#the idea that most is hidden away dark and secret and somewhere between shameful and too much

[strawberry-jackalope]

not to be hamilton posting, but god some of the lyrics are actually just really good 

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 

Masterlist | Next 

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

[ibijau]

Forbidden love pt5 / on AO3

Lan Xichen's first idea, upon learning that Wei Wuxian had returned to the world of the living, was that he must have done so through cruel and evil means. That possibility was considered, and quickly dismissed. Lan Qiren knew who his guest was, and he would never have tolerated the presence of a dark spirit inside the Cloud Recesses, least of all that particular one. 

Guessing the reason for his silence, Wei Wuxian grinned awkwardly. 

"Yes, you might wonder about this," he said gesturing at himself but careful not to wake the child sleeping on his lap. "I didn't steal this body, it was gifted to me. Against my will, might I add. That Mo Xuanyu kid was pushed into giving up his life, so I could be brought back and help some other kid named Xue Yang make sense of my own damn research." 

That Xue Yang would be involved in whatever was happening surprised Lan Xichen very little. That boy and the work he'd done to decipher Wei Wuxian's notes were what had started this entire mess.

“Much as your inventions have increased their fortune,” Lan Xichen said, “I find it hard to believe the Jins would want you back.”

His eyes fell on Jin Ling as he said so, and to his credit, Wei Wuxian’s expression turned sombre at the reminder of what his actions had cost Lanling Jin.

“The Jins don’t know that I’m alive. Poor Mo Xuanyu didn’t have friends it seems, so nobody realised the change. And Xue Yang didn’t tell anyone. Even if Mo Xuanyu wasn’t very popular, I think Jin Guangshan might have taken offence if he’d realised that one of his bastards died to revive the man who killed his heir. It was our little secret, Xue Yang and I.”

“How long ago were you brought back?”

Wei Wuxian paused for a moment as he tried to remember.

“About a month, I’d say. We spent most of that stuck in a secret room where Xue Yang worked, so it was hard to tell how much time passed, at least until they sent us away a week ago.”

Saying this, Wei Wuxian glanced again at Jin ling, this time with an air of concern.

“I wasn’t given details at first,” he explained. “Just that Xue Yang, me, and some Jin disciples were to take Jin Ling to a secret location and keep him safe. I hadn’t really heard about their trouble with the Nie at that point, because Xue Yang didn't care about that. But the Jin disciples were a chatty bunch and I was able to get some news through them… and to guess the parts they weren't talking about.”

“Jin Ling really wasn’t kidnapped then,” Lan Xichen realised. “I knew da-ge would never have done that. Even at his worst, he would not harm a child.”

“But others might,” Wei Wuxian retorted, glancing at Lan Qiren, who appeared to have heard that whole story before. “See, our official instructions to keep Jin Ling hidden. But then, both those Jin disciples and Xue Yang were each given another set of secret instructions. I heard about Xue Yang’s first, but I think you’ll prefer to hear the other ones before. The Jin disciples were told that if other sects realised Jin Ling hadn’t been taken away by the Nie, Xue Yang was to be killed and blamed for the incident while I, or rather Xuanyu, would pretend to have been taken by force as well, and act as a witness.”

That was a cunning plan, and Lan Xichen wondered if it didn’t bear the mark of Jin Guangyao’s cleverness. After all, if Xue Yang died, there was much that might be blamed on him. The Jins might even try to make peace offerings to Qinghe Nie by showing they had finally done what Nie Mingjue had asked them to do for months now. Nie Mingjue would refuse. He would have refused if he had been in a healthy state of mind, too smart not to see this for a ruse, and he would refuse in his current state, too unwell to hear about peace. That might rally more sects to Lanlin Jin’s side, if Jin Guangshan and his son navigated the situation well and told everyone that Nie Mingjue was once more unreasonable.

It would even work on the Lan elders, too eager for peace to look at its cost.

“Now that’s bad enough,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “But Xue Yang had his own orders., in case the situation between Lanling and Qinghe got to a stalemate. He was told he’d need to kill all our guards, then kill Jin Ling and display his body in as awful a manner as possible, and in a way that would give the impression Qinghe Nie was responsible for it. He found it so funny he thought he’d share that plan with me, since he expected I’d have little love for my nephew.”

Feeling faint, Lan Xichen stumbled a few feet and had to lean against the nearest wall for fear he would collapse.

“Who gave that order?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“The one man who’d have everything to gain from being rid of Jin Guangshan’s heir,” Wei Wuxian answered. “And who most desperately needs for Qinghe Nie to be seen as evil, so people forget that he caused this war that’s waiting to happen.”

Even though this did but confirm his doubts, Lan Xichen was so shocked that all his strength left him and he nearly fell to his knees. Whatever else he had become, Jin Guangyao had once been his saviour during the war, then his friend, and eventually his sworn brother. He had kept the hope that things might be resolved in a peaceful manner, long after everything showed it to be impossible. And even if that friendship had shattered beyond what could be repaired, Lan Xichen had comforted himself with the thought that Jin Guangyao had only behaved in such a terrible manner because his father had forced him to choose filial loyalty over other duties.

It was a comfort Lan Xichen was now robbed of. Even if Jin Guangshan was sure to still carry his share of blame, it could not be denied anymore that Jin Guangyao was perfectly capable of evil on his own.

“When Xue Yang explained this, I decided I couldn’t stay out of it,” Wei Wuxian resumed. “I killed him without too much trouble, but it attracted the attention of those Jin disciples. I ended up forced to kill them too, but not until one of them explained what their instructions had been. That’s when I figured I had to get Jin Ling somewhere safe,” he added, looking mournful. “The best option would have been Yunmeng, but Jiang Cheng would skin me alive on sight."

Lan Xichen, still leaning with his shoulder against the wall, let out a joyless laugh.

"Most likely." 

"So I decided I'd try to see if Lan Zhan might help. Even if we've not always seen eye to eye, he is the most honourable person I know, and I was sure he'd help with Jin Ling even if it was me asking." 

Whatever strength had returned to Lan Xichen’s body nearly deserted him again at the thought of what his brother might do, when he would know Wei Wuxian to be alive again. 

"I'm sure he would," he muttered.

"But when I arrived here, they told me Lan Zhan wasn't available,” Wei Wuxian continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I was lucky though, and someone recognised Mo Xuanyu’s face, but not Jin Ling's because I'd wrapped him in a shawl. They figured I couldn't be ignored, so they took me and little Jin Ling to see Lan-xiangsheng, who hid us here while he figured out what to do.”

“I won’t be able to hide you much longer,” Lan Qiren replied. “It will become noticed that I have been eating more than usual. It is only a shame I had not realised Xichen was helping his brother escape. The Jingshi would have made a great hiding place for you and that child until we decided how to handle that.”

“I did not want you to be blamed if Wangji’s escape was discovered,” Lan Xichen said.

"I’ve raised both of you,” Lan Qiren retorted, “And done a poor job of it if some elders are to be trusted. I’d have been blamed even if I protested my ignorance. Where is he?" 

"Safe," Lan Xichen only said.

"Can we send those two to him?"

It was a good option to consider, but Lan Xichen still shook his head. Since the Jins had claimed Jin Ling was in the hands of the Nie, if he were discovered in a house that belonged to Nie Huaisang they could use it as proof that they’d said the truth. Likewise, if Nie Mingjue came to hear about it, he might take it as evidence that his brother was conspiring against him, and Lan Xichen could not do anything that might further endanger his dear friend.

Wei Wuxian agreed when Lan Xichen explained his reluctance.

“The best place for Jin Ling to be right now is Lotus Piers,” he claimed. “I can’t take him there, but as far as I know Jiang Cheng admires and respects both of you. If you bring him his nephew and explain what happened, he’ll listen.”

“He would at the very least declare himself neutral if his nephew were returned to him,” Lan Qiren agreed. “Or he might even join Nie Mingjue to demand Jin Guangyao be brought to justice. That would only leave the problem of what to do with you.”

“I’d quite like to stay out of this mess if I could,” Wei Wuxian retorted with a smirk. “But I can't do that until another matter is settled. I too must see Jin Guangyao punished for his crimes, even if they weren’t against me.”

As he said that, he lifted his left arm which had been wrapped around little Jin Ling, and cautiously lowered his sleeve to reveal a deep red cut which looked as if it were on the verge of an infection.

“I had two when I awoke in this body. The ritual mo Xuanyu uses demands that I accomplish his last requests, and those marks are a proof of that. The other went away when I killed Xue Yang, and since I’ve read Mo Xuanyu’s diaries, I have good reason to think this second one demands the death of Jin Guangyao. Poor kid had to blame someone for how miserable he was, and it’s his half-brother who assigned him to help Xue Yang.”

“And is there a time limit for Xuanyu’s revenge to be accomplished?”

“Probably, but I don’t know it. The wound has been getting a little painful lately, so I guess I should hurry.”

Presented with a problem to solve, Lan Xichen’s energy returned and he was finally able to stand straight again as he applied himself to finding a solution. The other two did the same, and silence fell onto the house.

“I have a suggestion,” Lan Xichen said after a moment. “Uncle, I think you should be the one to bring Jin Ling to Yunmeng. You are Jiang Cheng’s senior and his former teacher, so the respect he owes you will make it easier for him to accept what happened. For my part, I will take Wei Wuxian to the place where Lan Wangji is hidden. Wangji will be sure to keep an eye on him and on his health until other problems have been dealt with.”

Hearing this, Lan Qiren frowned. His nephew was hardly any happier at the idea of allowing a reunion between Lan Wangji and the man who had ruined his life, but leaving Wei Wuxian in the Cloud Recesses wasn’t an option, and neither was just releasing him without knowing what he might do while his life depended on Jin Guangyao’s death. But if Lan Wangji were told about the situation, he would do everything in his power to keep Wei Wuxian safe and out of trouble.

“When Wei Wuxian is safe,” Lan Xichen continued, “I will go to Qinghe and free Nie Huaisang.”

“That seems unwise,” Lan Qiren protested. “I like the boy well enough, but this is too dangerous. How would you even get inside the Unclean Realm?”

“It is not as impenetrable as it is reputed, and Nie Mingjue used to trust me enough to share some of its secrets with me when we were young.”

It was odd to think of that faraway youth, when they’d only been insouciant children. At the time, Nie Mingjue’s father had still been alive, and his eldest son hadn’t been forced yet to turn so serious. One afternoon, when Lan Xichen was visiting with his uncle, Nie Mingjue had shown him a secret passage so they could go play without anyone bothering them. It had been many years, but Lan Xichen was sure he would find that passage’s exit again. Then it would only be a matter of finding where Nie Huaisang had been imprisoned and releasing them.

“That’s still a great risk to take,” Lan Qiren insisted.

“It is,” Lan Xichen conceded. “And yet it must be attempted. Aside from Nie Huaisang, who has ever been known to convince Nie Mingjue to change his mind?”

Lan Qiren protested against that plan, as did Wei Wuxian, not that his opinion could have mattered to Lan Xichen. And yet, since neither could suggest anything better, that was the plan they adopted.

[beelsnack]

Obey Me! Boys and the Cute Date They Would Take MC On

Lucifer: “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

When Lucifer had mentioned that an orchestra was going to be performing, they had been so excited to go that they nearly vibrated out of existence. But now that they were here, that excitement had morphed into a heavy lump of anxiety hanging out somewhere between their heart and stomach.

Lucifer glanced down at the human with a raised eyebrow. “And what in the Three Realms would make you think that?”

For a moment, they were quiet, looking around at the crowd of demons dressed to the nines. Elegant silk evening gowns and smart tuxedos abound. Their black slacks and dress shirt made them feel so under-dressed that they might as well have shown up naked.

Lucifer, sharp as ever, pulled them closer and leaned down the speak in their ear. “You needn’t feel intimidated, my dear.”

“I don’t feel intimidated, I feel stupid.”

“That isn’t any better.”

They sighed, casting another look around the hall. Golden mantle pieces, an elegantly-winding staircase, chandeliers absolutely dripping with crystals...everything made them feel incredibly insignificant.

“Should I have gotten more dressed up?”

Lucifer chuckled. “So that’s what has you worried?” 

He lead them away from the entrance into the hall proper. “All of these demons are dressed the way they are because they must work at being beautiful. You, my dear,” he stopped in front of them, reaching down to carefully hold the peacock pendent hanging from their neck - the only piece of jewelry they wore. “Are the only one who is naturally radiant enough to wear my symbol. These peasants could turn themselves into pure gold and they would only shine half as bright as you do.”

They could feel their face grow hot enough to catch fire. They opened and closed their mouth like a fish, intent on refuting Lucifer’s compliment, but he gave them no option. With a deep laugh that they felt travel up their spine, he offered his arm to them in a move straight out of a Victorian romance novel.

“Now then, shall we go? You’ll love this orchestra, I promise.”

Mammon: “I can’t believe there’s street fairs in the Devildom!”

It was surprisingly similar to something you would see up in the Human Realm. Strings of fairy lights lit up the cobblestone street that was lined with all kinds of stalls. Food stalls selling a variety of things that probably shouldn’t be deep fried but are anyway, games of chance, craftsman selling their wares - “Don’t buy anything from that one, all of their crap is cursed and they charge a fee for removal.” 

“Come on,” Mammon clicked his tongue as the two of them wandered throughout the fair. “Did’ja think the Devildom was all doomed souls and torture chambers?”

“...Yes?”

The demon paused before shrugging. “Ya know, that’s fair. But we have an image to keep, don’t we? Can’t have the little humans knowin’ about our bitchin’ carnivals.”

“I’ll take the secret to my grave.” 

Somewhere a little down the street, they could hear the spinning of a roulette wheel, and Mammon immediately perked up. 

“Aw yeah, now we’re talking! Come on, human, you get to see the Great Mammon in all of his glory!”

A thin spike of fear ran through their body as Mammon grabbed their wrist and tugged them through the crowd. “Didn’t Lucifer ban you from gambling? Like, forever?”

“Whatever, what he don’t know won’t hurt ‘im,” they finally reached the roulette booth. “As long as I don’t lose and you don’t squeal, we don’t have anything to worry about!”

“Mammon, there’s a big, gaping hole in your logic there - “

“Have a little faith, human!” Mammon grinned and he slapped some Grimm down on the counter. The glint in his eyes was damn near predatory, and it sent a different kind of shiver down their spine.

The demon behind the counter chuckled gleefully as they spun the wheel. The crowd surrounding them hooted and hollered and shoved each other to be able to watch the wheel, but Mammon looked surprisingly calm. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes trained on the pointer at the top of the wheel.

If they hadn’t been standing right next to him, they wouldn’t have noticed him rhythmically tapping against the sleeve of his jacket.

It was almost imperceptible, but the clicking of the wheel appeared to be following the beat that Mammon was tapping, slowing as the pauses between beats got longer. Eventually, both Mammon and the wheel stopped...

Right on the number he had bet on.

The crowd groaned as Mammon collected his winnings, some hissing at him as they dispersed. The Avatar of Greed looked truly in his element as he flipped a Grimm in the air. “Told ya.”

“You were...using magic?” the human looked back and forth between the wheel and Mammon. “You manipulated the wheel.”

“Aw, man, I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.” he sighed, pocketing his earnings. “Can’t ya just pretend I have incredible luck?”

“I will if you buy me food.”

“Deal.”

Leviathan: Going to the arcade on a Wednesday at noon was definitely one of Levi’s best ideas.

“Why does your aim suck so bad?”

“Oh, you are SO lucky this game doesn’t have friendly fire, Levi.”

“You couldn’t hit me even if it did.”

They were standing close enough that it wasn’t difficult for them to learn over and bump him with their shoulder. His grip on the orange plastic gun slipped and the virtual bullet went flying off into cyberspace. By the time he managed to correct himself, the zombie he had been aiming for was in the process of devouring the character on screen.

“Hey, what gives?!”

“Oops, sorry. My aim really sucks, you know.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

Despite their dirty tactics, Levi still wiped the floor with them, cackling gleefully as their scores tallied up on the screen. "Beat that, normie!"

They pouted and blew a raspberry at him. "Jerk. I want a rematch!"

"You're on!"

Satan: If they hadn’t been in the Devildom for so long, they probably would have been scared out of their mind.

That being said, they had been in the Devildom for a while, and seeing an intricately detailed panorama of a demon cat devouring a person alive was only a little unsettling at this point.

“Wow, that must have taken a while,” they got up closer to the exhibit. “It’s like I can hear the screams of agony.”

“Apparently the artist spent a century just on the expression,” Satan came up behind them, slipping his hand into theirs. “It shows, doesn’t it?”

The Devildom Art Museum was having a special exhibition on Demonic cats, and of course Satan had managed to snag tickets for the two of them. They didn’t particularly want to know how he had managed that.

“So, where to next?” they asked.

“The next room has a collection of cursed cat collars.” Satan nodded his head towards the door. “Apparently there’s one that causes whoever puts the collar on their cat to choke to death.”

“Okay, but if there are any there that harm the cats we’re firebombing the place.”

Asmodeus: “See, I told you this place was cute!”

He hadn’t been lying. The little cafe was tucked into a little side street, and the outside seating provided one of the best views of the lake that they had seen aside from being inside the castle grounds. The moons were just beginning to appear as they sky transitioned from the dark lavender color that served as the Devildom’s “day time” into full darkness, and the reflection from the lake made everything sparkle like diamonds.

“How did you even find this place, Asmo?” they asked as they were seated by the host. “This is pretty hidden.”

“Didn’t you know, darling?” Asmo laughed, reaching across the table to weave their hands together. “Some of the most beautiful things can be found in the strangest of places.”

“That’s pretty, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“I slept with the owner’s son.”

They couldn’t hold back the definitely-not-cute snort. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I never pass up an opportunity to fuck someone who can cook.” he said sagely. “I want to be fed before I have to do my walk of shame.”

“Don’t you have to have shame for that?”

“Hush,” Asmo giggled. “Here, they have a human-safe section.”

Beelzebub: “I don’t know, Beel, this place, seems awful expensive.”

The conversion rate between human currency and Grimm sometimes threw them off a little bit, but anytime you say three zeroes it was never a good sign.

“Does it?” Beel glanced up from the menu to look at them quizzically before peeking down at the prices again. “Ah, I guess it would. You don’t have to worry, I’ll pay for it.”

“That’s not - “

The server arrived, cutting off their protest. From the sheen of sweat on their brow, the human took it that the staff knew Beelzebub and his famous appetite. Even just the appetizer was enough to feed a whole family. When the waiter finally turned to them, he had to flip over to a new page in his pad. He looked rather relieved when they simply ordered water and fried bat wings (which they had discovered early on tasted a lot like chicken wings and it was therefore their go to.)

When the server dashed off to place their massive order, Beel turned back to the human. “What were you saying?”

“I don’t...” they sighed. “I won’t be able to pay you back.”

“Why would you have to?”

They blinked, tilting their head. “Huh?”

“I don’t mind paying. Plus, I get a discount here.”

The human glanced around the fancy dining area. “This doesn’t look like the place to give out discounts.”

“A lot of places give me and my brothers discounts. Well, Mammon lost a few of his, I think.”  Beel shrugged. “I think it’s because we’re considered nobility? I usually leave the discount as a tip though.”

That explained the grin the host had on their face when they sat them.

They smiled up at him. “You’re so sweet, Beel.”

Belphegor: Nights in the Devildom were surprisingly peaceful.

Once you got past the ideas of torture chambers and crypts, the nights were just like ones up in the Human Realm. Quiet, lazy, and on clear nights, you could see the stars.

“Do you know what that one is?”

The human followed where Belphegor was pointing. “Hm...Orion?”

“Ding.” Belphie laughed. “I knew you would be good at this.”

In typical Belphie fashion, he had texted them out of the blue and told them to meet him in the courtyard at midnight. They thought about just ignoring him and going to sleep, but now they were curious. Which was probably the demon’s plan.

When they arrived, Belphie was laying down on a blanket he had spread out on the grass.

“Took you long enough,” he yawned. “I almost fell asleep waiting for you.”

“It’s only 12:02!”

“Bold of you to assume I can’t fall asleep in two minutes. Are you going to sit down or what?”

And that was how the two of them ended up cuddled next to each other and stargazing.

Belphie knew a surprising amount about constellations.He was able to point out which star was named what, and knew most of the myths that the constellations were named after. Unsurprisingly, listening to him talk was very soothing, and they could feel their eyelids drooping.

“If you want to sleep, you can.” he finally murmured, sounding close to drifting off himself. “We can keep each other warm.”

“...I don’t think Lucifer would appreciate finding us passed out on the lawn.”

“All the more reason to do it.”

[the-lady-writes-what]

Training Secession

Summary:

You finally get your boyfriend Shouta Aizawa all to yourself. What else were you supposed to do today besides teasing him relentlessly?

Shouta Aizawa/Eraserhed x Reader

Contents: teasing, finger fucking, slight BDSM, restraint without handcuffs/rope, spanking. Mild fluff

It wasn’t often that you got Shouta all to yourself. Between teaching and working as a pro-hero, you saw little of your boyfriend. It didn’t help matters that you also worked as a pro from time to time, but your quirk wasn’t nearly useful or impressive. Shouta never pointed out the noticeable difference in your power levels. You admitted that he took things too seriously sometimes, and you wished he’d lighten up, even just a little. Still, waking up next to him was the best thing in the world as far as you were concerned. It was pure bliss to be able to wake up next to him.

You glanced at the clock. It wasn’t early in the morning. However, you wondered if you should let him sleep a bit more. When you peeled your eyes open, you saw his hair tousled around his pillow.

You sat up a little to get a better view. Shouta slept like a rock, unable to hear giggling at his snoring. You took a lock of his hair and twirled it around your finger. Surprisingly, and despite rumors, he took care of it. Of course, you insisted that he use your conditioner and it worked wonders. It was much nicer to run your fingers through while you two were fooling around in bed.

You checked to make sure he was still sleeping. Shouta snored like a fat cat. His hair slipped through your fingers as you laid down again. You were rarely the big spoon, so you liked being able to hug him, even if your arms weren’t nearly big enough to wrap around him properly. You gave him a good squeeze. Shouta shifted, and you stilled your movements. But then, you had a naughty idea.

You brought your hands to his shoulders. You kneaded his shoulder blades with your palms until you heard him groan.

“What time is it?” He asked.

“About nine,” you answered.

You continued to knead the muscles in his back and shoulders. You stopped for a minute just to see what he would do. You smiled cheekily when he turned with that grumpy look on his face.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

“Okay, Mister Grumpy Gills. But you’re going to have to get on your stomach.”

Shouta rolled over at your request. You straddled his hips and sat on his lower back while you massaged his shoulders. There were kinks galore that the man never bothered to get rubbed out. He worked himself to death and didn’t think about himself. On the one hand, it was a quality you could admire. On the other hand, it made the relationship much harder for you since your boyfriend didn’t like to take of himself. Which meant you could spoil him whenever you wanted.

“Goddammit, Shouta. You’ve got kinks in your kinks. What the hell are you doing all day?”

He only groaned into the pillow. You continued working at the knots the best you could. Truth be told, you had no idea what you’re doing. Let’s be honest, you did it mostly because you wanted to feel up those muscles. The first time you saw Shouta undressed, your jaw dropped to the floor. Beneath his dark hero’s costume and capture weapon, you had no idea about the heat your man was packing underneath all that. Every time you could get him to take off his shirt was extra time to get your hands on him and his muscles.

Whether or not he knew about your fascination with his well-built form, Shouta didn’t shame you for it. Hey, if he got a free massage out of it too, you could put your hands on him any time you wanted.

“Those kids are going to kill you one of these days, right? Maybe not in a villain attack, but just stressing you out.”

“You have no idea.”

Shouta let you go on for a few more minutes. He rolled over much to your disappointment. With you still straddling him, Shouta lifted the both of you off the bed. He secured your legs around his waist and made sure that your arms were wrapped firmly around his neck. He kissed you. For a second, you thought he was going to toss you back into bed or slam you into the nearest wall. You were mildly disappointed that he took you into the kitchen. Putting you down, your hands lingered on him as you ran your hands down his arms.

“Ah, Shouta,” you whined. You pouted.

Shouta put an end to that real quick with a kiss and pushed you against the fridge. His tongue distracted you long enough for his teeth to catch your bottom lip. Shouta gave a little tug, not much, and never to hurt you. When you left you against the fridge, you were panting. Shouta turned on the oven and started heating some eggs. He gave you a sideways glance that said more than words could ever hope to. If you pressed your luck, you’d find yourself bent over the kitchen counter again.

You didn’t pout as you helped him with breakfast. Mornings with Shouta were rare but full of moments that showed him the side you often see in him while you were out in public. He was still reserved and no-sense, but when it was just the two of you together, he could be sweeter. If his class ever saw him in the matching couple’s pajamas you bought for each other last Christmas, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. As much as you wanted him, being able to make breakfast and sit at the same table was the perfect way to start today.

However, it was hard for you to keep your hands to yourself. Shouta knew about your slight kink for feeling up his muscles or his body in general. You were one of the few people who got to see it. You felt privileged. So when your hand wandered down his back and took up position on his ass, you couldn’t help but give a little squeeze. Naturally, he did the same thing to you. His hand was much bigger than yours, and even his hands were stronger. When he grabbed something of yours, he made sure you’d feel it hours after his hands left you. He firmly grasped your cheek with twice as much power as you’d done to him.

“I can give as good I get, little lady. Don’t tempt me,” said Shouta next to your ear.

You grew red in the face, but you liked it. If you heard anyone calling your Shouta a submissive, you could show them the bruises on your ass to confirm the contrary.

Even on vacation days, Shouta didn’t rest for a minute. He hung around you until after lunch before he excused himself. He was going to work out for a while. You huffed at the man’s persistence on working even while on holiday. You didn’t feel like walking to the other side of the house where you knew Shouta would be working out. Despite your more powerful instinct to follow and watch him build up a sweat that glistened on his skin, you prowled through your small library of books on the shelf. Guests could tell which books belonged to whom. Shouta owned a few works of fiction, but he was mostly interested in more practical knowledge. Your shelves were dedicated to romance and some cleverly hidden erotica. What? You were an adult, and so was Shouta and all your friends. You had nothing to be ashamed about. Out of boredom, you picked a random novel and took it with you back to the couch. You vaguely remember the plot, so you skip ahead to the sexy bits.

About a couple chapters in and you were rubbing your thighs together. It grew harder for you to finish reading even a passage knowing that Shouta was somewhere down the hall working out.

"'His lips caressed her moistened lips. He nestled between her legs and kissed each thigh before returning to her core. She trembled as he kissed her there, lashing his tongue against her swollen clit. Her back arched upwards. She felt his bruising hands grasp her hips to keep her from moving away. His greedy mouth tasted the dew and suckled at its source. His tongue laved the outside of her walls, testing her waters, so to speak.

“M-Milord…” The serving maid blushed like a rose. Her petals began to weep as she felt his tongue dive into the most secret part of her.'"

You toss the book aside. Quite literally. You don’t see where it lands as you’re preoccupied with the heat between your legs. You leave the living room and go off to find Shouta. Sure enough, you saw him in the midst of his push-ups. You didn’t dare disturb his counting but stood in the doorway. You licked your lips and gnawed a bit at them. You watched the sweat trickle over his skin, still unaware of your presence. For now.

He looked good with his hair pulled back. You didn’t know why, and you didn’t ask questions. Shouta eventually caught onto your peeping Tom behavior, though he said nothing. You couldn’t tell for sure, but you’d swear up and down that a smirk tugged at his lips. You had to take a seat on the floor before you dripped.

At one point, Shouta stopped to look at you. He almost sneered at the playful look on your face. He probably suspected that you had something dastardly planned. You pretended not to have an evil thought in your brain, all the while wanting nothing more than to tackle him and ride his cock till kingdom come. Pun very much intended.

“Come here. If you’re going to stare, you might as well do something useful with your day.”

The scenario played out in your head. You’d get him riled up to the point where Shouta would have no other choice than to pin you on the mat and have his way with you. It was unfortunate that wasn’t the game he was playing today. Shouta never gave you the chance to tease him. He was much more interested in kicking your ass in a few sparring rounds. Being built stronger and having more experience than you in the field, it was all but natural that he had you panting for breath for all the wrong reasons. You figured this out too late when he had you smooshed against the mat, face first, and your arms pinned against your back. Other than his hands on your wrists, he wasn’t touching you in the way you wanted him to. Now you were horny and cranky.

“Is that all you got?”

You couldn’t stand that smug look on his face right now. You immediately kicked up your legs and threw yourself back. Shouta didn’t plan for you to be so reckless and fell with you. You climbed on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head.

“How you like it, huh?” You mimicked his smirk.

Shouta had you pinned on your back in no time at all. His hair came loose from the elastic band holding it together, blocking your view of anything else but him. Being stronger than you, moving your hands out of his grasp was easier said than done. Before you could kick him, Shouta shoved his knee between your legs. At this point, you were sensitive enough that his knee against your core was enough to make you moan.

“You’ve been needy all day,” said Shouta.

“Maybe I am? So what? What ‘cha gonna do about it?”

You teased him with a kitten lick on his nose of all places. In your defense, that was the only place you could reach.

Shouta tensed for a moment. He took his time deciding what to do with you. The moment he did, you knew you were in for it. Shouta released your hands, but not for long. He stood up and admired you briefly as he stood over you. You wore sweatpants and a tank top, no bra. Your top was thin enough to see your nipples peeking through. You couldn’t stop the shudder rolling through you as you watched him lick his lips. You tried to get up on your own only for Shouta’s hands to find your waist, throw you unto his shoulder, and carry you like that. His hand held you tight.

“S-Shouta!” You laughed and playfully kicked him in the ribs. Only playful, you didn’t mean any harm.

All your play-fighting did was rouse him more. His free hand swatted you on the back of your thighs, stopping you from further fake protesting. He dragged you back the bedroom like a caveman—minus the hairpulling cliché—and you loved every second of it. The world spun for a second after he dumped you on the bed. He let you sit up long enough to get rid of your useless top. Once it was gone, you were on your back and lifting your hips so he could take off your pants too. You smirked when he found your little surprise. Shouta’s eyes widened.

“You…didn’t put on underwear today?”

“What of it?” Your smugness vanished when he crammed two fingers at once inside you.

“Is that you’ve been teasing me all morning? You wanted to show me how much you wanted it?”

His fingers plunged inside you fast and hard. His other hand gathered both your wrists and pinned them above your head on the pillow. Shouta was a through man; you could count on him to get the job done. You should have known better than to tempt him, yet you couldn’t help yourself. Only you got to see the kind of face he was making while finger fucking you.

“S-Shouta!” You shivered around his fingers. Shifting your weight didn’t help either. He just caged your legs so you couldn’t move.

“Mmm?” He hummed. “I thought you wanted to be teased. I told you earlier, I give as good as I get.”

“Please,” you whined.

“Please, what? Give me a good reason to let you come.”

“I’ll. I’ll do anything, please! I need you…I need you so bad right now.”

He curled his fingers inside you and sped up. You thrashed around, but the moment your eyes found Shouta’s, you became very, very still. His face hovered above yours as he watched your every move. Your juices sloshed around as he pumped wildly. Your backed arched off the bed as you came around him. Once you came down from your high, Shouta wiped your forehead. However, if you thought you were done, you couldn’t get more wrong. His hands tangled in your hair and pulled your head back.

“Open,” he said, upholding the fingers that just finished you.

You obediently opened your mouth and suckled on him, tasting yourself. Shouta pumped his fingers deep inside until he reached your gag reflex. He pulled them out quickly, leaving behind a string of your saliva in their wake. His tongue tentatively lapped at his fingers.

“Do you want more?” His gaze never broke away from yours.

You glanced at his hand, which thumbed the hem of his sweatpants. Looking back up at your boyfriend, you nodded.

“Greedy girl.” Shouta took off his tank top that had his sweat running down the front by this point. He tossed it over his shoulder and chucked off his sweatpants.

You hadn’t been able to notice before because your view had otherwise been blocked. Shouta sported a monster of an erection, and it was all for you. You were still seeping wet when you plugged you up. Shouta pulled you onto your side. He wrapped your legs around his hip and trapped your hands above your head once more.

“Would…you…say you’ve been…a good girl today?” Shouta asked while drilling you.

You didn’t have a thought in your brain. This angle made you dizzy, too dizzy to think of anything other than Shouta’s cock. You couldn’t form syllables if you tried.

“I think …you’ve been rotten. Do you think…a bad girl like you…deserves my cock?”

Shouta was nestled deep inside you. This was your favorite position for a reason, and he was using it against you.

“P-please, Shouta! Don’t stop!”

“And why shouldn’t I?” He pulled almost all the way out. “You’ve been a fucking tease since we woke up this morning. Didn’t think I’d noticed how you kept getting your hands all over me?”

Shouta thrust a few more times, then stopped again. “Have you anything to say? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself right now?” He went back to pounding you. “All you…had to do…was beg for it. Instead, you tease me…walking around without panties. Trying to…get my attention like the fucking cock-hungry, needy girl…you are.”

He flipped you onto your stomach. Your hands were against your back. Unable to resist him, your legs were shoved open wider for him to inspect your sopping cunt. You screamed into the mattress when you felt the first swat of his hand on your ass. You were stone-cold sober after four more. Tears bubbled in your eyes.

“Shouta!”

He was inside you again. His pounding was more furious than before. Your ears were filled with the sound of wet skin slapping against skin and his grunting. His hands left your wrists in favor of groping your breasts. His sweat drenched your back, and you felt his hot breath in your ear. Shouta ground his hips into yours.

“Fucking tease. Tell me…tell me when you want to be fucked, so I don’t have to punish you. Unless you like this shit?” He tweaked your nipples.

You screamed. You could no longer tell the difference between pleasure and pain.

“Such a needy girl,” said Shouta. He straightened up.

He let your arms fall where they may. Your hands tightened around the sheets, clenching and unclenching, depending on how hard Shouta gave it to you. His grip moved back to your hips, where you were firmly rutted against him.

“Don’t you dare cum before I do. That’s your punishment.” He growled before smacking your thigh.

He was asking something almost impossible for you. You wracked your brain for anything to keep your mind off of orgasming right then and there. Shouta never moved with reckless abandon; he loved to be lost in you. His movements were always precise, calculated, and sure to drive you up the wall. His cock was reaching deep within you to the point where you lost all sense. You could feel nothing but him moving inside you, driving in and out.

“Stop clenching if you don’t want to come before I do.” He smacked your ass this time. “Next time, I’ll slap your needy cunt since you enjoy punishment that much.”

You took his threat seriously. You tried to think of anything to break you out of the moment, for now, to stave off coming. Frog legs. Midnight’s cooking. Paperwork….

Suddenly, a warmth washed over you. Shouta’s hands flexed on your hips. He grunted as he unleashed himself. You screamed and clenched around him. His cum filled you deep inside. You couldn’t stop crying as he filled you up. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

You two remained in that position for some time. When Shouta finally pulled out, you groaned aloud. The absence of him left you wanting more, and you felt hollow inside. Shouta tried not to smother you with his weight. He moved onto his side and did the same to you so that he could look you in the eye. You had your eyes closed so you could only feel his hands moving your hair out of your sweaty face.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You meekly nodded your head. Shouta didn’t mention the fact that you technically disobeyed him by finishing at the same time. He kissed your forehead nevertheless.

“I’m going to draw us a bath. You sit tight, okay?”

Again, you nodded. Shouta left you in that blissed-out state. From across the hall, you could hear the water running. You smiled to yourself; you should wear panties less often.

If you’d like to see more content like this, please consider going to my AO3 here

[dreamingyouth]

[Darth Maul x Bookworm!Reader] Part 5 - Your little secret

Hello and welcome to my Darth Maul x Bookworm!Reader series ! If you’re new here, be sure to check the previous parts below :

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 : you’re here ! - Part 6

Words count : 3076 Warnings : none, except fluff as usual ! 

Crack. Crack. The small branches and dead leaves beneath your feet made themselves known in a last cry, the ones still alive and well above your head watching your every step. Although you were silent, it wasn't hard to notice you: the fast rhythm of your heels hitting the ground sounded like the steady beat of an old song, the wind twirling around your ankles awakened by the bottom of your brown cloak moving from side to side. This piece of clothing was new. In fact, it was a gift from Maul. You had told him how you wanted one of your own, trying his on enough to convince you further. It was simple, yet you loved it just as it was: running down to your ankles, a large hood ready to cover your head, and a small cape protecting your upper body from the cold. The deep pockets were also a nice feature.

Him being ever-so-thoughtful, he offered you this cloak with new books in all the different pockets, which made you laugh with happiness. Some things never changed: it was still all about little things, and he made it his specialty to find hidden ways to spoil you.

You didn't mind that, of course.

It gave you some inspiration to make surprises of your own from time to time; it was one of these days, and your pockets hid more than your book and the key unlocking your front door. The weights in them balanced evenly and pulled the fabric of your cloak down in perfect folds, preventing it from tilting to one side.

A last turn made it fly around your legs, your face illuminated with a smile growing bigger at every step you took- leading you closer to the male you were looking forward to meeting. His dark clothing contrasted with the shades of green, brown and orange surrounding him, an odd presence in the colorful nature of mid-autumn. He could probably sense you arriving, his head lifting immediately to land his gaze on you as you came; although it was barely noticeable, he did relax upon seeing your face.

"Hello, angel."

You grinned and ran to him, his words making you unable to wait any longer. Not thinking twice about potential bruises on your knees hitting the ground, you almost threw yourself in his arms, your own wrapping around his neck for a comforting, tight hug, one you had been waiting for since the moment you left him the night before. He didn't waste much time before returning your embrace: you could feel his strength in the way he held you, the grasp of his hands and the pressure of his muscles against your back enough proof to convince you he wouldn't let you go anytime soon.

Not that you had planned to do so in the first place.

"I missed you so much... - Dear, we only parted last night. You make it sound like I was gone for months or years."

You closed your eyes, burying your face in his tattooed neck as you whined in response.

"Still, it's too long now. Even one night apart makes me miss you."

Your focus on the growing shy blush of your cheeks shifted. He probably wouldn't admit it out loud, but you could feel him smile at your honest confession. What was there to say? He didn't need any words for you to know he returned the feeling. This was something he was grateful for: he wasn't used to voicing his most tender emotions, having spent his life training for battle and drawing power out of hate and anger each and every day. The truth was, he never even experienced these emotions before meeting you; this opportunity has exposed him to a new, powerful feeling, one he never guessed could ever compete with the dark side of the Force.

"I brought something for you today."

Carefully, you sat up, one of your hands reaching for the deep pocket of your new cloak. Maul's eyes followed your move, a spark of curiosity shimmering in his gaze as you pulled out a glass jar filled to the brim with homemade chocolate chips cookies. It was a touching move, beyond what you thought it would be; not only you were offering him something, but something you made yourself, only for him, and this had his features soften. No need to say, it made your heart melt even more than it already had.

You settled by his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders to keep you close while you opened the jar. He never made a big deal out of food and solely focused on getting the nutrients he needed for his daily activities; however, he was ready to make an exception for this- for you. It wasn't about eating but rather about sharing something, after all, and you were worth every effort.

"I woke up early this morning to make them... I hope you don't mind chocolate? - Do not worry, angel. They look perfect."

The gentle kiss on your temple made you smile. Picking a cookie out of the container, you held it out to your lover with a slight tilt of your head. His fingertips brushed against yours as he took it; you grabbed one of your own and set the jar down, taking out your current book to resume your reading for a moment. It felt peaceful and comforting, despite being barely different from any other day: the fresh wind played with the leaves above your heads and produced a calming sound, each other's warmth preventing any of you (mostly you, actually) to get cold as you sat together.

Yet, after a while, he didn't seem to like how your book held your full attention.

Picking a new biscuit from the jar you brought, he carefully split it in half, tiny crumbs falling to the grass and left there to feed any animal passing by. He had an idea in mind; still, he couldn't help but keep his gaze on you for a second. Focus looked good on you: your eyebrows furrowed slightly, your pursed lips and your intense gaze gave you an expression of mixed seriousness and cuteness, which he loved. He leaned in slowly, not wanting to scare you as he pulled you away from the words you were reading with a gentle nudge against your cheek. Your features softened immediately, and your eyes switched to him; how could you resist such a tender call?

"What is it, love?"

You were still shy about calling him sweet nicknames. He never commented on it, but you were sure he enjoyed them, his lips stretching a little more to form a content smile whenever you would call him anything other than his actual name- even if he did like hearing it from you, your voice making it sound soft and unique.

After stealing a kiss from you, he sat upright, a hand lifting up to hold a piece of cookie in front of your mouth. You were surprised at first; he didn't seem like one to do such things. Did he read about it somewhere? The playful glance in his eyes lured you in, though, and you let him feed you as he pleased. It was a sweet moment you definitely enjoyed: book forgotten at once, you placed it on the grass behind you before moving closer to the Dathomirian. His tattooed fingers, rid of their black glove, brought another half of biscuit to your lips; this time, however, you didn't bite into it. Pulling his hand away, you leaned forward, inviting him to take the half sticking out of your mouth.

This was a bold move for you, and he knew it well. Not hesitating a single second, his hand rose to rest on your cheek and pull you closer; he gave in your silent request, lips pressing against yours as he took his part. It was silently agreed between the both of you to make this kiss last a little longer than it should, your own hand mirroring his by settling on the side of his face and caressing his black and red skin.

Finally parting, you stayed close to one another, foreheads touching tenderly and giving you the peace of a moment out of time. It was just you and him, the deep, genuine love you shared, the mutual understanding despite how different you were. You couldn't dream of anything more perfect than this. He was the one.

"Maul... - Hm? - Can you teach me how to meditate?"

Your question caught him off guard. Teach you? He didn't have anything against it, of course, and he knew how eager you were to learn something new as often as you could; he just never expected you to ask him of all people. This was a proof of trust, though, and it was very much appreciated.

You soon found yourself sitting in a comfortable position, legs crossed. Letting him guide you through some basic exercises, you kept your eyes closed, focused on the contact of the floor beneath you, then on your breath; it was hard not to get caught up in thoughts, but this wasn't so important. You were a beginner, after all.

You did well and ended by meditating on your own, a comfortable silence settling as you both remained quiet. While it didn't seem to require any effort from him, your mind soon drifted to the jar of cookies left to the side; it was half empty, and you definitely wanted to indulge in the sweet taste. You tried to discreetly extend your hand, barely opening your eyes as you focused on trying to reach the glass container without getting caught...

"Don't."

...which didn't go as planned. You pouted, hand reluctantly coming back to rest on your knee as you resumed your meditation, focused on your breath. Inhale, exhale, inhale... inhale the sweet smell of the sugary temptations right beside you, and since you weren't one to give up easily, you tried to reach for the jar again. However, a surprised gasp escaped you, Maul's hand grabbing your wrist in a flash. You opened your eyes to look at him and ended up even more dumbfounded: he had his eyes closed, his posture perfectly still.

"H-How did you know?"

Slowly, his eyelids rose to reveal his flaming gaze. You would've looked away in shame of being caught red-handed if it was anyone but him: yet you longed to get lost in his eyes again, and this was the perfect opportunity.

"I had... a lot of training, so to speak."

For the first time, he seemed unsure of his words. However, you didn't investigate further, assuming it might be part of a specific education that was too complex to explain. He wouldn't hide anything from you.

Agreeing upon the end of your meditation session, you prepared to leave, the sun already beginning to set in the warm colors of the late afternoon. Your cloak was perfectly placed on your shoulders and fell down to your ankles beautifully. You found your lover in the tender embrace you always shared before parting; except that, this time, you didn't let go.

"The day went by too quickly... I'm not ready to part just yet."

Your words took a chuckle out of him, his tattooed lips placing several kisses on your face before his answer came in an amused voice.

"I'll walk you home, then."

No need to lie, you were absolutely delighted by this idea. Your hand finding his, you let your fingers lace before heading home with the male, exchanging light words all along. Although it began to be dark, you were not afraid; why would you be, when you had Maul by your side? Not only he made you feel loved and valued, but he also made you feel safe; and no matter the situation, you knew he would protect you.

The moon was bright and up in the sky when you reached your home. The night was clear, and an infinity of stars illuminated the dark canvas above your head- a sight you could never grow tired of seeing, for it held something magical the day could never have. It was a time for secret wishes and quiet whispers, sincere promises and neverending dreams. It was a time you cherished; to share it with the one you loved felt very special, but you were ready to let him in this little bubble of yours.

You took the key out of your pocket, pushing it in the keyhole of your front door and turning it around to open access to your home. Once you were done, Maul tugged you closer, giving you a tight hug which was meant for a goodbye- you had other plans, though.

"Love... - Yes, angel? - Please... please stay the night...?"

Your voice was shy and quiet. You could tell he wasn't expecting such an offer; the gentle kiss on your temple reassured you, however, and you gently led him inside. Your home, although not very big, was warm and cozy. Everything was welcoming, from the plants you took care of to the soft plaid thrown over your bed; your numerous books were all over the place, your bookcase not enough to contain them all anymore. It smelled of flowers and chocolate, fairy lights giving a soft atmosphere to the room. It was like you.

"Make yourself at home! I'm just going to move some books around, if you don't mind. - Don't worry about me, my sweet."

Bringing your hand up, he pressed a gentle kiss to your inner wrist. The act was simple, yet it felt very intimate, and you loved how you felt closer to him each time he did something of the sort. You parted with a smile, letting him discover the place you lived in while you gathered some books from the floor, chairs, and couch.

You definitely should get a new, bigger bookcase.

You tried to make the wide range of stories in your arms fit in any free corner, stacking them on top of each other when necessary. Some went on the shelves, others on the top, making a dangerous pile that grew taller and taller; as you tried to move the books around in the lower levels, the piece of furniture moved, and it only took you a glance up to notice everything you left on top beginning to fall down on you. You let out a cry, trying to protect you with your arms around your head, waiting for the hardcovers to hit you...

Except that they didn't.

Confused, you opened your eyes again. Your books were still, stopped in their falling motion in the air as if invisible strings held them back. It was as time stopped. Bewildered by the sight, you turned to Maul- only to realize two things.

First, he had removed some of his clothing, his chest now bare and exposing more of his tattoos to your eyes. He was stunning. The markings you loved on his face continued down to his chest and arms, tracing elaborated patterns that covered his skin elegantly. It was the first time you saw so much of him, so much of anyone in fact, and it made you blush profusely in a mere second.

The second thing you noticed was his hand, directed towards you- no, towards the books, as if he was the one holding them in place with an invisible power.

Once assured you were safe, he moved his hand, and the area seemed to become alive. Hardcovers settled in a way that would prevent them from falling again, making steady piles where your messy ones had been. You couldn't believe your eyes. Of course, you read stories with characters mastering various supernatural skills, but to happen in real life- unless...

"You... Maul... You can use the Force?"

Like everyone else, you have heard about people born with high midi-chlorian counts, you have heard about the Force and how those who used it were capable of things you couldn't even imagine. You never expected the Dathomirian to be one of them, though: you knew each other for months, and yet, he never made any use of it. Why did he hide it from you? Weren't you trustworthy?

As if reading your thoughts (which, at this point, you wouldn't be surprised to learn he could do), he closed the distance between the both of you, pulling you in a tight hug against his warm, strong chest.

"I can. I didn't tell you or made any visible use of it because I wanted to avoid drawing attention, and I was concerned telling you would put you in danger. Please do not doubt the trust I have in you, my love... I was simply trying to protect you."

You couldn't help but believe his reassuring words. After all, didn't you have secrets of your own? Didn't everyone else? You couldn't hold it against him, especially if it was to keep you safe.

"I understand."

Your arms wrapping around his torso, you rested your head against his chest. You could clearly hear his heartbeat for the very first time, now that nothing was in the way anymore; and as you heard two, each corresponding to one of his two hearts, you smiled. Both of them were beating for you. How luckier could you ever get?

A yawn escaped you after a while. It was rather late after all, and the warm embrace of the Dathomirian didn't help you stay awake. Only agreeing to go to bed if he would join you, you finally climbed on the soft mattress after changing to your favorite nightwear. Snuggling against him, you couldn't help but smile: this was something you could simply dream of so far, and now, you were ready to sleep in the arms of your one and only.

"Thank you for staying... - Shh... Go to sleep, my angel."

Your tired whisper interrupted by his caring words, you buried your face against Maul's chest, your eyes closing easily. His arms held you close and allowed his hands to draw invisible patterns on your skin, lulling you to sleep; and as you were about to drift off, you managed to catch his last murmur against your skin.

"I'll protect you, no matter the cost. You're mine, my sweet... Do not worry and sleep tight. I love you."

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

It’s almost 4am and I just finished part 5. I’m dying but I had the inspiration coming, so I couldn’t stop ! Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it. Part 6 will be the last part of this series, so if you want to be tagged to know when it comes out, please let me know !

Also, if you’re already tagged : first, I love you ❤ And second, please tell me if you’d be interested in being tagged in other works of mine! I might write more about Maul, write about Feral, maybe Savage, maybe Mando, maybe even other characters if I feel like it or if some people request it and I’m comfortable enough ! Tell me if you want to be tagged for all, for only a few, or not anymore after part 6 ❤ Thank you again for your support, I really appreciate it !!

Tags : @maulieber​, @gooseyhouse​, @gczanetti1​, @noiralei​, @catsnkooks​, @brilliantbutbatty​, @mother-0f-monsters​, @farmelcarmel​

[courtorderedcake]

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’ chapter 3

 Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4​ and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest​ for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd​ who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her. Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns​​.  It's been a while, hasn't it? I promise you it was worth it.Smut a'heckin'hoy! Two other things : This will be updating between MTFB and Hallow, as well as my CSMM ficlet. It also gained another chapter. Secondly, this chapter is MASSIVE. I tried to cut it down but it just didn't work right unless it was altogether. I promise you the smut fest was worth it.

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings!

Chapter 1/5 Chapter 2/5 Chapter 3/5

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The Soldier is feverish, when he falls upon the land of Carterhaugh. They have returned uneasily to the house, or the Lady has, her husband belongs to the forest more than she does. Her son teeters between both worlds, and with nothing to mother or care for, The Soldier becomes a welcomed friend. As he heals, and The Lady finds herself in his warm company, he becomes more. He learns how to tend to the Gardens with The Lady. She teaches him to talk to the birds, to sing to the plants, how to keep things green and blooming, and eventually how to touch them to illicit responses.

Eventually, he learns how to touch her, as well.

The Lady does not age, and as more war looms on the horizon, The Soldier finds he has only aged slightly. Where he should be gray, he has retained his youthful glow. When he asks, The Lady admits the truth about her family.

She tells The Soldier, about her son, about the Lord of the Wood, and about herself, The Lady of Carterhaugh. She begs him to come with her, to let another war rage on in the outside world, and to give himself to them. She asks him to join their dance, but not as a dancer, as a player with a role. She asks him to keep her tied to the earth, to the green that lives outside the darkness in the wood. To remind her of what she was leaving.

And The Soldier agrees. How can he refuse her?

It is his fault when she fades, no matter how much he tries. It is his fault that she is gone, and still remains.

His banishment is blessing and curse. Even still, when he hears the bells, he must answer the summons.

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Two weeks Earlier...

Killian has never liked the forest.

It's not for a lack of trying, and there is a level of bias involved, he will admit. A more honest statement is that Killian has never liked this forest, this particular forest down the hill from Carterhaugh. This accursed, twisted, blight on the land; sitting just close enough to the sea for it to have caught him in its gnarled fingers. For it to have caught them. For it to have changed Milah so much that imagining being a 'them' feels a lifetime ago.

Killian could remember her voice before it became cold and empty. He'd noticed their change, his ears pointing slightly the longer he stayed in her palace chambers, his canines becoming slightly sharper the more he ate of their food, his thoughts becoming colder and emotions numbing. The strange way time passed, and his promises to himself that he would contact Liam the next day, sending word once and then forgetting. It wasn’t him.

He tries to process these changes when a description of war to the Lordling makes Baelfire smile in wonder, an eerie and unsettling gleam there at the words of how many lay dead in trenches. It does not work then, or later. It's not as bad as the secret of their youth settling in his gut. Close, but not enough to end the longing for the taste of his beloved's neck.

There are more times than not he thanks the stars he is banished, even if banishment as an immortal is cursed and tedious work (or was), because what would he be now if he had stayed? The same sort of creature who lets mortals throw themselves at their feet for sacrifice?

Milah had reasoned with him that at least it was willingly, that at least Rumplestiltskin let them choose a life of bliss if they came, and it gave them a way out of the terrible situations they came from. Killian wasn't sure, the humans coming through looking too sick, starved, empty, or adrift to seem actively aware of their decision.

He'd accepted it numbly, even as his Milah had hurt him and others in affection. Her eyes had become sharp and cooled to a tawny color, hair flowing with invisible wind blown tentacles, cheekbones too sharp, skin too pale, nails too long, ears pointed and stretched. She no longer tasted like rum and lavender tarts, but of copper and earth. Her love making left him raw and scarred, and he'd tried to not drown in her tempestuous moods, clinging to his acceptance by her. Even when she had forced his want against his will, balking at his shame, he tried. When it became something she forced from him without mercy and in cruel humor, he retreated into himself.

Baelfire's disappearance and the note he left behind had been a mercy. When Killian’s head had cleared in the empty halls, Liam was long dead, and the Jones family long gone. He could return to Milah and beg for her forgiveness and her love, but without Baelfire that was never going to happen. He would instead be signed away with the house until Baelfire returned.

But Baelfire is not returning. Baelfire is never returning. Baelfire is lost, because if he isn't, Emma could not be there with the key in her hand.

Emma is there instead, and Killian will stop at nothing to keep her safe. He would never let her be lured to them, had taken great strides to consecrate the grounds, and had fiercely guarded her so many nights when he heard their songs call from down the hillside. It is the bells that he can't ignore, while everything else that had once been wondrously alluring now falls flat.

"You're in for it now," an amused voice calls from the wood as he steps past the threshold. The Green Fairy is there, her smiling face unlike her cousins that now dwell in what she claims was once her people's lands. No one knows what is true other than the King, and he surely isn't going to reveal anything of value. Thus, The Green Fairy torments who she calls the false denizens, wreaking havoc just for the fun of it. "She's in a mood today, the wind brought down strange tidings when it whistled through. She believes that you have let an imposter into her dominion, banished one."

Killian laughs at that, bitterly. "Are you sure it's me she's angry at?" He asks, pointing to her satchel, the huge blooms of crystalline flowers from the royal gardens barely hidden under the leather flap.

She smiles coyly, batting her eyelashes. "You didn't see me, and I didn't warn you?"

"Fair enough." He grunts, and she slips away with a wave.

She navigates the forest supernaturally, disappearing somewhere they cannot follow, in between trees, behind tall stones, more than once offering him escape with the caveat of being unable to return. At one point he had sought her for comfort, his despair at banishment leaving her pitying, even after she professed dislike of males in most species. She had given him her name, Tinkerbell, and he had tried not to laugh or offend her but failed miserably. Despite all of her kindness, she was quick to anger, and no longer ventured close to the house.

Twigs broke as another creature approached, this time someone unwelcome and familiar. He was close to the castle now, the trees and mossy floor moving around him, drawing him in as they shifted.

"Look who thinks he can come into our domain as he pleases!" a voice called, a Faery named Regina giggled, appearing by his side and slipping her elbow through his. Her long, deep red talons brushed against his sleeve.

"I have an announcement for the Queen that involves sensitive news."

Another giggling voice, this time like an ooze that made Killian feel uncomfortable and unclean. "Oh? Do you Dearie?" Rumplestiltskin drawled, a chair with him sprawled in it materializing in the gloom, the palace springing up around Killian. "What have you to tell my queen?"

Milah sat in the throne next to her scaled husband, her expression reading nothing but boredom.

Killian cleared his throat as the court appeared in different puffs of smoke, anxiety heavy on his shoulders. "Your Majesties, this may be a private matter -"

Rumplestiltskin laughed at that, and Milah stiffened in anger. "You dare tell us what our court is fit to hear -"

"Quiet yourself," Milah hissed, interrupting her husband's mocking. "Is this in regards to our son?"

Rumplestiltskin's face paled as Killian nodded once, Milah giving a thunderous clap of her hands. The palace moved around them again, Milah plucking silver flowers from trees to put in a basket.

"Tell us how he fares, and if he was well met! When will he return?" Milah exclaimed, and Killian let his heart ache for the woman she had once been. He steeled himself, Rumplestiltskin's demeanor ashy and nervous. Killian briefly wondered why this news would be alarming, but shook it off.

"The owner of Carterhaugh has returned, the woman who you saw before does indeed rightfully hold the key."

"That can't be right, she must have cheated or tricked him for his -"

Killian interrupted, shaking his head. "Queen Milah. She was married to a man named Neal. She has no idea who Baelfire is."

"Then we'll kill her and take the key, and when Baelfire returns -"

"I have come here to formally end our accord. I want to be with her and end my watch on the lands, as agreed, my Queen," Killian said calmly, trying not to betray his fear. Milah looked at him in shock, the silver of the room making her seem as if carved from marble, an angry goddess sent to smite errant worshippers. The force of her slap sent his head wrenching to the side, her eyes a deep black.

"You dare to spurn my gifts? You dare to ask for a reprieve from your post? And you dare to ask this of me for the foul creature who may be holding my Baelfire captive?" Milah seethed, her hand shooting out like a viper to grab his chin. "You are mine, and your punishment is befitting of how lucky you are to be mine. You should be grateful!" Killian pulled away from her as she tried to dip her tongue in his mouth, shaking her off. Her mouth tasted like cold, wet earth and sickenly sweet rosewater.

Killian felt bile rise in his throat, but swallowed it back to yell. "I want nothing from you, and will take nothing! Baelfire is -"

"Do not finish that sentence!" Milah screamed, and the world shook, dark fog again returning as trees formed from the mist. "Begone from my realm. I will call to you when I have made a decision, but for now your presence repulses me."

The fog lifted, depositing him at the beginning of the forest in the rotting clearing, his boots beginning to wet from the boggy groundwater. Taking a deep breath of air, he began the long trudge back up to Carterhaugh.

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Present day, post kiss

Sex had been a divisive and troubling prospect for Killian with the Fae court. Their psychological and physical abuse as they edged him for days, left him bleeding or bruised with no thought of soothing his skin or aftercare, and the degradation he begged not to consent to with disregard to any pleas he uttered had left him cold. In his exile, he rarely touched himself, and rarer still had any desire to do so.

The Fae world that originally poured vibrancy, milk, honey, and untold treasures had grown into something crooked that corroded and burnt any life. Even after his banishment, his exile did not return the colors they had taken, life left muted and gray.

Emma was an explosion, too bright at first for him to look at, and then a fire that he could not hope to seek refuge by. She would burn him, blind him, or he would snuff her out, let her smolder down to ash.

When she kissed him, neither happened and it was fireworks that did nothing but heat his body, light magnified. Emma was not a fire, but sunshine after too many long days of rain. She filled him with hope, illuminating the world again to push away the gray and reveal the hues he had lost.

When she fled, it was an all encompassing dread that filled him. He had realized that he was in love with her far before, but had been content for the cloudy summer days she brought him, peeking bits of color here or there to sustain him - her affection and attention like watering a withered flower.

Now it was alive, facing the sun happily, and it was like a sword through his chest when she took it away. She would leave, leave him in this house with its halls and secrets, leave him with the ghosts of the others that left. Killian texted her frantically, called her both through the door and over her cellular phone, tried to see her from his balcony, and had sat in the darkness staring at the lit screen of his own phone when no reply came. That was all the answer needed. The first bottle of wine was choked down in the kitchen, a bottle of cheap cabernet meant for cooking. He had asked Emma for it, had asked her for everything really, to cook meals they could share together. Eating alone, drinking alone - how could he go back?

The buried bottle of whiskey in the solarium was meant to be for Baelfire's return, but Baelfire would never return now that Emma was here with the key. He was gone, lost somewhere in the human world. If Killian had asked to pursue the lost boy's trail, if he hadn't waited in this tomb of a house, would things be different? The whiskey is smoky, a burn of fire inside him that licks his insides along with his self hatred. There is nothing more in him besides regret. Regret for not saving Baelfire, for letting Milah transform into the monstrosity she had become, and for Emma - everything he touched turned to dust. He was poison.

The emerald bloom of a flower he doesn't recognize is blurred in his drunken vision, but the thorns are sharp enough to make him curse as he bleeds over the strange petals. Even the solarium rejects him, his laugh bubbling out despite his hatred of everything around him.

Wandering the halls with another bottle in hand, he can't remember where this one was stashed. It's an old bordeaux that is wasted on him and dropped carelessly in the hall, probably hidden by Milah for some celebration - there were too many nooks and crannies in Carterhaugh stuffed with something, be it drink, memories, or ghosts like himself - it's not hard to imagine being as dead as he feels himself longing to be. Milah had warned him of this fate, her heel on his throat as he gasped for air.

"There is no escape from us for you Killian. Accept this. You are mine."

She had beat him bloody, used him until he felt hollowed out, carved clean of any kind of emotion. Breaking him took time, and she had more than enough of it. Depositing him at Carterhaugh in banishment at the end of her torture had been the hardest withdrawal he had faced until now, imagining Emma leaving him here when he had done all he could to heal. Maybe he deserved this hell; after all, the Fae were a form of damnation.

This torture was the worst and most effective the devils could have used. He was left blind now, her light too much up close, left to wander in the dark for his attempts to see her. In a room he doesn't immediately recognize as he stumbles through the door, there is a cool armoire that lets him crawl in like a beaten dog, the moth eaten linens inside serving as a soft cocoon around him. It's blissfully dark and enclosed, a coffin for the phantom he is. He should not accept becoming a ghost again, but in truth he should not have accepted a lot of things.

It might be best if he cut out his heart and buried the burden of it in the garden after all; to be blind, heartless, and complete his own transformation into the damned spirit of Carterhaugh. Maybe then the next owner might have pity for him, and he could forget about the losses that make his chest ache.

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The quiet stillness that settled over Carterhaugh when Emma padded to the kitchen was oppressive, the smallest movements tensed as if she were a thief in her own house. It felt wrong to be here, the change in atmosphere reminding her of when she had squatted in a museum's unfinished exhibit space for a few weeks, the edge of always being caught like a predator she knew lay just outside her peripheral vision. The difference was that she had caused this change, brought it upon herself by being careless and selfish and naive. He was gone. The absence of another presence was like a vacuum, and it sucked the life she had worked so hard to put back into the giant house without mercy.

No, that wasn't quite right. She was a ghost in this house because it was him she rebuffed. Others could come and go, but it was Killian who had actually made her feel like the building had a soul.

Touches of him were everywhere, even in her own decisions. She spent breakfast wrapped up in one such choice, his preferred coffee mug warming her hand under his preferred blanket that smelled like him. There was no one here to judge her if she wrapped herself in what was gone, or cried bitterly into her drink. There was only her. Only Emma, lost girl, left again and again.

Lunch rolled around faster than she could have anticipated, watching windows as she tried to convince herself to do anything but look for signs of him. His room was unslept in, bed made and tidy. It struck her as so entirely him, the lines of the crisp sheets creased with care, and she laughed out a strangled noise. He had cared about her, and she should have told him that he was cared for too. Laying in his bed, wrinkling the smoothed linens and holding his pillow tightly as she curled around it, her heart ached with unsaid admissions.

When he came back, she would tell him. Emma willed herself to have courage and take a leap of faith just this once, to trust that he would come back. He had to come back, and when he did, he would have to let her tell him the truth.

A spiteful voice slithered in her ear, its words making her lungs constrict.

He doesn't have to forgive you for pushing him away.

You don't deserve it.

Emma was tired of not deserving what she so desperately wanted. She had wanted a family, friends, safety, a roof over her head, trust, and love for so long. Fighting for those things after being let go from foster homes, after living in abandoned places, after the house with too many doors that haunted her nightmares, after Neal's destruction of her trust, after her forced committal and subsequent release, after making a family and making friends who she knew cared - Killian could be something new if she just let him in to try.

He had proven himself worth it time and time again even before her kiss, a kiss she now dreamt of in his bed. She could hear him, his mumbled and worried voice full of concern he shouldn't have over her, wetness drenching her cheeks from tears cried into his pillow.

Time is a wheel, and it turns and turns and spins and whirls as it pulls Emma along with it. It's as if her eyes are covered in gauze, her smile feels forced but she also craves having her lips upturned for him. When she is alone, completely and blissfully alone, she examines the confines of the ring that surrounds her. In the silence, there's clarity. Emma breaks it with whispered words she repeats to herself. The feel of them on her lips gives her hope, as if she can beat whatever this is by practicing the magic words that she longs to say.

'No.'

At one time, he had told her with his grin (too sharp, she can see it now, his teeth are sharpened and too white) that people knew better than to say no to him. She had done so with correction (he had called it correction when his hand met her face, or torso, or wherever he could reach with the open palm, then closed fist) and then by choice, not realizing what she had given away. First her name, then accepting all of his hospitality, giving him the power of her voice and will, and then letting him lure her into his ring completely. It glittered on her finger, too bright, overwhelming in its gaudiness. It's a wonder that she hadn't known and hadn't seen it behind the glamor.

Emma wonders idly if this is madness, if she's gone insane or broken to a mental fracture. Every time she sees him now in his true form (with the long fingers, the hair that moves sometimes as if in an invisible wind, his pointed ears and sharp teeth, the cold steel eyes that seem to glow, the carved angles of his face casting deep shadow) and cannot control her actions fully or fight against his will, she fears that her mind is lost. When people that aren't made of the glittering marble look at her, do they see what she once saw? Do they see a beautiful vision of a happy couple, that seems to exist outside of reality? Are they able to see how her face strains and her fingers spasm, all in attempts to claw at her face?

She knows that Neal and his kind can see the truth, even as hard as she tries to hide it. She knows that Neal is quick to take her hand in his (too tightly, as if to break her fingers) to still the tremors. She knows that Neal will kiss her (He always tastes of wine and honey, but now there is an aftertaste of something old, something gone sour and bitter, it makes her tongue feel as if she has licked an old battery covered in wet earth) to cement her smile.

The more she tries to break free, the more he presses down to keep her under his thumb. He grips tighter, beginning to take away the freedom of her silent reprieves by never leaving her alone. Emma can hear him in the next room, hear what he is doing and can hear the other woman as the purple haired beauty watches her with amusement.

'In the olden days, they warned you mortals not to dance with us,' She purrs, her warm colored skin ice cold when she curls to take a selfie with Emma, 'Say Hi, Emma. This is for my Instagram page, TheSeaBitch - Hey unfortunate souls! Ursula here, with Emma Gold, the it girl, hit girl, socialite you all want to be! We're reminding you to come out to Atlantica to dance this Friday, first drink is free and no cover for you other it girls. Come on, dance with us!"

Ursula twists the camera, and Emma's mouth moves on its own.

"Please, come dance! I could dance forever…" Her voice sounds foreign, but as Ursula presses a button to close out the video, she giggles while changing the filter.

"Great job, Emma. Neal will love this, after he finishes with her make sure to tell him that is our next ring." Ursula's cold fingers pinch Emma's cheeks, pushing her lips out into a pout as nails dig into the skin. Emma does not wince, even as the sharp pang of it hits her. "You have truly been such a perfect little thrall. I bet you'll be the one he chooses as his first attempt now that he's ready."

Emma grins, not understanding what that means, only happy to please. Her nose begins to bleed. Ursula looks at her with a too wide grin, the noises finally stopped in the room she cannot and does not want to see into.

Neal walks out as he finishes buttoning up his pants, his shirt open and tie slung around his neck. Emma stands dutifully as he approaches, carefully smoothing down his shirt, buttoning it and tucking it in his pants, then tying his tie. She can feel his eyes on her, watching the gentle trickle of blood slide down her face. He kisses her hungrily, the taste of copper unwelcome to her even as he groans, his eyes fluttering closed. From behind him, Emma watches the woman leave through the door, looking confused and dazed while she adjusts her skirt, Neal still pushing his tongue down her throat.

'I didn't want to do that, Em.' He whispered in her ear. She pulled off his lap in the car, adjusting her dress and then attending to cleaning him. 'I had a deal I needed to take care of, that's all. You're special. I know you are struggling with this, but I am keeping my promise to you - we are going to run away together, have a family, live in happiness. I just need to get things in order to make sure it's perfect.'

Emma stares, looking at him carefully. The air in the car shifts, as if a gust of wind has forced past the partition or closed windows.

'I don't want this Neal, I don't know what you've done to me, or how, but I don't want -'

The sleepy feeling of comfort rises again, a smile creeping up her face. Her head is so heavy, and Emma lays it in his lap as he strokes her hair, curling it around his fingers with a kind smile. He is so good to her, isn't he? So wonderful…

It echoes, again and again, how much she loves him, and how wonderful it is to be loved by him. How grateful she should be. He takes her shopping, her previous dress wet and stained, dressing her like a doll until she's perfect to stand at his arm.

They dance at Atlantica, the bright colors of outfits and gleam of sparkling fabrics among bubbles that fall from the ceiling makes Emma feel as if they are underwater.

(Part of her feels as if she is drowning)

Ariel and Ruby come, they appear as if they are parting the sea with their presence. Emma tries to tell them to flee with her slow blinking and blurry gaze. They don't. Neal is delighted when they dance with them, and when they drink. Emma watches them spin in circles while her feet step in choreography she can't control.

That night he presents her with the emeralds, the circle cut necklace, the bracelets, the earrings - the green so bright it seems as if it's a growing plant. Emma holds it in her palm, feeling it pulse, feeling it dig into her hand as if it wants to fuse with her skin. It whispers, and Neal whispers with it.

(It says, 'I am the ring of green mantle, I am the double rose with biting thorns!

I am the wands and I am the maidenhead!

I am everything that takes root, that will snap, and that will break forth!')

(Neal says, 'I'm ready. Let me show you the dark wonders, and the many terrible things. Let me have all of you. Let me have you, give me life from you, and from me.

Let me take you to what will be our home.')

(It sits heavy on her chest, just below her clavicle and between her breasts, whispering without pause. It is clear what it wants, it is clear what he wants, and Emma will not give him this. The whispers curl like worms, they crawl over her and make her itch. It laughs at her when she thinks about contraception, cackles when she thinks about her birth control pills taken religiously when Neal sleeps.

It tells her they won't work. It tells her that she should be happy. )

Neal takes her hand, and they step out of his car. It's different, less ostentatious, the neighborhood they are in is dark. The house looks shabby, a window boarded up and a wilted chain link fence covered in rust so foreign to her now, it pushes a memory of who she used to be up from the depths of her mind. She was on streets like these before. She fought. She punched back, made her own fate. No fairy godmother's, no fairies at all. No one saved her except her.

Rage prickles down her spine, sweat beading at the nape of her neck.

Ariel and Ruby step out of the car behind her. They look tired, almost asleep on their feet, but with happy smiles that make them look drunk. Emma knows they aren't drunk.

They stepped inside the house, it's dark wood paneling smelling like cigarettes and dust, the linoleum as they walked into the kitchen peeling. The cupboards are crooked and an old fridge hums when they turn beside it to go down to the basement. The wood stairs squeak under their steps, until her foot connects with white stone. They walked further, until Emma first sees the house for what it is - The house with too many doors.

Neal twirled her, laughing, and through opened doors she sees the shivering women with their blank stares. He spins her into him, and she feels the press of him against her, his breath on her neck. Her fingers curl closed, nails biting into her palms as she tenses. Neal rocks her, slowing as he turns her to look at him with confusion.

"We're finally ready. You're ready, and I," His grin infectious. It made her stomach turn. "I found you. You are so beautiful. You are so perfect for this. I made you, and you will make for me, in turn."

The rage under her skin heated to fury. No one has made her anything, and she is not this. She is not owned. She will never be owned. She isn't nothing. She has never been nothing!

She is Emma Swan, and she is not about to be shackled into this prison.

"You're… Why aren't you smiling, Emma?" He asked.

Emma blinked, touching her face. She wasn't smiling. She was frowning. Her eyes narrowed, watching Ruby and Ariel shuffle into a room. Neal touched her cheek, pushing her gaze back to him.

"Emma," Neal gritted out, his face contorted in fury. "Why aren't you smiling?"

Emma didn't answer, her hand gripping the emerald necklace by its whispering pendant and jerking it off of her neck with as much force as she could. It shrieked at her, she was sure she heard it scream, heard the cry of it like some horrid changeling infant.

She ran, ran to the steps, Neal on her heels just behind her. He caught her ankle and yanked, they fought on the stairs as she kicked at him. Her fingers dragged along the wood, splintering the boards. Another strong pull and her head landed hard on the cool rock, dizziness taking over, Neal looming above her as darkness began to bloom in her eyes.

'Oh, Emma.' Neal said with a nauseating fake tone of concern. "What ever shall I do with you?"

Emma tried to turn her head, tried to turn away from him, but she couldn't move as he dragged her.

"Emma. Oh, Emma." He tutted, her hair wet against the stone, her fingers tracing the trail that followed behind her. "Emma, Emma, Emma." He sighed.

"Emma," it was sighed, more exasperated now, but so much gentler. "Swan, you need to get up."

Emma blinked awake with a deep gulp of breath, sitting up to find a red eyed and bleary looking Killian watching her on the edge of his bed. He looked as terrible as she felt, which should not have made her heart warm as it did.

"You're here? You're back?" Emma whispered, and his sad smile at her brought more tears to her eyes.

"I didn't leave. I got a bit…" He blushed, sheepishly scratching behind his ear. "I got a lot drunk, and ended the night sleeping in another room. A closet, actually. I just woke up."

"A closet?" Emma asked, trying her hardest not to laugh, even as her eyes misted.

He chuckled nervously. "An armoire, actually, if we're being technical."

"Semantics," Emma teased, gently, an awkward silence following the way they fell back into easy conversation. Swallowing hard, Emma scooted over to his side. "Look, Killian, I -"

"It's alright, Swan. I overstepped, and I need to put my feelings for you aside." He shrugged, even as Emma gaped at him. "I shouldn't have kissed you, it was inappropriate and -"

"I kissed you, Killian. I was the one, and - Wait," She blinked, trying to clear her head. "Did you say that you have feelings for me?"

Killian nodded once, sagely. "Aye, lass. I do. I won't act on them again -"

"No!" Emma blurted, her hands finding his. "I want - No. I have them too. I don't want - I didn't want you to leave, and I thought you -" She paused, and he gently stroked her knuckles in encouragement as she met his penetrating gaze. "I've been abandoned so often. I was scared to let you in, to feel all of this so strongly, but thinking you left…"

"If you'll have me, darling," Killian whispered, his arm moving to bring her into his embrace, "You have no reason to fear I'd ever leave your side."

Emma laughed, happiness and a sense of joy flooding her veins as she looked up at him from where he held her against his body.

"I am so sorry for freaking out. I'm sorry for -"

"Apology accepted," Killian interrupted, kissing her forehead. "You needn't have even one, You have -you had an aversion to touch, and I -"

"Can I kiss you again?" Emma asked, surprised how breathless she suddenly felt.

Killian grinned, shaking his head. "No."

"Oh," Emma let out an exhale, trying to not show her hurt. "I just thought -" Killian held up a finger to silence her, tracing it along her lips to the apple of her cheek where he cupped her face. His eyes crinkled at the edges, the blue of them light and clear of worry despite their redness. He leaned closer, licking his lips, whispering against the corner of her mouth as she gasped.

"Because, darling, this time I am kissing you, if it's alright."

Emma nodded, swallowing hard. He pressed against her, and she molded herself to him, half wondering if it was a dream as her hands curled behind his neck. Her tongue slipped along his bottom lip until he was moving his head to deepen the kiss, his own tongue tracing hers while she let out a moan. This seemed to spur him on, his teeth joining the exploration as he gently bit on her bottom lip, her body grinding into his with sudden need. When she returned the teasing nibble, his answering groan made her shiver while they broke away for air.

"I think," Emma panted out, smiling at Killian's darkened gaze and mussed hair. "I like this whole you kissing me thing."

"Good," Killian smirked, his mouth trailing kisses up her neck as he pushed her back to lie on his bed. "Because I am not going to stop unless I bloody well have to."

His hands roamed her body over her pajamas, her eyes falling closed in bliss when he moved to cage her body and kissed her senseless again and again.

"I've wanted this for so long, Emma," he murmured, holding her as they lay together under the covers, her head resting on his chest. "You're beautiful, and everything I could have wanted. I thought - I thought I had ruined everything -"

"Shhhh," Emma murmured, rolling herself onto his chest, her legs straddling him. She had felt the sweatpants covered heat of him against her thigh before, but now it twitched back to life underneath her where her own warmth emanated. Killian hissed, his eyes widening. "This is a happy beginning."

Leaning down and hungrily kissing him, she pulled a wrecked keening noise from his throat when her hips rolled against his. His hands clutched at her ass, and she let her own fingers wander, splaying a palm under his waistband. He gasped when her warm palm lay against his hip bone, pulling away to search her face.

"Are you - Do you want to? It's just fast -" He let out a groan when her fingers stroked down against the heated flesh of his thigh. "Say that this is alright, Emma, because we don't have to -"

She silenced him by removing her loose top and bra, his gaze raking over her body more than appreciative. "I want this, Killian. I want you, all of you."

"Then you shall have it, love." He grunted, pulling her down to press hot kisses up her neck. He sucked on an earlobe and she whimpered, heat pooling in her belly. Frantically, Emma helped him rid himself of his clothing, kissing down his chest while her clever tongue found his nipple. The kisses turned more wild and possessive as they rolled, her body ending up over his. His cock jutted proudly against his stomach when she sat on her haunches, looking him up and down. The coil in her belly felt tight already, but the idea of his considerable size in her made it burn with want.

Emma let herself go, giving in to what she so desperately desired.

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Emma sat looking at him with lust hazed eyes, the green darkened to a stormy sea glass. Her body was perfect, her breasts bare above printed shorts and some lacy garment that had matched her discarded bra. He had felt the silky softness of it when tracing her hip bones, but now as she took off the shorts covering them his breath caught at how positively sinful they looked against her creamy skin. They did little to cover her heat, and as she shimmied out of the other garment he could see how they framed the globes of her ass perfectly. The wonders of this new world did not cease to surprise him.

Killian suddenly felt self conscious, realizing that her touch was driving him mad quicker than he wished.

"It's - ah - been a while since -"

"Me too, me too, but we'll go slow." Emma tentatively licked the large vein that throbbed under his skin, sending all thought scattering.

"You don't have to -" he tried to start as she lowered herself into a position better suited for her exploration. Braced on his forearms, he watched her smile up at him teasingly, pumping him a few times with a loose grip that he rutted into slightly.

Fae women were cold and calculated when they'd joined him, Milah growing fond of pain, but this was heaven in every sense of the word. Gods above he was a fool to not see that sinful smirk and not know Emma was perfect, fucking perfect -

Licking up his length, she bobbed and he lost all thought; his head falling back as his hands gripped the sheets tight enough to make his knuckles go white. Her mouth was so warm, sucking and swirling on the head of his cock then bobbing down to his base. He wanted to buck, but resisted to stay on the sword’s edge of pleasure, only thrusting upwards when Emma's tongue danced along a sensitive ridge.

"Em - Emma -" Groaning, he pulled her up, kissing her roughly, nipping at the corners of her mouth. Her moan tasted like warm honey, tongue guiding him into a gentler and slower pace that unraveled the rest of his thinking, the pads of her fingers nimbly finding his cock again. Killian gripped her hand firmly, pulling away from her lips to chuckle darkly under her ear. "My darling, I want this to last. I want to taste every inch of you - and you're making that incredibly difficult."

Her voice was wrecked and came in small pants, much to his satisfaction. "You did say," Emma let out a little moan as his hand found its way past her navel, "You liked a challenge."

"Mmmm." Killian left wet kisses in a trail down her neck, the bite right under her collarbone causing her hips to buck, and letting his fingers slide past her pushed aside silky underwear. The fashion in the modern age had never once been of interest until now, his other hand pulling down her shorts to reveal the barely there wet fabric his fingers swiped through.

He groaned and Emma ground herself down on his fingers, with a slight gasp that made him ache for not being between her thighs already. Her walls were velvety around his fingers as they slipped in and out, curling them he could feel her neediness as he wound her up, thumb rubbing circles before withdrawing his soaked digits. Popping them in his mouth as she watched, grumbling expletives at him for leaving her so close, she whined at his groan of pleasure at her taste. For a brief moment his eyes fluttered shut, her scent and the taste of her on his tongue both too much and too little. Emma looped her own wet fingers around the base of his cock and his eyes shot back open.

Killian pressed his lips hard against hers, hungrily and frantically desperate to feel her body against his. Pulling clothing aside to help her wiggle out of those blessed, beautiful, frustrating, underwear, then she was sinking down on him and he was praying to the stars behind his eyelids that he wouldn't spill right then and there.

He thrust up in ecstasy, pressure building as she ground her hips down, so tight and wet and perfect. She was perfect, he needed -

Lurching forward, Killian pulled Emma tightly to him, hugging her close and changing the depth of his strokes.

"Killian, please!"

"Oh, my love, you have no idea how good you feel, how much I need to hear you say my name just like that. Do you want to come with me, my darling?"

"Yes!"

"Good Gods, please - Please, tell me what you need -".

Her hand led his, his fingers working her as she tensed. "Killian!" Her nails bit into his back as she moaned into the juncture of his neck, everything condensed to a fluttering tightness as his own release chased just behind hers. The hand that clawed at his back gripped him tighter reflexively while her body tried to hold him everywhere they met.

She rolled her hips, his head falling back at their last jerking movements, bodies shuddering together in embrace.

"You are bloody spectacular," Killian whispered, leaning back again carefully, cradling her against his chest with his other arm. "Magnificent."

Emma smirked. "I couldn't tell, you give absolutely no praise or direction."

"Be fair Swan, you must understand that I never thought to do this, and I never believed that you would return my feelings."

"Me either. I suppose I could settle for you though." Emma's smirk turned to a smile of bliss, a late aftershock rippling through her when she adjusted, attempting to pull away. Killian made a keening noise, eyes falling shut as he bit his lip and she rose again, just slightly in exquisite torture. She could feel his once softening member twitching inside of her still, and she moved in a slight shift again. Already sensitive from before, his thighs quivered. The Fae could be thanked for his better than average recovery, at least. Decades of their brand of torment had one silver lining.

"Emma, I - fuck."

"Your begging? That was sexy for me the first time, so let's see if we can move past this being a one time thing. I am hoping with practice, thorough practice," Emma rolled her hips in a tight circular grind, earning a string of expletives as Killian’s back arched again, "We can make it an every week thing."

Flipping her as she squealed, he slowly started to thrust into her as she moaned.

"Start small, work our way to twice a day?" he grinned ferally, withdrawing in a slow pull to push back in at a teasingly languid pace.

"Whatever you want!" Emma whimpered.

His breath was hot on the shell of her ear, fluttering starting in her belly again. "Then we probably should make sure that our form is perfect, too."

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Emma found Killian making coffee, hugging him from behind with her face pressed into his back. Nuzzling against the thin cotton shirt, her hands dipped to splay along his hip bones. He made an indecent noise between a purr and a breathy moan, turning to pull her against him in one swift motion. Hips rolling into her, he hoisted her up into his arms.

"A man can't get a moment's rest around here, Swan." He grinned as he pressed her against the wall. Kissing her roughly, and forgetting about their breakfast until the clock chimed noon.

"You are just as insatiable." Emma smiled, untangling herself from him on the floor of the library. His bark of laughter and gentle poke in her ribs brought a grin to her face, her stomach rumbling loudly against his cheek.

"I suppose I should make something for you to eat." Killian whispered, rubbing his scruff against her navel. "It's only fair when I've had seconds of my own."

She hummed, offering a hand as she stood, leading them both toward the kitchen.

Weeks passed like this, intimacy laying itself over every aspect of their routine and relationship. Emma moved into Killian's suite at some point along the way, a vanity added to the corner while her bathroom products were gently reorganized by Killian much to her chagrin.

He made it up to her with enthusiasm, his tongue making her toes curl into the sheets as she rode his face. Hearing him moan into her folds and grip her ass tightly sent her higher and higher, up into the clouds. Even more pleasure came from watching how it affected him, if she turned to watch his cock leak, or his hips twitch upwards with desperate need for friction.

When she moved to swallow him with the same abandon he gave to her clit, he practically screamed. His whimpered breaths and puffs of hot air made her clench, until he was throwing her aside, eyes wild and face a mess of her own wet slicked juices.

Emma reveled in pushing him into a sort of frenzy, making his eyes go almost black with lust and his lips curl into a carnal smirk while filth poured from his mouth - with slight pushing Killian seemed to forget the prim and shy gardener in favor of becoming wild, animalistic. The things he whispered in her ear, as he licked up her thigh, in the soft nuzzle of one of her breasts; they could be soft and flowery, or erotic wishes that made her cheeks flame and heat lick her core.

Nowhere in Carterhaugh was too sacred to keep them from each other.

In the music room, light streamed in as the curtains lazily danced in a chilled breeze, Killian's hands threaded in the halo of her hair, setting a rhythm as he thrust up. His thighs spread further, shakily, while his other hand grappled at piano keys, playing a loud accompaniment for his groans as she bobbed her head and sucked him within an inch of his life. Feeling him send a rush of his hot cum down her throat while chanting her name made her feel pride, his protests at her interrupting a practice forgotten by both.

His hands felt amazing on her skin; the rough calluses from his hard work in the garden circling her nipple, while his soft lips followed behind could practically make her come on the spot. Emma would catch him watching her through the haze of their fucking, half lidded eyes looking up at her while he let his nose lead a trail for his lips to follow. She loved the way his palms kneaded her thighs, or pulled her up roughly, or splayed on the small of her back when he took her from behind. In the solarium he draped himself over her body in a possessiveness she hadn't ever known, torturously grinding against her to turn her into a writhing mess. Killian had chuckled into her shoulder when she had begun to whine in her throat, his hands gathering hers in a stretching thrust that made her see stars.

The way he mapped her body, admitting his memorization to her earnestly, his fingers stroking lazy patterns through the sheen of sweat on her stomach - it should have terrified her. She should be running, should know better than to stay and let someone pull down her barriers with not only sex, but with every part of their presence.

A snow storm moved in outside, both of them knowing the other well enough to know the edge it brought to their nerves. Killian made tea, while Emma chose a movie and created their blanket fort over the couches in the den. They lit candles together, the power going out as it always seemed to in heavy rains, but it was fine when they were snuggled together with warm mugs watching the screen of her laptop. Or, in Killian's case, watching her. The mugs were pushed aside, going cold while the movie played for no audience, the two preoccupied by their own rising needs.

His hands held her bouncing breasts, massaging them as she rode him with a deep circular grind that made both of them feel electric.

"God's above, oh - oh my darling - do you know how good it feels to have your sweet quim tight around my cock? You're going to make me come undone my love, please don't stop!"

Emma was being lit, flickering herself, wanting nothing more than to combust. "Close, close again, ah! Ah - Killian, I'm so so close -"

With a hiss, he moved to be above her and she lost the heat of him inside for the briefest moment before he was filling her again. He looked unearthly in the candlelight and occasional flicker of electricity, his chest hair against her nipples and the softness of the blanket underneath her a perfect combination.

"I can feel you, I want to feel you come - bloody hell , love, I - fall apart for me, fall for me, just like that," The hoarse whispers echoed through the room, the cords in his neck as strained as the groans tearing from his throat. "Good God's, Emma , just like - fuck, just like that!"

Her body shook, muscles tightening and fluttering as a fire that burned away everything but ecstasy consumed her. She was aware of the half scream she let out, but with everything pinpointed to the pulse just below her belly, she was more conscious of Killian chasing his own release with abandon.

He grunted, the hard thrusts using her weight and his muscle to ease the fury of his pace, her legs pulled over his shoulders to hold her flush and bent. She heard him utter a string of curses, the clear sign he was close, his formality falling away. Every aftershock and subsequent clenching as her body tried to hold him earned a gasping moan practically torn from his throat.

"Fucking hells, Emma - I'm - God's Emma, you feel so bloody amazing - so fucking good, Emma, yes," The word came out with a hiss, the 's' sound long in his mouth, his eyes pressed close when her hand snaked to stroke the sensitive skin below where they were joined. She squeezed, feeling the tightening in her palm as his body drew up, the vein pulsing under her thumb. " Emma , Emma, I fuck - Fuck !"

She felt his hips stutter, heard his cry, and then he was filling her with erratic strokes. Emma attempted to soothe him, the whimpers and guttural pants sounding almost pained. Lowering her legs to wrap around him, and her arms embracing him around his neck and shoulders, she peppered his face with soft kisses while the pads of her fingers ran over the lines of his muscles. His head fell, bowing from her ministrations, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck as his weight pressed down on her.

"Am I crushing you?" he whispered after a moment.

Emma shook her head, her fingers raking through his hair. His sigh of contentment and the feeling of his eyelashes on her collarbone filled her with another sort of weight instead.

She felt safe.

Not only safe, but cherished. When had anyone ever been so tender and treated her like this? Sex aside -

(No, not sex. Not fucking. He loves you, he loves all of you : body, mind, soul and heart. You know this isn't just sex and that you can't go back - )

His lovemaking aside, Killian cared about her more than anyone she knew. His love and affection were everywhere, like dust motes in the air. Sometimes seen, sometimes not but still present, and other times catching the glints of sunshine he brought into her life, valuable and precious, like gold leaf or diamond dust.

Stranger still, was knowing that Killian knew she cared for him too. There was an understanding that they both had rough edges, they both had secrets that lurked just out of sight, neither of them wanting to examine them closely. His scars and his gentle questioning that accompanied his careful touches or the way he flinched if she moved too quickly changed their relationship for the better. Emma felt his ease afterwards grow, the worry replaced by trust. On more than one occasion Killian had mentioned in quiet mumbles that his last partner had been too rough, averting his eyes.

On more than one occasion, Emma had taken his hand in her own, whispering that she understood. When she told him he never had to be ashamed around her, he scoffed, rubbing at his eyes.

"I mean it Killian," Emma waited until he turned to look at her, his face inches from her own. His eyes were wet, the blue the color of an overcast day. "I choose to see the best in you, no matter what. Whatever you have done in the past, the acts committed by you or against you, I know who you are. You could never be the villain to me." He allowed her to kiss his cheek, and curl into his side. Emma basked in the gentle embrace as his fingers traced trails down her hip bone.

He treasured her, Emma began to believe.

She was a treasured thing, falling fast and headlong into disaster, but didn't care about the consequences when that feeling was bestowed on her so liberally.

Even if more terrifyingly, she had slowly begun to realize that she, too, treasured him.

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To say that Mary Margaret Nolan was perceptive was an understatement. David and Double Ems had been Skype calling her almost every day since they had left for Christmas, as if they were looking for something. When nothing had happened the calls had tapered off slightly, until a few days after Emma and Killian had begun whatever it was that they were doing.

It was if Emma had writing on her forehead her friend could read, her eyes scrutinizing every detail and the questions becoming pointed. Finally, Emma had gotten an invitation to a big announcement from Mary Margaret, in which Killian was invited. When Emma booted up Skype, Mary Margaret's face greeted her, but her eyes were searching for someone else.

"Where's Killian? Did he not get my invite?" She asked, the accusation clear in her question.

"Look, about that -" Emma began, but Mary Margaret shook her head, scowling. She actually looked angry to Emma's surprise.

"I cannot believe that you stupid oblivious idiots don't realize that you not only are pining for each other, but you are perfect for each other, and he is head over heels -"

"We're dating, Mary Margaret." Emma admitted, begrudgingly interrupting the tirade. Seeing the look on her friend's face, Emma groaned. "Don't make it weird, but I really like him -"

"Ha!" Mary Margaret craned her head to yell across the room. "David you owe me 20 bucks!"

"No, really? Ugh, gross," David shouted from somewhere she couldn't see.

"Invite him on camera, I want to see him! We miss him!"

"You miss him, I want to question his intentions with Emma - " David grumbled, walking past in the background.

"Does he know about…?" Mary Margaret trailed off, her eyes searching Emma's face on the screen.

"No. Kind of. He knows something happened but not the details. I haven't told him about the psych ward, the fire, and Neal." Emma chewed her lip, wondering how Killian would react to her past, her hallucinations of the house with too many doors, her paranoid delusions about her friends disappearing, the fire she thought she had caused - would he still accept her knowing that she managed an illness so severe? Would it change the way he looked at her, from adoration to that smothering gaze of pity she got from everyone else?

"Are you going to? Because if you slipped back into that psychosis -"

"Eventually." Emma said, cringing at how fast the half truth slipped off her tongue. Mary Margaret's eyebrows rose, her lips pressing together. Before she could object, Emma pointed off camera. "I'm going to go get him, please don't talk about it when I get back, OK? Please don't go all Psychologist on me, I promise I'll tell him, but on my terms and later on. I'm not ready yet."

"Oh Emma," Mary Margaret sighed, her face softening. "Of course."

"I'll be right back."

Killian was waiting for her in the kitchen, handing her a hot chocolate as they settled in the living room and loaded Skype on the television's screen.

"Hi Kill - Are you both seriously in a pillow fort?" Mary Margaret asked, leaning in to her computer so her eyebrows took up the frame. "Oh my God, that is too cute, David look at them -"

"I told them to be cool about us dating," Emma grumbled, Killian letting out a snort of laughter as he kissed her cheek.

"Hello Nolan family, thank you for the invite to this, er, announcement." He blushed, and Mary Margaret giggled again. David sat beside her, finally coming into views she backed up.

They practically glowed together, David relaxing immediately when her head rested against his shoulder. Looking at where their own mirrored image was displayed on the screen, Emma could see Killian’s loving stare, her face in a resting contented grin. She looked - they looked -

"So, this announcement. I'm sure you've probably figured it out Killian, but my sister is completely oblivious to almost everything, it seems." David snickered as Emma protested, Killian laughing along with Mary Margaret.

"I might have," Killian admitted. "Congratulations are in order, I believe?"

Emma blinked, staring at Mary Margaret and her bright smile. She glowed.

To say Emma wasn't perceptive was an understatement. Her brain clicked, but she could not push the words from her mouth in surprise.

"Double Em, you're -"

"We're pregnant!" She laughed, David kissing her as Emma stared at them in complete shock. "We did some calculations, and it looks like, um," Mary Margaret's blush deepened. "It happened very likely at Christmas, most likely -"

"You -" Emma stammered, her own face reddening. "Seriously? You guys conceived in my house?"

David laughed at her grimace, before they were all laughing. Emma found herself curling into Killian’s touch, listening to her brother and Mary Margaret's plans for what they were going to do with a nursery, and how she was feeling, how they'd found out (a fainting spell during grocery shopping, of all things), the call stretching on as they simply enjoyed each other's presence. Killian traced his fingers along her back, pulling her to him immediately once the call was over and she had shut down the television.

"Mary Margaret says David and her are sending us a gift, which I'm a bit afraid for. She mentioned to me last time that they found these garden gnomes, and David thought it might spook you because you don't like -"

"Gnomes are not traditional Fae folk, at least not here. They're bloody Scandinavian, and only go after those who smell of unwashed feet." Killian sniffed, annoyed, holding her tighter. He let out a hum of pleasure when she turned to sit in his lap, eyes half closed while he stared up at her. "You're so beautiful."

Emma giggled lightly, feeling warmth in her chest and a lightness that relaxed her further. She yawned, and he followed slightly after, both of them curling into the pillows that made up their fort.

"Hey Killian?" Emma mumbled, exhaustion catching up on her.

He replied in a slow, groggy, hum of a question.

"You think you could be happy like that with me?" The question hung in the air, and Emma wanted to regret it, to take it back as her eyelids drooped.

"I think I could be anything with you, Emma," He whispered into her hair, falling to a low murmur. Her eyes blinked close, longer and longer. "I'd be happy just like them if not more. Enough to never need to compare. Incandescently happy."

The warmth Emma had felt earlier settled on her skin as she drifted asleep in his arms.

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Happiness felt strange to Emma, no real comparison to be made in the fleeting moments that it stayed in her life. She had thought she was happy, though worry and doubt had plagued her. She had wondered why others accepted happiness as it being the end all be all; hanging their joy to hitch their wagon on. Now, she knew.

There was a slow summer laziness to happy contentment, even in the early spring chill. It was as if happiness rolled over her, laid over her in a warm blanket she only wanted to burrow deeper into. Killian was tender, sweet even, his gestures so different than she had ever known. Her one night stands or Neal's rough uses for her had never shown any level of care Killian did, even in the smallest of actions. He kissed her shoulder every morning, bringing her coffee while reading her the news in their bed. He knew how she took it with more sugar than cream, knew how she sometimes needed time to forget her nightmares, and knew without needing to be told that probing the issue was not something she wanted.

I'm his eyes, she swore she could see something akin to understanding. It was too terrifying to bring up yet, but he seemed to read her. How he figured out how she had no idea, but Emma desperately wanted to hope that maybe he would listen. Maybe he would tell her she's not insane.

Maybe he knows about the darkness, about being adrift over pitch colored seas that have no end, no fathoms of depth. Maybe he knows what it's like to ride out waves that crash and claw through daily life, as if they were ships in the night passing close now, so close. As long as she doesn't ask where they're going or what lies below they can be fine forever, but for once Emma didn't want that; Because there is something that lurks, It lurks in his eyes and warnings, something scares him that he can't say, and it's the first time she has found another lost soul. She has found someone she empathizes with, her own monsters behind locked doors bursting at the hinges. He might take comfort knowing he isn't alone.

For all she knows, he might know of houses like the one Neal took her to. He might have seen places with too many locked doors, might have had too many missing friends, coworkers, neighbors, and acquaintances, might have wished to bite his tongue off than say anything but 'No' ever again.

And as she watches, she finds herself wondering if he might be the one she'll let herself sink into, not worrying about a destination any more as she simply enjoys the peace of floating in this current, no longer afraid that there might be monsters in these depths trying to pull her under.

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Summer tore through Carterhaugh's halls in a heatwave that made Emma thankful for fans and the installation of central air. Killian didn't notice the sweltering air, but she made it clear she felt free to notice him. Where she had blushed and her eyes had shied away before, now she was free to ogle without reservations. If he made more efforts to keep her eyes on him, he could always claim coincidence.

"I noticed before too, you're not exactly stealthy, Swan." He'd grinned into her jaw, kissing softly as they finished the final window of the main rooms. The stained glass lit the room in fire hues, as if the wooden floor was licked with a visible sign of the heat. Emma had been dressing much more delectably in turn, short trousers and tops with no sleeves that showed off how defined her arms were. Occasionally they had no straps, or fell just below her breasts baring her stomach and midriff.

When they lazily made love in the shade of the tree outside, blanket on the grass, it was easy to convince her to bask naked with him in the sunlight after. Emma was a marvel, a wonder, and she was his. Everything about her was like magic, her eyes finally full of trust when she looked at him. She was his, and he knew that meant all too soon she wouldn't be.

The bells came as July rolled through, Milah summoning him down to the wood. The house was finally finished, and Emma was exhausted. They had eaten a light lunch before she had fallen asleep on the couch, lost to the world in a well deserved nap. Kissing her forehead, he rolled out of their bed to stand before the Fae Queen's judgement. Emma stirred lightly, the whisper of his name sweet as she hugged a pillow with a sigh. It bolstered him, his feet carrying him quietly down the hill under the dark sky.

He could hear the hunt before he was even more than two steps into the forest, Tink running past him, then turning to run back with a smile.

"They are in a mood today, Killian!" She laughed, greeting him with a wave as she giggled. Somewhere to his right, he heard Regina bellow, the whinnying of her steed a shriek. He sighed, shaking his head as he continued deeper. Tink pouted, walking backwards on her toes with small little hops. "Killian," She whined, "Aren't you going to ask me what I did and why -"

"Why is it every time I have to kneel before the throne, you have agitated the hornet nest that resides on it?" Killian growled. She blinked, her pout turning to shock.

"I - I'm sorry. I try to distract them, and I have to keep the forest at bay…" She mumbled, looking down.

"All you do is make them angrier!" Killian gritted out, his jaw twitching. "I don't care about the forest, I just want Emma to be safe, and you -"

Tink straightened, her shoulders tightening as she stomped toward him. "I'm trying to help you, you dense - you idiot - you cabbage brain!" She sputtered, her face going red. "The forest spreads when Milah sees you, her avarice and wraith twisting the land further. I'm trying to keep you and your mortal lover safe. I'm trying to distract them!"

Killian blinked, his mouth falling open. "I didn't -" He stammered, trying to apologize. Tink shook her head, looking to where approaching war cries grew louder.

"I have to go. Just know that I have been trying to help you and this forest since… Well, forever. Neal wasn't your fault, and Emma, she -" The hoofbeats drew closer, and Tink took a sideways step towards a copse of trees. With a flick of her wrist they curled into an arch. "This place is cursed. I wish I had the time to explain, and I wish you would come with me. I'm sorry."

She took a leap through the arch, disappearing into nothingness as the horses swept through the clearing. The wind whipped around him, mud spraying his clothes as the horses passed. Regina cackled, the shrill noise falling away into the night as they chased their tails. He pressed on, the wood shifting around him, revealing how true Tink had been. Vines with thorns the size of his hand curled around dead trunks of trees, branches stretched crookedly to claw at the sky. The grass grew in black or a deadened white, no creatures stirring or making noise. The palace shifted, leaving him at the entrance, briars and strange shivering plants that snapped dripping jaws at him.

An audience awaited him when the throne finally appeared before him, the glinting silver, diamonds, opal, and glass blinding him momentarily and the jeers of Fae deafening him. Milah sat on the throne with her legs crossed, lapis lazuli and silk dripping off her body. Gold sat beside her, his tunic and breeches seemingly made of golden thread, adorned with jewels. Neal's empty throne lay empty, a red fur lined cape draped over it.

Milah stood, taller still, her features even sharper. Her lips twisted in a sneer as he knelt, the crowd booing louder. Milah raised a hand and they grew silent.

"I've thought about your proposal, and I know that you are not telling untruths, because I cannot march to Carterhaugh and kill this usurping tart myself." She drawled, clearly annoyed.

"Milah - " The crowd jeered, but Milah swept her hand toward the crowd.

"Silence!" The room fell silent again, and she stepped down towards him. "That said, regardless of previous arrangements, I request that you end our accord."

"Thank you," Killian sighed, even if the crowd voiced their upset. "You don't know how -"

"Sign it in her death blood," The crowd cheered, and Milah grinned widely. "Then you may go free."

"No!" Killian reached for Milah as she turned away, the guards moving forward from his peripheral. Shouts and cursing echoed around them at his loud refusal. "Milah, No, I won't let you -" An apple hit him on the shoulder, raucous laughter beginning while the crowd followed suit. Rocks pelted him as he curled into himself and sat, covering his head and face. He heard Milah's calm voice hush the crowd again.

Her heels clicked on the stone, nails digging into his chin and neck to raise him up. He struggled slightly, her strength unsettling, but her eyes worse so - cold and dead.

"We need a sacrifice, Killian. Do you dare deny me that which is my right? My duty?"

He rasped, her claws pulling free. Backing away, Killian coughed until he could manage a lowly growled whisper. "You shouldn't be sacrificing anyone to that thing. It's changed you, all of you. Please. Milah, I loved you. Now my heart belongs to another and she is… She's everything."

Milah's face pulled taut in rage for a brief flicker, disappearing into an almost convincing aloof shrug. "You have swayed my choice then. It will be you."

"Mí, please -" Killian tried again, taking a step forward, but she was in front of him in a flash.

Silver tendrils of lightning moved around her, crackling in the air, her eyes and skin gleaming an emotionless metallic.

"Do not address me like we are still lovers. Like you still come to my bed, and still ask me my desires. It will be you, or it will be her. You have offered yourself as her replacement by refusing to follow my directives." The stands that held the crowd began to smolder, Fae fleeing in all directions. Killian covered his face with his arm, staring at where Milah was bathed in bright light that made the air ripple in heat. "This shall be your last year."

There was a thunderclap that made his teeth rattle, then Milah stood back in front of him, her features carefully schooled even as her chest heaved. They stared at each other, Killian seeing her for the creature she was.

"October then?" he asked. "I have until then without your games?"

"Yes." Milah answered simply, returning to lounge on her throne.

Killian nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "Fine. That's… fine. I'll enjoy every second of that time with her."

"Enjoy it," Milah spat, the facade of boredom failing completely. "Enjoy every second with your human whore."

Killian practically ran from the woods, clambering up the hill like a madman. As soon as he stepped foot through the doors of Carterhaugh he felt the curse shift. He almost fell to his knees in relief, wanting to weep at this newfound freedom, but then Emma was flicking on the light in her bed clothes looking at him in fear.

"You were gone, and I thought - I just knew you wouldn't - but I've trusted before and…" Her voice caught, eyes widening as he stepped forward to sweep her into his arms with a spin.

They had thirteen months together. They could do anything, go anywhere, they had thirteen months -

"Are you alright then? I was so scared, I didn't know what you were doing. Did you just go for a walk or -?"

Killian pressed his lips to hers hungrily, memorizing her taste and swallowing her protests. "I just - I really desperately need to kiss you."

She gasped, her legs parting for his knee to grind against her center. "Well, I'm not complaining," Her head fell back and he sucked on her earlobe, her hips bucking against his thigh as she keened a pretty noise. "But Killian, are you certain you're alright?"

"I will be. Let me love you tonight, properly make you dinner, drink wine with you, tell you how beautiful you are in every language I can speak -"

"What has gotten into you?" Emma squeaked out. He squeezed her ass tightly, eliciting a squeal. "Killian!"

"Nothing, nothing darling. I only want to get in to you, and taste you - "

Emma pulled away from his grasp, her smirk teasing. "You said wine and a dinner?" Her stomach growled loudly and her cheeks flushed a bright red.

"I suppose that is well in order first." Killian laughed, adjusting himself and trying to calm his racing heart. Quickly tossing together a salad, Emma argued with him over health benefits until he looked it up using her lap held computer. An ad caught his eye on the side of the page, Emma leaving to grab cheese from the fridge.

The lap-top type-writing device still gave him pause, although he handled it much better now. It had helped to have the learning curve of having a bank account that did not actually hold gold or coins, and to research. Killian had made a few mistakes, but managed to figure out the complex web that made up the interred net.

They sat down to dinner together, opening a bottle of white wine that sparkled in their glasses. Everything felt new now that he was freed, as if everything around him was clean and refreshed. With no hold barred, he prepared himself, readying for the brutal shutdown Emma might give him instead. His questioning wasn't subtle, but Emma was more than oblivious to it regardless.

"If you could go anywhere, have a dream vacation or a do over of traveling you've done, where would you go?"

Emma mulled the question, chewing her salad slowly. She liked it, complaining about the greens until he'd added an unhealthy amount of cheese. It still counted as healthy enough and a win in his books.

"You know I was married, but I don't know if I told you just how bad my honeymoon was," Emma said slowly, her voice the impassive, steely, aloof tone she reserved for touchy topics. "I - I know he cheated on me, and I know he… He wasn't a good person. I just thought, well, even then I expected him to be there."

She shrugged, briskly and Killian blinked.

"What do you mean, 'be there'?" He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Emma pushed her fork into the greens with a stab, sliding them around the plate. "He uh, he skipped our honeymoon; the entire thing. He had to work, so I stayed in our room and did our couples activities alone." She didn't look up, even as his hand found hers and she smiled wryly, remembering. "When I got back home he told me I'd gained weight. Truly, a winner."

"Oh, love -"

"It's fine. I mean, I don't want another honeymoon, I don't - that's out of the question, but, I'd love to go back and feel what it was supposed to feel like." Laying her fork down, Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, chuckling. "All those activities I skipped, or couldn't go on, or were supposed to be romantic and were instead so lonely… I just wonder what it would be like to do those with…"

Her eyes met his, and she blushed, yanking her other hand from his to stab at her salad again.

The tickets weren't expensive, the resort covering more amenities than he could fathom. His passport and making the documents that he needed were trickier, his supply of false papers just new enough to only need minor doctoring. Driving down into town with her in tow and their suitcases squirreled away in back, he watched her fidget with the radio.

"I don't think you've ever driven me anywhere before," Emma groaned, ducking her head from sight. "Ugh, there's that crazy old lunatic. He's obsessed with our house for some reason."

The windows were fogged, but Killian could hear the man's cries as he paced on the corner.

"The Fae! The Fae are at Carterhaugh, they will take your soul and beget you with changeling child to steal your youth, your luck, your fortune! Stay away from that cursed place, stay away from the wood where nothing grows!" The man screamed, waving his hands. He began to laugh wildly, running at their car while shouting nonsense, but Killian pulled away as the light fortuitously changed.

Emma peeked out, looking around confused as they turned off the main road, and onto the turnpike.

"You said we were going to the hardware store?" She asked, and he nodded, turning up the radio as he drummed on the steering wheel with his fingers. Emma cocked her head, squinting as she looked at him. "That's… That's not a lie, but it's not the truth either. What's going on?"

Killian mimed being affronted, his hand rising to his chest. "I need to go to the Hardware store, Swan. Can't a man simply just go about his business to get a certain piece of hardware with his lady love?"

"Not when you are acting so weird about it. Where are we even going? What store do you have to go to out of town?" Emma's eyes narrowed further. "You never go out of town."

"For you I'm making an exception. It's a special part. I need it, and it's only available at this certain store." He smiled, watching her chew her lip.

They arrived at the airport, and Emma refused to get out of the car as he unloaded their luggage onto a cart.

"Nope. Nuh-uh." Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyes slitted slivers of sea glass. He tried to hold back his laughter, but settled for a grin as he held out his hand. "I don't know what crazy idea of yours you have cooked up in your mind, but I -"

"Take a leap of faith, love. I promise you that it might be worth it," Wiggling his eyebrows and giving a wink, he watched her fight a smile. "Very worth it."

"I'll come in the lobby if you tell me -"

"I'll tell you everything on the plane Swan, but we are running behind schedule because of your stubbornness. I would hate to have to go by myself and leave you here without my presence." Her hand met his, fitting perfectly when he pulled her forward. A valet took the car, Emma trying her hardest to hide her excitement.

"On the plane?" She murmured as they moved through TSA, some sort of inspectors that roughed up his intimate places a bit too much for his liking. He produced her passport when asked, watching her eyes widen as she read the ticket. "Wait, is this what I think - oh, Killian, I appreciate it but we can't, the house -"

"Will be there when we get back, and is being watched by Widow Tremaine," He grinned, and she smiled back with a brightness that made his heart soar. "If anything gets past the threshold of Carterhaugh, that old bat will kill it thrice over."

"The garden though, and my appointments with the contractors -"

"Will be fine, and rescheduled."

"I didn't pack -"

"I packed for you. Anything else, we can get there. The Navy taught me how to pack lightly, I have half a suitcase for you to fill with whatever you like."

"This is -" Emma sputtered, unable to protest.

"This is an adventure, love," Killian pressed his lips to her temple, swaying her when she pressed into him. "Really get into, alright? This is for you. Don't freak out or worry about anything but being happy."

Shadows flickered across her face when she looked up at him, but after a moment, she broke into a smile she reserved for him.

"Alright. Let's do this."

They stepped on the plane together, and off hand in hand.

He purchased the part he needed at the store a few blocks from their resort, the lovely bit of hardware gleaming in the jeweler's hand before it was placed carefully into a plush velvet box.

Emma was waiting for him when he returned, the masseuse just finishing her work. Killian signaled for her to go, his hands taking over to knead Emma's soft skin, feeling where the sun had kissed it on their beach walks and scuba trip.

"This is truly -" Emma giggled, swatting at him when he kissed down her back while tickling just under her ribs. "This is perfect. This is everything I wanted."

"I'm glad, darling." Killian smiled, Emma pushing him aside to sit up.

"No, I mean it. This… Killian I know this has been a lot, and I'm not ready for big declarations or conversations, because I just - I can't," He met her eyes, trying to hide his longing for just that, but she continued, her hands sliding up his chest. "But with you? I want to. I want that, all of it, and not because of this or anything like it."

"Emma -"

"Because of all the small things, and maybe yes, parts of this grand gesture, but mostly because I… I want to have someone build pillow forts with me, and looks at me the way you do."

"I always knew pillow architecture would show the true mettle of my wooing a beautiful woman." Killian grinned, her gentle smack to his chest making them both laugh.

Emma's lips met his, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, and if he was not completely hers before that moment, it didn't matter -

He belonged wholly and entirely to Emma Swan when they parted to breathe each other in, and after when that wasn't enough and their bodies demanded more.

Lying next to each other while his bones worked on becoming something other than jelly, Emma curled into him like a perfect fit. In the back of his mind October loomed, it's thirteen months a ticking time bomb to this heaven on earth.

"Hey, Killian?" She murmured into his chest. He glanced down, her half lidded gaze soft as he held her.

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Emma."

Holding Emma even tighter to him, he savored every single second they had.

[modernagesomniari]

Fic - ‘That Ocean Carries Everyone’

So the absolutely lovely @siberianspring gave me a prompt for this title, based on the quote from Solas highlighted in the conversation below with Cole.  Babe, I have no idea whether this is what you had in mind, but it gripped me by the metaphorical balls and wouldn’t let me go until it happened.  Thank you, thank you for the prompt!

If you prefer AO3, you can read it here.

~3000 words

(background) Solavellan, Solaveli (My Eli x Solas - Yes, I’m giving them a name of their own I have no shame)

Includes elements of the future, so I guess kind of AU cos we have no idea.  More a ‘what if?’.

R (no particular warnings, but this is a bleak war)

That Ocean Carries Everyone

Cole: You are quiet, Solas.

Solas: Unless I have something to say, yes.

Cole: No, inside. I don't hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still.

Solas: How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples.

Cole: There is pain though, still within you.

Solas: And I never said that there was not.

*******************************

He walked the Vir Dirthara.

The ancient library was as it ever had been since he had destroyed it; fragmented and heart breaking.  The Archivists that hung in the air taunted him with their ruin, their pitiful attempts to please, to be what they had always meant to be.

He deserved every twist of white-hot guilt that churned in his gut.  He walked this place to feel these things, to remind himself of what he had done, to remind himself of what he had to do.  How could he leave this place the way it was - broken pieces of masonry slavishly responding to whoever was lucky or foolish enough to come across how they were stitched together?  How could he not do everything in his power to heal it, no matter the cost?  Surely it was no greater than what had already had been paid.

As he walked a broken path between packed shelves of books that no longer held pages, he took a breath to steady himself.  He could not lie to himself, not now.  If he was to do what he had set out to do, he must do it with his mind and eyes open.  Do not shirk from the pain he will cause, do not close his eyes against the suffering of thousands for what he believed to be the right cause.  To do so would be to become what he had fought against for Ages.  He would not be so.

So he admitted to himself, as a shadow of a child laughed and scampered around a stack of historical tomes, that he came here for solace.  For reassurance.  If one tempered and honed the mind, one could experience the memories here like they were one’s own (and if he avoided those memories that the Archivists seemed to assume he wanted to see lately, in those places where he had spent the time to paint, to wallow and to agonise, he could not be to blame, not when he had now chosen his path, reaffirmed his purpose).  So, as he walked, he opened his heart, freed his soul from where he kept it tightly hidden from the people that followed him outside of the Crossroads.  He listened.  He needed it today, of all days.  The Anchor sat new and restless somewhere just below his breastbone.  Her screams still echoed in his ears.  At least they drowned out her words.

In front of this array of religious texts sat a scholar, feverishly writing.  Opening himself to the echo, Solas himself felt the kindling of the fire of curiosity at what he was discovering.  Digging further, he felt the barren ache in his own heart as he left his Bonded bed, his wife cold to his own touch even though he could all but feel the heat of another.  His own identity blurred now, he smiled slightly at the gentle warmth of this man’s child in his arms, the boy surprised by his father’s embrace.  Could feel, too, the steely core of determination behind this father’s delicate affection - he would not be to his son what his own father had been to him.  One life, among many.  Who could dare to judge it unimportant?

Around this corner, now sheer into the abyss with the destruction, a young woman.  Afraid and alone, but this determination tasted like sulphur and  lemons in his mouth - a bitter victory over a mistress who denied her everything.  He could reach in and sample from the first moment this girl felt her mother’s wet kiss on her brow, to the pain on her bottom from the last time her mistress had her brother beat her.  Another life to add to the weight pressed upon him.  Was he being dramatic, putting too much on himself?  Another memory, the same girl.  Fear, blistering and all-encompassing - the sky was falling in, she had only snuck out for a moment, no one would have noticed only the sky was falling in, this didn’t usually happen did it? Mistress would know what to do, where was she, where was anyone?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Please?

He stayed with this girl (Alleria, was her name) until he could feel the area settle, the Archivist beside him like a maternal parasite, soaking up the girl’s history until she became part of this mutated garden of knowledge.  Only when there was nothing left, when the last remaining life of this person was faded into his memory and the memory of the Vir Dirthara, did he move on.

He descended what had used to be a sweeping staircase and moved through an Eluvian to a Nexus.  The Librarian here was newly dead, and he had just enough time to marvel at who might have done it before another memory presented itself, one he hadn’t come across before.

It was a shemlen child, dark skinned with lush, black hair.  He was weeping, a broken apparatus of some sort in front of him and the dim echoes of quiet, disappointed words ringing around his ears.  Solas couldn’t quite tell what the words were saying, but he felt the sharp edge of them like a scalpel at his heart.  Another, later, this boy now a man joltingly familiar, raging at the owner of this voice like a tempest, another young man behind him, half-naked and shamefaced.  Solas felt his own cheeks heat with sympathetic embarrassment and the feeling was almost enough to replace the shock he felt to his bones at what, at who, he was seeing.  Another shift to overwhelming gratitude, as his new friend spoke a elvhen word for a relationship he hadn’t known existed before, another shift that stole his breath and tightened his balls in a rush as he felt silken rope against his wrists and a hot mouth on his chest.  Another memory, newer, his gut hardened into rage and fierce protection, fighting against a shapeless horror within this very library and shamelessly putting a face on it just so he could get it out of his system.  She needed him to be supportive, not vengeful.

The vision left him with chills spreading over his body from the base of his spine.

Dorian.

Of course he had been here.  She had known Solas for who he had been when she arrived, he knew she had been here.  So of course they would have been here, too.  It explained the dead Librarian - they were one of the few groups of people who would have had the power to defeat one.  But he had received the vision like he had received every other vision here.  He had seen punctuations in the life of a mere shadow in the same way that he had seen the life of a man who had lived the way this world had always intended to be.

As was his wont of late, a thought occurred just behind his consciousness.  A place where thoughts could come and stay without interfering with his own self.  A place where they were, if not safe, then contained.  He did not think.  But he did move.

As he walked to the bookshelves opposite where Dorian had forced an imprint of Solas’ own face on the now dead Librarian, the shelves in front of him melted away to reveal another Eluvian.  Finding these secret things was so easy now, the Archivists didn’t even try to stop him.  They hadn’t retained enough of themselves to.  As he walked, he turned his mind to all the memories he had seen just this one day - how many more were within this library, caught in the moment the Veil fell, beyond where the Veil fell?  This was the Vir Dirthara, he could find anyone here, if only their record had survived.  For whatever reason he was putting one foot in front of the other in this particular direction, regardless of the knot of ice in his gut and the blazing, barely contained roar of inferno in his heart, nothing could compare with all of these.  For whatever he felt now, they had felt.  And they were legion.

The place he came to broke his heart, just a little more.  It was humble; there were only the splintered remnants of plain wooden boards, the dust settling amongst the cracks. The musty thickness of air filled with too many books filled his lungs.  This was the most protected of all the Archives.  It was also why the Archivists were so revered and so venerated.

Every book on these shelves hummed.  He could hardly bear to see them, ruined as they were.  No one entered the library without giving of themselves to knowledge.  And Knowledge kept records.  If there were memories left in the library it was because they were caught in the liminal space between occurrence and classification.  Or they had bled out of the books cracked open like wounds, bleeding the life of whomever they belonged to onto the parched wood and through the fissures into the swirling air of the Vir Dirthara until they landed, to be scooped up by anyone who passed.  Row after row, column after column - even if they were damaged beyond repair, there were thousands.  He stood for a moment, breathed in dust and paper and life, let his nostrils fill with the stench of ruin, his gut broiling like he had breathed in the raw decay of a long dead corpse.

That place that had germinated the thought that brought him here stirred and no matter how desperately he tried, not even he could control his own senses.  Far down along the seemingly endless wall of books was a harsh end, a cut off from where he had severed all ties between this place and anything truly living.  Only, where there should be nothing but a tattered, frayed edge of reality, were four new books.  They pulsed with life, garish in their colouring, warped and different in shape and size from any of the others.  But they were there.

He was paralysed with indecision, caught with his mind pinned between what he must be and this place where the shadows of the last three years dwelt.  And howled.

If he turned his head he would see them fully.  If he saw them fully then he would have to see them within their context - as part of this library, broken as it was.  Their lives, their memories, their reality sitting nestled in amongst those that came before like they belonged there.  

But if they belonged there, if they were part of this ocean of life and love and pain, then that would mean things that he could not admit.  At least, not that he could admit and do what needed to be done.

On the other hand, if he didn’t turn his head, then he would not see them.  And if he decided he did not see them, then he was deciding to ignore reality in order to make his own selfish choices easier.  He had fought for so long, so very, very long…

He closed his eyes.  He breathed.  He squared his shoulders.

He turned away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was Bull the next time.  A hard woman with a heart of wool, that picked up the blocks he had just knocked down, laughing in her joy and pride morphed into larger man, soft around his belly, but his words were like knives in his own mind, rummaging around and slicing at any soft tissue he found until there was nothing but purpose.  How ironic that the only man sitting alone at this bar was a Vint.  How soft his hands, hard like diamonds his words.  How fragile his heart.  Fuck but why did she have to be so damn tiny - hard as a rock in his britches as the dragon above him roared and he heard her yell right back, this could almost be better than sex.  Certainty, obvious enough to make him weep when the bitch offered him a choice, because time was relative here and Solas felt the bone-numbing realisation of parallel Bull had made between the two of them before the Vidassala had ever dared offer him the deal.  He shied away then and pretended he hadn’t.  Fled from the floating feeling of unwanted freedom as Bull and he watched the ship blow, heard the triumphant cries of the men that were only supposed to be his in name.  

The thought chased him through the library until he had stepped out of the Eluvian to the unsettlingly reverent gaze of his people.

Until those men had become more real than the ship.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Varric took him in the middle of watching a pair of scholars make their slow, tantalising way to a tryst between the stacks, fuelled by mutual academic passion.  One moment he was watching them dance shyly around each other and the next it was the woman from Kirkwall and the mage he didn’t like to think about too much for all that he had accidentally come too close to truths this world couldn’t uncover unless…unless…

Only then it was Fenris and Varric was helpless, watching this doomed triad stumble their way towards an inevitable messy end and hoping against hope that the lack of contact he’d had from them all recently meant they were somehow all right.  The weight of feeling in the man was almost too much to bear and yet, perhaps because the last few weeks had not been easy and he had not slept for days, he stood there and took it.  Perhaps, if he accepted enough pain from these shadows of shadows (the four new books lurked restlessly in the back of his mind) he wouldn’t see the fourth.  Let him not see the fourth.  Desperate as he was, he watched Varric bid farewell to his beloved again.  And again.  And again.  It became almost atavistic, he revelled in the echoed heartbreak until he felt dirty and petty.  Then he left.

He didn’t come back for a very, very long time.  He told himself it was because the war kept him too busy.  He certainly didn’t listen to the part of him that told him, brutal in its honesty, that his reluctance to come to this place now was the same reluctance that stopped him from wanting to sleep, to risk that brief couple of moments before oblivion where every ghost you had would come to haunt you.  As if she didn’t do that every turn he made, every manoeuvre he thought he’d used to outplay her.  Every dream he tried to pretend wasn’t real, until he had fallen asleep beside his lieutenant and woken to find her flattered and happy, rubbing up against him because she thought it was for her.

No, he had no intention of coming here again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bare wood is harsh against his knees as he lets himself fall.  He is hollow, please let him be hollow.  The shadows have grown in their place beside his conscious thoughts, pressing against his mind like rabid dogs.

Children.  She had used children against him.  Seen that there was no chance of evacuation and used the time she’d had to go around every house and bring out the children to play on the green.  She’d stood, eyes frightened, fierce and unmoving as she looked straight at where she knew he and his men were preparing for the Fade-Pillar.  The Pillar that needed the weakening of the Veil under this village and which needed the bodies of the villagers to take what would come through.  He had tried to find another site for it, he had really truly tried.  She had raised her head as if she was looking straight at him.  And she had dared him to cut the children down as they played.

He doesn’t realize his face is in his hands until his fingers press hard enough into the softness of his eyelids he sees nauseating bursts of colour.  The books above him quiver, whatever life is in them shivering in the face of the torment he is confronting them with.  He is numb.  He must be numb.  Something tugs at his consciousness, almost inaudible through the chaos.  Even though it has been months, even though within those months has been enough story to fill a stack of its own, the place in his mind where the shadows dwell remembers.  He knows, without taking his palms from his face, that this place will have moved in response to his need.  Whatever he is trying to desperately to forget is no longer far away at the edge of the bookcase.  There are four of them and he knows if he looks up they will be in front of him on the shelf.  Within his grasp. It cannot not be his need to have them here.  It cannot.  

The fourth book had been the colour of moss in the deep of trees marked by time only in their greatness.  If the embossed gold intricacies of pattern looked like anything he’d recognised from Elvhenan, they had morphed in front of his eyes (that had not looked, had definitely, desperately not looked) into something quite unique.  Her very own.  He sees it in his mind now and he is too tired to make himself decide he hasn’t seen it.  His own voice is loud and unrecognisable in his ears.  Surely only animals make such a sound.

On the patchy grass of the village green, one of the smaller boys had tried to leap frog another and fallen.  An older girl, with dull hair and a gap in her teeth, had come over and taunted him into trying again, carrying him over and then pretending to the other children that he’d done it himself.  Solas had seen it so clearly, like an imprint of them on the world that could never be unseen by anyone who had witnessed it.  No one would write this moment, but it was etched into his gut deeper and more permanent than any ink.

The time for the Fade-Pillar to be brought down had come.  And then it had passed.

He knows he will see moss-green and gold before he looks up.  The four books are still acid-bright in their colour.  So very, very different from what he knows.

He reaches for them.

[dammit-stark]

i am OBSESSED with royalty aus

fun fact: red, white & royal blue by Casey mcquiston is actually my favorite book (tied with Emma by Jane Austen, obviously) but anyway this was heavily inspired by the plot of that book so I hope you like it! - p.s this turned out to be like 1.8k words soooooo here it exists now okay

DROP YOUR FAV AU IN MY ASK BOX (OR JUST ANY IDEA IDC) AND ILL WRITE IT FOR YOU :)

...

“We’re supposed to hate each other,” Tony insists, head hanging off the side of his bed, his feet cushioned in the onslaught of pillows by the head board. Nat sits criss-cross applesauce in his peripheral vision, flipping through a magazine, “It’s not my fault he’s a pompous ass and we’re star-crossed nemeses.”

Nat stops flipping to look at him under an arched eyebrow, “Star-crossed, Tony? Really?”

“Oh, shush, you know what I am. We’re total opposites. My dad got elected by the people into the greatest country in the world, and he was born into the crappy inbred monarchy whose ass we beat centuries ago.”

Nat doesn’t look up from her magazine this time, “Didn’t your dad fund his campaign with the millions of dollars he got from his inheritance?”

Tony pauses. In the silence, he can hear the blood rushing to his head. He chooses to ignore Nat’s logic, “I really don’t think that’s relevant here.”

Nat gets to the last page and the flimsy pages clap noisily together. She points an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t care if you think he’s the Loch Ness monster, it’s a royal wedding and you’re the first son of the United States. You’re gonna have to suck it up and be on your best behavior.”

“Oh, no, Nat,” Tony coos sardonically, still hanging upside down, “Are you afraid I’m gonna embarrass you?”

With a complete straight face, she throws her magazine at him, and stands so she’s towering above him. He has to stretch his neck to look at her.

“Yes, she says. I absolutely am. Now, what do you want on your pizza? I’m hungry.”

As it turns out, Tony isn’t humanly capable of staying on his best behavior at the royal wedding. He definitely embarrasses Nat, and maybe, sorta, totally causes an international incident in the process.

“It’s not my fault,” He tells Nat on the jet back to the States, still hanging somewhere in the precarious limbo between disastrously drunk and world-endings hungover, “He started it.”

Nat just glares at him, “I was standing right there, Tony. I watched you push him first.”

“I-“ There’s not much point in arguing, “Yeah. Dad’s gonna be pissed, isn’t he?”

Nat sighs, a long, never-ending sigh that makes her sound decades older than she actually is. Tony has that effect on people.

“Don’t worry about your dad, Tony,” She tells him. This time, she’s flipping through a classified file folder instead of a dime-a-dozen tabloid edition, “We’re gonna fix your mess, as per usual.”

Tony can feel the hangover rearing it’s head over the drunkenness, and he sinks into his chair, eyes closing, “You’re the best, Nat. Thanks.”

Nat rolls her eyes as Tony falls asleep, “Yeah,” She murmurs under her breath to herself, “Damn right I am. Dumbass.”

It turns out that Nat’s solution to Tony’s antagonistic little international incident is to make it seem like the whole The-First-Son-Just-Pushed-A-Beloved-Prince-Into-His-Brother’s-Wedding-Cake thing seem more like a frat boy-esque ribbing gone bad. Tony hates the plan, and he tells Nat as such.

“This is a horrible plan. It’s not gonna work, and it means I have to spend an entire weekend with Prince Pissy Pants.”

They’re on the private plane again, flying back to England to fix Tony’s mess.

Nat rolls her eyes, and punches him in the shoulder, “Get over yourself, Stark. If you don’t want to hang out with your so-called nemesis, then stop getting drunk and pushing people into wedding cakes. This is your own fault. We’re fixing your problem for you. Get over it.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but otherwise consents, “Whatever.”

Nat passes him a file folder.

“What’s this?”

“The Prince’s interests. Study it. Learn it like it’s the back of your hand, and then study it even more. If you get caught in a lie, Stark, you’re beyond dead.”

He gets two lines in before he tears narrowed eyes away from the paper to suspiciously meet Nat’s expression, “Did he get one of these about me?”

“Yep.”

“What was in it?”

“Your interests, Stark.”

Tony does not envy whoever got assigned that task. He wonders how accurate it’ll be. He obediently reads through the Prince’s interests among an uncharacteristic silence. Nat almost thinks he’s grown up until he breaks said silence with a snort.

“His favorite book is Great Expectations? Nerd.”

When they land, Tony remembers why he pushed the prince in the first place. Yeah, the alcohol did half the work for him, but- something about the Prince’s stupidly perfect, absurdly handsome face just makes Tony want to start shoving people into cakes. Surely other people have the same urge.

“Mr Stark,” The Prince says as greeting. He doesn’t even offer a hand for Tony to shake, just smiles with his hands folded together, “It’s a shame these are the circumstances that you-“

“Yeah, yeah, you’re very polite, I get it. Prince Steve here to save the day with his antiquated, impeccable manners. Yippee-kiy-yai.”

Tony counts it as a win that he sees a flicker in that smile, but it crests back to sparkly perfection with a blink of the eye. There are cameras. Tony sees Nat out of the corner of his eye, glaring beside a distinct row of security, somehow looking the most intimidating of all of them. He smiles back, pasted and ridiculous and spiteful, his whole body tensed and relaxed at the same time.

He smiles winningly for the cameras.

Later, at the hospital, Tony wonders how Mr Prince Perfect can put on such a facade, even with sick kids. Because that’s obviously what this is. He watches from across the room as Prince Steven kneels beside a sick kid’s bedside, smiling kindly, and talking to the little girl with her baby yoda doll tucked into the crook of her arm.

It’s not until Tony has completely committed to his eavesdropping that he realizes there aren’t any cameras around to capture Steve’s amiability. That’s the first moment Tony thinks oh, maybe this guy isn’t as fake as I thought he was.

“You totally wouldn’t be Han Solo,” Tony interrupts because he’s totally an asshole and he knows it (that’s the different between Tony and Prince Stick-Up-Butt, he at least owns his assholery), “You’re a textbook Luke Skywalker if I ever met one, Prince.”

Steve’s responding grin is surprisingly left-leaning, and the kid in the hospital bed is giggling.

“Are you gonna try to tell me that you’re a Han Solo then?”

“Actually, I-“

“Because you’re not,” Steve’s totally serious except a slight twinkle in his eye, one forefinger tapping against his own knee as the little girl sits enraptured by the ridiculous conversation occurring just above her, “You’re Anakin through and through. Not in a bad way, just-“

Tony doesn’t mean to come off as truly surprised as he really does, but the way he shuts his mouth immediately gives him away, “No,” He says, “You’re right.”

Steve’s lips punch off at the corners in an amused, vaguely self-satisfied way that makes Tony want to soberly push him into another cake so expensive you need to take out a mortgage to eat a slice. Before Tony can needle him back, the prince is smiling back at the kid, a gentle hand on her arm. Huh.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Wendy. Thanks for talking about Star Wars with us.”

And like the smug bastard he is, Steve gracefully stands from her bedside and leaves the room. Oh no he won’t. Tony follows, angrily.

That’s how they end up in a near-empty hospital hallway together. And subsequently, it’s also how they’re pushed into the closest nearby maintenance closet by the nearest secret service operative, tripping over themselves and invisible equipment alike as they’re safely hidden away. It’s also how they end up on the floor, joints every which way, elbows menacing and in all the wrong places as they cajole violently among the brooms and buckets.

“Your elbow-“ Tony grunts, “Is in my side, Steve.”

“Yes, well, my elbow wouldn’t be in your side if your elbow wasn't in my shoulder.”

“Get your shoulder out of my elbow!”

“Why do you hate me?” Steve cuts him off, a hiss in his voice. Ooh, Mr Perfect Prince can actually get angry. Exciting.

Tony takes a deep breath. Or- as deep of a breath as he can take without drawing attention to their tight little maintenance closet/hideout.

“You’re not real. You’re fake. Everything you do has been trained into you, it’s annoying.”

“I feel pretty real to me, Stark.”

“You just- it’s a persona. You’re a persona. And the whole world blindly loves you for it.”

In the dark, Tony chews on his bottom lip- a chronic bad habit of his.

When Steve responds, his voice is low, even lower than it necessarily needs to be to keep attention away from their location. He can’t tell in the dark, but Tony thinks his head might be bowed. He can practically hear the thoughts in the prince’s head. But then again, they’re physically close enough, practically spooning ridiculously on the ground, he might as well tap directly into Steve’s mind they’re so close together.

“Do you think I want to be a persona, Tony? Do you think I did this to myself? I’m still me, I’m just- guarded. It’s not up to me. There’s a lot more to the world than my place in it.”

Tony’s quiet. It’s a much more real answer than he’d expected. He’d half expected the prince to spit on him or something, dig his elbow extra far into Tony’s side or something. Instead he gets this vulnerable little morsels of honesty, and Tony has nothing to say.

“I-“

Tony’s cut off by blinding light. Nat whips the door open.

“Ew, what are you guys doing on the ground? Why are you spooning?”

Steve hurried to his feet, cheeks visibly red, “The threat?” He demands, and Tony’s surprised Nat doesn’t demand a full sentence like she usually does, the cocky bastard. She nods succinctly.

“A false alarm. However, we’ve deemed it safest to move onto the next event.”

“Great, thanks,” The Prince says, and moves off down the hall, disappearing behind twin EXIT doors.

Tony’s still on the ground when Nat swivels back to look at him, a smug smile on her face.

“You hate each other, huh? Is that what you’re calling it nowadays?”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Oh, shut up, asshole, and help me.”

But he hadn’t had to tell himself deflect, deflect, deflect, and he’s pretty sure something about being stuck in a children’s hospital maintenance closet changed his feelings on the guy. Something about it.

As Tony walks to his next event, he has to push to keep the prince out of his idle mind.

When he departs for the United States hours later, Tony leaves the prince with his phone numbers.

“To corroborate our stories or whatever,” He tells Prince Steven, though he’s sure Nat isn’t convinced, “So we don’t have to keep going between these losers.”

Prince Steven accepts the offering with a smile, and Tony gets on the plane, leaving Britain behind him one last time. 

[chchanging]

Humble Beginnings

Finally got around to writing something short for my fav mage girl. Slight warning for violence, she’s...not having a good time tonight folks.

To be reborn—

first, you must die.

There are billions of stars in the sky, she thinks, and her feet scrape and skid at the ground in her clumsy dance to rebalance while the white spots exploding in her vision blot out most of the world around her. What’s a few hundred more?

The right side of her jaw whines in protest when she tests it out; a quick flex of the muscles is enough to tell her that nothing is broken. It’ll be a hell of a bruise, though, the dull ache promises.

Good.

For a few more moments her balance is shaky, as if she stands on the legs of a newborn fawn wobbling, stumbling under its mother’s watchful eye somewhere deep among the trees. She leans heavily against the brick of a building, and it’s ironic how ancient she feels, by comparison.

So far from home and yet she carries it wherever she goes—Zori, her father, and a hundred others whose stolen years weigh her down more than her own could ever until her back threatens to bend like those of the elderly women she sometimes sees hobbling along on canes, or whose bodies have withered so that they are confined to their beds. Every night she wonders if it is finally catching up to her, and every morning those cursed burning eyes stare back from some dingy inn’s bathroom mirror, ringed with the sunken shadow of exhaustion.

She’s long since grown tired of the view.

“You Diminished make me sick...”

She doesn’t fight the hand that fists itself in the shoulder of her shawl, yanking her away from the wall so suddenly that her head bounces off of it and sends her brain rattling inside her skull like a bit of loose change. Her mouth twists up into a one of those charming, unaffected grins. It’s a mask she’s grown accustomed to slipping on among strangers—and lately, everyone is always a stranger. A side-effect of being a constant drifter.

Those glowing, pale green eyes watch him from their corners—she lets her aching head loll against the shoulder he isn’t lifting her by, standing on her toes to support herself just enough to stay upright on her own.

“Think you can just help yourself to other people’s belongings, do ya?” He gives her a good shake, and she musters a breezy little chuckle that succeeds only in fanning the flames of his rage. It takes half a second for the cool edge of a knife to press into the skin of her throat, sending a chill down her spine despite all her bravado.

“Real funny, yeah?”

She glances down, eyes flicking towards the blade so quickly it almost makes her dizzy. “Knife” might be an understatement—the blade looks about half the length of her forearm. Her eyes flash in the moonlight—her grin sharpens to a point.

“And here I thought you were just happy to see me...”

Her body hits the ground hard, teeth chattering in her skull when he throws her down. The man is already built like an ox, but crumpled on the ground before him he seems big as a mountain, glowering down on her like some baleful god about to exact his punishment. She turns her head and spits—it does nothing to rid her of the tang of metal in her mouth. 

His boot buries itself in her ribs, and there’s a crack that hurts so bad it makes her want to vomit. Still, she bites down on the inside of her cheek and swallows her groan of pain until her smile is more of a grimace. When she reaches to push herself up, his boot comes down painfully slow on her arm until the bone creaks and makes her hiss from between her teeth.

“Mouthy bitch.” He snarls, hate blackening his tone. “Bet no one would even miss you.”

They always try for more than they deserve, she muses. She sees the shadow of him on the ground, swallowing her up, and only when it raises its dark bladed arm does she bother to fight back.

Really, “fight” isn’t the word for what she does.

Her eyes meet his, burn into them stonily without an ounce of the indignity one might expect from someone bruised and bloody and broken on the floor. Defiance, spite, even a touch of arrogance, and absolutely nothing to match the pathetic state she is in. She does not blink, and after a moment he can’t. Perhaps she couldn’t have been bothered to contend with him physically—but in a battle of wills she knows there are few who can stand against her sheer audacity, and the magic that runs through her veins.

It’s only moments, and yet for him it must seem like hours—her gaze sucks him into a void he cannot hope to escape from. She doesn’t know what he sees there; doesn’t know if he sees anything. What matters is that she can feel the weight of his inadequacy bearing down on him full force as she bends it to her own means, tugging loose every single vulnerability and hidden shame until his self-perceived flaws bury him like a toppled house of cards.

She lifts her chin, an empress dismissing him from her court of dirt and mud, and he crumbles in the face of her.

“S-Sorry...” he whimpers, hunched in on himself like a vampire cowering from the sun, “I’m so...I’m sorry...”

And then he scampers out of their little alleyway rendezvous, leaving her where she sits.

She leans backwards until the cool cobblestone tingles through her shawl, nibbling pleasantly at her shoulders. Above her the moon winks from behind the clouds as if it is in on her secret, and she pats the bulging pouch that lies hidden beneath her clothes. Getting it back is somehow always second to punishing her for swiping it in the first place, at least when she lets herself get caught.

Keeps things fresh.

She’ll have to leave once the sun rises. She keeps her magic mostly under wraps now that she’s away from the circle, but it’s never a good idea to stick around too long after using it even once. Magic of the mind is easier to miss, but even so.

She could pick herself up off the ground and make her way back to her room at the inn, but the cool stone soothes the ache that has set in in absence of adrenaline and even if healing isn’t her forte she can at least tell that there isn’t anything life-threateningly wrong with her. It wouldn’t matter if she just...rested here a while.

“If only you all could see me now...”

Bitter amusement colors her words as she offers them up to the sparkling sky. Mind dulled on the cusp of sleep, she wonders idly who she means to address. She’s left so many people in the dust by now...always for their own good. She’s found it doesn’t pay to get too close to her.

She lets her eyes fall shut, letting the dull melody of her injuries carry her off to sleep like a lullaby. She hopes in vain that she will wake up as someone else.

To be reborn, first you must die.

[captainderyn]

Do them all for the Queen

Dela this took me so long to do xD But here’s a masterpost of asks for the Queen!

🌟 When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

For a long time, The Queen could only turn to the Ancients and the Forest for comfort when she found herself hopeless. The council of her advisors see her as above them (though she does not push this idea) and showing such bad feelings would bring her legitimacy into question. There are some who would be very happy about that.

Now, she turns to Sparrow when she loses hope. Sparrow is her guard, the one bound to her by fate it seems, and the one that makes her feel complete.

☀️ What makes your OC genuinely happy? A person, an item, their hobby? Where is the place they’re happiest, or most at home? What is the happiest they’ve ever been?

The Queen is happiest when she is out in the forest with Sparrow, unmasked with just the two of them. When the life of the Forest flows peacefully around them.

A second best to this, or best depending on the day, is when she’s unmasked and tangled up with Sparrow in her bedchambers. Not even after doing anything particularly spicy—just when it’s the two of them, warm next to each other, and she is not The Queen.

🌙 If your OC could have one wish come true what would it be and why? Would there be consequences to this wish or would they regret it once they get what they want? What would they give in return for this wish to come true?

I think The Queen would wish that she could have more time unobstructed with Sparrow, or perhaps more broadly that she did not need to hide her true self (literally,masked) at all times. This of course, would lead to dire consequences because everything to the fae has power and without a doubt someone seeing the queen’s true face would have very adverse effects. No one really wants to figure out what those are, not even the Queen. So she keeps it to wistful dreaming.

❄️ What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too?

Harm coming to The Forest or her people. I imagine those kind of moods upset Sparrow by proxy. Usually the Queen will go out into the Forest or lock herself away to grieve. 

🔥 If your OC known for having temper tantrums? If not, what gets them really angry? What makes their blood BOIL? Is there anyway to calm them down or are they unstoppable? What are they like when they’re angry? Do they take it out on their loved ones?

The Queen isn’t known to be particularly explosive, but what really gets her angry is when her Advisers try to question her position on things they have no right to (like the choosing of the Watcher), when they act behind her back, or when they go after Sparrow verbally and physically. 

Harm coming to the forest intentionally will send her into a powerful rage. 

She radiates power when angry, but it’s a quiet anger. One you don’t realize you should be scared of until it’s too late. 

Usually it takes Sparrow being a calming presence for her to fully calm down. 

❤️ What would your OC’s ideal lover be like? Appearance, personality, voice? Would their family approve or would it be civil war?

Sparrow. lol. Literally just *hand waves* Sparrow. The Queen’s advisers definitely don’t approve of it. We aren’t quite at civil war levels yet but...they try to tear them apart. Try really hard to pair Sparrow off. 

🕊️ Would your OC ever get married or are they already wed? If they’re married, describe what their wedding was like! If not, describe their ideal wedding (or do this if you feel like it anyway!)

I imagine she’d love to marry Sparrow one day. Ideally somewhere where it’s only the two of them, because then they’ll be most comfortable, with only the Ancients to witness them. 

Either that or she wants something worthy of two royals marrying, just to spite the Advisers and prove to them that Sparrow stands with her as her equal. But I don’t know if Sparrow would be as okay with that lol. 

🍼 Does your OC have any children or want children? What names would they pick? Are they good with kids or a complete disaster?

The Queen doesn’t particularly want children of her own. While she doesn’t mind being around them or caring for them—if they aren’t little little children—she herself doesn’t want to go through the ordeal.

After all, the royal line of the fae doesn’t come from blood or family. When she dies and is taken back into the Forest, some of her energy will be reused with the new and the Forest will make the next queen.

☕ Give us one (or more if you feel like it) of your OCs deep dark secrets! Why do they keep it hidden? Spill the tea!

There are times when The Queen wishes that the forest would take her back into its peaceful grasp. When she is deeply worn and tired of her position and the demands of the Ancients. 

There are also times--though they are far and few between, where she wonders what it would be like if she let the fire take her completely. If the Ancients would stop it or care enough to do so. 

These thoughts tend to be fleeting, and don’t make an appearance often. 

🍂 What are their opinions on the different seasons? Which one do they hate and which one do they love and why?

She doesn’t have a preference for the seasons tbqh. Though I think she’s at her most energetic and happiest in the spring time. The Ancients and The Forest are most active then. 

🦋 If your OC could change everything (or just something) about their life would they? What would they change? What do they think would happen if they did? What would their loved ones think?

I think the Queen would want to not be Queen, at least for a day or for a little while. Not anything permanent of course, but I think she wises that she could do something like that. 

The Forest of course, would fall into chaos if there was some way for her to shirk her duties as the vessel, and I don’t think her loved ones would want to see that. 

💐 Does your OC like flowers? What are their favourites? Do they keep a garden of some sort? What flowers would they use in a flower crown? (and if you like, research the meanings behind those flowers!)

She loves flowers, though she prefers them natural and uncut. The more vibrant in smell and color, the better. 

In a flower crown: creeping myrtle (duty), white roses (heavenly [from subject’s view], secrecy [of face, name]), Queen Anne’s Lace (haven--for the Ancients), magnolia (nature, nobility, dignity), heather flower (protection) 

🌼 Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI (or if they don’t have a love interest, their best friend. If you don’t want to do a drabble, describe their first meeting instead!)

(an excerpt by both @delavairess and I)

The Ancients never made errors--they may speak in half truths but never in wrong--so where was her guard, her Watcher? 

 She found the connection she sought and grabbed it tightly, eyes scanning the crowd. Without thinking she stepped down from the pulpit, ignoring the confused murmurs of her Advisers and hissed insistence that she come back. 

 In fact all seemed to quiet around her like cotton in her ears until she stood in front of--though still several paces away--a fae woman. A fae, reaching for an owl feathered mask, with unnatural eyes that looked up at her, and black scorching up her skin. 

 But clarity rushed back to The Queen all at once, and she raised her chin, holding eyes with the woman. "The Ancients have spoken. She is the one." 

Though the Queen's face was obscured by the veil she wore, Sparrow couldn't shake the feeling that her eyes had settled on her. She quickly grabbed the fallen mask, stumbling as she covered her face - not wanting the Queen to look upon  the shame that left half of her face scarred with black death. 

Bowing her head low as she managed to find her balance to stand.There was a hushed whisper spreading through the crowd. The 9 contenders seemed confused but none of them dared speak against the Queen. 

Instead, it was an Adviser that broke the silence. "My Queen, it cannot be true. " The Fae stepped forward, hands outstretched as if reaching for something that didn't exist. "She is not one of the contenders, she has no background - she is nothing more than a commoner. A position by our side, surely not?" 

 Ah, that did it - the crowd went deathly silent. The singing birds flew from their perches, even the forest seemed to bristle at the indignation. 

 Sparrow raised her head only slightly, voice muffled by fear and her mask. "I am unworthy, my queen, for such a place." But Sparrow felt the pull, heard the whispers of the breeze - the voices of the Ancients. It was to be her, there was no other way.

🥀 Has your OC ever been hurt by someone they love? Ever been betrayed? Abused? Attacked? Give me the angst! (if you’d like, write a short drabble about it!)

Not by someone she loves, but by one of her trusted advisers*. They believed she was not worthy for what they thought the vessel for the ancients should be and tried to harm her. 

They used fire in an unexpected attack, and it severely burned her. Her Watcher (Sparrow) saved her and brought her to water, where the Forest helped heal it’s vessel. But it deeply shook her. 

*this reasoning/perpetrator is subject to change. 

🏞️ If your OC could travel to anywhere in their world where would they go? Why? If they could live there would they?

Hm...I think the Queen would want to see what lies far beyond their borders. Beyond what she’s traveled to see with political allies. 

🏡 Describe your OCs ideal house! Give us a tour around! What’s their garden like? Their bedroom? Kitchen? Where is it and how many people live there?

The Queen’s ideal home--one that she will never get--is probably small, natural. More of a little cottage overtaken by the forest and nature than by actual housing. She’d want to be alone with Sparrow, in the quiet. 

🔪 Has your OC ever killed someone? Ever had to defend themselves against violence? How did this make them feel? Or, alternatively, has your OC ever attacked someone? Seen someone die?

The Queen herself has never killed someone. By nature she doesn’t like to lift her hand against her own people or be put in danger. Harm that comes to her is harm that comes to The Forest. However, she has had to defend herself when her guards have been coming to help. 

For as powerful as she is, she is easy to wound. Fire will eat her alive, and that has been used against her. 

💎 Does your OC collect anything? Is there a reason? When did they start and is it beginning to turn into a little bit of a hoarding issue? What do they do with their collection?

The Queen does not really collect anything I don’t think. Perhaps that will change. 

📚 If your OC was given some kind of forbidden knowledge, what would they do with it? Would they tell anyone? Use it for evil or good? How would it change their outlook on life, if at all?

Technically the Queen has knowledge that others do not. If she were to gain other knowledge that is more dangerous, she would most likely do with it what was best for her people. If withholding it would harm those who rely on her, she would share it with them and damn the consequences. 

🌗 Early mornings or late nights? What do they spend their time doing during these hours?

The Queen prefers late nights, as it’s when she gets Sparrow all to herself and there are no demands of the day. They are usually the quietest of hours, the most peaceful. They are also when she tends to escape into the forest with Sparrow and let herself truly be herself instead of The Queen. 

👑 If your OC was made royal (or is royal) how would they use their power? Are they a good leader or bad? Do their subjects like them or is it ‘off with their head’? Do they enjoy being royal?

The Queen uses her power to care for and protect the Forest and offer a voice to the will of the Ancient Powers within that forest. She is a good leader as far as most are concerned–they see her as benevolent and caring for both the forest and its people. There are some, however, who see her as an ill fit for the Ancients’ will and would like to see her removed. 

She herself is okay with being royal, there are times she wises she could be “normal” and not have all these formalities to follow, but she doesn’t tend to dwell on those moments. 

💕 How is your OC like with physical affection? What are their boundaries? Do they enjoy being touched or is that a no-go? Is there any reason behind this?

The Queen loves physical affection when her partner is okay with it. Like with Sparrow, it usually happens when they’re alone and its just the two of them. Which she is okay with. The Queen does not want to be touched by others that aren’t Sparrow for physical affection–there’s too much ill intent behind other people’s hands (or there can be). 

Her boundaries are pretty lose when she’s with Sparrow. Aside from in public–where there’s etiquette to be followed, her only big rule is that her mask is not to be removed without her permission (unless it’s within their routine that they have). This is just due to the fact that her face being hidden has been a large part of her power and to reveal it is a big no-no among most people, and a very special trust planted in Sparrow. So she needs to know that they are in a space very private to them. 

☁️ What’s something your OC wishes they could forget? Why is this? Or, what is something that your OC has forgotten? (or do both!)

The Queen wishes she could forget the feeling of fire burning across her skin. There was a point where someone (still working on who) attempted to take her out of power, and of course as a vessel to the Ancients and a caretaker of the Forest, fire was the easiest way to do that. She’ll never forget that pain of being scorched, the the blur of agonized time as her Watcher (Sparrow) rushed her to water, thoughts she wishes that she could.

She also wishes she could forget the fear that came after, as the pain subsided with the water lapping over her, held tightly in Sparrow’s arms. She never wants to feel that fear, or see that fear in Sparrow, ever again.

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person! (bonus + specify who)

Her queen, their queen. Vessel for a fraction of the power of the Ancients and gracious guidance to the forest and those who dwelled under its canopy. Not a woman, her teachers had repeated, for The Queen’s power ran deeper than any fae she walked with. 

Vs.

Greedy fingers ran across the high cheekbones she had seen teased beneath the veil, following the textured grooves that claimed her as part of the forest. Traced the shape of her face, the pad of her thumb tracing over the queen’s plush lower lip. From below thick lashes, those dark eyes lit with the Forest looked up at her. 

-From the eyes of Sparrow, the Queen’s Watcher, guard, and lover (stolen from my Forbidden Kiss prompt)

[lygerastia]

serpent of envy (Diane)

Summary: Just Diane and her little female admirer discovering their feelings for each other.

Warnings: none. 

Chapters: 1 [completed]

Words: 2,542

READ IT ON AO3.

**

“Hey, [name]?” the giantess lifts her head from the ground in order to stare at the person splayed onto her chest, right between her comfortable breasts. It was warm there—and Diane's female friend, [name], liked that place because she could hear her soft heartbeats. It gave her a sense of serenity and peace and love and comfort and...everything.

One thing, though: don't tell Diane that!

It was [name's] biggest secret (and she could understand why Meliodas was constantly 'playing' with Elizabeth). And Diane never has to know that. She was very oblivious as it is. Diane only thought of [name] as her friend, despite her wanting to enjoy a lot more precious moments with her before...

...before things got too complicated.

“Mmmhhhm…?” [name] murmurs sleepily, having been interrupted from her dream-like state. She wasn’t entirely asleep, being too hot and bothered by being this close to the giantess to possibly do that. It was just Diane's steady heartbeats that did the trick and lured her to somnolence. As long as Diane did not mind her sitting like this, she was fine.

And Diane should never know [name]'s true feelings and intentions. I mean, wasn’t she in love with the sin’s leader? At least that’s what she kept on saying.

So [name] had zero chances.

“I want to ask you something,” the brown-haired girl continues, waiting for her friend to look at her while she was talking.

They were chilling in a meadow, away from the bar and the others. It was almost time to go to bed, but [name] wanted for this moment to never end. They could just enjoy each other’s presence in peace, without others interrupting them. They could talk about anything. They could listen to the calming sounds of nature around them, to the murmur of the water, to the chanting of the birds and to the steady breathing of each other. They were both glad to take a break from all the fight and all the serious stuff happening around. And the only place they could relax was in each other’s company. In each other’s arms.

At least that was what [name] wished to believe.

“Are you listening to me, [name]?” Diane asks again and gently nudges [name]’s head with her index finger. The human girl moans once again and stirs awake, opening her eyes and meeting up with Diane’s vibrant purple ones. She gasps, her face coloring from the eye contact. She always remained breathless by the intensity of her eyes, especially when they were focused only on her. Rare were the instances when that happened, but those moments were precious. [name] felt her pulse quickening and had in mind to look away—but she kept her ground, curious.

“Wh-What is it, Diane?” [name] gulped, feeling her throat dry all of a sudden. Diane's lips looked so kissable. She desperately wished she could lunge and touch them—but it was inappropriate. No way she would ruin their relationship so easily, through a simple kiss. [name] had to control herself. “What did you want to ask me?” she added to divert her naughty thoughts away.

Diane’s lips turned upwards into a large smile, her eyes sparkling with glee and sunshine. God, her chubby cheeks were adorable. [name] wanted to pinch them.

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I—“ but [name]’s words die in her throat as soon as her mind processed the sin’s question. “HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH?!” she can’t help but exhale, her voice cracking at the end in surprise. She lifts her body on her arms, two round saucers staring at Diane’s beautiful expression.

Was Diane serious? She couldn’t be. What was with this question? “I—“ [name] was at a loss. But the twin-tailed girl looked with so expectantly at her that…how could she not answer?

She had to say something.

I love you. I love you so fucking much, Diane. I really—I really do! Please, kiss me and—

“[name]? Are you alright? You’ve been spacing out for a while.” Diane looks worried and it breaks [name]'s heart to see her like this. No one ever wants to see Diane distressed. Diane deserved to smile—that’s the only feeling that really suited her. “And you’re incredibly red,” the girl continued, coming closer to the other female’s face, “you got a fever? We can ask Merlin for—“

“N-No-No-No!” [name] shook her head in rapid motions until she brought herself into a kneeling position. “I’m—I’m ok, seriously!” she clears her throat and steadies her breaths before the moment of truth. She opens her eyes and tries her best not to stutter the three little words as she says in her most confident tone “I lo-love you too, Diane. Of course!”

The giantess’s cheeks color in an instant and a wide beautiful smile settles onto her face at the sound of the words. She exhales out nervously—has she been worried all this time about this? That was weird; wasn’t Diane supposed to know this? They were close friends and hugged a lot (in human form) and stayed late in the night to gossip with their hands intertwined and it was so warm and adorable...

How could Diane not know this or see the way [name] constantly looks at her? Silly Diane.

“I’m relieved!” Diane coos, closing her eyes. “I was worried that you didn’t. Sometimes I feel as if you’re avoiding me so I got worried that I did something wrong…”

[name] shook her head again vehemently, putting on a serious expression. “No! I am not mad at you, I was just—“ she takes a sharp intake of air. She just did not want to fall for Diane more—she was already knee-deep into this unrequited love. “—just tired, I needed some time on my own.  Nothing personal. I’m sorry for making you think about me, but there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m glad.”

If you only knew…

“[name], let’s take a bath! I saw a splendid hidden lake that we can visit and use! It’ll be fun!”

Diane excitedly ran towards the [h/c] haired girl, who was casually chatting with a drunk Ban. The Boar’s Hat was full again, merry laughter and drunken yells filling the ears of everyone around. Everyone was working, except for Diane—it was her night off.

You interrupted your conversation with Fox’s Sin of Greed (who only seemed glad about it, drinking his ale in peace) and turned to stare at the bouncy twin-tailed girl. You tried not to let your eyes wander over her curvy figure. She looked so darn cute in her human size and that uniform. It was a welcome change—one that made your heart skip a beat.

You did your best to keep your composure. “Uhh, I’m not really in the mood, Diane, I’m tired—“ you tried to avoid being naked with her somewhere in a secluded place, although you did use to bathe together. Since, most of the time, your feelings were mistaken for strong friendship. Even if it was at the expense of breaking her heart, you’d rather not see her that way anymore. Besides, her feelings for the giantess grew lately, mostly because Diane suddenly started to show her a lot more affection. The hugs, the touches started to increase, giving [name]’s imagination trouble. She had no idea what changed. And she was unsure if she was enjoying this development or not. It gave her hopes that there could be something more in these touches.

It was wrong to get her hopes up. It was a nasty feeling; but she indulged in those touches anyway, wanting to keep Diane close.

A small comfort.

“Awww,” the giantess pouts, taking [name]’s hand in hers, using her strength to pull her up from the chair. “You need to relax, [name]! Come on, it’s really pretty!” She kept on blabbering as she dragged [name] with her. The other girl couldn’t do much to resist Diane’s force, her heart already torn between the two decisions.

In the end, she spent too much time thinking, and the two girls are already running down the hill. Before she knows it, they’re laughing in the dark, calming forest, trying not to trip around fallen branches. Diane’s palms radiate warmth and [name]’s drawn toward it, completely bought into this game.

“We’re here!” Diane declares and you can’t help but gasp in awe. It was a small pond, not entirely a lake. It was surrounded by tall trees with bushy crowns, letting scarce rays of moonlight through the leaves, scintillating in the still surface of the water. The place felt private—and that’s what [name] wanted. He did not need peeping toms to peek at their bodies. Thousands of fireflies danced across the pond, in the air, giving the whole darkness around an emerald glow. All felt as if it as depicted from a fantasy story. They were already part of a fantastic adventure story. But [name] was glad that she was here with her, to share this special moment. It was as if they entered a hidden area where no one could find them.

Oh, the possibilities...

“You like it?” the Sin asks, stepping into [name]’s view. Her eyes stared into Diane’s purple ones.

“…Yeah.”

“Then let’s get it!” Diane chirps and lets go of [name]’s hand. She starts to strip without shame, shedding off the skirt, moving her hips left and right tentatively. [name] watches with interest, her eyes examining every little feature. Her curves, her long legs and how she naughtily did not wear any underwear underneath that skirt. [name] knew about that, but it still amazed how far she would go to catch Meliodas’s attention. It made her jealous. Still, she admired her beautifully crafted bottom until her gaze was attracted by the way Diane’s fingers unbuttoned her shirt, so meticulously. It was a splendid sight, half of her body coated in shadows—intimate. [name] gulps, her own fingers slowly taking off her own clothes. She was too distracted to care. If it were for her, she wouldn’t mind remaining clothed just to admire Diane’s body. She sheds the last layer, exposing her bare back.

[name] bites her lip to the point of bleeding—her heart lurched in her chest, squeezing with pain. She was so unlucky. She was head over heels with Diane and yet she had zero chances in conquering her. It was hopeless. Diane would never love her. Being near her was harmful—maybe she should just run away and forget about it. She couldn’t take this anymore. She wanted to get away and fall in love with someone else. But—was that really possible?

“[name]? You coming?” Diane’s face is illuminated by the moon rays, her smile glinting. [name]’s heart skips a beat and drops her shirt at her feet, staring at Diane. With her hair laid down, she was a sight to see. Her cheeks heated up, but she kept on watching, responding with a ‘You go first.’ Diane shrugged, ‘Suit yourself’, and simply jumped into the pond with a splash.

Diane resurfaces and stands in all her glory, pushing her hair out of her vision. Her skin had an ethereal glow, drops of water running down her body.

[name] licks her lips, frozen. Diane turns towards her, eyes shining. “Are you coming?” she repeats, kind of confused by her dazed expression.

The girl nods, but her body wasn’t moving. She just watches, feeling butterflies in her stomach.

“[name]? Are you sure you’re ok? You’re spacing out. Maybe we should go…” she added, worriedly.

“No, seriously, I’m fine…” Despite being rather cold, [name]’s body feels warm. “I’ll…come.” With slow steps, she enters the water gradually, getting used to the temperature. Diane giggles at that and swims away, in the middle of the pond. [name] takes a deep breath and dips into the water, gently swimming over to Diane.

“Isn’t it wonderful, [name]?” Diane laughs, spreading out her arms.

“…Yes, you are.” [name] let it slip out, but she doesn’t avert her gaze. She keeps on staring.

“Wh-What was that? You think I’m…” Diane gulps, getting all red. “Wonderful?”

It was in this moment when [name] realizes what she had said and turns her head away, muttering a ‘Nevermind’. She turns on her back, floating away and closing her eyes to keep the embarrassment away. She can’t believe she just said that out loud. What will Diane think about all this? She had been stupid. She wants to get away, to float into the abyss and forget this ever happened.

But two hands stop on her shoulders. She doesn’t dare to open her eyes, though she’s tempted. But she fucked up and it’ll only make Diane question her true intentions.

“[name],” Diane’s voice whispers. “Do you seriously think that?”

“Diane…” [name] pleads, opening her eyes. She’s struck by her beauty once again, but she has to focus here. “I do, but—“

“He he…I’m happy you said that!” She feels Diane’s hands cupping her face and, in a second, she leans over and captures [name]’s lips into a cute and short kiss.

“Huh…?” the girl lets out as soon as Diane interrupts the kiss, dumbfounded. She blinks—but Diane is still there. This was not a dream. Oh no.

“Wh-Wh-What was that for?!” she struggles to stand up, almost drowning herself in her haste. She stands a few feet away from Diane, who is more confused than anything.

The giantess cocks her head to the side. “I wanted to kiss you, that’s all.”

“WH-Why?! We’re not even together, we’re just—friends!” It hurt to say that word, but she had no choice.

Diane pouts “Friends? But I thought you loved me.” And now she’s slightly disappointed.

“I-I do, but-but-but I thought you said that as friends, not as—“ [name] gulps. “L-L-Lovers.”

The brown haired girl steps closer. Her thoughts were in disarray—what the hell was going on here?! Diane grabs her arms gently.

“I thought it was clear!” Diane slightly giggles at your red face. “I don’t say this to everyone.”

[name] looks downwards, shameful. “I thought you liked Meliodas…”

“Ah, captain?” Diane shrugs. “I guess I did. But then I found you! We are always together so I thought it was obvious that we liked each other.”

“Y-You knew that I liked you?” she lifts up her head, eyes teary.

“No, but I figured it out when we had that love talk!” Diane smiled brightly. “Did you change your mind?”

“N-No, but…”

“Then it’s all good! I’m so happy we cleared this out!” Before [name] could react, Diane brings her into a long kiss.

This time, [name] greedily responds, tasting Diane’s lips, the one she so desired. When they part slowly, [name]’s crying, much to Diane’s distress.

“Hey! [name], don’t cry! Why are you crying?”

“I’m just so happy…?” she wipes her tears away, grinning like a madwoman. “I love you, Diane. I thought I did not have any chance…”

“Silly!” Diane presses herself against her body, encasing the petite woman in a hug. [name] responds, hugging her tightly.

They remain embraced, naked in the dark, as the fireflies dance around them.

All feels warm and gentle.

–

[masterlist]

[obsidiancorner]

ObiYuki Madness Championship- Mutual Pining

Under the cut because the lemon-y part of the citrus scale applies. 

There is art AND questionable writing under the cut. ~2k words. Good luck and have fun!

~~~

Obi woke up cold and with skin clammy from sweat. His skin tingled everywhere Shirayuki had been kissing him. His lips still burn from where he had returned those kisses- to her lips, trailing down the long column of her neck to her shoulder, along the wing of her collar bone, the hollow of her throat. He smiled, soft and serene.

It didn’t take long for reality to crash in around him. In mere seconds, he was grounded by two truths: She wasn’t for him and she never would be.

His breath caught in his chest, choking him as he fought against a rising tide of emotion he tried to keep hidden during the day but stopping the scenes his subconscious came up with in the dark recesses of the midnight hours was impossible. It was a beautiful and too-vivid contradiction: his best dream, also his worst nightmare.

It was always the same in the first moments of waking. He woke happy, excited to see her, but it faded fast against the harsh light of reality in the still-dark hours of pre-dawn.

She wasn't his beloved. She loved Zen, Zen loved her, and Obi wasn't even a part of the equation outside of coaching Zen on how to be a significant other worthy of Shirayuki. That was the dynamic. He served them both and she walked a path that would lead her straight to Zen’s arms.

At least she was still asleep next to him, oblivious to the turmoil roiling through him. The heavens knew, if she was awake, she would probably try to determine what was causing him grief. As gifted a healer as she was, though, there’s no way to cure someone of the particular heartache that comes with being in love with your friend’s girlfriend.

For now, the joke was still on Zen. She might be in a relationship with Zen, but it was Obi himself who was literally in her bed every night. Even in the stuffy manors of Clarines’ northern nobility, the nights were still too cold and the rooms were too large for the heat of a fire to reach the entire space. They shared a room and bed simply to save body heat, but still. He was there.

The nobles, well-aware of how cold the north truly was, understood the predicament so propriety was, mercifully, a non-issue. Besides, Shirayuki's relationship with Zen was the worst kept secret in history. Everyone knew Obi was just a friend and guard. They’d all heard what happened in Tanbarun. It was understandable that her designated knight would stay as close to her as possible.

In the first part of the trip, even Ryuu had shared a single bed with them. One of the nobles along the way had a dog who had delivered a litter of puppies. The runt of the litter was the only one left and no one wanted it.

Much to Obi's dismay, the puppy had taken a liking to Ryuu, so they bought it for him. Ryuu now snuggled with the puppy at night and was learning how to train and play with it during their down time between meetings. That left just Obi and Shirayuki sharing a their room.

The peaceful silence of the night around him broke when Shirayuki let out a soft moan. It wasn't one of her usual waking grumbles. It was lighter, more breathy, and not at all innocent sounding. Definitely not a sound meant for prying ears.

The sound shattered Obi, lancing through him sharper than any weapon ever had. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea that she could even make such a sound. That was something for Zen to find out- if he ever got that far.

He needed to not be here in the room, let alone in bed with her, if she was going to have that type of dream. She deserved privacy and he needed to be anywhere else. Outside? Outside would be a good start.

Carefully- and silently- he extricated himself for the heavy blankets covering them. He made up the bed on his side as best as possible when there was a person still in the bed, and beginning to squirm, at that.

Heavens, he needed to get out of the room now.

He knew the guard rotations and everyone knew they were ambassadors of King Izana. No noble would risk the shame of letting any harm befall such an important woman. If he slipped out for a while but stayed close, she would certainly be safe. He didn’t need to be by her side every second.

Behind him, Shirayuki moaned louder and more broken than the first. In under a minute, he was  out the window, and up on the roof above their room- a reasonably safe distance away.

He laid down to stare up at the full moon, so bright it blocked out most of the dimmest stars. The snow along his back was cold but paled in comparison to the icy adrenaline coursing through him from both the sounds Shirayuki had been making and his quick ascent to the familiarity of the rooftop. He locked his arms behind his head and left his legs dangling off the side, settling in for an extended stay.

He was only a short drop away from being by her side again should anything happen in the time he needed to hide from whatever dream she was having. She would thank him for affording her that privacy, if she ever knew.

He’d see to it that she didn’t.

~~~

Shirayuki squeezed her eyes as tightly closed as she physically was able, fighting a losing battle against the pull of the waking world. She just didn't want to leave that dream. Obi's hands and lips had been everywhere and it had felt magnificent. Her entire body felt more alive than it ever had before. If it was possible for humans to glow, she certainly had to be.

It was rare for Shirayuki to have that sort of dream at all and, when she did, the dreams were not so vivid. The man was always obscured in some way, lacking definition like she was seeing him through fogged glass or cast in a shadow so dark no light could touch it. Never before had it been Obi.

Her breath caught painfully against the lump setted in her throat, refusing to fill her lungs with much needed air. When had that happened? Obi? When had he become someone she had romantic dreams about? When did she start having romantic dreams she didn't want to see end- dreams that were about him? When did she…? With Obi? Obi?

She never woke up still burning, yearning for that touch to continue, like she wanted now. She rarely remembered anything about them at all. She reached her arm out to grab onto Obi, to pull herself closer to his warmth. Confused as she was, whenever she was met with unsteadiness, it was always Obi whose hand she reached for. Not only was she confused about waking up to that kind of dream about him, but she was freezing.  

Her hand met blankets cooled with absent body heat and her eyes shot open. She took quick stock of the room. Obi wasn’t anywhere to be found, even when she squinted against the darkest shadows of the room where the moonlight didn’t reach. The fire was out entirely. The doors to the balcony were still shut but the window to it was wide open.

Wait.

The window was open.

Terror gripped at her as flashbacks of Obi trapped in a battle to protect her as she was whisked away by then-unknown captors played over in her mind. A night long ago in the Royal Palace of Tanbarun. She had been taken by one group, then stolen away from the original group by a band of pirates.

But this was Obi, she reminded herself. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air burn in her lungs, grounding her to reality. She was likely in no real danger, outside that which resided in her mind. Obi, of all people, would not let any harm come to her if he could prevent it. He wouldn't leave her unprotected, even in the assured security of an obscure noble’s mansion in the frozen North of Clarines.If he wasn't with her, he was somewhere close by.

She hissed when her feet hit the frozen stone floor. She might as well have been standing on a slab of ice for as cold as it was. She padded over to the fireplace, the frigid flagstones needling at her feet for a moment before her body adjusted... or she began to lose feeling.

She grabbed for the poker and stabbed at the barely glowing embers. Any attempt at revival would have been a waste of energy. It was dead. But that just made everything about this mid-night affair that much more suspect. Usually, if Obi woke before her, he would restart the fire. He had either left before the fire had gone out or had left in such a hurry that he hadn't bothered. Neither concept sat right with her.

Not knowing where the flint or Obi's emergency stash of matches was located right off hand, Shirayuki gave up on resuscitating the flames. She turned her attention to the clock on the mantle. It was illuminated- barely- in the periphery of the crisp, white-blue light of the moon streaming in between the gap in the curtains.

Just shy of four in the morning. Dawn was still almost three hours away but it was at least fairly close to the hours she, Obi, and Ryuu usually kept.

Perhaps he wanted to get an early start on training? But he probably would have used the door for that.

It was frustrating. Every possible scenario she came up with as to why he would leave in the middle of the night, through the window no less- something he hadn't done since shortly after their reassignment to Lyrias, she could reason away because Obi was a creature of habit. A creature of habit whose habits she knew better than her own.

She padded over to the open window, the cold floor no longer bothering her now that she had either managed to adjust or her feet had gone numb.

One of the curtains had been pulled through the window in his haste to leave and was fluttering lightly in the soft breeze. The white, translucent fabric all but glowed in the moonlight, like a lighthouse acting as a beacon home and warning that rocks are near.

He didn't appear to be out there when she looked out. But Obi liked heights and, if he was inclined to leave through the window, the odds were high he sought his refuge in a lofty area with a wide open expanse at his front and something solid at his back.

Leaning out the window, she looked up. Above her, one shoeless foot hung halfway down between the roof and the top of the window. The toes of the other peeked over the rim of the roof overhang.

She wanted to go to him but something had made him flee, though. If he had been willing to leave, it was likely not a small ‘something’ either. She didn't want to burden him further so she didn't dare leave the room but she wanted to at least make sure he was okay and obviously he wasn't if he wasn't wearing shoes.  

“Obi?”

She was tentative, afraid of spooking him further. Her voice was quiet and calming, she hoped.

“Yes, Miss?”

His voice was rough when he answered, as though he had been woken from sleep. Shirayuki doubted that was the true cause. Even Obi couldn’t sleep in subzero temperatures without being prepared for such a thing and laying in the snow for extended periods of time was neither practical nor healthy, even with all the heat his body produced.

“Is everything okay?” She tried to keep her voice even but worry clawed at the edges of her thoughts. Her voice cracked, in the end, but there was little she could do about it. She cared about him and he wasn’t himself.

This was strange behavior, even for Obi. He was enigmatic, sure, but he was still governed by self preservation instincts. He was just more adept than most at disregarding them.

“Everything is fine, Miss. I just needed some air. You can go back to sleep,” he replied, gruff and off-putting to Shirayuki's ears.

He was pushing her away. He needed space or else he wouldn't have sought out the expansive night sky otherwise. At least, not in this weather he wouldn't, and in such a hurry.

“Okay. Don't strain your body in the cold. Come back in soon,” she said, her voice firmer. She was willing to concede his quirks but being in immediate health risk was not the time to be forgiving about it. He knew better. “I’m cutting off your toes if they end up frostbitten.”

When he merely hummed as an answer, she sat down under the open window. Her sleeping gown wasn't very long, only reaching to just above her knees. She tucked it up under her to protect her thighs from the cold.

Under normal circumstances, he would have laughed.

Had she punched him in her sleep? He’d tease her about that, not hide. Had she done something before bed or earlier in the evening? He would have said something, right? Was he stewing about something else entirely?

She drew her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. She wrapped her arms loosely near her ankles. There was a lot to unpack from the last three minutes. She would wait for him. He’d come to her eventually.

Until then, she could continue working out what was going on. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, not with him out in the cold, even if sleeping meant the chance of going back to that dream.

Heavens and stars, had she done something in her sleep that told him what sort of dream she was having?

[skulfuggery]

The Most Important Part of your Body

Not based on any request in particular, just a second part to the I Own You series I did forever ago because that’s what came out of the hands when I bid them to write today.

Michael Myers/AMAB!Reader, Rated Grapefruit for n-oncon, based off a song but I don’t suggest you listen to it because this band should basically be called “hey you like headaches right?"

Somehow it didn't occur to you just how lucky you had gotten the last time you went up against Michael. Where he held you inches from the gate and did with you as he pleased, then allowed you to make your escape when he was done with you.

Because he did let you. You understood that the moment you awoke in this trial, the telltale ring of scarred flesh around your wrist that marked you as the Obsession. There was no mistake in that escape. No momentary lapse in attention, or bloodlust. It was a game of his, a game you remembered Laurie describing to you but never thinking it would be relevant.

You didn’t see which realm you had been thrown into right away; around you were the four familiar walls of the killer shack. You pulled yourself onto your feet using the generator beside you as a handhold, and instantly locked eyes with the basement stairs on the other side of the small room.

It didn’t help that you had come to this trial empty handed. There was little hesitation (there could never be much in a trial) before you tip-toed down the stairs, locking eyes with the chest in the opposite corner. You didn’t know what to hope for when you pried open it’s lid, but it was not a mess to be sorted through. You parted through barely-intact quilts, bundles of thick rope, searching for anything that could be of use.

It was the instant your fingers brushed over a medkit that the heartbeat began to pound in your ears, and loud. Instantly you were resigned; you let him grab you without a moment’s struggle. Let him throw you on the hook, you would squirm until the Entity's claws erupted from the base of the sacrificial monument and then you would let them take you. It would be a mercy.

A mercy, it quickly became evident, that you would not receive.

Michael held you to the ground first, his knee dropped across your calves to keep you still. Then you felt his blade, slow and deliberate across your Achilles' tendon, warm blood running down your sock and dribbling onto the floor. You screamed, then bit down on your fist to muffle it when you realized your pleas would only echo off the decrepit wooden walls and back onto your own ears.

Satisfied with you unfit to run, he reached beneath you and grabbed your shirt. You sucked in your breath as he shoved you against the doors of a closet, the old wood bowing with the force of the single blow against it. Your leg twitched violently, trying to get you to respond to the pain signals it was sending and getting no response. Your sole focus was on the black gaze of the killer standing before you.

In this moment of silence you heard something that was not the low gurgles of the Entity through the basement's thin walls, nor the pulse of heavy breath on latex. It came from above, the pitter patter of sneaking footsteps, and from the upwards tip of his chin, Michael heard it too.

There was someone upstairs. More than one person if you were hearing right. You swallowed when you realized that you couldn't call for help, even now. If you screamed, Michael would have you on a hook before they could even make it halfway down the stairs, and then you'd be dead and have the blood of a teammate on your hands.

Eyes shut, you prayed that whoever was in the killer shack would choose to move elsewhere. There was silence for a moment, perhaps wondering if they should check the basement chest themselves. Somehow, what you heard instead was even worse: the slow firing up of a freshly started generator.

You winced and opened your eyes, and the sight before you nearly made you shout. Not in fear, or even alarm, but a noise ready to erupt out of your throat from pure shock.

Michael had removed his mask.

It was hard to see in the dark, the finer features of his bare face hidden to the shadows, but the very silhouette gave it away. The fibrous false hair was gone, now it was a mess of moppy brown hair sent wild after being released from confinement after god knows how long. You thought you saw a milky haze over one of his eyes, but you didn't look long, because as suddenly as he revealed himself he was kissing you.

Kissing you. His lips were mashed with yours, desperate and forceful and completely inexperienced. And soft. Not the sort of lips you would expect from a serial killer. Not cracked or deformed like some of the other monsters that hunted you. More human than you ever wanted to consider him.

Blood rushed in your ears. You had to do something; you couldn't just let this happen. But somewhere between brain and body there was a short, a disconnect that turned you into a motionless, startled deer in Michael's grasp.

Then, you felt a hand crawling up your inner thigh. The wires connected, and your knee jerked up and into Michael's stomach, narrowly missing a much more favorable target.

Bu it was enough. Michael dropped you with a grunt, louder than usual without the latex to muffle him, and you hit the ground between his boots and the closet. Too broken to run, too afraid to scream. You could only sit there and cower as he recovered from the stun and looked down at you.

The generator was a quarter of the way done now. You hated that you had been here long enough to know that. Hated it even more than in the months of horrors, death, and running for your life over and over, somehow this was the worst thing to happen to you: Catching the killer's eye for something besides a fresh sacrifice.

Helpless as you were, you were so frustrated that you scrunched up your face, and you glared at Michael. Letting him see the anguish that flooded through you even if both of you knew it wouldn't stop him.

It was hard to tell in the supernatural darkness of the basement, but you could have sworn you saw the bastard smirk.

He didn't lift you up again; now he lowered himself to you. His hands found themselves besides your head, his knees on either side of your legs. He leaned down as though to kiss you again, but an inch from your lips he paused, and pulled back.

Not long enough to lift your hopes. He grabbed your waistband with both hands and tore your jeans down your legs. Denim sent heat down your fleshy thighs, but it was shame that sent the real fire through your body, tears bursting through your eyes instantly with the embarrassment of being exposed.

He reached above you, and the slam of the chest lid made your heart jump, eying the ceiling for any sign that your teammates had heard. But the generator still clanked and shook with their handiwork, and showed no signs of stopping. Michael was not so cautious; he was already picking you up off the floor and perching you over the closed chest, continuing to rip away your jeans without care.

You wished he would cover your mouth. Wished he would do you the favor of not allowing you to scream so you didn't have to make the conscious effort to stifle your protests. If they decided to come down...

No--you shook your head--they couldn't.

The disgust in Nea's eyes was enough the first time. Now she couldn’t make eye contact with you over the fire. At the very least, judging from the others she hadn't told anybody yet. But now Jeff, Meg, and Quentin were in this trial, and at least two of them were right above you. Crouched around a chugging generator, unaware of your plight. One person might keep a secret, but if they found you like this, exposed and bent over for a killer, that would get around. What would they think if they caught you like this? Being the social pariah inside the never-ending hell was not a fate you could handle.

His first touch made you jump, his fingers curling over your hip and making their way slowly around the curve of your ass. He began to mimic the motion with his left, while his right fingers began to curl between your cheeks and prod at you insistently.

You hissed, but through your tears it was more a wheeze, forehead falling flat against the chest. Michael nudged your legs further apart with his knee, pressing more urgently as soon as he was satisfied.  You barely resisted and even then he had a hard time pushing into you, his impatience making him growl so quietly you could barely hear it.

Fear struck you as you realized he might give up entirely and take you without preparation if his attention waned. Desperate, swallowing what remained of your dignity, you bucked your hips up and tried your best to make your body relax so you could take him.

"Please...?" you managed, only because it was all you could manage with your seizing throat, barely able to sob anymore.

This got his attention. You felt his body heat against your back as he leaned over you, his fingers moving slower yet no more gentle.

"Not so hard." You clenched your watering eyes shut and opened them, staring at the patterns of the wood that your nose was pressed against. You blinked again and a small waterfall of tears dripped down below you, forming a puddle over a scorch mark that marred the light wood. "Please."

He paused, then pushed himself as deep as he could get inside of you. You winced and cried into your teeth, fingers curling on either edge of the chests lid, while he held himself there and watched you shake beneath him. A moment in he got the idea to grab your hair and pull your head to the side, your cheek pressed against the wood and your tears on display.

Then he began to move, an almost delicate motion that you knew was to mock you. You could barely see him in the corner of your vision, barely able to make out his one good eye staring down at you. Taking it all in, seeing what he could do to you and still have you fucking beg for more. It was all getting too much.

You took a deep breath, and your wail of frustration was matched perfectly with the obscure alarm that signified a working generator, blaring from the megaphones right above you. A rush of feet ran back over your heads and out the door, too afraid of detection to listen for your scream--or perhaps hearing it and too afraid to guess where it came from.

But Michael heard. Your heart sunk into your stomach as he pulled his fingers out of you, presence slipping away from your body. Heavy breaths going faint as they pressed against heavy latex.

When the figure returned to your vision, it was the eyes of the Shape bearing down on you.

[universal-kitty]

“When you’re happy, I’m happy.” for you and N! 💖🧡 [Robotarmjokes]

Send me a number and a paring, and I’ll write a ficlet!@robotarmjokes

   “V! Guess what!? You’re a....veeby! A baby! But with a V!” The trainer burst into laughter at the expression Victini made in reaction to the statement, chirping and trilling their opinions in a very excitable manner. It even made their companion laugh, perfectly hearing the words of the pokemon.

   “A baby?! I’m not a baby!!! I’m a very powerful, legendary pokemon! I’m soooo powerful and lucky! Luck-power! You gotta respect meeeeee!!!” Honestly...what a delight to bare witness to.

   It’d been a few years since N had returned from his explorations of the world. Understanding people better and the bond that formed between trainers and Pokemon. What did that mean to such a delicate system? That journey was to highlight his shortcomings and better figure out how to move forward. What he hadn’t expected from either of them was the persistent ache of missing someone important...

   Kira, the one with the Victini. A cherished friend they obtained somewhere along their journey and bonded with deeply. Back then, they’d been such a small-time trainer. Sometimes, he could still remember the Snivy in their arms, determined to stick by this trainer he- at the time- barely knew. All he knew was that his trainer loved him unconditionally, healed him when he was hurt, and brought new experiences into his life...and he already never wanted to part from them.

   The beginning of his interest in them. The beginning of their never-ending chase for him, from the dismantling of Team Plasma to even trying to find him from region to region around the world. Such determination, passion, emotion... It overwhelmed him back then. It was important to him then, and even now.

   It’s even why they began dating in the first place, Kira being endlessly patient with him, all their pokemon, and even their new understudy, the current Unova champion. (A young woman named Kisa. They’d gotten a good laugh at the similarity in name and got along well. Too high-energy for N to be around for long, personally, but she apparently was dating some up-and-coming star, so... Good for her.)

   N found himself snapping free of his daydreams as green moved beside him. It was Pride, once that little Snivy, now a proud Serperior...and it was watching him. For a long moment, nothing was said, just staring between the two; Pride’s stare intense, while N was simply curious.

   “...May I rest on your lap? My daughter has tired us both out.” N’s smile brightened, nodding eagerly. “Yes, of course! Feel free to.” His smile widened when he saw the younger Snivy- Ivy, funnily enough- slide off her father’s back, quickly crawling into N’s lap. Pride curled his body close, then contented himself with placing his head on N’s left thigh, sighing softly as he got comfortable. Pride’s body rippled a moment in quiet surprise when N’s hand gently landed on his head, but relaxed once pets were given.

   This was...nice. Lovely, even. He looked up just in time to meet Kira’s eyes, V now in their arms and watching the scene under the tree with an affectionate, warm smile. (Heat rolled from the top of his head into the tips of his toes at such a loving look. Hopefully his heart was faring better...) It took them a moment, settling the small legendary in their arms and giving them a treat, before they could walk over and sit next to him.

   “Ivy being a mischief maker again?”

   “So Pride said,” N agreed with a small nod. “She seems very energetic for such a small pokemon.”

   “Only around us, maybe,” Kira said with a soft laugh, leaning a little into N’s side. (His heart soared, head light with joy. Emotions are so...odd, yet delightful.) “She’s so shy everywhere else... It makes it hard to go into the city sometimes. She either wants to hide in my hood or crawl into my jacket. It’s just easier and a bit more comfortable for the both of us when she stays in the pokeball.”

   “...Not too much?” He can’t help but ask for the clarifaction. It still makes him uncomfortable and nervous, the idea of not giving pokemon more freedom. Of limiting them so much. He knows Kira wouldn’t- they’re so kind and love pokemon just as much as he does- but--

   “Of course not,” they assure, nose brushing his cheek. His face burns red within seconds, flustered all over again at such simple things. Suppose that’s what it’s like to love someone? If he kissed them now, it wouldn’t have been the first time they’ve done so, but it still makes him so unbelievably happy...

   A yip draws his attention away from Ivy in his lap and to Zorua, who’s finally given up on digging holes and causing mischief to wild pokemon. Kisa originally received him from a Plasma grunt (one that still followed and believed in N), but- on N’s request- returned him to his original trainer. Now the little pest was much akin to a son to them both...along with the other Zoroark and Zorua Kira caught during their shenanigans after N had left Unova. (A short few months before they left Unova to find him.)

   V is dozing off in Kira’s lap, Ivy’s taken up N’s, and with Pride nearby... Zorua abandons begging his trainer for affection, crawling into Kira’s lap and flopping over V, instead. The two have become friends since they’ve met, practically, so when V peers down and black and red fur, they do nothing but wiggle into a more comfortable spot, and get back to falling asleep.

   “...He’s so cute,” Kira crooned softly, scratching the fur of Zorua’s cheek. The pokemon made a soft noise, but did nothing else. Was he falling asleep already? Ah, N could be envious of that...

   “I don’t think he’s quite as cute as you, though.”

   “.........oh.” N glanced at their face, a smile brightening up his own at the pink on their cheeks and the shy look in their eyes. Every once and awhile, he’d give lines like that a shot- a try at confidence- and every time it worked, he felt bolder. More proud of himself and how far he’s come... How far they’ve come, to be together like this.

   “It’s true,” he murmurs, voice low as his hand moves from resting on Ivy’s back and to Kira’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “You’re so cute, darling. So lovely. My heart races when I look at you. You mean the world to me, you do. When you’re happy, I’m happy. When you’re sad or upset, I would like you to keep telling me, so I can be there for you...just as you have always been there for me.” A kiss to their cheek first, then nuzzling down until they tilted their head up just enough for him to kiss them. “...I love you, Kira.”

   They gave a shaky sigh, flustered tears in their eyes and face burning red. He knew they were a bit of the “crybaby” type; too many strong emotions make them weepy, but he still needed to ask... “You okay?”

   “Y-Yeah...” A sniffle, a nod, and then they continued, “You’re just...so sweet. I worried so much about so many things and now... Now you’re here. We’re together now and... Ah. I love you too, N. So, so much. It makes my heart hurt.”

   “In a good way, I’d hope.”

   “A good way,” they murmured, then laughed softly. “Always a good way... Everything is better when I’m with you, Natural.” Now it was his turn to laugh, eyes brightening at the rare use of his full name. Not all too proud of it- thus why he was still called “N” over it- but it...was nice to hear from Kira, every now and then.

   ....Maybe longer...

   “Hey, Kira? Have you thought...on traveling together?”

   “Hmm?” They looked up at him and it took him all his focus to make his eyes meet theirs, swallowing hard. Oh boy...

   “You mentioned visiting Johto...and how you’re incredibly fond of Ecruteak City. I thought we could visit it together sometime.” They stared at him- expressionless- a moment longer before those dark green eyes widened, straightening up a little.

   “...Really?”

   “Yes.” A pause, then them eagerly nodding their head, eyes bright. “Ah, I’m glad! I’ve been making plans, but it would’ve been a shame if you didn’t want to go...”

   “Plans?!”

   “Shhh!” They both glanced down at their napping pokemon and, seeing that nobody had woken up, N continued. “Yes, but they’re secret plans. You can’t know until we go...and I won’t tell you there either, okay? You’ll only know as we go from place to place.” He smiled, proud of himself and his notebook of plans, hidden back at his apartment. A whole week for them...and something else, too. How scary! How exciting; thrilling, even!! Something new for both their lives...

   “Ugh, fine...but I’m definitely all in. Let’s figure out when we should, yeah?”

   “Most definitely.”

[knifeshoeoreofight]

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

(sorry that cover photo is so huge, not sure how that happened)

Zhenya has missed people before. He’s been away from someone he’d been in a relationship with before. Nothing, though, has left a void quite like Sid’s absence has.

The whales’ migration can take up to two months, or more. Magda will stop to feed or socialize, and she’ll slow down if her baby needs to rest. The soonest that humpbacks start showing up in Labrador and Newfoundland is around the month of April. It’s February now.

Zhenya’s saving grace is the sheer amount of work he has to do. He’s got his neglected research to compile and to analyze, and he has to either start planning out his classes for the next term, or start preparing to resign.

He has a little money put away, but not the amount he’d have if he’d had any idea that he was going to be uprooting his entire life.

“What are you going to do?” Flower asks him gently, over the tub of coral samples Zhenya is helping him with. Zhenya just looks at him, unable to answer.

“We’ll ask around,” Letang promises. “See if there are any openings in the Maritimes.”

“What about MUN?” Fleury says, lighting up. “Their marine biology program is great.”

Zhenya knows about Memorial University of Newfoundland. He corresponded with a few of the researchers there before arriving in the Maritimes to begin his own work.

“Don’t know,” he says, shame rising in his throat. “Don’t know if my English good enough for teaching at university level.”

“Mon chum,” Letang says, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “You just spent most of a winter teaching a merman, who you had zero words in common with at the onset, how to communicate in American Sign Language, a language that you yourself didn’t even speak before now . I think you can handle teaching some snot-nosed freshmen the difference between their echinoderms and their cnidarians.”

“Okay no,” Geno says, wrinkling his nose. “Those so different—“

Flower cackles. “See? You could do it. People love an accent. It’s been scientifically proven that you listen better to a speaker with a foreign accent. I saw it in an article somewhere.”

“Where? Buzzfeed?” Letang teases, before being sidetracked by the sample he’s working with. “Oh good job mon bébé, polyps out!”

Fleury stifles a laugh. “See, I told you,” he whispers to Zhenya. “You’re within your rights to mock him mercilessly.”

Zhenya watches Letang, dark, sleek head bent over his work. “It’s fine,” he says, and smiles. “I understand.”

Fleury knocks their shoulders together companionably. Comforted, Zhenya gets back to work.

***

They’re finishing up last minute tasks before they start flying out. Letang and Fleury—

He really, really should stop thinking of them that way.

Kris and Marc-Andre.

Kris and Marc-Andre are suffused with excitement about returning home to their families. Zhenya has accidentally turned up in the background of enough Skype calls home that when Veronique calls as Marc-Andre is packing to leave, she greets Zhenya warmly as well.

“You should visit sometime!” she tells him, and Marc-Andre sits upright.

“You should! he exclaims. “You have some time before you, uh, need to be in Labrador. Come stay with us! Stretch out those savings a little bit.”

Zhenya feels relief sweep through him. “Really?”

“Really,” Vero says with a warm smile. “We have a guest room.”

That night, like he does every night, Zhenya checks the satellite data right before he falls asleep, to check where Sid and the whales are. The tags pinged next to each other, right where they should be.

It’s the first night since Sid left that he falls asleep with some measure of peace.

***

After that it’s a whirlwind of packing, changing flight details, and trying to explain to his parents over terrible quality video chat that he’s resigning his tenure track position and moving, jobless, to Canada for the foreseeable future.

His mother is just upset but his father gives him a long, assessing look and asks: “So. What is their name?”

Zhenya is almost relieved. “Sid. His name is Sid.”

His mother closes his eyes at the pronoun. They know about his bisexuality and what it would mean if he ever got serious about a man. He knows how much they love him and yet how worried the political and social climate in Russian make them.

“Does he make you happy?” His mother asks, her voice wobbly.

“So happy, Mama,” Zhenya says. Because it’s true.

It’s all she needs to hear. “Alright. Be happy, baby, and be safe. And send me a picture of this boy, I want to see him.”

He sends her a carefully selected and cropped photo of him and Sid, cut off well before Sid’s waist, his webbed hands hidden and his mouth closed over his sharp canine teeth. Kris had taken it as they sat on the boat, Zhenya with his hands raised as he explained something, Sid gazing at his face with an expression that manages to be focused and warm all at once.

“Oh Zhenya,” his mother texts him after he sends it. “He loves you so much. I can see it so clearly. I’d love to meet him someday.”

“I’d like that too,” Zhenya replies, and hopes it will be possible one day.

***

Most of the time he’s staying with Vero and Marc-Andre he works feverishly on his paper about whale vocalization, just to have it out of the way. The rest of the time, he’s organizing the massive amounts of data they have on Sid, from video footage to field notes to all the teaching materials they’ve amassed.

Marc-Andre helps him whenever he’s free, and Kris comes over often to lend a hand as well. Zhenya feels bad as they hole up in Marc-Andre’s home office, leaving their bemused wives talking in the living room.

“Maybe…” he says to them both. “Maybe it’s okay. To tell Vero and Cath. I know was my idea not to tell, and I’m so thankful you do for me. But maybe won’t hurt, to let them know.”

“Oh thank god,” Marc-Andre cries, and drapes himself dramatically over the table, dislodging about three carefully sorted stacks of paper. “It’s been killing me not to tell her.” He take a deep breath as if to start shouting for his wife but Kris plasters a hand over his mouth.

“For fuck’s sake. Let’s get some basic data together and wait until all the babies are in bed, at least.”

They edit together a Cliff’s Notes string of video clips, and get ready to let the women in on the secret.

***

“So,” Kris says, when they gather in the Letang living room that night. “We, us and Evgeni, have been working on something special. We weren’t sure how much was safe to tell to whom, but. You both obviously deserve to know what’s happened this summer.”

Cath and Vero exchange glances, and then turn back to Kris, standing in front of the TV where they’ve hooked up Zhenya’s laptop.

“We knew something was up,” Cath says. “Just not what.”

“Okay, so.” Kris explains. It started when this guy-” he points the remote he’s holding at Zhenya. “Found some weird noises on his hydrophone recordings, and we invited ourselves over to help investigate.”

“Coral so boring, need distract,” Zhenya says with faux sympathetic understanding.

“Shhhh, you,” Kris continues. “So we took a boat out, put the hydrophones back in. This is what we heard.” He plays the audio. Cath and Vero look at each other, clearly unsettled.

“Just wait,” Kris says, and plays the footage of the first time Zhenya saw Sid.

It’s strange, to see everything unwind on the television, like some kind of film. To hear the stunned gasps of the women, and to imagine what all of this looks like to someone seeing it for the first time.

“Oh my god,” Vero breathes, hand hovering in front of her mouth. Cath’s eyes are wide as saucers.

They’ve got footage from the time they started teaching Sid to the time his ASL was nearly fluent. Like this, Zhenya can also see how Sid looked at him, from the start. With fascination, then with affection, then with something more. He can see the same progression bloom in his own face.

Cath gasps at the next clip, one Marc-Andre or Kris must have taken when Zhenya wasn’t looking. In it, he’s leaning over the side of the boat, and Sid has raised himself in the water to meet him. It’s the pure, naked love in Sid’s eyes that makes Zhenya’s breath catch, and makes him feel like he’s dived deep, water pressure pushing in on his chest.

He doesn’t feel like he deserves that look.

When all the clips are finished playing, the women sit back, stunned and speechless. After a long moment, Vero turns and looks at Zhenya.

“You, and he?” she asks, clearly not sure she should ask.

Zhenya pulls his shell necklace out from under his shirt. “Yes. He’s— yes. We’re.” He can’t finish.

“Ah,” she breathes, and to his surprise, she gets up and comes over to wrap her arms around him.

“That must be hard,” she says, and Zhenya buries his head in her shoulder. She smells of lavender laundry detergent and peach shampoo. He hadn’t known he needed the hug and the acknowledgement of what he’s going through, until this moment.

Vero takes his face in her hands, and behind her Cath gives them a still-slightly-dazed smile. “You’ll be okay,” she tells him. “What happens next?”

***

What happened next, is Zhenya books a ticket to Newfoundland, and keeps watching the satellite feed, and gets used to missing Sid the way humans adapt to any kind of pain.