#answer carefully lest i judge you

[thetransintransformers]

Megop Week 2023

June 16th, Day 6

Atonement

His upcoming trial spurs Megatron to visit the grave of an old beloved one. An attempt of clearing his consciousness before he is judged by all of Cybertron.

(takes place in the TFA continuity but loosely, with some more of my own mixed media timeline)

The trial of Megatron was on the horizon. Currently, the warlord sat alone, in a hex cell onboard the Magnus�� flagship. A gaudy thing of Autobot ingenuity, and he proclaimed that with the least amount of respect, he could. Up ahead flying this godforsaken contraption was Optimus Prime, The little dropout who managed to down and arrest him. His co-pilot, Sentinel Prime, joining him just to ensure he “did his job right” even Megatron would have to argue in the blue mech’s favor. He would almost be impressed if it wasn't for the sheer prejudice he was about to endure at his trial, and later the stockades. Or perhaps the populace would be so enthralled in their hatred of him, that they’d order his execution right on the spot. Either way, Megatron was far over his defeat, simply watching the stars pass by. Rather, as he was placed infront of the populace during his initial capture, he thought to himself, all the past millions of years of fighting, and planning; it all seemed so empty now that he was placed behind bars. It was always meant to end like this, or dead, but death couldn't be entirely ruled out. Iacon was a long enough way, the autobot team having returned to earth to clean his mess, leaving their leader alone. Megatron’s tired optics closed, speaking up for the first time since he was placed back into his cell. “Would you, as a Prime, grant a dying mech a final request?” Optimus tilted his helm, “You're not slated for execution.” Sentinel just had to butt in, sneering. “Not yet.” Optimus glared and spoke. “After all you’ve done, there’s really no reason for us to take any request of yours.” 

Ah but still, even at his most merciless, Optimus was never completely without it. He sighed and spoke, “State your request and we’ll consider it.” He laid down the ground rules. Megatron hummed and stirred quietly. After a few moments of carefully considering his words, he spoke. “I’d like to visit the Iaconian Memorial Cemetery.” He tilted his helm. “There is a section dedicated to casualties of the first few years of the war, correct?” He knew he was, but he just wanted the confirmation. If they lied, he would know well enough. Sentinel, of course, had to fulfill that theory. “Any causality that old is gone. Faded out of history, just like you’re going to be.”

Optimus grimaced, “Sentinel.” earning a look of confusion from Sentinel. “What? Im helping.”

Optimus rolled his optics and asked, “What business do you have visiting a cemetery you created?” Not exactly correct, at least not in a literal sense. Megatron answered simply. “There’s someone I’d rather like to visit before I am to be put to trial.” Optimus considered his words, Sentinel snickering to himself. “Yeah right,” “Granted.” “What?!” Sentinel erupted, optics wide with confusion, shock, and abject anger, Optimus repeated, more in detail. “Granted. We’ll be at the Iaconian Memorial Cemetery shortly. You’ll have at most 5 cycles to visit whoever you need to, and that is it.” Despite his ability to even allow Megatron his request, Optimus retained a firm disposition. Megatron was a war criminal after all. Said war criminal only smiled. Not a smirk, not of a feigned sense of thanks, just a small sad smile. “Thank you, Optimus Prime.” The Prime did not respond at that, only focusing on the path ahead, and tuning out Sentinel’s angered remarks. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The flagship landed a few cycles away from the cemetery, not daring to be any closer lest the worn metal and stone of the desolate area be eroded. The landing bay opened slowly, Sentinel pushed Megatron forward. “Move it!” He barked, followed by Optimus. Megatron was taken out of his stasis cuffs and allowed to walk more freely beside the two guards armed and ready to strike him down if he attempted anything. Luckily for them, Megatron was far beyond that. Though it was hard to believe, the warlord would not dare attempt something in a cemetery of all places. This place deserved quiet respect and worship; not a warship and a sudden burst of escape.

Sentinel crossed his arms as they crossed the cemetery threshold. “Go on, go see whoever.” He muttered to himself. Infront of them was a large statue dedicated to a fallen autobot General Megatron had slain himself. Sentinel pointed out, as they walked a few feet behind him. “Is that who you wanted to see? To gloat, you sick bast–” Sentinel didn't get to finish, as Optimus elbowed him hard in his abdomen area. “Knock it off Sen.” He whispered harshly. Looking up after their small altercation, Sentinel was rather surprised to see his remarks go unfulfilled; Megatron had walked right past the statue, in fact, he walked right past the entirety of the Autobot cemetery. No, he was going to the back, where civilian casualties rested. 

Optimus and Sentinel followed, till they both stopped in their tracks, Megatron clear in their vision. The warlord stood infront of a smaller, elegant grave. Etched into the worn marble was a faded relief of a young mech and under it, the simplest indicator of just who was there.

Orion Pax

Archivist of Iacon

Nothing more. Nothing less. Not even a death date, as if so much about this “Orion Pax” was lost to history. Sentinel and Optimus certainly knew nothing about him.

But clearly, clearly, this little grave meant the world to Megatron, as he kneeled down gently. “Hello, Orion.” He whispered, tracing the edge of the grave with taloned servos. Almost like caressing the cheek of a long-lost loved one. For Megatron, this moment was exactly that.

“I see you’re in good company. They placed you as a civilian my dear.” He couldn't help but chuckle looking around. “You’d kick their afts for that I know. You contributed far too much to be marked a civilian” He sighed. The normalcy of a civilian after such an era of pain and destruction should have been a blessing. How wrong he was, to assume Orion would want normalcy after their time. He thought for a moment, “Perhaps, I could get away with being buried as a civilian . . .” he paused as if he was expecting an answer. “I know, I know, ridiculous. But it be nice . . . I could be buried right here.” He placed a servo down gently on a patch of open land next to Orion’s headstone.

Megatron’s laugh died down, smile fading as he traced his servos gently into the imprint of Orion’s name. “I’m . . . I’m heading for trial. All this time, and I’m meant to finally be brought to justice for what I’ve done.” He confessed. “And I’m ashamed.” He let out a pathetic laugh. “For a lot of things, really. For the war, letting it get so out of hand, for losing my own narrative, for letting you get hurt, for . . .” the words hitched in his intake, red optics shining with the threat of spilling over. He clutched the grave for a moment. “For not visiting you until this very moment.”

Megatron let his breathing grow ragged, servos shaking, reality setting into him all over again. It hurt. He wasn't just talking to his headstone. Not far below him, Orion was laying there. Had been laying there for Primus knew how long. Still covered in the wounds that killed him, the wounds Megatron could have prevented time and time over and never did.

Was he restless? Had he been waiting for this moment, that Megatron would visit him? Or had he moved on, thoroughly done and over with the warlord and his destructive downfall? 

Megatron blinked, and for a moment he no longer saw that accursed headstone. No, instead he saw familiar bright optics. Smiling so gently, as if his horrible influence hadn't ruined his beloved archivist yet. Another blink and those eyes were gone, a fading ghost from his vision. And another that finally let the tears building in his optics flow. Megatron, having no strength, leaned his helm against the stone, closing his optics. “Im so . . . I’m so sorry, Orion. Im so sorry . . .” He repeated, over and over. Not by much, but still, Optimus and Sentinel found themselves some of the only mechs who would ever see Megatron lose face in such a way. Five cycles had gone and passed, but Optimus couldn't find it in himself to cut the moment off. He never, well, no one could have ever expected something so tender, so heartbreaking from Cybertron’s grim reaper like this. All of this? For an archivist, history couldn't care enough to remember the death date of? Sentinel was less than moved, rolling his optics as he called. “Alright, times up. We're leaving.” But a quick arm from Optimus stopped him from making any other move. Megatron breathed in, composing himself as he spoke. “One . . . one more request, please. That’s all I ask.” Sentinel was about to object before Optimus stepped infront of him. “What is it?” Sentinel grumbled, “Are you kidding me?” But his words were lost on Megatron’s reply. “My swords. You confiscated them didn't you?” Optimus nodded, “We did.” Megatron hummed, speaking again. “Bring them to me.” A bit authoritative for a captured war criminal, but his words were not from a place of giving orders. “I won't be needing them anymore, I’ll deposit them here.” Sentinel pipped again. “Optimus don't.” He snapped. “I’ve taken enough of watching this sappy scrap, can we just get the prisoner and–”

“Go, Sentinel.” Optimus cut him off. He was never in the mood to hear Sentinel but now, especially now he wasn't about to put up with it. “You know where we kept them locked up.” Sentinel stared in utter disbelief, storming off to the ship.

It gave a few moments of Megatron and Optimus alone. Optimus made no move to get closer, but still, he found himself a little more open to speaking. “. . . Who was he?”

Megatron stayed quiet as if trying to piece together the best answer to provide. “Everything to me.” A bit dramatic, so he gave him a more simple answer. “Orion Pax, an Iaconion archivist. We grew close when I was still a gladiator before any mention of Decepticons came to my mind. I loved him.” He turned back to the grave, whispering more softly. “I love you.” Optimus couldn't help but feel his spark ache at the display. Sickening almost. He wouldn't pity Megatron. He shouldn't, couldn't. After everything? One little display of care towards a grave wasn't going to change that. It wasn't.

In the distance, he could see Sentinel approaching, a large cloth in his arms, wrapping around the twin swords Megatron was so infamous for. It hit Optimus at that point, if he was so sure he wouldn't feel pity for Megatron. Then why had Optimus allowed his last rites to go on for this long?

Sentinel stood there, a low glare cast at Optimus as he dumped the swords on the ground next to Megatron, not a single shred of decency in him. Megatron grabbed onto the swords, one in each hand. The two primes only watched, it was a lie to not assume the worst. Optimus already gripping onto the Magnus’ hammer, while Sentinel laid a hand against his shield. Megatron stood up, swinging both swords before stabbing them down into the ground, one on either side of the Archivist’s grave. He let go of the handles, kneeling back down. “To protect you, in the next life. The way they should have in this one, my dear.” Optimus cleared his throat, loosening his grip as the moment came to an end. He spoke up. “Megatron. Time to go. Now.” He tried sounding firm, but Primus, this was too much to bear. Megatron only nodded, turning to face the grave one last time. “It’s too kind to assume I will see you again in the well of all sparks.” He traced the edge of the marble. “Goodbye Orion.” After that, he stood up straight and strong despite his betrayal of emotions. He turned wordlessly, once more being escorted out first by Sentinel. “Yeah yeah, time to face the music.” Optimus walked behind them once more, casting one last glimpse at the grave and relief, before following them out back to the flagship and off to Iacon.

Optimus was meant to keep a certain bias during the trial so Megatron could be defeated entirely, once and for all.

But casting a glance at the warframe in the cell, he felt that spark ache again. Optimus was worried he couldn't keep that unbias anymore as he stood and walked over to the cell. He leaned against it, speaking idly. “. . . Would you tell me more about Orion Pax? You know, something of an effort to preserve more names from the war.” Megatron felt a sad tired smile pull at the corner of his lips, once again. “Ofcourse.”

[joshkiszkasgothgf]

Rata van Touille- Sam Kiszka and Danny Wagner

Blame @dannythedog for this. She gave me the idea.

Warning: Ratatouille

✨Masterlist✨

📸: by @dannythedog

Sam had been under a lot of stress lately. He was looking to enter into the best restaurant in the field. The best of the best come to Cal A Bunga’s and if he was going to make it in the door as a chef for them he had to give his best.

He had been trying for weeks to perfect his ratatouille recipe, but it always came up short. He had been watching tutorial after tutorial, reading every article he could find, yet he just couldn’t find that special… something the culinary masters use in their renditions.

Sam has been so hyper focused on this, sometimes forgetting to sleep and eat, that he truly thought he had dreamed up the little man who was staring at him at present. He stands about 8 inches tall, long, dark hair pulled into a little bun, decked out in a tiny floral shirt and khakis.

The little man stands stock still, afraid to even blink lest the giant before him turn violent. He lets his eyes dart around the room looking for a way out just as the giant asks, “Who are you?”

Sam tilts his head after he asks the question, staring his little intruder down and wondering how he’d gotten into the 6th floor apartment.

“Were you trying to make Ratatouille?” The little man asks, ignoring Sam’s question entirely. He recognizes it’s probably a stupid question to ask instead of answering the giant’s posed question, but he actually really likes Ratatouille and since it’s been awhile since his last meal he’s gonna take a chance that the giant will be nice.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam answers, tilting his head further, “You know how to make it?”

The little man scoffs. “I know well enough to tell from smell alone that you have NO clue what you’re doing,” he responds sassily.

“Hey! You don’t even know me, what gives you the right to judge my Ratatouille?!” Offense coats Sam’s voice and he stands quickly, scaring the little figure who runs and hides behind the nearest larger object.

Sam realizes his blunder and sits back down on his bed in his small studio apartment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Sam,” he calls softly to the corner of the kitchen where the little figure ran.

A tiny head pokes out cautiously. It looks around to asses the situation then slowly steps out from behind the cookie jar. “I’m Danny. Cooking’s a passion of mine,” he admits, blushing.

Sam smiles, “Me too. Wanna show me where I fucked up?” He stands slowly, pulling his hair back up into a bun and walking over to the sink to wash his hands.

Danny runs over to the edge of the sink. “Can I sit on your head and give you instructions?” He asks causing Sam to laugh.

Sam reaches out and carefully lifts Danny up onto his head, the smaller taking a moment to lean back against Sam’s bun and get comfortable. He watches as Sam washes his hands and begins cooking, spouting out instructions here and there.

After Sam reaches for the wrong ingredient for the third time, Danny tugs a piece of the larger’s hair in frustration. Sam let’s out a cry in surprise as his right arm slams into the counter above the stove.

“What the hell was that for?” He yells, eye’s darting towards his hairline.

Once Danny has calmed his laughter he pulls another strand of hair making a sound of delight when Sam’s left arm moves. He smirks and stands up, looping his feet in the strands to keep himself stable he begins puppeteering Sam, making the Ratatouille expertly.

Sam watches, jaw dropped as his arms move of Danny’s accord. He makes a noise of understanding as Danny adds ingredients Sam forgot or does something differently than Sam had been taught.

In no time a masterpiece sits before the two. The vegetables are laid perfectly, the sauce still lightly simmering in the pan.

Danny stands triumphantly on Sam’s head. “That’s how you make Ratatouille!” He cheers, plopping down and making himself comfortable against Sam’s bun, “do you have any little forks?”

Greta Van Hoes Taglist:

@joshkiszkasphattittes @greta-flanveet @dolls-skin @theweightofstardust @greta-van-yeet @sarakay-gvf @screechesincoherently @wickedwomaan @kiszkashorizons @teddiie

✨Masterlist✨

[spacedikut]

the blessing of a blizzard ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a blizzard leaves the team holed up in the bau office. spencer can’t stop thinking about your elusive boyfriend, mike, who might not be your boyfriend after all. 4.3k

a/n: festive fic! kind of! im too scared to do a final check so if there’s errors or i misuse pronouns just lemme know ily happy holidays ! thank you to the incredible @homoose for helping with dialogue :D

Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.

Full name Michael, Spencer presumes, which comes from Hebrew meaning “who is like God?” A rhetorical question, implying there is no person like God, Michael was one of the archangels in Hebrew tradition and the only one identified as an archangel in the Bible.

What Michael should mean, however, is the guy that stole your heart and left Spencer thinking things very unlike him – that Mike, a man Spencer has never met and that clearly makes you very happy, has a really stupid name, for example.

There are three things Spencer knows about him:

1. Ever since you started deciding on his wardrobe, ladies love him. It makes you a little jealous, apparently.

2. You love baking him homemade treats whenever you can. Like a movie playing in his head, Spencer can perfectly remember you excitedly chatting with Garcia and Emily, animatedly explaining how excited Mike gets when he sees you’ve made something just for him.

3. Mike can be a bit of a dick, actually. There have been several mornings you’ve come in with a long face, leaning back in your desk chair far enough to view the world upside down and whining about how grumpy Mike was that morning, how you had to tip-toe around your apartment lest he get mad.

You’d called him your soulmate, added that he’s a light in your life you didn’t know you needed until you had him. You’re a person who chooses their words carefully, so when you’re walking around putting Mike and soulmate in the same sentence, you mean business.

That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently. Because you’re busy showing JJ pictures of him on your phone right now, blissfully unaware of the subconscious glare Spencer is lasering into your phone as he leans against the jet counter.

Spencer’s never had the honour of seeing Mike (a genuine word you used – honour) and you know what? Spencer doesn’t want to know what Mike looks like. Spencer doesn’t care. Mike’s probably ugly, anyway, and Spencer’s confidence within himself grows day by day and if there’s one thing he’s learnt recently it’s that comparison is the thief of joy and-

“Oh!” JJ exclaims, “He’s gorgeous!”

Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.

+++

The floor is slippery beneath everyone’s feet, the surrounding area slowly losing its mixture of colours to blend into one coat of white.

It’s snowing.

Garcia greets the team, a steaming cup of tea in her bejewelled hands, and everyone gets to work right away. There’s whispers of the snow getting heavier and sticking and covering more and more ground with more and more depth; people are rushing against the proverbial clock to get done and get home before they’re all stuck.

But that won’t happen, right? If people were genuinely concerned about getting snowed in, surely everyone would’ve been sent home early as a precaution. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Rossi’s the one to notice it, calling out, “Check it out. Snow’s pretty bad.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like they’ll race to the windows then deflate with disappointment because you couldn’t even create a single snowball with that light coat, but holy hell people are walking around with snow up to their ankles and it’s still coming down thick. And then the lights are flickering and JJ is making frantic calls home to Will and Hotch is exiting his office, phone pressed to his ear, calling everyone to attention:

“There’s a blizzard incoming. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be on the roads, so we’re being told to sit tight. You should all try to call home, just in case; we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

Some people still brave it, still try to head on home, and whether they make it or not is up to the Gods. The team glance around, varying expressions – Emily and Derek look pissed, JJ is worried, and you and Rossi are straight-faced. Penelope is bouncing in excitement.

“It’s like a sleepover!”

All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.

+++

Spencer’s straining his neck, butt barely on his desk chair, in attempt to see around all the bustling people that stand between you and him. Through the glass BAU doors, on the phone, your shoulders are slumped and you kick your boot against the floor a few times to channel your multitude of emotions into something. He hopes Mike isn’t giving you a hard time for something that isn’t within your control.

Emily looks up from her monitor, where she’s doing Christmas shopping even though it’s Christmas Eve, and looks thoroughly amused by Spencer’s internal battle of wanting to watch you but not wanting it to be obvious.

“You good, Reid?”

Spencer flinches like Emily pinched him. “Yeah, good. Fine. Are you good?”

Emily makes a show of slowly turning to look at you, still on the phone, then slowly turning back to Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze. She smirks. “You think they’re talking to Mike?”

Yes, Spencer does think that, but he’d made a point to not fully acknowledge it. And there’s something about Emily’s smugness that tells Spencer she’s teasing him – she knows something he doesn’t and it makes his eyes narrow. “Probably. Why?”

Whatever the response is, Emily’s barely opened her mouth before she’s interrupted by Penelope Garcia gracefully clapping her hands, getting the attention of every BAU member. The team quiets and all eyes are on Penelope. Except Spencer, who watches with concern as you sneak back to your desk, a furrow to your brow and downward dips either side of your mouth.

“I know these are less-than-great circumstances, and we’re stuck in work of all places, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t have a little fun! So…”

She wildly gestures for Hotch to step forward, a cheesy grin on her face and a gleam in Hotch’s eye that tells everyone he’s also smiling but internally, and she takes the three large boxes he was carrying like the good sidekick he is.

“We’re building gingerbread houses!”

There’s exclamations of surprise and joy; Emily lights up at the idea of doing anything other than work or sitting at her desk, and JJ takes a box to look it over before asking, “Where did you get these?”

Hotch answers. “They were supposed to be for the kids,” He shrugs, holding back a smile, “However, I guess we can use them now.”

“Yes,” Penelope nods, “Yes, we can use them now. Get your game faces on, because this is a competition. Hotch and Rossi are the judges, because they’re grumpy old men, and the rest of us will be in teams of two fighting to build the best gingerbread house the BAU has ever seen.”

Derek speaks up for the first time, just to insult Spencer. “I refuse to be on a team with Reid. He has no creative skills.”

Members of the team laugh and Spencer reacts indignantly. He wants to reply, but you’re already speaking.

“Hey! I’ll take him! Spencer’s great.”

Many heads snap to you when you speak, Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.

Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.

+++

So, building a gingerbread house? A little more difficult than originally thought.

Maybe it’s the sticky icing, or the temptation to simply eat all the sweet decorative candy rather than use it for its intended purpose, or…

Maybe it’s the pretty teammate Spencer has that keeps brushing against him, keeps brushing against his hands, and like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts other than: Y/N.

Spencer caught you watching him while he was rolling up his shirt sleeves, caught you staring at his hands and trailing your eyes up his forearms, following the sleeves as they moved inch by inch up to his elbows.

Then, when Spencer was holding two pieces of gingerbread together, you were too lost in thought to put the icing between the cracks and cement them together. Your eyes were trained on the fingers pressing the pieces together. Spencer had to call your name three times to wake you up.

Then, something weird happened (if the previous instances weren’t weird enough). You two had been in your own bubble of hushed tones and accidental touching, surrounded by bickering and collapsing houses and at one point Emily offered Rossi twenty bucks if he just votes for her and JJ without them making a house, and suddenly it’s silent. All he can hear is his heartbeat, his blood pumping in his ears, and all he can feel is the warmth of your breath on his ear because you’re right there, over his shoulder, joining him in hunching over your creation to decorate it with all kinds of shapes and colours.

The close proximity is too much. It’s too much.

You lean even closer, shoulder and arm pressed directly against Spencer’s, and lift another hand to place a miniature candy cane next to the gingerbread door. The action causes your hand to brush Spencer’s, and for the first time ever he’s not jolting away like he’s been electrocuted, no, his hand stays there, hovering, waiting and hoping for more.

Hoping for more of you.

And you seem to realise, too, that Spencer’s reaction is abnormal. He can’t decide if you’re testing the waters, or if it was a mere accident. But what are you testing the waters for? Why are you trying to touch him? Why do you want to touch him?

He takes a sharp intake of breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees you turn to look at him, and he almost doesn’t reciprocate. Almost.

You’re so close, face so close to his own. You take the softest breaths, in and out, sending the gentlest puffs of air onto Spencer’s lips.

He has no idea what the fuck is happening. He doesn’t want it to stop.

Your eyes, always shining and full of an emotion Spencer can’t decipher, dance around his face – his eyes, to his nose, stopping on each cheek, back and forth and up and down. Spencer’s captured by them, unable to tear himself away, which has become quite the habit since he’s known you.

Then you’re looking at his lips.

Spencer blinks, hoping to clear away the obvious hallucination he’s having, but no. Nothing changes. Your gaze remains, unwavered, making Spencer subconsciously open his mouth. The softest gasp leaves it when your pupils dilate.

This is the perfect moment to kiss, right? Right here, in front of the gingerbread house you made together, decorated together, and now begin the start of something else together. It makes sense, it’s almost poetic, and Spencer’s thought about you and him in a relationship enough times to consider this opportunity good and sweet enough to regale everyone with in the future.

Can you imagine it? “We had our first kiss in front of the gingerbread house we slaved over together. We won the competition, too.”

There’s a loud clang – Penelope found an actual gong from somewhere – and Rossi announces that the timer has gone off and it’s time for the judges to vote for the winner.

When you gently pick up yours and Spencer’s creation and take it to a cloth-covered table, where Rossi and Hotch ominously stand with their arms crossed, Spencer is frozen in place.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

There’s no way you wanted to kiss him. It isn’t possible. You’ve never looked at him like that before. It must’ve been a mistake.

But you were so close…

No. If Spencer made that move, it would’ve ruined everything – your friendship, the festive fun, the atmosphere of the entire evening. Everyone’s expected to be stuck here for at least another six hours, and making it tense and awkward was not something Spencer is willing to do.

But your eyes…

Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.

Your boyfriend, for example.

You have a boyfriend. Mike.

Of course, you were probably thinking of Mike. Your boyfriend.

Spencer almost kissed someone in a relationship, and he’s pretty sure you almost kissed him too.

+++

Much to Derek’s chagrin, you and Spencer win the gingerbread house contest.

Penelope was baffled, frantically gesturing to the Jacuzzi she made with icing and- Derek made miniature weights? Somehow? It looked chaotic.

“Practicality, my dear,” Rossi told her. “Who, living in a gingerbread house, is worried about working out?”

Even though you and Spencer were the winners, Derek and Penelope and their pouting (and calls for a rematch) took the attention away from the obvious awkward tension between the winners. Spencer stayed at the desk you worked at while you took your house to the judges, stayed at the desk when you were crowned and stayed at the desk when you cheered.

You looked at him, wide grin and happy eyes, and all he could do was tightly smile back. Give a thumbs up.

He gave you a thumbs up. You nearly kissed less than ten minutes prior. And all he could do was give you a thumbs up.

The light in your eyes dimmed, but you seemed to understand.

Understand what, exactly? Spencer’s not so sure either. But something clicked in your head – you nodded to yourself as if confirming whatever you’ve concluded, and turned your back to him.

That was an hour ago. Now, the team has spread across everyone’s desks. Turns out, Hotch is a big fan of gingerbread - he’s consumed most of Derek and Penelope’s creation, icing and all, while Rossi has decided now is a good time to open one of the many bottles of whiskey he has in his office.

Spencer believes having that much alcohol in your work environment is breaking some kind of rule, but the snow isn’t letting up and it looks like a sleepover in the BAU office is likely. He deserves a little whiskey.

And where are you in all of this?

Spencer won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t had you in his line of sight the entire time, so he’ll recap what you’ve been doing: laughing at Derek’s jokes, plaiting Penelope’s hair, eating the candy Emily and JJ didn’t use on their house.

You’d left the room to call home and check up on things (check up on Mike, Spencer thinks bitterly) and now you stand in front of the large window by the BAU elevators, watching the snow fall.

Spencer has the perfect view of you through the glass doors. When the call ends and you stay there, he grabs a paper plate, grabs one of the walls from yours and his masterpiece and makes his way towards you.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll even act, but he wants to talk to you. Things feel weird after the almost-kiss, and Spencer never wants things to be weird with you. He can’t have things weird with you. You hadn’t talked to him once since the competition, and he has a feeling you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

So he does. If that’s what you need, he’ll do it.

(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice perfectly matches the snowy atmosphere. It makes you feel warm inside, like you’ve just taken a sip of hot cocoa, and so often he’s left goosebumps on your skin just from speaking.

Seeing the outstretched paper plate in his hand, you take it gratefully. “Hi there. Thanks.” You nod to the gingerbread that you begin breaking up.

You hand him the first piece even though he brought it for you, and it’s silent while you both chew thoughtfully and watch the pure white outside. It doesn’t feel weird, necessarily, standing here, shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but you’re certainly more in your head than usual. You’re thinking a lot and, as much as it hurts him, Spencer knows you’re likely preoccupied by your boyfriend and not what transpired between you earlier.

It’s that thought, that disappointment settling into his chest, that opens his mouth unconsciously: “How’s Mike? Does he know you’re not making it home tonight?”

He regrets it immediately, worsened by the way you stop mid-chew, eyes dimming like Spencer’s taken a baseball bat and shattered the lights inside.

This is unchartered territory – talking about Mike with you – and you know it. Who, in their right mind, willingly asks the person they have feelings for how their relationship with someone that isn’t you is going? Does Spencer enjoy pain?

Although this is the first time Spencer’s mentioned Mike to your face (he’s mentioned Mike plenty to a laughing Derek), he’s been so close to presenting the topic many times. He wants to know so badly – wants to know how well Mike treats you, really treats you (he will profile you), if you see a long-term future with him and if not, on average how long does it take you to get over your exes? Just an estimate?

You swallow the gingerbread you’re eating. “He’s okay. My roommate has to take care of him, but at least he’s got someone.”

Huh?

Since when do you have a roommate?

And why is your roommate taking care of your boyfriend?

Oh. Guilt blooms in Spencer when it registers that he’s been thinking ill of a person that might be sick. No wonder you dote on him so much and seemed devastated to make that phone call home earlier - Mike needs you, you can’t be there for him, and you feel horrible for it.

Spencer feels horrible for having the subject of his anger be someone you so clearly cherish, so deeply love. He’s embarrassed that if he was asked to explain why he hates Mike so much, he’d have to tell them it’s because Mike has you, and you’re what Spencer wants. What about what you want?

“Take care of him?” Spencer asks. The concern is genuine, which is an emotion he never thought he’d have in regards to Mike. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” You shrug. “He needs someone watching over him at all times, that’s all.”

That’s all?

You continue. “Make sure he eats – and only eats what he’s supposed to. Give him his meds. Make sure he poops. Those kinda things.”

What?

“Your… roommate makes sure your boyfriend poops?”

Now, Spencer knows what you look like when you’re confused. Honestly, he has every facial expression you’ve graced him with tucked away in a proverbial box he spends too much time thinking about. He knows that when you’re trying not to laugh, you bite the inside of your left cheek. When you’re frustrated but need to present a professional front, you bite the inside of your right cheek. Happiness fills your entire face, like every inch is consumed by it, and you’ve trained yourself to transport anger to your hands, where they twist into tight fists and leave fingernail marks in your palms.

Confusion is one of his favourites (second only to joy – for obvious reasons. Have you seen your smile?) because it takes many forms. You’ve pursed your lips, narrowed your eyes, tapped your foot on the floor. When you do them all, Spencer considers it a jackpot. There’s something about the way you look when you’re presented with something you can’t quite figure out yet, when you’re perplexed, that just-

You make it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t be a genius when you’re around because you’re so pretty. You’re a vision and he can never rattle off information to you specifically because he will trip up and divert to talking about the beauty that is you and that would be embarrassing for many reasons.

But this type of confusion? The way you’re looking at him right now? He’s never seen this before. Your jaw has dropped, your brows are furrowed so deeply they might fall off, and you look… horrified.

“My… my boyfriend?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Mike?” He looks around, waiting for cameramen to jump out and tell him he’s being pranked, because why don’t you know who your own boyfriend is?

You move slowly, placing the half-eaten plate on the windowsill before turning to face Spencer fully. You take a second to compose yourself.

“Mike is my cat.”

Mike is…

“And he’s having digestive issues, so he needs to be watched pretty much full-time.”

Silence. Tense, weird silence.

“…You thought Mike was my boyfriend?”

Spencer sputters, then, because of course he did! “Yes! The way you talk about him was… it was… it seemed…”

He flustered, oh so flustered, hands flailing and face enflamed and burning from the inside out. How had he not known?! How had… how had your wires gotten so convoluted, so mixed?

Does everyone know that Mike is a cat? Is Spencer the only one out of the loop? The look Emily gave him earlier, that knowing too-smug look, was that…

She was making fun of him. She knew he thought Mike was a person, not a pet, and was teasing him because of it.

All at once, the world seems lighter and dimmer – a contradiction that leaves Spencer’s chest heaving – because the past year feels like a lie. He’s spent so long seeing the way you come to life when talking about Mike, sitting opposite you on the jet as you awaken like a dying flower watered when home got closer and closer, and it was all for… a cat?

There’s a mist over Spencer’s eyes as he recalls every overheard declaration of love and coos of how handsome Mike is, and you’re laughing. Spencer’s having a crisis in front of your very eyes and you’re laughing. Hunched over, a single tear falling from your eye, clutching your stomach because it hurts from the ferocity of your giggles.

By the time you quieten, your hand is over your mouth to cover the big grin that grounds him, gives him something other than this revelation to focus on. Spencer’s still baffled, frazzled, but there’s the tiniest of smiles on his face because of how overjoyed you look. And he did that. Albeit his stupidity did it, but Spencer’s stupidity nonetheless.

You’re out of breath. “God I… I don’t even know what to say. You really thought my cat was my boyfriend?”

Spencer’s fighting a smile, lips wiggling. The way you’re looking at him now, all blinding smile and crinkled eyes, alleviates him of any anxiety he earlier had. Like you’ve wiped away his plate-full of worries, all the times it felt like he took an arrow to the heart, all the times he caught you smiling at your phone because you were looking at pictures of Mike, it’s all worth it. Because you’ve never looked like this while talking about Mike, and Mike is a cat. He isn’t a person, isn’t your boyfriend. Mike is a cat and Spencer has a chance.

Spencer has a chance.

“Does this… this means you’re single, right?”

A somewhat terrified look overtakes his face.

“Oh, shoot, you are single, right?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Yes, Spencer. I’m single.”

He lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He repeats your nod, realises what he said could imply, and starts shaking his head. “Not-not good good. You’re incredible and need to be appreciated, but… good, because that means we could, you know…” He gestures vaguely. God, why can’t he get coherent words out? “If you wanted to, we could-“

“Are you trying to ask me out, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

Just to cause immense emotional distress, you raise an eyebrow, mischief clear on your face, and wait for him to continue.

“You want me to actually ask?” He winces.

“I’ve spent the last year convinced you didn’t like me, so, yes, I want you to actually ask.”

The new information sends ice down Spencer’s back because what? Since when? “You- what?“

“I’ve liked you for a while, Spencer,” You cross your arms over your body, slightly embarrassed. “But you always kept your distance so I did too, I guess.”

“I thought you were taken!” Spencer exclaims. “If I’d known I would’ve-we could’ve- I would-“

“You’d what, Reid?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, but there’s no denying you’re incandescently happy.

He takes a deep breath and asks what he’s wanted to for far too long. “When this is all over, would you like to go on a date with me, Y/N?”

Relief flashes in your eyes, like you didn’t fully believe what was happening until he finally asked, and words have never sounded as pretty as when you say: “Yes. Yes I would.”

Like lovesick idiots, you stand in front of the window with the snowfall as a backdrop, grinning at each other. You can’t help it – you lean up, press a kiss to his cheek that immediately sets his skin ablaze, and fall back onto your feet with a smile sweeter than all the sugar you’d consumed today.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

Somehow, despite the nerves and the way his heart is trying to leap into your hands, he manages to tell you, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

+++

(Three weeks later, Spencer meets the Mike. Turns out he’s a nice guy. Spencer takes the first opportunity he can to apologise for all the bad things he said about him behind his back. The purring tells Spencer he’s forgiven)

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @prettyboy-reid @shadyladyperfection

[gauldheri]

"I really have been blessed today. I'm Sylvain and I assure you the pleasure is all mine," he manages to keep his jaw from hitting the floor, just about. Goldmary is stunning, to put it lightly and her words are both utterly charming and just enticing enough to keep him on his toes. Her confidence is intoxicating, as is her soft honey-gold gaze which follows him as he takes his seat. "Be my guest, milady. A woman so radiant need not ask for permission or forgiveness."

She smiles so easily, delight reaching her eyes as she reads the card. As if he would deny her anything in this moment.

"Of course, I'm only happy to oblige. Let's see," he trails off, planning his words carefully as he watches her reactions. Hopefully he can nail this one. "My gut instinct of course is to say love, naturally. Though I can see persuasive arguments for a different answer. A poor mother, heart filled with love for her children, for example, may opt for money but as a noble act of love."

"In my case, I think it's human nature, right? To covet that which we lack," Sylvain's careful to widen his eyes, soften his features as he continues. A hand comes to rest under his chin, one finger delicately tapping the side of his jaw. His phrasing has to be exact lest he come across as a braggart, rather than Fodlan's most eligible bachelor. "I count my blessings. I'm set to inherit my father's title and lands, so money and power have never been a concern for me. I've never had to strive for them, which I understand is a great privilege. I would never judge someone else for desiring such things."

"I've noticed that among the nobility and their political movements and marriages that love is rare. Not completely absent but..." Sylvain runs a hand through his hair artfully, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Yet he keeps his gaze appropriately melancholy and pensive. Aiming for hopeful rather than joyous. "I suppose I've always looked at my own parent's loveless marriage and compared it to the warm, genial households my friends grew up in. I've always been envious, even if jealousy really isn't an attractive trait."

A short, self-deprecating laugh is barked out before his smile becomes a more seductive smirk.

"What about you though, dear Goldmary? I'd much rather hear about you than continue to talk about myself."

the textbook definition,

[c-optimistic]

Hallo! I greatly enjoy your writing, for everything really, and whenever you get the chance and some inspo hits, wouldya write somethin sweet and gay? Whatever you're feeling, I'm sure I'll enjoy it! Thank you v kindly and I hope you have a lovely evening/day!

Kara shifted in the chair, feeling a tiny bit uneasy. Her nurse—a young woman who introduced herself as Nia when Kara had been called from the waiting room—smiled kindly and paused her typing on the desktop situated on the study table in the examination room.

“First time getting your eyes checked?” she said knowingly, voicing the question though the answer was clear in Kara’s fidgeting hands and on Nia’s computer screen, proclaiming Kara to be a first-time patient. “You shouldn’t worry, Dr. Luthor is the best ophthalmologist in the business. She’s world renowned, not that she’d ever admit to it.” It seemed like that last part was more for Nia’s benefit than Kara’s, said in a slightly miffed mumble as she turned her attention back to the computer. “Any known allergies?”

Kara blinked, feeling a bit trapped. “Um, no, but—”

“—we don’t have any medications listed for you. Is that right? You’re not on any prescriptions?”

“Oh, no. I’m not. But I—”

“—I see you wear glasses. When was the last time you got a prescription? Did you want to get new frames, we can—” Finally Kara had enough. She reached out and grabbed Nia’s hand, causing her to fall silent. “This is weird. Is this a come on? Because you’re really pretty, but I don’t swing that way.” 

“No, I—wait, what?” Kara released Nia, feeling as though she’d been burned. “No! Not a—not a come on, I would never—”

“Look, it’s okay. I didn’t think so, you seem...well, nice. But I have a lawyer friend who owes me a favor so...I can have you sued. Just so you know.” She narrowed her eyes in an attempt, unsuccessful unfortunately, to look intimidating. “So what is it? You look like I tried to drown your cat.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Kara confessed, meeting Nia’s eyes steadily. The nurse blinked owlishly at her, clearly lost.

“I don’t follow,” she said, confirming what Kara already knew. 

“Look, I’m going to trust you, okay? There’s nothing actually wrong with my eyes. Or my health in general. I’m in like perfect health. By human standards, maybe more than perfect. But I don’t want to sound arrogant or anything, you know?”

Nia’s head was cocked to one side as she studied Kara. “Sorry, I still don’t follow.” 

“I’manalien,” Kara said in a rush, and judging from the way Nia’s eyes widened and her expression cleared, she understood Kara perfectly. 

“Well that explains all...that,” she gestured wildly to Kara. “So what’s the issue? Dr. Luthor is super supportive of aliens. She’s one of the only doctors in National City to—”

“—I don’t need glasses!” Kara interrupted, not really needing to hear about Dr. Luthor. “Look, I’m only here because,” she paused, not sure if she was willing to give the long explanation of how her work mishap, the stupid excuse she’d mumbled out, and a well-meaning coworker’s insistence to help (with a voice in Kara’s head that sounded suspiciously like Alex reminding her to keep her secret identity secret when she tried to get out of the whole thing) led her here to this moment, “it doesn’t matter. I just need your help. Tell the doctor I don’t need to be seen, give me a fake prescription, and I can go on my way.” 

Nia frowned, shaking her head. “Dr. Luthor would never buy it, and she has to sign the prescriptions. She’s very particular about it. You’re here, you may as well just...get your eyes checked?”

“My alien eyes that can shoot lasers and see through anything but lead? Those eyes?” 

“That’s so cool,” Nia breathed out, but she was focused. She pulled a drawer open and pulled out to eye drops. “One is to numb, the other is to dilate.” She paused, eyeing the bottles then Kara. “Would you even need a numbing agent?” 

Kara resisted the urge to tell Nia that her cousin once had a bullet to the eye and it just dropped to the ground, harmless to a Kryptonian. Instead, she leaned her head back, allowing Nia to apply the drops, reassuring her the whole time that she’d help with Dr. Luthor. She winked at Kara before slipping out of the exam room, leaving only a single dimmed light on, assuring her the “doctor would be in soon.” 

Kara closed her eyes—which felt no different from before she’d gotten the eye drops—and leaned her head back. She couldn’t leave, she didn’t want to stay, and she was just about to declare this one of the worst days in the last year at best, when there was a knock at the door and it swung open. 

And standing there, bathed in the bright light of the hallway, was the most beautiful woman Kara had ever seen, a grinning—and all too smug—Nia standing right behind her. 

She had long dark hair, brilliantly green eyes, wore the tightest dress Kara had ever seen, with heels that she was sure were murder to walk in all day. The sleeves of her white coat were rolled up to her forearms, her bright red lips were curved into a breathtaking smile. 

“Hi,” said the walking angel, “I’m Dr. Lena Luthor. Nia tells me you wanted to check your eye pressure and get a new prescription?” 

Kara nodded numbly, struck dumb by Dr. Luthor’s easy grace. 

Nia snickered, actually snickered, as she closed the door behind them, leaning against it as Lena pulled a chair in front of Kara and motioned for her to bring her face up to the tonometer. “Forehead against, yes, and chin on the rest down there...perfect,” Dr. Luthor said gently, her voice like honey. Kara couldn’t help it, her eyes followed Dr. Luthor’s, wanting to memorize the shade. She was so busy trying to decide whether it was an emerald or sea green, forgetting entirely her misgivings about being here in the first place, that she missed the first part of Nia’s attempt to ‘help.’

“—quite extraordinary, don’t you think?” Nia finished, causing Dr. Luthor to pull slightly away, cheeks tinged pink. 

For the first time, Lena Luthor was something just below perfection, stumbling over her words a little as she responded. “Oh, yes, um. They are. Looking at eyes is my job, Ms. Danvers, but yours are—well, like Nia said, so unprofessionally, they’re quite extraordinary.” She leaned back in, looking a little interested. “In fact, they’re almost—”

“—your eyes are very green,” Kara blurted, both because she was thinking it with Dr. Luthor’s face so incredibly close and because she wasn’t sure if she wanted a world renowned ophthalmologist looking too carefully at her eyes, lest she see something, well, inhuman. “Do your patients ever mention that?”

“For sure, but you’re probably the first person Dr. Luthor wants to hear it from,” Nia said, which had the doctor in question turn around and flash her a dirty look, and had Kara spluttering. 

“Your lawyer friend should sue you,” Kara managed before refocusing her attention on Dr. Luthor. “I’m really sorry about commenting on your eyes. That was rude. I said the quiet part out loud. Can the numbing agent for the eyes cause a loose tongue?” 

It was the stupidest thing to say, Kara knew it as soon as the words escaped her, embarrassment heating her cheeks and the back of her neck as Nia choked on laughter and Dr. Luthor seemed, well, angelic. 

“You know, Nia tells me you have very interesting eyes,” Dr. Luthor said, her tone and the stressing of ‘interesting’ making it very clear Nia had told her about the laser vision. “You don’t need a doctor.”

“I need a fake prescription.”

“I can write you a note instead,” the doctor offered, getting Kara to lean back in her chair and tugging the tonometer out of the way. “Would that work?” 

“Could you say I can’t see with my old glasses and that’s why I ran into a table and knocked over a coworker’s favorite mug, not that I broke it by trying to heat their coffee with my laser vision?” 

Dr. Luthor laughed, the sound like the jingling of bells. It was beautiful and was thoroughly distracting. “I think that’s a lot for a note. What about, you have vision issues I’ve never seen before?” 

Kara thought about it for a moment, then nodded, sticking her hand out for the doctor who stared at it with a fond smile on her lips. “You’ve got a deal, Dr. Luthor,” she said, waiting for the angel to take her hand. After several seconds, during which Lena Luthor met and held Kara’s gaze, she reached out and took Kara’s hand, her index and middle finger sliding against the inside of Kara’s wrist. She opened her mouth—to say what, Kara wasn’t sure—when Nia cut in.

“In return for the note, Kara will take you to coffee. Oh look you shook on it! That’s an oral contract, my lawyer friend will sue you if you don’t go on that date.”

Kara blushed and glared at Nia, ready to let the doctor off the hook, but Dr. Luthor’s grip on her hand tightened. And when Kara’s eyes met Lena Luthor’s incredibly green ones, she noticed they were crinkled in a smile. 

“When we go to coffee,” she said softly, “you have to call me Lena. All my dates do.” 

[rinharu-purple]

On Jealousy

I owe this analysis/answer to an anon ask which I've accidentally posted, though only with the introduction sentence and then couldn't retrieve.🙈

Dear anon, this analysis is dedicated to you.

I HOPE YOU SEE THIS!!! 🙏🏻💫🙏🏻

Thank you @sin-with-quiche for proofreading and @lunabai78 for the spiritual support 💕💕💕

---—-----—

We have quite a number of moments in our journey with Gavin... Some are funny, some are cute, some are...mmm over the edge

(。-ω-)ﾉ

If you ask me whether Gavin is a jealous man, I would give you two answers:

1) Pre and early relationship... Absolutely!

2) Established relationship... The fitting colloquial term is "territorial".

In order to look at Gavin's attitude towards other males and whether to categorize them as jealous behaviour or not, first we need to describe jealousy .

Jealousy generally refers to the thoughts or feelings of insecurity, fear, and concern over a relative lack of possessions or safety.

The word stems from the French jalousie, formed from jaloux (jealous), and further from Low Latin zelosus (full of zeal), in turn from the Greek word ζήλος (zēlos), sometimes "jealousy", but more often in a positive sense "emulation, ardour, zeal" (with a root connoting "to boil, ferment"; or "yeast").

As you can see, there are different set of emotions that might boil or ferment the reaction of jealousy in one's belly.

My personal take on this is that jealousy arises from two simple things 1) Lack of self-confidence 2) Lack of trust towards one's partner (in terms of romantic jealousy). You don't get jealous when you know you're one hell-of-a-mate and are with the right person. Which is why as we will see in a minute Gavin fits the bill at the beginning but afterwards his jealousy isn't actually jealousy at all!

So which sets of emotions lead to his jealous behaviour and in which conjuncture?

We know that Gavin is completely attuned to MC. This also applies for his reaction towards the presence of other guys around her. So the type of jealousy he displays is attuned to MCs type of reaction to the source of his jealousy. He observes MCs aura and attitude carefully and then reacts in an either desirous, protective, territorial or downright pouty manner.

If he sees the person is overstepping their boundaries like TNTs Tyson or the guys catcalling her during Romantic Date, he gets protective. If he sees someone from his inner cycle being only the slightest overfamiliar with MC as in his phone call with Eli, he gets territorial and draws boundaries. If he gets ditched by MC and walks on her having lunch with another guy all the while she's being touched by him and she's not showing any protest, he pouts in the corner and stabs MC with his words "Too much of anything can get boring after a while" (love this moment and how Joe delivers this line with a strong tonation on the word - boooring-)

If he sees the person is actually drawing MCs attention, well... This is where we can look more into. Because this is actually a stereotypical example of making one jealous. Seeing your love interest with another person in an over-friendly manner.

In Trio Date, he worries that MC might have a crush on Kiro and a close relationship with him. Which is understandably an alarming situation for him, because he isn't that close to her himself and Kiro is... well... Kiro. Pretty much everyone's into him 🌟. But Gavin doesn't show any aggression or envy towards Kiro. On the contrary, he praises him for his charm and even says that he can see what people mean by that as in confessing to being charmed by Kiro himself. I really praise how elegant Gavin acts in the face of this situation 👑 Needless to say, it's a Gavin date, meaning the canon couple in this scenario is Gavin x MC (On a side note pretty bold and disrespectful of PG to put another LI in the supporting male role in a date for another tbh) And also RIP Chandler, the poor guy didn't do anything wrong ^_^

At this point I need to let one thing out of my chest though. I can't say that I appreciate him telling MC when and where to wear revealing clothes <spoiler alert> only for him. Even though we don't actually see him seriously forbidding her to wear them I think it would be better to leave her be the judge of it. But considering the fact that she gets catcalled even at his presence I can kinda see why Gavin gets protective here. On a side note, his girlfriend isn't better on this matter either. MC covers Gavin's body at the beach during 2021 summer event in CN server so that other girls don't drool over him 🤣 These two have some homework to do in that department I tell you that 😅

In the more mature phases of their relationship, we no longer see Gavin feeling himself threatened by the presence of another male. AT ALL! All Gavin jealousy after this point is only because someone is overstepping their boundaries and making "his girl" uncomfortable.

Gavin might be the one acting jealous the most frequently among the LIs, but he never ever gets possessive over her, limits her freedom or makes unconfirmed self proclaims on behalf of her. Being possessive over someone objectifies them and the moment you objectify a person, you no longer need to be in a relationship with them tbh. Leaving your partner room to breathe and respecting their personal space is important and Gavin does this the best alongside with Kiro. We also never see Kiro getting possessive, limiting or doing anything of that nature with MC.

Further in their relationship Gavin still acts jealous, but in an extremely cute, pure and harmless way. Be it against prankster ghosts, animals she's met in the middle of the desert, a wild child, service dogs, birds and co. Basically anyone and anything that diverts her attention from him for more than a nanosecond can be perceived as a threat but an adult male 😂At his core, Gav-babe wants MC all for himself but his jealousy is actually only adorkable.

(´∀｀)♡

In the main story, however, there is a certain LI which becomes the magnet for Gavin's firsthand jealousy and even kinda provokes this. And this is actually what I am dying to write about in this post😈. It only happens at the beginning of the story, but I love it so much and therefore it must be in this post.

Gavin shows signs of jealousy towards one particular LI at various occasions and that is...

Gavin shows obvious signs of jealousy towards our genius scientist and that is completely understandable! Lucien is the one who makes his advances first and is the most straightforward one throughout the main story. Plus, he lives right next to MC and, let's be honest here, is the only one who toys with MC's poor hormones the most. Just to give one example:

Gavin and MC don't become quite a couple before CH12 and S1 Gavin has some issues with self-worth and confidence (towards MC). When he meets MC again after 6 years, he is perplexed and is fairly clueless as to how to approach her romantically. Lest Gavin making the wrong moves, he acts weirdly around MC which further confuses her. Gav-babe is really weird at the beginning of the story 😅

The first time we see Gavin getting jealous about Lucien is in CH2, when he and MC spend a prolonged period of time for the first time as they investigate the time warping incident. Our birdcop is hopelessly in love with MC so when he sees her become so red on the phone with another person, he gets worked up.

Fun trivia, Joe's reaction to this moment can be found here

The second instance is when MC spends two nights in a row with Lucien in CH5 and then falls asleep in her office.

It is crucial to remember at this point that up to CH5, MC seems to be most romantically involved with Lucien and spends most of her time with him. LuLu mercilessly teasing her and flirting with her doesn't help much in that sense either because he is actively making advances on her. Thus announcing his candidacy for "Mr. Love". So when Gavin catches MC spending nights following Lucien, having phone calls with him, living right next door to him, working closely with him and blushes because of him, it's fairly understandable that our birdcop gets fairly jealous because at that point in the story Lucien seems to have a better shot at love with her than he does.

Btw, MC flatlines on his question as to who is the resource of her flustering this time around and doesn't explain herself ;)

Interestingly though, in the third instance, where Gavin sees MC and Lucien, he isn't jealous at all! In the famous "Rude Awakening" moment, the vibes we get at first is as if Gavin walks in to MC and Lucien. But actually our protective boyfriend is there to save MCs life. What's more, he doesn't give credit to Lucien's provocations, such as when he calls Gavin "dangerous" or pulls MC behind him, stays extremely close to her and plays the "protective boyfriend" in front of him. On Gavin's defense, the one actually saves MCs life and protects her is Gavin here as he deflects the bullet shot at her.¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Furthermore, he asks Lucien to take MC home, albeit not before telling her that he will be contacting her later, signaling to Lucien that he shouldn't stick along for long. A highly subtle way of "marking his territory", much like a wolf would. God I love this scene both in the main story and in the anime.

It is necessary to mention at this point that the chapter following this scene revolves around Gavin and MC clearing all kinds of misunderstandings between them and MC trying to bind with him. Hence laying the first stones in the temple of their relationship. After that point we no longer see Gavin showing any kind of jealousy towards anyone. So mark CH7 people ;)

----—-----—-----—

You know what I would love to see? Gavin getting jealous over Shaw. I wonder whether he even knows that MC spends time with him 🤔 Too bad that PG has left the idea "brother conflict".

If you would like to read another perspective on this, Cheri has posted her analysis here

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 2: Fire

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: You wake up somewhere strange *again*. This time your underground and greeted by Liu Kang. For some reason you trust him, but why?

A/N: Have I mentioned I’m a huge fan of the slow burn? Whoops. I’ll let you guys know when the paths are branching between Lao/Liu. Thanks for reading and hope you keep enjoying! Also, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

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Warm flames flickered off brown-gray stone walls. Other than the burning flame to your right, the room was small and dark. There was no door and you could hear movement somewhere beyond its opening. I’m underground, you thought. The air smelled musty and it was so dry that your nose burned. Underground and maybe in the desert. You closed your eyes again quickly.

In your mind’s eye you pictured the small purple flower Kung Lao had given you in your youth. Frail and rare. Many flowers had grown in your hometown but purple had been a new and exotic color. You’d always been fond of it afterward. You’d never gotten the chance to tell Kung Lao that. For a time you had kept it pressed between the pages of your favorite book as a memorial to the boy who had been your best friend. You hadn’t thought about the flower in years. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him.

The details of what happened were fuzzy. You remembered the fight in your shop and remembered waking up to the face of Kung Lao. It was still insane to think that the boy you’d thought dead was, in fact, alive and in good health. It was even crazier to think that he’d been the one to save you from the fire in your shop.

You shook away the memory lest it return you to the darkness of unconsciousness.

You were, again, in an unfamiliar bed but things were vastly different. You’d been cared for and changed into a modest dressing gown, judging by the soft but coarse material. This had likely been done by a health professional. You were certain that Kung Lao must have brought you somewhere to be helped. Then again, most hospitals you knew of weren’t underground and they certainly didn’t use these types of gowns. It wasn’t a hospital gown, more like the type of gown that would have been worn for bed in ages past. Long and thin, but warm. You pictured it off-white. The one you wore had no sleeves, most likely for ease of access since you’d been injured.

You had to decide if you should panic or not. If you looked around and saw a medical professional or Kung Lao then you would remain calm. If you didn’t then panic seemed the way to go. Opening your eyes again, you were relieved that the world didn’t spin and you weren’t nauseous. But there was no doctor and definitely no Kung Lao.

There was a different man in his place, unfamiliar, shorter in stature, his gaze focused on something other than you. He was dressed mostly in black, no sleeves (which seemed the fashion of this underground wherever), and a red sash tied around his middle. His demeanor was calm and quiet and in his left hand he clutched a string of prayer beads. His skin was dusted with soot or grease, you couldn’t tell. He looked as though he had been handling charcoal for hours. He was also surprisingly muscular.

And handsome. You wouldn’t deny that you’d admired him. His brow was knit with concern and as you shifted, he turned toward you. Brown eyes met yours with genuine concern and he held a hand up defensively. “Take it slow.” His voice was soothing but this was all too familiar.

A strange bed and a stranger next to it after having fallen unconscious. He was telling you how what to do and how to feel. Again. Not a chance! On the small table next to the head of the bed there was a bowl half-filled with water and some medical tools. The tool closest to you was a hook used for stitching up wounds. It wasn’t the best weapon but it was all you could reach. You sat upright quickly, snatched the hook, and moved far enough away from the stranger that you had room to breathe and could better gauge his intent and reactions.

But you had moved too quickly and suddenly there were ten of him as the room spun. You thought you might puke if he got any closer. That would get him away from you, probably better than the needle would. Much to your surprise, he laughed with the subtlest of smiles. The smile radiated more from his eyes amidst his worry than it did outwardly. “You’re surprisingly fast for someone who has been in and out of consciousness for over a week.”

“A… a week?” You stuttered and forced your vision to focus on the blurry version of him smiling in the middle. Thankfully, your brain obeyed and the room stopped spinning. He didn’t seem to pose you any threat. You could tell just by his smile. A smile that made him all the more handsome. The time that had passed was not important so you didn’t wait for an answer to your initial question. “Who are you? Where am I? And where is Kung Lao?” Those three things were at the top of your list now that you were thinking clearly. There were a hundred other questions you had about Mortal Kombat, the dragon mark on your back, and other realms but you figured those could come later. Dealing with the here and now; that was the right way to do it.

“I am Liu Kang.” He bowed his head, holding up his prayer beads as he did. “You are in Raiden’s Temple where the Order of Light gathers to protect Earthrealm. Kung Lao is off on an errand at Lord Raiden’s behest. I assure you that he did not wish to leave you but had little other choice.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you leaned against the cool stone behind you. Answers, finally. “I’m Y/N. Thank you for answering my questions.”

“Kung Lao mentioned you would likely be defensive.” Liu Kang gestured to the bowl on the nightstand. “I have been caring for your wounds. I do not usually tend to the sick but I promised my cousin that I would see you were cared for.”

“Cousin?”

“Kung Lao. He is my brother. Not by blood but by bond.”

That was a relief. At least this complete stranger had a connection to the other near complete stranger that you’d met the last time you’d woken up in a strange place. Wait… hadn’t you gone blind? Setting the hook back down on the side table, you patted your face in search of a mark or wound that would have caused that. There was none. Liu Kang’s eyes were sparkling in amusement.

“The last thing I remember is losing my vision.” You explained.

“Yes, about that.” Liu Kang moved the hook back to its original place. “The men who attacked your shop were vicious and cruel warriors. They were gifted but squandered their gifts to satiate their greed, a thing that can never be sated. You did the world a favor by stopping them. However, the blades that wounded you were coated in a rare poison. It is lucky that Kung Lao found you and could bring you to us for treatment. The blindness was a temporary side effect of the poison.”

“Poison?” This was wild. That morning you’d been stocking your shop and had taught a class of ten-year-olds. Now you’d been attacked, killed a few men, and had been poisoned. Wild. You supposed, in reality, it had been over a week ago and not that morning. Whatever. You decided to take the blows as they came. Deal with the problems and insanity as it happened. It was the only way to keep a clear head.

“It took many days and much prayer but we bled the poison from your wounds. Now they should begin to heal.”

“I’m still stuck on the poison part of this story. Really? Who does that?”

“You must be very resilient, Miss Y/N. Even the mightiest of warriors poisoned so terribly would submit to death. You are a fighter.”

“Thanks… I think.”

Liu Kang bowed his head again respectfully. He was easy to talk to, you weren’t sure why. You’d been careful around Kung Lao but you found yourself immediately not careful around Liu Kang. There was an instant connection to him.

“I was ill as a child. It made me more resilient to sickness, perhaps.” You had been ill but it had been the kind of illness that parents sent their children away for, the kind where they couldn’t explain how their child saw or did things beyond their understanding. It had made you terribly sick and weak. Why were you telling him this? It’d slipped out of your mouth without permission from your lips.

“I have not met many who would credit childhood illness for their resilience.”

“Perhaps I’m more stubborn than most. I’ve been told I have thick skin. The kids would tease me for being different. I was told that I would never be strong. I would never catch up. Never be normal. I didn’t like that word, not even as a kid.”

“Which one?”

“Never.”

That subtle smile again. Damn, it was attractive.

“I’m sorry.” You laughed with an apologetic bow of your own. Your head spun and you mentally cursed your politeness. “I didn’t mean to say all that. It just slipped out.”

“It’s no problem. I would like you to continue your story if you would.”

“Only if you’re certain.”

“I assure you that I’m not merely being polite.” There was something genuine about his words, as if he considered them carefully before he spoke. Perhaps Kung Lao had warned him about you. Or perhaps he was just careful. Your first instinct had been to jump at them both. It was their every right to be defensive but you couldn’t be blamed either. “How did you overcome your illness?”

“I fought. I worked harder than most did just to be on the same level as everyone else. I grew out of my sickness with age and thanks to my hard work I became stronger than most. After that I dedicated my life to teaching others to become strong, to be more than the ‘never’ we’re told we’ll be.”

“Admirable.” Liu Kang seemed as relieved as you had been upon discovering he was not there to hurt you. Maybe he’d been worried about your intent too. “It is nice to have another worthy of their marking.”

“The dragon mark?”

“Yes.”

“About that…”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“Kung Lao said something about being chosen because of the mark but I’m guessing that the mark only came to me because I killed those men. Am I right? It had to belong to one of them. It’s less like I was chosen and more like… I stole it.”

“Yes. Did Kung Lao tell you? He said you wouldn’t understand.”

“I assume that he would have told me but then I went blind. As you can imagine, I no longer cared much about the mark after that.” You laughed and so did Liu Kang. His laugh was quiet and genuine. It made you smile far more than should have been allowed. His joy was as comforting as the flickering light of the candle on the side table. “I didn’t have the mark that morning. I can only assume that was when I got it. Weirder things have happened so it was as good a guess as any.”

“Your intuition is remarkable.”

“What happens next?”

“For now you heal.” Liu Kang gestured to your arms. The gauze wrapped around your forearms was stained with blood even though the dressings looked fresh. You didn’t feel any pain. Either you’d been given good drugs to deal or adrenaline was protecting you. “You are in no condition to begin training. Lord Raiden has been told about you. I am keeping him informed on your condition.”

“So, you’re my babysitter.”

“I prefer caretaker. But yes.”

“If it’s been a week and I’m still bleeding like this then I have a feeling it could take awhile to heal. Can I learn more in the meantime? About any of this? I don’t want to just sleep and sit around doing nothing. I don’t know anything about this place and I know very little about the Order of Light. And I definitely don’t know anything about this mark or Mortal Kombat.” Liu Kang seemed surprised, but pleasantly so, as if this were something he’d greatly desired to hear.

“You really want to learn more?” He smiled brightly. You nodded. “The masters have trained me for years in matters of Mortal Kombat and the protection of Earthrealm. I would be happy to teach you if you would allow me.”

“I would be delighted to have the company, Liu Kang.” You very much meant that.

“I have some work to do around the temple but we can start this evening.”

“Perfect.”

Next Chapter >>

[hiddendreamer67]

Caden’s Very Long Night

I’m still figuring out a title for this work as a whole, but here’s part 3 of the chronicles of the human outcast Caden and the mysterious giant Markus!

word count: 1,173

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (here) | Part 4 tbd

=========================================================

Caden didn’t sleep at all that night. He stayed up late into the dark hours, peering into the bonfire’s glow as he contemplated how things had changed so quickly. The flames no longer towered high above him, the embers now just tall enough for Caden to convince himself it was a regular fire pit, if a fire pit was twice the size of town square.

Caden let out a long sigh, thinking about how just 24 hours ago he had bid Elizabeth a good night, worried what might happen to his best friend when the wretched letter was discovered come morning. Caden didn’t envy Elizabeth, knowing that should the author be revealed there would be great consequences. Last night Caden hadn’t gotten much sleep either, tossing and turning as he debated whether or not to out his friend. Visions of Elizabeth being tossed to ravenous monsters plagued Caden’s guilty conscience enough that when the sun rose Caden vowed to keep his lips shut. In the end, his vow was for nothing.

The human lad tensed, listening to the howls of beasts off in the distance. Closer still, Caden could hear the steady in and out of Markus’ breathing. It was strange, how peaceful it became to listen to that powerful rhythm, gusts of air sucked in and out without even a spare thought. So much power contained in a single being. 

Markus could have crushed him with little to no effort, snapping his limbs between those mighty fingers, now curled casually (comfortably?) against his chest as the giant lay beside the fire. Markus, were he more beastly, could have ripped him to shreds and tossed his remains to the forest dwellers. Markus could have even wiped his hands of all responsibility, leaving Caden to his fate tied up against that stake in the clearing.

And yet…

And yet.

Caden sighed, his weary shoulders sinking as he reflected on past events. Caden had been sheltered inside the walls for all his life; out here, it felt like a lawless world. Caden knew none of the rules. He needed to learn quick, lest he get punished yet again for something he didn’t intend.

What did Markus want from him? The giant seemed like a regular person, albeit a hundred times Caden’s height. Markus had rescued Caden, releasing Caden from bonds and sharing his food for the night. Did that mean Caden owed him now? Back in the village, a debt unpaid was unforgivable. One must always break even with his neighbor, lest the neighbor take payment into his own hands as is his right. Not in good conscience could Caden ignore such a command, not wanting to think what sort of justice Markus would seek in retribution.

But what of worth could Caden possibly provide a being so massive? In the scope of the world outside the walls, Caden amounted to nothing. A mouthful, perhaps, to a ghoul. 

Caden grimaced, once again reminded of the beasts that prowled just beyond the tree line as they screeched their awful yowls into the night. He had no doubt that were Markus not there, the beasts would have attacked Caden already. Would they still dare to get close enough, even as Markus slept a scarce amount of meters away? His eyes played tricks on him, causing Caden to see ominous glowing gazes peering through the trees. 

Suffice to say Caden did not have a restful night.

By the time morning rays finally began to peek over the horizon, Caden had not gotten an ounce of sleep. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling exhausted but just as restless as before. He couldn’t sleep, not when his life was very much so still in danger. Caden missed the safety of the walls, the security that going to bed in the night all nestled in assured him he would wake again. Here, Caden feared one lapse of judgement would cause his demise.

Behind him, Markus began to stir, and immediately Caden’s attention was drawn to his giant companion. He watched with slight trepidation as Markus gave a wide yawn, exposing Caden briefly to that gigantic throat which could swallow him whole.

Markus threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the sun as he grumbled nonsense to himself. Caden shifted, uncertain the protocol for this sort of event. It certainly felt dangerous to get anywhere near Markus in his sleepy state, let alone rude to wake his possessor. 

Thankfully, the question was answered for him as Markus once again removed his arm, turning on his side to slowly open his eyes. Upon seeing Caden, Markus blinked. “Oh. Right.” He spoke, voice still rough with sleep. “Still here, are ya?”

Caden nodded. “You told me not to run.”

Markus snorted. “If I knew it was that easy to catch little guys like you, my job would be a whole lot easier. Well, not ‘like you’, just little creatures. Not sentient. Prey and the like.”

“I beg your pardon?” Caden raised his eyebrows, not liking that response one bit.

“M’ a hunter.” Markus raised a hand to his head, combing through his bedtime scruff. “Guess that’s the easiest way of describing it, nowadays. Kind of pick up odd jobs and ends to make it to tomorrow. It’s rough out here, you’ll learn that soon enough, so don’t go judging me, yeah?”

“Sure.” Caden didn’t fully know what he agreed to, but he wasn’t in a position to go disagreeing with a giant. Not to mention, Caden was quickly realizing ‘safety’ was not something he’d find out here in the world. 

“Right then.” Markus grabbed a spare branch with ease, three times the length of Caden’s entire body. The human quickly scooted out of the way as Markus reached over him, prodding at the burnt out coals to see if there was any life left in them. “Hungry? I reckon I’ve got at least a bit more bread. Game, too, but we’d need a fire for that, and personally I’m not keen on sticking around much longer.”

Caden swallowed down his fear, trying not to think about how Markus’ shadow engulfed him completely. “How come? Where- where are we going?”

There was quiet for a moment, Markus slowly turning his chin down to raise an eyebrow at the tiny figure beneath him. “We?”

Caden hunched in on himself, now feeling incredibly uncertain about his place in this world. Did the giant think he couldn’t handle himself? Would Caden not even be granted the opportunity to prove he could pay back the debt? “W-we.” Caden repeated, his voice stuttering but his choice certain. “I want to earn my place.”

Markus squinted down at Caden, seeming to consider the human’s short response carefully. Caden forced himself not to retreat further, putting on a mask of bravery as he stood straighter and looked Markus directly in the eye. He watched the giant’s expression carefully, taking note of when Markus’ lip seemed to twitch upwards.

“Alright, pint-sized.” Markus smirked, turning back to the fire. “‘We’ it is.”

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 9

As Long as You’re Mine

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.1K

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 @50svibes @cagzzz107 @evelynshelby @piano-isnt-my-forte​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): None :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8

AO3 link

Chapter 9 let’s go!!!

“Okay, how does this sound?” Juliet asked Ron, who sat on her bed as she put together her story of the trial. He was careful not to recline, lest he disturb her pages of notes carefully organized atop the quilt. “Meredith Fisher confessed to the murder of six-year-old Peggy Lee in front of the courtroom before her trial began. Mrs. Fisher was arrested and charged with the murder in September of last year. Her lawyer, Mr. Harvey Cooper, originally planned to plead not guilty, but in a shocking turn of events, Mrs. Fisher herself admitted to the jury she killed Peggy Lee before even opening arguments could be made.” 

“I’d read that,” Ron replied. 

Juliet huffed and looked around her room at the Blue Boar. Papers littered the floor, pens were nowhere to be found, and her typewriter was mocking her. Now that the trial was finished - with such a dramatic twist - she was hard at work, trying to ensure she reported it just right. An impossible task, it felt like.

“Okay, but would you read it because I’m your girlfriend or because of the writing?” she asked. 

“The writing,” he told her. “It’s simple, it explains everything.” 

“It feels a bit long for the lead,” she said. “Perhaps I should put the bit about her arrest in the nut graph.” 

“That does feel more like background information,” he agreed. 

She pulled a pencil from behind her ear, scratched out the sentence, and began again. “So, it’d go like this - Meredith Fisher confessed to the murder of six-year-old Peggy Lee in front of the courtroom before her trial began. Her lawyer - I’m gonna take out his name and have that later - so, Her lawyer originally planned to plead not guilty, but in a shocking turn of events, Mrs. Fisher admitted to the jury she killed Peggy Lee before even opening arguments could be made. Then I’ll go into when she was arrested, the details of the murder, then the evidence the prosecution had prepared, and finish with her sentencing date. How’s that?” 

“I think it’s perfect,” he said. 

She chewed her lip. “Should I use the word shocking? I don’t want to tell the readers how to feel.” 

“When she confessed, what was the first thing you heard?” he asked. 

“Gasps,” she answered. 

“There’s your shock,” he said. 

Juliet had to concede that point. Ron almost didn’t believe her when she told him the story. The judge had barely gotten the words “How do you plead?” out before Meredith let out a wail like wounded animal and confessed to the whole gruesome thing. She sobbed that she was sorry, but she knew she had to be punished. She wasn’t safe. And truthfully, Juliet felt bad for her. It was truly one of the most pitiful things she’d ever witnessed. 

But the one thing Juliet could never forget, the image that would stick with her for all her days, was the look on Peggy Lee’s parents’ faces. The Lees watched, dignified, proud, yet misty eyed as the person who killed their daughter begged for mercy. Their grief was profoundly felt, despite their stately manner. They said nothing. They did nothing. And they spoke to no one upon their exit from the courtroom. 

“Jules?” 

Ron’s voice brought her back to the present, his hand on her shoulder making her turn to look at him. 

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Just...it’s so unfair. If anyone had a right to be screaming and crying it was the parents.”

“They must be very English,” he said. 

“Oh, they were proper English,” she agreed. “Stiff upper lips and all. The mother did at one point hide her face in the father’s arm, but other than that, they were stoic.” 

“Thinking about including that in your story?” he wondered. 

“God, no,” she replied. “I’ll mention that they were there and offered no comments, but this isn’t that kind of article.” 

“Just the facts, huh?” 

“As usual.” 

“Juliet.”

“Yeah?”

“The article’s gonna be great,” he said.  

“How can you be so sure?” she asked. 

“Because you care this much,” he said. He accentuated the point with a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got a staff meeting. Are you alright here?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for being so patient with me.” 

He kissed her again. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“See you later, Ron,” she returned. 

With that, he left. Juliet started trying to condense the lead again, still feeling like it was too long. There had to be a better summary. But it was a lot to try and fit into one sentence, so she resigned herself to making it more than one line. She hadn’t chosen a headline yet, either, but she usually liked to write the article first. That way she could pick out the singular most newsworthy part and headline with that. As she organized further, the phone rang. 

“Hello?” she answered. 

“Juliet, it’s Lottie.” 

“Hey, Lottie, how are you?” Juliet asked. 

“Fine, same as usual,” Lottie returned. “Otis just rang and told me about the trial. I hope you’re hard at work.” 

“Absolutely,” Juliet assured her. “I’ve nearly got the lead down. I’ve just got to get the facts organized. I’m thinking of doing a follow up story about the shortcomings of Operation Pied Piper, since Cooper’s little tidbit did prove to be true.” 

Sad as it was, Harvey Cooper was right. There was no process for vetting the families agreeing to take the children. The committee had been in such a hurry to evacuate, they had not even considered that some children could end up in more danger than they were at home in the cities. Juliet found the whole thing fascinating, and it could open up a conversation about war time protocol - be meticulous or swift? 

“I think that’ll be fine,” Lottie said. “But have you gotten any war news? I know I wasn’t enthusiastic about it initially, but you’re the only reporter I’ve got with the Airborne.” 

Juliet bit her lip. While the prospect of war news had originally driven her to accept the Peggy Lee story, she found herself conflicted about it now. Her relationship with Ron threw a wrench in it. 

“I think it’s a conflict of interest for me to cover the Airborne,” she said. 

She could practically hear Lottie’s eyes roll. “Oh, come on, Juliet, don’t be absurd.” 

“It isn’t right, Lottie!” Juliet insisted. “I’m in an intimate relationship with one of the soldiers, there’s no freeing me from bias there.” 

“You could use it to your advantage,” Lottie said. “Obviously, you can’t use him as a source, but couldn’t he lead you to the right person?” 

“I can’t ask that of him,” Juliet said. “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” 

“What wrong idea?” 

It was something Juliet had already put a lot of thought into. As badly as she wanted to cover the war - and it did seem like things were ramping up even more in Aldbourne - she was hesitant. She had actually considered asking Ron for a source and then immediately hated herself for it. She would not use her relationship to get ahead in her job. She couldn’t. It just wasn’t right, simple as that.

“That I’m using him,” Juliet explained. “If I ask him to get me a source, he might worry that it’s the reason I entered the relationship, and that’s not the case.” 

Lottie sighed. “So, you just want to give up on covering the war?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Juliet returned. “I’d be happy to cover something else once I get back to London, but-”

“Forget it,” Lottie cut across her. “Just focus on the trial for now and then Pied Piper, if that’s what you want.” 

“Lottie -” 

“Good afternoon, Juliet,” Lottie said harshly, hanging up before Juliet could protest any further. 

She sighed, hanging up as well, and sitting back in her chair. She had a feeling the conversation wasn’t quite over, but she’d hear more about it on her next trip home. For now, she wanted to focus on what happened at the trial. The sentencing would be in another few weeks, so she needed to get this done. 

***

Ron was right of course. The article was published and the London Pursuit sold the most copies it had in years. It surprised Juliet a little, but perhaps people were tired of war news and what better than a dramatic murder trial for a change of pace? It was morbid, sure, but Juliet knew she’d handled it as well as she could. 

Lottie called, absolutely elated by the circulation numbers. And honestly, Juliet was thrilled too. She found Ron later that day and leapt into his arms as a display of her unmitigated excitement. She’d done it, and done it well! It was cause for celebration. So they went to London for the weekend - staying with Nancy of course, since she would have had a fit at missing an opportunity to see Ron - and they went to a nice dinner, champagne and everything. Juliet could hardly believe her luck. Everything was going so perfectly. 

And that night, as they lay together in the afterglow, she looked at his face and knew she loved him. The kind of love she read about in books and poetry. The kind that crooners sang about on the radio. She’d found it. It was scary enough to admit to herself, but she determined that she would - one day soon if the opportunity presented itself - admit it to him. 

He caught her gazing at him. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m just happy you’re mine.” 

***

The sentencing hearing was not as interesting as the trial itself, but Juliet was relieved to report that Meredith Fisher was going to prison for life. There would be no chance for parole, either. So justice was served. 

However, Juliet couldn’t help but notice the look on Mr. Lee’s face. Mrs. Lee had not come for the sentencing, so it was just father. When the judge announced Meredith’s fate, Mr. Lee only closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He nodded, put a hand over his heart, and inhaled again. A single tear rolled down his cheek. It made Juliet look away so that he could have that moment for himself. To take in whatever feelings came to him. To remember Peggy and take some solace in that her killer was going away. 

“I thought I’d be happier,” Juliet told Ron as they prepared for bed that night back at the Blue Boar. “But it still just feels...rotten.” 

“Nothing can bring the girl back,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“I know,” she replied. “But I just....I suppose you’re right. What else could anyone have hoped for in this situation?” 

“Right,” he agreed. 

“I’m also grateful we didn’t have to hear that lawyer make that ridiculous argument in a courtroom,” she said. “I don’t think I could bear the looks on the parents’ faces at that.”  

“That would have been awful,” he said. 

“Even so, it feels rather anticlimactic,” she said. “Especially for the prosecution who spent months putting everything together.”

“They still got the result they wanted,” he pointed out. “So what does it matter?  

She shrugged at that. She still felt unsatisfied, as if there was something more to be done. Even though logically, she knew there wasn’t. She would write an update for the paper, and that would really be the end of it. That was when it hit her. What was really upsetting her was that now that this was over, there was no more reason for her to be in Aldbourne. Especially now that she didn’t want to cover the Airborne. It meant that she would go home to London, in turn reducing her time with Ron significantly. And that was a dreadful thought. 

***

“What do you mean you aren’t coming back to London?” Lottie cried through the phone. “What about the Pied Piper story?”

“I reckon it can wait,” Juliet said, entirely unconvincing, but she hoped Lottie was buying it. Her reasons for remaining in Aldbourne had nothing to do with her job and everything to do with the man she was in love with. “And maybe with some time, I can find my own sources on war news.” 

Lottie remained silent for several minutes. “So, you’ve just changed your mind all of a sudden about covering the Airborne?” 

“Not completely,” Juliet lied. “I...I’m just not sure I’m quite finished here. And what if there’s something else about the Peggy Lee story that comes up? I could -” 

“Give it a rest, Juliet,” Lottie groaned. “I know you want to stay for your boyfriend.”

“That’s not -” 

Lottie cut across her protests. “Please do not insult my intelligence by suggesting otherwise. You want to be near him.” 

“You don’t sound quite as sympathetic as I hoped,” Juliet said, giving in. 

“You have a life in London, Juliet!” Lottie reminded her harshly. “You have a job to do, your mother is here, and you want to put everything on hold for some man?” 

“He’s not just some man!” Juliet argued indignantly. “He’s...different from any man I’ve ever known. And what we have means more to me than anything I’ve ever known.” 

She glanced down at the necklace that sparkled against her skin. A constant reminder of how much she meant to him as well. 

“Oh, come off of your cloud, will you?” Lottie snapped. 

“Lottie,” Juliet said seriously. “The whole time I was with Arthur, did you ever know me to put him before work? Or my family?”

“No, so why is this Ron fellow -”

“Because it is different,” Juliet emphasized. “This is it, Lottie. He’s the one.” 

That seemed to stump her. “Has he...proposed?”

“No, he hasn’t,” Juliet said. “I don’t even care if he does.”

Lottie scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t just carry on living in sin.” 

Juliet rolled her eyes. “Could you please pay attention to what's important here? There’s a man in my life who I genuinely see a happy future with and I just...I want to focus on that. Is that so wrong?” 

“I suppose not,” Lottie sighed, and Juliet inwardly celebrated a moment of victory. “But I can’t pay you if you aren’t working. At least be making the proper phone calls to follow this Pied Piper story. Conduct interviews of other families there who have taken in children from the cities. Part of the story is there if you know where to look.” 

“No problem,” Juliet said. “You’ll be glad to know I’ve already begun. I’ve got an interview with the Barnes family next week, who are housing a little girl. I’ll ask them about how the process went for them.” 

“Perfect,” Lottie said. She paused for a beat. “And, Juliet?”

“Yes?” 

“I really am happy for you.” 

Juliet smiled softly. “Thank you, Lottie.” 

***

Spring fully thawed the winter out by the time April arrived. Aldbourne was rather charming in bloom. But Juliet wasn’t sure if it was the flowers or that she was in love. She found herself humming a lot more than she used to - these days she didn’t even need food to start a merry tune in the back of her throat. She had more energy, despite spending rather long nights in Ron’s arms. And she found her enthusiasm for work - even though her priority shifted - a great deal easier to come by as well. 

The interview with the Barnes family went splendidly. They were also housing a couple of lieutenants from the Airborne, though they were not in Ron’s company. Juliet only exchanged brief greetings with them, as they were heading to work just as she was entering the house. She nearly melted at the connection they had formed with the girl - Ann - which was clear in their goodbyes to her for the day. She seemed particularly close to the tall redhead. 

Juliet told Ron about it that evening over drinks. 

“Yeah, that’s Winters and Welsh,” he told her. “Good officers.” 

“Do they spend much time here?” she wondered, indicating the Blue Boar.  

“Welsh does, but Winters doesn’t drink,” he said. “He spends most nights there with the family.” 

“I can tell,” she said. “I mean, it was seriously precious. She hugged his knees and he patted her on the head and I think I fell a little bit in love with him for a moment.” 

He scoffed. “Good luck, I think he has a girlfriend.” 

“Has he?” she questioned. 

“Yeah, the nurse,” he said. “She works for the regiment.” 

“You lot have your own nurse?” 

“She’s got some connection to Colonel Sink,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve never actually met her.” 

“And what about the other chap?” she asked. “Welsh?” 

“He’s engaged,” he told her. “Her name’s Kitty.” 

“You know that but not the name of the nurse?” she questioned. 

“I only know because Harry never shuts up about her,” he said. “The whole regiment knows at this point. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Krauts knew.” 

She giggled. “I think that’s sweet.” 

“It’s obnoxious.” 

“You mean, you don’t brag about me to the whole regiment?” she teased. “Romance is dead.”

“Sorry for your loss,” he retorted as he took a swig of his drink. 

“Not as sorry as I am,” she returned. “Now I’ll have to spend God knows how many hours in mourning.” 

“At least you look good in black,” he said. 

“My saving grace,” she agreed with a smile. She paused for a beat. “Seriously, you don’t talk about me at all?” 

“I do if you come up,” he told her.

“And what do you say?” she wondered.

“Whatever’s relevant,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.” 

“I prefer not to broadcast my personal life,” he said. “All they need to know is that you’re mine.” 

She smiled as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “That’s true.” 

***

April was drawing to a close. Juliet stood in her room, preparing to go and interview another Aldbourne family about their process in fostering a child from London. These interviews were restoring the bit of faith she’d lost in covering Peggy’s story because most of the families were very kind, and doted on the children. They were proud of doing what they could to ensure the future of England. And the children were mostly happy. What happened to Peggy was a tragedy and an outlier. 

She was just getting ready to leave when Ron entered her room. A grim shadow of doubt on his features made her smile disappear as fast as it had come. Something was wrong. He definitely had bad news. 

“We’re moving out,” he told her. 

She had expected this at some point, but she still blinked in surprise. Her shoulders drooped as the reality of it percolated through her.  

“Oh,” she said. “Well...when?” 

He hesitated. “This is off the record -” 

She scowled at him, momentarily offended that he felt the need to clarify. 

“Everything between us is protected, Ron,” she said sharply. “You and I are always off the record unless stated otherwise.” 

“Sorry,” he said quickly, picking up on her tone. “I know that, I just -” 

“When?” she demanded again.

“End of May,” he said. “I don’t know when we’ll be back.” 

The if hung in the air, but remained unsaid. This was it. The moment she had been dreading since she met him. Well, maybe not that long, but since they had started getting to know each other there in Aldbourne. The war was taking him from her, like it took everything. 

“I see…” she trailed off, her annoyance easing up. That was sooner than she had hoped and she didn’t want to waste any precious time being angry at him. “Um...where - wait, I can’t ask you that.” She bit her lip. “When - oh, no, you’ve just told me, that’s right -” 

“Juliet.”

“Yes?”

“Wait for me.” 

Once again, Ron failed to disappoint her. Despite all the reassurance, she worried that when they shipped out, he would take the opportunity to break it off with her. Instead, he was asking - in his way - for a commitment from her. She held his gaze for a long moment, waiting for him to say more. But he didn’t. 

“You really want to stay together?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said assuredly. 

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed, and she threw herself into his arms for a kiss. 

He returned the kiss with enthusiasm, his lips fiery and desperate against hers. As if he were leaving the following morning instead of a couple of weeks. But Juliet wanted the intensity. She wanted to savor every touch, every kiss, every moment she had before he was gone. She also wanted to let him know that she absolutely would wait for him. She would do anything he asked of her. She just wanted him. Forever, if possible. And if the war robbed her of that, she would at least have the memories of kisses like these. Of nights in his arms. Of his unwavering dedication to her. 

***

The arrangements were made for Juliet to return to London once Ron and the rest of the Airborne were off. On his final morning in Aldbourne, they of course made love again, only it was the after that they relished even more. Juliet etched into her brain the feeling of his embrace, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his voice. She wished desperately that she could freeze time and hold onto him for just a little longer. She had found something so wonderful and now it was being dragged away from her. 

“Jules,” he said, voice low as if there might be someone listening on the other side of the door. 

“Yeah?” 

“We’re going to France,” he said. 

She blinked and adjusted her position so she could look him in the face. “France?”

He nodded. “I wanted you to know.” 

She couldn’t explain why that felt more intimate than anything they had just done in her bed. 

“Why tell me now?” she asked, curious. 

He swallowed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, but his arm gave her shoulders a squeeze. 

“Trust,” he said. 

She pressed her lips tenderly to his chest to let him know how much she appreciated his trust. There was no longer a need to specify on or off the record. His statements were privileged. Anything he told her would remain between them. 

For a fleeting moment, she considered telling him right then that she loved him. Because if he was going to France, there was a chance he would never come back. And shouldn’t he know just in case? But her heart told her to play it safe. If she didn’t tell him now, perhaps whatever power there was would protect him enough so that she could say it later. If there were still things left to be said, hopefully that would keep him alive. 

There were no guarantees, of course. All they had was each other and their promise.

That afternoon, the trucks began rumbling out of Aldbourne. Juliet walked Ron as far as she was allowed. Her chest felt tight as the impending goodbye hung in the air. She hated this. It was too painful. How could it be that the very war that brought them together would also be the reason for their parting? What was fair about that? Nothing, that’s what. 

A kiss from Ron drew her out of her thoughts. He held her firmly against him, almost as if he were afraid she would disappear right out of his grasp. When they parted, they were both breathless. 

“Be careful,” she said. 

His eyes searched hers. “You too.” 

Her brain was practically screaming at her to tell him now just what she felt. But she was too afraid. Too afraid it would doom him. Too afraid he wouldn’t say it back. Or even worse, say it only because of the passionate nature of the moment. It had to be when they weren’t so desperate. When they really meant it because whatever was coming was not a threat. 

“I’ll write,” she told him. 

“I’ll respond when I can,” he returned. 

She nodded. Her throat was dry and thick. The lack of tears in her eyes surprised her. How could she not be crying when she could feel her heart breaking so badly? She kissed him again. Just to prolong the last moment where he was only hers. 

“Stay safe,” she told him. 

He nodded. 

With one last kiss, they said goodbye without saying it. Juliet went to the train station and headed home to London. And Ron went to war. 

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

The Inquisitor’s Throne

I wrote this and realized it fits in with @14daysdalovers “Midnight Rendezvous” prompt. Cullen and Lydia Trevelyan, NSFW. Piece contains semi public sex, mild dirty talk, oral sex, and clothed sex all on a throne. Please enjoy! Also on A03

Dainty, delicate Inquisitor Lydia Trevelyan they call her. She can certainly play the part, look good in rich silks and swish her hand elegantly when she has to. It’s comes easy to charm a few nobles with carefully placed words, though she only does it if she must. Few deserve her sweet words, and one has them all.

Yet she had a cup, one she carries with her that no one else can see other than those closest to her. Sometimes it overfills. Sometimes it spills, and delicate, dainty Lydia can’t wear the carefully placed mask anymore. These are the times where all she wants is her lover to remind her she was more than some precious doll.

Maker. At Skyhold and past midnight, finally done with wearing the mask at this silly social, she wants him to claw at her, possess her, throw her on his desk of his and mark her. She wants him fucking hard.

Now.

Such primal parts of her sexuality used to frighten her. Tempered and tamed in recent years she found that primordial part of herself could bloom as easily as the part of her that loved with no reservation. Her lover, who inhabited his body like a lion cast spells of his own. He was a remnant of a time forgotten, roughhewn and forged with fire with scars to prove it. His fucking was a sweet restorative, and she craved it all throughout that dinner, all through Lord Farquar’s bitter speeches of fine women and the might of the Inquisition. Beautiful the Lord called her in her long red dress and pulled back hair, golden shoes on her feet. He eyed that silver Andraste at her collar and asked no questions mercifully. He demanded until she yielded, and she would not yield. She’d have no answers anyway. He wouldn’t deserve it if she did.

The great hall was filled earlier, yet now it’s midnight and quiet she slips inside the study Solas once used to frequent. Once Solas would have smirked at her, as he knew she took this route to her lover. Yet with him not there she makes the trip unnoticed, and she remains unnoticed when she opens the door to his office. His back toward her he’s out of his armor with a book in his hand. It’s one of those adventure novels he covets, one she’s picked up to read herself when she far away from him. When she’s away she relishes in the intimacy of reading the same words as he. Her heels click against the stone floor toward him before she wraps her arms around him, embraces him from behind as he dissolves against her, putting the book up on the shelves. She kisses the back of his neck before sinking her teeth there, laving the spot with her tongue. He moans before he turns around, cupping her face in his broad hands.

She looks beautiful, he says, tilting her chin up and kissing her. She certainly didn’t feel as such till he said it, till his arms are around her and she’s encased in his smell. He’s sweat and the sweetness of elderflower, earthy oakmoss and something distinctly man. She feels more woman when he grips her curves, when his stubble scratches her delicate skin.

 “Fuck me hard Cullen.”

His answer is a small “oh,” eyes wide. Maker he even blushes and she wants to laugh. He, whose taken her on his desk, who moved the mirror closer to their bed so he may watch her ride him. “Pick me up and take me upstairs,” she whispers as she kisses him once more, his cock growing harder against her. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“Rather take you to your room,” he says, kissing her neck. “Your mirror is there.”

“You’re so proud of how you fill me, aren’t you?” she asks, caressing his neck and lightly scratching her nails, her breath against his ear. “Then take me away.”

She leads him out of his office and into the empty great hall. It’s midnight and no one is about to watch the Commander take the Inquisitor into his arms and into a hot and searing kiss, a prelude to more. He tugs on the sleeve of her dress to pull it down, baring a part of her breast. His lips are warm against her skin as he cradles her back, pressing their bodies together. She hums, wrapping her arms around him, willing and wishing to dissolve.

“Turn around,” he whispers in her ear. She does so for him, wondering what he wants her to look at. All she sees is her large and expansive throne where she sits in judgement, silver moonlight casting blue and purple shadows against it. It is the seat of the high Enchanters’ gilded in gold and adorned with dragons along the side. A fine symbol for her role as Inquisitor, a seat only for her.

Yet she asks “Cullen?” as she strangely doesn’t understand, at least not at first. They’ve been brazen but this would be another matter entirely.

Still, he wraps his arms around her middle, presses his cheek next to hers. He says, “there,” and yes, he would be even more brazen.              

She gulps. He’ll rescind, she’s sure, but he nips at her neck and says he wants her spread open there, wants to taste her there. He can’t wait and he’d rather have her elegantly on her throne than in the hallway leading to her room or against the wall.  Judging by the way she leans against him, rubbing herself against his hardness, she can’t wait either.

“My dearest,” he says, his arms still around her, a warm hand slipping underneath her dress, touching her breast, and further pulling down the sleeve. It’s such a sweet endearment he says to contrast with such bawdiness. “Haven’t you ever thought of us there?”

“Yes,” she admits, gasping when he takes one of her pert nipples between his fingertips and squeezes gently. “But someone could see.”

“Has that ever mattered?

Fucking no, never. It is the final pull, because yes, she too can be brazen. Turning in his arms she lets him lead her to the throne. She sits there as she always does yet as an empress rather than Inquisitor, and he sinks to his knees, parts her thighs to sit between them. “That’s my girl,” he says as he kisses his way up her leg, Lydia gathering and pulling her red skirts up for him. She stares with unmasked, unashamed lust at his golden head, his scarred mouth open against her calf, moving upward to her knee and thigh. She helps him slide off her undergarment, crimson red like her dress, and when it falls to the ground next to them she makes a mental note to pick it up later lest someone see. She grabs his hair, twists the curls as her legs spread further apart. How many times has she sat on this spot, a crowd of people all staring at her and waiting for her to make a judgement or say something worthwhile. When she takes her lover’s mouth on her throne, his tongue lapping over her clit, she groans quietly, wishing it could be louder, wishing her cries of pleasure could echo through the room so loudly she’ll hear it again the next time she’s here and must remain nothing more than a pretty doll. She’s survived and lived and loved and fucked and it’s Cullen who she loves and fucks and makes her empress of lust, love, and want.

With one slow, sinful press he slides his forefinger inside, then another. She thrusts her hips closer to his face and he takes in her musky scent. She curses and thrashes as he builds on her growing frissons, compelling her to come on his face. With strangled breaths her thighs clamp around his cheeks, coming for him as he crooks his finger inside her. She reels in her residual waves, breathes and pants heavily as she comes back to earth. Hazy as she is however she’s still cognizant enough to push down his breeches and that tunic he’s wearing so’s bare in front of her on her throne. In the spilling moonlight he is baked marble from his time in the sun, silver from where his numerous scars have healed and dusted with golden hair on his chest and lower abdomen leading to his cock. All marble, gold, and silvered radiance, her hands grab his slim hips, her lips leaving kisses on his abdomen. Come take me fair knight, she thinks of saying as she strokes his cock, soft moans so sweet from his parted hips, but she has another idea.

Standing, skirts falling to her feet she throws her arms around his neck, kisses him and moves him over in front of her throne. She leads him down upon it and he smirks as if he’s some proud thane of a great hold. She sits astride him and he holds her ass, grabs it without shame and caresses underneath her cloths so the first thing anyone would see if they entered was the Commander’s hands on his Inquisitor on her throne. She hopes they know he touches her good. If she could she’d wear his love marks like tattoos.

She gathers up her skirts once more as he angles his cock toward her entrance. The skirts cover them as she holds his shoulders for balance, and he wraps his arms around her as she rises and falls and bounces on his cock, keeping her hands on his neck and keeping their eyes locked. He’s deep this way, full and warm and almost too much. But she can take him, take all of him. He never makes her cup spill or overflow.

“You feel good,” he says as his lips meet hers. “That’s my girl. You’re no one’s but mine.”

She told him earlier, tell me I’m yours. “Your mine,” she says in turn. “Cullen…”

“I know, I know…” She gasps as he sticks his hand underneath her cloths. “I love being yours.”

“You fill me up so fucking good…”

He chuckles as she moves, asks him if he ever thought she’d take him here of all places. “Maybe I dreamed of you here,” he says as he nips her neck. Someday they’ll leave this place and if the magic there is a strong as she has been told it is, the walls will imprint the memory of the Commander and Inquisitor fucking sweetly and adoringly, and a thousand years from now her words will still be etched in the stone, Cullen you fuck me so good…

He captures her in a kiss as she comes again on top of him with the beckoning of his fingers against her clit. A piercing cry would alert nearby guards, and as it is they’ve already had too much luck in this moment. They cling and he claws and they hold each other as the only thing that makes sense in the whole world. The way they lock and meet and join is what matters, not the show or the pomp or her mask as Inquisitor. This is real. Them.

He comes in her arms with her name sweetly on his lips. Her thighs ache from the movement, pleasant before yet not burning, and her are legs pressed against the hard stone of the throne. She chuckles when she thinks of how much his bare rear must hurt against it—it hurts her covered rear when she has to sit in judgement for long periods of time. Yet he keeps her in his arms when she tries to remove herself, burying his head in the crook of her neck. His lips are soft where his stubble is roughish, and it strikes her how even though he’s a strong man, a good man, and one that makes her feel safe, he too feels safe when she holds him. They dissolve into each other in their world together crafted in the great hall of the Inquisition.

They kiss when she cups his face in her hands, his lips moving down her neck and toward her exposed breast. He takes her sleeve and brings it back from where he pulled it down as she adjusts herself, removing her hips from him. His spend skims down her thigh and she can’t imagine the tailor in Val Royeux who sewed together such finery would have dared to imagine the Inquisitor using the long skirts it to wipe away her lover’s dripping seed. Reluctantly, she at last removes herself, Cullen hasty as he puts his clothes back on. They laugh and think they’ve won whatever game they decided to play on the way back to her quarters, laugh at their own place where they make the rules. They are unscathed. No one saw, as much as perhaps she wouldn’t have minded if anyone did…

At any rate, round two happens in her quarters, the bed softer on their bodies, their moans no longer stifled. Upon no throne, he makes her an empress still.

****

Cullen tells her the next day when she comes to him in his office that he got a note, blushing as he does. She reopens it at his prompting.

Dear Curly, Fire’s smalls are behind the throne. Might want to get them, though there is at least one Orlesian noble who thought it was kinky. PS: thanks for the inspiration. Shocked I didn’t think of it sooner for Swords and Shields.

“I…forgot my smalls,” she says as she scans the letter, her cheeks going how. “Marvelous.”

Though he blushes too, there is a smile that cracks on his face. “You know, maybe I’ll pick up Swords and Shields.”

“But you already have so many interesting ideas all on your own.”

He laughs before he takes her into his arms.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 6

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 6 - The Truth Behind the Scenes

Yue Wuhuan thought that his eyes would be gouged out by Xianzun soon, and he was shaking from fear.

After Song Qingshi checked him over, he was puzzled: "Are you cold?"

Yue Wuhuan shook his head stiffly.

"If your eyes are not uncomfortable, we can treat them later." Song Qingshi judged the injuries according to its severity. He returned to the table and took off his gloves, picked up the spirit bead, and walked back over. "I found a white powdery medicine around the edges of your nails. After a preliminary inspection, I determined that it contained Deer Spring Grass and Confusion Scented Flowers, which have a strong aphrodisiac effect. In addition, I also found plant ingredients in the incense on your clothes and feather skirt attracts cats. This is the reason why the demon tiger attacked you at the banquet."

He found out. . .

Yue Wuhuan thought in despair.

This was the loophole that he had found when searching for the edge of the Acacia Seal's control. Slaves can't kill themselves, slaves must obey their master's every command. But it was also the master that was happy to see the slave perform an unbearable performance, and was also happy to see the slave played with until death.

All he was able to get were aphrodisiacs that he extracted from psychedelic ingredients. He refined it greatly to make it more likely for animals to lose their sanity.

Therefore, he calculated the time and wrapped the medicine in wax pills to delay the onset of the drugs in the demon tiger's body, and then prepared the smell on his body to attract the monsters. After the atmosphere on the court reached its peak, the demon tiger rushed out under the stimulation of the drugs. He was definitely going to be chosen as its prey. He pretended to be absent after taking the aphrodisiac and took the initiative to step forward. The guests thought it was a show arranged by Jin FeiRen and applauded.

Jin FeiRen was far too proud to do anything and had already found a new favourite anyways. He would never interfere with the entertainment of his guests. Even a little hesitation could mean the demon tiger would completely lose control and tear the guests to pieces.

Yue Wuhuan carried out this plan with the determination to die, and never thought that the truth revealed because he survived.

In Golden Phoenix Manor, if a slave was found to show signs of disobedience, he would be severely punished. What's more, what he did was calculated something behind his master's back, which was absolutely against the rules. . . But what about this?

Yue Wuhuan’s flustered heart gradually calmed down and he recalled that when he first became a slave, because he was unwilling to yield and his wood-type spiritual root was suitable for a speedy recovery, he suffered all the humiliation that the world could inflict under the control of Acacia Seal. He was forced to endure all kinds of unbearable postures, forced to admit that he was more lecherous than the most lecherous flower girl in the brothel; because the beasts thought that he never reacted sufficiently during sex, they used countless kinds of drugs to transform him into having a very sensitive physique until even the friction of ordinary cloth will make him extremely uncomfortable.

Every time he thought that he reached the limit of this hell, he would always see that hell went so much deeper. Finally, after realizing that his despair and resistance would only make those people happier, he gave up these meaningless struggles as well of the idea of getting rid of the Acacia Seal.

His body was so dirty that he just wanted to destroy it. . .

God knows that when the demon tiger rushed forward to tear his body apart, he didn't feel any pain, only utter bliss.

Whether it's plucking out his eyes or cutting off his limbs to make him into medicine, whether it's being thrown into a brothel and toyed with by thousands of people, or thrown to a beast for fun. There wouldn't be any punishment in this world that would make him feel pain.

Yue Wuhuan narrowed his smile and stopped pretending. He looked at the spirit bead coldly and provoked disrespectfully, "Now that you know, what are you going to do?"

Song Qingshi declared with certainty: "Someone wanted to harm you!"

Yue Wuhuan failed in his provocation, and almost missed a breath, thinking that he had misheard: "What?"

Song Qingshi felt that his reasoning was sound. Although he didn't read novels very much, his senior sisters said that the protagonists were good people since the bad guys acting as the protagonist couldn't pass domestic publication censorship. The system's introduction mentioned that the protagonist suffered a miserable fate. These injuries now must also be related to the original plot.

Based on the social news he had read, 80% of the people in Golden Phoenix Manor were jealous of the protagonist's beauty and favour, and want to destroy him. They must have used medicine on his body and nails! So after careful consideration, Song 'Holmes' Qingshi concluded: "I suspect that it must have been the person who dressed you that day. I will find the murderer later and give you justice."

"No." Yue Wuhuan felt that the corners of his mouth were twitching. He didn't believe that the great Xianzun could be so stupid, but the other party seemed to be very serious about making him believe that he was stupid. He didn't know what expression to put on. Finally, he answered stiffly, "There's no need. . ."

When Song Qingshi saw this kindness, he was more sure about his guess of the protagonist. He put the spirit bead into Yue Wuhuan's hands: "This thing belongs to you, so you can put it away."

Yue Wuhuan realized that the spirit bead had not been marked with new spiritual thoughts, and he was dumbfounded.

"I studied this stuff," Song Qingshi explained, "The Acacia Seal involves a spell which is decently complicated. Medicine King's Valley has no way to solve the curse. I have asked the valley servant to go to the Night Rain Pavillion to offer a reward. The master of Night Rain Pavillion said that, although the method of explaining spells is not expensive, it's rare, and it will take some time to hear back."

Yue Wuhuan was stunned for a long time after listening, and asked in a quiet voice: "What price do I need to pay?"

Song Qingshi had been helped by many people, and no one has ever asked him for something in return. He has also helped many people and has never asked for repayment.

In his eyes, the Acacia Seal is a sin against basic human rights. It was the source of the protagonist's suffering is, like the shackles on the feet of a bird. After saving the bird, it is a matter of course to untie the shackles, and it was not worth mentioning.

So he replied casually: "You can focus on recovering and just get well with peace of mind."

The valley servant came to report that the medicine boiling in the yard was almost ready.

Song Qingshi hurriedly went out to check, lest the effect of the medicine would not achieve its desired effect.

Yue Wuhuan looked in disbelief at the spirit bead in his hand, and his noisy thoughts became more confused.

In the world he knew, things that don’t cost anything were the most expensive. . .

Medicine Master Xianzun was even more well-known in the cultivation world for being cold-blooded and cruel. He never knew the meaning of the word 'mercy'. What did he want from him? His body? His life? Or what about his soul? Yue Wuhuan thought for a long time, and couldn't help but chuckle. He tightly grasped the spirit bead in his hand, determined to make a desperate move. If it meant he could get rid of the shackles, he would do anything, even if he had to sell his soul to the devil. . .

When Yue Wuhuan saw Song Qingshi bringing the medicine in, he pondered for a moment about Song Qingshi's impression of him and what he wanted from him. His expression quickly switched to a well-behaved and weak look. He carefully raised his eyes and glanced at him secretly, showing just the right amount of gratitude, leaving himself at the mercy of Song Qingshi's treatment.

This patient was super obedient! He did whatever the doctor told him to do. No matter how disgusting the medicine tasted, he would drink it in one sip. No matter how painful or irritating the needle was, he wouldn't make a sound! He would also thank the doctor in a gentle voice. Song Qingshi took care of him with a sense of accomplishment. He hoped all the patients in the world could be as well behaved as him.

The physical regenerative skills of the wood spirit root were amazing, and the wound on the shoulder of Wuhuan would scab over in five days.

After Song Qingshi checked him over, he was allowed to get out of bed. He was ordered to spend more time in the sun and Song Qingshi proceeded to prepare for the next treatment.

The Medicine Master, whether it was the original body or the current Song Qingshi, does not care much about what he wore. Therefore, the Medicine Master rarely had shark silk or ice silk. The hospital gowns prepared by the valley servants were made of ordinary cotton, which was comfortable for ordinary people, but Yue Wuhuan felt uncomfortable with the friction of the fabric, so he dared not stray too far from the palace. He only took a few steps then stopped.

At night, Song Qingshi noticed that he was walking strangely, so he went to check on him. He didn't expect the slight touch to his collarbone. He hadn't gone down yet and he was still making a fool of himself.

Yue Wuhuan looked at Song Qingshi's stunned expression and those clear eyes that held no evil intentions. The shame that hadn't appeared for a long time came out. He couldn't help avoiding those gentle hands and curled up into the dark corner.

The contrast between purity and sex, clean and dirty, brought out the unbearable reality.

Yue Wuhuan repeated the truths he learned a long time ago in his heart over and over again.

Even if the Acacia Seal was lifted, he couldn't erase the past. . .

Song Qingshi pulled his hand back in embarrassment. He looked at the person hiding in the dark, opening his mouth, not knowing what to say.

Yue Wuhuan quickly realized that what he did was wrong. The other party had long known that he was not a clean person, and it would only be more embarrassing to try and cover it up. He quickly collected himself, and his figure slowly unfolded from the dark depths.

When he smiled and raised his eyes to look at Song Qingshi, there was a thick lust in his eyes. He licked his lips, put his hand on his belt, and said the shameful words that he was used to: "It's so hot, Xianzun wants to see look at this slave's body?"

Rather than letting someone discover he was embarrassed by his body, he would rather take the initiative to show the embarrassment. No matter what kind of contempt and humiliation he endured, as long as he convinced himself that he was a shameless bastard, his heart wouldn't be sad.

Song Qingshi woke up to what was happening before he started to strip off his clothes. He rapidly lowered all the curtains to block the spring scenery in the room.

Yue Wuhuan's ambiguous voice stopped abruptly.

Song Qingshi calmly said: "It's too late, the patient needs to rest."

Yue Wuhuan sat blankly on the bed, watching the faint figure outside the bed's canopy putting out the luminous beads, and then lighting the incense burner. The faint medicinal scent mixed with the smell of agarwood swept over, letting his feverish body gradually cool down. He slowly lay down, curling up again in the lonely darkness.

He suddenly realized that no one would be ravishing him tonight. There was no need to speak disgusting words, let alone force himself to flatter. There was no messy smell in the air, only the unspeakable clean air, which made his always vigilant mind begin to grow dizzy. His eyelids could not stay open, and he dragged into his dreamland.

There was no hell in this dream, only the fragrance of the magnolia tree outside his childhood bedroom window. . .

His body gradually relaxed and he immersed himself in this sweet dream that he hadn't experience for such a long time.

. . .

Song Qingshi stood silently outside the door for a long time, lost in his thought.

Once he was sure that Peaceful Soul Fragrance had played its role, he went back in. Holding the luminous beads, he gently opened the curtain, sat on the side of the bed, and looked at the various problems hidden in this scarred body again with his spiritual thoughts.

After a while, he withdrew his thoughts and quietly looked at Yue Wuhuan’s face. His eyes were clenched shut, and the completely relaxed youth's charming attitude had faded away. He was like a sleeping wild cat with his claws sheathed. Letting his vigilance fade away, as if forgetting the pain he had suffered and showing his true colours.

Freedom, pride, stubbornness. . .

His life should never have been what it was now.

Song Qingshi gently pulled the blanket around him. He brushed his tousled long hair carefully behind his ears, and promised in a low voice:

"I will heal you."

[seventhstrife]

SubScorp Week 2021 Day 3: AU Part 2

I hate that I have no self-control and have to make multiple posts for this lolololol

On AO3.

Part 1

When Hanzo woke, he knew immediately that he was not alone.

His eyes snapped open and he lurched upright, disoriented and tense.

His surroundings were unfamiliar, a fact that filled him with certain dread. His last memory was of trying to leave the bed of snow he'd been pushed into, how the dragon had only allowed him to stand so that it could nestle him into its side and curl up as if for a long rest. He remembered the deep, content cadence of its sigh as it settled with its huge head on Hanzo's lap.

As cold as it was, smothered in the dragon's hold, he'd been oddly...warm. And while Hanzo was no one's pet or prisoner, he was not so foolish as to disturb such a fearsome creature when its mood was in such a mercurial state, weakened and tired as it was. He'd resigned himself to being a dragon's pillow and had fallen asleep right there, hopeful that he could slip away in the small hours of the morning.

But waking up in an entirely new place had not been part of the plan. He barely took in the dark, polished stone of the room he was in or the thick furs that covered him across the lavish four-poster bed.

His surroundings were terrible for their strangeness, but what was worse was the man seated on the bed beside him, legs crossed, watching him. It was hard to see in the scant light that poured through the window as the sun just barely began to rise, but he thought he could just detect a small smile on those bearded lips.

"Good morning," the man greeted in a low, pleasant tone.

Hanzo went rigid. His hand snapped down to his side, but his weapons were gone—of course.

He risked exposing himself, but allowing capture was worse.

He summoned his flames, of a mind to send the man across the room with a ball of fire before he could so much as twitch—but the moment his light banished the shadows from the man's face, Hanzo stilled.

...It was his eyes. Pale white, nearly translucent, but in the flickering pulse of Hanzo's flames, they shined with a breathtaking iridescence that shifted with countless colors.

Pale-skinned and broad-shouldered, muscular arms bared by his dark robes, thick black hair pushed back from his face and beard trimmed short—he truly was a stranger to Hanzo in every sense of the word.

But, that scar. Those eyes. Hanzo knew those eyes.

The man's smile grew slightly, as if he knew exactly what Hanzo was thinking, and he threaded his fingers together, planted his elbows on his spread knees and perched his chin atop his hands, as if to better study Hanzo.

"Do you recognize me, pyromancer?"

Hanzo pursed his lips, wary. But even when he glared harder, tried to see some sort of flaw or deception, his eyes continued to scream a single truth.

But he did not have to admit it.

"I—I am clearly unwell," Hanzo said instead.

Without taking his eyes off of the man, he backed up until he was at the edge of the bed and quickly stood, head darting around as he tried to get his bearings, find the door. He looked back to the stranger and curled his fingers into a fist, flames threatening on the horizon.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"As impressive as your fire magic is," the man answered, "You would have succumbed to the cold. I thought it best to bring you to my home."

His home? Just judging from the simple, yet refined furnishings and ornate, carved walls, Hanzo assumed he was in some sort of palace.

His brow furrowed. This was making less and less sense. Some traveling lord had stumbled upon Hanzo and had simply—taken him in? In what appeared to be his own chambers?

No nobleman was that kind or giving. Hanzo knew.

Hanzo's skin itched with the desire to flee. Unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar company—he did not have any wish to linger here, at the mercy of this strange man and his stranger (familiar) eyes.

"Whatever you intended by bringing me here, it does not matter." Hanzo's face hardened. "You will not keep me here."

"No," the man agreed softly, making Hanzo pause. He was still smiling. "I imagine you do not succumb to anyone's will but your own."

The words caused a flicker of uncertainty to pass through him, though he did not allow it to show on his face. Why was nothing about this man proceeding as he expected? If Hanzo woke up, kidnapped to some strange, impossible palace in a snow-plagued, forsaken mountain, he should be caged. His captor should be talking to him through the bars of a prison, in his personal dungeon, not casually and comfortably sitting on his bed while Hanzo threatened to burn him.

...Somehow, some way, this is a trick. It must be.

It felt safer not to speak, so Hanzo did not. His eyes darted to the door, waiting across the room and, unfortunately, behind the man.

"Your weapons are there," the man said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm behind Hanzo, and indeed, when he warily glanced over his shoulder, he saw the overlooked table tucked into the corner of the room, where his blades had been laid neatly and carefully across a length of soft cloth. "Forgive me for taking the liberty, but I thought it best to divest you of them so you could rest more comfortably."

Hanzo glared at the man for a long moment. He only slept comfortably when he was armed these days.

Still, Hanzo accepted the invitation to take his things and he did so in quick, efficient movements, keeping the stranger in his line of sight at all times—not that it mattered, as the man did not so much as a twitch from the moment he'd awoken. His eyes tracked Hanzo without a blink and it was perhaps that which kept Hanzo on his guard. His utter stillness, the watching—Hanzo was rested, armed, and could think of a dozen ways to incapacitate this man in a few seconds, yet he felt overwhelmingly like an unwitting creature, soft and vulnerable, ignorant of the hunter in his midst, readying for the pounce.

Hanzo glanced at the door, had no more than thought of taking his first step towards the exit when the man spoke once more.

"Of course, you may leave whenever you wish," he said genially. "But you did not answer my question, pyromancer."

Hanzo's lips thinned. Uncertainty and unease blossomed in his chest.

"...no, I did not. I will not."

The stranger's head tilted and an expression of open amusement alighted on his face.

"Is it so terrible to accept?"

"It is impossible," Hanzo stressed, eyes narrowing. But, despite himself, his determination to fight faltered. He could not deny a certain curiosity, for all that he did not believe in magic such as this.

The man shrugged, affable as ever. It made Hanzo glare at him even more fiercely. It was irksome, how agreeable he was being...

Finally, the man moved, gave his back to Hanzo as he swung his legs off the bed and rose. Hanzo tensed when the man faced him and approached.

"That is far enough," Hanzo said in warning, raising two burning fists when the man was just outside of arm's reach.

"I have sheltered you and returned your weapons," the man pointed out. "Can you not accept I mean you no harm?"

"That remains to be seen," Hanzo replied, stiff.

Still, the man only seemed amused. He placed a palm on his breast, directly over his heart, and bowed, deeply.

"Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Kuai Liang."

A strange name for a strange man. It was oddly fitting.

Kuai Liang rose and those pale eyes of his fixed on Hanzo with the same intensity that had yet to lessen since Hanzo had first met them.

"May I know your name, pyromancer?"

Hanzo almost refused him, simply on principle. But...Kuai Liang had sheltered him in his home, had given him back his weapons, and he had shown no sign of wishing harm upon him.

It went against every instinct within him, but slowly, warily, Hanzo lowered his arms as the flames in his hands gutted, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin.

"...Hanzo. Hanzo Hisashi."

Kuai Liang's eyes brightened with pleasure.

"Hanzo Hisashi," he repeated. The way he seemed to savor it—Hanzo could feel his hackles rising once more. "It is a pleasure to meet you." Kuai Liang stepped to the side, gestured with an open palm to the door. "Allow me to escort you," he said. "I'm afraid you will be easily lost without a guide."

Hearing that this building was that great a size did nothing to ease Hanzo's unease, but he supposed he had no choice.

"Very well."

Kuai Liang smiled.

Hanzo had hoped for a quick, silent walk, and to be able to put this entire strange encounter from his mind forever. Instead, when they'd only just left Kuai Liang's chambers, his stomach gave a loud, insistent cry.

Hanzo kept his gaze firmly on the ground, mortified as Kaui Liang turned to him in a sharp, surprised movement.

After a slight pause, Kuai Liang offered, "I have food if you wish—"

"No." Hanzo took a deep breath, tried to will back the rise of heat he could feel on his face. It was more important to leave this place. He could hunt for something once he was gone. "I am fine."

And, of course, his body chose that moment to betray him once more with another growl, sudden and painful enough he could not check the urge to hold his aching stomach. He could not remember the last time he had a decent, filling meal...

"I'm afraid I must insist," Kuai Liang said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I would be a poor host if I did not see you fed and prepped for your long journey down the mountain.”

Hanzo attempted to protest, but it was a losing battle and he was forced to follow after Kuai Liang, lest he truly be lost in his vast palace.

It was harder to remember the urgent need to be gone from this place when the smell of cooked meat grew stronger the further they went, and then impossible when Kuai Liang opened the door to a small cooking room, where a large flank of meat was still roasting over an open fire against the far wall.

The smell was heavenly and Hanzo was briefly hypnotized by the sight of hot, sizzling fat dripping from the meat, how it fell into the fire with a soft hiss and caused new bursts of the incredible aroma to permeate the room.

Perhaps...there was no harm in eating—so that he would not collapse on his hike, of course. It was only sensible to accept a meal when it was offered freely.

He tried not to seem too eager when he sat at the small wooden table Kuai Liang beckoned him to, but when Kuai Liang carved a generous portion of meat onto a large platter and served it to him, his smile twitched, threatening to grow wider at whatever expression Hanzo had.

It was slightly embarrassing, being caught so obviously, but Hanzo did not care the moment the meat first touched his tongue. Hot, tender venison, succulent and delicious. If he were a weaker man, he might weep.

For a while, there was only silence as he ate. It was not until he'd partially satiated his aching stomach that he realized Kuai Liang had not served himself.

He glanced up, unnerved to find Kuai Liang watching him, chin propped in one hand, a slight smile still lingering on his lips.

He appeared so...satisfied, by the sight of Hanzo eating. It made Hanzo freeze.

He glared.

"...Stop watching me," Hanzo demanded.

Kuai Liang's smile widened, but he acquiesced, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He tilted his head back against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, looked for all the world as if he were simply meditating.

The way he kept instantly accomodating Hanzo—it was very annoying.

Hanzo resumed eating but did not stop glaring at Kuai Liang, trying—in vain—to puzzle him out. If Kuai Liang was aware of his staring, he did not seem bothered by it in the least.

This vast palace, Kuai Liang's own status, seemingly that of a man of wealth and power—he did not make sense. In Hanzo's travels, he had never heard of such a person having domain over this corner of the land, and yet here he was.

Who are you, truly?

His curiosity could not be denied, no matter how much he tried to quell it.

"Where are the people?" Hanzo finally asked.

It was perhaps not his most pressing question, but it was the one that was safer to ask. Down the labyrinthine halls to this modest cook's area, Hanzo had not seen nor heard so much as a whisper of another soul. Even here, in what was clearly a servant's domain, there was no one else to be found. Yet, a palace so large would need a large staff to maintain it.

Kuai Liang's eyes opened. "There are none."

Hanzo frowned, chews slowing, but Kuai Liang did not take back his words, just watched Hanzo back.

"...You live here by yourself?"

Kuai Liang inclined his head.

"How is that possible?"

Finally, Kuai Liang glanced away from him. His eyes dropped and his entire demeanor was suddenly—dampened, somehow. A subtle sort of sadness crept over Kuai Liang and it made Hanzo forget all about the sharp hunger pains that had burrowed into the pit of his stomach.

"Like you, I am the last of my kind."

...Oh. It was no secret that Hanzo's people were long gone—hunted to the brink of extinction for nothing more than sport. Mercenaries and outlaws, lowlifes and lords alike had participated in the massacre, eager to boast their fighting skills and claim the prestige of slaying an exotic, powerful pyromancer. If any of Hanzo's people still walked the lands, Hanzo had not met them. He hoped he never would. They were safer—he was safer, alone.

A life of constant movement, never settling anywhere, never staying in one town long enough for anyone to learn his name—it was a life he'd resigned himself to, one he thought, perhaps, suited him, even, but there were times when he felt the aching bite of loneliness. Of a muted, mourning despair that he would pass from this world without a single soul to notice his absence.

It was not a life he would wish on anyone.

"I...I am sorry," Hanzo finally said. At least he traveled, could outrun his feelings when they threatened to unmake him completely. To walk the same empty halls, day after day, ceaselessly reminded of a time they were full of life—he shied from even imagining it.

Kuai Liang blinked and a rueful smile replaced the understated, melancholic expression. Somehow, the smile made Hanzo's chest ache more.

"It was a long time ago," Kuai Liang dismissed.

Hanzo was not placated. He looked straight into Kuai Liang's eyes.

"But it is still difficult," he observed quietly, and Kuai Liang's smile, absurdly, stretched just a little bigger.

"You see right through me."

He stood, took Hanzo's demolished plate and returned to the roasting spit.

"No man is a fortress, and I am afraid I am no exception to this rule."

His voice was soft and steady as he refilled Hanzo's plate with another generous portion, but even when he set the dish before him, Hanzo could not move his eyes from Kuai Liang, aware of how something more lingered in the air, the same something that had remained unspoken since he'd awoken.

Kuai Liang did not return to his seat. He stood, looking down at Hanzo, and the impression that his next words would be important grew.

"I rarely leave my home. I hunt what I need and want for little else. But I have grown weary of solitude. And, if you'll forgive my forwardness," and here Kuai Liang broke eye contact, straightened, and crossed his arms behind his back. He took a moment, and Hanzo found himself all but holding his breath.

"I came down from the mountain in search of a mate." Kuai Liang's pale eyes met his, and the earlier look of determination intensified. "And I have found one. You."

A ringing silence stretched.

Hanzo's mouth opened, closed. Opened again. But there were no words. He could not think of a single thing he could say to such a proclamation.

His face felt hot.

Kuai Liang's head tilted. "Have I broken you?" he asked, amused.

His tone finally snapped Hanzo out of his shocked stupor and he stood, his chair scraping loudly against the wood floor.

"I—You—NO."

"We are well-suited for one another," Kuai Liang argued.

"You know nothing about me and—" Abruptly, Hanzo realized how completely absurd this conversation was. "Absolutely not."

"I know that you are brave, honorable, and compassionate." When Hanzo opened his mouth to protest, Kuai Liang stepped closer, just past the bounds of propriety, but Hanzo could not muster the will to burn him. "It would have been easier to leave me to die, but you intervened on my behalf, and even tended to my wounds. What more proof do I need of your worthiness?"

Hanzo stared at Kuai Liang, stricken. He had been ignoring the obvious, glaring fact that had been shouting at him since he'd first met Kuai Liang's eyes, but now that truth refused to be ignored.

His brow furrowed and he stared into Kuai Liang's eyes, wished he could doubt his own, but could not.

"You...you really are the dragon from before..." It was impossible, ridiculous—but the evidence was too plain to ignore.

Kuai Liang smiled. "I knew you were the one the moment we looked at one another." Another step closer, where their chests nearly touched, and Hanzo told himself he would push Kuai Liang away and run—in just a moment. "My ice, it can be unpleasant for a normal human. And in moments of passion, even harmful."

Kuai Liang raised his hand, slowly, tentatively, and though a part of Hanzo's mind, defensive and wary, screamed that he use his flames, now, he did not want to harm Kuai Liang.

The gentle, cool touch of Kuai Liang's fingers brushed across the stubble on his cheek, whisper-soft.

"But with your abilities, you could withstand me." Kuai Liang's eyes fell, hooded and dark with desire. His gaze seemed to pierce straight through. "Yes, you could withstand me well. You are very strong."

"We are complete opposites," Hanzo argued, because clearly he was the only one who had not taken leave of his senses.

"Opposites, yes," Kuai Liang agreed. "But also equals. Compliments. I would have it no other way."

"Well, I will not have you," Hanzo claimed hotly, and his eyes narrowed in a fierce glare.

Far from seeming dismayed by his refusal, Kuai Liang only watched Hanzo as if he were an intriguing puzzle.

"You find me unsuitable in some way?" he asked. "Or, perhaps, you bear the claim of another?"

"I—" It would have been better, to lie, but that was one skill Hanzo had never possessed. "That is not—"

Triumph surged to Kuai Liang's gaze. "If I must prove myself, you need only say so. I can offer you much."

Hanzo finally pushed away Kuai Liang's touch with a sweep of his arm and took a few steps back. He would not hear any more.

"I do not want anything from you. I do not belong here, with you, in—that way. Whatever you believe you see in me, you are mistaken."

"I see only that which you have shown me." Kuai Liang watched him steadily, so sure. "You could have a home here. You would no longer have to hide who you truly are, or be forced to run any longer. You could be free."

Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath, shook his head harshly in the next instant. "You—you can not promise that."

"I can," Kuai Liang simply said.

He pushed Hanzo's chair out of his way, closed the distance between them once more. Hanzo flinched away the first time Kuai Liang reached for him, but Kuai Liang only paused, waited patiently, before resuming the movement. And the look in his eyes, gentle yet firm, kept Hanzo still when he took Hanzo's hand.

Kuai Liang raised Hanzo's hand, placed his palm atop it so he cradled him in his grip like something precious. Hanzo could not recall ever being touched in such a way. He wanted to hate it, but he did not.

"A few days," Kuai Liang proposed, voice a low, beseeching murmur. "Stay with me here, for just a few days. Let me show you what it could be like to share a life together. If you still wish to leave after that, I will respect your wishes. I will take you down the mountain myself."

An automatic denial sprung to his lips, but one look at Kuai Liang's eyes—pleading, soft, and filled with lonely, naked longing—killed the words before he could draw breath.

Hanzo looked away, to the strong, slightly cool and affectionate clasp of Kuai's hands around his. The weariness he always battled in his long journey, heart-sick from constant flight and avoidance, bloomed to an almost unbearable degree, threatened to swallow him completely.

"...A few days?" Hanzo eventually asked, voice unsure and wary.

Kuai Liang squeezed his hand and hope brightened his gaze.

"That is all I ask."

If Hanzo had not been wavering before, that expression would have unmade him; never, had he been beneath the force of such great, bare hope. To say anything else would be cruel.

"...Very well." He darted a quick look at Kuai Liang, glanced away immediately at the sight of his warm, wide smile. "Do not make me regret this," Hanzo warned.

Kuai Liang raised his arm, only smirked when Hanzo's eyes went wide, and placed a gentle, unbearably lingering kiss on the back of his fingers.

"I would not dream of it, Hanzo Hisashi."

[yetanotherhoeforpedro]

Sinfully Armored

Chapter 4 - The spirits that haunt us 

Chapter 3

TW: SMUT, canon-typical violence

Your eyes adjusted to the bright lights so slowly that you had to rely on your other senses. Apparently, you were lying on an even metal surface, judging from the cold hard material you felt underneath your – exposed back? Yes, you seemed to be naked from the waist up. As you focused on the rest of your body, you noted with surprise that the pain in your ribs had subsided. The air smelled slightly of ethanol; you definitely weren’t on Kashyyyk anymore. Shit, had you been abducted by the Empire?

Finally, your eyesight returned to you and you looked around, careful not to move your head too conspicuously, lest whoever had brought you here would notice you. You relaxed immediately as you took in the familiar view of your ship, though it didn’t lessen your irritation. How did you get back here?

You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at your ribs. The sudden movement made you feel a little dizzy, so you carefully laid back down again and peeked at your ribcage. Someone seemed to have tended to your wounds as a beige bandage was wrapped around them, still leaving your breasts exposed, and they really didn’t hurt anymore. You slowly stretched your hand out to your ribs and dug your fingers in to test your pain tolerance. Nothing. There had to be some sort of painkiller involved…How long had you been out? What about Grogu? The Wookie youngling?

You sat back up in a quick movement that your head didn’t appreciate in the least. “Careful,” a modulated voice said and your head snapped to the direction of it, resulting in another sharp headache.

But there was the Mandalorian, standing at the other end of the space. You were too stunned to react to his presence in any way. Why was he here? He should have hated you, what did he care if you were being careful or not? Fuck, how you despised yourself. You averted his glance out of pure guilt. You broke his trust, you let them take his child. You were too weak to save him, why did Luke ever send you on this mission?

“What…what happened?” you asked finally and noticed how raw your throat felt. “You passed out on the beach, so I took you back here and…,” he paused and his visor dipped down a bit, allowing him a better look at your rib. You were suddenly all too aware of your exposed breasts, but didn’t want to show your discomfort by moving to cover them up. He shook his head quickly. “So, I– I– fixed your…ribs.” You heard him swallow loudly as he brought his helmet back up to your face. “For a moment I thought– I thought I had los…”, he added, but stopped himself from saying whatever he was going to. You looked at him curiously. “I’m sorry,” he said instead.

You grew even more irritated at that. “You are sorry? I am the one who fucked up, Mando,” you replied faintly, breaking the possible eye contact with him again. “I am so sorry, it’s all my fault. If I had been quicker…,” you went on and let your voice trail off.

“None of this is your fault,” he responded firmly and took a few steps towards you. “I was…being a dick, and I am sorry for it. I– I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I know you would never have let them get him if you had had another choice, I was just – he – he’s all I have left.” Some small part of your heart broke at that confession.

“You had every right to snap at me,” you answered with conviction. “Please, don’t be so kind to me…I don’t deserve that.” You heard him tread even closer to you and this time, he didn’t stop until he was right next to you. He uttered your name softly and at that, your head turned back to him. Two leather gloves cupped your cheeks gently, forcing you to hold his stare.

“You – you deserve nothing but kindness from me,” he whispered and let one of his hands trail across your cheekbones in a featherlight touch. The simple touch sent goosebumps across your entire body. “I – I have been…awfully unkind to you,” he admitted quietly.

“What’s with the change of heart now?” you attempted to lighten the situation and relieve yourself of some of the electric current humming through you, but failed miserably. “I…when you were…on that…beach…completely motionless…” The movements of his hand stilled for a second. You knew this was as vulnerable as he would make himself, so you simply placed your hand on top of his in silent affirmation.

“Mando…I…,” you began, but he silenced you by putting his index finger on your mouth. “Stop guilting yourself,” he said intently and his other hand began to softly move across your cheek again. “We will get him back.”

“How?” you asked, your voice breaking. You could not bear his kindness anymore; it was just too much. Mando’s fingers started to gingerly run across your neck and all of your thoughts and worries left your mind for a second as you registered the movement. “After you…um...I installed a tracking fob on the imperial ship”, he explained absentmindedly. His focus seemed to be entirely on his fingers, which began to explore your collar bone. You shivered at the intimacy of the touch. His hand began to dip even lower, hovering at the swell of your heaving breasts.

“Do you want me to stop?” His words were merely a breath and you could only shake your head, as you were at a complete loss for words. He let out a relieved sigh at you giving him your consent and his hand moved a little lower until he was softly cupping your breast. You lost yourself completely in his touch and let out a soft moan. “Fuck,” he exclaimed. “Do you realize how…agonizing it has been for me to see you with your tits out all this time while I couldn’t…couldn’t touch you?” He gave your boob a little squeeze to support his words and at that, you let out a louder moan. “You can always touch me,” you admitted breathlessly and he groaned in response. He removed his other hand from yours and moved it down to cup your other breast.

Taking all the time in the world, he tested out the weight of your breasts in his hands and began to slowly knead them while the aching between your legs grew worse. “Mando…please,” you begged him.

“Now, now. I expected you Jedi to have a little more patience,” he responded while continuing to caress your tits. Fuck, he knew he was taunting you and he was enjoying it. There would be time for some payback later.

One of his leathered gloves left your breast and started to draw lazy circles across your back. As his hand moved down further only to brush across the sensitive curve of your spine, you arched into the touch of his other hand even more. He groaned softly.

Without a warning, he removed his hands from you entirely, but he held a hand up before you could bark out in protest. He deliberately removed his gloves, exposing his bare skin for the first time. His hands were beautiful, the veins standing out a bit against his skin, which was tan – despite not having seen sunlight in the Maker knows how long – and calloused. With one quick movement, Mando span you around on the makeshift bed so that your legs were dangling over the edge and you were fully facing him. You let out a surprised gasp.

His next advances seemed almost hesitant after this impulsive action. He slowly spread your legs apart with his hands and positioned himself between them. The proximity of him made your heart accelerate to an unprecedented speed. Your head dipped down almost instinctively and your throat went dry as you took in the bulge in his pants. His bare hand cupped your chin and made you look up at him again. “Let me touch you first,” he said hoarsely and you nodded, not able to deny him anything.

His fingers were unexpectedly smooth and warm as they began to explore your body again. Each of his touches made you soak your pants more and more, but he wasn’t ready to give you what you desired just yet. He reveled in every skin-to-skin touch as if he’d never get to experience it again. The gentleness of his touch when he brushed your bandages made your heart swell with affection that you quickly repressed. This was purely sexual, wasn’t it?

The Mandalorian pushed a strand of your hair back from your face, halting his worshipping of your body. “You are…absolutely gorgeous,” he said while looking you up and down, his voice betraying his vulnerability. You swallowed. Apparently, this was not merely physical. Mando made a move to touch you again, but you grabbed his arm before he could. “Look,” you inducted, “I – I can’t do this. Not – not if it’s…more than sex.”

He didn’t respond for a while, the two of you frozen in this awkward position. “Who said it was more?” he retorted finally, with such nonchalance that you thought you had imagined the gentle affection in his voice earlier. “Okay, great,” you lied. You didn’t want this to be more than a physical thing, did you? So, why were you so disappointed that he felt the same way? Didn’t that make you a hypocrite?

“Do – do you want to continue?” he broke the awkward silence that had formed between you. Yes, more than anything. But could you risk it? What if you got too attached? Never in your life had you damned your Jedi existence and your past more than in this very moment. But even if you wanted to, you couldn’t turn away from it. Being a Jedi was your life and you wouldn’t give it up for something as trivial as sex…Or would you?    

“I…I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Mando said, no hint of any emotion in his voice and ended your brooding silence. When you didn’t reply, he simply picked up his gloves and left without another word.

“Fuck,” you whispered with exasperation. He would never be vulnerable with you again after you pushed him away like this. But maybe that was for the better. As your breathing returned to its normal rhythm, you started to focus on reality again. You were on a mission, Mando had mentioned a tracking fob or something? What about the Wookie? Mando hadn’t mentioned him, so you guessed he was safe? It was not like you could go to him for information now. Maker, what have you done? What had you been about to do?

Maybe it was the painkillers, you thought to yourself, though you knew it was no valid excuse.

--------------------------------------------

Hours later you mustered up the courage to go to the cockpit. As you expected, Mando was sitting in the pilot’s seat, his helmet facing the broad windshield. He didn’t react to your appearance. “I am sorry,” you told him as you sunk down into the seat next to him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replied mechanically, still not looking at you. “I was simply looking for a little distraction.” His words stung more than you cared to admit.  “Right,” you retorted, a little too sharply to appear casual. He turned his helmet to you. “Just sex, remember?” You gritted your teeth as he used your words against you.

“Where are we heading?” you switched the topic. “I don’t know yet, they are still on the move.” The Mandalorian was pointing at the tracking fob in front of him. A small blue dot was moving across the map of the galaxy, not far from the position of your ship. “I got to hand it to the droid, he is a good pilot,” he added, pointing to Artoo, who beeped excitedly at the approval. “The best,” you corrected him, looking fondly at Luke’s R2-unit.

“What – what happened to the Wookie youngling?” you asked cautiously. “She’s safe. Her mother decided she was ready to begin her training, so I contacted Luke. He’ll send someone to pick her up and she’ll be protected by the other Jedi in the temple.” You cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “You contacted Luke?” – “Yes. We are…good friends.” There was something in his voice that you couldn’t quite place. “I immediately called the droid to pick us up when…they left with him,” he went on. You only nodded as the guilt began to nag at you again. As if he could sense your thoughts, he said: “Stop blaming yourself, it wasn’t your fault.” You shot him a surprised glance, but only shrugged. No matter how often he’d reassure you, you were the only person who could relieve you of your tormenting thoughts and you were not ready to let yourself of the hook – definitely not before Grogu was safely back in your ship.

You spent a few minutes in silence, watching as the blue dot moved across the holographic map. “What do you think they are doing to him right now?” Mando asked into the silence of the cockpit, his voice sounding strained. “I – I don’t think they would…hurt him. They need him,” you tried to reassure him and yourself.

“If only – if only I’d gone after him myself. If I had been more…vigilant…I would have seen that you had not gotten to him. I could have saved him,” he muttered, completely ignoring your attempt to comfort him.

“Mando, no,” you breathed out as you got up and moved towards him. Carefully, not wanting to overstep his boundaries, you placed your hand on top of his. “I told…I scolded you for not trusting me. And then I failed you, you did nothing wrong. If it weren’t for you, they would probably have gotten the Wookie as well and disappeared without a trace.” He let you touch his hand, which was once again shielded by a layer of leather, and you softly started to draw soothing circles across it with your thumb. Mando didn’t reply, only tilted his helmet down to where your hands were entwined. “This is…not the first time I let the Empire take him,” he confessed in a shaky tone. “I should have let him go. He’d be better off without me.”

The audible pain in his voice was too much to bear, you were willing to do anything to make it go away. So, you damned your previous worries, let go of his hand and took a few more steps around him. As you stood directly in front of him, you got on your knees and heard the Mandalorian take in a sharp breath. “And you got him back last time, didn’t you?” you said while looking up at him. “He is damn lucky to have you in his life and I know that you – and me too for that matter – would do anything to get him back.” Your hands slid over his beskared thighs and he spread them apart out of what felt like a reflex.

“W–what are you doing?”, Mando inquired warily. “You said you wanted a distraction,” you replied innocently and dragged your hands up and down his thighs to support your words. He swallowed audibly. “But– but you –,“ he protested without any conviction. “You told me to s–stop.” His breathing turned ragged as your hands neared the now evident bulge in his pants. “Changed my mind,” you responded and licked your lips in a suggestive manner. His strong reactions to you made you quite bold. “D–don’t do t–this out of pi–pity,” he warned you. “You think I’d blow you out of pity?” you asked him incredulously. “Yes, I want to help you to get the edge off a bit – but don’t think it’s fucking charity. I want to feel you down my throat,” you admitted and saw his cock jump at the vivid image. “So, will you let me?” You leaned forward a little and brought your hands teasingly close to his manhood. “Y–yes,” was all he managed to get out while he reached for his pants.

His member sprung free and you hummed in approval at the considerable length of it. You spread Mando’s thighs further and wedged yourself between them to get a better access. He went rigid at the first contact your hand made with his shaft and you couldn’t hold back a little smug smile. He was utterly at your mercy. Your hand wrapped around his base and you gave him a few testing pulls, to which he reacted with a groan of pleasure. As you brushed your thumb over his tip, you felt the wetness of his precum and his hips thrust up into your hand. “A little more patience, Mando,” you chided him playfully, high on your sudden power trip. “You–you will regret t–this,” he promised in a husky voice which made the space between your legs pulse. “We’ll see,” you hummed and gave his length another teasing stroke. “F–fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

You decided to have some mercy on him and took a small part of him into your mouth. When you let your tongue run over his tip, his hand came down on the back of your head and tightly gripped your hair. In response, you eased him into your mouth further and he groaned raggedly. As you sucked on him, he came completely undone and thrust his hips up, forcing himself down your throat unexpectedly and making you gag. “I–I’m sorry, Jedi. Are you alright?” Mando asked you with a level of concern in his voice that almost made you regret your change of heart. You couldn’t reply verbally because he was still filling your mouth, so you simply took him in an inch deeper in response. Mando’s breathing hitched. You sucked on him again before you pulled back. Needing to recover from his sudden intrusion, you took a few breaths and continued pumping him with your hand. Mando thrust into your hand greedily.

You decided to torture him a little more and swirled your tongue across his tip again, but didn’t take him in further. He groaned in exasperation. “D–don’t b–be like t–that, Jedi.” He ran his gloved fingers through your hair while tugging your head closer again. “Y–you         s–said you–you wanted me to c–cum down your–your throat,” he reminded you in uneven breaths. “Will you let me?” He untangled his hand from your hair and let his fingers trail over the sensitive skin on your throat in emphasis. “Fuck–fuck Mando…anything– anything for you,” you gasped out, completely losing your focus and surge of dominance as you felt his hand on your neck. “Good girl,” he growled out, making you moan.

You brought your lips back to his cock and let him fuck your mouth at his pace, the sound of him leaving and reentering your mouth the only sound in the otherwise quiet cockpit. You felt your own wetness increase as you sensed him growing harder and harder. “F–fuck, I’m c–close,” he exhaled and placed his hand on the back of your head again to secure you in your position as release barreled through him. You swallowed the rows upon rows of cum he spilled down your throat greedily, savoring his musky taste.

When he was spent to the last drop, he slowly pulled his cock out of your mouth and leaned back in his seat. He pulled his pants back up and you took that as your signal to leave, so you slowly got up and reactivated your sore leg muscles. You were about to go and let him be since your mission to distract him seemed to have been a success. Swiftly, his hand snapped out and grabbed your wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?” he challenged you in a dark voice that made your pussy throb. “Um…I–I thought you might want–um–I don’t know–privacy?” Your voice hitched embarrassingly at the last syllables. Mando let out a huff of what you could only interpret as amusement. “Privacy,” he tested the word out on his tongue. “What I want is some privacy with your cunt.” Your head snapped up to his in surprise at the sheer dominance he emitted. You swallowed, unsure how to react. “Will you not let me repay the favor?” he went on and patted his thigh in a silent invitation.  

Without thinking about it, you climbed onto his lap. Your usual swagger had abandoned you completely exactly when you needed it most and Mando – that bastard – seemed to know it. He took the lead and placed your hands on his shoulders. Then he let his hands roam over your body ravenously. First, he lifted your shirt up a little and put one hand on your back to steady you while his right hand palmed one of your tits.

He let out a soft moan at the sensation. “Fuck–you f–feel so–so warm and s–soft,” he praised you under his breath. His other hand gradually dragged down your spine until he stopped at the hem of your pants. You nodded in silent encouragement and with your consent, he let it slip through the waistband. How convenient that there was no underwear in space. As he cupped your ass cheek, both of you let out a pleasured moan in unison.

He released his other hand from your breast after giving it another firm squeeze and moved it to your second butt cheek. You ground into him with a small whimper in a desperate attempt to relieve the upbuilding heat in your core and he gripped your ass harder, pushing you back a little. Mando leaned forward slightly so that his helmet rested right beside your head. “You are greedy, huh?” he whispered into your ear with a soft chuckle. “You will cum when and where I want you to, understood?” His words sent a shiver down your spine. Rapidly, one of his hands snapped up from your ass and he gripped you by the throat. “Understood?” he repeated. You nodded as much as his grip allowed you to. “Good,” he snarled.

He leaned back again and released your neck. Then he let his hand dangle in front of your mouth expectantly. Following his train of thought, you lightly bit down on the fabric of his glove, allowing him to free his hand. The other hand was still rested on your ass and pushed you up so that you were basically kneeling as his ungloved fingers traced the hem of your pants. Without any more preambles, he guided his bare fingers to your heated core. The first contact of his fingers with your wet folds made you shudder. Mando groaned in approval at your dripping wetness. “F-fuck,” he muttered as he began to draw small circles on your clit, coaxing a wanton moan from you. For a while, he continued to tease you and let his fingers roam around your pussy, his fleeting touches painfully delicate.

“M-Mando,” you huffed, “P-please.” – “I love it when you beg for me,” he all but growled in response and dipped one of his fingers into your core. You arched your back while taking in the sensation and his other hand snaked its way up its curve. His finger curled inside of you in a delicious angle and your palms dug into his armor at the marvelous feeling. You felt his eyes monitor each of your reactions to his movements as he slowly drove his finger in and out of your wetness. It was tantalizing and you tried to force him to move faster and harder by rolling your hips down. “Tsk tsk tsk,” he chided you and forcefully pushed another finger in. “Are you satisfied now, Jedi?” You simply nodded, overwhelmed by the feeling of him pumping his fingers in and out of you. His pace quickened and your eyelids fluttered shut. In this moment, the only things that existed in the entire galaxy were his fingers and the growing heat of your core. The rhythm and the technique of his movements was devastating, each thrust felt more mind-blowing than the last. His pace didn’t falter once, not even as his other hand maneuvered down your spine before greedily grabbing at your ass. You felt your walls clench down on his fingers and they curled into you again, making you moan obscenely loud.

As you reached your climax shortly after, he made you see stars and you heard Mando mumble indistinct praises under his breath. He kept his movements up until you were spent to the last drop. Only then did he slowly pull his fingers out of your dripping cunt.

You slumped down onto his lap in exhaustion and buried your head in his armored chest while trying to calm your hammering heart.

A metallic sound made your head snap up, but Mando pushed it back down quickly before you could see anything. A little confused but too exhausted to fight him, you let your head fall back into its previous position. Only when you heard soft slurping sounds did you comprehend what was going on. He must have removed his helmet to taste you. The realization turned you on more than you cared to admit and you felt the wetness in your pants increase.  

“You – you taste so g-good, Jedi,” Mando groaned. “I can’t wait to feast on you properly.” The statement made you swallow audibly, but you were too stunned to reply verbally. You heard him pull his helmet back on and let out a small relieved sigh, your current position was quite compromising. You pushed yourself up on your knees and pulled your pants up. After patting your ass one last time, Mando released his hold on you and you carefully climbed out of his lap.

Your legs still felt a little wobbly as you left the cockpit without another word.

-------------------------------------------------

You avoided Mando for the rest of the day, not sure how to feel about what you had done. Instead, you used the time to tend to your wounds and obsessively reorganize your supplies multiple times. After that failed to keep your mind from wandering down certain paths, you gave up. You couldn’t evade this forever, you eventually had to liberate your thoughts.

Why did you change your mind? Why were you so desperate to relieve Mando of his worries? Did you actually do it out of selflessness or did you have ulterior motives you were not willing to face? What if you wouldn’t be able to rescue Grogu from the claws of the Empire?

You quickly forgot about your stolen moments with the warrior as you considered that grim vision of the future. It was your fault that Grogu was not with you right now, of that you were absolutely certain. It didn’t matter how hard Mando had tried to ease your guilty conscience, you didn’t deserve his sympathy. You had promised to retrieve him and failed miserably. How could you have been so blind? You should have seen the detonation coming, you should have sensed it through the Force. If only you hadn’t been too fucking weak and pathetic to get up that damn tree…

You sighed deeply. If you wouldn’t get your apprentice back, you would not be able to call yourself a Jedi any longer. How would you ever face Luke again? Or Mando? Or even yourself? No, you would not be able to live with yourself if you failed again. And a part of you, a part you desperately tried to ignore, also knew that you could not live with disappointing Mando.  

Fuck, when had you grown so fond of the silent warrior? You did not let your guard down this easily often, what was so different about him? You could not afford to…feel something for him, especially right now.

You had bigger issues in front of you than your past and your love life – if one could even title it as such. Still, your mind kept circling back to it and how could you tackle these new demons if you hadn’t even bested your old ones yet?

You took a deep breath and let your mind guide you to a place you had locked away for years.

The world was a cacophony of screams and blastershots. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t get yourself to tune the sounds out and concentrate. Your gaze shifted to your left where your father was crouching defensively over your sisters and then back to your mother. She looked absolutely devastating, a force to be reckoned with, her yellow lightsaber illuminating the focused lines of her sharp face. She was standing between your family and whatever was awaiting beyond the door of your home, ready to take it on without any fear for her own life. You took a deep breath and let her presence calm you. You were a warrior, just like her, and you would not be afraid. You would fight till your last breath to defend your family.

Your father called out to you again: “Get back here, now!” But you would not hide. You were no coward; you would fight alongside your mother. She turned around to you that second, the hard lines of her face softening. She uttered your name in a tender voice. “Go to your dad. Everything will be alright.” But you sensed the lie and you would not let her face the threat alone. You would not let her die to protect you. She seemed to see the resolve in your face and sighed heavily. You had always been extremely stubborn. So, she turned to your father instead. “Get them out of here.” The look they exchanged was heartbreakingly tender and hopeless, both of them knew it would be the last one they’d ever share. Your father swallowed, but nodded. There was nothing he could do to help her in battle, all he could offer was to protect their children.

He pushed your siblings into the backroom before he went to retrieve you. You struggled against his firm grip, but he didn’t let go. Wide eyed, kicking and screaming at your father to let you go and let you fight, you were pulled out of the room. You’d never forget the way your mother looked at you then. The soft curve of her lips as she tenderly smiled – smiled – at you, fully aware that she was about to die.

Your screaming turned into uncontrolled sobs as your father closed the door behind you and pulled you into a tight embrace. “Hush, hush,” he tried to calm you, his own voice trembling. You stopped resisting and buried your head into the crook of his neck, your streaming tears wetting the fabric of his shirt. You remained like this for a moment before your father detangled you from him carefully. “Listen to me,” he addressed you and your sisters. “I need you to be brave now.” He wiped a tear away from your cheek. “You need to be really really quiet. Do not make a sound.” His voice became barely a whisper. “You need to hide.”

“How is hiding a brave action?” you demanded. Your father smiled at you sadly, as if he expected no other response from you. “Bravery is not always the most reckless course of action. Your courage will do you no good if you’re dead.” You forced your tears back and nodded.

“You need to hide and do not come out, no matter what you hear,” your father went on. He gave all three of you a kiss on the head before urging you towards the hidden trap door that led to your emergency room. Your sisters climbed down first and your dad gave you one last reassuring glance before you followed them. But before he could follow you down, loud noises began to erupt from the other side of the door. You gazed up at him in horror as he shut the trap door without another word.

The lump in your throat grew worse as you climbed down the last few steps of the ladder and faced your sisters. Their faces mirrored the dread on yours and you simply hugged them. You held on to each other until the noises above you subsided, forcing your breathing to calm.

“D-do you t-think it’s o-over?” your little sister asked in a small voice. You were about to reply when you heard steps directly above you. Something knocked against the ceiling of your room.

“Sir, I think there’s a secret room underneath this one,” a muffled male voice proclaimed. Shit, you had to act quickly. You had to protect your sisters or your parents’ sacrifices would have been in vain. You knew there were weapons hidden somewhere in this room, you had to locate them quickly. Silently stepping across the room, you searched for any kind of indents in the wall. Your fingers spotted a small notch and you pressed your trembling index finger into it.

Surely enough, the wall opened and a couple of blasters and your grandfather’s lightsaber was revealed. You passed two smaller blasters to your sisters – your parents had taught all of you the basics – and grabbed the lightsaber. While it was far too big for your children’s-sized hand, it felt oddly fitting. You took a deep breath and braced yourself for the attack as the trap door slowly slid open. A man poked his head into the basement and it was the last he saw as your sister’s blaster went off and hit its target. The man’s corpse tumbled down the ladder and landed in front of you in a loud crash. You winced slightly at the sight; you had never been confronted with death like this.

However, now was not the time to consider the significance of this death, you needed to focus. You knew your sisters had your back with the blasters, so you activated your lightsaber. For just a second, you let yourself stare in awe at the marvelous green blade, but you snapped out of it quickly.

You were by far not experienced with a lightsaber; you had only practiced with your mom’s a few times. The logical course of action would have been to take a blaster as well, but somehow the weapon had called to you. Out of pure instinct, you managed to deflect the first couple of blastershots your enemies fired from above. But as the rapid fire continued, your senses began to fail you. As much as you wished otherwise, you were not one of the legendary Jedi knights, the truth was that you weren’t. And considering your current situation, you probably never would become one.

It started with you accidentally leaving an open space when a blaster hit your upper arm. You yelled out in agony and your blade dipped for a moment as you tried to regain your composure. But one moment was enough for them.

It was one of those situations that seemed to pass in slow-motion when you look back at it. You noticed the blastershot sail past you and as you whipped your head around, you saw it strike your big sister directly in her abdominal. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked down at the clean whole in her stomach and back at you before she collapsed. She would never get up again. Your younger sister’s wail pierced the terrible silence and as she looked at you, you saw nothing but burning hate in her eyes.

Another blastershot brushed your thigh, forcing you to face your attackers again. You tried to keep your posture upright but your faith left you. You were certain you would die in this room. Not that you deserved anything else, you had let your sister die. If only you had received proper training. If you had been a full Jedi, you could have saved them. Your mother, your father, your sister…all of them. And because of your incompetence, your younger sister would perish with you.

She didn’t deserve to die. You had to protect her. If it hadn’t been for her, you might have let them finish you, but you owed more to her. You let your love for her guide you and mustered up the strength and focus to deflect shot after shot again.

You had found a rhythm in meeting the blasts with your weapon when suddenly, a figure jumped down and landed directly in front of you, next to the corpse. You staggered back in surprise. Whatever was before you was definitely not human. And while that was not unusual in the galaxy, the thing before you seemed disturbingly mechanic and menacing. All you saw in the dim light were its glowing red eyes. You took another step back, trying to move yourself between it and your sister. In a desperate attempt to scare the thing off, you swung your lightsaber out. In its glow, you saw your attacker more clearly.

It was a droid, but not the sort that usually helped out at your farm. This one looked too human to be fully machine, yet not alive enough to pass as human. You shuddered. The thing didn’t cease its movements, seemingly unbothered by your weapon. You swung out at it helplessly. The blaster of your sister was useless as it would probably have hit you instead of the aggressor. Faster than your eyes could detect, the droid attacked and disarmed you. You were too stunned to react in any way, the creature kept advancing as you simply stood there and stared at it. Somewhere distant, you could hear your sister scream your name over and over again, but your mind was elsewhere. You were one with the Force and braced yourself for the fatal blow. At least you’d be reunited with your family soon.

“Bring them up here,” a dark voice commanded from above and the droid jerked to a stop. A second one jumped down as the first one grabbed your wrist. Its metal fingers dug into the sensitive skin and you bit back the sharp pain. As you were being pulled back towards the trap door, too disheartened to resist, you heard a few blastershots go off as your sister tried to ward the droid off. The shots went silent quickly though.

It was pure muscle memory that made you climb up the ladder the thing pushed you on and soon enough, you were exposed to the bright sunlight flooding the room again. The droid grabbed your wrists from behind and forced you to stand still. You took in your surroundings with a concerning apathy. You had no idea why they let you live or how much time you had left. There were two men standing in the room, one in clone armor and the other one in black fighting gear. Your eyes roamed on, but you averted your glance from the motionless figure on the ground quickly.

“You fought bravely,” the man in black started. “So did your sisters.” You flinched at that and stared back at the trap door. Neither your sister not the droid had emerged again. “But you don’t have to die today,” he went on, his eyes narrowing as he focused them on you. There was something immensely unnerving in them, but you would not give him the satisfaction of breaking the eye contact.

“While my order was to kill all of the Jedi, I don’t think you’d count as one.” You could feel the rage burning up inside of you. “If you only had to kill Jedi, why did you murder my father and sisters?” you spat. He had the audacity to smile at you. “Now, now. Let bygones be bygones. Your father and sisters were of no use to me.” His grin widened. “One of you is more than enough. The Grand Admiral will be pleased with me.” You didn’t react to his words. What did you care what they did to you? They already killed those most dear to you, they could not hurt you anymore.

“You will be of great value to the Empire,” his monologue continued. “Thrawn has enormous plans for you. You will ensure our ultimate victory.” You had no idea what he was talking about, neither did you care. The man sank down on one knee in front of you and grabbed your chin. “Do you realize what an honor is bestowed upon you?” You spat in his face and he let you go, wiping it off his face with a disgusted expression. “I’m looking forward to teaching you obedience.”

But he never did get to give you his lesson. A shot went off and hit him directly in the chest. He was dead before he could draw another breath and the clone fell shortly after. You were still fixated by the droid, so you could not turn around to the source of the blastershots until he fell victim to them as well.

You spun around in astonishment to see your little sister with her blaster in hand, her chest heaving from the agitation. You exclaimed her name in wonder. How had she managed to fight off the droid? Once again, you were frozen in place. Your sister’s stare bore something venomous.

“You – you let them kill her!” she yelled at you furiously. “How could you?” It was all you could do to hold her glare. She was right, your sister’s death was your fault. “I…I,” you stammered. “I tried…but I couldn’t…I couldn’t…” You swallowed heavily. “You were willing to let me die as well. You didn’t even fight the droid,” she went on, tears welling in her eyes. “Alya,” you pleaded with her. “I…I tried…I did…but I…” Her stare remained relentless. “You are a disgrace,” she spat at you. “You always pretend like you’re brave and want to be a Jedi but…you will never be like mom. Never.” She picked the words she knew would sting the most.

“Alya…,” you began anew. “I…I’m sorry. You shouldn’t…you shouldn’t have saved me. I deserved death.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly at your admission. “We need to get out of here,” was all she said. You nodded slowly and helped her pack some supplies, any food reserves, clothes and medical kits you could find. You covered your parents with cloths. It was all you could do, there was no time for proper funeral rites, but it felt wrong to leave them like this.    

When you climbed back down into the basement to honor the sister you had failed, your gaze fell on the lightsaber. You would need weapons and while the lightsaber had kind of turned into a symbol of your incompetence, you could not stomach to leave it behind.

“I am so sorry.” You sank down next to your older sister and tentatively ran your fingers through her dark hair. You knew you could not linger, so you softly closed her unseeing eyes, said a quick prayer and left the room behind after packing a few more blasters.

Shortly after, you and your sister left your farm and small hometown behind with few credits and no idea where to go next.  

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You opened your eyes, shocked to find yourself back in your ship. Your connection to the Force allowed you to relive memories in far more detail than those with fewer mediclorians in their bloodstream. Though you doubted you could have forgotten anything about that fateful day either way.

You had thought you were ready to finally face it, but obviously weren’t. With a deep sigh, you stood up. You doubted you’d ever be ready; it’s been over 20 years since your family had been butchered and their dead faces still haunted your nightmares. But there was a lot of unresolved trauma in your past and you had to start somewhere.

“Do you – are you hungry?” Mando appeared in the doorframe, putting an end to your flashbacks. You could only stare at him for a moment. The lights of the hallway illuminated his broad figure brilliantly. He was so beautiful in his armor; you could only imagine what a sight he must be without it. You forced these thoughts back, though you weren’t sure if suppressing them would be an effective technique for much longer. There was no going back anymore, not after what had conspired in the cockpit earlier. You swallowed nervously. Why were you nervous? What was wrong with you? Shit, he had asked you something, hadn’t he?

“Dinner?” he asked in a slightly confused tone. You cleared your throat. “Um…sure.”             “Are – are you alright?” he inquired. “Never been better,” you tried to feign nonchalance. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. “So, dinner?” you reminded him and he nodded before turning around. You followed him out of the room to your food stocks, grateful that he didn’t press on.

“Not to overstep the line, but how do you even eat?” you asked carefully while Mando was going through your supplies.

He barked out a quick laugh. “Do you think I eat with my mask on?” He turned around to you and cocked his head. “Um…I – I don’t know,” you stammered and felt your cheeks flush. Dammit, what was wrong with you?

“I can take it off as long as it’s not in front of another person,” Mando explained. “How long has it been since someone else…saw you?” You eyed him curiously. “I guess…it…it must have been well over two…decades.” You gaped at his admission. “Two decades?!” The Mandalorian shrugged and proceeded to pick out your dinner. Wordlessly, he handed you some bread and conserves.

“Two decades,” you repeated in astonishment. “What did you expect?” Mando snapped at you. “Did you think me to be without honor? Did you think I would have abandoned The Way?” You blinked twice, taken aback by his sudden outburst. “I…No, but…I can’t imagine what that must be like. How lone – “Not wanting to offend him, you cut yourself off. “It’s all I know,” he replied dryly, but the venom had left his voice.

“So, dinner…” You looked at the sparse food in your hands and placed it on a small counter top. “Dinner,” he echoed. “How do we…should I leave you alone?” – “You can stay,” he responded quickly to your astonishment. “H-how?” You were genuinely confused at this point. “You don’t rely on your eyesight too much with that power you use, do you?” he questioned. “N-not too much, no,” you answered cautiously, unsure if this was going where you thought it was.

Mando pulled a cloth band out of his belt. “Um…do you always keep that there?” You gulped as he took a step towards you. “Mando, what are you doing?” He came closer. “Mando…I – “ The words died on your tongue as he stepped around you.

“May I?” he inquired as his free hand brushed over your cheekbone. You nodded and his other hand came around to tie the band over your eyes. He gave the knot a testing pull. “Is it too tight?” His fingers trailed over your neck tentatively. “N-no,” you breathed out, still getting accustomed to the sudden deprivation of your sight.

Mando removed his hands from you and you heard him taking a couple of steps away before he lifted his helmet off of his head. While you were blindfolded, you were certain he was studying you shamelessly. Neither of you said anything and the longer the silence lasted, the more tangible the tension became. The quiet was interrupted by the loud grumbling of your stomach which mercifully snapped the growing electricity.

Not able to ignore your appetite anymore, you used the Force to locate your food and picked it up again. You took a greedy bite of the bread. The loaf was surprisingly soft and you devoured it ravenously. Once your immediate hunger was sated, you paused. “Aren’t you gonna eat something as well?” you addressed your fellow traveler. He didn’t respond, but instead you perceived a munching sound shortly after. The two of you finished the meal in companiable silence.

Once you felt utterly stuffed, you asked Mando whether you could take the blindfold off again. While he didn’t reply, you sensed him approaching you. “Do you really want to take it off?” he breathed into your ear. “W-what?” you stammered, dumbfounded by the warmth of his breath and his unexpected proximity.

“Just consider the…advantages…of keeping it on.” Maker, his voice was beautiful, especially without getting warped by the helmet. “Um…” You had absolutely no idea what to say to that. “I guess I’ll have to demonstrate it to you.” Sans warning, his lips were on your neck, causing you to let out a surprised gasp. He trailed small kisses across the side of it before reaching your throat. He placed a soft kiss on it as well before moving on and getting less tender. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin and you shuddered. Being robbed of your sight made the sensation even more powerful. He began to suck at the spot lightly and your mind went blank. The feeling was absolutely divine.

“Holy shit, Mando,” you murmured. You felt him smile against your skin before he sucked harder, earning a soft moan from you. He removed his lips from you for a moment. “You look good like this.” His lips were on yours a second later and you kissed him back out of pure instinct sooner than you realized what was happening. You were amazed by the softness of his lips and as your tongue explored them, you noticed how perfectly they were curved. Mando placed both hands on your waist and pulled you closer to him. One of his hands snaked up to your neck to secure you in place. Not that you could even think about breaking the kiss...    

The movements of Mando’s mouth grew ravenous as you opened your mouth, allowing his tongue to enter. You let yourself get lost in him completely, wrapping your arms around his neck and forcing your bodies even closer together, and once again damned the consequences. Sure, your past would eventually catch up with you, but those worries couldn’t be farther from you than they were in this moment. You never knew that kissing could be this mind-expanding, it was like you were getting high off of the taste of him.

After what seemed like an eternity or just a split-second, you weren’t entirely sure, Mando broke the kiss. You heard his heavy breathing as he let forehead lean against yours. Not that your own circulation was much better, only now did you notice the rapid hammering of your heart.

“That was…,” Mando huffed out. “Intense?” you suggested and he chuckled weakly. “I suppose you could say that.” His thumb caressed the back of your neck tenderly. “You – you were right…sometimes the helmet is quite restricting.” You couldn’t hold the grin that spread across your face back and imagined how breathtaking his smile must be. The thought turned bittersweet as you realized you’d probably never get to see his face. Maybe it was for the better…It was far easier to keep the proper emotional distance as long he stayed in his armor…

You lowkey knew you were fooling yourself, but you so desperately wanted to believe that this – whatever this was – was purely physical that you didn’t call yourself out.  

“I could show you the other advantages now,” Mando implied as he let his fingers run over the hem of your pants suggestively. You felt yourself getting wet at the mere insinuation. “If you want to, of course,” he added hastily, making your heart expand ever so slightly in your ribcage.

“You’re really horny, huh?” you retorted. “You’re one to talk.” His hand slapped your as teasingly. “I bet you’re already soaking down there just from the idea of it,” he whispered and you could hear the smug grin forming on his face. His hand slipped through the waistband of your pants and cupped your throbbing pussy from behind. “Fuck;” he groaned. “You are.” He pulled his hand out of your pants again and you felt the slick trail it left in its wake.

“What do you want, Cyar’ika?” he inquired huskily. “My hand, my head or my cock?” You swallowed loudly at his proposal. “Fuck, Mando,” you breathed out. “Your cock.” At this point, you were beyond banter and all you wanted was for him to help the growing ache between your thighs. He moaned at your response.

Without another word, he pulled your pants down before you perceived him taking – or rather ripping – his own pants off. Once more, his mouth found yours and greedily tasted you. You grabbed for him and pulled yourself closer by his arms. Through the proximity, you could feel his hardness press up against your stomach. He ground out a soft curse before removing his lips from yours.

“You’re sure you want this?” His voice sounded breathless, yet incredibly soft. “Yes,” you assured him and he put his hands on your hips to steady you. Your blood began to pulse through your veins as you anticipated his next move.  

You felt him shifting a little so that his cock was placed at your slick entrance. The first contact with him made you throb more violently. You needed him inside you more than you had ever needed anything, but fortunately, you didn’t have to beg for him.

He thrust his hips up slowly, letting get accustomed to the sensation. A wanton moan escaped your throat at how deliciously he filled you and he remained inside for a moment before pulling his length back out. After a few more agonizingly slow thrusts, you cried out: “Faster.” Mando gladly obliged and his pace quickened. With each intrusion, he somehow got a little deeper and hit a different sensitive spot which drove you absolutely crazy. In an attempt to keep in touch with reality, you grabbed his shoulders and hung onto them for dear life as he pounded into you relentlessly.

 Involuntarily, you shifted a little, but that was enough. The small change of position and angle made his thrusts all the more devastating. Suddenly, he was hammering straight into your G-spot and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer if he kept going like this. “Mando,” you moaned. “I’m – fuck – so close.” You threw your head back as his grip on your waist tightened. “Good,” he exhaled and increased his velocity. You heard yourself cry out his name in response. He captured your mouth with his and you felt your release building up further. As if all of that wasn’t enough, one of his hands slipped between your conjoined bodies and started to stimulate your clit. An obscenely loud moan escaped your throat.

Your body couldn’t handle this anymore and you came so hard that you saw stars. His pace didn’t falter as he rode you through it and had you sobbing his name. Even once you were spent to the last drop, he didn’t slow down. If anything, he pounded into your hole with a new energy. You felt yourself tightening around him again as he stimulated the area that was still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“Fuck, you look so good like this.” His praise was almost lost in a wail of you. “Your pussy is – so – so – tight. Fits me so well.” He accentuated his words with his shoves. One of your hands gripped his hair and pulled him in for a desperate kiss. Even in your delirious state, you appreciated the silky texture of his hair as you let your fingers run through it. His hand left your clit and moved to your butt cheek to give it a firm squeeze. Your kisses grew feverously while he continued to utterly wreck you with his dick. Gasping for air, you pulled back for a second. Your companion, on the other hand, didn’t seem to need oxygen as badly as you did though since he immediately began to nibble on your jaw. His tongue flicked against the skin and he proceeded to voraciously kiss his way down your neck.

When his mouth reached the lowest part of it, he started to suck on it hardly, coaxing a gasp from you. You felt yourself getting closer to the edge for the second time at the combination of him pounding into you and bruising your sensitive skin. Your grip on his hair tightened as your walls constricted around his cock. Mando groaned loudly as his mouth left your neck before moving on to the next patch of skin.

Your orgasm washed through you with even more force than the first one and you were in pieces by the end of it. Sweat tickled down your forehead and seeped through the blindfold, wetting your brows. Mando removed his mouth from your neck and to your lips again as you were trying to regain your composure. You barely even registered the abrupt hitch of his hips as he himself was driven over the edge. His kissed turned wild and he bit down on your lip as release barreled through him. The coppery taste of your blood mixed in your mouths as he thrust into you a few more times until he was completely spent.

“Fuuuck,” he moaned out as he detached his mouth from yours. Neither of you moved for a while, both of you still recovering. Finally, he pulled his cock out of your leaking pussy and gave your ass one last soft slap before letting go of you completely. Your hands remained tangled in his hair and on his shoulders.

To be quite honest, you weren’t sure what would happen if you let go of him. You didn’t trust your legs to support you enough in your current state. Mando seemed to realize it because suddenly, you weren’t on the ground anymore as he picked you up and softly put you down on the floor. You felt him removing your hands from him before he took a few steps back. Too exhausted to really question what was happening, you just slumped down further.

You heard him move towards you again and before you knew it, tender hands removed the blindfold from your eyes. You blinked rapidly at the sudden overstimulation of your nerves and once you could kind of see clearly, you noticed the Mandalorian kneeling next to you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his raspy voice modulated again. You cleared your throat before answering. “For what?” – “For the distraction.” Without another word, he stood up and left.

His words took a few seconds to register in your brain, but once they did, you felt wrecked for entirely less pleasant reasons than a moment prior. Distraction? Was that what that had been? Why were you feeling…disappointed? Sad? Hurt? About it...? You wanted nothing more than a physical conjoining and that was what he delivered. Still…Something about it stung deeply. You tried to shake the odd feeling off, but to no avail. Somehow, it lingered and only secured its spot in your heart the more time passed.

Chapter 5

Masterlist

[yan-twst]

CYOYA - part II

and finally it’s here! chapter ii of the cyoa fic! last time you all voted on what our protagonist should do, and the winning choice was to ask malleus to study with you! so the story will be picking up from there!

“Hmm, I’m sure Silver would enjoy sharing his cookies with a friend, especially after a hard day of studying...” hummed Lilia, and it was at that moment you knew that you had to get away from the short fae as soon as possible, lest you fall victim of what would probably be the world’s most horrid food poisoning.

It’d be rude to just run away all of a sudden; Lilia was still your superior in terms of authority, and he didn’t seem to have any ill will. You nervously glanced around, eyes settling on Malleus’ imposing figure; how you had forgotten he was there for a second was beyond you. Tall, imposing, with green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark, you could understand why so many people feared the dorm leader just based off looks alone, but in this sort of situation...

“Um, I was actually, uh... Hoping I could ask our Dorm Leader here for help with studying.” you hoped the anxiety in your voice didn’t show through. It was uncharacteristic of anyone to get close to Malleus, be it out of respect or fear- and usually you’d keep your distance too, not wanting to annoy the fae prince (and also being admittedly intimidated by him, but you figured everyone was).

Despite your odd request, Lilia didn’t seem confused. He merely grinned and nodded, almost as if he’d been expecting this outcome. Malleus, on the other hand, did not look nearly as knowing as Lilia. His eyes opened wide and his posture stiffened for a second, telltale signs of him being shocked, as he opened his mouth soundlessly. You prepared yourself to get roasted by his fire breath or something for your request; surely you’d crossed a line or something by so carelessly asking for his time. He wasn’t just your dorm leader, he was also a prince and one of the most powerful mages, surely you shouldn’t have just-

“Is that truly what you wish for?” no green fire left Malleus’ mouth, instead a simple question to answer your request. You blinked a couple of times, releasing tension you’d gathered in the seconds of arduous wait.

“Y... Yes?” you repeated, a bit taken aback by the response. Malleus had composed himself quickly, back to his usual way of standing and his eyes no longer wide open; but there was just something about his body language and tone that was off. It wasn’t annoyance or anger (thank gods, because he could probably wipe you off the planet without much effort), but rather something akin to... bashfulness? “Oh, um- only if you have time, of course! And if you want! I don’t want to impose...”

“Ufufu, don’t worry little one, I can assure you he doesn’t mind.” said Lilia with a smirk so wide you had to wonder if he really had intended for this ordeal to go down like this. “Now, Malleus, it’s no time to be shy, one of your dorm members has come to ask you for help! Go on, show them what you know.”

“Don’t you have to deliver those... Cookies before they cool?” Malleus’ tone didn’t change much, but the faint tint of pink in his cheeks told you Lilia’s words had definitely made him flustered. It was an odd sight, to see him acting in such a way- after all, the image you had of him was shaped by watching his imposing figure walk around campus surrounded by his guards, by rumours and whispers, and the occasional viewing of him ruthlessly winning at magift. Nothing could have prepared you to see such a humane side to him; but maybe this was just how he acted when he was with people he trusted...? Lilia did seem to have a deep connection to him, after all.

“Oh, you’re right!” Lilia’s attention was immediately driven back to the plate of charcoal black masses resting on the table. He picked it up and began to walk away, not before turning around and saying goodbye. “Well you two, have a nice study session! Don’t go to sleep too late, (name)!”

“We will!” you replied, waving goodbye to him. In all honesty, you were just relieved you weren’t going to get peer pressured into eating one of those toxic looking cookies- but now that Lilia was gone, you were suddenly left alone in the common room. 

“... You’re quite daring, to ask me for help.” mused Malleus, although his tone didn’t seem to hold malice. He looked more curious than anything, as he gazed down on you, as if he were trying to understand your actions. It was nerve racking, sure, but on the very least he didn’t seem upset.

“Should I have not done that?” you said, almost biting your tongue once the words were out. Were you being too casual? He was a prince and he was powerful, and you were just a normal student- but... The only person you’d seen advocate to treating Malleus like absolute royalty was Sebek, and even Malleus seemed to get tired of the first year’s antics from time to time.

“I never said that.” he replied, an amused twinkle in his eyes as he smiled. He uncrossed his arms from his chest, a small action, but one that made you feel just so much more comfortable in his presence. Surely if you stepped out of line, he’d let you know, right? So far he didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d just zap you to death for a mistake. “I’m simply... Surprised you did so. Most students would be too scared to do so.”

“Well, that’s...” what the hell were you even supposed to say to that?! As powerful as he was, it seemed Malleus wasn’t a great conversationalist, with how he was pushing you into a corner in the conversation. “... I haven’t talked to you much, but you’re my dorm leader, so it’s not so shocking I’d ask for help, right? I know you’re very skilled and powerful, too, so... I guess I just didn’t think it’d be that weird.”

“Hmm...” he seemed satisfied with the answer, maybe even... Happy? He wasn’t easy to read, and you didn’t want to seem like you were staring. Still, you could have sworn you hear him whisper ‘that’s quite interesting, indeed’ under his breath, but he quickly spoke up again. “You’re right that as your dorm leader, it’s my duty to help you. Do you have your class materials with you?”

“Yes, here they are.” you said, opening your notebook to the page with the draught’s ingredients and preparation steps. “... It’s a bit dark here, sorry if it’s not very readable.”

“Is it troublesome to study here for you?” asked Malleus, raising his eyebrows. Glancing at his green eyes, the fact he’s probably got no difficulty looking in the dark- or in the not-so-well lit common room- hit you, judging by his slit pupils. 

“No, no, it’s ok, I can read, it’s just a bit dark here since the torches’ fire is dimmed at night.” you said, not wanting to seem like you were causing one problem after the other. The torches lighting up the common room were lit with magical fire, and at this time of the night, they became quite dim, probably to discourage students from lingering too long and make them go to their respective rooms. It didn’t make it impossible to use it as a study room, just not an effective one; ideally, each student would do their late night cramming in their own room, but there was no way you were asking Malleus to go to your room. First of all, it was messy, and second of all, your dormmate was there snoring the night away.

“There’s no need to lie to me. You shouldn’t strain your eyes to read in the dark.” Malleus picked up your notebook before you could complain. For a second, he looked like he was thinking; you guessed he’d offer the library as a good place to study (although you didn’t want to go all the way there, if he offered so you’d accept), or maybe he’d use his magic to make the torches burn brighter. After his deliberation, he tucked the notebook under his arm carefully and motioned for you to follow him out the common room. “Follow me, (name). We’re going to my room, if that’s ok with you.”

“That’s-!” your body froze at his words. No, no, absolutely not. Even if he offered it, it felt like too much to do that- you’d already been enough of a thorn on his side asking for his help, it was getting late, and he probably had his own things to do. “I’d hate to intrude- listen, it’s ok, I can read up my notes tomorrow morning, and-”

“I would not have offered if I was not ok with it.” Malleus’ response cut you off before you could try and excuse yourself out of the situation. He was still looking at you with that odd expression, a mix between curiosity and interest, as if he were staring at some odd flower of sorts. “Follow me.”

You certainly didn’t feel like starting an argument with him, and so you did. The halls were a bit too dark for comfort at this hour, the torches dimmed here as well to deter students from wandering around at such hours. An ironic thing, really, considering most of the Diasomnia student body stayed up until odd hours studying or simply killing time. Following Malleus, you stared at his broad back and his tall form, the way his horns curled from his head and reflected the greenish glow of the fire; truly, he looked like a prince. And then you decided to resolve something nagging you at the back of your mind.

“Um, Dorm leader, just a quick question... How did you know my name?” you asked. He’d called you by your name when inviting you, hadn’t he...? You couldn’t recall presenting yourself to him- but as soon as you finished your question you realized the answer to it. “Oh, nevermind! You probably heard Lilia say it when he left, my bad.”

“It wasn’t from Lilia.” Malleus’ response was rapid, almost as if he didn’t even have to think. You furrowed your brows at this; no, you were sure you’d never formally presented yourself to him, and you weren’t in the magift team or anything like that, so why...? “Silver talks a lot about you.”

“Oooh, of course! That makes sense.” you almost wanted to slap yourself for not realizing such an obvious connection. Silver was a friend of yours, and he did spend a considerable amount of time guarding Malleus. He’d probably mentioned you a couple times or something, nothing too weird. 

“... But Lilia did tell me about you in the entrance ceremony.” added Malleus. You couldn’t see his face as you followed him from behind, but the tone in his voice had softened just a little bit. You didn’t want to make any assumptions, but it almost sounded like he was thinking back on a fond memory. “Diasomnia doesn’t get as many students as other dorms. I wasn’t even invited to the sorting ceremony, but Lilia told me how only a handful of the new students got sorted here.”

“Ah, that’s right, I remember the vice dorm leader- I mean, Lilia, telling us you were missing that day.” you said, tracing back on memories. Honestly, you’d been so anxious and excited the day you’d arrived at NRC, you hadn’t even cared about what dorm you got sorted into; you considered yourself a pretty average person, without anything too surprising or any curious talents, so you didn’t know where you’d get sorted. Unlike many NRC students, you also lacked a family history in the school; most people guessed their dorm based on what dorm their siblings or parents had been in, but you’d just... Never had a family member you knew attend NRC. 

“... Lilia said the mirror claimed you held great magic potential.” he seemingly skipped over the fact he wasn’t in the ceremony (he said he wasn’t invited, right? You figured he had his reasons to not want to go over that), but his comment still caught you off guard. “It’s not often the magic mirror will say that about a person.”

“Is that so...? Haha, I’m not so sure about that. I mean, I don’t think I’m too amazing at anything.” you said, chuckling. You’d simply thought the mirror said some cheesy stuff to everyone who got sorted, as some sort of ego boost to the first years or something. “Well, I am glad I got sorted here, though. I like Diasomnia.”

“You shouldn’t say that about yourself.” Malleus didn’t turn around when he said this, but you just knew he’d narrowed his eyes as he said that. “... Just the fact you even dared ask me for help, and followed me to my room like this goes to show you’re quite different. I have no doubt your skills in magic will flourish in time.”

“I- um, thank you...!” you truly hoped your voice didn’t sound like a squeak, but it was hard to keep cool when Malleus Draconia spoke to you like that. “It means a lot to me, um, coming from you.”

A comfortable silence fell between you two. The sound of Malleus’ heeled uniform shoes against the stone floor echoed in the halls, mixing with the noise of rain outside- soon, you were faced with stairs. Being constructed like a castle from the Valley of Thorns, there were plenty of towers; of course the dorm leader’s room would be on top of one.

“We’re here.”

You were a bit surprised at how much you walked to get to his dorm- the amount of stairs you’d gone up was enough to leave you breathless, although Malleus looked fine. The door to his room was made of a beautifully dark wood, with intricate carvings and a metal doorknob. He opened the door and walked in, holding it open for you (you wondered if the door had a lock and key and he just kept it unlocked knowing nobody would dare come snooping, or if it was some sort of magic door that only opened for him). 

“Come on in,” he said, and not wanting to make him just stand there holding the door open, you quickly walked in despite feeling like someone as common and unimportant as you shouldn’t just be waltzing into his room.

As he closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but wonder at the sight of his room. It was big- dorm leader benefits, you guessed, because this one-person dorm was about twice the size of the dorm you shared with your roommate. The floor was tiled in white with black accents, and the thing that caught your eye first was the huge canopy bed. The way the canopy was built almost reminded you of the very building of the dorm. Immediately your eyes flew to the giant dragon statue next to the dresser- why was that there you had no clue, but it certainly looked cool. It was probably related to Diasomnia’s origins and its logo, since the Witch of Thorns could turn into a dragon.

The more you looked, the more details you picked up. The loveseat in front of his bed was currently occupied by books and trinkets, as if he’d been cleaning and put them all there while he found a space for them. There were many magift team banners in the wall above his desk, and you couldn’t tell why, but you found that adorable. Besides the loveseat, there wasn’t much clutter in the dorm- it was quite clean, actually, almost as if he didn’t spend much time there. His desk was probably the most well-loved spot, the chair still ajar as if he’d stood up and not put it back in place, papers crowding the surface of the desk.

“This should be well-lit enough.” he said, and with a flourish of his hand, lit the candelabra on the desk. That much was overkill, really, considering the giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but you appreciated the gesture- and also admired how easily and precisely he’d just cast fire magic. “Take a seat wherever it’s comfortable for you, and we can begin studying.”

Upon being presented with that choice, you blanked. Picking where to sit down should be the easy part of this whole ordeal; asking your intimidating dorm leader for help and accepting to go in his room was the ‘hard’ part, sitting down was the easy part, but in that very moment you weren’t so sure. The loveseat was occupied by his stuff, and you’d really rather die than start moving around his belongings for a seat. That left the floor, the desk, and the bed; of course you wouldn’t just sit on the floor, because then he’d also have to sit on the floor to explain, and that didn’t feel right at all.

The desk should have been the logical choice, but as you glanced at it, it was very clear that having only one chair would pose a problem. Sure, he probably wouldn’t mind- in fact he most likely expected you to take a seat there- but... Then he’d probably have to stand behind you to explain, hovering over your shoulders the whole time. He’d have to lean down to your level to check your notes, and- gods, if it were some random student you wouldn’t have cared this much, but... Something about having Malleus stand behind you, rest his hands on the back of the chair where you sat, and to have him lean down and be so close to you just to read the notes made your stomach flip. But that was your problem; you were the one making a big deal out of just sitting in a desk, of all things.

Then there was the bed- honestly you mostly studied sat in your bed, with your notebooks spread out around you. But that was in the privacy of your own dorm. Sure, if a friend was over you wouldn’t hesitate to tell them to sit on your bed with you to chat or just chill, and you’d even helped your roommate study before while you both sat down on his bed to review and exchange class notes. But this- this was Malleus’ bed. Was it too out of line to sit down on the bed to study...? It was just sitting down; he probably wouldn’t even give it a second thought...

— time to make a choice! vote in the poll linked below to choose how to advance in the story! choosing where to sit may seem innocent enough, but this particular choice is the one that may begin some interesting developments

poll: https://www.strawpoll.me/21192129

[ibijau]

Deathbed Wedding pt9

Madam Yu's unconventional suggestion is considered with great attention.  (Also on AO3)

“Isn’t it obvious? Lan zongzhu, I am saying to marry your son to Nie gongzi before he dies.”

Silence fell into the room as they all processed what Yu Ziyuan was suggesting, with Nie Huaisang’s laboured breath the only noise to be heard. Lan Xichen stared at the mistress of Lotus Pier, trying to decide if this was some cruel joke on her part. She was not known for her sense of humour, but there was a start to everything.

Qingheng-Jun, the first to recover from the shock of that proposition, sneered at her.

“Yu-furen, this is ridiculous. If the Nie want to look for a ghost bride for that boy I won't stop them, but it will not be my son.”

Nie Mingjue grabbed him by the collar. “You…”

“Peace!” Yu Ziyuan ordered, grasping Nie Mingjue's arm tight enough for him to flinch. Her eyes were not on him though. “Lan zonzghu, I am not suggesting anything as dramatic as that. In fact, my suggestion is to do something that would avoid the risk of needing a ghost bride. If I understand the situation, that boy got himself in that state in an effort to become engaged to Lan gongzi, am I right?”

Qingheng-Jun refused to answer but Nie Mingjue, still holding him by the colar, nodded slowly.

“So it is safe to guess that if he has one last desire before leaving this world, it would be to marry Lan gongzi,” Yu Ziyuan continued. “Why not grant it to him, and ensure he dies without regrets? Then you will be sure he will not return to haunt your son.”

Hearing this, Lan Xichen held Nie Huaisang’s hand a little tighter and pressed another kiss to it. It was a morbid idea, and yet…

“What haunting?” Qingheng-Jun protested. “Hasn’t that boy gone through the normal ceremonies to avoid that?”

“He has,” Nie Mingjue admitted, glancing behind at his brother and Lan Xichen.

His expression softened somewhat, until he turned back to Qingheng-Jun and his full anger returned. Still, he finally let go of the older man’s clothes, and in turn Yu Ziyuan released him as well.

“Those ceremonies are not always enough though,” she remarked with a smirk. “There have been cultivators becoming ghosts or fierce corpses in the past, if their resentment was great enough. I know you might think that boy isn’t much, Lan zongzhu,” she added when Qingheng-Jun opened his mouth to object. “But I would say that he has shown exactly the sort of stubbornness and desperation that turns souls into ghosts, and you have just admitted right in front of him that he is dying for nothing. If his soul isn't appeased, there will be trouble in the future. Besides, what does it cost you to let this happen?”

It would cost him his pride, Lan Xichen thought, as well as the sensation of control he held over his family. For a man who had given up on everything else over a one sided passion that flickered away too quickly, it was a heavy price to pay.

“What do you say, Xichen?” Qingheng-Jun snapped. “Is that really something you would settle for, just to win this argument?”

Lan Xichen avoided his father’s eyes, looking instead at Nie Huaisang. Even though this was a little morbid, he would take it if it was all he could have. He had loved Nie Huaisang in life, he wouldn’t mind loving him in death as well. Not to win an argument, but to make sure that they would be linked forever, even if fate hadn't seen fit to give them happiness in this life.

He knew, though, that this wasn’t really what his father was asking. Even this meagre comfort might be denied to him, all because his father did not like to be wrong.

“If I did this,” Lan Xichen whispered, only to stop and take a deep breath to steady himself. Even cold and limp, Nie Huaisang’s hand in his was a comfort, and he squeezed it briefly to give himself the strength to speak again. “If I did this, what would become of that agreement we had, father?”

“You know my answer to that, Xichen.”

With a sigh, Lan Xichen closed his eyes. Of course he knew the answer. Having found his weakness once, why would his father not use it again and again?

It ought to have been an easier choice than the first time. 

It wasn’t. 

Right after announcing his possible engagement to Jiang Yanli, after Lan Xichen had threatened to elope, they had made that deal. His father had promised that if Lan Xichen submitted to his will and married as he was ordered, then Lan Wangji would get to pick whichever spouse he liked, no matter how low their status, how indesirable the personality, how poor their cultivation. Lan Wangji could pick up a beggar in the street, demand to marry him, and it would be granted to him as long as Lan Xichen bent to their father’s will.

Having seen Lan Wangji around Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen knew where things were headed for his brother. With Lan Wangji’s proud personality, it was unlikely he would ever agree to marry without love. But he was also even more bent on following rules than Lan Xichen, and it caused him real distress to disobey his elders in any way, even if he had started relaxing a little since meeting Wei Wuxian. If he were to be faced with the same choice that Lan Xichen had just faced, it would cause him great anguish, and that simply couldn't be allowed.

Someone had to look out for Lan Wangji. There was only so much Lan Qiren could do, especially against his own brother, and Qingheng-Jun had proven that he cared little for his sons’ happiness, having failed to secure his own.

For the sake of his brother's happiness, Lan Xichen had given in, comforted by the hope he could at least be friends with Nie Huaisang, that this would not be taken from them.

Now though, he was forced to make that choice again, and both options were equally bleak. Of course if he were a better brother, if he were a better person, it would be easy. Between a marriage for the livings, and one that would be more akin to a funeral, there should have been no hesitation possible, and yet…

And yet he couldn't give up on Nie Huaisang, not again.

“Your father is a reasonable man,” Lan Qiren said calmly, and Lan Xichen quickly opened his eyes again to gaze at his uncle in disbelief. “He is,” Lan Qiren insisted. “You told me he swore that if you obeyed him, he would let your brother choose his spouse, didn't he?”

While Lan Xichen numbly nodded, unsure where his uncle was going with this, Qingheng-Jun's face turned a dark red at having this information revealed. Clearly he had not expected that his brother would expose him like this. Lan Qiren, unbothered by his brother's outrage, just continued speaking.

“If you promise to marry according to his will after the death of Nie Huaisang, that deal still stands,” he said calmly. “And to comfort your father, I believe Yu-furen might agree to act as a witness to that agreement, so that promise cannot be denied in the future.”

Lan Xichen turned his eyes to Yu Ziyuan, who looked more and more irritated the longer she had to witness their family affairs. She rolled her eyes and shrugged while making an impatient gesture.

“If it can settle this matter faster, I’ll agree to whatever you like,” she announced, glaring at Lan Qiren and Meng Yao behind him. “I only suggested this idea to make things easier, and forgot Gusu Lan cannot settle on anything without hours of discussions on ethics. My mistake.”

Qingheng-Jun grimaced. “I see. And what does Nie zongzhu say to all this?”

Nie Mingjue glared at him, but did not hesitate in the slightest.

“It is what my brother would want. If you agree and Xichen is willing, I give it my blessing.”

“And will you allow him to remarry after?” Qingheng-Jun insisted.

“He’s a man, so there’s no issues with that. Even if he were a women, Qinghe Nie has no rules against it.”

It was not the answer that Qingheng-Jun expected, judging by the expression on his face. He must have been hoping that Nie Mingjue would object, giving him a good excuse to refuse.

Clearly upset that everyone seemed against him, Qingheng-Jun strode toward the bed and, without sparing a glance for his son kneeling on the other side, grabbed Nie Huaisang’s left hand to check his pulse. For a long moment he carefully checked the state of the unconscious boy laying before him, while everyone else watched him attentively. Nie Mingjue in particular seemed furious that Qingheng-Jun would dare to touch his brother, but Lan Qiren whispered something to him so he would allow it.

“I give him a week at most,” Qingheng-Jun concluded, dropping Nie Huaisang’s hand as if it were dirty. He then looked at his son with a severe expression “If you so badly want to be a widower, Xichen…”

“I do,” Lan Xichen fiercely retorted. “For him, I do.”

Qingheng-Jun glared at him, before smoothing his face into polite indifference as he turned to face the others once again.

“Then so be it,” he said with a serene smile, as if he truly didn't care after all. “Yu-furen, since this was your idea, will you help Nie zongzhu and I organise this? We’ll need to get it over quickly, lest that boy die before we’re done with this charade.”

For a moment, Lan Xichen thought he saw a triumphant glint in Yu Ziyuan’s eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by deep annoyance and she led the two sect leaders out of the room.