closing around him tight and snug. But still, something was holding him back.

“Fuck… Y/N, I… I need… need!” he struggles to speak, each word coming out in a heavy pant as he kept thrusting with his eyes closed.

Taking his face in hand and kissing his chopped lips, you whisper into his ear.

“Do whatever you need, Yoongi. I’m all yours to use” you allow.

That seems to do it for him. The thrusts grow sloppy and erratic, Yoongi’s jaw tense as he grunts deeply and just as you felt the first twitch of his cock inside, he pulls out, takes his length in hand and jerks himself off feverously while white strings of seed paint your belly. He moans softly as he watched his seed taint your skin.

“There” he exhales, relief evident in his voice. “Mine.”

Even though he was clearly exhausted, Yoongi doesn’t allow himself to lay down next to you just yet. You watch him disappear into the bathroom and coming out with a wet warm towel that he uses to clean up the mess he made. Careful strokes clean your stomach and the sheet beneath you, where drops had already fallen. You smile and hum with heavy eyes as you watch him, the man you love so much caring for you so deeply.

“I can’t stay with you because I’m needed in the studio. If I wasn’t, I would draw a bath for you” he explains in a matter of apologizing.

“It’s okay, love. I can do it myself” you assure. “Oh, let me get that iced coffee ready before you go!”

You try to get up and return to the kitchen, looking around for a t-shirt you could put on just around the house, but Yoongi stops you by pulling you in for a kiss. One of his hands rest on your thigh and another at your back, as you end up sited next to him.

He doesn’t say it, he always had trouble saying it on his own. But you don’t mind saying it first.

“I love you, Yoongi. I’m glad we could talk about all of this.”

He smiles and the hand on your thigh comes up to cup your cheek as he looks at you adoringly.

“I love you too.”

#bts chubby reader #bts x chubby reader #chubbyreader #chubby!reader #bts fic #bts fanfiction #BTS suga #yoongi #min yoongi #bts yoongi #suga x reader #suga x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #kpop plus size #plus size reader #kpop chubby reader #kpop smut

206 notes · View notes

mortemersgf · 3 years

Text

sweeter than sugar

open heart third year: aurora emery x f!mc (emilia evans)

summary: just two girlfriends taking a break from studying to bake.

warnings: mentions of the maitotoxin attack, taking pills, very brief mention of survivor’s guilt.

word count: 1.1k

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

a/n: something quick i wrote last night. i miss aurora sm :(((

“Ugh… I need a break.”

Emilia slumps over the thick medical textbook, staring into the darkened kitchen. She had always wanted to be a doctor. Working half of her life towards this goal of hers has Emilia beaming when her fingers brushed against her very own Edenbrook Hospital photo ID. In this moment though, with the board exams fast approaching, she wants to bang her head against a wall and call it quits.

Unfortunately, her study buddy would never approve of such a decision, so she exhales slowly and wills to keep cramming her brain with medical knowledge.

It’s a quiet, late afternoon at the apartment. Sienna, Jackie, and Elijah have commandeered their spots at the cat cafe again, since last week’s study session proved effective. Aurora and Emilia, on the other hand, opted to stay home just because. Their schedules haven’t been lining up, so it was rare to pass by each other in the corridors, let alone sit down at the lounge to have a cup of coffee together. What’s a better way to spend time together than studying for the boards?

Just as her eyes start to go unfocused, Aurora pushes her chair back, standing up with a small huff.

Emilia pats the spot next to the empty coffee carafe, murmuring, “More caffeine please.”

“No,” Aurora says, “No more caffeine. We need actual food.”

“Objection.”

“I’ll make us something to eat. What do you want?”

At that, Emilia perks up. “I’ll come with.”

Aurora gives her a knowing look. Recently, she fell down a rabbit hole of wanting to master simple recipes. It was cute—worrying, as well, but mainly cute—because the driving force of her decision was Emilia.

“I wanna cook for you sometime,” Aurora mumbled one night.

They were cuddled together under the sheets, making small pillow talk after a particularly long day at work. Emilia had looked to her girlfriend, smiling warmly, “I’ll teach you.”

Suffice to say, that didn’t work out. The moment Aurora presented a clump of dark, withered bacon strips was the moment Emilia should’ve known. After several attempts and the setting off of fire alarms, she concluded that cooking was just not one of Aurora’s strong suits.

Now, Aurora gives Emilia a slight frown, saying, “I’m not going to burn down the kitchen.”

“Debatable,” Emilia quips, giving Aurora’s backside a gentle pat as she passes by her, “I adore you, but you can’t cook.”

Relenting with a small smile, Aurora follows Emilia into the kitchen and sets the coffee pot in the sink. As Emilia pushes her sleeves up, eyes sweeping across the kitchen counter for any potential ingredients, Aurora moves behind her and gathers her hair in her hands. She ties off Emilia hair in a low, loose ponytail, and peeks into one of the cabinets. There, she finds an array of cake mixes.

Emilia lets out an approving sound beside her. “Good idea! Let’s make chocolate lava cake.”

“This is Sienna’s,” Aurora notes, “Wouldn’t she mind?”

“I’ll repay her with cake.”

“If she starts stress baking and notices one of her cake mixes went missing, I wasn’t involved.”

They split up tasks and get to work in comfortable silence, ever so often murmuring to one another one about how good the kitchen smells with the aroma of chocolate in the air. Aurora insists on mixing the cake batter, so while she busies herself with that, Emilia makes the filling.

“Hey, ‘Rora,” Emilia calls.

“Yes?” Aurora turns, raising a brow in question.

“Try this.” Emilia holds up a spoonful of liquefied dark chocolate, cupping a hand under Aurora’s chin to prevent any filling from staining her shirt.

Aurora wraps her lips around the spoon and hums, eyes twinkling in delight. She nods. “It’s good.”

Emilia, pleased, breaks out into a smile. She added a small handful of sweetened shredded coconut, Aurora’s favorite. “I might just quit my job and become a chef now.”

Aurora lets out a small scoff. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Would you love me if I wasn’t a doctor?”

“You’d never quit your job.”

“Yeah, but, still. Would you?”

“Of course, Em. I don’t care what your profession is, I just want you.”

A wide smile spreads across Emilia’s face as she cooes, “Aurora…”

“Oh, stop.”

Ten minutes later, the oven lets out a soft chime. Emilia, with her oven mitts, removes the tray of ramekins and settles them on the kitchen countertop. All the while, Aurora pours themselves two mugs of milk. She takes a glance at the clock and pads into Emilia’s bedroom, returning with a bottle of pills in hand.

“Time for your meds, Em,” Aurora says. She fills a glass with water and hands Emilia two pills, stroking her back gently. “How are you feeling today?”

Emilia ponders the question with a small smile. “I’m good. The headaches have been mild lately.”

As a result of the maitotoxin attack, Emilia has come down with occasional headaches. It’s nothing too serious, but to manage the residual effects of the incident, migraines and guilt being the two biggest ones, she takes medications, and she goes to therapy. Emilia takes it one day at a time with Aurora right by her side.

She has been more than helpful, reminding Emilia to take her pills whenever it seems to slip her mind and acting as a human pillow whenever the headaches are almost unbearable. Emilia would tuck her face into Aurora’s shoulder. In turn, Aurora would circle her arms around Emilia, rubbing her back and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

With a swig of water, Emilia takes her medicine, flashing another smile at Aurora. “All good. Let’s eat.”

They push aside the sea of textbooks, files, and laptops to make room for the dessert. Through the floor to ceiling windows, Emilia sees the sun setting. The stretch of towering buildings and glittering waters against the fusion of orange and pink is a mesmerizing sight, even more so with Aurora placed before it.

Indiscreetly, Emilia snaps a photo of Aurora as she pokes a spoon into the cake. She turns her phone’s screen towards Aurora, beaming, “New lock screen. You look so pretty.”

Aurora, like her usual self, smiles shyly and lowers her head. “Shut up. Eat.” She raises the spoon to Emilia’s mouth.

Emilia isn’t sure if it’s because of the filling or the fact that it’s Aurora who’s feeding her, but the dessert tastes much sweeter than it should. She takes Aurora’s hand in hers as they carry on with demolishing the cake, the simplicity of it all warming her heart.

#aurora emery #open heart third year #choices #open heart #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfic #aurora emery x mc #dr aurora emery #choices aurora #choices open heart #choices oh #open heart fanfic #pixelberry #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Text

Conquest

A commission I did for a lovely person, staying anonymous! ♥ Thank you so much for commissioning me, this was a lot of fun to write!

Characters: Yandere!Claude von Riegan x f!Reader Rating & Warnings: Explicit/Lemon, Yandere, Infidelity

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Laughter filled the grand room, made explicitly for entertaining guests and visitors despite it only being you and Claude that night. The mansion was grand, but in this room, you two had your peace. You were well aware that there were a lot of servants out in the halls that could have potentially bothered you two, but you sent most of them home early, buying their silence of who came to visit you, while your fiance was out on a mission, by giving them free time. And the few guards left, you bribed with some wine, so there really was no one who’d invite themselves to your little party.

In reality, this was less of a festivity than it was a sad, farewell get-together. Pouring Claude some more wine, you looked into his dazzling, green eyes, quick to avert your gaze as to not fall for them again. You two had been much more than just acquaintances for most of your life now, despite him being away from home for a good portion of time due to the war. But ever since he returned, you two had been barely separable until… your family decided to end the love affair between you and the king.

It wasn’t your decision, nor was it his. You had to follow what was decided for you, and it was reasonable enough to believe that it was the right way. Even if you were of noble blood, you couldn’t stand your ground to the royal family Claude was from. He’d have a good choice of partners to marry, but you wouldn’t be one of them. In return, you’d marry a fine young noble working directly under him, a sticker to the rules, and a provider for all of his family. But after all, he wasn’t Claude, and you could already feel your heartache, knowing you’d have to part with the king that night, and the next time you’d see him, it would be at the side of your husband, with you as his loyal wife.

As much as you wanted to be good and please your and the family of your fiance, even pouring your guest wine seemed like a tedious task. If that was how your future events and invitations would go - you, only there to smile and serve drinks to your husband - then you were expecting a very dull life ahead of you. He might seem like a good choice to marry to everyone else, but you knew that besides work and responsibilities, there wasn’t much excitement or love in his life to give to you. Not like Claude, who’d have you on your toes all day long and show you the wondrous sights of the world through his eyes. Sighing about the thought, you put down the carafe, a hand immediately coming up under your chin, lifting your face back into Claude’s direction.

“Already sighing? The night hasn’t even started yet,” Claude reminded you, a smile dancing on his lips, and you picked up on the innuendos in his words. You did your best to show him an amused smile, but his mind was sharp than ever, not missing any cues you were giving him. Deciding it was the best to be straight-forward, you offered him the chalice with wine you poured him before speaking. “I am just thinking that this is the last night we’ll be sitting together like this, and it saddens me.”

Claude’s expression turned sour for a moment before he accepted your offering, taking a sip of only the finest alcohol your home had to serve. As for you, you weren’t much of a drinker, but when he offered you his drink, you didn’t refuse him. You even went so far as to take a big gulp, hoping it would lessen the heartache you were feeling significantly. But of course, it didn’t make it disappear, it just made your mind fuzzy, and your thoughts diverted from it for a little bit. You leaned back into his arm around the backrest of the seating arrangement, comfortable with the feeling of his familiar warmth. Instantly his fingers caressed your open shoulders tenderly, massaging the tense knots building in them, and you were more than okay with him doing that.

“You know what we should do?” he asked you with a chuckle, a hand lowering onto your sparely covered leg. He dragged his fingers up, applying pressure, but before he came to high, he let them slide back down, caressing you like this until you felt the warmth spread under his touch. Grinning, you detected the suave undertone in his voice, paired with his touch, letting you know exactly what he was talking about. But you played the clueless one, knowing that getting it on with the king, now that you were affianced, was frowned upon.

“I think we should use the time that we have together to the fullest; what do you say?”

As much as you wanted to give in to his thoughts, lay yourself bare and have him ravage you up into whatever heaven you thought there was, you only laughed timidly, reaching for his hand on your leg and stopping it from advancing towards your hip. “You know we can’t. We really shouldn’t, and besides, what if my fiance returns any minute now? I’ll be in trouble for even receiving a visit from you.”

Humming thoughtfully, Claude leaned forward, apparently undeterred by your words as his lips trailed down your neck, sending prickles over your skin. Unfortunate as it was for the situation, it was one of your favorite spots to be kissed, the familiar tingling of excited anticipation in your lower back while he climbed down your neck towards the crook and up under your chin again. “I sent your fiance on a very important mission for Almyra this weekend. Don’t think that even if he wanted to, he could make it back home before the start of the new week.”

The huff you let out was unhelpful, as it opened your mouth for a sigh in pleasure right away. “That was a little sly, your Highness. As if you had planned this rendezvous in advance?”

Feeling his lips curl into a grin on your skin, you couldn’t help but reciprocate, your hand loosening your grip on his, immediately allowing it to creep up and between your leg. As if the feeling of his touch and kisses wasn’t enough to send shivers down your spine, the moment his fingers dug into the fabric of your underwear, rubbing their full lengths along your slit and teasing your clit with the thumb, you couldn’t hold back a gasp, followed by a moan.

You laid your head to the side, allowing him more freedom to roam. His second hand came up to push away hair that got tangled between you two, the kisses now falling behind and under your ear where your skin was especially sensitive, all while he kept working and teasing you through the fabric of your panties.

Perhaps it was the influence of the alcohol, or simply, the influence Claude had on you, that you let him do this to you. You had only ever known him as cunning and strong-willed, always going for what he wanted. But at the same time, he had always treated you well, allowed you a wonderful life at his side despite you two not being officially in a relationship, and treated you nothing short of how he’d treat his queen.

Despite never asking him how he felt about the fact you were to be married off to someone else, you wanted to believe it might have affected him badly too, driving him to such extremes for which he’d send you fiance away so he could have you to himself again. He probably also expected you to not turn him away as he stood at your doorstep at these late hours, as no one would have dared to do that to a king anyway. But you had special reasons not to, and he knew there wouldn’t be a better chance than that night.

If you thought about it this way, you two were to be pitied.

In love, yet denied the possibility to live out your desires and wants to the fullest. This situation now wasn’t ideal, and certainly nothing you should do in your position now. But if Claude wanted you so badly too, who were you to deny him? At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself through the haze of alcohol and waves of pleasure colliding inside of you. Oh, you were so glad to not have worn any obstructive clothes that day, maybe even because deep down, you hoped for these things to happen. But this way, it was easy for Claude to peel you out of the bits you wore or move them aside for his convenience.

His free hand wandered over your body, painting circles and lines all over your skin until he found your breasts, a dominant grip falling over your right one. It was then that he pulled you closer to him, his hands conveniently on points of your body where he could lift your leg over his and your butt into his lap. As always, you were so pretty in the dim flickering of the candles that illuminated the room, gracing you with their warm shimmer against your skin. A sight Claude loved almost as much as the one when you laid below him, chest rising and falling quickly under the ecstasy of pleasure, gasping and moaning his name.

The switching of his hands escaped your attention, but not so the discarding of your clothes, exposing your bare chest to the warm air. Clearly, you were already feeling hotter than the room temperature, but it was only rising now that he found your left breast, teasing fingertips exploiting the chance to work your freed nipple. Claude had a way not only with his words and strategies but also with touches. He always knew how to fire you up, make you turn your heads towards him to use his lips to calm the echoes of your voice ringing out.

“We really shouldn’t,” you managed to press through your lips on his, but your body pressing up and moving into his as if there was no holding back spoke volumes about how you really felt. Having someone you actually loved touch you, had so much more meaning than any other arm around you or words of endearment from any other person’s mouth. The King was undeterred by your comment, minding only the passion in your kiss and the feeling of your nip flicking through his fingers.

What a guilty pleasure this was, having someone who knew your body like his own show up unannounced at the empty estate of your future husband whose company you didn’t care for. Having Claude all to yourself with no one intervening or minding your business was a delicacy, and whatever rode you to this act of infidelity definitely was a secret that was only set free between you two.

Touching his hand tenderly, you encouraged Claude’s teasing of your breast and also the second hand on your clit. Never had he disappointed you with a touch before, and even if the pulling and releasing of your sensitive nipple made you clench your teeth, you were instantly rewarded with pleasure taking over the sting of pain it left. You were all too willing to open up your legs on your own now, allowing him more attack surface for his teases, mixed with husky chuckles coming from your spine and sending goosebumps over your arms.

However, you, too, weren’t a bad partner, moving back and into his crotch until you could feel the firmness of a bulge against your ass. It should have been illegal how well his length fit against you, but by the occasional gasp he let out, you were glad to know he was feeling as ecstatic about it as you were. His fingers dug lower into your crotch, finding the opening to all the good feelings, and entered you without hesitation. It wasn’t long until they were covered in your slick, moving in even deeper, and you could barely keep your voice at a low.

This, plus the constant teasing around your nipples, didn’t help to cease the fire burning up in your core, and when you gazed at him with your eyes veiled in lust, Claude wasn’t one to reject your wish for more. After all, how could he, burning with desire too? Grinning, Claude’s fingers disappeared from you, gaining a disappointed mewl from your mouth before you gasped as he lifted you up shortly before laying you down onto the lounging couch. Seeing his grinning, excited expression suddenly very close before you, you couldn’t help but letting out a sweet chuckle, cupping his face and pulling him down into a kiss.

With his hands steadily finding their place against your lower thighs, Claude held them up and out of the way while you reached out to unpack his cock. You almost found it lucky that Almyran clothes could be everything you imagined, but they weren’t hard to undo in situations like these. Eagerly, his full length jumped out as Claude’s pants fell out of the picture, the smooth fabric very tempted by the gravity that laid over you all, and you stroked his member eagerly, gaining some approving kisses from your king.

Right that moment should have been when you resisted. Put down a foot and returned to being ‘good’ and how everyone wanted you to behave. But this time, when you looked into his eyes, your body simply gave in, closing your lids as you placed his tip against your entrance, Claude inching closer to make this all the more enjoyable. And when he finally stretched you out, you were in your personal heaven, arms clasping together behind his neck while you welcomed him fully into you.

Nothing else than knowing he felt the same way could have made you happier than the feeling of his hips crashing into yours.

If only you had known how lucky you were not to know all of Claude’s thoughts. The twisted reality in his mind, only presented to him and for him to deal with. Claude and you, you two went way back. To the tender ages of your youths were there weren’t kings or nobility to keep you apart. His days spent at the Monastery without you were filled with desire and longing for you. With waiting and anticipating another letter in between the troubled times he encountered.

He still remembered the first kiss you two shared after a hunt, beneath an old tree, with only the forest being witness to the confessions of love you whispered. He still knew how beautiful you looked after your first night together, waking up with rays of sunlight shining down on you as if you were an angel sent to him. Never had he imagined to find anyone as precious as you, someone who could endure his teases and laugh with him earnestly and not out of fake sympathy like everyone else.

And now, someone else decided that you two should not be together?

As if he would have allowed that.

He didn’t become king so other people could tell him who he should be spending his life with. Much too long, Claude had to listen to old seniles who thought they ‘knew it better than the young’ and never bothered to listen to them and their objections. Nights had gone by where Claude had bitten his nails while trying to find a solution to this problem. The sun always rose way before he found sleep, and there still was nothing he thought he could do to keep you by his side. He tried raising your ranks, make you an official in the positions - anything that would keep you from being wed off.

There would have been no way Claude would ever approve anyone else by your side. Still, everyone knew what he was up to whenever he proposed a new scheme to get you two closer together again and dismissed it as if this wasn’t a matter of urgency to the king. He thought about every scenario, even really, really bad ones. A hunting accident, your fiance lost on a mission or never showing up to the wedding. All of these sounded great to him, but he also thought about the other side of the coin.

What if he could make you undesirable to everyone but him?

What if you had a cut over your face, a limb less, or no tongue to utter another word? Would there be anyone else loving you then, aside from him? Certainly, Almyra loved battles as much as they loved desserts after dinner. Claude despised violence, but if that meant keeping you at his side, who knows what he would have done for you. But then a better thought came to mind. With one month before your wedding, you were supposed to keep yourself pure and docile, leave a good impression on your new family. Clearly, that wasn’t on your mind right now as you called out his name beneath him ecstatically.

Claude leaned down, softly biting into the flesh of your neck, gaining a shiver from your body as well as a gasp. This was only the first of many of his plans, leaving you littered in the pattern of his teeth and hickies. Moaning and groaning, both of you enjoyed the continuous pumping of his hips into yours, the exploring of your inner walls that so happily greeted his cock with clenches and shudders. You were overwhelmed by the feeling of his member filling you out and the touches all over your body that he so charitably spread everywhere Claude could reach.

You were so cute wiggling under him, happy and satisfied. He could feel your orgasm building up, hearing it in your voice as you begged and praised him, urging him on to fulfill the deed. How adorable it was that you didn’t know what expected you any second from now on. The face you made while wholly engulfed in pleasure was almost innocent in comparison to the knowledge Claude had.

Claude wondered if your fiance had finally arrived at the estate, wondering why so little servants were around to welcome him. Wondering where his future wife was since he sent a letter ahead that he’d arrive in time before bed that day. The very same letter Claude intercepted, making his way to the estate before the potential husband would even know the king had arrived for ‘talks’. Talks, or rather, using the lady of the house just like he deserved to.

“C-Claude!” Your voice tore him out of his thoughts as you screamed for him, walls clenching tightly together around his member, unwilling to let him go. Your climax was strong enough to lift you deeper onto his cock, and though he couldn’t move, trapped in you, Claude felt his own orgasm erupt, spurts of hot semen filling you your insides.

It was just in time for him to hear the door to the room open, a long, creaking sound accompanied by the gasps of servants who quickly averted their eyes despite the shock. Only one pair of eyes widened as it saw you, back arching and toes curling while you lived out your personal height. There were no words from either of you three, but Claude’s lips curled into a satisfied grin - knowing his plan had succeeded just in time - while he slowly pulled out his cock from your pussy, semen dripping from it.

He was almost tempted to have you finish the deed and lick it off in front of your fiance. It would have been nice to see the appall on his face, or perhaps despair he felt if he had to watch you do those things to the king you two served. The future held so many open questions about the ‘why’ and the ‘how’, and they all wouldn’t be answered that night. Claude fell back onto the comfortable seating, knowing exactly what he had done to you two that night. Still, all he was interested in was if your fiance would be able to forgive you for it.

And if he didn’t forgive you for it, Claude would have you back very soon, and even more so, with the most satisfying conquest there was.

116 notes · View notes

pikemoreno · 4 years

Text

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter I: Coffee Cures All Ills

a/n: Here it is folks! The first part of a Marcus fic heavily inspired by the Netflix rom-com Set It Up.

It’s more structurally and conceptually inspired and not an exact scene-for-scene remake because a) I was interested in the idea of this not even really being an AU. This is extremely canon-compliant and you’ll see more of that as we continue on. 😏And b) because I had lots of ideas that spun off from watching Set It Up that I just liked better for the purpose of this fic. So that’s what you can expect. It’s gonna be cheesy and fun and great.

The first couple of chapters are a lot of, well, set up (which has been infuriating). But we’ll get into the meat of it soon. My outline says so.

As a side note, a lot of the gifs I’m going to be using are from the movie, but these are not my face claims for any of the characters. I’m using them simply for the ~vibe~ of the chapter. Reader is not a small white girl... Or she might be. She is you. Or whatever OC you’d like her to be. Period.

And that’s it. Let’s go, I guess.

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2k (probably one of the shortest chapters we’re gonna see out of the 14-ish lolz)

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He’d seen what it had done to him in failed relationships including everything up to a failed marriage. Some would argue that it wasn’t love then, that love doesn’t fail, so it couldn’t have been. But he disagreed. He knows it when it hits. It comes on you like lightning, bright and fast. You accept it, letting it run through your veins, and risk suffering a fatal blow to your heart. And it most definitely can fatally fail. It can cause joy and pain in equal measure. He’d already been struck so painfully once, the blow of the electricity going straight to his heart. He was beginning to hope to the high heavens that he wouldn’t be so unlucky as to be struck a second time, just in case it should reach his heart so painfully once more.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He felt that especially strongly as he watched Adrian go through his recent break-up. He felt for his fellow agent, he really did. Adrian was completely convinced Sam was the one, sold to the point of going ring shopping soon. But one brief mention of an engagement sent Sam running for the hills. He’d been moping around the office for a couple of weeks now and, as much as Marcus understood the pain, he was already really looking forward to Adrian’s rebound or some similar distraction. He was needing his friend’s signature fire back right about now, not to mention his focus. His work had gotten sloppy in this mourning period. He was constantly distracted. Marcus was dreading getting him on this case today, but maybe it was just the push he needed. He hoped. He stepped up to Adrian’s desk, watching the glazed over look in his eye.

“Hey, Adrian, do you mind getting a head start on this? I’d really like you to be our head man on--” he slid the file onto his desk, but was cut short by Adrian’s response. A response that had nothing to do with anything Marcus had just said.

“I’m gonna die alone,” he muttered, hands supporting his chin, elbows on his desk. Marcus let out an exasperated sigh that he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not gonna die alone,” he played along once again, rubbing his temple.

“Maybe I’ll go be a monk. They never have to worry about this shit.”

“An honorable profession.”

“Yeah.” Adrian blinked out of his dream-like state. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Marcus nodded rigidly. “Sorry, Pike.” He opened the file, nodding slowly, “Yeah, I’ll get on this.”

“You look exhausted,”

“I am,” he admitted sheepishly.

“I’m making a break room run to get coffee, you want one?”

“Please.” Marcus nodded his understanding and made his way down the hall to the break room. He doubted a case and a coffee could get his friend back on track, but he could hope, right?

***

If you had to listen through one more of Wendy’s mood swings, you might just scream. You love the girl, you really do. She’s your friend and the best boss you could’ve asked for, but Lord Almighty, had she been in rare form. Some days she was perfectly fine, strutting around like she didn’t care that her asshole boyfriend Daniel gave her an ultimatum instead of a ring on their last anniversary. Other days would see her doing a complete 180, shutting herself in her office and weeping into suspect files. Your least favorite days, though, were days where the heartbreak made her angry, where thinking about Daniel saying “It’s me or your job” made her border-line vengeful. But, unfortunately for you and the rest of the team, he wasn’t around to take the beating.

You couldn’t say you entirely understood. The short catalog of even shorter flings that you boasted brought largely apathy rather than heartbreak. You couldn’t say you’d ever been in love like Wendy had been. You’d never felt anything quite that strong-- and thank goodness for that. It wasn’t something you particularly looked forward to, at least, not the way you’d seen it lately. It was an uncontrollable force, dangerous and all-consuming. You liked control, liked being in your right mind. If love was to take up it's unfortunate residence, you could only hope it was for someone worth losing your mind over. You hadn’t seen anyone of the sort so far.

Unfortunately, it was already too late for Wendy Harrod. The already intimidating head of the Jewelry & Gem Theft Program in Texas was in rare form. You watched as an HR intern ran from her office in near tears. Poor Randy. Her sharp “come in” in response to your knock on her door made you wince.

“Harrod, I have the results of that house search you requested if you--”

“No, no! Absolutely not, I cannot handle this right now,” she was absolutely raging, leaving you grasping at straws for a response.

“I-- Uh-- Of course. I’ll just leave it right here whenever--” you placed it gently on the end table by the door before being interrupted again.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned out before flopping into her desk chair, the red leather creaking as she let sit spin her around once, “I’m sorry. I’m being mean.” There was your Wendy.

“Just a little.”

“Sorry, sorry. Bring that here please.”

“What can I do for you? As your friend, I mean. You--” you weighed your words carefully as you hand her the report, “You haven’t quite been yourself since…” you stopped that thought, “Well, lately.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I need,” she began to skim the report before looking back up with you with a tight lipped smile, “Maybe a coffee? For the more immediate problems anyway.” You laughed.

“Now that I can do. I’m headed there now. Break room coffee ok?”

“That’d be perfect.”

“The usual?”

“The usual.” She yelled after you as you walk down the hall, “You’re an angel!”

She wasn’t gonna be saying that when you came back without coffee.

The sign on the coffee pot reading “out of coffee” was going to seriously ruin your reputation and Wendy’s sensitive mood. You ran through the options: you couldn’t leave to get her a Starbucks; there were some bottled iced coffees in the fridge, but Wendy hated them; you could wait for someone to make a run at lunch and pass on the order, but this was too urgent. Then it hit you. Everyone knew the sixth floor had the better coffee stock anyway. The art freaks loved their fancy stuff. You could always just waltz down a floor and snag two cups from their stash. 5 minutes in and out. No harm done, no questions asked.

Or so you thought.

The sixth floor break room was already occupied when you walked in, finding another agent also brewing a morning cup in a single cup coffee maker.

They really did have everything here: multiple pots, another much fancier looking machine that looked like it might come to life and attack at any moment, recyclable coffee cups, every type of creamer. You name it.

You’d have to sneak over here more often.

You stepped up to the larger coffee pot, rinsing out the carafe before reaching for the container of grounds. Empty.

They had everything here. Except coffee.

Was the whole damn building in a coffee famine? You didn’t have time to check.

“No, no, no, no,” you panicked, frantically searching the cabinet for another container. In your peripheral you could see the other agent look at you like you’d grown two heads. You couldn’t be bothered with his judgement, but you met his eyes to ask, maybe a little too frantically.

“Is that the last of it?” you questioned, eyeing the cup he was brewing.

“Well, yeah, sorry.” It was obvious he meant it, but apologies were not what you were needing right now.

“Shit.”

“Withdrawals?” he laughed a little at your panicked state, but it wasn’t demeaning. He was genuinely amused, and maybe a little concerned, but it made you narrow your eyes at him all the same. You were not in the mood for the mocking, no matter how light-hearted it may be. No matter how much it was softened by the bright smile next to you.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my boss. My very upset boss who needs just one small ounce of joy in her life right now. The kind of joy that can only come from the fueling of her caffeine addiction, so if I could please just have that cup?” You blinked at him innocently, but his dark brown eyes widened as he shook his head

“What? No. I have a friend who needs this. If I don’t bring him this, he won’t be working for the rest of the day.”

“If I don’t bring my boss a cup of coffee in the next two minutes, I will probably not be working again. Ever. I will be dead. Do you want to be complicit in a murder, Agent--” you glanced at his badge, “Pike? Can you really live with that?”

“You’re awfully dramatic aren’t you?”

“I wish it was an exaggeration.” He inspected your badge then too.

“Jewelry and Gem Theft. Floor 7, right? What brings you down here to steal our coffee?” The argument was pointed, but his demeanor was anything but. He was smiling, enjoying this. A little too much, you seethed. You couldn’t stand around arguing all day.

“We’re out too.”

“Try another floor?”

“Time is of the essence here, Art Squad.” There was no room for addressing him politely now, he was riling you up on purpose.

“If you didn’t stand here arguing with me you could’ve tried another floor by now, Jewels.”

He must think he’s so clever.

“Please. This is DEFCON 5.”

“You do know DEFCON 5 is the good one, right?”

“You know what I mean. Please.” He looked at you and then the newly brewed cup, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking through the problem.

“Tell you what. I am willing to split this if you are. Maybe it’s enough to fix both of them.” The crease between his eyebrows was deep as he studied your face, “I know Adrian is too out of it to notice he’s getting jipped, not sure about your boss.” You shrugged.

“Wendy will manage. It’s enough to keep her from throwing something at my head next time I walk in.” He dutifully split the coffee between two of the recyclable travel cups and handed one to you. You took it gratefully.

“I hope this keeps you from… Dying? What’s up with that anyway?” You’re not sure what made this person that was essentially a stranger so interested in your life, but something about it feels nice.

“She had a really bad breakup: anniversary, thought it was going to be a proposal, instead it was him being a piss-baby. She’s a little all over the place right now. They’d been together for years and now there’s just… A hole. She doesn’t know how to deal with it.” Pike’s nod in response is emphatic, giving the cup in his hand a little wave.

“Same with him. Terrible breakup. He didn’t see it coming at all. She broke up with him on a voicemail… Then moved. ‘Course it just put him in this crazy funk, though. Doesn’t wanna work or do much of anything. No violence. Yet. But it’s sad to see.” You winced.

“That’s a rough one. Best of luck with him, Art Squad. Thank you. I owe you one. Seriously.”

“You definitely do, Jewels.” His smile is blindingly bright as he jokes. It makes you smile back.

“See you around.”

series taglist: @whiskeyslasso @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

forever tags: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives

#im not in love with this first chapter but hey!#gotta start somewhere #marcus pike x reader #iyewbil #bri writes

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jarienn972 · 4 years

Text

La Sirena - Chapter Three

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

My intent had been to post this latest chapter update for @cssns yesterday, but neither Tumblr nor my internet at home wanted to cooperate so Chapter Three was a little bit delayed. I decided with this chapter to jump a few days ahead so that Killian was partially recuperated and able to start exploring his new surroundings. He’s discovered that his “angel” is a mysterious, lonely woman who has been stranded on this stretch of shore for a very long time and he wants to learn more about her. Will he get more than he bargained for though?

I have to say thanks again to @courtorderedcake for her beautiful artwork featured here and to @kmomof4 for being an amazing beta reader!

The first two chapters can be found on AO3 and FF.net or here: One Two

Chapter Three: A Glimpse of the Unknown

By the third sunrise since arriving on this distant cove, Killian was at last feeling recuperated enough to venture beyond the protected thicket. He'd been gratefully accepting Emma's offered sustenance and had enjoyed the few, brief conversations they'd shared. The fruits she'd brought had served to nourish his weakened body, especially after a week or so subsisting on the unidentifiable gruel the pirates had shoved at him. More so, her pleasant words may have been few, but they had helped ease his troubled mind and he hoped to entice her into talking more now that he had recovered enough to carry on an intelligent discourse.

What had brought her here to such a seemingly lonely place? Was she truly alone here or were there others living nearby? He had no inkling whether she'd answer him, but with little else to do, he'd relish the challenge.

For now, he was anxious to stretch his legs and discover a bit more of the isle he'd landed upon. Using a nearby palm tree stump to aid in keeping his balance, Killian found his footing and pushed himself fully upright for the first time since he'd escaped the doomed pirate ship. He'd crawled about the clearing as needed and he'd of course been able to sit cross-legged in the sand to eat, but standing suddenly felt foreign. His legs protested the exertion, although not nearly as much as his throbbing head. He had to pause for a few seconds to allow the dizziness to pass, but he pressed forward despite the realization that he'd likely underestimated the severity of the blow he'd taken from the ship's rigging.

It was also at this moment that it dawned on him what a fright he must look. His uniform had been torn to shreds in battle, made worse during his imprisonment, and now hung in tatters on his gaunt form. The relentless waves had shredded the fabric even further but had barely touched the dark stains. His current state was completely unbecoming of an officer but he was a long way from a tailor so he'd have to make due. He was determined to do one thing to improve his outward appearance - bathe. He'd not bathed properly since he'd departed Liam's ship nor had he shaved. His chin itched of several days' growth of whiskers and he found himself idly wondering if his lovely companion might have soap or better yet - a straight razor - in her possession.

Taking each step slowly and deliberately, he followed a narrow, well-trodden path through the patch of cycads, emerging onto a pristine expanse of shoreline. The sand squishing between and beneath his toes was warm, but not uncomfortable as he trudged toward the water's edge. He'd not yet seen Emma this morning. Perhaps he'd risen before her? He was tempted to turn back towards the rocks and search for her, but he knew she'd come find him in time. Right now, he was eager to wade into the crystal clear bay that stretched out before him as far as the eye could see and allow the seawater to wash away the grime and ease the aches in his joints.

And if the fair maiden wasn't around to see him, he could shed his torn, bloodstained linen shirt and the stiff, uncomfortable wool uniform trousers. A least for a few minutes…

The scratchy trousers were the first to go, followed quickly by his shirt. He'd not even bothered undoing all of the buttons as several were already missing. By the time he reached the water, he'd left a trail of clothing behind but as long as he was still alone on the beach, his dignity remained intact.

He waded into the surf, noting that the shallows extended only a short distance from the shore before dropping into unknown depths. At least the waves were calm as they broke against his legs. He dared only to venture in waist deep, not prepared to test his swimming ability so soon lest Emma need to rescue him again. As he bent his knees to lower his torso into the cool, salty water, he watched the little fish darting around. He cupped water in his open palms and splashed it onto his face, careful to avoid the gash on his forehead as he scrubbed away layers of grime. His wound still stung enough without introducing more saltwater to it.

He wasn't normally a contemplative person but even he had to recognize how recent events had altered his perspective. For days in captivity, he'd had nothing but time to think about those he'd failed. His crew. His brother. Himself. Maybe he lacked the necessary skills to be a proper leader. He'd sailed his crew into certain death and yet, here he was - left to wallow in guilt. Liam would have fought harder. He wouldn't have allowed his crew to be taken prisoner.

And yet Liam was the one who'd given the order to scout the uncharted island. The order had come from him. He was the Captain. Liam had imparted this fate upon them with his order…

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, willing himself to banish those thoughts. No, Liam was a good captain. He would never knowingly endanger his crew, especially not with his younger brother leading the expedition. It had been an unfortunate series of events that Killian alone had survived to lament. Fortune had intervened and spared his life, bringing him here to another uncharted, idyllic locale. The cove and its beguiling inhabitant were both ripe with beauty and intrigue.

At some point, his senses became aware that he was no longer alone. He didn't know how long she'd been watching him but he couldn't halt the flush of embarrassment from darkening his cheeks as he splashed an abrupt about-face in the water.

"Apologies," she shouted from the shore. "I didn't intend to startle you."

"'Tis alright," he replied, stupidly arguing with himself as to whether he should cover himself.

"I followed your trail from the grove," she began, waving an arm in the direction of his discarded clothing littering the beach. "If I had known you wished to bathe, I would have recommended the spring-fed pool inside the cavern as being more preferable…"

He chuckled to himself as he gave his head a little shake. Of course, it would have been… "I'll remember that for future reference."

"I am pleased to see that you're feeling stronger today," she smiled while a breezy tradewind fluttered the hem of her tunic, giving him a glimpse of her pale but enticingly shapely legs.

"Yes," he gulped, suddenly even more aware of his current state of undress. "I am feeling much better this morning…"

"That is wonderful. I've refilled the carafe for you back at the grove and brought you some fresh fruit. Is there anything else you might need?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where a man might get some new clothing and perhaps a straight razor around these parts? Is there a town or village nearby where I might find such things? My former uniform is rather an unacceptable mess at the present."

"I'm afraid that the nearest place you'd call a village is more than a day's trek up the peninsula from here and it's certainly not a place where you'd find such goods."

"Ah, pity. We truly are quite isolated here, are we not?"

"Afraid so, but you might be surprised by what this bountiful cove can provide. I believe I may be able to locate some clothing for you and perhaps some personal implements as well. Come join me in the cavern and we can take a look?"

"Ehh…," he stammered, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson. He'd not thought of himself as a prudish person but he was far from a brash braggart who would dare reveal his nudity to an innocent maiden yet. "That sounds like a wonderful idea…"

She seemed a tad confused when he didn't exit the water but after a moment, she understood his hesitation. "Ah - I am truly sorry… I have had little need for modesty in my solitude. I'll leave you be and meet you back beneath the trees in a few minutes."

"Much appreciated," he responded as she turned toward the swaying palms, all the time hearing the ghostly echo of Liam's laughter ringing in his ears.

**********

After ensuring that the coast was clear of prying eyes, Killian padded self-consciously out of the sea. He collected the remnants of his threadbare shirt and used it to give himself a precursory drying off as he fetched his trousers. He would have preferred to burn them rather than don them yet again, but with no other option for clothing presently available, he'd have to suffer and make due. He didn't have the foggiest notion of what Emma had meant when she spoke of the provisions of this bountiful cove, but he had to trust her. He was the outsider here and even though he still knew little about her, he doubted she would have mentioned anything if she couldn't be of assistance.

He chose not to bother putting what remained of his shirt back on as he followed her footprints back into the cycad grove where he'd spent nearly every waking moment since being marooned on this shore. The canopy had provided shade and shelter to him, although he was thankful the skies had been fair. He'd spent the past decade and a half aboard various ships, his leave in port usually brief so this was an unfamiliar experience for the seasoned mariner.

Not necessarily an unpleasant one though, he thought to himself as he arrived to find Emma kneeling in the sand, splitting apart a fig. She silently offered him one half as she bit into the other. Killian accepted it with a nod, popping it into his mouth before realizing she was staring at him with her intense green eyes.

"Have I done something wrong?" he queried with a furrowed brow, concerned he had offended his host with either his actions or his partially clothed form.

"No, no…" she assured him, averting her eyes with a hint of shame. "I was just admiring your pelt…" Her face scrunched in disgust at her errant choice of words. "No, that's not the right word…" She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with the proper term as Killian looked on in confused amusement. "I was drawn to the dark hair that covers your limbs and your torso… The males of my people, they simply do not possess body hair in such patterns."

"Your people don't have body hair?" he asked, incredulously, lifting a curious eyebrow as he wondered how they'd gotten to this conversation.

"Not to the extent of yours… They are able to grow facial hair but only fine, pale hairs adorn their bodies…" Her attempt to explain what she meant only began to exacerbate her awkwardness. "A thick coat of fur is not needed for warmth in our land so I have never seen anyone with such an impressive display of hair…"

"Well, it isn't really for warmth where I come from either. I inherited it from my grandfather, I believe…," he realized he was blushing while he rambled on, suddenly wishing he had something to cover his bare chest.

"Please - do not be embarrassed. I had no intention of shaming you and I should not have been staring - it's not polite - but it has been a very long time since I've been this close to anyone."

"How long?" he caught himself asking, cringing immediately as he blurted out the insensitive question. "Forgive me, please. That wasn't proper for me to be asking."

"It's no matter. We've both made our blunders, have we not?" She mused with a shy grin, the first time he'd truly noticed her smile. It was only visible for a split-second as she abruptly changed the subject, reverting back to her stoic front. "You should come with me to the cavern now. I believe you shall find some of what you seek there."

"Inside the cave?" There was a heavy dose of disbelief in his voice. What on earth would be inside that cavern that would be of use to him?

"Please, just follow me. You will see."

He might have still been skeptical but he was also of the opinion that if a beautiful woman asked you to follow her, you followed her. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to do as requested.

The mouth of the cavern was deeply recessed into the jagged outcrop, making it virtually invisible from the bay. It was dark and uninviting but as they made their way over the ridge and passed into the void, Killian was pleasantly surprised to learn that the interior was relatively well illuminated. Streams of sunlight filtered in through cracks in the cavern's ceiling and he also recognized the acrid scent of smoke lingering in the tempered air, likely residue from the series of torches and lanterns lining the rock walls that Emma used to navigate the tunnels.

With Emma leading the way, they rounded a shadowy corner in a dim passageway that became ablaze with light as they neared. Emma was only a few steps ahead of him, but suddenly there were torches roaring to life. He'd not seen her stop to light the flames, but he shook it off as a trick of his weary head. His injury must be toying with his imagination.

The chamber they'd now entered was clearly Emma's living quarters and Killian swallowed back a swell of unease at invading her private dwelling, although she didn't appear fazed. He noted its simple furnishings as they passed, this not being her intended destination. Tucked away in an alcove, he saw only a mattress fashioned from woven raffia grasses and a series of colorful ceramic carafes like those she'd used to bring water to him. She seemed to have little need for creature comforts or material goods, so different from the women he'd encountered in various ports around the realm.

"Just a bit further," she stated, drawing his attention away from her dwelling and back to the passage. He noted the trickle of water off in the distance, likely a stream or brook formed from the spring she'd mentioned earlier. They pressed forward into another chamber that again seemed to illuminate as they drew closer. The experience was a tad disconcerting to Killian but he was determined to keep his mouth shut - at least until his jaw fell slack by the revelation of stunning wonders all around him.

The narrow corridor weaving through the rock opened into a broad, expansive subterranean room, awash in brilliance from its own natural skylight which opened directly above a sparkling pool. Faint tendrils of steam arose from the surface. This must be the spring Emma had recommended for bathing and it looked incredibly inviting.

"This is the spring you spoke of earlier?" he queried.

"One of them. This is the mineral hot spring. There is also a cool, sweet water spring around the bend. It feeds into this pool as well as one deeper into the cavern," she advised.

"This cavern… I've seen others similar on my many adventures. It's an old lava tube, is it not?"

"Very astute and yes, this entire cove was formed by an ancient lava flow."

"It is quite a lovely place and I see now many of its provisions, but I still fail to see what assistance this is to be for me…"

"It was not the cavern itself that I was referring to. This happens to be where I have stored some unusual items that originated in your world."

"My world?" he asked, confused as she lowered herself to her knees and lit a lantern conveniently sitting at her feet. When she raised the lamp, he could now make out the objects she'd been so cryptically taunting him with - four large marine chests in varying states of decay.

"Are these not from your world?" She brought the lantern closer to the nearest chest. It was covered in faded, cracked leather and decorated with ornate brass fittings and latches that were marred with heavy patina. He surmised that there was once a matching padlock that was lost to time but there was no evidence that it had been removed by force. The whole thing had seen better days, bearing extensive visible water damage. Depending on how well it had been constructed and the quality of the leather casing, it could potentially still be watertight. "I find these washed up on the shore from time to time."

"They appear to be merchant chests, used for transporting goods. We had many like these on my ship, although these appear to be much older."

"I assume they came from ships that have sunk in the treacherous waters surrounding this land."

"Around this placid bay?" he scoffed. "These waters are far too tranquil. These must have traveled here from afar…"

"Do not allow the tranquility of this cove to fool you. These waters are teeming with untold dangers. Your very survival was nothing short of miraculous!" Even in the half-light cast off by the flickering lantern, he noted the stern admonishment that spoiled her visage before she hastily turned her face away from his view. She paused with a haunting silence as she calmed herself before continuing with the prior topic. "These chests, I have searched through them, though they contain little to serve my needs, save for the bits of fabric and notions. I do believe that you will find objects that will conform to your needs so please, feel free to peruse their contents at your leisure. I am going to return to the bay so I may find some shellfish for our next meal. If you need my assistance, just shout. Voices carry well in this cavern and I have excellent hearing."

She extended her arm towards him, offering him the lantern she held. She wouldn't require it to make her way out of the cave. He took hold of the handle as she pushed herself back to stand. Emma paused momentarily as Killian crouched, flipping open the latch on the first chest to uncover the hidden treasures beneath.

"Thank you. This was not at all what I expected…" he said as he poured over goods that had survived their journey well. He glanced over his shoulder with a wide grin crossing his lips, one that instantly faded when he discovered she'd already departed.

How? He'd barely averted his attention for a minute or two… How had she vanished so rapidly and so stealthily? One more mystery to add to his growing list…

When he emerged from the cavern, he sported a billowy black silken tunic featuring tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and linen trousers that were the color of the sand. He'd needed to draw the laces quite tight to prevent them from sliding off of his slender hips, but they were exceedingly more comfortable than what was left of his woolen uniform pants. He'd fretted over not finding a razor in any of the chests although he did locate a short-bladed cutlass within a chest full of treasure, likely once the property of a long-dead pirate. It didn't sit as comfortably in his grip as his service rapier but it was a solid, capable weapon. It would certainly prove useful to split a coconut or filet a fish.

He tucked the blade back into its scabbard as he caught sight of Emma on the horizon. He was prepared to thank her for the clothing he'd found, but there was something about the expression on her face… She looked worried, even frightened and she was running toward him.

"Emma? You look vexed, love…"

"Get back inside the cave!" she ordered. "There's a storm coming. It isn't safe here…"

Killian's brow lifted in confusion as he glanced skyward, seeing only a few sparse, puffy clouds against the azure backdrop of the heavens. There was no foul wind blowing to indicate an impending storm. Whatever was she talking about?

"What storm? There's no sign of rain clouds above…"

"Killian…," she pleaded, catching his arm as she hurried past him and tugging him back to the shelter of the cave. "Don't argue with me. Just return to the cavern, back to the pools. You can not be caught up in this…"

"In what?" he pressed for more information while trusting her judgement and retreating beneath the rocky overhang. He expected that she would remain here with him for the duration of this coming storm but once he was safely out of the elements, she released her grasp and scrambled back toward the ridge. "Emma? Where are you going? I thought you said there was a storm coming? That it wasn't safe?"

She stopped at the crest of the ridge and lowered her head. He wasn't sure what to make of her body language or the consternation etched into her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

"It isn't safe for you," she replied sternly. "but this storm - it's here for me."

#cssns20 #cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #siren emma #la sirena

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a-vintage-snake · 4 years

Text

Fear and Delight

Pairing(s): Pre-romantic Dukeceit

First chapter - Previous chapter - Next chapter

Warnings: Child abuse, dirty humor, basically Remus is Very Thirsty™ for that Snake Booty Characters: Janus “Deceit” Sanders, Remus Sanders,

Summary: What exactly happened in the year that Remus disappeared?

Word Count: 9072

Author’s Note: SO. That new episode, AM I RIGHT?? I absolutely loved it, instant fave! That being said, I have considered going back and change Deceit to Janus, but instead I decided to work his name reveal into the story as a plot point. So don't worry, we will be getting snake boi's name into the story eventually, it will just take a while. A loooong while.

People who were asked to be tagged: @avocados26, @fandoms-will-collide @nottoonormalme, @bihighandgivinghighfives, @atticusfinchthelegend, @hekking-happy-nonsense, @lockmcduckwoodchuck

If you want to be removed or added to the taglist, just ask!

Read on AO3

One year ago…

When Remus and his brother had been little, their nanny had often read to them before bed. Stories about daring adventures, defeating monsters and love at first sight. Roman had always sighed dreamily at the last part, romantic little shit that he was. Remus on the other hand would just roll his eyes, yell ‘BORING!!’ and demand that their nanny go back to the part about monster slaying.

Now Remus wanted to kick himself for not paying more attention, cause seriously? How the fuck did those characters deal with love at first sight???

Not as if any tips would have helped in those first moments, when he had openly stared at quite possible the single most drop dead gorgeous man he had ever seen. He was distantly aware that the absolute dreamy apparition from the heavens was talking to him in that silky rich voice that made Remus’ knees weak (luckily he was sitting down). Not a single word registered. Remus was just a tad distracted, thank you very much. Honestly, did this guy know how pretty his face was?? This had to be illegal somewhere.

Deceit stopped talking and frowned. Not an unusual thing to happen, people frowned at him all the time. What was unusual was that Deceit leaned forward a bit and gently gripped Remus’ chin with one hand. Remus’ thoughts, usually an unstoppable whirlwind of continuous screaming abruptly came to a screeching halt. Deceit inspected his eyes, slightly tilting Remus’ head from left to right as he did. Remus followed his guiding hand breathlessly, gawking at how Deceit’s scales glittered in the light of the setting sun. He wanted to draw them... Or maybe lick them. Both? Both is good.

“…I definitely used a too potent of a sleeping spell on you,” Deceit sighed as he released his chin. Remus wanted to whine at the loss of contact. “Luckily, that’s just a matter of sleeping it off.” Deceit continued as he rose from the cot and looked down at Remus. “Can you walk?” He asked.

Remus shot up from the cot so fast that he probably sprained something. Fucking hell, if this guy had asked if he could fly he would have immediately jumped out of the window without a doubt. Deceit raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead he walked towards the door, throwing a ‘follow me’ motion over his shoulder. Remus nearly tripped over his own feet as he scrambled to catch up.

Deceit led him out of the door into darkened halls. He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared in his hand, lighting their path.

The walk was a quiet one. Their footsteps rung in the empty darkness as Remus trailed after the other, wide-eyed and dazed. Remus realized at one point that he had to be in the hidden castle. The one from all the stories, the hideout of one of the most dreaded figures in their country’s history. He had found it… Or rather, he was brought to it. The place everyone feared so much that they avoided the mountains all together.

But who fucking cared about that nonsense?? Certainly not Remus! All he could focus on was the back of the warlock’s head and those beautiful fluffy curls. His fingers were itching and twitching to run through those curls, to see if they really were as soft as they looked like. In fact, his hand already stretched out-

“Here we are,” Deceit interrupted Remus’ musings and he quickly snapped his hand back. They had reached a door in the time where Remus was slowly loosing his mind. Deceit opened and held the door open for him. “These will be your chambers for the duration of your stay.” He said.

Remus stared dumbly at him. “My chambers…?” He repeated a little dumbfounded.

“Yes.” Deceit nodded. Remus looked between the warlock and the open door uncertainly.

“…You’re not going to… Throw me into a dungeon…?” Remus asked dubiously. Deceit tilted his head.

“Why? Would you prefer that?”

…Was he messing with him? Remus honestly couldn’t tell. The warlock’s expression was impossible to read; it was quite an impressive poker face he got there. Realizing he had no hope of forming a somewhat intelligent answer to that, Remus looked away from those mismatched (absolutely alluring, could stare in them for hours) eyes and walked into the room.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect… No, that was lie. Remus knew exactly what he had expected. A torture chamber perhaps, maybe with some various jars with preserved limbs. Or a completely barren cell with one tiny barred window, where he had no choice but to eat his own leg to survive. Not this. Not a perfectly welcoming warm bedchamber, that looked like it was carved into the mountainside rather than built with bricks. A fireplace crackled softly on one side of the room and a comfortable looking poster-bed stood on the other. Large windows showed the peaks of the mountains outside, now black outlines against a quick darkening sky. The view had to be beautiful in daytime. On a small desk near the windows stood a tray with a glass, an elegant carafe filled with crystal clear water and a plate of several assortments of fresh fruit and bread.

Completely baffled Remus stared at the room. He may not have much experience with these types of things, but this is not exactly what he thought a hostage situation would be like.

…Unless he was in one of those steamy romance novels Roman hid underneath his bed and pretended he didn’t read. Oh man, he really, really hoped that was the case.

“You’ll find a bathroom with everything you need through the door on your right,” Deceit said behind him. “Get some more sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

Remus, who had been wholeheartedly distracted, whipped around when he heard the door close. His throat closed up. Ice gripped his veins as he rushed to the door, ready to pound on it, scream-

No no no don’t lock the door don’t lock him up please-!!

One twist on the doorknob and the door flew open, letting Remus tumble out the room in a flurry of unbalanced limbs. He barely avoided tipping over and acquainting his face with the stone floor. He hadn’t… Locked the door?

Perplexed Remus righted himself, staring down the dark empty hallway that greeted him. The warlock was nowhere in sight. What the shit? How did he do that so fast? Was it another one of those disappearing reappearing acts? Or had he turned invisible? Was he staring at Remus right now? Judging him?

Suddenly shockingly aware that he hadn’t shaved (or bathed for that matter) since he left home, Remus quickly retreated back into the chambers that were his now? Apparently?? And threw the door closed with a bang. He leaned against the wood like hell itself was high on his heels. Judging by the way his heart hammered a mile a minute, he would say it was.

Stumbling unsteadily towards the desk near the windows, Remus grabbed the carafe with water and downed half of it in one go. No time to bother with the glass! He was thirsty in more ways than one, and at least this thirst was easily quenchable.

After he had devoured most of the fruit and bread and threw some of the left over water over his head for good measure, Remus felt a bit better. For a few seconds he could even say he was calm… But then he glanced around the room again and remembered his bizarre situation. Flashes of scales and fangs and a voice like velvet rang through his head, and Remus had to muffle a scream into his hands.

Get some more sleep, Deceit had said. But Remus wasn’t tired in the slightest. He just had the longest nap in the history of ever! He felt like he could stay awake until the sun exploded and burnt the world to a crisp little pebble. That’s why he found himself still agitatedly pacing the floor hours later, when the sky outside had turned to a deep pitch black. Remus was pretty sure that he was pacing a hole into the soft rug underneath his feet, but he couldn’t sit still even if he tried.

“Okay. Okay okay okay okay,” Remus muttered. “I’m stuck, in a hidden castle, with quite possibly the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life, no one knows where I am, what the HELL am I going to do???”

It was twelfth time that night that he had started this very conversation with himself, and his brain still hadn’t progressed any further than ‘roll over and play dead’, which was not helping!

“Come oooooooon!!” Remus groaned as he dragged his hands down his face. “I have to do something!”

Nope! No you don’t! You don’t have to do jack shit!

“But have you looked at him??? I would hate myself forever if I don’t at least try to tap that!”

You don’t even know why he keeps you here! For all you know he just wants to use you!

“Fuck, I hope so-!”

Not the fun kind of use, you idiot!

“Oh…” Remus slumped in disappointment.

Look, I know it’s hard-

Remus snorted. “Heheh. Hard.”

FOCUS. You heard the stories! He wants to take over the kingdom! And you’re part of the royal family! He probably just sees you as his stepping stool to the throne!

“Honestly, he could step on me anytime-”

NOT THE POINT. The point is that you’re his enemy… He might be nice to you now, but who’s to say that that will last?

That gave Remus pause. That was unfortunately a good point to consider…

“I guess,” He pondered. “That I’ll have to give him a good reason not to kill me?”

Oh yeah, and how are you gonna do that, genius?

Stopping his pacing on the rug, Remus bit his thumbnail as his mind raced. Good question. How could he get in Deceit’s good graces, so the warlock wouldn’t get rid of him the second he was no use anymore?

…Remus only had to think about that for a few seconds. The answer was pretty obvious.

“Okay, so he might want to use me to for “taking over the kingdom” purposes!” He mused out loud. “But if I, hypothetically,” Remus paused for a second, forcing the next words to fall from his mouth with a tremor. “…Were to willingly help him with that…”

…That would be treason.

“It would be.” Remus agreed. Treason of the highest order. But…

He glanced toward the window. The night made it look like a black hole, or the gaping jaw of a monster ready to devour him. He didn’t know if he could have seen his home from this window in daytime, but it was still out there. Waiting for him to return. So why did that thought make his stomach twist and hurt instead of comfort him?

…What did he owe those fuckers in the castle anyway?

Not much, if he was going to be honest. He had clung on to the fantasy that if he only could have his heroic moment, the world and his family would finally see the errors of their ways and everything would be perfect at last. After that forced little game of truth and dare last night however? That childish lie, which he had held onto with all the desperation of a drowning man, had shattered. Nothing was waiting for him back down the mountain. Fuck, he certainly wouldn’t do it for the happy memories…

“Failure.”

“Disappointment.”

“Why did I even get a brother?”

Remus closed his eyes. Inhaled.

“…I will help the warlock take over the kingdom,” He breathed out. “Fuck them.”

He clenched his hands into fists to suppress the full body shiver that overtook him. There was a small, terrified little part of him screaming not to do this. Mom and dad would be furious. Even more than they had ever been. If they found out that he was involved in this…

“LET ME OUT!! PLEASE I’M SORRY I’LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN I WON’T SPEAK I WON’T THINK I’M SORRY I’M SORRY JUST LET ME OUT PLEASE!!!”

Remus shook his head to rid himself of the memory of trapped stuck why was no one coming please anyone home.

“I’ll just make sure they never know it was me that helped him!” He merrily said, ignoring how his voice wavered. He pushed away the nausea that threatened to overtake him, and focused on his idea. It would be perfect! His family would be turned into feral ferrets or chopped up for potion ingredients or whatever the hell the warlock wanted to do with them, and he… If he played his cards right and got really lucky Deceit might keep him around. He might even be his friend!

Are you sure about that?

Remus winced. Oh great, the voice of reason was here. Remus hated the voice of reason. It always managed to sound just like his parents, his brother and every teacher he ever had at the same time.

I mean, come now. You think he would actually like you?

“He can!” Remus said, but even to himself he didn’t sound very convincing. “I mean, he said there was nothing wrong with me! That I am complete, just the way I am-!”

Oh he certainly told you that… But be honest with yourself. Do you think he would have said those same things if he actually knew you? REALLY knew you?

Remus opened his mouth to protest. His mind scoured for counter arguments. None came. For once his head went deafeningly silent on its own accord.

After a few seconds Remus’ shoulders slumped. He sighed through his nose.

“…no.” Remus said softly.

Exactly. The voice of reason said smugly. No. So why even bother trying? It’s not as if anyone has ever picked you. I mean… Why would they?

He couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. Of course they wouldn’t pick him when Picture Perfect Fairy-tale Prince Charming was there too. He loathed thinking it, but Roman probably wouldn’t have a problem winning the warlock over. No no, he would recite some boring ass poetry, or give him a rose, or some dreadfully boring compliment and wam-bam, thank you ma’am Roman had a magical boyfriend before anyone could blink.

He scowled and kicked at the carpet. It wasn’t fair! Roman always got the best things! Why couldn’t he, for once, just get what he wanted instead of his brother stealing it from him-!

He stopped. A penny dropped in Remus’ head. A thrilling, captivating penny.

“…I can totally win Deceit over.” Remus whispered.

Uh, haven’t you been listening? We’ve never beaten Roman-!

“But that’s just the thing! Roman…” Remus said in slow, cautiously excited realization. “Isn’t here.”

…So?

“So he’s not here to upstage or cock-block me!” Remus’ eyes sparkled. A plan started to take form in his head, in a technicolor whirlwind of party streamers and canon explosions. Roman wasn’t here… It was just he and his sexy rattlesnake. A thousand possibilities suddenly opened up for him.

“I could-! I could woo him!” Remus excitedly said. “Sweep him off his feet! Blow his mind! And hopefully blow something else!”

If he did this right he might actually have a chance! Plus, as far as he knew, Sexy Scales and him really were the only people in this whole castle! No competition! And if he hadn’t had company for a while now, he must- Ooooh damn…

“He must crave the D so bad…” Remus whispered reverently.

That’s all well and good, but what makes you think he would go for YOU of all people?

“That’s where the second part of my plan comes in!” Remus said excitedly. “I am going to channel…” He threw his hands up in a dramatic flourishing pose. “My inner Roman!”

WHAT?? Eeeew, no! Gross! Why???

“No no really, think about it! People don’t like me, true, but everyone loves Roman! He’s got people kissing his ass all the time for some reason!”

Yes, he had never seen Roman without someone (or several someone’s!) grovelling at his feet, begging to ‘pretty please, fart in my direction today oh great and powerful crown prince!!’ or something along that line. Remus had always thought it was disgusting, but right now he needed that energy more than anything.

“This will be perfect! But for this to work I have to imitate mister Floundering Vanilla flawlessly! If I do everything right my beautiful Beau Constrictor will be super-duper impressed and fall hopelessly in love with me in no time! Goodnight, the end, happily ever after!”

…Holy shit that’s BRILLIANT. Good thinking Remus!

“Thank you Remus!” Remus said brightly.

Hmmm, yes, GREAT plan. Except you you’re not really Roman, are you? Even if it works, you’ll inevitably screw up. And once your lover realizes he didn’t get what he signed up for…

Remus however cheerfully ignored the voice of reason as excitement for his plan took over. He threw off his filthy clothes and boots as he dashed to the door that the warlock had pointed out. Behind it he found a bathroom made from black stone, thin lines of gold curling like veins in the dark stone. A grand deep-set bath was carved out in the floor, ceiling high windows giving a perfect view of the dark mountains. Remus’ first instinct was to press his ass against the glass and moon the entire kingdom, but he squashed it down. That’s not something Roman would do, and he was going to be Roman from now on, wasn’t he? Instead he opened the golden taps, and jumped in without waiting for the water to fill the bath up.

With more vigour than he ever had Remus scrubbed away the filth he had build up while traveling. Several golden bottles lined at the tub turned out to be ointments and bath oils, and he lathered all of them into his skin and hair. When he deemed himself clean he sprung from the bath, smelling like a lavender field had thrown up on him. An inspection into a cabinet carved into the wall turned up black towels, a set of clean clothes, toiletries and, surprisingly but thankfully, a razor. He stared at the blade in his hand for a second. Apparently the warlock was not worried at all about giving his hostage a potential weapon.

Deciding not to think to hard about the implications of that, Remus shaved away his three-day scruff meticulously. His moustache received a good trim and he curled the ends up extra fancily. When he finished he gave his naked reflection an appreciative once-over.

“Aw yeah,” He nodded with a satisfied grin. “Ready to seduce a snake!”

The clothes he found were simple, but clean and comfortable. As he slipped into a black pair of breeches and a black blouse with tiny silver buttons he briefly wondered where the warlock got the clothes. Remus sure as hell hadn’t packed up any extras.

…Wait. Were they his? Remus considered that possibility with wide eyes. The pants were a bit snug around his waist…

Running out of the bathroom Remus threw himself onto the bed and screamed into the very soft pillows for a few minutes, lest he be tempted to give the clothes a good sniff. Because that would be weird and not something Roman would do!

When he finally pulled himself together, Remus used a towel to clean his boots as well as he could before putting them back on. He pulled a hand through his damp hair, gave his armpits a testing sniff and smoothed down any wrinkles in his blouse. He took a two-armed candelabra to light his way and threw open the door.

Eagerly Remus walked into the dark halls that awaited him. Ready to grab his destiny by its gorgeous scaled face.

There lived a witch in the woods.

That however was no concern right now for the angry crowd making their way through the forest, torches lightning their path. They had dogs on leashes with them, barking madly.

“The monster is close,” said the leader of the mob. “The dogs can smell it. Spread out! Find it!” With several voices yelling in agreement, the people spread out.

The monster in question was hiding underneath a bush. He held a hand against his mouth, desperately trying to stifle the sobs that kept pouring from him. His back burned, his shirt sickeningly slick with blood. He tried to wipe his tears away, the scales on his hands rubbing painfully against his puffy eyes. He winced when he heard the dogs barking in the distance.

They couldn’t find him. They would drag him back to the town, where they would be. They would hurt him again.

“Sit still, you filthy little beast!”

“N-No! PLEASE STOP IT HURTS PLEASE!!”

“Be a bit more grateful! We’ll get these unsightly things off of you!”

Years down the line he still wouldn’t know how exactly he got away. All he knew that one minute he was being held down, a knife slicing under the scales on his skin. The next minute he was running outside, into the woods that surrounded his family home.

Something on his back moved, and he flinched. Perhaps it had been… those things that had helped him escape. He hated them. Hated, hated, hated the extra arms that occasionally just appeared, as if to taunt him that he wasn’t human, that he was every bit the freak that everyone told him he was.

“Go away,” He whispered desperately at the extra appendages. “Go away go away go away go away!!”

A shudder ran down his back, and he knew they had vanished once more. His wave of relief was shot down when he heard the yelling, closer than he wished they were. He had to move. Shakily he crawled out of the false safety of his hiding place, hobbled to his feet and ran.

He couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, his steps and sobbing deafening in the silent forest. As much as the dark frightened him, the small hints of light that he could see through the trees were even more terrifying. The voices behind him became louder and louder, the barking nearing. He could almost feel the dog’s jaws closing around his ankle. He tried to speed up, but every step jostled pain down his ruined back. Spots danced in his vision, tears leaking faster because of the burning ache.

His foot caught behind a root, and he landed on the forest floor with a painful yelp. He tried to get up as quickly as he could, but-

“THERE IT IS! WE FOUND IT!”

Fear spurring him on, the monster jumped up and ran. Now he heard running behind him, the mob closing in on him. He no longer tried to quiet down his cries.

He dashed into an open spot. It made him feel to open and exposed, and he tried to run towards the relative safe covering of the trees once more. But before he could reach them, another group of people burst from the treelines in front of him. He skidded, turning, wanting to run back, but there was the other group.

“Here it is! Grab it!” “No!” The monster sobbed. “No, please no!”

The mob didn’t listen, only closed him in with bloodlust in their eyes. The monster turned and turned, hoping to find a way to escape. Spotting none, he dropped to his knees and curled into a small ball, his arms covering his head. He heard the people approaching, victory in their yelling, and he only hoped that the end would come quickly-

“STOP.”

A bright light burst to life in the open spot, shocking the mob to a standstill. The monster could see the light seeping through his closed eyelids.

“What is happening here?” The booming voice of a woman asked.

“This is no concern of you, witch,” The mob leader said gruffly. “We’re here to kill the monster that has terrorized our town for too long.”

The monster swallowed as his throat closed up painfully. A witch. Now he was truly done for.

“A monster?” The woman said in baffled disbelief. “That is a child! You would murder a child in cold blood?”

“That is no child!” Someone sneered. “It’s a demon straight from the underworld!”

Agreeing voices sounded across the open spot. The monster trembled and curled into a smaller ball when he heard the people moving again, closing in on him.

“Don’t come near him!” The woman bellowed. “Anyone who dares to touch him will answer to me!”

Most footsteps came to a hesitant halt. One of them however didn’t stop.

“You don’t scare me, witch!” A man said. “I have slain plenty monsters before, and this one won’t be any different! That skin will look nicely on a new belt!”

The monster sobbed a little louder when he peeked under his arm and saw the boots of the man right in front of him.

“Oh really?” Said the woman. Her voice had turned dangerously soft. “Well, in that case, know you have brought this upon yourself…”

Another burst of bright white light illuminated the open spot. The monster only caught a small glimpse of it from under his arms.

“You have not heeded my warnings. Therefor you will suffer my curse. If any of you ever lays a hand on a child with the intention to harm again,” The woman’s voice turned powerful, commanding. “You will be transformed into PIGS!”

Muttering was heard, fear finally replacing the anger that had held the mob in its tight grasp. The man above the monster however only scoffed.

“Nice bluff, lady,” He said. “But no witch or sorcerer alive has ever brought down such a curse!” With that he bended down and harshly yanked the monster up by his bloodied shirt. The rough handling send a sharp shot of pain down his tortured back, and he howled in agony.

Immediately the hand released him. The monster fell back down with a thud while the man above him stumbled to the ground. The monster looked up at his would-be captor. The man shuffled backwards, staring pale as the moon at his pulsing hands. His mouth opened in a horrified silent yell as his fingers shrunk into his hands and hoofs started forming. His nose scrunched up, turning into a perfect little snout. Tusks pushed up from his bottom lip.

“NO STOP IT PLEA-!!” The man’s screaming transformed into horrified squealing as his vocal chords shifted and changed.

Screaming erupted over the open spot as the people dropped their weapons and ran, tripping over themselves to get away as fast as they could. The man turning pig tried to stand up to run along with them, but he stumbled as his legs shortened and his clothes clung onto a gradually shrinking body. No one came to his aid. He dragged himself after them, pleading squeals leaving him. Wide eyed the monster stared as the mob disappeared among the trees, their wails dying away slowly in the night.

His momentary reprieve didn’t last long. Careful footsteps approached him and the monster realized the witch was still there. Quickly he curled himself back into a ball. Panicked logic told him that as long as he didn’t move she might not spot him. Surely if this woman saw his face she would understand why the mob had chased him down. She would be scared… Or maybe she wanted to carve away his scales as ingredients for potions. She was a witch, that’s what witches did, right?

A curious touch on his arm startled the monster, making him tighten the arms around his head. The monster heard curious snuffles and soft clicks as something small rustled through the leafs around him. A little snout sniffed at his hand, insistently trying to nudge his arms away from his face.

Overtaken by his own curiosity, the monster warily peeked over his arm. Two ruby red angular eyes with split pupils met his. Pearlescent white scales trailed down a small reptilian body, leathery wings stretching out as the creature tilted its head inquisitively. He couldn’t help it; the monster lifted his head up a bit more to stare.

Was that… a dragon?

The white dragon didn’t move away as the monster gaped. It only let out a soft thrilling sound as it inspected him with an intelligent gaze. The sound made the monster smile hesitantly. He had never seen a dragon before…

A gentle hand caressed his curls, and ice-cold fear snapped him back to the here and now.

“DON’T LOOK AT ME!!” The monster yelled as dove back into a curled up ball. The hand snapped back. He bit his lip to choke back a strangled sob. Oh no oh no he had raised his voice, he yelled at an adult, this was bad, this was BAD-!!

“Why wouldn’t I look at you?” The woman asked softly. Her voice was a far cry from the intimidating boom from barely a minute ago. The monster however wasn’t fooled.

“I’m c-cursed…” He hiccupped. “P-Please don’t look, I’m c-c-cursed…”

A beat of silence. The monster knows that by now she must have spotted the scales on his hands, the sharp talons where blunt nails should be. Any second now she was going to scowl in disgust and call the mob back, who would finish the job. Fresh tears started straining down his cheeks as he awaited the inevitable.

“Oh no…” The woman whispered. “Oh no no no no no…”

Strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him gingerly from the ground. The monster wanted to beg and plead for mercy, but every word died in his throat when he was pulled against the woman’s broad chest in a careful embrace.

“I’m sorry…” The woman murmured brokenly as she stroked his hair soothingly. “I’m so, so sorry… Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

The monster lay paralyzed in the hug as the woman kept whispering apologies above him. “Please don’t hurt me…” He whimpered in a weak little voice. The woman’s breath hitched and she tightened her arms around him.

“Never, you hear me?” She said shakily. “Never.”

A gasp tore from his throat as Deceit shot upright. It took him a few frantic seconds to stop seeing the forest in the shadows of his room, to realize it was cold sweat dripping down his back and not blood.

With a groan Deceit fell back on his bed, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes. Great, that particular dream hadn’t passed the revue in a while. Oh, he just loved how it didn’t seem to matter how many decades had passed since that damned night; the dreams kept coming back. Like a fever he couldn’t quite shake. Weren’t his demons tired by now, beating him up with the same stick every single time?

Dragging his hands down his face, Deceit glared up at the ceiling like it was personally responsible for his ruined night. Damn, he was tired… He hadn’t slept this bad in ages. What had made him this restless-

Oh right. He had a guest.

Deceit groaned again, a longer, outdrawn sound of exhausted misery. Fate truly was a cruel mistress, wasn’t it? Just when he had seriously considered- horror above horrors- giving up (good grief, the words alone made him want to puke), they had thrown the winning key to his plan right into his lap. A member of the royal family… Not just that, one of the princes. This opened pathways he hadn’t even dared to think about before!

Speaking of things that just kept coming back, hope settled into the small dark dungeon that was his heart like the flickering light of a single candle. As if fate was a particular sadistic jailor who adored mocking him, taunting Deceit that he possibly couldn’t break out of his prison cell with just this one blasted candle.

Well. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he had ever done to escape. And Deceit would be damned if he didn’t prove the jailor wrong.

Restless anticipation made him glide out of bed. He dressed himself in the dim light of the brightening sky outside. As he shrugged on his cloak he idly wandered towards the window. The sky was a pale grey, slowly brightening the mountains in hesitant light. The sun would rise soon, and with it, it would bring the first day of his new plan in motion.

Deceit closed his eyes in thought. A thousand paths unfurled in his mind’s eye, glistening like silk threads. Each thread was an idea, a scheme… a person. All waiting, blissfully unaware, for him to reach out to grasp the threads, to gently tug and guide them into the steps he wanted. Weave them into a dance so natural, so delicately planned that they did not realize the strings were there until it was too late.

Each thread was inspected meticulously, every possible outcome considered. His utmost focus however was on the thread that would be at the centre of his web.

Remus.

Deceit let his mind go to the man currently in his grasp. When the little prince had revealed who he was, last night on that mountaintop, Deceit had to force his hands to stay still, for his voice to remain steady. It had taken all his willpower to appear unaffected while his mind spun with shaky excitement. He had to reel himself in to not act in haste, but to listen first. Had Augusto finally grown careless enough to send his own son to finish him off, rather than the hero complex riddled fools who still occasionally dared to enter the mountains?

Turned out he hadn’t. Instead of getting an admission of a murderous plot against him, the boisterous prince had broken down in front of him. Lapping up the tiniest gestures of kindness Deceit gave him like he was dying of thirst. Apparently the Alveraz family couldn’t touch anything without destroying it, including their own children.

What a surprise.

So he had soothed the prince that wept in his lap, and carried him to his home. All the while his mind raced. When he finally placed the sleeping prince upon the cot in his laboratory, his plan slowly started to take form.

Now he only had to convince his guest to aid him. It wouldn’t be difficult. The prince already carried the pain of the rejection from his peers. All Deceit had to do was feed that resentment. Cultivate that hurt like a garden, placing a couple oh so carefully phrased suggestions to plant that seed of rebelling in his head. Sway him that Deceit was the only person left to trust. Until the prince was convinced it was his own idea to reject his former life and companions, without ever realizing someone else pulled at the strings attached to his wrists.

Deceit was an excellent puppet master, after all.

It would take him… three weeks? Or a month at most, until he had the little prince think what Deceit wanted him to. Easy. He had done this exact same thing a thousand times before. All he had to do after that was teach the prince all the tools he needed for his little coup, which hopefully would not take too long. And then… Then Deceit would claim his repayment.

He allowed himself a small smile. This is what he did best, maybe even more than the magic singing inside his veins. What was his magic but an extension of his mind? No matter how dire the situation was, no matter how much he was deprived of resources, he could always rely on his mind.

…But he shouldn’t become arrogant. He would rather die a hundred painful deaths than admit it, but he too made… mistakes (ugh). His unwavering trust in his own abilities had cost him greatly before.

This time he wouldn’t allow for any loose threads. This might very well be his last chance! He couldn’t afford to repeat his past mistakes. Not like with-

Tired eyes, darkened by the circles underneath them, looking up at him through unkempt bangs with an exasperated, but undeniably fond smile-

Deceit opened his eyes, taking in the soft light of the sunrise. He snarled at the twinge of his heart, weak little traitor that it was.

“Just don’t get attached again,” He sighed impatiently. “Then it should be fine.”

He stood at his window for a long time, taking in the view he had memorized to its finest details by now. Maybe he should see where Eris had slithered of to-

Deceit startled, whipping around and listening intently. From somewhere in the castle, the faint but distinct sounds of things falling, crashing, and breaking floated up towards his bedchambers.

It appeared that his guest was awake at last.

“Right,” Deceit cracked his fingers. “Showtime.”

After walking for about five minutes, Remus realized the one flaw in his otherwise brilliant plan.

It was night time. His gorgeous scaley paramour was most likely asleep.

A bit miffed Remus turned to go back to his room, only to realize he had NO idea where he was. With no other plan he choose a hallway at random, figuring that if he just tried every door he came across eventually he would find his chambers… Right?

An hour later he concluded that his plan was easier said than done. Remus looked between two identical hallways for a few minutes, before he had to admit it.

He was lost. And an idiot.

With no other choice Remus continued to explore. His wish to go back to his rooms gradually disappeared though as he ventured deeper and deeper into the castle. He hadn’t exactly paid attention to the castle itself before, distracted as he was. Now he curiously took everything in. Unlike the rigid brick structure of his home, every room appeared to be carved into the mountain itself, much like his bedchambers were. In the dim candlelight of the candelabra Remus went down grand staircases, opened doors and traversed through many, many rooms. His footsteps echoed as he walked through a grandiose ballroom, ceiling high windows casting pale moonlight onto the floor, where tiny crystals glittered in the stone. From the ballroom he came into a dark lofty foyer, where sculptured pillars sprawled out into the darkness. Entranced Remus let his hand glide down one such pillar. The engraving pictured a dragon and a snake entwined together in breath taking detail.

Seriously, how big was this place?? Granted, his future lover to be deserved all the rooms and luxury in the world, but most of the rooms he came across were either empty, really dusty or a combination of both.

In the minutes that slowly ticked into hours Remus didn’t encounter a living soul, aside from some spiders in a corner. Not even mice or rats. A castle as big as this would attract rodents! Remus secretly fed the rats that ran through the walls of his home, he should know.

…Did his one true love eat the mice?

That thought made Remus stop in his tracks. Well, he was a snake... And so far he hadn’t encountered a kitchen yet. He tilted his head at the mental images… But then he shrugged.

“If he does eat mice, I will fully support him!” Remus proudly declared to the dark hall. “Probably very nutritious, those tiny cheese eating bastards…” He continued in a mutter as he pulled open another door. He vaguely wondered if he might accidentally stumble upon the room where the warlock slept. Probably in one of those grand beds with black silk sheets that perfectly frame his body-

Nope nope nope, shoving that thought away NOW. Remus quickly opened another door to distract himself.

Aha, finally some different interior! This room was quite packed with stuff. A LOT of stuff even! The room had to be some sort of library or storage room, as a circle of nearly ceiling high bookcases took up most of the space of the quite spacious room. Curiously Remus stepped inside. Through the windows Remus saw that the sky was brightening into hues of pink and orange, welcoming the rising sun. It gave him more light to inspect the room and its peculiar contents. Empty bottles, old books and skulls, mostly animal but some human were haphazardly strewn about the shelves, stuffed among boxes and some miscellaneous things. Remus saw a dusty lute, its strings flaccid from disuse, cauldrons black with soot and rolls with parchment that looked like they would crumble to dust if Remus were to touch them. A black suit of armour, detailed with gold-leaf, stood against the far end of the wall.

Remus gave a low whistle as he slowly circled around, craning his head to take in the large bookcases-

He stopped dead in his tracks. Suspended from the ceiling hung a skeleton. It was so large that it stretched out over the whole room. Remus’ jaw dropped.

Holy shit, was that the skeleton of a whale??

“…That’s not real!” Remus said, as he looked starry-eyed at the skeleton. “Can’t be! How the hell would he get it all the way up here on a fucking mountain??” Or was it real?? “No, no, it’s clearly fake! Not real!”

…Or was it?

One second Remus was staring up at the skeleton. The next thing he knew he had put down his candelabra and was climbing already halfway up one of the bookcases. He had to know, he HAD to know!!

When he reached the top shelf he stretched out his hand towards the skeleton. Damn it, it was still out of his reach! Frustrated he swung his arm to and fro, constantly missing his prize by a few centimetres. Come on, come on! He thought as he stretched out on his tippy toes. Almost! Almoooooost…

A piece of dust tickled his nose. Remus scrunched up his face, trying to repress the rising urge to-

“ACHOO!!” Remus’ sneeze echoed in the large room and shook through his body. The bookcase wobbled. Remus froze. Uh-oh.

“No. Nononononono-!” He pleaded as he felt the bookcase tip ever so gently backwards. He tried to wiggle it back in his place, but to no avail. With a cursed out shout Remus’ grip on the wood slipped. His stomach lurched as he plunged down and made hard contact with the stone floor. Sharp pain shot through his wrist. Remus cursed, cradling his arm close. His wrist however was the least of his concerns, as the bookcase tilted further and loomed over him. Remus paled as he saw the contents begin to slide. In a rain of bottles, books and boxes Remus had to half roll, half run out of harm’s way. One book landed painfully on his skull, but he came out of the downpour of years of clutter with no further injury. Remus breathed out in relief, but he was too quick. The bookcase heavily crashed against the second bookcase, which also started to dangerously tilt over.

“Nonononononono-!!” Remus desperately shook his head, holding out his uninjured hand as if to force the bookcase upright. To no avail. With a wooden groan the second bookcase lurched over, its contents gliding out and smashing to bits on the on the floor. And much like his predecessor it slammed into the third bookcase.

Helplessly Remus ran around as if to delay the inevitable, but in the end he could only look on horrified as the bookcases fell down one by one like a row of dominos, emptying their content with enthusiastic cacophony. Remus shrunk at every loud CRASH, every bottle that shattered and scattered glass over the floor. The vibrations through the floor made the suit of armour at the wall tremble.

“No, no, no please-!!” Remus wailed as he saw the helmet wobble.

With one final loud CLANG and BANG, the suit of armour fell to pieces on the floor. The helmet rolled over and came to a stop at Remus’ feet, who stood amidst the rubble like the last survivor of a grievous battlefield. Paralyzed as a rabbit staring down the wolf’s jaw, Remus took in the wreckage he caused. One final bottle slid down from the pile of books it landed on and doused Remus’ feet with glass.

“Okay, you know what?” Remus said with all the hysterical brightness of gambler who suddenly realized that he was playing a losing game. “New plan, new plan! I’m going to hide somewhere deep and dark,” He turned. “And hope he’ll never find me-!” “Good morning.” Deceit said calmly to his face.

“HOLY FUCK!!!” Remus flailed backwards screeching, tripped over the helmet and made a very ungraceful landing in a pile of what used to be several functioning bookcases. Remus cursed under his breath, tried to sit up, only to have another bookshelf give way underneath him, causing a pang of sharp pain to shoot through his banged up wrist. Letting out a fresh litany of curses, Remus finally managed to haul himself up in a sitting position amongst his created chaos. He gawked with open mouth at the sudden appearance of the most gorgeous man on earth the warlock, who gave him a very unimpressed look. When the fuck he did get here??

“Heh heh,” Remus nervously laughed. “You are…” He waved his hand up and down, trying to find a word. Stunning. Sexy. Hot as hell. “So quiet!” He settled on.

Deceit’s mouth quirked up in a small smirk and Remus swallowed thickly. Oh fuck… he got prettier. How the hell was that even possible??

“I try my best.” Deceit said dryly. Remus repressed the shiver that wanted to creep over his spine because of that oil-slicked voice. He wanted to crawl into the other’s throat and build his nest in those vocal cords just so he could listen to that voice always-

Any other dreamy visions instantly died when Deceit looked away from him, and instead took the room in slowly, examining the wreckage with a slight frown. Oh no.

“Care to explain to me,” Deceit said as he looked back at Remus. “What exactly happened here?” Remus suddenly thought that he maybe he should have just flung himself down a cliff when he had the chance.

“Uuuh… What happened? Did something happen, I don’t know-! What is a happening anyway-??” Remus babbled as he scrambled up from the mess in a fluster of uncoordinated limbs. When he finally stood he looked bamboozled at the shambled room like he hadn’t noticed it before. “Oh, this!” He laughed and turned to the other man with all the convincing act of a background actor in an amateur play. “I assure you, there’s a, uum… Perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this!”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Oh is there?” He asked amusedly.

“Hmm-hmm!” Remus nodded vigorously with a large grin.

“Well do tell!” Deceit said, as he waved his arms in an inviting gesture. “I’m all ears.”

Remus blanched. “Uuuuh…” He said, his mind racing. “Right! Yes! Okay, so get this-”

Words left his mouth without stopping by his brain first to say hello. Remus wasn’t sure what he was babbling on about as the minutes passed, but cut him some slack! The warlock’s calm attention made him more nervous than any yelling had ever done. He really wasn’t used to this. Usually people didn’t give him the time to explain himself! They just saw a mess, assumed he did it and started screaming. Not the warlock though. Deceit just listened, his hands resting in the small of his back, one eyebrow elegantly raised and an amused little smile playing on his lips while Remus kept spouting bullshit. God, what the fuck was he even saying anymore? He had no idea! Better end it quickly.

“-And that’s how it all happened, thank you very much, the end!” Remus squeezed out with his final breath. With a large gulp he leaned on his legs, wheezing slightly. Deceit tilted his head in thought.

“So… Just to recap,” The warlock said after a few seconds. “An army of gnomes broke through the window, had an orgy on my bookcases before summoning a demon, trashing the room and flinging themselves out the window whilst using their deal with the demon to magically fix the windows?”

…Fuck. Was that what he had been saying? Roll with it, roll with it.

“Yup!” Remus squeaked.

Deceit gave a short hum as he pursed his lips in thought. Remus allowed hope to flare up in his chest. Was he actually going to get away with this??

“You know,” Deceit said slowly. “For someone who’s very good at lying to himself, you are absolutely horrible at lying to other people.”

Aaaaaaand that hope died a gruesome bloody death. Right, well, Remus would say it was nice knowing himself, but that would be a lie.

“So, try again,” Deceit’s eyes hardened. “What happened?”

Remus crumbled into himself, wringing his hands together. “Well, I-!” He started, but stopped when Deceit raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t test me, little prince.” The warlock said evenly. He didn’t need to raise his voice to make Remus squirm. “I… I wanted to know if the skeleton on the ceiling was real…” Remus finally admitted in defeat as he pointed upwards at the skeleton in question.

“Right,” Deceit said with nod. “So did you satisfy your curiosity?”

“No… Because the bookcase I tried to climb fell over… Which made the other bookcase fall over, and then that one made the third one fall over, before-” No, stop talking. No one wants to listen to your stupid rambling, moron. “You get the picture…” He finished in a mutter.

“And there it is… The truth.” The warlock hummed. “Was that so hard?”

Remus didn’t answer. He kept from flinching when the warlock stepped closer by sheer force of will alone.

“Now. What to do with you…”

Remus stared at his feet. He knew what was coming next. He bit his lip, braced himself-

“Are you hurt?”

Remus blinked up at him. “…What-?”

“Are you hurt?” Deceit repeated patiently.

“I…” Remus stared. Wait… That’s… definitely not the direction this should go. “Not… Not really, I guess-?” He finally said, ignoring the dull ache in his wrist. That hardly even counted as hurt.

“Good.” Deceit smiled. He snapped his fingers, his eyes briefly flaring gold. A rumble erupted from the room behind him and Remus turned, only to gape when the room slowly started to rebuild itself. Bookcases righted themselves with a groan, the fractures in the wood disappeared in a golden glow, broken bottles fused back with a sharp singing sound. Remus had to duck when books flung themselves back to their original places; the suit of armour assembled itself back together. Remus was pretty sure he had to pick up his jaw from the floor when within a minute the room was completely spotless, like nothing had ever happened.

Heh, wouldn’t that be funny? If his jaw literally dislocated itself from his face to leave behind a gaping, bloody hole with only his wagging tongue left-

NO. No, that wasn’t a Roman thought! Focus!

“Well, that was that,” Deceit interrupted his thoughts. “Please refrain from climbing on tall things in the future. I would hate for you to break something I can not fix.”

Remus tore his bewildered wide-eyed look away from the newly restored room to stare back at the other. “You mean… Like the windows…?” He asked uncertainly. Deceit raised an eyebrow.

“I mean like your neck, dearie.”

Remus had no idea how to respond to that even if he wanted to. This was so far removed from how these kinds of conversations usually went for him that he was officially out of ideas.

“Make no mistake,” Deceit said. “Next time you make a mess like this-”

Ah, right, now he would get the bodily threats, okay-

“-You will be cleaning it up yourself.”

…Or maybe not.

“And one more thing…”

Within the blink of an eye the warlock moved. Remus’ breath jittered to a stop when the other man was suddenly much closer, barely a hair width between them. Even without the golden glow Remus helplessly got lost in those fierce two-toned eyes.

“Do not lie to me again,” Deceit hissed, his fangs pushing out over his lower lip. “I do not appreciate being lied to, even when you are amazingly bad at it. Have I made myself clear?”

Remus’ heart thundered in his ears at the close proximity of the warlock. He drunk in every little detail that he had missed the first time, like how brightly yellow the left eye was. Or how the specks of gold in his hazel eye shimmered, as if his golden magic still shone through even without using it. Remus had thought they were about the same height, but this close he realized the warlock was juuuuuuust a smidge shorter than he was. He would have to lean down an eetsy-beetsy tiny bit to kiss those pretty lips. Remus had no idea why that little detail excited him so much, but it did.

“Super clear!” Remus squeaked, hoping to god he wasn’t blushing. Blushing was for the fucking weak. Deceit narrowed his eyes, giving him a sceptical glare. Remus tried to give him his best Roman-esque smile back. He couldn’t help but feel that on him it looked less charming and more like he was high off his ass.

“Right,” Deceit eventually said as he stepped away from him, and Remus bludgeoned down the urge to reach out and pull him back. “Are you hungry?”

Yes. Very hungry. Hungry for your DIC- “Yep! Definitely!” Remus brightly stopped his own head. “I could eat!”

Deceit gave him an odd look, but made no comment. “Come with me then.” He said as he waved him along. Remus followed him out of the room eagerly.

“Oh, and by the way,” Deceit threw a smile over his shoulder that made Remus’ legs all wobbly. “Yes. The skeleton is very much real.”

Remus swallowed. He was in so, so much trouble.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #dukeceit #janus sanders #remus sanders #ts janus #ts remus #romantic dukeceit #yes I am making you all wait for the resolution of the birthday party #suffer #started writing #had a breakdown #bon appétit baby

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onwardintolight · 4 years

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~~~

Leia woke up late to the sound of wailing.

Ben’s wailing, coming from the living quarters.

Karabast, she muttered under her breath. What time was it?

She checked her chrono. 1230.

Ugh. Again?

Blinking back the sleep that threatened to pull her under once more, she groaned as she sat up.

Ben’s cries came more fiercely now, mixed with a few choice babbled syllables he’d been trying on for size lately. The cold, empty spot beside her in bed told her Han was out there with him. That was a relief. Their son had an escape artist streak; at least this time he wasn’t crawling around the house all on his own, looking to see how much trouble he could get into. Still, her heart sank. They were all about equal parenting, but it seemed like Han had been shouldering the greater burden as of late.

She fixed her eyes on the light streaming through the window, trying to get them to adjust. It didn’t really help. Her head still hurt; the room was still blurry. She forced herself to get up anyway.

Han looked at her apologetically when she finally lurched into the living quarters. “I was tryin’ to let you sleep,” he said. “I guess this little ruffian had other ideas. ‘M sorry, sweetheart.” Inexplicably, Ben had already stopped crying; he was now contentedly perched on Han’s hip, tugging at his hair.

“I’m sorry, Han, I should have been up hours ago; I should never have made you take care of Ben this long—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, acting affronted. “Made me? I chose to spend time with this little guy.” He ruffled Ben’s hair. “Besides, you needed to get some rest.”

She didn’t argue; she was too tired, and it would be a losing battle, anyway. He knew she’d been staying up half the night lately, unable to sleep. For no good reason, she thought angrily. It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t get any sleep when she lay down; it was that somehow, dragging herself into bed seemed like a near impossible task. She’d distract herself with pointless research or dumb holonet shows, watching the hours tick by, too weary to go through her bedtime rituals, too anxious to let her mind rest. Too afraid to face the possibility of another nightmare.

“Rest is overrated,” she grumbled. “I need some caf.”

She headed for the kitchen, but Han stepped in her way. “I’ve got it, sweetheart. You go sit down.”

She tried to step around him, but he blocked her again. Her ire spiked. “Han, stop it.”

“Go sit down.” 

“Why? How incapable do you think I am? Last I checked, I don’t have the virus.”

“Leia—”

“Just let me do it.”

He raised his free arm placatingly. “Okay. Sure.” He stepped aside, frowning. She had probably pissed him off, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She stepped into the kitchen and fumbled around in the cabinets for the ground caf. There wasn’t much left in the container, she noted with alarm. She should have ordered some more days ago. The way everything was in the galaxy right now, it would take forever to arrive. Somehow, the prospect of less caf over the coming days made her feel breathless, almost dizzy. She leaned against the counter, trying to get ahold of herself.

She was almost always on edge these days. Funny how the end of her time as a soldier didn’t signal the end of that. Truth be told, she didn’t know how to stop being that way.

It had gotten better, for a time—it had taken awhile for things to settle down before she had Ben, and in the meantime her Jedi training had helped her learn new techniques to calm herself (even if it simultaneously stirred up some deeper fears). Then there was that honeymoon phase of life with their new little family, that shaky and awkward but ultimately hopeful step she and Han had taken together into new territory. It had been a deeply happy experience overall, even if hard at times. Being together was a gift, thanks to a galaxy newly at peace, and she had treasured this weird, messy, beautiful, strangely domestic era in their life. She would miss it, when it was gone.

But all the same, she yearned to get back to work. She felt in her bones that she still had more to give to the galaxy, if only she had the opportunity. Han was itching to get back in the cockpit, too. It was past time to forge a new normal with her family, where they could all be who they fully were as they found new ways to grow and love together.

Apparently the galaxy had different plans.

During her parental leave, she’d taken time off because she chose to, and she’d been okay with that. She’d never expected this pandemic to come in later and take so many choices away. When people started getting sick on Corellia, no one had guessed how quickly it would spread, stopping the whole galaxy in its tracks. They’d been quarantining now for almost a month, and she didn’t know how much longer she could stand it. She even found herself missing the polite, insistent prattling of her protocol droid, T-2LC, who lately more often than not sat powered down in their home office with nothing to do.

Unfortunately, even if it weren’t for the pandemic, she had still been semi-exiled from the Republic government. Oh, it wasn’t as though it were official or anything—people still treated her with utmost respect, and she still counted several of those in leadership, Mon Mothma and Ackbar in particular, as dear friends. But the truth of the matter was that she had been gradually, quietly sidelined, ever since Kashyyyk. She did not regret in the slightest her actions at the time, but her angry outbursts and rogue behavior were not forgotten. The new government had truly taken off after the Battle of Jakku, right around the time Ben was born, and she had missed out on much of that formative time. After her parental leave was over, she had simply not been invited back.

That hurt.

Despite all that, she’d done her best to liason with the Alderaanian remnant, to take care of their needs and ensure they had adequate representation on Chandrila. In fact, she still had work to do on that, even if the virus had put much on hold.

But lately, she’d been doing nothing. She’d just been sitting around at home: restless, fatigued, and oddly enough, terrified.

The daylight outside the kitchen window disappeared into clouds, dimming everything around her.

It was strange. She’d been through countless battles; she’d seen so many horrors. And yet here she was, with a different kind of fear, one that seemed to have gripped her in ways deeper than she could have imagined. Not fear of the pandemic, per se, though of course she was worried about her family, about everyone she cared about, about the entire galaxy.

No, even more than that, Leia was terrified of who she was, of what she’d become. She hardly recognized the woman in the mirror anymore. The woman who was no longer consumed by the fight for galactic justice. The woman who had nowhere to channel her grief anymore, and no giant, all-important cause to distract her. She was alone with herself, now, and the longer this went on, the more she hated herself.

Swallowing, she forced herself to move. She dipped a measuring spoon into the ground caf, brought it to the caf maker. Her hand was unsteady, though; some spilled out on the counter. She muttered a curse under her breath and stabbed at the controls to get the thing running. It would do.

This pandemic had stirred something deep inside her. Instinct had kicked in—she needed to be back on the front lines, leading, making a difference. She needed to fight. But she couldn’t fight, not this time. Not when the enemy was a virus instead of an evil Empire. She felt desperate to do something besides sitting locked away at home. She’d always done something. But there was nothing for her to do now, no role they wanted her to fill. None of her skills that might be useful were needed. The true soldiers, this time, were the medics, the farmers and food suppliers, the workers providing what everyone needed.

She couldn’t fight. But she couldn’t seem to make herself back away from it, either. She was stuck.

The air felt heavy, thick. The smell of caf filled the room. She stared half-seeing as it slowly dripped into the carafe.

Why?

Why couldn’t she back down? Why couldn’t she just be content with isolating with her family? That was what was needed of her, after all. That was the way she was making a difference.

The problem was, it didn’t feel like enough.

It was never enough.

As long as she was fighting, she could at least say she was working to make Alderaan’s sacrifice count. Working to atone for her part in all that.

No, she challenged herself. That’s not how this works; you know better, now.

She sighed and turned away, shaking her head. She didn’t blame herself as much as she used to. At least, not on the surface. She’d come a long way since those first few years, in no small part thanks to Han. But still, shame had settled inside her core and refused to budge, no matter what she told it; it was shaped like a pointed finger forever turned inward, whispering of “should haves” and “should nows,” never letting her rest.

Those whispers had only gotten stronger lately, as the paralysis set in. The feeling of being trapped between fight or flight had settled on her as a heavy weight. She was depressed, she’d come to realize with a shock. It was hardly the first time, but she didn’t ever remember it being so destructive to her functionality, not even at her lowest of lows. In addition, her anxiety was hitting insane levels. Wartime levels; maybe even higher. Little things made her jump, took her right back—a sound that reminded her of blaster fire. The smell of something burning. The unexpected chime of the door. Ben’s cries.

For kriff’s sake, a slight note of anger in Han’s voice was nearly enough to make her panic and react to him in ways she hadn’t in years. Any hint of disappointment or even simple requests could send her into a meltdown, as she tried to prove to him (and even more so, to herself) that she really was capable, that she wasn’t as much to blame for everything as some inner part of her clearly still thought.

The clouds outside drew closer, and she felt, more than heard, a faint, distant rumble. For a moment, she remembered lightning on Appenza Peak, her old bedroom windows thrown open to see it. She pushed the image away.

To Han’s credit, he seemed to have caught on that something was amiss with her, moreso than normal. He’d been taking on even more responsibility with Ben lately, not snapping back (well, at least not usually), and treating her with vastly more grace than she felt like she deserved. His attempt to let her sleep in this morning warmed her heart, but at the same time, it speared her through with guilt like a blaster bolt. She should be better than this.

Where was the Leia that sucked it up and helped saved the galaxy? Where was the Leia who had commanded troops and put her life on the line again and again? Yes, that Leia had suffered greatly and had been dealing with no small amount of PTSD, but somehow she’d gotten through and fought despite it all. Perhaps that Leia would have stayed up most of the night as she’d done the night before—probably intent on the distraction of supply charts and strategies instead of wandering their flat aimlessly—but that Leia would have also forced herself awake the next morning and worked until she practically made herself sick.

That Leia had definitely not been healthy, but she was functional.

At least that Leia got stuff done.

Now, she was useless. She was just as haunted by everything that had happened, if not more so, but she had nothing to do, nowhere to run.

Nowhere to run. Trapped.

Her neck was hurting again, and her arm—the places the torture droids had once injected her. The muscles in her shoulders and back felt tense, hard as a rock. She had a headache. The room spun a little. In fact, the room seemed not quite there. Was she really here?

“Leia?” Han appeared in the doorway, Ben still on his hip.

“I… I think I need to go sit down,” she mumbled.

He nodded, brows knit. “I’ll bring you a cup of caf when it’s done.”

She stumbled over to the couch, feeling vaguely relieved as it embraced her. Idly, she watched as the sky outside grew darker, more ominous. Force, she hoped it would storm. She could hardly take the thick stillness.

Minutes passed. She heard the sound of the caf maker finishing its work, Han rummaging in the cabinet, liquid being poured into a mug. He brought it out to her, and she took it, set it on the table beside her to cool. She sat back, hands over her eyes against the pressure, and managed a nod. “Thanks, darling,” she murmured.

He was being so sweet, so caring, and she was so, so grateful for him.

She also hated it. She hated that she had put him in a position where he felt like he had to do everything for her and Ben. Where he had to take care of her as if she were another child. He was suffering, too; aching to get back out among the stars, haunted by the reports of the sick and dying in the slums of his old homeworld. She should have been able to deal with all this herself.

But… she couldn’t. Not right now. Everything hurt. She could barely even catch a good breath, for kriff’s sake. She tried breathing in and out, slowly and deeply. Did it help? Perhaps a little, but it was hard to tell. All she wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position and just… not be there. Not be her, this new, useless Leia. She started to curl in on herself, but then she remembered curling up in a ball on the floor of the Death Star cell, and she stopped.

No.

She could almost feel the gaze of the cell guards, hear the breath of Vader. Instead, she leaned forward and focused on her breathing again—how was it possible that it was even shallower than before?

“Sweetheart? You okay?” Han’s voice came through the static in her head.

She started to nod, hands still over her eyes, then stopped. After a moment, she shook her head no instead. She felt deeply ashamed, but that was the truth of the matter—she wasn’t okay. Not at all.

Vaguely, she heard Ben babbling on the floor, the sound of him handling and biting some things that were most likely toys. Han must have distracted him for the moment. She decided she didn’t have the energy to care all that much what Han had given him to play with; she’d trust his judgment for now.

“Turn around,” Han said, sitting beside her. She felt his hands start to rub at her neck, her shoulders. She let out a shaky breath. It felt so good.

His touch was also real, here, now—unlike Vader, the guards, the cell, or that room of horrors in Cloud City. She remembered the exercises Luke had taught her, and she tuned into the sensations, focusing on them, letting everything else fall away. Emptying herself of all but this moment, his hands, her muscles… she was a cup to be filled up.

Her breath finally slowed, deepened, and tears filled her eyes. Gratitude, relief, frustration, grief… it all threatened to spill out. Her breath hitched again.

“Breathe, Leia. It’s okay.”

“What the hell is wrong with me?” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Han, I don’t know why I’m like this, I don’t know who I am anymore….” She turned and lay her head on his shoulder, and he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, “you’ve been through a hell of a lot of trauma. My guess? Now that you’re forced to relax, now that you can’t fight, it’s all tryin’ to come out, shoutin’ at you to deal with it. That’s probably a good thing, you know, because it means you’re safe now. You’ve gotta take some time to heal.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. She recognized the truth in his words. He’d clearly learned a lot in his own therapy sessions post-carbonite, as much as he’d complained about them. Maybe it was time to look into that for herself again, too. She could hardly be any more of a mess.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ve been a terrible person to be around, lately, and I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I can’t just manage—“

“Sshhh,” he said. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know. We’re in this together, okay? Let me help you. Let me help you rest.”

“I can’t, there’s so much I should—”

“I’m serious. You need to rest.” Han sighed. “You’re already a hero, Leia. You’ve helped save the whole goddamn galaxy. It’s okay to rest now. You need it.”

Leia stared at the wall. Then, finally, in a small voice, she said, “I’m afraid if I let myself rest, I’ll never be able to rise up and do what I need to do again.” A few moments passed; when she continued, her voice was edged with panic. “What if this is actually the real me? What if I never fully deal with it? What if I just… waste away, and become someone people pity?” She blinked back tears again. “I can’t stand the thought of people’s pity. Like, ‘Oh, she fought in the war, she was a great leader, it’s a shame what she’s let herself become—’”

“Leia, stop it. First of all, no way is anyone gonna pity you like that. Again, you’re a hero. You will always be a hero. People know who you really are—” he held up a hand to stop her from interrupting—“and that person is the person I still see before me right now. Someone’s who’s incredibly strong. Someone who will always fight for what’s right. Someone who, right now, is fighting a battle inside that’s, oh I dunno, at least as big as any she’s ever fought on the outside. It’s just that now, fighting looks like rest, like sleeping in late, like letting your husband help you. Like cuddling and feeding and loving on a baby. Like muddling through the day however you can while processing all the hell you’ve been through.”

The tears were falling, now. Leia shut her eyes, burying her head into Han’s chest. She tried to let his words sink in.

“We’re a team, Leia,” Han said, his voice filled with conviction. “Things are hard right now, but we’ll get through this together. You don’t have to have it all figured out on your own.”

She exhaled, nodding silently. She’d probably need to be reminded again before long, but for now, his words were enough to fade some of the shame.

A flash came, then a low rumble. Shakily, she stood up and walked over to the window, watching as the first few drops of rain pattered against it. Han followed, coming up to put his arm around her as they looked out on the storm together. She leaned against him.

It calmed her, somehow, seeing the tumult outside. It always had. She could almost smell the rain, feel the rush of the wind. She half wanted to rush out on their bedroom balcony and let it all drench her. Unfortunately, she was all too aware that their flat was near the top of one of Hanna City’s few towers.

Maybe she would later, once the lightning had passed. She would go out with Han, Ben in her arms, and teach her son how to laugh in the rain.

Her breaths were starting to come more fully now.

“Mama,” a little voice said, and she felt a tug at her pant leg. Ben had crawled over and was holding his arms up to her. She reached down and picked him up, pulled him into her embrace.

“I love you,” she whispered, and her heart felt suddenly full. He wriggled around, untamed as always, twisting in her arms so he could look out the window along with them, mouth open wide in wonder.

“Da,” he said, pointing a chubby little finger at the wild sky.

A bolt of lightning shrieked down from the clouds, followed by a clap of thunder that shook the whole flat. She caressed Ben’s curly head, ready to offer comfort. No need; he seemed to be enjoying the show as much as she was.

Another bolt of lightning struck the outskirts of the city, spectacular in its vivid starkness. For a moment, she felt like a finger of that light was breaking through, piercing the dense, sluggish dark inside her, leaving a far deeper imprint than the silhouette still burning in her eyes.

It was right then that she knew it: this heaviness wouldn’t last forever. Someday, perhaps not as long as she feared, this time of intense processing would be over. She’d get up from her rest, get back to being her more functional self again, and work once more to heal all the wrongs of the galaxy. Perhaps by then, she’d be doing it wholler, wiser. More healed, herself. And maybe, just maybe, the galaxy would be even better for it.

But in the meantime, she would tend to her wounds and embrace the lightning as it came.

In the meantime, she would finally learn how to rest.

Notes:

Thanks for taking the time to read this! I hope it encourages you like it did me, especially in these uncertain times when so many of us are dealing with the trauma of our own pandemic.

I literally wrote this as part of my own therapy for PTSD, so please be kind. If you are considering leaving a comment about how this "proves" Han and Leia were bad parents or that you think Leia would never struggle like this or need time to process her trauma, please refrain and take your false and harmful negativity elsewhere. It's hard enough for anyone struggling with PTSD to take the time to heal as it is. Thank you.

For those of you who are struggling with PTSD and/or other mental health issues, I see you. You are not weak; you are strong. You are fighting an incredibly difficult battle. It's okay if you weren't productive today. It's okay to rest. It's okay to take the time to heal. You are worth so much.

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