#ALSO. i gave the fates those little slits in their eyes like snake eyes.

[roadtohadestown]

welcome to my hadestown vampire au *jazz hands*

i know we already have a vampire au somewhere in the fandom, bUT i wanted my own because it was literally the only thing i could think about for a week.

now let’s talk about it ٩( ᐛ )و

first thing’s first, let’s talk about persephone. persephone is a world-renowned vampire hunter.

in the past, she was happily in love with hades; however, in the middle of their engagement, she discovered that hades was a vampire

he was human when they met, but was turned just recently (it'd only been a couple weeks since it happened)

persephone—although angry he didn't tell her sooner—doesn't leave him. she agrees to stay with him and allows him to drink some of her blood.

ok, let’s establish some vampire things in this au before we continue.

when someone is turned into a vampire, at first everything is fine. but obviously you gotta feed soon. when drinking blood, newly-turned vampires often don’t drink too much considering how new they are to the whole vampire thing (they’re probably like. grossed out). if you take in too little blood / not a decent amount, you start to get these urges: you lose control of yourself and have a strong desire to feed. this strong desire can lead you to turn others into vampires (turning someone is caused by draining a human entirely of their blood). this CAN happen when you get one of these urges, but it might not. you just happen to take in more than you were before, and this could possibly result in entirely draining someone. the more you try to suppress your urge to feed, the worse it becomes.

(these urges are usually triggered by little blood intake, but can also just come in at random times in your life. they become a bit more frequent the older you become.)

persephone allows hades to drink from her but not a whole lot, and she trusts him enough not to turn her. (she loves him anyways, so she trusts him.)

however, what they didn’t know was about the urges. when hades was first turned, he didn’t know of any of this. and neither did persephone. since she’d only been letting him drink some of her blood, this little intake caused one of these urges to occur—

while drinking, hades felt himself lose control midway, almost draining persephone entirely. she started to grow weak. she desperately struggled to pull away and eventually did. hades apologized afterwards, saying he didn't know what got into him. even so, persephone felt herself trust him a little less since.

after that time, persephone’s looked more into vampires to try to help hades. learning that hades would have to drink more to control himself, persephone allowed him to drink more from her than he usually had. (she doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt and would rather he do it to her than another human being.)

however, as hades does this more, he realizes how weak it makes persephone and how much it hurts her. hades feels guilty about this and (without her knowledge) sneaks away to feed off of others than rely solely on persephone.

time passes. one day persephone reads something in the newspaper: a huge mass of people found dead and resurrected as vampires, all in such a short span of time. she later discovers that this had been done by hades, who seems to be struggling to control his urges more and more

the idea of more people turning into vampires fills persephone with grief; she can only imagine the amount of pain this must be causing people and their families. unable to cope with hades's doing, she leaves him and becomes a vampire hunter.

over time, she uses her knowledge from being with hades (and her studies) to set out and kill as many vampires as she could, soon givng her the title of world-renowned vampire hunter

although being a vampire hunter, persephone refuses to kill hades. she knows doing so would only keep the cycle going (if he stays alive he'll continue to turn more humans), but even so...she can't bear the idea of killing him. (she still loves him, doesn’t she ??) she just can’t.

after persephone left him, hades has only gotten worse. he's become angrier and distraught without persephone there to soothe him or be at his side to comfort him. it isn't before long that he feels he’s lost himself entirely.

note that no one really knows of persephone and hades relationship. no one really knew that they were in love; and considering hades is a vampire and seph a vampire hunter, no one even suspects it.

flash forward to present day. eurydice finds herself walking alone at night and is soon jumped by a vampire. she tries to defend herself with whatever martial arts moves she can manage, but to no avail; she is eventually pinned against the wall and struggles to break free from the vampire’s grasp.

suddenly, she’s saved by persephone, who kills him with a silver bullet to the head

eurydice recognizes persephone and thanks her. (she doesn't freak out like "oH My gOSH yOu'RE pERsEphONe" because she's not like. fangirl level. just a calm "oh hey, you're that famous vampire hunter...persephone, right? thanks for saving me.")

they chat a little, then part ways. but before eurydice leaves, persephone gives her a silver bullet as a gift.

eurydice keeps this and makes it into a necklace that she always wears around her neck. (i just thought it’d be cool to have her wear a bullet necklace ok shhhh)

since then, eurydice's dabbled in the art of vampire killing. she hasn't actually tried out the activity herself, but has studied quite a bit on vampires and how to kill them.

one day, she walks around at night in the city, but this time, she's armed with a stake just in case she gets jumped again.

while walking, she hears a soft singing. a beautiful voice resounds its way through the alleyways. curious of the source, she follows the voice until she comes across a boy on the roof of a building, legs dangling over the edge and playing his guitar as he sings.

"hey!" eurydice calls from below. she startles the boy, who literally fumbles around for five seconds and nearly drops his guitar in the process. "s-sorry!! i didn't mean to startle you."

"no, no, it's fine!" he awkwardly laughs, putting down his guitar.

"you have a beautiful voice, by the way."

"thanks."

"sorry, i know i interrupted you just to tell you something small, but—“

"no really, don't worry about it! i appreciate it." he thinks for a second before eurydice can walk away. "uhh, do you wanna...come up here and chat for a bit?"

"um...sure why not?" eurydice had blurted this out without much thought; in the moment, the idea of whether or not this guy might be a vampire doesn't strike her. but now that it does, she quickly prepares herself. she'd been invited into his potential trap, and she just agreed to step right in. why did i say yes? if he's a vampire, this is a fucking suicide mission. stupid eurydice, fuck—

the ladder leading to the roof is at the side of the building, so she goes up.

eurydice reluctantly sits down beside him.

"hey," he greets her with a smile, "i'm orpheus."

"eurydice," she says firmly. her eyes flit around to examine him from head to toe. he doesn't seem suspicious…and he doesn’t really give me vampire vibes…

orpheus slowly nods, waiting for her to say something else to drag the conversation along, but she doesn't. however, he does notice her eyeing him suspiciously. maybe i shouldn't have invited her…??

but what orpheus can admit is that—wow she looks so pretty, especially under the moonlight oh my gosh she’s gorgeous.

eurydice eventually stops examining him because she sees him noticing.

“so...you play the guitar. can you play a song for me?”

he agrees and starts singing a song he’s been working on. eurydice gets too caught up in his singing that she totally forgets about the oh-shit-he-might-be-a-vampire thing.

while listening to him, she realizes she might have a teeeeeny bit of a crush on this guy. he’s very cute. and has a very nice voice. also plays the guitar really well. wow i think i might be in love—

when he finishes, eurydice compliments him once more and thanks him. realizing it’s getting a bit late, she says she’s gotta go.

“do you wanna meet again tomorrow afternoon?”

orpheus frowns. “i don’t know if i can do the afternoon...”

“how about tomorrow night? same time as now? oh wait, are you usually up this la—”

“i’ll be there.”

she nods, and smiles. “see you tomorrow, orpheus.”

(eurydice’s still enamored by orpheus that she doesn’t realize him being able to meet her at night than the afternoon is a little...suspicious 👀👀)

so about orpheus: orpheus is actually a vampire.

but he doesn’t like it.

orpheus was born a vampire when his parents were very late in life (they’ve been around for a long time, but didn’t decide until hundreds of years later to have a baby ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). after his parents died when he was very, very young (vampire hunters djskskndm), orpheus was abandoned; but soon found by hermes, who took him in.

immediately upon finding orpheus, hermes knew he as a vampire. but even so, considering he was left alone, and was too little to fend for himself, he took him in.

being a human, hermes was unable to teach orpheus how to,, y’know,, properly be a vampire. but here’s the thing: hermes has Connections. he actually knows some fellow vamps—these being clotho, lachesis, and atropos (aka, your lovely fates). every now and then they visit hermes and orpheus and teach orpheus all the vampire shtuff he needs to know.

since orpheus has basically grown up with them in his life, the fates have kinda just,, become his aunts tbh hjshsjdh

before the fates came along, orpheus had already grown to hate his vampiric side. so once they came into the picture, he’d do whatever he had to when they taught him, but he never really agreed to the concept of it. (he has to learn these things for his survival, but gosh, he really wishes he didn’t have to go through all this.) he just really doesn’t like being a vampire okie—

for one, he hates drinking blood. obviously he’s just gotta deal with it, but if there was any way he could not do that, he would. secondly, he hates not being able to bask in the sun. (as vampires get older, their resistance to the sun becomes much worse. so when they’re younger, they could stay in the sun for hours and hours before it becomes detrimental to them.) before the fates, orpheus would always sit around outside and stare at the sky, be it night or day. his favorites were whenever he’d watch the sunrise, which he always considered the most magical time of day. as he grew older, this routine obviously had to stop. but still—he misses sunrises.

the guitar orpheus has was given to him by hermes. (it was hermes’s old guitar.) hermes is the one who taught orpheus how to play.

on the topic of urges, orpheus……...is a weird one. he hasn’t actually experienced one yet, despite that he’s been around for quite a while. the fates find this pretty odd. hm.

upon meeting eurydice, orpheus doesn’t really wanna tell her who he really is right then and there. as aforementioned, he doesn’t really like being a vampire, so why tell her, y’know ??

he hopes he can keep this a secret from her for as long as he can, but obviously that doesn’t last...

this is the first time i’ve actually fleshed out an au, and planning all this only gave me 2015 writing nostalgia (back when i was a daily fanfic writer ahsjhsbd)

ANYWAYS. this was fun. i’ll draw more soon 😘

[yanderemommabean]

Could you do another yandere all smite purge one please?

“This is not a test “ Echoed through the empty streets as the final safety doors slammed shut, leaving poor souls who were too late in the open and in the vicious line of sight for those looking to hunt. “Your government is announcing the commencement of the lovesick purge. All participants must obey the rules given and indoctrinated-” the message drones on, turning to muffled booms as you rush through the alleyways and stomp through the puddles in your way.

God you hated this time of year. You were never prepared for it, never ready to handle the horrified screams and gunshots going off until morning rise. Praying never brought the sun up any faster but hey, it passed the time. This year you just wanted to hide away in your room like last time and blare music through your headphones, hiding in a cupboard or maybe that hallway closet. Last time it was kinda cozy.

You have to actually get home first, but why wouldn’t you? You knew your shortcuts, your danger zones, and how to fight dirty incase someone picked a fight. You’d like to think you could handle yourself.

You slide into another alley and catch your breath, watching as three people rush past and argue over where to go and what to do. You didn’t bother getting involved or helping, it was every man for himself and kindness could very well get you killed. You wait to see what happens to the three, and when nothing but silence follows, you try not to think about the outcome.

Cracking your neck, you take a breath and begin to run again, having just a few more blocks to “safety”. That being a building thats very easy to bust into and a door that could be broken by just a breath. But it was home, and home is where we subconsciously think no harm will come.

A large hand on your shoulder stops you dead in your tracks, yanking you back into the darkness of the alley. You begin to fight, kicking and biting while trying to escape the grip of your possible killer, your fists making little to no impact with every blow.

Well that’s embarrassing. You thought you were stronger than that.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you” the voice pacifies, a deep chuckle following as the male forces your arms behind your back. You recognized that voice, hearing it speak on the news and on social media constantly.

Not in a heroic manner, not in some savior like way. This man was the tormentor everyone feared. This was the infamous villain All Smite. The man who can kill without remorse and destroy with a smile on his face, has you in his grip for god knows what.

“Silent now? I pegged you as a screamer” he joked, watching you roll your eyes at the innuendo. “I don’t exactly know what to say. I know begging won’t do shit” you admit with a nervous swallow, trying to avoid pissing him off and making the situation worse. Panicking wouldn’t help, no matter how good of an idea your brain made it seem.

The bulking blond laughs, and presses his head against the nape of your neck as he tightens your bonds. “This is why I love you. You’re so calm and calculating yet shy and timid. Cute and sexy. Just my type”. Wait, wait, just his type? Wasn’t he tying you up to like, throw you in a river or something? Break your bones and take your money? No! No there’s no way in hell this man is your yandere! You weren’t even given a warning letter!

Then again you suppose he’s a villain, why would he go by the rules? You not knowing gave him a larger advantage on catching you. You shiver feeling his large hands roam over you, as if checking for weapons and hidden items, but also a cheap way to cop a feel. “P-Pervert” you bit out, knowing that no matter what you said, what you did, you’d only lose and be his entertainment. He loved it when his victims begged and sobbed.

You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

All Smite gently lifts you, cradling you as he begins walking down the street with bravado. Dude always has to put on a show. “You’re just going to kill me after this aren’t you? Hurt me, bruise me up, and slit my neck?” you asked bitterly, accepting your fate a bit faster than mentally healthy. Unless of course you were dead on the inside like the author.

All smite gave you an odd look. Brows furrowed in what you dare call concern, as if you were the one acting odd and dangerous. “I don’t think you fully grasp what’s occurring. You’re mine. Captured. My lover to be unless you escape the next purge. Bonded to me and me bonded to you”.

Yeah...ok you’re kidnapped. That should be sinking in, this shouldn’t be so casual, this shouldn't be so calm as it is. You just don't feel a fight in you. Almost like...like you wanted this to happen. Like you wanted to be caught and give up. You should be fighting more than this, tied up or not, but instead you’re empty and waiting for a fantasy that isn’t to come.

The villain gently brushes your hair away from your face, and sighs lovingly “You’ve been hurting for so long. You’ve been abandoned by those who are supposed to protect you, been cut by those who say they love you. You’re tired”.

“Shut up” you spit “You don’t know shit! You’re just playing mind games”.

He only gives a hum in response, opening the door to his hideout while you try to ignore the fact he hit some nerves. “I’ve watched you for a while, you know?” he plops you down on his couch, watching your eyes avert his gaze as he continues. “I’ve seen the hurt those people gave you. The condescending tones over your achievements, the scolding you when you finally come out of your shell, the audacity to belittle you when you’re doing your best and trying to survive and they only sit on their asses”.

You glare with tears in your eyes, spitting out bitterly “What’s your fucking point? What you-you wanna break me down and start from there?! See how deep those fucking scars go? Want me to tell you how they used to beat me-”

He hushes you softly, making you choke back a sob as he just holds your head in his large hands, wiping away your angry tears. “I want to be here for you. Help you heal yourself and show you that I can be the only person you need. A strong person like you deserves to be spoiled and worshipped. “ he kisses the top of your head, holding you as you shudder out more confused tears. Relief and grief, pain and soothing, it was so odd.

Could you really trust him? He’s probably just manipulating you for some sick game of his! “L-Like I can trust a single word from that snake like mouth” you meekly comment, fists clenching in their bindings as All Smite just continues to stroke your hair. “You can’t. Not yet. But I plan to prove that you can trust me, and plan to show you how devoted I am to you and our love”.

You squint in disbelief once again “I’m not in love with you”.

A wicked grin spreads on his face as he steals a quick kiss “You will be”

-Mommabean

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Star-Crossed: Bound by Blood

Chapter Five

Master List / Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Warnings: Canon divergent during Chapter 13 of The Mandalorian, serious pining, much angst, violence

A/N: I make this stuff up as I go along, if I screw something Star Wars-y up, apologies in advance, I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m new to this Fandom. I will be cross posting this story between AO3 and Tumblr except the smutty bits. Those chapters will only be available to registered users on AO3. (I’m trying something new for people who want to read here on Tumblr, but to also avoid the smut for minors controversy. We’ll see how it goes.)

*I do not have a tag list* Please follow the story on AO3 if you want email updates, or follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library where I post the new/latest chapters of all my stories.

Din watched Baast with growing concern. She'd withdrawn after Nevarro, spending the majority of her time with Grogu or in the sleeping hammock she'd strung between the walls of the Razor Crest. She refused to take his bunk, wouldn't even hear of it. When she slept - which he knew wasn't often as he could hear her prowling quietly around his ship - she did so in fits and starts and bad dreams. 

By the time they arrived at the Tribe's new home, he was genuinely worried. He didn't know enough about Zentari biology to be able to say if this was normal or not, but with how worried Grogu seemed, he was going to go with not. 

But Din couldn't focus on Baast as he navigated the high winds and icy blizzard of the Tribe's new home. The planet was damn near inhospitable, but that was why they liked it. 

This was his first visit since the massacre on Nevarro, and he was both excited to see who remained and dreading it. There had been far too many Foundling helmets in the Armourer's pile. An old outpost carved into the rock served as a place to land ships and keep them from being snowed in. Blast doors slid open, appearing to welcome him home. Mandalorians waved him forward, and he recognized the armour of Paz Vizsla.

"That kriffing bastard would live," he muttered as he maneuvered the Razor Crest around and set it down. The blast doors were already closing, not that those who worked on their ships appeared to care either way. 

Descending into the belly of his ship, he found Baast growling at her hair and tsked when he snaked the comb from her fingers. "You're making matters worse," he huffed, quickly separating the tangle. He twisted the mass into a long tail, then wrapped it into a knot at the base of her skull, where he tucked two long sticks he'd picked up in the market on Nevarro. They were made of hardened steel, sharpened to a deadly point, and would make a handy weapon if she ever needed one. She kept her eyes down and didn't look at him when he helped her into her cloak. 

While they'd been on Nevarro, he'd been careful to pick out clothing she could layer for cold weather rather than buying winter gear. He had no desire to lead the Tribe's enemies to them again and made damn sure they weren't followed. The one thing he couldn't avoid buying were boots, but Dune came through on that one. 

After Baast damn near killed her, they spent a mostly pleasant few hours with Dune while she'd cooed over Grogu and listened intently as Din told of his run-in with the Jedi. They said nothing of Baast's origins and wouldn't. What Cara didn't know couldn't get her killed. Of course, the ex-shock trooper would attempt to kick his ass if he said that out loud, so Din hadn't, remaining silent as Dune fumed for being "out of the loop."

Before he drew up Baast's hood, he lifted her chin with gloved fingers. "Baast, everything will be alright."

She gave him a wane smile, her vibrant eyes too dull for his liking. "As you say, Mando."

He gritted his teeth. That, too, had changed. She no longer called him by his name when they were alone. He was back to Mando. It was the first time in his life that he hated hearing anyone utter that word. 

"Baast, we need to talk-" He cut himself off when loud pounding came at the ramp and flipped her hood over her head. "We're not finished," he warned, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with her. 

She picked Grogu up but said nothing. There was no defiance, no strength, no beskar spine left to her. 

He clenched his fists and headed for the ramp, where he punched the release with more exuberance than was needed. It lowered to reveal Paz and another, weapons trained on the doorway. 

"Nice greeting," Din grumbled.

"You've too many bodies on your ship."

He held out his hand, and Baast joined him, her hand sliding up his arm to his elbow. "We seek the Alor."

Weapons slowly lowered, but he could tell they remained suspicious.

"This way." Paz turned and headed across the hanger. 

Din didn't bother to hurry. Paz would wait because they'd piqued his curiosity. He would remain once they reached the Alor to see just what Din was up to. Suspicion followed them like a red wave as they made their way through the rock corridors. The deeper they went, the warmer the air grew, indicating the Tribe had found lava flow or hot springs heated the base.

It was good, secure. Hopefully, they could remain here for some time.

Paz stopped at an open doorway and indicated inside. "Leave the child with the other Foundlings."

"Nu draar," Baast growled, her stance defensive as she rolled onto the balls of her feet. 

"He will be safe and happy with the others," Din encouraged. Looking inside, his heart plummeted. Where once there were thirty or more Foundlings, now fewer than fifteen remained. "Is this all?"

"Sabine has the older ones. They train." 

"This is The Way," Din murmured. 

"This is The Way," Paz agreed. "Leave the child."

Baast hissed at him, and Din stepped between them before things escalated. Already he could tell Paz wasn't impressed.

"Baast, udesii," he murmured, laying his hands over hers on Grogu. "He will be safe and far happier with the Foundlings. No one will touch him, I swear it."

She held onto him as if her very life resided in the little green menace, and leaving him behind was allowing a part of herself to be torn apart, but with gentle coaxing, he managed to remove Grogu from her hands and set him down to join the others children. Grogu cooed happily and toddled off to play while Din urged Baast onward after Paz. 

The giant warrior peered at Baast for a long moment before continuing away from the Foundling Nursery. 

Finally, after more twists and turns and stares from other Mandalorians, they arrived at the Foundry where the Alor waited in her golden helmet. She didn't bother to look up as she worked on polishing a pauldron. 

"You dare to bring an aruetyc here?"

At any other time, he might have flinched at such a reprimand coming from her, but not this time. "She is not an outsider. She is Baast'mal, last of the Zentari."

The pauldron slipped and clanged against the forge before she caught it and set it carefully aside. "The Zentari are no more."

"She knows The Way," Din insisted. "We completed the greeting."

The Alor turned then to face them as Baast pushed back her hood. The sharp intake of breath Paz took did not escape him. 

"I am Baast'mal, daughter of Sengor'du and Lin'talia of Zentarus." She tilted her head. "Great Alor, I greet thee. Holder of the Creed, blessed of the constellations. May you raise warriors strong in the Way and find your riduur. Your cyar'ika. Your ka'rta." 

Din had never seen the Armourer show surprise in her body language before. "I greet thee, Zentari of the Bright Star, though it saddens me to learn you are the last. Can you be certain of this?"

"I felt the only other of my kind die three years past," Baast murmured. 

The Alor bowed her head. “Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.” 

Din knew how she felt. It was like a gut punch without warning to know they'd lost something so damn special. 

"Be welcome, Baast'mal. Perhaps among our Tribe, you will find the one you seek." 

Baast said nothing, looking away as if in shame, and Din reached for her elbow before remembering they were no longer alone on his ship where he could take such liberties. Now, she would be courted by every able-bodied male of the Tribe to see if they proved worthy to be her riduur.

"Leave us," the Alor commanded. 

Din hesitated, but when Baast didn't look at him, he stepped back and walked away.

***

"Shut the door, Vizsla," she commanded as the big one followed Din out.

Used to Din's t-shaped visor, the Alor's eye slits were almost disconcerting, but Baast didn't allow it to show.

"You are of a great lineage, Baast'mal, daughter of Sengor'du. The Tribe will see this as a great omen, a reason to rejoice when we have so little."

"Not so great," Baast sighed. "I cannot be what I was born to be. I am no riduur. My fated mate will never complete the bond."

She tilted her head. "Oh?" Then motioned toward a table next to the forge. "Sit. Tell me your story, Baast'mal."

Baast, knowing her future depended on her honesty, spoke the truth. She told the Alor of her kidnapping as a child, her brutal years as an experiment, and the wretched way the Empire forced bonds with the Sand Cat and Manka. She showed off her Snake Tooth and admitted how broken she felt knowing she would never have the one thing she yearned for. 

"I was bred to grow warriors, but I will remain barren," she whispered, unashamed of the tears streaming down her cheeks.

The woman across from her tilted her head, having remained silent through her entire recitation. "They took you from Zentarus too young. There are… things missing from your education, knowledge you have yet to acquire."

"There is?" Baast was surprised and yet not completely. She had been very young when they ripped her from her family.

"There is. I can teach you, but it will take time."

"I am not sure Di- Mando will be alright with a delay. I promised I would help him find a Jedi for Grogu."

If she was surprised Baast knew Din's name, she didn't show it. "Hm, for the child you took as your own. You will find parting with him to be like death. I do not envy you the position you have placed yourself in."

"I know," Baast whispered. "But he may be my only chance at a child."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." She stood and motioned for Baast to follow her to the forge. "For now, you will sleep. Rest, Baast'mal. You are safe here, and I can see you have not been sleeping."

"Not because I felt unsafe," she snapped. "Mando is not to blame."

"Isn't he?" 

She stared, but Baast refused to look away. She would give the Alor no reason to doubt Din. 

She chuckled and turned to the forge, her hands busy out of Baast's view. "I have long considered Djarin one of our finest warriors. I am pleased to see him living up to his potential."

When she turned back, the mark of the mudhorn was in her hand, dangling from a leather thong. The Alor stepped forward and tied the cord around Baast's neck, settling the shiny bit of beskar against Baast's chest.

"There. Now, none who see you will challenge that you belong. I will have one of the others deposit you in a family suite so you may remain close to your Mandalorian with your child."

"He is not my Mandalorian."

She looked at Baast, and Baast swore she could feel the amusement rolling off the woman. "Isn't he?" she asked before going and opening the door. "Vizsla. Retrieve the child and take her to the home set aside for Djarin."

"Respectfully, no." The one called Paz crossed his arms, radiating defiance. "If she is Zentari, she should not be living with him. She should be available to all to choose."

Baast was too tired and too stressed to deal with his macho bullshit any longer and walked into the corridor with long smooth strides. She let her cloak fall behind her as she stalked the male keeping her from her child. 

"And do you think you are worthy?" she asked, soft, cold, and deadly.

"Baast," Din warned.

She could feel him now, more and more; even with the beskar, his emotions were starting to bleed through. Being with him was agony; her soul cried out for his, but being apart would likely be even worse.  

"I could be," Vizsla snickered.

Baast smiled to show off her fangs, then kicked him down the corridor. "You do not choose!" she roared. "I choose!"

When she made to stalk after him to teach the too proud Mandalorian a lesson he would not soon forget, she found herself captured against Din. 

"He means no disrespect, but he is right. You... you must find your fated mate." The words sounded like they pained him. "You can't stay with me and do that."

Baast felt herself crumble and swayed into him, distraught at causing him such grief. 

"She is clan of your clan as the child is the child of her heart. Baast'mal wears your sigil. Until she says otherwise, she will remain Clan Mudhorn. Collect the child, take her to your home, and return to me, Djarin."

The Alor's command was not one they could ignore. Din bowed his head and pulled Baast away, past Paz, who radiated wary respect. 

The traversed corridors in reverse until they came to one deserted of others, and Din spun her into the wall. "Are you alright?"

She clung to him, clung and shook as every cell and fibre and atom of her body begged for his until she could hardly bear it. "Your Alor has information for me. My knowledge is incomplete. I must stay until it is no longer this way."

"Then we stay."

The easy acceptance shocked her into searching the t-visor for his unseen eyes. "But, Grogu. The Jedi."

"It can wait."

"Mando," she sighed.

"Din," he growled low, pressing his body closer. "You will use my name with the Tribe and in private, Baast."

She closed her eyes, the pain growing. 

"Are you sick? Do you need a healer?"

His concern broke her a little more. "No. I am fine."

"You're not fine!" he snapped. "You're fading! I can see how much something is hurting you, Baast. What is going on?"

She dredged up every ounce of self-preservation she had left to stare him cooly in the visor. "That is not your concern."

He stepped away as if she'd hit him. "Fine. Use my home. I will find somewhere else to sleep."

She watched him walk away, her heart cracking with each step until he turned the corner, and it shattered. 

Baast landed hard on her knees, unable to catch her breath, gasping and dry heaving, tears spilling freely down her face. When the hands came, they were gentle, but she would not have cared if they brought pain. Nothing hurt as much as Din walking away. 

"I'm Sabine. Allow me to offer aid, Zentari."

Baast could only nod as she allowed the female to help her up and lead her away.

***

He stalked back to the forge with angry strides but a heavy heart. Baast was breaking down, and her continued refusal to let him help would drive him insane.

Paz nodded as he went by and shut the door to the forge as he left.

"So, you have brought us a Zentari. This is well done of you."

He said nothing, knowing she needed no response.

The Armourer held up the pauldron of earlier and discarded it. "But she is soul-sick."

"Soul-sick?" He'd never heard of it before.

"She believes she is damaged. Too long was she with the Empire. Too long has she battled the mind games of the demagolka. They could not break her spirit, so they poisoned her mind. This poison sickens her soul. She needs mirjahaal."

"Demagolka…" Din whispered, horror filling him. The Demagol was the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, a real-life monster and war criminal. He was known for his experiments on children and was hated by all Mandalorians for his perversions. Children were to be cherished, never tortured. "Are you sure?"

She looked at him. "What else would you call one who experiments on children?"

He felt foolish for not seeing it himself and tilted his head in apology.

She hummed and returned to the forge. "You will help her find mirjahaal."

"She doesn't want my help."

"But she needs it. You will do this. I have spoken."

He sighed but made sure the sound didn't leave his helmet and drew the ingot of beskar from his pocket. "For the Foundlings."

The Alor hummed. "This is The Way."

"This is The Way." Din turned and left, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. 

He stormed out but only made it as far as the turn to the first hall, where he stopped to sigh and closed his eyes. How could he help Baast find mirjahaal when she didn't want anything to do with him anymore?  

How could he help her find healing and peace of mind when he no longer felt it himself?

***

Nu draar - no way/ not on your life

Udesii - calm

Aruetyc - traitor/outsider

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la - not gone, merely marching far away.

Mirjahaal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after trauma or bereavement. 

***

Next Chapter coming soon

[thoushaltnottpass]

War Takes Away Our Humanity

Teaser for Ch1 (basically a trailer.)

Excuse them if they had been a bit surprised at first. One and a half years of quiet had felt too good to be true, but after a few months of being tense and paranoid, people had begun to yearn for tranquility, slowly letting their guard down. Ol' Voldy and his merry band of Death Eaters had all disappeared underground after Harry had challenged their leader to a duel of skill, announcing that Riddle's Horcruxes had been all but demolished, so wizardkind had taken the opportunity to try and regain a semblance of the normality they had had before the war had started.

...

In just a month, Riddle had created utter chaos. His Death Eaters massacred muggleborn families left and right. They burned down the new St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the Albus Dumbledore Home for War Orphans, and the Severus Snape Trauma Center all in one. They overtook the Ministry of Magic once more. Minister Shacklebolt was ruthlessly murdered, as was every Ministry official who stood with him. They were able to destroy the wards around almost half of Wizarding Britain's homes. Hell, the only wards they couldn't take down were ones equal to the ancient family homes, such as Longbottom Hall, Hogwarts, Malfoy Manor, or Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

...

George had broken. He had fallen to his knees in anguish, his tears and promises of revenge never-ending. A day later he had been discovered in his flat's bathroom, blood oozing out of his slit wrists, a moving photograph of him, Angelina, Fred, and some of their other friends at the Yule Ball of 1994 in his hands.

...

In another seven months, over a third of Britain had been demolished. The words You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were gone from everyone's vocabulary; everyone knew very well who. As well as The Dark Lord, fearful whispers on the streets referred to Riddle as the 'Cold One'. There were Death Eater revels almost every week, stated either in Diagon Alley, or various Muggle towns and cities.

...

Despite all of it, Voldemort had not appeared, not once. No-one, wizard or Muggle, had seen him in the flesh and lived to tell the tale. His inner circle members handled most of the revels, raids, and general killings, while he relished in the safety of his hideouts, torturing and/or killing wizards and the occasional muggle. What a way to live.

...

"No, Draco, just keep looking. There's at least another half of this library that we haven't seen. It's all Dark, we're bound to find something."

"Hermione, Harry, please. Just hear me-"

"No, Draco. There has to be another way."

...

"They found Ted Tonks. They're moving in on him, but it'll take them a minute to get through his wards. That's all the time you get before they kill him. Approximately seventy of them. He is there. They expect you to fight, bring as many as possible. High Street, Marlborough. Go, quickly." (A.N: That's a real place. I searched it up- it's in England)

...

Andromeda was the first to fall. She had broken when she had seen the house her husband had resided- and died in, apparently, as the house was now just a pile of ashes surrounded by a lovely fence. Her attention -and shield- wavered just for a second, but that was all that her opponents had needed to take her down. A quick flash of green light, and she had crumpled to the ground, an agonised expression forever on her face. After her, it had been Neville. The brave, yet foolish, man had been battling five Death Eaters by himself -and winning, it seemed- when someone had shot an emerald green jet of light to his back. Seeing him fall had been tragic for all around him, especially Augusta, who had sunk to the ground in despair, clutching her daughter-in-law. Those had been a sad few moments- before Augusta and Hannah had, too, sadly met their ends. Molly Weasley had launched herself into a duel with Bellatrix, and she fought like a vicious lioness. Even lionesses died, however, and that was what had happened to Molly. Percy and Bill, who were briefly distracted from their own duels when her body had tumbled to the floor, had all joined her in the afterlife after being hit by some very Dark curses. Percy had killed Dolohov and jumped in for his mother, grieving but level-headed, though he was no match for the serpent that was Bellatrix. Soon, the only remaining Weasley was Ron, not that he had had much time to register it, as he was battling three very dangerous Dark wix.

...

"My dear Death Eaters, would you look at this," Voldemort drawled in his snake's hiss, drawing out the 's' at the end. "The only members of the Light we have not yet defeated."

...

"Ronald Weasley," Ron looked repulsed at hearing the bald snake say his name. "You could have been great, my dear boy. You could have brought the Prewetts and Weasleys back to their former glory, but you chose not to. You are a disgrace to the pureblood name.”

If anything, Ron looked proud at that.

"Draco Malfoy," he announced, his eyes straying to the blond man. "You are a traitor to our cause, Draco. You didn't think I knew about that measly code, that spelled parchment, those private little Charms lessons? Your mother died as soon as I made her send that Patronus, boy. Your father must be rolling in his grave. Filthy blood-traitor," Draco's mask flickered for a second at the news of his mother's death, but he determinedly put it back into place, strengthening his shields.

The Death Eaters gleefully snickered at the mention of the deceased woman. Bellatrix outright cackled madly. A look from her beloved Lord quietened her immediately.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione looked ready to spit in his face and stomp on his non-nose. "You are the brightest witch of your age. A Mudblood, yes, but bright nonetheless. I would gladly excuse your unfortunate heritage. Join me, my dear, and bask in the praise and glory Lord Voldemort will give you. Join me, and be rewarded greatly," he purred. "Hermione."

"Rot in hell, Riddle," Hermione spat, seeming beyond revolted.

"Very well. And Harry Potter," Riddle sneered. "The Chosen One. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Saviour of the World. Where have you been as the world needed you, Mr Potter? You once took everything from me, Harry. And now," Voldemort smiled a sickening smile, and Hermione's shield faltered. "I shall take all from you." He raised his wand, and a jet of green light rushed toward Harry's best and only female friend.

Hermione didn't panic. Her life didn't flash before her eyes. She just felt numb. She dropped her arm and closed her eyes, ready to meet her fate. But apparently, fate had other ideas. Because she didn't see the black abyss she had thought would absorb her, she didn't feel the spell she thought would hit her, and she didn't die. No, instead, she heard a shout of her name, and as she opened her eyes, she saw a mop of bright, orange hair, followed by a thump on the ground in front of her.

"No!" she cried in sorrow.

...

Ron... Ginny... Molly... Andy...

...

“We have no other choice.”

“Draco-”

“No, Hermione, please listen to me,” Draco pleaded. “If we had another option, I would gladly choose it, but there isn’t another option. Please know that I would never ask you to do this unless it was the only way. But, don’t you see? This isn’t Dark magic, because I’m willing.”

...

“O cara mors vetus noster animos habere pudicos, et nostri bonis magicae. Rogamus te ut nos back: reversusque est in tempore. Obsecro mi mors sanguis nostras quaesumus ut nos salvos et mundo. Mortem, et dabo te in sanguinem et vitam draco malfoy, et in reditu ad nos a vobis et nobis bonum passagium praeterita, ita non potest prohibere mala et beatitudo omnibus!”

...

Tears streaming down their cheeks, they both thrust their knives into his gut. Draco cried out at the unimaginable pain. He slumped to the floor, writhing in agony.

They repeated the words once more as he bled out in front of them.

...

Hermione turned to Harry, and saw that his face was also twisted in pain, as though he could feel what Draco was feeling.

“We're monsters.” she said numbly. “We killed someone pure.”

“This is what war does, Mione,” he muttered numbly. “It takes everything from you until the only thing you have left is your humanity. Then it takes that, too.”

Draco gave one last twitch, one last whimper, before he became still, his pain still on his face. At that very moment, Hermione and Harry stumbled feeling a pull in their stomachs not unlike what one felt mid-Apparition. The wind around them spun quickly in a circle, and the two friends let go of each other's hands.

...

That had been her last thought before she had stopped flying and landed on her two feet; the world went dark, and she slumped to the shining floor of the abyss. And for the first time in a long time, Hermione Granger rested, no bad dreams or dark memories plaguing her. Little did she know, she would have quite the same fright when she woke up.

[sheepish-uwu]

Early mornings: soft and tender

thermite/jackal l 5.6k words l EXPLICIT/NSFW l smut & fluff l also on A03!

Thermite has always thought that anything life gave him couldn't surprise him at this point anymore, and yet a certain Spaniard always seems to catch him by surprise regardless.

Not that he was complaining. Every moment, even if it was something presumably irritating (like being woken up at 5 in the morning), did nothing to falter their growing love.

If there was one thing Jordan has learned from his 35 years of life, it'd be that the best way to go through anything was to just roll with it. Life has always been full of both punches and caresses, and honestly at this point Jordan has lost all inhibition to fight against fate. Nothing surprises him.

Or at least that’s what he would say if there wasn't a warm comforting presence pressed against his back radiating a soothing temperature that, paired with the rough yet oddly gentle hands teasingly rubbing rhythmic circles on the exposed hip threateningly low to his crotch, sent screeching indecipherable alarms in his discombobulated half-asleep monkey-brain that had suddenly jostled him awake.

Jordan let out a surprised breathy whimper when he felt fingers trace up his soft fluttering belly, an index finger playfully teasing the dip in his navel before continuing upwards to circle the flesh around his nipple, the sensation easily overwhelmed by the other hand still on his hip threateningly close to his crotch — intangible, but faint enough to still steal the little air he had left in his lungs away. Being awoken in the middle of the night from something like this was admittedly unexpected but honestly, knowing the sleazy Spaniard he’d come to know and love, it shouldn’t be a shocker. Jordan, of course, wasn’t complaining, but it was still one of those moments that made him doubletake in shock, though he could blame his confusion on the dumbified state of his drowsy mind.

“You couldn’t wake me up with a sweet little bed and breakfast?” Jordan grumbles half-heartedly, letting out a tired groan in protest when Ryad pushed aside the thick bed covers bundled up around their legs, the frigid air of the room hitting him like a speeding semi-truck almost immediately. “You’re old-fashioned and romantic like that.”

“It’s 5 in the morning, Jordan. Too early for breakfast and besides,” Jordan shivers when he feels a hot breath ghost tantalizingly on the sensitive skin of his exposed neck, the feeling sending a tingling sensation that rushes throughout his body. “I want you, Cariño.” The licentious Spaniard behind him says as if he hadn’t already had him earlier in the night and countless times before then throughout their relationship, but that knowledge doesn’t quite render in Jordan’s dazed brain as soon as chaste lips press fleeting kisses on the side of Jordan’s vulnerable neck, the American keening and stretching his neck to provide more room for the affections, lavishing in the loving gestures like a sunbathing cat; mewling and stretching out when the hand still circling his hip snakes down into his loose boxers to grasp his half-hard cock, the member twitching in interest when Ryad also takes that moment to pinch the nub of a nipple while simultaneously rubbing the slit of the head of his cock.

Letting out a sharp exhale, his toes curling subconsciously as Ryad begins to lazily stroke his hardening dick, Jordan replies: “you already have me, ‘dontcha? Besides—” Jordon groans, shifting and writhing in the tight embrace when Ryad continues to rub the sensitive head of his cock, the sudden stimulation overwhelming and causing Jordon to let out a loud gasp. Damned libertine. “If you keep up this libido my dick is gonna’ shrivel up and fall off if you keep pestering the poor guy like this.”

The low sultry chuckle from Jordan’s joking statement resonates deeply; the low rumble making his heart flutter and heat spread straight to his interested crotch. Suddenly, the attention on his dick stops and Jordan nearly implodes from his newly built-up desire and rage.

“Do you want me to stop?” The Spanish devil asks nonchalantly, his tone laced with amusement and slight concern.

“Oh, you better not now.” Jordan nearly hisses, thrusting experimentally into the hand still loosely enclosed around his cock, and nearly buckled over in a fetal position when Ryad gives a light squeeze on the shaft in response to his desperation.

“Wonderful,” Ryad purrs, pressing a soft appreciative kiss on the corner of his mouth that Jordon chases eagerly, shifting upwards as Ryad rises next to him on the bed before falling back on the soft mattress, his body going pliant as Ryad presses the palm of his hand back against Jordan's chest, murmuring tooth-rotting sweet words huskily in his mother language, breath ghosting the shell of Jordan's ear, the touch producing a phantom sensation that lingers when the Spaniard moves away, traveling to the end of the bed and kneeling between Jordan's legs. The sultry rumble of foreign words were deep and mellow, honeyed from the lilting accent that became increasingly more apparent the more ravished Ryad became and honestly, paired with the libidinous tone of voice, Jordan was willing to give up his right arm to be able to understand a lick of what the suave Spaniard between his legs was saying.

“ Damn,” Jordan whispers breathily, meeting Ryad’s sly eyes when he peers over at him curiously from behind his crotch, the erotic sight a promise of what was to come soon - a thought incredibly appealing and captivating to his tarnished mind. “You’re makin’ me wish I paid attention to my highschool Spanish class.”  

Ryad laughs, a mischievous glint glistening the whiskey-brown eyes that turns Jordan into a burning pile of mush. “Oh? Fancy a little roleplay in the bedroom then, hmm?” Ryad muses jokingly and, layering on a more authoritative tone before Jordan can refute, continues jokingly: “Jordan… I’ve noticed you’ve been struggling quite a bit in my class. Is there something keeping you distracted? Perhaps we should discuss it some time, hmm?”

Suddenly, Jordan regrets speaking. Hell, he regrets learning to speak a language at all. “Oh my god. Ryad, no-- ”

“That’s Señor Ramirez to you.” Ryad corrects, the persona he’d suddenly developed cracking as an amused grin breaks his pseudo facade, his dark mirthful eyes averting to the obvious tent in Jordan's boxers that makes a surge of arousal pool low in his gut.

“You’re a fucking riot.” Jordan mumbles light-heartedly, staring fervently at his boyfriend, scorching desire flooding his system when Ryad pulls down the waistband of his boxers, exposing himself to the piercing gaze of the Spaniard and the cool air of the room when he timidly spreads his legs, the position very inescapably exposing and inducing slight embarrassment that clashes with the growing arousal.

Ryad doesn’t reply. Instead, seeming determined to prove Jordan right, he peers over to give teasing licks on Jordan's cock, collecting the drops of pre-cum dribbling down the shaft before moving to the tip, darting his tongue out to toy with the head of his cock and pressing against the slit - all while maintaining hungry eye-contact.

Jesus fucking christ.

Jordan inadvertently mewls, arching his back up to search for more contact like a touch-starved dog without explicitly thrusting straight into Ryad’s face.

He takes it back. Ryad isn't a riot. He’s a goddamn tease.

“Ryad, baby, my love, sugar-darling— please.”

Ryad tuts him playfully with a shake of his head, letting out a pleased chuckle when abhorrence flashes across Jordan's desperate face. “Patience is a virtue, Jordan.” Ryad replies as if he was in any place to remark on morality or virtue when 10 seconds ago his mouth was on a fucking dick.

Jordan wants to fight Ryad for getting him all riled up and purposely leaving only fleeting barely satisfactory touches but he can only grumble out a mumbled “ virtue my ass- ” before immediately cutting off with a surprised, loud, and somewhat embarrassing moan as he’s suddenly bombarded by an unexpected wet heat that envelops his cock, unintentionally causing Jordon to thrust up into the new environment that earns him a glare and a sharp slap on the thigh for his bad manners.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry.” Shaking fingers run apologetically through Ryad’s short dark hair, brushing through the thin locks before gripping onto his head when Ryad tries to take him all in in hopes of steadying his merciless pace. Otherwise, this would all be over disappointingly soon.

But Ryad is unrelenting, leaving no room for Jordon to take a breather as he delivers nothing but mind-fogging pleasure with his mouth, substituting the length he couldn’t reach with languid strokes with his hand, the stimulation teetering on the brink of overwhelming.

Risking a peek to the undeniably filthy sight, Jordan peers down through half-lidded eyes to meet the dedicated gaze of Ryad; his eyes glossy and prickling with tears that threaten to spill downwards, lips spread almost sinfully around the base of his cock - a ravishing sight for the gods that will be forever imprinted in his mind and worshipped accordingly. Love radiates off the Spaniard as he stares longingly at Jordan, adoration prevalent through his passionate gaze and a gentle hand rubbing along his inner thighs where he’d been slapped shortly before.

“Christ, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” Jordan says through a deep heavy breath, a sudden longing tugging at his chest to pull Ryad off his dick and kiss him, though he’s not quite sure he could trust himself not to fall over in the process. The diligent tongue tracing the underside of his penis already makes his whole body shake and quiver like a leaf.

Jordan stretches his body to hide his face in the soft haven of pillows and sheets that muffle the tentative whimpers that escape his throat when he bites into them. Closing his eyes, Jordan allows himself to be swept up in the sensations: the sweet slick sounds of Ryad’s contact, the abundant pleasure sending shocks of pleasure spreading throughout his entire body rendering him in a writhing mewling state of utter bliss, the stimulation ambivalent and bordering a thin line between too much and not enough. He’s teetering on the edge, balancing on the brink of climax and trying to hold himself back, mildly fearful of finishing so quickly despite how adamantly Ryad was determined to get him over the edge - and fuck it, why fight against the revelating sensations Ryad’s trying to bring?

“Oh god, baby I'm close, so close.” Jordan gasps out, the unmistakable feeling of tense muscles contracting and flutter reign heavy on his mind alongside a blinding pressurizing pleasure building up hot and heavy in his crotch. He’s close - so very close - he can practically feel it with the pressure building up in his balls.

But Ryad suddenly pulls off, grinning when Jordan practically whines in both surprise and annoyance, blinking innocently when Jordan glances over to shoot him a confounded glare.

“Hi.” Ryad says impishly, his voice hoarse and disheveled that nearly makes Jordan cum from his wrecked state alone, rubbing off the spit and tears that had dribbled down his smirking face. Ryad moves up on the bed, leaning over to press open-mouthed kisses on his stomach trailing upwards to meet Jordan's eager lips in a hungry kiss that devours their low moans, and Jordan can practically taste himself on the Spanish man’s tongue with every swipe, the utter filth of the act weighing heavily in his mind as Ryad practically devours him in their heated make-out.

“Hi.” Jordan replies far less mirthfully, shaking when the Spaniard pulls away, the taste and feeling of Ryad’s tongue and lips still prevalent, the aftertaste savorable. Jordan desired more, vaguely disappointed when Ryad instead cups a cheek gently, affectionately tracing indecipherable shapes when Jordan hesitantly nuzzles into the touch. Then, only half-jokingly, Jordan muses: “You just gonna’ blueball and leave me all high and dry like that?”

“Sorry princesa , but here -” Gingerly, Ryad takes one of Jordan's hands, pressing the palm against the sizable bulge on his crotch, letting out a deep exhale through his nose when Jordan experimentally molds his hand around the strain of his briefs. “Look at what you do to me. It’s only fair, and I can’t help it you know I just...” Ryad trails off in a low and husky whisper, staring intently at Jordan's hand when he begins to rub his cock through the thin fabric. Then, after a few moments, Ryad continues - voice soft and gentle. No more than a meek whisper that Jordan almost misses:

“I love you.”

Heat flushes on Jordan's reddened cheeks, a strong feeling of pure adoration encapsulating the both of them in a tender veil of endearment that keeps Jordon choking on emotion, barely able to breathe as he gazes affectionately at the Spaniard straddling him, his hand coming low to rest on Jordan's that was still mindlessly fondling him. Jordan would have laughed at the somewhat odd way of hand-holding if it wasn't for the emotional vulnerability that had suddenly afflicted the room drowning them both in unrestrained love, and it wouldn’t seem appropriate for Jordon to laugh about Ryad’s affectionate gestures at a moment like this. Each admittance from Ryad seemed almost cathartic regardless of how often he’d begun to suddenly say it after their first initial “I love you.”

Ryad is a man full of sly devilish charm and Jordan has always been inclined to believe that he could talk his way in or out of any situation. His facades are a part of why Jordan had initially been so fascinated by him - only becoming more interested once he’d managed to strip him of the persona he’d become accustomed to even though he’s only seen Ryad truly relinquish himself a few very intimate times. That being said, Ryad could be a smarmy, avoidant, and repressed individual at times — the initial hurdle of their relationship being the constant “is this really Ryad?” doubt that’d plague his mind, unsure of his truth or reliability — so hearing those small yet incredibly meaningful words would never not be astounding to Jordan.

Jordan moves his hands to rest gently on Ryad’s hips, consciously comforting his sides to ease the tiny trembles that’d occasionally quiver down his body. “I love you too, Ryad.” No pet-names —no sugared down distractions dancing around the impact of the feelings that’d grown onto him all those months ago, only recently finding safety in the criticizing part of his brain to admit it. Just firm closure. Because he. Loved. Ryad. “So much.” He hadn’t quite realized he’d said that last part out loud until Ryad, losing his previous aura of reserved confidence, crumpled over to lay bare against Jordan’s chest to bury his face in the curvature of his neck while letting out small, shaking, barely audible breaths that left Jordan vaguely concerned.

Jordan had just wanted to make sure he knew it.

Jordan watches Ryad from the corner of his eye, marking the strands of dusted greys littering the jet-black hair until he rises wordlessly after a few moments of basking in the soft touch of their naked bodies, the Spaniard promptly leaning over to search the bottom drawer of the bedside table, fetching the bottle of lubricant and a condom - the implications making Jordan's already fogged mind hazy with the miscellaneous ideas clouding his thoughts.

“I want you to take me, can you prepare me Cariño?”

Jordan shuddered, cock throbbing at the phantom sensation of what was to come suddenly livening his senses, the tantalizing thrill leaving him titillated. They rarely switched their roles, setting an agreeable unspoken rule since the beginning. It was an arrangement that left them both complacent and satisfied. Jordan was never picky, and a more repressed part of him secretly enjoyed the attention lathered onto him — and god was Ryad willing to give. Ryad, on the other hand, seemed keen to take immediate initiative from the moment they’d shared their first kiss to now, filling into the more ‘dominant’ role between them — a subconscious quirk he has noticed Ryad taking a liking to, and Jordan wasn’t sure if it was rooted in a deeper repressed control or self-esteem issue. Ryad wasn’t very open to discussions of his past — or at least not in depth — and asking the Spaniard to explain his feelings was even worse. It was like talking to a brick wall.

But then there are times, like now, where Ryad is receptive and open. Perhaps it’s just the early morning atmosphere distorting his perception and tinting his point of view with rose-tinted shades, but the Spanish man straddling him appears vulnerable and open like fragile flora in the midst of a ravaging storm, hanging on by the barest roots.

Jordan takes a deep breath, nodding feverishly as a warming blush heats his face when Ryad hands him the small bottle of lubricant, slipping out of his briefs and disposing of it on the floor next to the bed. Spreading the substance on his fingers gingerly under Ryad’s watchful gaze, Jordan presses an index finger experimentally into the tight heat of Ryad’s entrance, the protrusion making them both let out a soft gasp.

Ryad was tight, the familiar heat constricting the digit of his finger like a vice-grip, sucking him in greedily. The sensation propelled his already debauched mind into further filth, fantasizing how Ryad would feel and look impaled around his cock: velvety walls and discombobulating warmth, paired with his imagination running rampant with images of Ryad squirming on his lap made Jordan weak and slightly impatient.

Jordan pressed another finger once Ryad relaxed around his finger, leaning over to press a comforting kiss against his open mouth when the taller Spaniard leaning over his torso lets out a sharp gust of air at the added stretch.

“ Joder… it’s  been a while since I’ve you know, uh, how do you say it...” Ryad says half-mindedly, trailing off as he runs his fingers along Jordan’s chest, playing absent-mindedly with the hair as if searching for a brief distraction. Whether it was from the slight discomfort of stretching or the inescapably strong feelings felt mutually between them, Jordan wasn’t sure. Eventually, Ryad continues albeit far more shakily after letting out a quiet gasp of surprised pleasure when Jordan crooks his fingers a certain way.  “Been on the receiving end.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s been a while since I've not been on the receiving end.” Jordan replies with a chuckle, resting his free hand supportively on Ryad’s hip when he feels soft trembles wreck throughout Ryad’s body.

“Oh, is that so?” Ryad laughs huskily, cutting off in another sharp moan when Jordan, just to be safe, presses a third finger into the tight bundle of heat. “I wonder why, hmm? This person must be super amazing and convincing to keep one of Rainbow’s greatest breachers from breaching ass .”

This quip makes Jordan bellow, the roaring laughter with the addition of Ryad’s own low snickering creating embellishing light-hearted energy, relaxing the older man considerably.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’ve just met a certain someone who might be Spanish and might be someone so eye-catching and lovely that they turn me into a bucket of mashed potatoes .” Jordan pauses, hesitantly leaning over to kiss the sensitive area of Ryad’s neck right under his ear, continuing quietly: “He happens to be the love of my life too.”

Ryad seems slightly shaken and overwhelmed, and the expression that paints his face is like a Romantist’s painting: vivid in emotion through the minor visuals, yet starkly hidden and wordless. It induces an uneasiness that swells in Jordan’s chest and spreads like a blistering wildfire, worried momentarily if maybe he’d god forbid gone too far or ruined the mood somehow. But instead of an expected uproar, Ryad bashfully smiles, appearing to almost glow from the comment, his teary eyes full of passion.

“Oh,” Ryad replies, letting out a muffled noise that Jordan belatedly realizes is a sniffle. “He sounds dreamy.”

Jordan nods, retracting his fingers from Ryad, wiping the excess lubricant off on the bedsheets reluctantly with a small grimace before taking the condom wrapper Ryad had grabbed earlier on the bedside drawer next to him. “Yes. I’m very lucky to have him, I can’t imagine myself with anyone else.” Jordan emphasizes, keeping eye contact with Ryad as he tears open the wrapper with his teeth, flaring up with pride at finally being able to be the one to reduce Ryad to a love-sick puddle as he’d done to Jordan countless times before. Jordan could see the appeal.

“Are you ready?” Jordan murmurs sheepishly as he rolls on the condom, lazily stroking his sensitive cock as he watches Ryad arrange himself more comfortably, guiding himself until the tip of Jordan’s cock was barely ghosting his partner’s entrance. It took all of Jordan’s remaining willpower not to thrust up and delve into the tight willing heat laid in front of him.

“Yes, yes, yes, stop teasing.” Ryad replies, the irony of his sentence making Jordan huff amusedly.

“ I’m the tease? You literally left me— oh fuck,” Jordan has to bite his lips to suppress the undoubtedly whorish moan that’d otherwise leave his mouth when he feels Ryad lower himself onto his cock, hot pleasure suddenly enveloping his oversensitive dick. Being denied an orgasm earlier in their intimacy took a toll, leaving Jordan squirming under Ryad’s body, skimming a fine line between pleasure and overstimulation that steals every thought from Jordan’s mind with each passing second.

Ryad chuckles, grabbing the hand holding his hip and moving it up to press gentle kisses on each knuckle, sinking down until their bodies were nearly flush close together. He almost misses the words Ryad says to him, too caught up in the moment of having his boyfriend finally stretched around his cock, his brain screaming an impairing amorous cacophony of Ryad, Ryad, Ryad, Ryad that had almost drowned out his lover’s own speech.

“You’re so easy to rile up, mi amor. You’re like a bull. Perhaps I should start calling you toro, eh?”

“Wow. Such a romantic,“ Jordan says sarcastically with a grin, voice cracking off in a low moan as Ryad gingerly grinds against him, somehow propelling him deeper inside the welcoming heat that catches Jordan momentarily off guard. “You can call me whatever you’d like darlin’ and it’d probably still be hot as hell to me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ryad responds, eyes fluttering shut and groaning appreciatively when Jordan moves his hand to wrap around Ryad’s exposed erection, pumping soft and slow with methodically timed squeezes on the shaft, using the slickness of pre-cum and leftover lubricant to glide over the flesh diligently. Handjobs have always been a bit of a sore spot to Jordan, and often times he was warily self-conscious of the abnormal texture and discomfort his scarred hands might bring to his partner. Yet with Ryad, it was different. Ryad had always been accepting and curious, immediately dismissive to the minor anxieties that’d initially plagued Jordan the first months of their dating and replacing it with confidence.

“Fuck,” Ryad croaks out, voice disheveled and raspy from his keen indulgence in Jordan’s touches, letting out choked out sounds of pleasure that inflame the fire of unrestrained desire coursing through Jordan’s trembling body.

“You feel so good Jordan,” Ryad rises his hips tentatively before lowering himself back down, his back arching in a beautiful convex; his blushed chest pushed outwards on display as he lets out a stuttered gasp when Jordan eventually thrusts upwards to meet Ryad’s movement.

Ryad’s pace falters, seeming overwhelmed between the exhausting exertion of riding Jordan and the intense passionate sensuality, seeming relieved when Jordan takes pity on him and grasps one of his hips to guide Ryad’s movements with angled thrusts that leave the Spaniard squirming above him, babbling breathy incoherences when Jordan times each thrust to the strokes of his lazy handjob. They’re going much slower than usual, partly due to the exhaustion of the early morning catching up to them and the pure tenderness of the love they’d shared earlier rendering them in a honeyed down state of tenderness, not quite looking for a rough quick finish to their love-making.

“We should do this more often -- you know, switch things up a little.” Ryad muses huskily, meeting Jordan’s intense gaze with dark half-lidded eyes.

“Yeah, I could get behind that,” Jordan murmurs, running the pads of his fingertips gently across the sides of Ryad’s tanned body thoughtfully. “And you.”

“Very funny, Toro .” Ryad scoffs playfully, moving his hips in a circular motion when their bodies met once more, seeming determined to get Jordan inside of him as deep as he can, tightening his muscles around his cock to draw out surprised moans from the American with a smirk -- though his pride is easily overshadowed by his own pleasure leaving the Spaniard appear wrecked: messy sweat hair clinging to his slick forehead, pupils blown wide and twinkling with a certain dedication and amour notoriously associated with the Spanish man, and a faint rose-red blush tinting his tanned skin.

Jordan couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, broken between the soft moans that fall from his lips each time their bodies met, conjoined both emotionally and spiritually. The thought brings a wetness that pricks the corners of Jordan’s eyes, his throat constricting as he watches Ryad above him: the fluttering of his body and the twitch of his pretty erection when Jordan rubs the leaking precum around the head, the quiet curses muttered lowly in both Spanish and English filling the room as they both neared completion, the feeling dwelling low in Jordan’s gut and evident with the way Ryad completely loses himself in their act, succumbing to nothing but sensuality and passion.

“Jordan i’m close,” Ryad gasps out as if his upcoming climax wasn’t obvious with the way his legs quiver and shake, eyes appearing to roll into the back of his head as broken moans fill the room. “How close are you, Cariño? I’m so close, please Jordan please, I need you. You’re so good, fuck, you feel so good.” Ryad prattles on mindlessly, his desperation fueling the rampant blaze inside Jordan, because how could he deny the man he loves?

Ryad is the one who comes first painting both of them with hot fluid, letting out a cry in his mother tongue that instills joyful delight within Jordan.

He recognizes the words as “ I love you” .

It doesn’t take long for Jordan to finish after that; a sharp thrust burying himself deep into his lover’s body seals the deal, cumming into the condom with a sob -- the raw emotions taking control of him leaving him shaking from something stronger than a climax, building up a thickness in his throat that leaves a lingering parched feeling that contrasts with the sweat drenching his skin.

“I love you,” Jordan repeats Ryad when his lover eventually lays against his chest after Jordan disposes of the condom, sighing softly when Jordan puts his arms around the Spaniard’s heated body to bring him closer.  

Jordan relishes in their afterglow: the rhythmic rise and fall of their heaving chests, mindlessly gazing at each other with sheepish smiles, absorbing the lingering warmth that fills the atmosphere leaving the two men in sweet delicate oblivion to everything but each other. Their euphoria is fragile, like a thin sheet of glass threatening to shatter from the smallest touch, so they remain frozen and practically glued to each other - fearful the smallest movement after their climaxes would ruin the surrounding energy pleasantly forming. The gentle caresses on sweat-slick skin and the unrestrained emotion adorning their faces spoke more words than language ever could, and so the silence was welcomed.

Tender fleeting moments were what Jordon lived for, and he’s come to appreciate their time spent together - intimately or not. Loved ones have been taken from him far too early and, adding salt to a wound, at a point in Jordan's life where his naivety had been so strong he couldn’t appreciate the memories enough. Their time had been stolen unfairly within the blink of an eye, and so any second he has left with someone he loves is treasured.

God knows how much time they had left together. A terrifying and morbid thought, yet remaining forever imprinted in his brain keeping him vaguely fearful of the future as he stares at the bleak eggshell-white ceiling above them, a myriad of imposing thoughts eating away at his vulnerable mind filling an impending fear in his gut.

Anything could happen.

Death was inescapable and loomed over the operators like a stalking shadow, static and inactive -- but for how long? How long until one of them became gravely injured, and moments like these became only happy moments to look fondly back at as a crutch for grief?

Jordan, despite his upbringing, wasn’t very religious, and yet he prayed for moments like these not to be stolen away from him like it had been with his mother and sister.

Gauging the wistful longing intermingling Ryad’s blissful expression, Jordan figures the view point is mutual.

Still, despite as much as Jordan was tempted to, they couldn’t just stay piled on each other like this. Their hot sweaty bodies caused a lingering discomfort and a need for cleanliness, and not to mention that the thought of someone from Jordan's unit barging in unannounced reigned heavy on his mind and eliciting a minuscule spark of fear. Since the base’s relocation, privacy was oftentimes a rarity in his CTU while everyone adjusted to their new change in scenery. Their intimacy was an extremely delicate thing. Perhaps Ryad was right, maybe finding an apartment close by was a plausible thing to do even if it wasn’t as conventional as actually living on base - but hey, it seemed to work for Jack and many others when they’d been in Hereford.

Letting out an exaggerated groan once the warmth of their release has long passed and the weight of Ryad’s scorchingly hot body becomes slightly uncomfortable, Jordan murmurs a half-hearted: “You’re heavy.” whilst goofily jabbing Ryad in the sides with his fingers. In response, the Spaniard decides to press all of his weight on top of him, snickering when Jordan lets out a noise of surprise before delving his face to hide in the crook of his neck to get closer, covering Jordan in a sweaty blanket of Spanish muscle.

His classic stubbornness makes Jordan grin, his dreadful thoughts being pushed to the side to relish in the now. Jordan could worry later when the mood was right and he was alone.

“Yeah, and you stink.” Ryad replies, yet nuzzles closer to him and takes a deep exaggerated breath regardless.

“Oh baby, that’s just my pheromones you’re smellin’. It’s what's makin’ me so irresistible, ain’t it?”

“You’re gross.” Ryad laughs, his amusement betraying the feigned disgust.

“Hey now, you were the one comparing me to an animal. I just added on.” Jordan chuckles, running a hand down the curvature of Ryad’s spine thoughtlessly as he stares off into space. “But, maybe I do need a shower. I feel sticky ‘cause you came all over me and now your body is touchin’ mine and rubbing it all over me like gross man-lotion .”

“I think I’m vaguely offended that you called my cum ‘gross’ and ‘man-lotion’ .”  Ryad slurred with a snarky giggle, finger jotting up to spread a droplet of his release across the expanse of his chest much to Jordan’s dismay -- though he was far too tired to protest against it.

“Aww no, don’t be offended baby, I love your man-lotion .”

Ryad wrinkles his nose, moving off Jordan’s body to lay down next to him on the bed in feigned dismay that has Jordan snickering. “You’re a weirdo,” Ryad huffs in amusement when Jordan turns to his side to meet Ryad’s gleaming face.

“I’m your weirdo.” Jordan corrects him with a grin, feeling triumph sprout in his gut when he feels Ryad press a quick peck on his forehead, looking thoughtfully at Jordan.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.” Ryad’s eyes are fond, seeming to have softened up considerably at the implications of his words.

“Do you want to head to the showers before the rest of Rainbow decides to wake up? I don’t want to go the rest of the day smelling like a brothel.”

When Ryad nods, Jordan rises up with a stretch, grimacing at the vague ache in his muscles and the uncomfortable feeling of dried cum sticking blotchily to his sensitive skin, glancing beside him to meet Ryad’s curious expression staring longingly at him.

“Happy Valentine day by the way toro,  It just came to my mind. I have something for you later.”

Jordan blinks, suddenly feeling out of place at the reminder -- the holiday previously being pretty uninteresting to him due to his focus on work with the relocation and new controversial operators being a steep hurdle to get used to. Well, shit. He wasn’t sure if Ryad was a materialistic person in a way like that -- had he been expecting something in return?  

“Oh fuck, I completely forgot about that holiday. I didn’t -- I don’t have anything for you, so now I feel bad.” Jordan feels heat burn his cheeks at his confession, biting nervously on the bottom of his lip as he pulls a suitcase packed with his supplies from Hereford from underneath his bed to grab soap and shampoo, and also to avoid Ryad’s gaze.

Ryad pauses momentarily, his silence inducing timid anxiety in Jordan’s gut until he feels strong familiar arms wrap around his waist and a loving kiss press against the side of his neck.

“That’s okay Jordan. The greatest gift I have is you.”

Jordan nearly drops his bag of hygiene products, melting against Ryad’s chest as a wave of relief and adoration rush through him.

Ditto, Jordan thinks as he feels Ryad's lips ghost over the nape of his neck, his gentle presence alleviating the tension straining his chest and replacing it with a debilitating love that leaves Jordan feeling useless; basking in the touch of his boyfriend that increasingly puts him more at ease.

[bangtan-insfired]

Snake Eyes | Mafia AU (15)

Pairing: reader x jimin | Mafia/Gang AU

Genre: angst x some occasional fluff

Summary: You were assigned to protect, watch over, and defend him. Falling in love with him was just an inevitable side effect.

A/N: I sincerely apologize for always starting these with even more apologies. Also if things are a little confusing after this, that’s okay. They’ll most likely be explained in the next part. But you’re always free to ask questions, if you have any!

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13.1] [13.2] [14] [15]

“Jinyoung and his men are heading out to the east wing.”

“I’ll look into it.” You said, knowing that you were closest to that direction. Your legs were already moving, eyes scanning the area. Jungkook’s whereabouts were still unknown and though you had been watching Jimin interact with important business partners from afar, a run in with the wives of a couple of Jimin’s colleagues was enough to divert your attention. Jimin was nowhere in sight and that could only mean one thing...

But before you could exit the ballroom, an arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you taut to their chest, making your blood boil as you recognized who it was instantly. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?”

“I was just about to ask you for a dance.” Wonho whispered into your ear, using your arm as leverage to spin you around, forcing you to face him. He brought your hand to his mouth and you watched in disgust as he pressed a haste kiss to it. Noticing the curling of your lip, he let out a “tsk” sound in warning. “People are watching.”

“As if I care,” you scoffed, adjusting your fingers so that they wrapped around Wonho’s, your nails stabbing into the palm of his hand, earning a hiss from him. Your hand was one move away from dislocating his thumb. “Give me one good reason not to bash your skull onto this very dance floor.”

“[Y/N.]” Namjoon’s voice scolded lightly in warning.

“You would risk your life for him?” Wonho asked in disbelief, bringing his free hand to rest right below your hip and pulling you closer to him as the two of you danced. Every little move, little touch of his was repulsive. Your glare was more than enough of an answer to him.

“You’re loyal to a man who is conspiring against you to put you behind bars.”

Your grip on his hand loosened, your face turning pale at the revelation. Your suspicions were unfortunately true. Jimin wasn’t as innocent and naive as you thought him to be and while you couldn’t bring yourself to blame him, his betrayal still hurt. How long had he been going behind your back? Has this been his intention from the beginning?

Wonho’s lips curled up into a smug smirk. He had you right where he wanted. Or so he thought…

“Well, the time for me to pay for my sins has finally come...”

Your tone was certain and accepting of your unavoidable fate. There was no hint of fear or regret in your eyes. Instead, there was fear in his eyes. The smirk on Wonho’s face was immediately wiped off at the sound of a small pop, his mouth opening in a pain stricken gasp.

“But don’t worry, your time will come soon as well.” You added in a reassuring tone, putting as much distance as you could between the two of you without arousing suspicion from others.

“You bitch!” Wonho hissed, cradling his injured hand to his chest. He moved forward to close what little distance the two of you had but was put to a halt by a tray of champagne glasses. In an instant, all surrounding eyes were on you, Wonho and the clumsy waiter.

“Oh, I ruined your dress! I’m so sorry.” The waiter exclaimed with wide eyes, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his uniform vest.

As his eyes met with yours, you knew he was anything but sorry. There was a spark of mischief in them but you had no time to question it, despite his familiar face. He handed you the white piece of fabric, using the quick-witted gesture to speak to you closely. “Go. I’ll take care of him.”

“Thanks, Tae.”

You didn’t wait a second longer to run.

**

Despite being secluded in a smaller room next door to the big celebration, the sound of the orchestra playing could still be heard. It was muffled but enough to have his head throbbing as the piece playing reached its peak of intensity. He was beginning to feel sick and whether it was because of the poison he most likely drank or the surge of adrenaline, he didn’t know.

The doors to the room burst open, causing him to jump in alert and turn around. “How could you be such an idiot?”

Seeing that it was only his uncle, Jimin allowed himself to relax. It didn’t last long because as soon as he processed his uncle’s words, his anxiety was replaced with anger. “You promised that as long as we could keep an eye on her, no harm would come to her.”

“She’s the enemy!” Seunghyun exclaimed in defense, using his handkerchief to wipe at the sweat from his forehead in distress. “I thought I could at least show her some mercy by poisoning her to death. It’s a much better fate than prison.”

Jimin grimaced at the thought of you being behind bars. The nightmare that’s plagued his nights resurfaced and he shuddered, his skin crawling at the thought of you experiencing any kind of pain. He didn’t bother arguing further with his uncle. There was no point. What has been done could not be undone. There was a more urgent matter at the moment, considering he was the one who drank the poison.

“How much longer do I have?”

Seunghyun glanced down at the gold watch on his wrist, feigning a frown. “Just enough to be able to hand the files to Jaebum’s men yourself”--his eyes raked the younger man’s form, noticing the lack of a certain manila folder in his hold--”you do have the files, right?”

As if on cue, the doors to the room opened again.

“Secretary Choi.” Seunghyun blinked in surprise. “What is he doing here?”

Secretary Choi only gave Seunghyun a nod in acknowledgement. He walked forward to the young CEO, sliding a thick envelope across the table that Jimin was quick to receive.

“I needed someone I could trust.”

**

Once you were out of the reception hall, you discarded your heels, leaving them under a small table. You couldn’t afford for your footsteps to be heard and your dress was long enough to hide your bare feet. Slipping your small mirror and lipstick from your clutch, you leaned against the wall and pretended to occupy yourself with reapplying your lipstick. You were angled carefully and caught sight of Jinyoung and his men. There were four men with him--two of them, which you recognized as Mark and Youngjae.

“[Y/N], you can’t do this alone.” Namjoon’s voice was stern and it scared you how well he knew you. It was clearly enough to be able to sense your next move. “I’m sending Hoseok to you. Wait for him.”

But as Jinyoung and his men left your view, your patience began to wear thin. They were going to Jimin. Before you had left the reception hall, you had made sure to scan the crowds for Seunghyun but had left disappointed. Adding Jinyoung and his men to that mix unsettled you. Neither of them cared for Jimin. Seunghyun wouldn’t hesitate to throw his own nephew under the bus for personal gain and Jinyoung wouldn’t hesitate to kill him once he got what he wanted to cut off loose ends.

The longer Jimin spent with those two power hungry men, the more at risk he was. Bad thought after bad thought began to infiltrate your mind. There was only one way to make sure Jimin was safe.

“I’m sorry.”

Taking a deep breath, you threw your clutch to the side and followed after your enemies. You were thankful the halls weren’t so crowded. Less of a hindrance to your plans and less possibility of casualties. As you rounded the corner, you were relieved to see that the only people in that hallway were two of Jinyoung’s men. The ones that you didn’t recognize. They stood right outside a door and as your eyes sized them up and down, you noticed the guns they proudly carried around their waists.

One wrong move and you knew they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot and you couldn’t risk being heard. Not only would it raise alarm among the people next door but it’d also blow your cover. You quickly came up with a plan, hoping it would work.

You pulled the top of your dress down to expose your chest a little more and forced a dimwitted smile onto your face. Stumbling over your own feet, you had the guards’s attention in an instant. One stepped forward while the other placed his hand over his gun. The way you struggled to keep balance on your own made it seem like you were no immediate threat so he made no move further but still kept his hand there, in case he would need to use it.

“I think I may be losssst.” You made sure to slur your words as you slowly approached the first guard. You weren’t surprised to see his gaze lower down to your chest. Your plan was working. Using his distraction to your advantage,  you tripped once again, falling straight into him.

He caught you in his arms and you giggled, lifting your gaze to meet his hungry eyes. “Lost in your eyesss.”

The guard’s lips curved into a smirk, clearly intrigued. The promise from the look of your eyes was tempting but as he spared his partner a glance, he shook his head. “I don’t think now is the right time, princess.”

“Hurry up and get rid of her before I have to shoot her.” The other guard warned.

Your lips morphed into a pout. “But you’re so handsome. I want you.”

Grabbing his hand, you placed it on your waist, raising it higher and higher until he got the message. “Right now,” you kept your tone low and sultry. “It’s just us and your friend over there. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind watching. We can give him a good show.”

You stuck your leg out to wrap it around his waist, exposing your thigh. Using the guard’s arousal to your advantage, you made sure to keep his gaze on your upper body as you trailed your hand up your thigh until it met the holster you had hidden underneath your dress.

Within seconds, you drew your small dagger out and slit the unsuspecting guard’s throat, masking his gasp with a moan.  You fought the urge to grimace as his body weight fell onto you, the blood that trickled from his throat also falling onto you and easily staining the top of your dress. Gross.

“Wooseok, if you don’t get rid of this bitch--”

The other guard didn’t get to finish his sentence. He was cut off--quite literally--by the dagger you had sent his way. Pushing the dead guard’s body off of you, you were quick to run to the other one, making sure that he was silenced for good. You decided to leave the dagger in him. It would be too much of a hassle to get it out and even more to clean it. You had enough of their blood on your hands already. Still, you didn’t want to be left without a weapon so you took his gun instead.

“The room they’re in is divided by a wall partition.” Yoongi’s voice informed you. He had visited the hotel yesterday so he could scope out the area and guide you all well. “If you walk further down the hall, you’ll see the second entrance.”

“But be careful. There’s no cameras in the room and the hallway ones have been blocked. I can’t help you from there.”

You did just as Yoongi advised. You were careful to make the least noise possible as you opened the second door. As predicted, the room was empty. The wall that divided the room in half was thin, allowing you to be able to hear their voices but thick and sturdy enough to not cast a shadow as you pressed your ear against it, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“The Bangtan clan has been a long enemy of ours.” You heard Jinyoung’s voice. “Jaebum will be pleased of your cooperation to bring them down.”

**

“Worried about your new boy toy?”

You turned around right away, raising your gun at the intruder but you were at the disadvantage at being caught off guard so it wasn’t hard for him to kick the gun out of your hold. It slid across the marbled floor, far away from the both of you. You faced your opponent fully, your eyes trailing up from the recognizable pair of dress shoes he wore to a pair of familiar brown eyes that appeared innocent yet were anything but.

“I’d be more worried about yourself, BamBam.”

BamBam let out a snicker. “You sound so confident for someone who's backup is not going to come...Hoseok, right?”--his smirk widened at your reaction--”I’m afraid he’s tied up the moment. It’s just you and me...”

“I can take you on myself.” You hissed as you advanced on him.

Unlike the guards you took care of earlier, BamBam was no rookie. He was quick to block your hits and throw in a few of his own. One of them causing you to lose your balance and sending you backwards. You crashed into the wall behind you--too caught up in the moment to care.

BamBam slowly approached you with a smug look on his face. You wiped away the blood from your nose in defiance, cursing yourself for bleeding so easily. He raised his fist at you once again but this time, you were able to block it and use it to your advantage. You brought him closer, bringing his head down as you brought your knee up.

An eye for an eye and a nose for a nose. Hearing a satisfying crunch, you pushed his body to the ground. However, he managed to get a good grip on you that sent both of you wrestling onto the floor. Your hands reached for his neck and succeeded in using that as leverage to get on top.

“Oh, kinky.” BamBam’s eyes lit up and you should’ve known his intentions the moment he stopped fighting you.

Your hands wrapped tighter around his neck, causing him to choke. Yet his smirk did not falter and the gleam in his eyes was still there. They were no longer fixed on you but on something behind you...

“Breathtaking as always, [Y/N.]”

You turned around to see an amused Jinyoung. He clapped slowly, his eyes sizing you up and down. “I see you’ve made a mess of my men.”

BamBam used your distraction as the proper opportunity to pry your grip off of him. He roughly grabbed a hold of your hands, holding them against your back and securing them with a zip tie he pulled from the inside of his jacket. He forced you to stand. Like a loyal servant, BamBam moved forward and presented you to Jinyoung, who nodded his head, beckoning for the two of you to follow.

Jinyoung removed the lock that kept the wall partition in place--the same wall you had crashed into earlier--sliding the doors over to reveal the other side of the room. “Thought you could use a little motivation to hand over the files.”

Seeing as you now had no purpose to stand, BamBam kicked the back of your knees and forced you to kneel. He warned you not to try anything and seeing as your greatest weapons were tied up at the moment, you complied with a glare.  As if that wasn’t enough to keep you still, Mark and Youngjae came to stand on either side of you, their guns aimed at your head.

“[Y/N], try to stall as much as possible. Don’t let the files get into their hands. We’re on our way.”

“I told you, you should’ve let her drink the damn poison.” A voice--one that you recognized as Seunghyun’s--scoffed. He stood right behind Jinyoung in such a way that made it seem like he was using Jinyoung as a protective barrier between you and him. His plan wasn’t going as smooth as he thought it’d go and it showed as his forehead glistened with sweat. He was scared and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“[Y/N]!” Jimin cried out in alarm, his eyes widening as they met with yours. His sickly pallor was beginning to scare you. Beside him, you were surprised to see Secretary Choi. He didn’t look so surprised to see you. You didn’t have much to ponder over the idea on why he was there.

You returned your attention back to Jimin, lips curving down into a frown. It appeared as though he didn’t have much longer. He needed medical attention as soon as possible. Your frown deepened as you tried to assess the situation the best you could. You knew you were just a pawn to get Jimin to comply and the consequences that would occur if he refused. You also knew what would happen to you and your family if you let Jinyoung get those files.

So it was with a heavy heart that you lifted your gaze to meet with Jimin’s once again. “It’s okay.”

“[Y/N], no.”

Jimin’s eyes watered at the implication of your words. You would give up yourself? Your family? And all for him.

“I-I can’t.”

“I’ve waited so long to have you like this.” Jinyoung grinned. He held out his hand toward Youngjae but you kept your eyes on Jimin’s, refusing to give in so easily. If you let the fear that was beginning to consume you show, it’d only bring Jinyoung satisfaction and you refused to give him that.

Jinyoung knew Jimin was one push away from caving in. He crouched down before you, blocking your view from Jimin and leaning in close with a sneer. You inhaled sharply as you felt something cold and sticky caressing your face. It was a dagger. The same dagger you had used to kill two of his men earlier. “Outnumbered and defenseless...the great ol’ snake eyes.”

You kept your gaze forward, biting the inside of your cheek to keep you from provoking him the way he wanted you to.

“Your brother isn’t much of a screamer when tortured.”  Jinyoung’s eyebrows knitted together in disappointment. “But I wonder if you are.”

Namjoon was right. Since Jin wasn’t here, that could only mean one thing. He was in trouble and the thought of your brother being held against his will just as you were made your fists ball up. Your hands struggled against the restrain, muscles tensing. Jinyoung noticed your futile attempt and laughed.

That was the last incentive you needed to snap. You threw away your pride and spit in his face.

Both Youngjae and Mark cocked their pistols, preparing to fire at you.

“Ah ah ah,” Jinyoung scolded, signaling for Youngjae and Mark to standby and not shoot as he wiped your spit from his face. He pressed the dagger harsher against your face.

In a slow and agonizing manner, he lowered the knife, trailing it down your chin and neck. He paused briefly when it reached your chest and moved it a little to the left so that it rested right over your heart before lowering it once again. You heard a slight tear of fabric and glared.

“Stop!” Jimin pleaded. His knuckles were pale from holding onto the envelope so tightly. He spared you an apologetic glance as he stepped forward. “I’ll give it to you but please let her go.”

“Jimin--”

“Let him.” Seunghyun stopped Secretary Choi from following after the young CEO. “He’s finally coming to his s-s-sen--”

The sound of a body dropping to the floor had everyone turning their heads in alarm. Your eyes widened as Seunghyun spasmed on the floor, choking on his own blood and then flew back to Jimin, who looked more scared than anything. “Son of a bitch,” you cursed, both realization and relief washing over you.

“How many times must I tell you?” A new voice chimed in. “I prefer to be called Taehyung.”

His voice sounded close, much closer than it usually did when wearing your ear piece... You turned your head just in time to see the sneaky bastard himself stroll in with Hoseok--who looked beaten and a bit worn out but still breathing and strong enough to fight. Taehyung sent you a wink before raising his gun and firing at Youngjae, spiraling the room into chaos.

“Mark, the files!” Jinyoung exclaimed, coming to stand up straight and reaching for his own gun as he called for backup.

Everything was happening so quickly, it was hard to keep up with. You jumped as a bullet ricocheted off of the marble floor. It missed you by centimeters. You brought yourself to your feet, turning around to meet the culprit and fight them off the best you could but someone had already beaten you to it. Hoseok tackled BamBam to the ground, knocking the gun out of his hold before he could fire at you again.

My dagger, you thought, your eyes frantically searching for it. You spotted it a few feet away and rushed to it. Your plan unfortunately came to a halt and you found yourself pulled into a different direction.

“Not so fast, [Y/N.]” Jinyoung growled into your ear. He was able to easily manipulate you with your bound hands, pushing your back against his chest and caging you in by pressing his arm against your neck. “Jimin has something that was promised to me.”

He pushed you forward to where Mark had Secretary Choi on the floor, his heel threatening to crush the older man’s neck if he dared to move. However, Mark’s gaze was fixed straight ahead toward Jimin, who found himself cornered.  

“Hand it over.” Mark ordered impatiently, pressing his heel harder and prompting Secretary Choi to wheeze.

Tears escaped from Jimin’s eyes at the sight, his hands trembling. Your chest felt tight. You squirmed, struggling to get free. Jinyoung’s grip did not falter one bit. It seemed to grow stronger and even more so as your body froze as you felt a needle being pressed to your skin.

“Or she’s going down.”

As you and Jimin stared at each other, you came to a silent understanding. His heart was racing, threatening to explode. He was sure everyone in the room could hear it. With unsteady hands, Jimin slowly held out the envelope to Mark.

Mark lifted his foot, releasing his hold on Secretary Choi and walked up to Jimin to take the files from him. Once the files were secure in his grasp, Jinyoung chuckled in your ear. “Jaebum sends his regards.”

A gasp escaped from your mouth as you felt the needle pierce through your skin and a hot liquid trickle into your system, sending your body ablaze. Jinyoung released his grip on you and you fell to the floor with a whimper. Jimin was at your side in an instant, bringing your body close to his and allowing you to lean on him for support.

Secretary Choi crawled his way over to you both, handing Jimin your dagger so that he could free your hands.  “You have to get out of here.” You told them, using your hands to sit up on your own. The small movement made your head spin and Jimin’s eyebrows knitted in concern at the pained expression that came over your face.

“You need to get out of here, too.” Secretary Choi replied. He was just as worried as Jimin and as much as it warmed your heart, you couldn’t afford to waste a second more.

You shook your head. “You need to listen to me carefully.”

“No,” Jimin interrupted, grabbing a hold of your face to force you to look into his eyes and even though he was only a few inches away from you, you were finding it harder and harder to focus. “The files--”

“Where are the files???”

“He gave them to you!” Secretary Choi was quick to defend Jimin, bringing himself to see his feet to buy the younger man more time.

“These are fake!”

“[Y/N], the files. They’re--”

Once again, Jimin was interrupted. He was knocked out of your view and you were knocked back down to the floor, your head hitting the cold hard floor. The room around you was becoming a blur to you, your mouth wide open as you gasped for air.

“She’s been poisoned!” Secretary Choi shouted.

Time was his worse enemy at the moment so Jimin made sure the words he’d say next were quick. He prayed you’d live and understand. It was your only hope. “Remember the first night you spent at my apartment. We were both starving and all we had to eat was cereal. It happened to be your favorite. Cinnamon toast crunch. Remember--”

“Kill him!”

“No,” you rasped.

In a dizzy haze, you forced yourself to roll over and onto your stomach. The room around you was spinning faster and your eyes searched aimlessly for Jimin. You felt as if your body was a living hell, burning you from the inside but still, you were determined to fight until your last breath. 

You tried to get up on your feet but failed terribly so you willed yourself to crawl instead. The sounds of a brutal beating followed by a groan and a gun being cocked made its way to your ears and propelled you forward. “No, no, no.”

Gun shot after gun shot...You could no longer rasp out your pleas and what little breath you had left was knocked out as something heavy and hard fell over you, keeping you from moving any further. A body. “No.”

A pool of blood--blood that was not yours--surrounded you and in that moment, you wished nothing more but for that blood to be yours.

“[Y/N]!”

The weight was lifted off your body and you felt your body being cradled into someone’s arms. You could barely make out the face that hovered over yours but you recognized the panicked voice. Namjoon.

“Please stay with me.” He pleaded desperately and you focused on his voice, hoping it could guide you and keep you from the darkness that lingered nearby. You didn’t want to give in. You wanted to keep fighting.

You wondered if this was it. Your end. They say that life flashes before your eyes before you die and if this was your time, then you’d beg to differ. Because all you saw was him...and the smile you failed to protect.

“Please.”

You wished you could but the raging fire in your body wouldn’t allow it. It was too painful to endure so you gave in. You closed your eyes and let it consume you whole...

[lordavanti]

Ubbe Ragnarsson x Reader Part I - Part III

Summary: Aslaug annouches a new raid, not some common village raid but to an enemy who wants to attack Kattegat withing days. That asks more manpower, more danger and Ubbe don’t want you to come. But you go, against his will and find yourself waking up at one morning and straight in the middle of a battle. Warning: Violence Words: 1912

The laughter filled the great hall with much joy. The group was back in Kattegat for two weeks now, Sigurd fighted his fever for two days before he was ready to travel again. You needed those two weeks off, the raidingparty did to. You rested and went in to the woods and fields to fill you stockage of herbs and other usefull things. You were prepared for a lot, you knew the people relied on your skills as a healer. Without you a lot of those vikings would have died already. And that was you life purpose, looking around in the great hall and seeing the people you helped and saved. Sigurd stood besiced his mother, whispering something to her. He looked good, all healed up but he never thanked you for it. Not that she wanted that, the thank came from another angle, an angle you more needed than everything Sigurd possible could say to thank you. Ubbe walked in with his youngest brother. You stepped aside a litlet when the mental pinched the floor while Ivar pulled himself forward. He past you with that little smug grin on his face and you shivered without him seeing it. Ubbe gazed over to you, giving you a short smile that maked you stomach tighten again. When all the brothers where assembled around their mother the queen started talking. 'People of Kattegat, your sons and men will go raiding again.' She announched. Everybody cheered to that, you felt some ale soak in your dress from your drunk neighbor trowing with his cup in the air. 'Not just a raid,' Aslaug went further, holding her hand up to demand the silence of her people. Your eyes went back to her, curious to what she was saying. 'I got reports of a Earl that wants to attack us because they seek justice for us killing his son. Before they come here picking a fight we go to them. I forsaw dead but I also saw victory. We will loose people but the gods are ready to welcome us to Valhalla. I will make the gods a sarcifies.' And those words were enough. How hard battle would be, those men around you where ready to fight and die for their gods. So did you, knowing this one would be different, you felt ready. 'You are not coming.' You turned around to Ubbe who stood in the doorway of your farm. It was your mothers but when she died last year she left it for you. She wouldn't want you to go either, your mother always feared for your life. Being a simple farmer you didn't really saw something else in the world than the crops, fields, markets. His words reminded you of her. 'Why not?' You asked confused. 'It is better for you to stay here.' He nodded, almost practical. You looked back to the ointment you where making before he walked in. You didn't understand, he had never stopped you before from coming and now all of the sudden you weren't welcome? 'Ubbe, I'm always going on the raids. Why don't you want me to come?' The uncertainty of his demand maked you doubt your own feelings. You were the youngest healer, but already one of the better. You were certain of it they needed you but he, as leader of this raiding party, he had a say in it. 'Y/n, can't you just listen.' He said a little impatient. You opened your mouth but words came short. It hurted a little, the way he treatred you right now. Like he didn't wanted you to come because ... he needed to look out for you? Was that it? 'If it is because you think it will be dangerous, I can protect myself.' Like you wanted to strengthened your words you took the knife you had from the table. It was like he struggled over something before he walked further the farm in. He took the knife out of you hand but you didn't really looked at that, you looked up in his eyes. 'If it is because I'm always uncertain or you think I'm a liability to the group. I promise to obay.' You said softer, studing those gorgeous face expressions of him. He laid the knife away and looked down to you. 'You stay here.' 'You don’t have a say in that.’ You protested. You never raised your voice, not even now. You were way to gentle and calm for that. So you looked down to your hands folded between your body. ‘Y/n,’ he laid his hand against your cheek, forcing you in a gentle way to look up to him again. You didn’t protest, you just let his hand guide your eyes back up. And when you looked back to him you saw a bit of tenderness in his eyes. ‘it’s alright, I understand.’ ‘You do?’ He asked on his turn confused. ‘I’m the weak one, I would get myself in trouble in a fight like this so it’s better to stay here. Where nobody need to keep an eye on me.’ You explained. His eyes went in conflict for a moment but finally he nodded and his hand fell from your face. ‘Thank you.’ He smiled. But you saw how forced it was. He struggled with something, like he was going to say something else but didn’t. Even his posture and passes where a little in conflict and you wanted to ran after him, because you wanted to know. But on the other hand ... you were a liability, so you did nothing. Torn between two very different things you just stood there, alone. ‘Still coming.’ You said for yourself, looking to him walking away. How could he think like this? That you were some kind of a weak person when you felt so much more. He tempered your feelings, the longing ripping you apart inside every time you saw him settled under a starting feeling of sadness. Ubbe was angry with you, he didn’t say a word and kept in front of the large group while you walked behind. But if Sigurd could come, so did you. It was a long travel in wich he never said anything and you slowly started to puch that kind of feelings away. Everybody was just so focussed on what was going to happen that you did to. You checked your basket more than once to check if you really had everything and even then … if you saw something on the road that could help you picked it out. By the time Ubbe decided to set camp you didn’t felt your feet anymore. You saw Ubbe glaring over at you, rather fast before he looked away again. ‘You irritate my brother.’ You startled and turned around to Sigurd. ‘I’m sorry for that, I just come to treat the wonded.’ ‘It may be your last one.’ He smiled. You never liked that boy, how he stood there against the tree playing with a knife, that arrogant smug grinn on his face. You thought Ivar was bad, he wasn’t really better. But his words captured your attention. ‘Why is that?’ You asked him confused. Sigurd looked away from the others back to you, that one eye strangling your feelings like the snake it represented. ‘You thing those little raids you are coming on were something big? This is different, no place for a girl like you. You are a weak little,’ ‘Sigurd.’ Ubbe snapped him right out his filty comment. You could guess what would follow but you where glad Ubbe saved you from the words rolling down over Sigurd his tongue. Sigurd gave you a short look before walking away. Ubbe looked at you, asking if you were alright with just his eyes and you only nodded before you started to help with gattering the wood for a fire. It was the scream of a slavegirl that pulled you right out of your dreams. ‘We are under attack!’ Somebody yelled. The drunk state you where in from just waking up didn’t helped you in the cause of getting up. Your eyes went searching for the danger but already so much vikings where up that you really couldn’t see a thing. But it was the familiar sound of axes against swords, the screams of battle that told you everything and got you up, gathering you things to get away …. Only to see the whole raiding group was surrounded. You got pushed away, fell on the ground again while a little further one of the vikings fell down on the ground, stabbed in his stomach. You grabbed your things and ran over to him, as fast and swift as you could you pulled the knife out, covering his wounds before you saw something approaching in your eye corner. You grabbed the mans sword in fear, turned around just as that enemy wanted to trow himself on you. That sword went right through, causing him to drop down half on you body, crushing you under his dead weight. You didn’t just killed a man, you were supposed to save lives. The fear of the moment gave you enough strenght to get him off of you. You hurried up, looking to the blood on your hands and the sword. You threw it away, starting to look around to all kinds of dead, your deads and their deads. This was a massacre, something you never saw before. There was so much strenght hidden in both groups you weren’t even sure if one of them would survive. The panick caused you to look for Ubbe. A horse ran by, almost throwing you to the ground again. You began to move, trying not to get stabbed or noticed while the one after the other dropped down. Where was he? You turned around, always looking and looking until you found him in a struggle with a man, and what kind of man. He was big, musculed in ways you couldn’t imagine and he worked Ubbe right to the ground. That moment, seeing the struggle in Ubbe his body, overcame your fear and panick. You grabbed an axe from the ground and started running through the others. If nobody would kill you on the way over to Ubbe you could maybe safe him. That man raised his right hand where he was holding his axe, ready to kill the son of Ragnar Lothbrok on this quest. This couldn’t be Ubbe his end, he was fated to do much greater things. So you took the axe in both hands, lifted it up over your head before you smached it down with all the force you had, right into his back. But his reaction came right after, turning around, slitting over your stomach with the sword he holded in his left hand before he dropped dead. ‘Y/n.’ Ubbe reacted, catching you before you could even drop down to the ground. You started gasping for air, trying to press down the horizontal wound you had just below your ribs. ‘What are you doing!’ He shouted angry, furious almost while he pulled your head in his lap. He said on his knees, holding your head with one hand while pressing on the wound with another. You looked up to him, to the fear, the anger, the mixed feelings in his eyes. But it was like you felt every bit of life slowly fading away from your body, following the blood out.  You lifted your hand but it didn’t got further than his chest, where blood smeared his way down while you hand lost his sence of living. ‘Don’t you dare, don’t go.’ He hissed, wrapping both his hand around you head in a embrace. The last thing you felt was his forehead against yours before the darkness swallowed you whole.