#lestappen star wars au

[il-predestinato]

hi dear, hope you're doing well 💜 as im currently going through a mild obsession with the series, i'll take Scheherazade for a hop 🦘, skip, a meow 🦁 and an invertebrate 🐌??

Hello Xiao! I'm doing all right, minus the part where I still don't have electricity at home, which is why I'm holed up in the hospital in my office. 😅 Oooh, finally a request for Scheherazade! Between this and the serial killer AU, I have firmly moved into the deranged fic ideas territory...

title: Scheherazade (this might be the only working title I will actually stick with, because I kind of love it 🤭)

summary: Thirteen years after Order 66, former Jedi initiate and rebel star pilot Max Verstappen is a prisoner on board the Imperial starship Maranello under the supervision of Grand Inquisitor Charles Leclerc. Inspired by One Thousand and One Nights and this quote:

for a thousand and one nights - what humiliated me as I relieved my death in that room without sunrise wasn't my desire for light but my desire for more darkness -"All the Flowers Kneeling" by Paul Tran

warnings: depictions of torture (inappropriate uses of the Force)

Excerpt #1:

If Ninth Brother’s presence in the Force tasted like untempered revulsion and Fifth Brother’s danced with gilded savagery, then the Grand Inquisitor’s felt like a void. Mick never realized that the Force can feel like emptiness around someone. The Grand Inquisitor did not have so much of a presence as an absence.

“We have captured the Red Bull. Your allies are dead.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, a mismatch to the cruel words. “I can be generous and grant you death as well.”

He did not show Max any holograms. He had their still warm corpses brought into the cell and strung from the ceilings. The quiet hum of the interrogation droid flitted back and forth.

The screech of steel as the prisoner pulled ineffectively against his restraints echoed like a wound in the Force, but the Grand Inquisitor did not flinch. His own green eyes - a shallow, vacant stare - surveyed the fierce blue ones filled with fury and grief.

“Max Verstappen,” he whispered, his expressionless face inches away from the rebel’s own, “I can grant you the gift of death as well.” With his repeated offer came a subtle flick of his wrist, and Mick knew all too well what would come next. “Where is the Silver Arrow?”

The Grand Inquisitor was not expecting an answer. He never did. He always laid out the terms first, so they would refuse. They always did. Without exception, they always ended up regretting it.

He would give them a taste first, just a small taste. Another twitch of the wrist, followed by an invisible crushing weight on the trachea. Mick always marvelled at the coarse violence of it all, the skill required to constrict each ring of cartilage just enough for the prisoner to thrash violently for breath without crumbling the structure altogether. Only this time, Mick felt his own throat go dry as cyanosis started to colour the prisoner’s lips. The defiant blue eyes started to glaze -

Then the prisoner collapsed like a ragdoll.

The Grand Inquisitor liked to keep them conscious - to help them remember, so he watched dispassionately as Max gasped for air, filling each aching alveoli with merciful breaths. Mick released a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

When the prisoner could speak again, Mick expected words of contempt. Like the others.

Max laughed instead. A full, vibrant sound that did not belong in the black cells. The Grand Inquisitor’s almost imperceptible head tilt was the only indication he gave of having been taken by surprise.

“I made you a promise all those years ago in the Jedi Temple - when we were children,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from the recent chokehold on his throat. “I will destroy you, Charles Leclerc.”

-

At hour thirteen, the interrogation droid was finally switched off. Max’s breaths were alarmingly shallow, and the black tiles around his feet hosted a small pool of his own blood.

“Shall I send for the Healers?” murmured Mick.

He knew the drill: heal the physical wounds, let the mental anguish fester. Day after day. No one lasted more than a week.

“No, I will continue the interrogation.”

Against all restraint, Mick heard himself protest: “He will not survive more!”

What the Grand Inquisitor called interrogation was nothing short of forcibly pushing into a mind with the Force; he always left with answers and more devastatingly - left behind irreparably fractured minds when he finished. None of them ever woke again.

Charles ignored him and stepped towards their prisoner instead. Max lingered on the edge of unconsciousness, but some degree of alertness returned to the pained blue eyes when Charles entered his view.

Charles leaned close enough to catch every whiff of sweat, blood, and despair. “I can put a stop to all of this,” he whispered against the prisoner’s jaw. Perhaps he could almost taste the tears and despair at this proximity. “Tell me what I want to know. Where is the Silver Arrow?”

There is wetness - a mixture of foam and blood - gurgling at the tip of Max’s tongue. His words are barely audible, and there is agony in every syllable that he regurgitates. “I’m not afraid of pain… and I’m not afraid of you.”

A hand touches the prisoner’s tear-streaked cheek - cradles it almost like a caress.

“You will be,” Charles tells him.

Excerpt #2:

Eventually, the interrogation droids floated uselessly in the corner of the room. For hours and hours, Charles would bury himself inside the prisoner’s mind.

It was the first crack that Mick had seen in a long time. Before he took over the mantle of Grand Inquisitor, Charles had been almost a mindless soldier who excelled at following orders - efficient, dispassionate, unflappable. As Grand Inquisitor, he was all of those things … with an extra edge of ruthlessness and detachment. Mick always wondered what transpired between Charles and his predecessor, but that was a question that none of the Brothers dared to ask.

He had a more pressing curiosity. What was inside Max Verstappen’s mind that so allured him?

Mick needed to know. From the moment he laid eyes on the rebel, he sensed something different about him, and perhaps Charles sensed it too.

The days had merged into weeks, yet Max remained battered but unbroken in that windowless cell.

He waited until the Grand Inquisitor was finished with him. Max’s restraints were removed bar the collar, and he was curled up in the corner of the room, barely propped up against the transparisteel wall. Mick marvelled at the smoothless of his skin - not a single break of sweat on his brow - and he started to wonder whether the prisoner was paradoxically getting stronger with every passing day. An absurd notion, which he dismisses almost immediately.

Even with the Force suppression collar active, Max still sensed him. The blond man’s eyes remained closed but his brow furrowed mildly when Mick entered, betraying his confusion at the foreign presence in his cell. A few breaths later, when Mick did not leave, the prisoner finally cracked open his tired blue eyes.

“He didn’t send you,” he murmured.

Mick knelt so that they were at eye level. “He hasn’t broken you.” He touched an ungloved finger to the prisoner’s chin. Max did not flinch, but the stiffening in his jaw made it clear that the touch was unwelcome. “How is that possible?”

Physical contact was an anchor, not strictly necessary but certainly helpful as a pathway to the mind. In terms of mental adeptness in the ways of the Force, Mick was certainly one of the stronger Inquisitors and could probably count his skills as secondary only to the Grand Inquisitor and Fifth Brother.

Max’s skin was warm and surprisingly soft. Reaching into his mind felt similar - like standing on the beaches of Scarif on a sunny day - in the beginning, at least. In the outermost layer, he is only allowed to feel the emotions that the subject wishes to project: serenity, shallowness, impassivity. He had to give it to Max; in Mick’s experience, even the strongest minds could not disguise their fear and despair after a few days - let alone weeks.

He sinks into the warm sand, wades into the shallow beaches. He prods a little deeper.

Mental invasion can be successful with more than one technique. Mick would broadly divide them into two categories: the brutal, forceful attack that aims to overwhelm the subject, or the gentle yet insistent invasion that aims to win the subject’s mind almost by soothing it. Carlos was incredibly successful with the former, as was Charles - although the Grand Inquisitor has been known to employ the latter. With Mick, he always found the insidious patience of the latter to yield more fruitful results. Better to be invited in, to see the home in its natural state with its secrets in plain sight than try to piece together the fractured pieces of a broken mind.

Neither technique gave him the answers he wanted. In Max’s mind, the only thing he encountered was a fortress of stone surrounding it on all sides. Again and again, he was repelled back to the beach, to the projected serenity of warm sand and crystal clear water. Every time he returned to the fortress, no amount of plication would permit any gates to open, and even the vines growing along the fortress gave him no foothold. In the vines, however, he felt another type of presence… an emptiness that beckoned a different type of familiarity.

Mick had never felt anything like it. The closest thing he could compare it to was the Master-Padawan bond he identified in a pair of captured Jedi that he once interrogated. Even that felt more like a tendril - a single branch of another Force signature. This was different. The vines were overgrown and draped across the entire stone fortress. The stone belonged to Max, he could discern that clearly. The cold vines were even more familiar; he had trained with Charles for years, and the signature was unmistakable.

While the stone was immovable, the vines hissed and snapped at him like serpents. Even as he withdrew from Max’s mind, he sensed the approach of their void-like presence.

The Grand Inquisitor stared stonily at him from the doorway. Mick drew himself to his feet, projecting a calm that he did not quite feel, still reeling from what he had found.

“This is not your assignment, Seventh Brother,” Charles informed him coldly, but he was not looking at Mick at all. His green eyes gazed up and down the prisoner, and a twitch in his hand exposed him.

He seemed to be asking the prisoner something, although no words passed between his lips. Mick’s suspicions were confirmed when Max met the green eyes silently and gave a small nod in return. This seemed to satisfy the Grand Inquisitor.

“I thought to have a try,” Mick replied, “as he has yielded nothing to you so far.” At the word ‘nothing,’ an almost amused smile slid across the Grand Inquisitor’s face.

“And did you succeed?” Charles’s question was clearly a taunt.

“No,” Mick said truthfully. He couldn’t help but add a lie, however: “He revealed nothing interesting at all.”

Hope you enjoyed! 😅 There is another scene I want to share, but I think it's too dark and disturbing to put here (and my sappy little Lestappen heart was hurt just writing it 🤧).

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together - Ch. 1

Series Main List

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Ch. 1 Warnings: Language; near-drowning and crash-landing injuries; hurt/comfort; head wound; discussion of war and death; forced drug addiction (by the Imperial Navy) and associated withdrawal

He’s dying. 

Though it's not happening as fast as he always thought it would. Ever since he strapped into his first TIE fighter, it should just be a blinding flash of conflagration, the flesh searing from his bones in the cold of space, and then… nothing. 

But this is disturbingly peaceful. Midnight blue water fills the cockpit and surrounds him. Metal and machinery creak in protest under the increasing pressure as the ship sinks. His head throbs with a disorienting ache from the force of impact. Tacky blood mats his hairline, streaking his face and tainting his tongue beneath the vacuum-sealed helmet as he gasps the remainder of his air supply. 

It won't be long now. The design of his pressure suit and atmospheric unit only works in the vacuum of space, and something will fail under the water’s invasive weight. He groans against the pain in his skull, exhaling sharply as he fumbles for the last of his restraint harness tabs. A seal hisses and bursts behind him, but he still can’t move from his bench. Cold water stings his skin as it floods into his suit and displaces the air. 

An impossibly warm line of solid strength wraps around his torso. Dimly, he registers the feel of it - it… it feels like an arm. He floats free of his bench, guided by the bracketing heat that radiates through his pressure suit. 

Every instinct compels him to struggle, to fight back. So he does, trying to flail his arms in the water against the… person? Being? - whoever attempts to immobilize him and pull him from his ship. 

That's not how this is supposed to end. He needs to stay with his ship - a pilot till his death.

Waves of calming, comforting peace wash over him. The foreign sensations seep into his soul, snuffing out any will to fight. Every combative instinct in him settles and surrenders to the flood of serenity that overtakes him. 

Soothing. So soothing. 

Saltwater burns his nostrils and eyes as his movements grow sluggish. A solid presence holds him from behind now - a body moving, legs kicking as an arm claws for the surface. His eyes drift closed as his lungs burn with the need for air.

Numbly, he paws at the pressure seals of his helmet. No familiar hiss of breathing tubes or vacuum seals sound in his ears - just the gurgling of bubbles as he loosens its hold. He wrenches it off just as his head breaks the surface. 

He gulps down air, dizzy from the onslaught of relief. Saltwater burns his head wound but it’s a distant second sensation compared to the feel of his rescuer holding him close. Just so warm, so reassuring, so calming… did he mention warm? Black spots eat at his vision, and he chokes on a mouthful of saltwater. 

The arm around his chest tightens. “Hold on, mate.” A grunt of exertion follows. 

He’s never felt so heavy, his arms and legs near impossible to move now. His waterlogged pressure suit suffocates him and it hurts to expand his lungs. Blackness eats at his consciousness and his eyes close as he succumbs.

He jolts awake when he suddenly lands against something solid. There’s… there’s no water around him. He’s surrounded by frigid, brackish air, but he can breathe freely… and he greedily inhales. The world spins before his eyes, or… or is that the rocking motion of the boat? Or both? Nausea eats at him either way. 

Swallowing a mouthful of bile, he strains for a glimpse of his… captor? Rescuer? 

He doesn’t trust his vision at first. The young, male humanoid doesn’t look remarkable. Wet, dark curls plaster to his forehead above a lean, pale face. Neat, short facial hair paints a dark contrast to his skin tone, as does his water-soaked clothing. The stranger also heaves for breath, sprawled against the boat’s rear bench, exhaustion evident in his lean but strong build. 

Questions flood the pilot’s addled brain but his tongue is too thick for words. A violent shiver seizes him as a gust of wind whips through the boat. He thinks a groan passes his lips, but he’s not sure. 

“You can rest now.” The other man’s voice carries a mellifluous, otherworldly accent as it floats on the biting wind. “You’re alright.” 

The words discomfort him, but he falls helplessly back into darkness.

Charles glances over at the unmoving figure in his bed before sampling the broth. Two days now and the TIE pilot still labors in the throes of high fever. Charles wishes he could do more to ease it, but he’s already cleaned and dressed the gash on the pilot’s head to the best of his ability. The wound appears to be healing cleanly, but he suspects the fever torturing the pilot has more to do with the extreme trauma of the situation. 

Not to mention the withdrawal. 

Again, Charles samples the steaming soup. He reaches for another pinch of fresh astrid leaves and stirs to release their savory aroma. With any luck, the broth will sit well on the pilot’s empty stomach when he wakes. If anything, his body needs the energy to heal, and then… then they can figure out what to do next. 

He blinks back over at the sleeping figure. A surprisingly tall man for a pilot. He looks about the same age as Charles which surely must be older than the average age for TIE pilots who have notoriously short lifespans. That could only mean that this man is better than average - a fearsome killer of his masters’ making. 

The body concealed beneath the ruined pressure suit hadn’t surprised Charles, though. Like any elite warrior, the pilot is all tough sinew and whipcord muscle with strong, broad shoulders. Small scars litter the man’s limbs and torso, but Charles hadn’t noted any additional injuries aside from intense bruising. However, the five digit number imprinted on the inside of the man’s left wrist had stopped him cold.  

11410 

Imperial operating numbers change with post designations and squadron rankings, but Charles doesn’t understand that string of numbers. Even now as he stands at the stove of his meager kitchen, the five digits hover in the back of his mind. Perhaps the pilot would be inclined to tell him about it. Or maybe not. 

He’ll need to be careful either way. Ever since Order 66 passed and branded every Jedi a traitor, he can’t reveal too much about himself. Or his abilities. As he reaches for a wooden bowl from the shelf over the stove, he hopes that the pilot won’t ask too many questions about his rescue. For better and worse, the man had been in such a state of shock that he likely wouldn’t remember much, anyway. And he most certainly had passed out before Charles lifted him into the boat hands-free. 

Sighing gently, he laddles out two spoonfuls of broth into the bowl, blowing across the surface to displace the curling steam. With another glance back towards the bed, he takes a deep breath and prepares himself. 

It’s time for the pilot to wake up, and Charles reaches out with a gentle ripple.  

*

He stirs under soft, worn covers, cracking an eye open. Fire burns in a hearth across the room from him, and he can’t recall ever being surrounded by such suffocating heat. He doesn’t know why he’s awake, but he’s so hot… too hot. 

His limbs weigh too much to move, but he takes in his surroundings with a wary gaze. The dwelling is simple, functional yet oddly inviting. Imperfect raw wood, sea-smoothed stones, and thick, crude woolen fabrics. None of it is familiar, and none of it feels right. 

He needs to leave. Immediately. He needs unyielding metal, sharp edges, and cold precision. He needs to hunt… he- 

A stab of panic seizes him in a rush of startling, unfamiliar sensation. It doesn't make sense - he’s always perfectly in control. Always riding the razor’s edge, always focused - always sighted on his target. 

But now? Now, there’s no target. There’s no focus. There’s no… control. He hears himself gasp as his heart pounds and sweat beads on his brow. 

What’s happening to him? 

“Calm yourself, mate.” The voice from a half-remembered dream washes over him. “You have a fever, and you just need to rest. My name is Charles, and you're safe.” The man owning the voice steps into view, hovering just on the edge of his vision.

“What…" he croaks, barely recognizing his raw voice. “What did you do to me?” His hands fist in the bedsheet, agitated and angered as a tremor seizes him. He grits teeth against it, needing that persistent, aggressive hunger filling his veins. 

“You’re in the worst of it - and I know that probably doesn’t make any sense to you right now. But it will.” Charles speaks softly in a low soothing register as his face softens with concern. “Your body is trying to compensate for what it doesn’t have anymore. Just breathe now - breathe the free air, in and out. Slowly - here, follow me.”  

He grips the bedcovers tighter, refusing to succumb. He doesn’t need comfort. He never has. What has this Charles done to him to make him want these things? Fuck, he needs… he bears his teeth, ready to jump out of his skin and go for the jugular. Anything to reclaim that intense high, sharp edge of control. 

He jolts up from the bed with a savage snarl, lunging forwards. His head swims from the sudden movement, overcome with fatigue and disorientation, and his offensive attack crumbles. His hands fall weakly to his side as he slumps over and the bedcovers pool around his waist.

To Charles' credit, the man doesn’t even flinch. He merely places one hand in a trouser pocket as he stares back and holds a steaming bowl with his other hand. His face is carefully guarded, regarding him with eyes in the most stunning shade of green as he speaks softly. “They have done quite a job on you, mate… you must have spent many years in the pilot corps.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He growls through labored breaths, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face as black spots eat at his vision. “You don’t know anything about it!” 

“I know more than you would ever want to know.” Charles suddenly stands taller with a disconcerting wisdom beyond his years. “Psychological conditioning and biological manipulation are dangerous endeavors. Drugging a person’s mind for a constant state of adrenaline-fueled aggression and hyper-awareness will take its toll in days, let alone years. And you, mate, have had more than your fair share.” 

“You lie!” He roars. “You lie to cover your own deeds and manipulation!” 

“What’s your operating number?” 

“SD-62-1.” 

“Where were you born?” 

“Unnecessary.” Anger vibrates along his skin, nostrils flaring through raging breaths. 

“What’s your name?” 

He shakes his head, pain blooming deep in his skull. “No.” 

“What’s your name?” Charles presses again, voice soft and even. “Come on - think.” 

“No! I don’t-” The bed sheet fabric rips under his hands as he struggles. “I don’t have a name.” 

“Yes, you do. Now, what is your name?” 

“I DON’T KNOW!” His words echo off the stone walls as the realization sinks in. How… how can someone not know their own name? Of course he has to have one… at least, at some point in his life. But now? What is it…? 

He freezes, recognizing every muscle in his body coiled and tensed in familiar readiness for a fight. Sweat from his palms dampens the sheet still clenched in his fists, and it clings to his chest and the back of his neck. What… just what the fuck is happening to him? 

Charles takes a small step forward, eyes warm with kind understanding. “Your body has spent so many years in a state of agitation, it’s chasing the only way it has to maintain that state now.” A small smile quirks the corner of his mouth. “And you can try to call me a liar, but I can see the uncertainty in your eyes.” 

He drops his head to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as if to hide. This stranger has no place to comment on his business or what he thinks or how he feels. Taking a deep breath, he loosens his grip on the bed sheet, muscles protesting in pain as he unclenches his fingers. Everything hurts - from the throbbing ache deep in his skull to the tightness in his chest to the pull of the bandage on his head. He shakes his head, jaw tensing. “I don’t want this. Don’t… don’t do this to me.” 

“I don’t have the drugs they use in your air supply. You’ll continue through withdrawal until your body levels out.” Charles sighs regretfully. “I wish I had an easier way for you, mate, but… well, like I said before - biological manipulation is a dangerous endeavor.” 

His head spins and his vision swims. The last of his strength leaves him as he slumps backwards, landing against the pillow. It offers meager cool relief against his sweat-soaked brow and he squeezes his eyes shut as if to block Charles out. The man has already ruined him, and he won’t let Charles do anymore damage. 

“Before you go back to sleep,” Charles’ voice draws up alongside the bed. “I have some broth for you. It should help, I think. At least, it will give your body some energy to heal.” 

He shakes his head. “No.” 

“I think you’ll be surprised.” A gentle hand falls to his shoulder and a current of peaceful calmness overtakes him. His mind fuzzes as he loses the will to protest. Charles’ hand drifts to support his head with surprisingly tender strength, and the rim of a wooden bowl presses gently to his lips. 

Warm, savory aromas wash over his tongue, filling his belly with a comforting fullness. The haze in his mind grows as his body stills under gentle strokes of Charles’ fingers on his nape. His mind catches the undertow, drifting away to the safe shores of sleep.

Series Main List

[harianaswhore]

⟡ ₒₜₕₑᵣ dᵣᵢᵥₑᵣₛ ⟡

NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ ᶠ¹ ʳᵉᶜˢ

— ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳⁱᵈ ⟡

thirsty thoughts (VERY suggestive) - @lorarri

missing piece (angsty) - @katebishopsbow

grid kids (series, sebastian vettel and grid) - @pucksandpower

vettel reincarnate (series) - @disneyprincemuke

positions (by ari) fics (this is everything to me btw) - @turcott3

birthday wishes (smau) - @mclqren

drunk bf texts (text message format) - @csainzoperator

written in the stars (soulmate!au, different drivers) - @oofthwoods

points have been made (lestappen x reader) - @sinofwriting

birthday wishes (charles is the bf but focused on everyone) (smau) - @astonmartinii

stolen - @coco-loco-nut

— ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳⁱᵒˢ/ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ ⟡

makeup shopping with the boys (f) - @verstappen-cult

getting caught making out with the boys (sexual references) (^)

boys reacting to being called pretty (mostly f) - @ln444

a privilege called love (f) - @inblurtub

dating f1 drivers (mostly f) - @hauntedrain

moment f1 boys realized you were the one (f) - @itsvelyria

"where they would like to kiss you" (^)

f1 drivers favorite spot to kiss you - @mirohlayo

f1 drivers and when they get jealous (^)

names the f1 drivers would call their partner - @lightsoutletsgo

ass or tits (s) - @youaresimplylovely

so this is my husband (f) - @uglyducklingofthe2000s

friends to lovers (f) - @vinvantae

how the f1 drivers would propose (f) - @checopereez

"what did you just call me" (f) - @23victoria

he takes care of you on your period (f) - @fastandcarlos

when f1 drivers dirty text you (and you pretend your dad answers) (s) - @maxtermind

f1 boys as the type to - @pandagas

— ˡᵉʷⁱˢ ʰᵃᵐⁱˡᵗᵒⁿ ⟡

king of my heart (smau) - @cieloclercs

keys to the benz (smau, sexual innuendo) - @imnameimswrld

fashionable couple (smau) - @formulaa-1

hi barbie ! hi ken ! two (smau) - @redbullgirly

him being a simp for you (headcannon) - @itaipava

thick and thin (f,a)- @agendabymooner

around the world (f)- @lewisvinga

i miss you, i'm sorry (smau) (^)

him mentioning you (f) - @pickingupmymercedes

lawyer up (smau) - @monzabee

war is over (tw: brocedes mention) - @pucksandpower

— ᵐⁱᶜᵏ ˢᶜʰᵘᵐᵃᶜʰᵉʳ ⟡

jealous!mick (f) - @folkloresthings

i see the light (f) - @writingshushf1

santa doesn't know you like i do (f) - @f1version

interrupted (mentions of smut) - @russellsppttemplates

leclerc!reader (smau) - @pucksandpower

maahi ve (smau) - @love-belle

vlog (smau) - @absolutelynotmate-archive

count me in (smau) - @verstarppen

lovers rock not allowed christmas kids (f) - @luckylzclerc

a vettel and a schumacher walk into a bar (f) knock knock (smau) - @monzabee

sweet dream was over my hand was the one you reached for (a) - @v5ttelfilms

— ᵈᵃⁿⁱᵉˡ ʳⁱᶜᶜᵃʳᵈᵒ ⟡

ultimate wing man (smau) - @astonmartinii

keep it private (smau) - @marlenesluv

forever kind of love (smau) - @chrisevansonly

my book worm - @lewisvinga

— ᵃʳᵗʰᵘʳ ˡᵉᶜˡᵉʳᶜ ⟡

kissing in the rain (f) - @thebearchives

forgiveness (f) - @starlost97

fan behavior (smau) - @lxclerc

black cat gf (smau) (^)

it's you and me (smau) - @lecsainz

party girl two (smau) - @natailiatulls07

amour (smau) - @marlenesluv

— ˢᵉᵇᵃˢᵗⁱᵃⁿ ᵛᵉᵗᵗᵉˡ ⟡

jealousy jealousy (s) - @uluvjay

just you wait sunshine (a) - @unsolvedjarin

helmet kisses (headcannons) - @forteafy

drink water, not alchol (f) - @sebscore

me and my husband (smau) - @starkwlkr

i wait for you two three (smau) (^)

cherry flavoured (rbr!seb my love) (f) (^)

she's the boss (f) (^)

miss honey (f) (^)

always an angel, never a god (!!!! EASTING DISORDER !!!) (a) (^)

come back to me (CRASH) (a)- @lucyrose191

a shared history two three (f) (^)

teenage dirtbag (smau) - @bth3cowboi

it's never over (smau) - @thewispsings

— ᵍᵉᵒʳᵍᵉ ʳᵘˢˢᵉˡˡ ⟡

he got the girl (smau)- @thewispsings

million dollar baby (smau) - @everythingne

[fangirl-dot-com]

Across Every Universe Master List

based on the TikTok trend of "Do you think we'll be friends in every universe?" - "I sure hope so!"

Part 1 - Movie AUs Jump into the world of the Marvel Universe, Hunger Games, Maze Runner, Star Wars, and an age switch!

Part 2 - In Real Life AUs Wonder what it would be like if Max was a king? If you were Max's older sibling? Max at Ferrari and Charles at Mercedes? Lestappen is real? Max is your team principal?

[sociallyrepressed]

I’ve been thinking about sw au and idk if it’ll ever take off the ground but here’s what I’ve got for ship dynamics (tentatively):

[also I am completely aware that this delves into some serious topics for a silly little Star Wars au]

Lestappen

one of my plot points is Max’s dad was a renegade dark force user (although not an apprentice) but did a lot of work for Palpatine, so when Max was born some combo of his dad and Sidious did enough damage that if he ever comes into contact with the light side of the force, it destroys his essence- they did this to ensure he would never stray to the light side bc he’s powerful in his own right but he’s not good enough to replace Anakin Skywalker

enter Charles Leclerc

blah blah blah plot plot plot enemies to lovers

it physically hurts them both when they come into contact with each other but it doesn’t really stop them

the theme is people who hurt each other can also love each other, maybe it’ll end well maybe it won’t

Galex

Alex was an assassin picking up odd jobs until he got mixed into business he shouldn’t have been involved in

George was a senatorial figure (as much as they could have senators once the chancellor took over) but he spoke against the unsustainable tariffs imposed over Outer Rim planets and lack of support for citizens, dug a little too deep into research and BAM suddenly he’s the victim of an assassination plot

the theme is basically that even if you’ve done bad things and hurt good people, you aren’t irredeemable or unlovable (Alex killed a good number of innocent people because he had to for survival and George had some shady dealings in the past)

Lando

so I haven’t put him in a ship bc he’s aroace in this au, which means if he ever had a partner it’d be more on the queer platonic side of the spectrum and I haven’t decided yet

also tw for sa mentioned

Lando’s family didn’t support the Chancellor, and were very public about it

they were a very prominent family and couldn’t be just killed outright so they were “moved��� (read: sold into slavery in the outer rim)

he was technically bought by Jabba and not gonna go into any details but in short he was used for his body in trade for information

this is a very personal topic to me and I’m sure a lot of aroace folks so my goal is to be able to reflect on the relationship between sexual intimacy and being sex-repulsed (not generalizing that all aroace people don’t like sex, but just for the sake of the specific point I’m trying to make, Lando is)

exploring the theme of trauma vs. sexuality

[foo1ishheart554]

Having Star Wars brainrot at the moment so here are some f1 x sw au headcanons:

carlando: sexy lovable rogue morally grey space smuggler x snarky clumsy young jedi apprentice

britcedes: master x padawan need I say more

lestappen: hot head jedi knight x senator's hot ass son (mildly force sensitive)

brocedes: something something nico became a sith **gunshot**

[f-ferrari-forever]

✅ - 😬 - 🧠(Jimmy (and Sassy)) - 👀(but not the star wars au :P (unless the star wars au is the only wip you have, but knowing you… that would be bullcrap)

(unless i actually know you terribly. in which case it’s not bullcrap. BUT IM FAIRLY CERTAIN IT IS!!!)

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Uhm, I realize now that this isn't really visible because most of my WIPs aren't yet out there, but—the cats. The cats are a must. Also, Max being protective of Charles. I'm trying to add the other way around as well. And chéri, mon amour and schatjie. I love how they sound, okay? 🙈

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

Oh God, ALL of them? But probably Vanilla Lestappen. Or those cursed 4433 fics—those aren't it.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Tbh, I think it's the generic headcanons that more or less everyone has?

Sassy loves Max more and makes Charles's life a living hell. She gets slightly jealous of Charles, but she secretly (very secretly) loves him, mainly when he feeds her and gives her belly rubs.

Jimmy is Charles's pride and joy, and is the sweetest little cat. He virtually gets along with everyone. He still loves Max a great deal, but Charles is his dad.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Fineeee...

Provisionary title: gags or how to rip your boyfriend's precious stubble off

I think it speaks for itself 😅

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together - Ch. 2

Series Main List

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Ch. 2 Warnings: Hurt/comfort; head wound; discussion of war and death; forced drug addiction (by the Imperial Navy) and associated withdrawal; family separation

A/N: Y'all's feedback on this fic melts my heart. Thank you ❤

“Sorry that I don’t have anything larger.” Charles says with a shake of his head as he sets the clothes on the end of the bed. “Your pressure suit was ruined from the crash, and you certainly couldn’t stay soaking wet." 

The pilot stares up at him, still unconvinced. His crystal blue eyes remind Charles of the sky above his homeworld as they watch Charles’ every move. He recognizes the look all too well. A wounded animal on the defensive. A predator just looking for the opportunity to strike. A hunter unwilling to be outhunted. 

Now that the worst of the pilot's withdrawal has passed, Charles hopes the distrust will fade with time. He offers a kind smile, speaking softly. “Here, I’ll go serve our food while you dress.” He turns to deliberately present the pilot his back, not wanting to appear as a threat. 

Of course, Charles has already seen plenty of the man's body currently hidden beneath the bedcovers, but he doesn’t want to make the pilot any more uncomfortable than he already is. “Tomorrow, I have to go into the settlement.” Charles says easily as he reaches for two wooden plates. “I should be able to find you something that fits better. You’re lucky, though - it’s the warm season right now. If you had landed during the cold months, you likely would have been trapped in sea ice.” 

“You make it sound like I had a choice in landing here.” The pilot’s voice holds the most intriguing accent now that he’s free from the fever-grip of withdrawal. Charles wants to ask him where he’s from, but it’s far too soon for that question. 

Instead, he glances back over at the pilot. Even clothed - despite how the sleeves don’t reach his wrists and the trousers miss his ankles - the broad man radiates intimidation. He regards Charles with dark suspicion, unwilling to divert his gaze. It tugs at Charles’ heart. Just how long has this man been at the mercy of the Imperial Starfighter Corps? 

Letting his mouth curl to a reassuring smile, Charles heaps a helping of thick brown stew onto each plate and adds a wedge of crusty bread. With a plate in each hand, he steps over to the small table and sets them down with an encouraging nod. “There, see? Nothing to fear.” He reaches for a fork from the basket in the center of the table, setting it on the pilot’s plate. “Despite how it looks, it is edible. I admit that I… I’m not used to cooking for others.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

Charles nearly laughs but catches himself, cocking a wry brow. “You’ve laid in my bed for the last three days burning with fever. Surely, you must be hungry - at least, you need to regain your strength.” 

“I’m strong enough.” The pilot insists, darting his gaze to the door as agitation creeps into his voice. “I cannot stay.”

“There’s nowhere for you to go at this hour,” Charles insists, taking a seat and reaching for his own fork. “We’re in the dark moon phase, and our stars aren’t as bright as other systems.” He scoops a bite of tender meat and soft vegetables onto his utensil as he casts the pilot a glance. “You’ll do better to wait until morning. Besides, the food is hot now.”   

Nothing on the pilot’s face changes as Charles’ words hang in the air. He hopes he’s done enough to convince the pilot, and he takes a bite to stall his unease. After several silent minutes, the pilot pads over to the table and stiffly drops to sit. He reaches for the fork on his plate and drags it through the thick sauce. He passes the fork under his nose, drawing an inhale of the savory scent before slipping the fork between his lips. 

Warm satisfaction grows in Charles’ chest as the pilot takes another, heartier bite. Each time the pilot brings the fork to his lips, he eats more eagerly than his previous posturing suggested. A testament to the man’s true hunger, if nothing else. 

A small smile curls Charles’ mouth as he wipes a finger at the corner of his mouth to catch a stray crumb. “I’m glad that you like it.” 

The pilot’s sharp eyes dart to his, and with the flickering firelight catching in their clear blue color and his sandy-brown hair - the man is undeniably handsome. He swallows a bite before speaking. “I’m not thanking you.” 

“Of course not,” Charles easily agrees. “How do you thank the man that saved your life?” 

“I didn’t ask you to do it,” the pilot says as his mouth upturns in a frown. “In fact, I remember not wanting you to do it.” 

Charles shakes his head slowly. “Your stubbornness is remarkable, mate -” 

“I’m not your mate.” 

Charles withholds an exasperated sigh. “Maybe not - but you are a guest in my home. You’ve… well, you’ve spent more nights in my bed this week than I have.” 

“Again, I didn’t ask you to do it.” The pilot tears off a chunk of bread. “You make your own inconveniences.” 

Charles hums around the fork, giving a gentle shake of his head. “In some respects, yes. In others, not as such. I… I couldn’t just let you die.” 

“People die every day.” 

“Not all of them have to.” Charles gives a regretful shake of his head. “The galaxy has always been too full of unnecessary deaths, moreso in recent years.”

The pilot cuts him with sharp glare. “You mean… in the recent years since the empire formed…”

Objectively, Charles should tread lightly with a man that he just met - and a TIE pilot, at that - but his instincts tug at him and the Force whispers to him. “Yes,” he answers carefully, voice heavy as he nibbles some bread. “Too many unyielding convictions, too many beliefs - and too much power in those beliefs. It leads to so many innocent deaths.” 

"You sound almost…” the pilot trails off, disgust in his voice. “Almost sad.” 

"The thought of anyone dying for their beliefs makes me sad." Charles gives another heavy shake of his head. "This war has spread nothing but destruction throughout the galaxy." 

"This rebellion, you mean." 

Charles shakes his head again with a firmer edge. "Power is a balance. Upset it just a little and chaos reigns. But… if for just one day, the power of creation held sway over the power of destruction? Just imagine the wonders that our galaxy would see."

The pilot furrows his brow even as a conflicted intrigue sparks in his eyes. "You," he sighs, uneasy. "I've never heard anyone talk like you do.” 

Charles’ lips pull to a tight, closed-mouth smile. He shouldn’t risk overplaying his hand. “It’s probably why I live here alone with no friends.” He attempts a self-derisive laugh. “I think too much and then I say too much. But that’s all it is… empty words of a wandering mind.” 

The pilot takes another bite of food but nothing in the suspicious set of his face changes as silence settles between them. 

Thunder booms outside Charles’ seaside dwelling, shaking earthen pots against wooden shelves. The air crackles with unbridled energy, surging along Charles’ skin as the planet comes alive under the nourishing rain. Small puddles form on the stone sill of the open window as Charles watches the storm howl and blow with a private smile on his face. 

The warm season storms on this planet have long been a favorite of his. Lightning arcs and streaks across the sky in such vivid colors, illuminating the midnight blue sea in luscious shades of deep plum. Not that Charles has eaten a plum since the Jedi Temple fell into ruin, but the memory lingers all the same. 

Another crack of thunder fills the air, and Charles crosses his arms against his chest to ward off the storm’s chill. Perhaps he should close the window and go join the pilot by the fire, but storms are one of the rare times when Charles feels so connected to the world around him and the loneliness ebbs. 

“How long will it last?” The pilot’s voice drips with impatience as it carries across the dwelling. 

Charles stares up at the sky, shrugging a lazy shoulder. “Impossible to say, really.” Lowering his gaze, he glances over at the pilot, almost grateful for the fire’s warmth against his cheeks. “Sometimes they don’t last so long… other times, they blow all night.” 

The pilot’s mouth thins with annoyance. “I cannot stay here. They have already logged me overdue and I need to report back to my squadron.” 

Charles hums gently. “It’s curious that a scout hasn’t come looking for you, no? Does your ship not have a homing beacon?” 

“Too much weight. Too superfluous.” The pilot’s voice carries a cold, almost robotic tone that tugs at Charles’ heart. 

His brow furrows as he steps away from the window. “Too superfluous…” He repeats with an incredulous shake of his head. “It doesn’t make sense that the Empire should consider the recovery of its most elite pilots to be superfluous… but so much of what the Empire does makes so little sense to me.”  

“This is the nature of war, Charles.” The pilot scoffs indignantly. “No cost is too high.” 

Charles’ jaw tenses with frustration. There are so many things wrong with that statement and scathing words threaten to crawl up Charles’ throat. Anger buzzes along his skin, fueled by the static in the air, and a forbidden part of him whispers to make the pilot understand - to make the pilot truly see. But instead, he pauses to refocus his thoughts and lets his eyes drift closed for the space of a breath.

Rumbling thunder echoes in his ears as he reopens his eyes and glances at the crackling wood in the fireplace. “I wasn’t talking about the Empire in that sense necessarily,” he forces himself to say, trying to divert the conversation differently. His words stall as his gaze moves over the pilot’s seated figure, taking in the broad shoulders covered in the newly purchased shirt that fits him much better. The man took a bath earlier today, and his sandy-blonde hair hangs in fluffy strands dried by the sea breeze and his profile glows in the firelight, sans bandage now that the wound has closed. 

A different energy sparks along Charles’ skin and his blood heats with a yearning pull. A tug that itches under Charles’ skin, always drawing him back to the pilot who… who… 

Charles tilts his head with a sudden thought. “Like your name, for example,” he says softly, taking a careful step towards the fire even as the pilot fixes him with a hard stare in his glacial eyes. “I don’t understand why the Empire took your name from you, and now… now you don’t even remember it.” 

The pilot blinks at him, unforgiving in the flickering light. “The Empire gave me purpose - you seem to not be able to understand that. And my name… well, that must not have served a purpose.” 

“Oh?” Charles posits. “And SD-62-1 gives you purpose, hmm?”

“It identifies everything about me that anyone needs to know.” 

“Except who you are.” 

The pilot’s head tilts and his eyes narrow as if he’s never heard anything more ridiculous. “I’m a pilot. That’s what I am.” 

“No, it’s what you do - but you are so much more than that. Or at least… you should have the opportunity to be.” Charles counters gently. “To find what makes you happy. To learn to sing, if you want - or paint, or make music. To find what brings you satisfaction.” 

Something flashes in the pilot’s eyes and a current ripples through the Force. It snags on Charles’ skin, igniting his curiosity. Something in the Force… not quite a disturbance, not quite a connection, but something hovers in the pilot’s aura. As if… as if the world tries to connect with him but can’t find a way in. As if… as if the pilot is Force-sensitive and doesn’t know it. 

Charles’ mouth goes dry at the thought. Is that why the Force led Charles to find him in the sea? The mystery settles with a strange contentment in Charles’ chest as he holds the pilot's gaze. 

The pilot blinks coldly. “And why would I need any more satisfaction than accomplishing the mission objective?” 

Charles blinks his thoughts aside, stunned. “Do you hear yourself, mate? You… you sound like a clone.” He sighs gently. “Tell me, do you have anything that is truly your own?”

The pilot blinks again before lowering his gaze and turning away. His right hand moves - as if on instinct - to settle almost protectively on his left forearm. Charles’ gaze narrows as he suddenly remembers the curious line of numbers inked on the pilot’s skin.

11410  

Thunder rattles more pottery against their wooden perches, and Charles lets himself move closer to the pilot. He projects an air of non-threatening comfort as he approaches, hoping that some of it will penetrate the pilot’s tough exterior. Fortunately, the pilot doesn’t have to understand a connection to the Force to be affected by it. He dares to sit on the couch’s other end, drawing the pilot’s intensely distrustful glare. 

For the space of several breaths, only the sounds of the raging storm and the crackling fire fill the dwelling as Charles lets himself just… look. Shadows dance in the pilot’s icy eyes, but raw potential swirls in those crystalline depths. Such potential to be so much more than he knows. He doesn’t just exist to be a weapon of the Empire, and if Charles can help him understand that, then maybe… maybe that’s enough. 

Charles works a swallow down his suddenly dry throat as heat rises in his cheeks. “The numbers on your arm…” he ventures softly, nodding down at the pilot’s right hand still resting on his left forearm. “I haven’t seen anything like them before. Would you… are you willing to tell me about them?” 

Hesitance sparks on the pilot’s face - such a strange expression for a man of unwavering dedication - and Charles instantly wants to reach out. To reassure him, to comfort him, to… do whatever he can to earn this man’s trust. A visible swallow works down the pilot’s throat as he glances down at his left arm. “I’ve had them since I can remember… they were my designation at Skystrike when I trained there.” 

Charles’ blood runs cold. He’s only heard whispers of that horrid place - an Imperial Starfighter academy high in the clouds of Montross, so isolated and remote and grueling and cruel. Trying to mask the sadness creeping to his face, Charles nods. “So… 11410 is your name…” 

“I suppose.” The pilot’s tone holds a neutral tone of indifference. “But it doesn’t really matter now that I have my post and squadron designation.” 

“Of course it matters, mate.” Charles scoffs with a laugh. “You… I’m not going to call you 11410. And you need some sort of name to find transport back…” He lets the rest of the sentence hang unspoken as his stomach sinks. The last thing he wants is for this man to return to the manipulative clutches of the Empire, but there is precious little that he can do to stop him. At least, not without revealing the true nature of his abilities. 

The pilot blinks back at him in open curiosity. “No one says you have to call me anything. I intend to leave as soon as this storm passes.” 

Charles shakes his head slowly. “It’s already nearing the middle of the night, and there’s little transport traffic so late for such a remote place…” His words fade as another clap of thunder fills the air. He thinks back to the five numbers on the pilot’s wrists, not able to let them go. “What about…” He starts softly as an idea forms in his mind. “What if we call you… Max, hmm?” A startingly shy smile dimples his cheeks as they flush red. “The ‘11’ sort of looks like an ‘M’, no? And the 10 on the end… in numerals, that would be an “X”. And the 4… well, let’s just call that an ‘A’.” He pauses to offer a hopeful smile. “Well, what do you say, Max…?” 

The pilot blinks, unimpressed. “That’s the stupidest-” 

“I like it.” Charles interrupts gently, flashing a warm, appreciative smile. “It suits you, Max.” 

Max’s face hardens with a cold look of displeasure as another crack of thunder echoes off the stone wall. “Of course you would think that - you just made it up. But that doesn’t make it real.” 

Charles nods down at Max’s wrist. “It’s as real as those numbers… if you want it to be.” A spark of hope ignites in his chest as he tries to melt the ice into those crystalline eyes. “Just… think about it, alright? Promise me that, at least.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not staying.” Max insists. “As soon as this storm passes - I’ll wait in a depot until daybreak, if I must.” 

Something in Charles’ heart sinks as silence falls despite the raging storm and crackling fire. 

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together (preview)

I'm about to take a winter break myself, but here's a preview of what I'm planning to share come January! Lestappen still has my heart, and the 2023 season delivered so much ❤

Summary: The TIE fighter pilot's heartbeat echoes in Charles' ears long before he watches the ship crash into the sea. He lets the Force guide him to the drowning man, and the galaxy will never be the same again.

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Set in between the films Episode III and Episode IV (after Order 66 branded the Jedi as traitors and sent the survivors into hiding while the Empire dominated the galaxy)

Will be Rated E for explicit NSFW 18+ smut among other adult/mature content

[...]

“Where will you go?” Charles asks, glancing down at the pilot sitting in the grass.

“The nearest Imperial Outpost, of course.” 

"That will still be easier to do with a name, Max." He wets his top lip with measured curiosity. "Have you given that some more thought?"

The pilot's face is disconcertingly neutral as he gives a perfunctory nod. "The name is serviceable." 

It's a better answer than Charles has hoped for. A grin tugs at his lips. "I'm glad to hear that. Well, now that you have a name… you'll also need credits for a transport."

Max shakes his head tersely. “Any citizen of the Empire should do their duty to ensure that I can do mine.” 

Charles bites back the wry edge of his smirk. "That kind of loyalty isn't always easy to find here in the outer rim.” 

“Anyone who stands in my way is guilty of treason.” 

Charles blinks down at Max in a moment of consideration before shifting his gaze to the grass and shuffling his feet. He pulls a hand from his pocket, rubbing a non-existent itch on the tip of his nose. “We used to have a garrison here. Some years ago." He says gently. "With full ground and air support.” 

Max’s face visibly perks as he fixes his sharp eyes on Charles. In the muted, cloudy light, those crystal blue depths threaten to drown him and the Force whispers for him to dive in without remorse. A startling, primal connection to this man snaps in place, making Charles' blood run cold.

It doesn't make sense - never before has the Force compelled him so strongly towards another person. But the longer he loses himself in Max's eyes - just as beautiful as the sea, and just as tempestuous - the more he realizes that the Force has brought Max into his life for a reason.

If only he understands what that reason is.

[...]

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together - Ch. 6

Series Main List

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Ch. 6 Warnings: Explicit language; Charles tries his hand at teaching and probably needs help; lightsaber violence; minor wound description; explosion and death

A/N: Thank you everyone for reading!! ❤😊

The knife lands with a dull thud against the cutting board and another vegetable slice joins the others. Of all the root vegetables that this planet has to offer, the bright yellow one is Charles' favorite for a fish stew. The earthy flavor compliments the salty, oily fish, and with a heavy sprinkling of herbs, it’s one of the more pleasant dishes that he can make. 

Fortunately, Max doesn’t make a fuss about anything that Charles cooks. In fact, the last couple of weeks have shown a drastic improvement in Max’s own cooking skills, but he’s far more adept with the spear gun. The thought teases a smile to Charles’ face as he continues chopping vegetables. And maybe Max’s past as a hunter will never truly leave him, but at least it can now serve a more useful purpose - and help keep their bellies fuller. 

Just another thing that Charles loves about -

The realization clenches his heart and his grip on the knife falters. It falls against the cutting board with a clank as he drowns in the truth that he hasn’t wanted to admit.  

Because he hates it. He hates to admit how much he loves not being alone. He hates how much Max has forged his way into Charles’ being, a perfect antithesis and balance and… partner in every sense of the word. 

Even worse is how quickly Charles has allowed himself to give Max everything. It hasn’t been that long since Max crashed into the sea. It hasn’t been that long since Charles has had him in his life - in his bed - and Charles hates the growing realization that he never wants to live his life without Max. 

He should know better - in fact, he does know better. There’s a reason that he hasn’t been close with anyone since his Master fled to save his life. With the Empire’s suffocating rule, any Force-sensitive soul is at risk, let alone a former-almost-Jedi. Especially one who lives with someone so prodigious in the Force as Max. Nearly every day, he continues to amaze with the sheer raw power of his ability to wield the Force in his surroundings. 

What could they accomplish together if Charles stopped hiding? Would the manipulated, mindless soldiers of the Empire even stand a chance against them? 

He brushes the heady thought away, trying to dislodge his heart from his throat as the door to his dwelling opens. Max steps inside, hair askew from the wind and clothes damp with sea spray. He holds a bucket in one hand and the spear gun in the other. “It feels like cheating, somehow.” Max says by way of greeting as he closes the door. “The sea just teems with life. I can just isolate each fish as it swims past… and I’m accurate every time.” 

Charles turns from the cutting board with a mischievous smirk. “Welcome to the secret of why I never starved even without credits.” 

Max braces the spear gun by the door and pulls off his boots. With the bucket still in hand, he pads over to Charles. “I didn’t do the best job cleaning them.” He looks down at the butchered fish meat. “That’s not a skill that the Force helps with.” 

Charles steps away from the counter, unconcerned about the bucket’s contents when Max’s eyes are so lovely in the firelight. “It just takes practice. I don’t even know that I’m good at it - so long as I can get enough meat to eat without too much waste….” 

Max’s face softens as he meets Charles’ warm smile. It feels like the most natural thing in the world as they lean in and their lips meet. The kiss lingers with tender sweetness and heartfelt affection. Charles’ toes curl with the promise of later, once they’re both tucked in bed together. 

Max’s cheeks hold a ruddy pink color as they part, and Charles can feel the arousal that simmers along the other man’s skin. He drowns in the glacial fire that burns in Max’s eyes and doesn’t stop the words that crawl up his throat. “I’m so glad that you’re here - that… you’ve stayed for so long.” 

Max dips his head in a tell of embarrassment. “I… well, now that I…” He pauses, shaking his head gently. “I don’t know what to do if I don’t stay.” 

“Then, stay.” Charles breathes as anxious desire sparks in his chest. “Let my home be your home… be our ho-” Charles words’ cut off abruptly as a noise swells in the air. 

A bone-chilling, fear-inducing ionic scream that makes his blood run cold. Max’s face hardens as his head snaps up, listening to the distinctive sound overhead. 

Only one ship in the galaxy makes that noise. 

The roar of a second TIE fighter follows the first as Charles and Max stare upwards. 

“That’s a low, slow pass.” Max’s words hold a cold, clinical tone. “A scouting mission.” 

“A scouting mission…” Charles echoes on a heavy sigh. “What could they possibly be doing here?” 

“There’s nothing in my fighter to alert them.” Max says, lowering his gaze. 

Charles nods, remembering Max’s early words about the lack of a homing beacon. “That’s what concerns me. This… this feels different.”

Max’s eyes narrow with immediate suspicion. “You think… did someone report us?” 

Charles gives a quick shake of his head. “It wouldn’t be us, specifically. But is it possible the Empire has Force-sensitive spies who report on disturbances in the Force? Yes, I think it is quite possible.” He glances back at Max with a shy smile. “And you… we haven’t exactly been subtle recently.” 

“Why should we?” Max whispers, his voice suddenly tight. “Why should we have to hide? With all this power at our fingertips…" 

Charles blinks back at him, brow furrowing. “And what’s happened to the man who called me a traitor for using the Force…?”

“I guess it’s like you said,” Max says, stepping close and nuzzling Charles’ nose. “I’m waking up.” 

Charles’ heart swells, and he leans in for another kiss. The Force hums around them, warming from their physical connection. The whining scream of a TIE fighter engine on approach fills the dwelling again, followed by another. Charles steals another kiss before sighing with the heavy weight of resignation. “I can’t let these people suffer anymore, Max.” 

“The garrison that you told me about,” Max whispers against his lips. “They were trying to find you, weren’t they?”

Charles gently shakes his head. “Not me. They wanted my Master. But she fled to save these people and left me here, to save my life, too.” 

“But you’re a Jedi?” 

“Not officially. I was days away from The Trials when the Temple fell… but I have kept the Force by my side and have only continued to grow with it, despite never earning the title of Jedi Master.” 

“But don’t you see, Charles? You don’t have to earn anything.” Max presses another gentle kiss. “You already are a Jedi.” 

The TIE fighters pass overhead, rattling the crockery on the counter and the knife on the cutting board. Charles leans into Max’s embrace, basking in the man’s steadying presence. “That’s why it’s my turn, now.” Charles says, forcing a hard swallow. “Just as my Master did - I cannot let these people suffer the Empire’s presence again.” 

He withdraws from Max’s embrace, abandoning the vegetables and raw fish. Crouching in front of a far cabinet, he digs to the back of the dark shelf. 

Max steps up behind him. “What are you going to do?” 

“Something I should have done a long time ago.” Charles withdraws a roll of crude cloth. He unties the leather strap and unfurls the frayed fabric. The long, metal hilt of a lightsaber gleams in the firelight. 

Max’s eyes widen. “Fuck, Charles. I thought… lightsabers aren’t real.” 

“They’re as real as the Jedi, mon cher.” The pet name in his native language rolls off his tongue as he takes the weapon in hand. His fingers warm from the familiar feel of the grip and muscle memory surges through him. While he’s kept his body in decent physical shape, it’s been a long time since he wielded his weapon. The energy from the crystals runs along his skin, fusing with his own - and he feels more focused than he has in years. 

The throaty roar of approaching TIE fighters again grows in the air, and Charles doesn’t look back. 

Sunlight warms his skin as he steps outside and sights the dark spacecraft on the horizon. Max’s presence follows him out into the swaying grass as he takes position on the hillside. If these TIE fighters are indeed on a scouting mission - looking for signs of suspicious activity - then, Charles intends to give them no cause to suspect anyone else on the planet’s surface. 

The lightsaber hums to life in his hand, vibrating with static as he adopts a defensive position. Even at this distance, the pilots would have to be completely blind to miss the green glowing blade. And while they may be overly confident in their firepower, they don’t know Charles’ strength in the Force. 

“Charles, don’t be stupid!” Max’s words sound distant in Charles’ ears as the TIE fighters accelerate into steep attack dives on a trajectory straight for him. “Their firepower is too much!” 

“Have faith, Max.” Charles calls out, centering his focus and calming his voice. “Use the Force. Trust in it - and you’ll do wonders.”

Twin blasts fire from each TIE, and Charles lets the Force guide him. His body moves, and the lightsaber flies as an extension of his arms. The blasts crash against his blade, threatening his balance as he deflects and repels with rapid accuracy. Grass scorches around him and a stray blast shoots up towards the sky as the TIEs fly past. They curve in banking turns, coming back around for another run. 

Charles’ heart pounds as he gasps for breath. His arms ache with long-forgotten exertion as adrenaline sings in his veins and the Force energizes him. He’s felt more alive in the last weeks than he’s felt in years - and as the fighters line up for another attack run, he realizes that Max has been the catalyst missing from his life. Without Max… how many more years would he have hidden away and denied himself? 

He grips his lightsaber tighter and squares his shoulders for another volley. This one comes just as powerful as the first, and he acts without thinking. The Force sharpens his instincts and the smell of burning grass fills his nose as the blasts deflect off his blade. He watches the fighters swoop low and pass away from him, but they’re hardly finished. They curve around in sharp arcs, on a direct trajectory for him yet again. 

They show no mercy, unleashing a relentless barrage. The energy blasts sizzle and burn around Charles as he moves to deflect and defend. A searing line cuts across his shoulder and distracts his focus just long enough. The scorching heat closes in around him, and the flash of the ion blasts blinds him. He loses his balance, dropping to his knees as the firepower overwhelms him and a scream deafens him. 

“CHAAARLES!” 

* 

The raw cry burns Max’s throat as his heart stops and his arms extend out. He doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice as he watches Charles disappear in a torrent of fire and smoke. Panic paralyzes him as he stares at what surely must be Charles’ lifeless body. 

But as the smoke drifts away, a new scene takes shape. Charles crouches low, lightsaber forgotten on the ground as he holds his hands up. A light-blue, translucent bubble surrounds him, shielding him from the worst of the blast and the smoke. Blood oozes from a mostly cauterized wound on his upper arm and dirt from the chewed up ground splatters his face - but he’s alive. 

Charles is alive . 

He fixes Max with an incredulous stare, eyes wide as the last curls of smoke disappear on the breeze. The Force shield around him winks out as he stands to his full height, turning his gaze from Max’s outstretched hands up to the sky. 

Slowly, Max registers the cold metal of the TIE fighters stinging his skin, the power of the stalled ion engines thrumming in his veins. He follows Charles’ gaze, looking beyond his extended fingers at the two TIE fighters suspended in midair. Each machine shakes in its invisible hold, the engines at full throttle working to break free - but Max holds them completely in his control.

The Force surges through him, and Max can feel everything. The vibrations of the engines, the sharpness of the controls, the static ozone in the air. He closes his eyes, drawing a trembling breath at the heady, powerful sensation that surrounds him. When he reopens them, he’s never had a more singular focus or conviction of purpose. 

“There’s five more ships inbound.” Charles’ voice carries on the breeze. “And a Star Destroyer lurking just beyond them.” 

Keeping a firm hold on the ships, Max turns towards Charles. “How do you know?” 

Charles lifts the corner of his mouth with a self-confident edge. “You’re not the only one who’s powerful, mon cher.” He glances back up at the two TIEs still frozen and motionless in the sky. “Can you fly them?” 

Max extends himself into the pilot’s mind, cutting through the angry confusion to feel the tight grip of the stick. His fingers twitch in familiarity, and fuck … he would swear he’s back in the cockpit. “Yes,” Max answers, breathless at the revelation. “Yes… I can feel it - them. Everything .” 

“Then, we go together. Where you lead,” Charles takes a deep breath, “I will follow.” 

Max turns his attention back to the sky. “I can’t fly all seven of them.” 

“You just focus on the two that you have,” Charles reassures him. “I don’t know how to fly, but the weak-minded are vulnerable to the power of suggestion - and I want them to follow your TIEs.” 

Max nods, adrenaline surging in his blood as his heart soars. With Charles at his side, what won’t they accomplish? “A Star Destroyer’s reactor is poorly shielded - that’s our target.” He wets his top lip, drawing a deep breath. “Are you with me?” 

Charles nods, taking a deep breath as he extends an arm forward, stretching his fingers out. “I’m with you.” 

“We go together.” Max breathes, pulling back on the stick and shooting up towards the edge of the planet’s atmosphere. The force of acceleration pushes him against the bench as he leads the charge and flies the ship as an extension of himself. Each image comes to him so clearly - the Star Destroyer set against the starry black of space, the other TIEs lining up behind him, the glow of the ship’s exhaust ports. The hangar bay doors stand open for their arrival, but he doesn’t slow down. 

None of them do. He squeezes the trigger and ion blasts light up the hangar bay. The fire’s heat scorches his skin as he flies forward, ever onward and continues the attack. His shots land true - so, do Charles’ - and the reactor ignites in spectacular fashion. The conflagration blinds him and skin vaporizes off his bones as the ship disintegrates around him. 

His knees buckle as the connection burns out, and Max collapses to the grass. His head throbs and his muscles tremble from overuse. He heaves for breath as he comes back to himself inside his own body once again. 

Charles’ warmth wraps around him, supporting him, and Max slumps to his embrace. 

“Easy, easy…” Charles soothes, brushing a kiss to his sweat-soaked brow. “I have never seen anyone do something like that… you - you’re incredible, mon cher.” His hold on Max tightens and it’s all Max can do to cling to him. 

“We… we did it together.” Max’s voice comes strained and exhausted. “Without you, I never would have known it was possible.” He basks in Charles’ close presence, in the strength and love that radiates from the leaner man. It speaks to every emotion overflowing in Max’s chest. 

“Well, we’re certainly in it together now.” Charles says softly with a sigh. “The Empire won’t let that attack stand unanswered for long.” 

“No, they won’t.” Max agrees. “We’ll need to leave - but I think you already knew that when you first stepped out with your lightsaber. Fuck, Charles… I’ve never seen anyone be so reckless, yet so sure of what they were doing.” 

Charles hums gently, brushing another kiss to Max’s brow as he cradles him close. “Trust in the Force, and you’ll never need to doubt.” 

“With you at my side,” Max corrects, “I’ll never need to doubt.” 

“Same for me, too, mon cher.” 

The pet name warms Max’s heart even though he has no idea what it means. He makes a mental note to ask sometime, but right now, they need to get moving. Tilting his head up, he meets’ Charles’ lovely eyes. “We need to move. The Empire could already have ground support converging towards us.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but you should really recover your strength first.”

The concern in Charles’ voice tugs a smirk to Max’s lips. “I’m alright, Charles - you… you were the one I thought I’d lost.” 

Charles shakes his head slowly. “It will take more than that for you to lose me.” 

Max clings tighter to him in a moment of vulnerable desperation and draws a deep breath. Whatever he has to do to hold Charles this close for the rest of his days, he will. Nothing else in the galaxy matters. “Come on.” He forces himself to say, working his exhausted muscles back into action. He draws back from Charles’ embrace, glancing around at the scorched earth, at the roiling sea beyond, and the humble dwelling that has sheltered him these past weeks. “I’m almost sad to leave this place… but maybe we'll be able to return one day.” 

“One day…” Charles says wistfully. “Hopefully when the galaxy is free… when we are free.” 

Max shakes his head gently. “One step at a time, mijn snoepje.” He doesn’t know where the words in his native tongue come from, but he can’t think of anything else to call Charles as he pushes unsteadily to his feet. 

Charles moves with him and together they stand, exhausted and satisfied and unified. Charles’ face brightens with a fond smile. “The first of many, I hope.” 

Max’s hand finds Charles’, squeezing it tight as Charles’ words resound in his mind and his heart. “Together," he says. "We go together.”

Fin

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together - Ch. 5

Series Main List

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Ch. 5 Warnings: Explicit NSFW 18+ Smut (including first-time sexual content); explicit language; hurt/comfort; conversations about good and evil; Charles tries his hand at teaching and probably needs help

The crackling fire hones Charles’ focus. His breathing flows, calm and steady, as he sits cross-legged on the floor, losing himself in regular meditation. Or at least… he tries to. But Max’s fidgeting provides a constant distraction. 

The pilot’s impatience stirs the memories of Charles’ early days learning the art of mindful stillness. It hadn’t come easily to him as an energetic youth, but his master was ever patient.

Again, Max shuffles against the floor with a quiet sigh, slicing through Charles’ concentration. Perhaps Charles isn’t nearly as patient as his master, but… well, he can understand that despite the fact that Max sat confined in his cockpit bench for countless missions, the man was hardly sitting still. 

Charles cracks an eye open, watching Max shift against the crude woolen carpet. He sits cross-legged opposite Charles with the shadows of dancing firelight playing handsomely across his face. His mouth pinches in a tight line as he sighs again and stretches his neck. Even if Charles didn’t have the ability to sense the turmoil of emotions roiling inside Max, the pilot’s body language says it all. 

A small lift comes to the corner of Charles’ mouth. “At the risk of sounding like my master,” his voice comes low and rough from recent disuse. “You’re restless tonight.” 

Max’s eyes fly open, flashing with a guilty look - not unlike a child caught sneaking a treat. He blinks for a long, quiet moment as a log in the fireplace pops. “There’s just a lot that’s happened recently,” Max says. “It’s a lot to think about… to understand.” 

Charles hums thoughtfully. “The galaxy is indeed a larger place than we often give it credit - full of wonders, full of new discoveries.”

Max gives a sharp shake of his head. “How can you do that? Is that some special Jedi trick to wax philosophical and think…” He trails off, brow pinching as he struggles to summon more words. 

“It’s not a trick,” Charles says with a gentle shrug. “I guess it’s… well, you could call it perspective. By definition, the Force is an energy field created by life that binds the galaxy together - and the longer that you’re connected to it, the easier it is to understand just how… how small we are compared to the vastness of it all.” 

“So small,” Max echoes with a scoff. “It’s hard to feel small when that power courses through you - when I could practically touch my fighter at the bottom of the sea and feel the cold metal on my fingers.”

Charles’s face falls with concern as he shakes his head. “It’s not about power - that’s…” he breaks off with a sigh, giving another shake of his head. “Now, I’m really going to sound like my master, but you need to understand that there are two sides of the Force, Max. Like day and night, you cannot have one without the other.”

He pauses and raises both hands, holding them flat with palms facing down. Slowly, he overturns his left as he continues. “The path of the light side - which governs the Jedi teachings - is one of knowledge and defense, requiring a Jedi to be calm and at peace.” He pauses again to overturn his right hand. “On the other hand, the negative emotions - fear, jealousy, anger - lead down the path of the dark side which offers false promises of quick, easy power. But for Jedi, it is not this way.” He raises his left hand higher as he drops his right hand. “The light side of the Force guides us, governs us - it reminds us that any ability or power that we possess through it should never be used to cause harm.” 

Max stares back at him, processing Charles’ words. At length, he tilts his head in open contemplation. “But those emotions that you listed - fear and jealousy and such - aren’t those inherent in all of us? So, what - you just suppress that side of yourself?” Max shrugs as if the answer couldn’t be any clearer. “So, how is that any different than using drugs in my air supply to turn off parts of my brain?” 

Charles’ eyebrows climb to his hairline. “Mamma mia,” he laughs in spite of himself. “Did you really just compare the Jedi to the Imperial Starfighter Corps?”

Max shrugs again, unbothered by Charles’ reaction. “Why not? If they both use manipulation to change our natures - to make us forget certain things or not feel certain things, then why would they be any different?”

“Being a Jedi - growing in the teachings of the light side of the Force doesn’t mean that we don’t feel those negative emotions. The teachings just seek to minimize the causes of those emotions.” 

Max scoffs, the corner of his mouth lifting incredulously. “That sounds impossible - and futile. How could they possibly hope to do that?”

Charles wets his top lip, already dreading how the answer will go over. “The teachings emphasize detachment and forbid emotional attachments. If there is no love, there is no hate. If there is no joy, there is no anger.” 

“Listen to yourself, Charles,” Max shakes his head almost pleadingly. “You talk about choosing your own path and the cards we’re dealt not dictating which we choose - yet you live your life like… like a droid?”

“It’s not like that,” Charles says, sighing as he realizes he’s bungled the whole thing. He’s never had to teach anyone before, and surely if his master was still here, she would laugh before stepping in to counsel him. He blinks in rapid succession, searching for words. “I’m clearly not doing a good job of explaining it, I… I’ve never had to explain it before.”

“What about your master?”

Charles’ lips pinch to a tight line before he answers. “She must be long dead by now. At least, I presume so. When she left, I… I knew that she would never come back.” 

“Why did she leave?” Max asks softly. “And why didn’t you leave, too?”

Charles sighs, shaking his head. “I still don’t know how - we were so careful - but the Imperial garrison learned her name and knew that she was hiding here. She said if they didn’t know about me, then she would keep it that way, and so she ran… she ran and I stayed.” 

Max nods. “That’s why you said the Imperial garrison left.” 

Charles matches his nod. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“But you were careful in what you said.” 

A weak smile cracks Charles’ face. “A fine line.” 

Max’s brows knit together as he fixes Charles with a hard look. His azure eyes sparkle in the firelight and heat sparks along Charles’ skin for an entirely different reason. “If you can see the fine line there,” Max says, tilting his head as he studies Charles. “Then why can’t you see it elsewhere? Light, dark - who says it has to be one or the other? Why can’t there be a… grey?” 

“A grey side of the Force?” Charles arches a wry brow. “And who determines what rules -”

“Then, don’t make it about rules,” Max shakes his head imploringly. “If the Jedi are extinct - or nearly extinct - then, what do you owe them?” 

“Plenty. Without the Temple, I wouldn’t have learned-”

“I’ve learned without the Temple,” Max counters. “So, what does that make me? Or does that make you my master?”

Charles wrinkles his nose in distaste. “No, that’s… I’m not your master, and you’re not my apprentice. We’re just…” His words trail off, suddenly lost what to say. A log pops as it collapses, releasing a fresh wave of sparks and accompanying heat from the fireplace. Suddenly, his mind floods with the memory of them in the grass that afternoon - when Max’s body had come alive above his, so hard and visceral and beautiful. He can still hear Max’s heavy breathing against his skin, feel the pounding of the pilot’s heart as their bodies chased that blissful precipice together. 

Max’s sigh sounds in the silence. “Don’t play the hypocrite now, Charles.” He softly chides. “You got me to see that I was… well, that I have these abilities by making me angry and frustrated. And you didn’t think that was wrong?” 

“I knew it went against my teachings, but it…” Again, he trails off, raising his gaze to Max’s. The pilot’s eyes burn with such blunt conviction, seeking to understand without judgment. Charles sighs, forcing a hard swallow. “I knew it was a risk, but I didn’t know just how powerful you are…. Or that you would be so taken by that power.” 

Max shrugs. “And how could you? You don’t know anything about me.” 

Slowly, Charles nods. “That is true,” he concedes softly. “I don’t know you that well… but even still, I don’t believe that you’ll turn to the dark side. Being frustrated at me is one thing, but…” He trails off, a flush coming to his cheeks as he loses himself in Max’s eyes for the space of a breath. “But I don’t think that’s who you really are.” 

Something sad and lost flashes in Max’s eyes. It disappears as fast as it formed, swept away as the pilot blinks and his gaze falters from Charles’. He shakes his head weakly. “I guess… well, I’m not sure who I am. At least, not anymore.” He draws a sharp breath. “I was a pilot, I was a soldier. I lived for the fight, I lived for the corps… and now…” 

“Now, you can live for what you want.” Charles’ mouth teases a soft smile. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.” 

“But knowing what you want…” Max’s gaze strays back to Charles’ with an uncharacteristically hesitant edge. “How do you know what you want?"

Charles purses his lips, exhaling an uncertain breath. He shakes his head, trying to collect his thoughts. "I've never been asked before… never had to explain it, I guess. It's-" he breaks off with another sigh as heat grows beneath his collar. Max really needs to stop looking at him so earnestly. "I keep the Force as my guide - that's how… I found you. And every instinct since you crashed just… still leads me to you."

The air sizzles as energy arcs between them. Charles' skin buzzes as the Force hums around him, reassuring him in the tenuous moment. Nothing has ever felt so right and Charles has never felt more at peace, more sure of himself. He lowers his last defense, offering everything that he has to Max’s soul-piercing gaze. “I’ve never told anyone who I am… what I am,” Charles’ voice turns thready before working a swallow down his dry throat. “But you…? There’s nothing I want to hide from you. Can I… may I…” his words stall as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. “... kiss you?” 

The blue of Max’s eyes disappears in dark dilated pools of hunger as he stares back at Charles, breathing hard. A look of confusion pinches his face, and Charles wants to do everything he can to erase it. “Kiss…” Max repeats with uncertainty as a stern wrinkle appears between his eyes. “I-I don’t know what that is.” 

Bashful heat burns Charles’ cheeks as he fights the urge to dip his head modestly, but the last thing he wants to do is make Max feel uncomfortable. He holds Max’s gaze for another breath before slowly, deliberately glancing down at Max’s mouth. “A kiss is when… well, it’s just a touch of the lips, really.” Slowly, he reaches out for one of Max’s hands that rests in his lap. He broadcasts his movement, encouraged when Max doesn’t pull away from the touch of his fingers. “A kiss can be placed on the back of a person’s hand in greeting.” He draws Max’s hand forward and bows his head to brush a kiss along Max’s knuckles. 

His heart lodges in his throat as sparks shoot down his spine. He thinks he might even hear Max’s breath catch at the gentle touch, but he can’t be sure over the rush of blood in his ears. Charles lifts his eyes, captivated by the awestruck desire overtaking Max’s face. He runs his tongue along his top lip before continuing. “A kiss can also be,” he eases forward, settling to kneel beside Max while still holding his hand. “Placed on a person’s brow, more reverently - like bestowing a blessing or an apology or… offering comfort.” Charles lifts up ever so slightly, breath catching as Max dips his head on instinct. His lips brush Max’s brow, breathing in the scent of salty sea air on Max’s skin. A shuddering breath passes through Charles as the Force connection burns brighter and everything within him sings at the moment’s beautiful, overwhelming perfection. 

Max trembles beneath his touch, and through Charles’ spinning thoughts, he wonders if Max burns with the same intensity. Inhaling Max’s scent deep into his lungs, Charles finds his voice. “But a kiss to a person’s mouth… lips touching lips,” Charles’ words rumble in a low, whispered register as he brushes the tip of his nose against Max’s forehead. “That kiss… is one of attraction. Of desire… and love.” His nose trails down Max’s cheek, his shallow breaths grazing Max’s skin. “And that,” he continues softly, turning in towards Max slowly. “Is the kiss that I want to give you.” 

Max turns his head towards Charles’, and they breathe the same air as they brace against each other. The pilot trembles as Charles adjusts his hand to interlace their fingers in another blindingly blissful point of contact. “I-I don’t understand,” Max whispers, voice thready. “Why… what are you doing to me? It - it feels…” 

“For me, it feels good, Max,” Charles rushes to help. “It feels like everything that was missing in my life. It feels like sunlight after eternal winter. It feels like freedom after years of imprisonment. It… I don’t know if it is like this for you, too?” 

Max nods against him, squeezing Charles’ hand tight as if he would otherwise disappear. “Yes - yes, it feels like all of that. And more… like it… like it did that afternoon. In the grass.” 

Charles returns the gentle, reassuring nod. “Yes, that… love and desire isn’t just an emotional connection. It’s physical, too.” With their fingers still enclosed, he guides Max’s hand to his lap, loosening his hold as he brushes Max’s long fingers against his erection. “You’re not alone in this,” he whispers heavily. “This is just the start of how good you make me feel.” 

A whimper pitches in Max’s throat and Charles’ heart nearly stops. Every nerve-ending hovers on the razor’s edge of anticipation as his body yearns to press flush against Max, to learn what other delicious sounds he can coax from the pilot’s lips, to see Max abandon himself to the throes of pleasure buried deep inside Charles. But only if that’s what Max wants, of course. Physical intimacy comes with time, and Max has had such a whirlwind journey… despite whatever fierce, unknown connection burns between them, Charles still tries to keep himself in check. 

But as Max’s curious fingers squeeze around his erection, an answering, needy whimper passes Charles’ lips. The endless moment stretches as they breathe together, drowning as the Force arcs powerfully between them and the fire overheats their skin. 

Charles bites his bottom lip, nuzzling against Max’s cheek as Max’s fingers continue to learn the hard shape of him. “You asked me… how do I know what I want… well, what do you want, Max?” 

Max crushes their mouths together with the same raw, inelegant strength that he possessed when his fighter crashed into the sea. When he crashed into Charles’ life and upended everything Charles thought he knew. The hungry kiss is clumsy in its eagerness before they find a passionate push and pull of lips as they melt together. Charles’ heart takes flight as he licks along the seam of Max’s mouth, swallowing the pilot’s groan when their tongues meet with deep, velvety strokes. A white-hot piece of his soul snaps into place, anchoring him in the orbit of Max’s energy with visceral force. 

The breath punches from his lungs when Max lunges forward - as if physically unable to be apart any longer - and his back hits the floor. His hands instantly reach to pull Max down, spreading his legs to welcome the solid press of Max’s lean hips. Their mouths fuse as their bodies come together, nearly overcome from the raw emotional connection and the burning physical connection. 

“Charles, Charles, Charles,” Max pants sloppily against Charles’ lips as their bodies roll together. “You… I don’t know…” A stab of frustration creases his brow, and a phantom tendril of it ignites in Charles’ chest. “What do I do now?” 

Charles sends a wave of reassuring love and comfort through the connection that sings between them. Immediately, the tension in Max’s shoulders eases as he melts against Charles, shuddering as Charles cards a hand through the sweat-damp hair along his nape. Charles presses a tender kiss to Max’s lips. “You do what feels good… and like this, it will feel good for me, too.” He brushes another kiss to the corner of Max’s mouth and against his jaw. “If you want to stay clothed, we can. If you want to undress, we can. If you…” His mouth goes dry with a shudder of anticipation. “If you want my hand on you, we can. If you want my mouth on you - or if you want to be inside… me, then you can have me.” 

A cry lodges in Max’s throat as his hips grind down hard. Charles’ vision whites-out with temporary blinding desire as his hand tightens in Max’s hair. The moment already hangs with such overwhelming intimacy - far more intense than Charles’ ever experienced with a partner - and maybe it’s too much to want Max so deep inside him. But some part of Max has invaded his soul and burrowed in his heart, so it only makes sense. 

Max groans as he seeks out Charles’ mouth for another sloppy kiss, pouring out his vigor without care for finesse. “All of it,” he pants heavily. “With you… I want all of it, Charles.” 

Charles nods. “Yes, Max, yes… all of it - with time. It can’t… we won’t be able to have it all right now. If you,” he pauses to work a swallow down his throat and try to catch his breath. “I would choose to have you inside me… that’s what I want more than anything.” 

The growl that punches from Max’s chest bypasses every thought in Charles’ brain, speaking to the fire burning in his veins and the light shining in his soul. He wraps a leg around Max’s backside in open encouragement as they roll together, unwilling to part for the space between breaths. 

Max’s breath burns as he hungrily nips along Charles’ jaw. “H-how can we do that?”

The memory of how Charles’ body responded in his youth doesn’t account for the passage of time. It nearly takes more patience than Charles possesses in his hyper-stimulated state, hissing through clenched teeth as he wills his body to relax against the intrusion of his slick fingers. But as his fingers seek and locate the familiar, spine-melting bundle of nerves with him, Max devours his rapturous expression. 

Their sweat-slicked skin sticks together as Charles finally pulls his fingers free and coaxes Max close, aligning their bodies in a final moment of heart-stopping anticipation. But as Max pushes inside, sliding home in a blissful wave of euphoria that nearly sends them both over the edge, Charles has never seen anyone so beautiful nor felt so achingly, perfectly full - from his body to his heart to his soul. 

He finds Max’s mouth as they rock together, souls intertwining and bodies moving to transcend words - and the hearth flames intensify to one blinding burst of heat before plunging them into darkness as they hurtle through mind-numbing release. 

Series Main List

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together - Ch. 4

Series Main List

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Ch. 4 Warnings: Explicit language; hurt/comfort; discussion of war and death; forced drug addiction (by the Imperial Navy) and associated withdrawal; family separation; Charles tries his hand at teaching and probably needs help

A dark-haired woman floats in front of him. She radiates beautiful life and pure love, warming Max's skin even though he isn't touching her. Despite her comforting presence, her tearful sobs ring in his ears and a shrill cry echoes from behind her. 

"No, mama!" A small blonde specter wails. "Noooo!”

He reaches out for them, but a heavy, immobilizing weight clamps onto his shoulder. A solid, black-gloved hand restrains him, and he is powerless. He twists to try and break free, but the weight grows heavier and spreads down his chest. 

"No, schatje," the dark-haired woman coos through soft sobs. "This day always had to come… for the Empire." 

He struggles to lessen the crushing weight, horrified to watch the black-gloved handprint grow into a shadow that swallows up his torso. 

"Mama." His own voice calls out, weak compared to the little girl's deafening cries. "Mama!" 

Again he tries to reach out for her, finding only air as the heavy shadow crawls up his neck. He opens his mouth to scream and the darkness invades with acrid bitterness. His chest heaves as the woman and young girl sob, and he chokes against the fullness in his throat. 

"Rest now, mate." An elegantly soothing, otherworldly voice drifts over the cacophony as the shadow consumes him. "It's alright." 

*

Charles has long forgotten his book. The growing waves of distress from Max ricochet off the dwelling walls, and he senses the awakening jolt of the pilot’s mind before movement catches his gaze. 

Max thrashes against the bed covers as he bolts upright on instinct. Sweat beads on his brow as he gulps for breath, frantically running his hands across his face and chest as if to confirm he’s still in one piece. He looks utterly lost, and his heart thunders through the panic, echoing in Charles’ ears.

Wide crystal blue eyes lock to his in the dim firelight, and Charles summons a kind smile. "You're alright, Max. You're safe." He says quietly, setting the book aside on the tabletop. "Whatever nightmare you had, it's over now."

"What was that?" Max demands sharply. "It felt so-” He breaks off with a long, almost sad sigh. “That wasn't… that wasn't just a nightmare." 

Charles purses his lips thoughtfully. "What do you remember before you fell asleep?"

Max's brow furrows, hands tensing in visible frustration. He shakes his head as his lips curl with a snarl. "I don't remember… I -" He cuts himself off with a groan as his fists clench helplessly. "What is happening to me?"

Charles slowly stands from the table, not wanting to startle the distraught man. "Your mind - your memory, even - has been suppressed for so long. And now…" he shrugs, saying the only thing he can think of. "Now, you're finally free. You’re starting to remember."

“I don’t want to remember.” The line of Max’s jaw tightens with visible frustration. “I didn’t ask for any of this.” 

“The universe seldom asks us what we want.” Charles’ tone is darker than he would like, but the memories of his own past cut deep. “We’re dealt the cards we’re given and our only choice is how to play them.” 

Max shoots him an angry, helpless glare.“I knew how I wanted to play them. I didn’t need you to interfere. And I certainly didn’t need you to… to…” A blush tinges his cheeks as his voice trails off. “I didn’t need you to… make my body react the way it did… before…” 

Charles' breath catches as hopeful anticipation lights his face. “You remember what happened now?” 

Max nods sharply. “It’s coming back to me… slowly. In the grass. When we… fuck, I don’t even know how to say it.” 

Charles hides his sad amusement at the irony of Max’s words. How is it possible that he knows the crude name for the physical act without knowing about the act itself? "If the drugs they gave you prevented you from feeling the joy of physical pleasure all these years, then I have even less love for the Empire.” 

Angry, embarrassed conflict rages on Max’s firelit face. He shakes his head, opening his mouth - but no words come. His shoulders shake as he struggles for words. 

But Charles doesn’t draw the moment out. “No one should take the physical ability to love from you. Especially not without your consent.” 

“Is that what we did?” Max scoffs. “Love?” 

“It’s one way to say it - that we… made love.” His own cheeks heat to say the words so frankly. Even if they technically didn’t really make love, Chales will still count it for the purposes of this conversation. “It’s a special moment and feeling to share with someone, and I… well, thank you for the privilege of your first.” 

Max glowers at Charles with a defensive snarl. “You have done nothing but thank me for everything that you’ve taken from me.” A new light sparks in his clear eyes. “Is that how you make yourself feel better about it?” 

Charles arches a brow against the wave of distrust that ripples through the room. “You had me pinned to the ground, and you say that I took that moment from you?” He gives a weak shake of his head. “You could have rolled away at any moment, mate.” 

Max shakes his head in defiance, biting his lower lip as he squeezes his eyes shut. ���You lie, you… manipulate-” 

“I am not one of your masters. Nor am I an Imperial deserter.” Charles firmly interjects. “As difficult as this is for you to accept on top of everything else: the moment that we shared together was something that you wanted. It was something that your body craved like… breathing, like eating.” He softens his tone, taking another careful step towards the bed. “It’s not caused by any drug or manipulation. It’s just… our bodies responding to each other - as our bodies should do. Without shame, without judgment. Without suppression.”  

“You’re wrong.” Max insists, even as the fight drains from his voice. “You… you can’t possibly know what you’re talking about.” 

Charles pads over on silent footsteps, gently crouching down alongside the bed. He looks up into Max’s icy eyes that glitter with firelight as he speaks softly. “There are so many paths that we can walk in this life, and the cards we are dealt don’t dictate which one we choose. And now… you are finally free to choose.” 

Rage flashes in Max’s eyes. “You’re a naive fool if you believe that.” 

Charles huffs a breathy laugh, face warming with a smile. “Perhaps… but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” 

“A belief like that will get you killed.” Max shakes his head, turning away in obvious disgust. “You’re… you’re no better than a Jedi.” 

Surprise flashes in Charles’ eyes as the hair on the back of his neck rises. Has he overplayed his hand? Does Max truly suspect? Charles wets his top lip in a moment of consideration. He can feel the restless energy buzzing along Max’s skin, begging for release - but how much can Charles risk pushing his luck? At length, he takes a deep breath. “How… how would you know?” He asks, carefully searching Max’s face. “Have you ever met one?” 

Max shakes his head. “No, never. But their naïve dogma resulted in their extinction.” 

Charles allows himself a gentle nod. “The path of a Jedi may not be allowed under the current galactic rule, but Force-sensitive people are still born every day.” He softens his tone, taking careful measure of Max’s reaction. “Many people have that gift - not all of them were identified before the Jedi Temple fell, and most don't know how to recognize it even if they do have it.” 

Max scoffs. “It’s better for them that way, since it’s illegal.” 

“It’s hard to outlaw something inherent to one’s nature.” Charles smiles kindly. “It’s… it’s not something that you can see or touch. But… it’s a feeling when you meet a person. Or enter a room.” Charles takes a breath, trusting the Force that guides him, and stretches out with his feelings. “A connection - a sense that… you’re not alone.” He sends a wave of reassuring comfort, letting it wrap around Max in a gentle embrace.

The pilot draws a trembling breath, shoulders shaking with the movement as conflicted panic erupts on the other end of the tenuous connection. He snaps his gaze to Charles’ as realization blazes in his blue depths. “You,” Max gasps. “… You are one of them.” 

Charles says nothing, letting the connection that spans between them speak for itself. He’s never been so bold to expose himself like this, but even though his heart pounds in the vulnerable moment, the Force warms him with reassurance.

“I knew it,” Max insists as aggression spikes in the air. “You’re one of them - you’re a naïve fool and a traitor. I knew it!” He channels all of his rage towards Charles as he lunges forward.

Charles springs to his full height and out of reach just as Max leaps to his feet. Every instinct goes on high alert as his senses snap into sharp focus. Max stands before him now - an admittedly intimidating figure in the small confines of Charles’ dwelling, but Charles hardly fears him. 

With a slow movement, Charles extends his left arm, aiming two fingers and his thumb at Max as a visual warning. The last thing he wants to do is escalate, but Max needs to understand the power at Charles’ command. “I can take you down from here if I have to,” Charles’ voice holds a firm edge. “Please don’t give me a reason to.” 

Max’s right hand balls to a tight fist. “You lied to me - just as I always knew you were!” He seethes as rage suffocates the air. “You say that they lie, that they manipulate, yet you’re no fucking better!” 

“Then, act on it,” Charles breathes in the tenuous moment as his instincts guide him forward. “I can see it in your eyes - how much you want it.” Distantly, he registers the slippery slope that he treads, but maybe… if this is the way for Max to finally understand, then so be it. “You can feel it, right? The energy burning beneath your skin? The power yearning to be unleashed?” Charles continues, watching the tense line of Max’s shoulders for any hint of movement. “You want to make me regret pulling you from the sea? You want to make me regret everything I’ve taken from you? Then, do it… reach out. Don’t hold back, and let it flow through you.” He locks his eyes to Max’s as he drops his voice. “Make me pay. Make me pay for all of it.” 

An inhuman roar punches from Max’s chest as his right hand flies forward. A wall of energy slams Charles in the chest and his feet lift from the floor. He crashes against the table as wood splinters and pottery shatters.

The aftershock of the blow permeates the air as Charles’ head spins, trying to collect his breath through the blooming ache in his back. He stares up at Max in equal parts shock and awe - just as Max stares back at him, stunned and horrified. 

Charles can’t hold back his proud smile. “It’s alright, Max,” he calls out as he groans and rolls to his knees. “That’s… that’s exactly what I wanted. Well,” he glances around at the destruction that litters his home, “maybe not quite so much damage, but you did just what I asked.” He hits Max with the full force of his approval and wide smile. “I knew that you had it in you. I could feel it.” 

Max stares down at his hand as if he’s never seen it before. “I don’t… I don’t want it. It’s wrong… it’s illegal.” 

“Being Force-sensitive is not illegal.” 

“Being a Jedi is illegal.” 

“Just because you’re strong in the Force doesn’t make you a Jedi. Only training can do that.” 

“Just stop, Charles.” Max’s voice tightens as if he’s on the verge of tears. “You… nothing you can say will fix this. They’ll…” He trails off, face falling as his shoulders sink. “I can never go back, can I?” 

“Honestly?” Charles shrugs, ignoring the twinge of sore muscles as he pushes to his feet. “Maybe they have a drug that could make you forget, that could numb those parts of your mind and your being. But after tasting freedom, why would you willingly surrender back to your cage?” 

Max continues to blink down at his hand, working a visible swallow down his throat. He looks utterly lost as he continues to process the situation, and Charles resists the urge to wrap him in a physical hug and soothe the worry on his brow. It's striking how impossibly young and vulnerable Max looks, such a contrast to the intimidating image he presented a few minutes ago. 

Charles’ heart clenches as a question stirs in his mind. He takes a cautious step forward before wetting his top lip. “How long has it been? Since you’ve been in the Imperial Starfighter Corps?” 

Max gives a weak shake of his head. “I don’t know… since I was very young, I think.” He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as his voice tightens. “I think that was my nightmare… my memory.” 

Charles’ face softens with kind concern. “Are you willing to tell me?”

Max’s tongue darts out to wet his top lip before he draws a shaky breath. “I think it was my mother… and a sister. I was being taken and they were crying… and I was powerless to get away. Just too small…” 

Charles nods gently, musing to himself. “When all that you’ve known of life is a cage, how do you possibly recognize it as a cage?” He nibbles his bottom lip, determination rising in his chest. “Max… I understand that change is scary and uncertain - your whole word has turned upside down again for the second time in nearly as many days. But please know: there’s such a wider world out there for you and it only takes small steps to get started.” The uncertain moment hangs by a thread as Max’s eyes find Charles’ in the dim firelight, desperate for a lifeline. Affection stirs in Charles’ chest as he offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “After all,” he says softly. “Every journey - no matter how big or small - starts with a first step.” 

Max shakes his head, dejection heavy on his voice. “I don’t even know where to begin.” 

Charles’ breath catches in his chest. “Let me show you.” 

Max sits in the grass, letting the sea breeze ruffle his hair. He closes his eyes and hones his focus. The meditation routine that Charles taught him should be simple - sometimes it is, and other times… well, he just needs to be still and let the Force flow through him. 

No matter how much a derisive voice sniggers in the back of his mind.

He focuses on the grass swaying in rhythm with the wind. On the solid, weighty presence of the small rock pile at his side, letting it ground him as his presence expands. The rolling waves of the distant sea run along his skin, crashing into the shore to match the steady beat of his heart. 

He reaches out through the connection, letting himself move through the environment. The rocks become weightless and the grass stands ready at his command. The sea waves part and down - deep down - cold metal stings his skin. It’s familiar like a long lost ghost - a shadow of his past shrouded in the sea’s crushing depths. The contours of his hard metal bench now only hold passing currents and the ion engines rot in the salt water. 

It’s the worst grave for his fighter. 

Metal vibrates as he strains to touch it. The icy cold sears his skin with such visceral feeling - and if he can feel it, he can will it. The metal shakes and groans in relief - or perhaps, in protest. He can’t tell but he doesn’t care. 

“You’re powerful.” Charles’ voice breaks his concentration. “But maybe not powerful enough for that yet.” 

Max’s eyes fly open as the connection is severed. He comes back to himself, dry and warm under the sun. His chest heaves with deep breaths, sweat beading on his brow as he stares out over the rolling waves. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he glances up at Charles. “You could feel that? What I was doing?” 

Charles offers a shy smile. “If anyone else on this planet is Force-sensitive, I’m sure that they felt it, too. Even if they couldn’t explain it.” 

Max purses his lips, staring back out over the sea. “I don’t understand… it-” He breaks off with a sigh, shaking his head. “It felt so real. So close. As if I were just… touching it.”

“You were.” Charles says, folding himself to sit in the grass next to Max. The sunlight plays in his green eyes, somehow more vibrant than the grassy knoll that surrounds them. “The first time that I found you sitting here - glaring out at the water - I wondered if you knew that there was a power that could lift your ship from the water. Even that day, I thought… that such power could reside in you.” 

“How could you possibly know that?” 

“As you’re learning - the Force is a connection to the world around us.” Charles says as a smile teases his lips. “And I felt… a connection to you before you even crashed. The Force led me to you in the water - helped me find you in the depths.” 

“But you’re...” Max trails off, his eyes skimming down Charles’ body as if it’s the answer. “I suppose that does explain how you pulled me from the water.” 

Charles’ eyes flash with teasing mischief. “Just because you’re broader than me doesn't mean that you’re stronger than me.” 

Despite himself, Max smiles. It feels awkward and his muscles protest the unusual movement, yet… something about it feels right. A new, warm sensation rises in his chest - one that increases the longer he lingers with Charles and stays in the man’s home.

Flattery, he thinks. Or is it… attraction? 

So much about Charles is… well, attractive. 

The fluttering feeling builds in his chest as heat rises in his cheeks. He quickly turns away, hoping that Charles won’t have noticed or felt anything unusual coming from him. Wetting his lip, he scans out over the water. “Is there a way to know?” He asks. “To learn just how powerful I am? Or is it a relative scale - maybe I can control my fighter but I can’t control a planet?” 

“It’s not about control.” Charles corrects gently. “It's a feeling - it’s a connection. It’s... harnessing the energy field around you and channeling it.” 

“Influence, then.” Max amends with a careful shrug. “Is there a limit to how much I can influence? Just my ship? Other people?” 

Charles shakes his head gently. “You’re walking a fine line with that kind of talk.” He runs a hand through his curls that glow a lovely auburn in the light. “If the Temple were still… well, just still - there are blood scans that can be done to measure just how Force-sensitive you are. That’s a basis, but by no means a limitation. Our ability to keep the Force as our ally, to learn from it - to trust the instincts that it gives us - that’s the real power.” 

The corners of Max’s mouth pinch. “But I felt my ship - it felt so real - and I… I willed it to…” His words fail him in a moment of uncertainty. He doesn’t know exactly what he willed it to do - the ship isn’t exactly space-worthy anymore. But the memories of the metal on his skin and the controls as if he was seated in the cramped cockpit… those have to mean something. 

Charles’ sun-warmed hand finds his. The shock of skin-on-skin contact makes his breath catch as the Force sparks between them. A thrill of anticipation runs down his spine to curl low in his belly, and he never wants Charles to let go. He widens the spread of his fingers, heart glowing as Charles twines their fingers. With a gentle squeeze, Max feels another smile overtake his face. 

“It will come.” Charles’ gentle words float on the breeze. “It will come.”

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together - Ch. 3

Series Main List

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Ch. 3 Warnings: Explicit NSFW 18+ Smut (first-time, slight dub-con, frottage); explicit language; hurt/comfort; head wound; discussion of war and death; forced drug addiction (by the Imperial Navy) and associated withdrawal; family separation; Charles tries his hand at teaching and probably needs help

He doesn’t know why he’s still here. The storm broke in the day’s early hours, and even though thick grey clouds still blanket the sky, there’s nothing holding him here. Except… he doesn’t bring himself to move from where he sits on the green, grassy expanse that overlooks the churning sea below. 

The grave of his fighter. And by all rights, it should be his grave, too. 

But instead, he sits just outside the dwelling of the man who saved him, and the strong onshore wind fills his lungs with brackish air. He’s never given a second thought to small, suffocating spaces, but there's just… something about being surrounded by so much open wilderness. Something that whispers along his skin, something that surrounds him and scratches at his soul.

But maybe that’s also Charles’ fault. The man has been nothing but overgenerous, whether in his portions of food or procurement of clothing that fits his broader frame. Nor in sharing his wild theories about TIE pilots’ conditioned mental and physical states… nor in his inquisitive looks with those bright green eyes.

He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen their equal. Not... not that he’s ever thought to look before. 

“I like it.” Charles interrupted gently, flashing a warm, appreciative smile. “It suits you, Max.” 

His frown deepens. He still doesn’t know what to make of that name, either. 

Max. 

At least it’s simple and direct. And, loathe as he is to admit it, Charles’s rationale behind the origin of it does make some sense. But does he dare actually consider using it? Perhaps it would be helpful to ward against any anti-Imperial sentiments as he works his way back to the nearest outpost. Or perhaps it could prove equally useful to root out traitors and rebels and bring them justice. 

A strange, uncomfortable feeling rots in his stomach at the thought. His jaw tenses with frustrated uncertainty as he stares harder out at the sea, watching waves crash into the jagged shoreline. Even with the worst of the supposed withdrawal behind him and the bandage removed from his head, he still doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. 

Why does he notice things that he previously hasn’t? Why does he have doubts that he’s never harbored before? Why is he so absent of that determined clinical drive and instead just content to sit here in the grass as the breeze ruffles his hair? 

His hand clenches at his side in a rush of unbidden muscle-memory reflex. A stab of irritation lances through him as he glares down at it and forces himself to stretch out his fingers, to roll out the tense line of his jaw. He winces at the ache in his muscles and joints as if… as if they’d been locked in tension for so long that they don’t know any other way to exist. 

Another sour wave rolls through his stomach and he swallows against a suddenly dry throat, darting his gaze back out over the midnight sea. 

Maybe… just maybe Charles is right…

But that thought conjures other disturbing, more concerning questions. If Charles is indeed telling the truth, then just how exactly did Charles acquire this knowledge? How can Charles possibly know what the Imperial Starfighter Corps did to him when he himself didn’t even have a clue? He closes his eyes and tries to focus on what he knows about Charles, to find some hint that might betray him. But the only thing that comes to mind is Charles’ unusual, bewitching accent. 

Now that he thinks about it, Charles' accent isn’t far from the elegant, rounded tones of Corulag. Indeed, wouldn’t Charles be the model Corulag Imperial Military Academy student all buttoned up in the severe uniform tunic with his unruly curls tamed by the boxy, standard-issue hat.

That would indeed explain how Charles knows so much. 

His jaw tenses again as a wave of anger rises within him. He may have been at Charles’ mercy since crash landing here - but that’s all going to change. He refuses to let this rotten deserter succeed in abandoning his duty. 

Maybe arriving at the Imperial Output with a worthless traitor as his prisoner will quickly help restore him to active flight status. That’s all he wants, really.  

He isn’t dead. He will keep flying. 

Staring out at the sea, he wills his ship to rise and ignores the disconcerting itch that grows along his skin in response.

Charles walks across the grass, curls catching in the strong onshore wind. It brings the smell of distant rain and ozone, promising another storm on approach. 

He hefts his satchel, adjusting the strap on his shoulder as he crests the hill towards his seaside dwelling. While living at the Jedi Temple - in the middle of a city planet - his youthful fantasy of living on the coast of a sea had been nothing more than a far-fetched dream. But if there is one insignificant upside to exile and extinction, then maybe his cozy, seaside abode is it. 

As he approaches the familiar dark outline, he sees the sharp figure of the pilot. Max sits in the grass with his knees bent, long arms resting atop the joints as he stares out at the rolling, dark blue waves. 

Max’s face betrays his thoughts about the sunken fighter, as does the confused conflict mixed with a strange determination that rolls off him through the Force. No doubt, if Max could recover his ship, he’d fly away just as quickly as he arrived, and the thought piques Charles' curiosity. 

Just how much does Max know about the Force? Does he know that such feats are indeed possible? Does he feel Charles' emotions buzzing along his skin with the same energy as he can feel Max’s? But even if he does, does he know what it means? 

Shoving a hand in his pocket, Charles strolls over towards Max, careful to keep his stride open and easy. Every Force-sensitive nerve ending in him lights up as he stops alongside Max. “I’m glad to see you outside,” he says, looking out over the churning water. “The fresh air is good for you.” 

“Even if it is,” Max sharply answers without looking at him. “I told you that I wasn’t staying.” 

Charles nods for a quiet moment before speaking. “Where will you go?” 

“The nearest Imperial Outpost, of course.” 

"That will still be easier to do with a name, Max." He glances down tentatively. "Have you given that some more thought?"

The pilot's face is disconcertingly neutral as he gives a perfunctory nod. "It is serviceable." 

It's a better answer than Charles has hoped for. A grin tugs at his lips. "I'm glad to hear that. Well, now that you have a name… you'll also need credits for a transport."

Max shakes his head tersely. “Any citizen of the Empire should do their duty to ensure that I can do mine.” 

Charles bites back the wry edge of his smirk. "That kind of loyalty isn't always easy to find here in the outer rim.” 

“Anyone who stands in my way is guilty of treason.” 

Charles blinks down at Max in a moment of consideration before dropping his gaze to the grass and shuffling his feet. He pulls a hand from his pocket, rubbing a non-existent itch on the tip of his nose. “We used to have a garrison here. Some years ago." He says gently. "With full ground and air support.” 

Max’s face visibly perks as he fixes his sharp eyes on Charles. In the muted, cloudy light, those crystal blue depths threaten to drown him and the Force whispers for him to dive in without remorse. A startling, primal connection to this man snaps in place, making Charles' blood run cold. It doesn't make sense - never before has the Force ever compelled him so strongly towards another person. But the longer he loses himself in Max's eyes - just as beautiful as the sea, and just as tempestuous - the more he realizes that the Force has brought Max into his life for a reason.

If only he understands what that reason is.

The silence stretches out, and with a sigh to calm his restless thoughts, Charles lowers to sit in the grass. He folds his legs underneath him as Max's hard gaze never waivers. It should probably be unnerving how much the pilot stares at him, but Charles has become accustomed to it. 

Max’s curious voice carries on the wind. “What did the inhabitants of this planet do to warrant a full garrison? That’s a lot of firepower.” 

Charles wets his upper lip, remembering those dark days all too well. “Rumor had it that they offered sanctuary to an exiled Jedi Knight.” 

Max’s face hardens. “If they were indeed harboring an enemy of the Empire, a posted garrison sounds merciful.” 

“Their ruthless hunt was anything but merciful.” 

Max hums quietly, turning away in a moment of consideration before speaking. “I guess the rumors must have been inaccurate since the garrison detached and this world continued to survive.” He blinks back over at Charles. “Did you hear why the garrison left?” 

Charles’ throat tightens. “Rumor was…" his voice trails off as he forces a hard swallow. “Rumor was that they found the Jedi Knight in question dead on another planet.” 

“Master, this doesn’t make sense - please.” Charles pleaded, looking at the taller woman as she stuffed a satchel with food and clothing. 

“I will not stay and endanger these people, Charles. And us traveling together will raise even more suspicion.” Her words were muffled by the clanking of metal tins filled with preserved fish as she packed her bag. “The Empire knows my name, and they know that I’m here. If they don’t know about you, then I would have it stay that way.” 

Charles drew a shaky breath, still trying to make sense of the situation. “Will… will you come back for me?” 

Her movements slowed as she turned to him with a hesitant, fond smile. “If the Force wills it, I shall return once it is safe to do so. But be honest with yourself, my dear Padawan - you’ve been ready to face the galaxy on your own for some time now.” 

He fought back the rising disappointment and accompanying restless sigh, unable to deny the truth of her words. 

Her smile filled out as she stepped closer. “I know that you’re disappointed, Charles. Any Padawan on the precipice of taking the Trials would feel the same. If it were my decision, you would already bear the title of Jedi Knight.” Her purple eyes sparkled with familiar, caring encouragement. “You’re more ready than you’ll ever know - and you're certainly a more diligent student and Padawan than I was at your age.” 

Charles’ cheeks flushed. “Thank you, master. That’s… high praise. Especially considering that I… I may never be a Knight now, and I… I don’t wish to fail you.” 

“And that’s how I know that you’ll stay true in the difficult days ahead.” She placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Remember your training and keep the Force as your guide. Grow with it, learn from it, keep it as your ally - and you will not have failed me.” 

“Good.” Max’s voice jars Charles from the memory as the pilot nods sharply. “Traitors to the Empire don't deserve to live.” 

Charles’ eyes narrow, but he swallows his bitter tone. “Traitors who betray their allegiance should be held accountable, but I have never believed that of the Jedi Order.” 

Max stiffens, his face creasing with surprised displeasure. A thrill of satisfaction flares in Charles’ chest. If Max has indeed spent his entire life with the Empire’s dogma rammed down his throat, then he’s long overdue to learn the truth and gain some perspective. 

At length, Max’s gaze turns decisively murderous. “Then, I would have to call you a hypocrite.” 

Charles doesn’t see the pilot move, but the energy in the air tenses and shifts. Max’s solid weight crashes into him, knocking him over into the grass. The back of Charles’ head connects with the hard ground, a grunt punching from his chest as Max bears down on him. His thighs are bracketed on either side by the pilot’s knees as the broader man looms over him, a hand tight around his throat. 

“You talk about allegiance,” Max hisses. “But you’ve overplayed your hand, traitor.”

Charles stares up into Max's mesmerizing stormy gaze, shaking his head feebly against the pilot’s grip. “I am not a traitor, mate.” 

“I am not your mate.” Max squeezes a little harder, shifting to straddle Charles’ upper thighs and gaining leverage to better immobilize him. “I do not befriend fucking deserters.” 

“Deserter…?” Charles repeats, voice rough and eyes wide. “Of all the ridiculous nons-” His words choke off as Max jerks his head against the ground. 

“You know too much to fool me.” The words cut with ice, lancing shivers down Charles’ spine. “Or have you forgotten how you lectured me on the manipulations of the pilot corps? How you told me about the drugs in my air supply?” 

The strong hand around Charles’ throat disappears, darting up to tangle in Charles’ curls and wrench his head back. Charles gasps at the sudden motion, his bared throat flexing on display as unbidden arousal slams through him. Coupled with the warm weight of Max’s body on his thighs, over his groin - he struggles to breathe, to will his growing erection into submission. 

Max leans down low, hot breath gusting against Charles’ ear as he pulls on Charles’ curls. “Now I ask myself,” Max whispers low and dangerous. “How could you possibly know all of that - any of that - unless you have prior experience with it?” He screws his fingers tighter in Charles’ hair. “Now, tell me.” 

Charles groans, fighting for control. He’s impossibly hard now and mildly surprised that Max hasn't commented on it given the pilot's pressure on his hips. He can admit that he’s made a point not to look too closely at Max’s body since his arrival, but he can’t deny that Max is strikingly handsome with a body that would tempt even the most celibate. And while Jedis are forbidden from attachment and most chose celibacy to deter it, Charles has never made that distinction. But after so many years exiled on this planet, Charles hasn’t been so close to anyone in so long. Let alone someone so handsome who finds the erogenous zone of Charles’ hair. 

Oh, Force, he’s in trouble. He struggles to keep his hips from thrusting up, trying to find words through labored breaths. After all, hasn’t Max asked him a question…? 

Another strong tug makes Charles bite his lip to stifle a moan, tasting copper on his tongue. Max’s words rumble against the shell of his ear. “Answer me, deserter.”

The stern command demands complete surrender, and Charles' control breaks, bucking his hips up into the solid heat above him. His breath catches at the pleasurable sensation as a new discovery dawns on him. Again, he rolls his hips, dizzy to find Max's erection just as hard and hot against him. 

A growl tears from Max’s lips as his grip tightens. “Stop that… Charles-” His words dissolve into a moan as Charles thrusts their arousals together. 

Charles groans in return, heart galloping. Is he really going to do this? Would it really be so easy to turn the tide with such a distraction? 

Max abandons Charles’ hair, reaching for his arms and pinning each to the ground. The shift in leverage puts more downward force on Max's hips, leaving any less doubt about his arousal as he glares down at Charles, eyes dark with feral desire. “What-” Max grits through clenched teeth as Charles rolls their hips together again. “What are you doing to me?” 

Charles freezes, his heavy-lidded eyes flying open with surprise. “What do you… you can’t mean…” Charles pauses, licking his lips as he fights for clarity through the fog of arousal. “You mean to say that you’ve… never felt this?” He rolls his hips languidly, pressing their hard cocks together. “Or done this… with another person?” 

Anger flashes in the tempest of Max’s eyes as he jerks a hand back to Charles’ throat, hard against his raging pulse, and forces his head back to expose his neck. “You think you’re so clever?” Max hisses sharp words into his ear. “You talk about manipulation - yet here you are… manipulating my body in such ways.” 

“Oh, mate - I’m not clever and this is no manipulation.” Charles forces a hard swallow against the pressure of Max’s heavy hand. “Your body is made for so much more than just flying and hunting… and if the Empire took that from you, too, to make you a better weapon of war, then you have my condolences. Truly.” He moves his free hand to Max’s backside, exaggerating a groan as he grips the firm muscles, finding leverage to thrust against. He bares his throat further, gaze heavy with intent. “Truly, there’s little else so enjoyable… so pleasurable. It’s… what's life without pleasure, hmm?"

Charles builds a slow, grinding rhythm and watches Max’s resolve crumble. Fuck, it’s such a gorgeous sight. Max’s cheeks turn pink, his eyes dark and wild with obvious conflict about the sensations in his body as Charles holds him close. The Force sings between the tight press of their bodies, a blissful vitality hot with electric current. 

Maybe it’s wrong, but Charles throws the last bit of caution to the wind. It may have been more years than he wants to admit, but he still remembers how to move, how to sound, how to bite his lip and entice his partner. 

“Charles, don’t-” Max groans, his hold on Charles’ throat loosening. “... Don't!” He shifts atop Charles, resulting in the long, delicious drag of their cocks, and white-hot want rockets up Charles’ spine. 

“Oh, Force,” Charles moans, gripping Max’s backside harder. His mind spins as Max's hips thrust forward again, and the air sparks against his skin. “Oh, fuck… do it again.” 

“Fuck.” Max growls, radiating unhinged desperation and raging frustration. The intense energy rolls off him, threatening to suffocate Charles with each push and pull of their hips.

The pleasurable coils at the base of Charles' spine wind tighter, and… oh, fuck. This is it - he's going to come in his trousers like a teenager all over again - but has it ever felt this good? Max’s ragged breathing hitches, choking off a blissful cry in Charles' ear as his hips stutter and stall. Charles' own release surges through him, intoxicated by the blinding satisfaction that permeates every facet of Max's being.

His mind floats in delirium as he blinks up at Max, watching the pilot gasp for breath. Max's face contorts almost painfully as the overwhelming intensity of orgasm fades to afterglow. Charles’ heart breaks, wanting to wrap Max in the tightest hug and whisper every reassurance he knows against the pilot's skin.

Slowly, Charles licks his lips and sighs with heavy contentment. “Well, that… that was quite the unexpected detour, but most… certainly most welcome.” He drifts a lazy hand up the curvature of Max's spine. 

“I don’t… you just….” Max gasps for words as he slumps against Charles, still undone from the rush. A suffocating panic grows in the air, a distress that slices through the lazy sway of euphoria.

“Just breathe.” Charles coaxes, concern creasing his brow. “You’re alright.” 

“No!" Max hisses, still panting as if he’s drowning. “No, it… this-!” 

Charles’ heart pangs as Max’s distress grows. His instincts tug at him to reach out, to extend Max a wave of calming reassurance - but that feels like a manipulative betrayal. There's nothing that Max should fear about this, and he should be allowed to experience it all. 

But in his hesitation, Max slumps against him with closed eyes. His breathing evens out and the anxious energy radiating from him fades. As Charles bears the heavy weight on his chest, he isn't sure if the panic is a lasting side effect of the pilot corps' drugs or if he simply just hyperventilated in the first rush of powerful emotion.

Either way, he cards a comforting hand through Max’s soft hair and brushes a kiss to his brow. “Rest now, mate.” He breathes against Max’s overheated skin. “It’s alright.” 

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together - Complete

Series Main List

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Also on AO3

Summary: The TIE fighter pilot's heartbeat echoes in Charles' ears long before he watches the ship crash into the sea. He lets the Force guide him to the drowning man, and the galaxy will never be the same again.

Set in between the films Episode III and Episode IV (after Order 66 branded the Jedi as traitors and sent the survivors into hiding while the Empire dominated the galaxy)

Warnings: Explicit NSFW 18+ Smut (including first-time sexual content, slight dub-con, frottage); explicit language; near-drowning and crash-landing injuries; hurt/comfort; head wound; discussion of war and death; forced drug addiction (by the Imperial Navy) and associated withdrawal; family separation; Charles tries his hand at teaching and probably needs help

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

A/N: Happy 2024, y'all! Back again with another Lestappen piece (these two just won't leave me alone, I swear - such a problem to have lol). Hope y'all enjoy this latest, and all my continued love to xsunny for her unwavering beta support! Cheers, and May the Force be With You ✨🪐❤

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 1

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 1 Warnings: Language; vampire blood violence

2023

“Now, remember,” Xavier Marcos Padros instructed. “Señor Leclerc is a very important client of this firm. His family has been with us for nearly 100 years, and we don’t want to cast a poor impression on the newest generation.”

“No, sir.” You agreed, nodding at your boss.

“That is why I want you to personally oversee the meeting.” The lawyer continued. “There is no other paralegal that I trust more with the closure of his documentation. The paperwork has already been signed by his grandfather, and Señor Leclerc just needs a witnessed signature to complete the transfer of estates and power of attorney to his name.”

“Yes, sir.” You bit back an irritated sigh, listening for the third time as your boss explained the situation. As if you haven’t already spent long hours and late nights preparing the Leclerc account paperwork for the all-important transfer and supporting the grandfather’s witnessed signature process. 

“Your work on this family case continues to impress, and I’m confident that you will represent our firm proudly.” He paused to consult his notes. “Now, Señor Leclerc has been arranged for 2100 hrs tomorrow night at his personal request.” He looked back at you unashamedly. “I assume that time won’t be a problem for you.”

Even now, your boss’ haughty words still gnaw at you. Just because the man is a senior partner in one of the world’s most prestigious law firms and you’re fortunate enough to be on his team of paralegals doesn’t mean that you’re not entitled to a life of your own outside of work. All of your clients are wealthy and successful and privileged, and you see no reason why Señor Leclerc should be treated any differently.

But at the end of the day, part of your job is client satisfaction, and your boss won’t hear of you inconveniencing a client, no matter their assets. That’s why you’re still at your desk despite the clock reading 2051 hrs. That’s why you’re still in your pristine business suit and heels while the rest of the building grows dark and empty around you. That’s why the executive conference room table contains the spread of the various official forms for Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, III to sign upon his arrival.

You exhale another sigh as you casually scroll through the newsfeed on your phone, skimming headlines and associated ledes.

DESPITE ALL ODDS, BRANGELINA BACK TOGETHER

Earlier this year saw the return of Bennifer, and now, fans are stunned at the return of Brangelina. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt famously wed in 2014, and Jolie filed for divorce from Pitt just two years later. The divorce proceedings have been anything but amiable, and despite the divorce never being legally finalized, it appears that may no longer be needed…

FAMOUS RAPHAEL, DA VINCI PAINTINGS MISSING SINCE WWII TURN UP IN BELGIAN HOME

Among the scores of artwork lost during the chaos and destruction of WWII, two of the most famous pieces have finally resurfaced after more than 75 years. Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man and da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine were last seen at the Wawel Castle in 1945, at the home of Hans Frank, who Hitler appointed as governor of the General Government in Poland. The Belgian businessman now in possession of these classic masterpieces has come under investigation as authorities seek to understand how the artwork came into his custody. Historians value the Portrait of a Young Man and the Lady with an Ermine at over €500 million and €300 million, respectively…

STAR WARS FANS SPOT LIGHTSABER-LIKE OBJECT ON MARS SURFACE IN NEW NASA PICTURES

New photos released by NASA show an object on the surface of Mars, looking like a lightsaber from the iconic Star Wars series. Despite its appearance, this mysterious item is actually a titanium tube containing a rock sample that rests on the Red Planet’s surface…

You glance at the time, not willing to risk being late, and set your phone down. Smoothing the drape of your suit jacket and matching skirt, your heels echo off the marble as you walk down the empty corridor. The elevator ding breaks the silence, and you glance out over the Monaco skyline as you descend to the front lobby.

With two minutes to spare, you offer a nod in silent greeting to the night guard on duty at the front desk and come to a stop just inside the tall, glass doors. You keep a keen eye on the street for the approach of a dark sedan or SUV, something that won’t be easy to see in the glow of streetlights. But that’s not the vehicle that pulls up to the front kerb.

Actually, you don’t know what kind of vehicle it is, but the vintage bright cherry red sports car is impossible to miss. It screams elegant taste and wicked speed, and with the convertible top down, it puts the driver on full display. His pale skin stands out immediately against the cut of his black suit and as he exits the car, closing the door behind him, it’s a devastating combination. Or, perhaps, it’s just the expertly tailored lines of his suit or the rakish sweep of his brunette hair or the mercurial glow in his green eyes.

You may spend your life catering to the ultra-wealthy and well-dressed, but this man is truly in a league of his own.

Forcing a swallow and hoping your cheeks aren’t too flushed, you step forward to push open the front door. “Good evening, Mr. Leclerc. Welcome.”

He nods, offering a polite smile as he steps inside. “Thank you. And thank you for taking this meeting so late.” His crisp dress shoes echo off the marble in tandem with your footsteps. “Xavi’s office has always been gracious to accommodate my chaotic schedule.”

You nod gently even though his words give you pause. Nothing about him looks chaotic, whether in the details of his appearance or his calm, collected demeanor. In fact, he looks crisp and polished, as if his day has just started. Pushing the thought aside, you guide him towards the elevator lobby. “Of course, sir.” You say as you press the ascent button. “We’re always happy to work with our clients to assure their needs are met.”

“An admirable sentiment.” The corner of Leclerc’s mouth lifts as he motions you first into the elevator. “I think you are new to Xavi’s team as we have not met before, no?”

Your cheeks blush full red hot as you realize your breach of etiquette. “Oh, goodness – yes, I… apologies for not introducing myself.” You give your name and extend your hand which he politely accepts. Immediately, the firmness of his grip, the softness of his skin, and the chilly temperature against your own strikes you.

His eyes glitter under the elevator’s overhead lights. “Pleased to meet you. You already know this, but I’m Charles Leclerc, III. Though, Charles or ‘Charles’ is just fine.”

Even after letting go of his hand, the phantom chill still lingers on your skin. It’s not a particularly cool night outside, as evidenced by the open cockpit of his car, and you can’t put your finger on why his skin should be so chilly. 

He must sense your confusion because a small, sheepish smile comes to his handsome face as he rests a hand in his trousers’ pocket. “I apologize if my cold fingers surprised you… I should have warned you before that I’m cold blooded. I never can seem to get warm.”

“Oh no, please,” you say with a reassuring smile despite the heat rushing to your cheeks and the quickening of your heartbeat as the elevator dings. “You don’t need to apologize – I was just wondering if I could offer you some warm tea.” The words roll off your tongue as you step out of the elevator with him close behind. Thinking on your feet is a key part of your job even if it stresses you out.

“That’s not necessary, though I do appreciate your concern. And you needn’t worry or be so nervous.” He flashes a hint of a teasing, yet reassuring smirk. “I’m not going to give Xavi a poor report about you this evening.”

Your eyes go wide, and you hate that he’s so perceptive. Pushing open the door to the executive conference room, you exhale a gentle sigh. “Thank you, I… I-I’m sorry that you felt the need to say something. I will work to improve in the future.”

“No need.” He shakes his head shortly. “My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

Is that what it is? Right from his opening comment on chaotic schedules to the chill of his skin, something about him has set you off-balance. You can’t even recall the last time that you forgot to introduce yourself in a business meeting, and yet tonight… tonight is quickly devolving into a night you want to drown with a bottle of wine.

You can’t find an immediate answer, instead turning your attention to the spread of paperwork on the table. “If you’d like to be seated, I have everything arranged for you here.” You watch him move around the table on silent footsteps and fold elegantly into a plush chair as you continue. “I understand that you previously had the opportunity to review the transfer of estates, accounts, and power of attorney paperwork prior to your grandfather signing.”

He nods in confirmation. “Yes, and everything was as expected.”

You nod in return as you motion at the pen resting alongside the first form. “Then, please, feel free to confirm the versions signed by your grandfather align with your understanding prior to signing.”

Stepping back to allow him a modicum of privacy, you fold your hands in front of your jacket and quietly wait. Instead of hideous fluorescent lights, the can ceiling lights emit a soft golden glow that plays handsomely off the tint of his hair and highlights the elegance of his fingers as he traces the words on the paper.

You’ve never met the grandfather – the original Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc – confined as he is in an exclusive care facility, and the paperwork provides few clues about how he amassed his vast fortune. He became a client in 1946 after rising to wealthy prominence and only continued to add to this fortune and collection of estates. His son - Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, II – passed away after a long battle with illness, leaving only his son – the man now seated at the conference table – as the sole heir. But where are the wives and mothers in all of this family business? Are the Leclercs truly so old-fashioned as to only let the men inherit the estates and conduct family business?

Of course, it’s all no business of yours whatsoever. Europe still harbors its pockets of aristocratic thought, and your job isn’t to judge them for it.

Your train of thought derails as you watch Charles reach into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. He withdraws a sleek, black capped pen with gold accents and deftly unscrews the cap. Glancing up at you, he offers another cute, almost shy smile. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little old-school,” he says as a gleaming gold fountain tip comes into view. “Ball point pens just aren’t as artistically satisfying.”

His signature isn’t the neatest that you’ve ever seen. In fact, next to his grandfather’s, it’s downright illegible aside from the leading C and L. For someone who shuns ball point pens in favor of artistry, you’re surprised that his signature is so… unremarkable.

Wetting your top lip, you take a breath. “If I may… are you an artist, sir?”

The corner of his mouth lifts – whether with amusement or a more private sentiment, you can’t tell. “I have certainly studied art,” he says as he continues to scan and sign the array of papers. “I suppose one could call me a collector of art, but while I claim paltry skill with a brush, I do favor myself for having an appreciation of beautiful pieces.”

Admittedly, understanding the art of art isn’t something you pride yourself on. You appreciate museums and the history they hold, but you’re not all that familiar with art history or defining characteristics of art over the centuries. Slowly, you nod as he recaps the pen. “It sounds like you would have seen a lot of interesting pieces over the course of your studies.”

His eyes flash with something you can’t place – something predatory, something fond, something satisfying. “Yes,” he says at length as he rises. “I have seen much, with much still left yet to see.”

All at once, you remember the late evening hour. “Of course, sir, please – I don’t mean to keep you any longer than you need.”

“It’s no trouble, and your curiosity is not unwelcome.” A charming smile warms his face. “Actually, it’s flattering that despite this suit you would still consider me to be an artist.”

Your brow furrows as a confused smile slants the corner of your mouth. “Artists come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they? Just because you’re not starving and dressed in rags doesn’t mean that you couldn’t be an artist.”

“Art is what we make of it, non? As are those who create it.” He steps towards you and the door, offering the clumsiest attempt at a wink you’ve ever seen. “And that is for each of us to decide.”

Maybe it’s the sonorous tone of his voice or the light glinting in his green – or grey? Or hazel? – eyes, but you can’t look away. He’s utterly gorgeous and your body heats up in appreciation of this handsome man standing before you. The scent of cedar, citrus and earth reaches your nose – and fuck, how did you not notice his cologne earlier? It entrances you, and the longer you hold his gaze, the more you feel yourself floating…

Until he blinks away and motions towards the door. “After you.”

Shaking from your stupor, another embarrassed flush stains your cheeks as you move towards the elevator. He’s hardly the first supremely attractive man that you’ve interacted with on this job, but none of them have rendered you so stupid before.

“My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

You brush the memory of his earlier words aside, swallowing your unease as you search for something to say. “Thank you again for coming by this evening.” You finally say, sticking to the safe topic at hand. “I’ll file the paperwork in the morning, and Señor Padros will be in touch if there are any unforeseen complications with the transfer.”

“I have complete faith in Xavi, and you, by extension.” Charles says breezily as you both step into the elevator. “He has served my grandfather well, and no doubt, will continue to serve me well in his stead.”

The odd choice of words strikes you. You don’t consider yourself in the service industry and you’re pretty sure that your boss doesn’t consider himself a servant to the wealthy elite, but maybe it’s just another indicator of how old-school this young man next to you truly is.  

“As always, we appreciate your support and business.” You say on professional reflex, despite the distracting scent of Charles’ cologne that you can’t stop noticing. “I will be sure to pass along your reassurance to Señor Padros.”

“Again, there is no need.” He flashes another reassuring smile as the elevator doors open to the main lobby. “I owe Xavi a visit soon to discuss further matters and I will gladly tell him in person.”

His words beg further questions in your mind but you know better than to ask. Whatever relationship he has with your boss – professional or otherwise – is also certainly none of your business.

Your heels click to a stop near the front door and he pauses beside you. With a bow of his head, he holds your gaze as he speaks. “Thank you again for accommodating such a late meeting. It’s been an unexpected pleasure.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.” You nod in thanks as he turns for the door. “I hope that you have a good rest of your evening.”

His mouth slants with a wicked grin as he pushes out into the dark night. “Of course. I’m just getting started, after all.”

A shiver crawls down your spine as he saunters up to his red car and sinks down into the plush leather seating. The glass building façade muffles the revving engine, but as he shoots off into the night, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Sighing deep, you offer a good night wave to the front desk guard, focused only on getting your bag and going home. The trip back to your desk and down to the parking garage passes in a familiar blur only broken when the elevator doors ding open. Yellow light from the sodium-vapor lamps paint the concrete surroundings in a hideous, monochromatic glow. Even through the glass doors of the elevator lobby, the ubiquitous buzzing of the light fixtures can still be heard. But it’s the frustrated groans of a tall, slender man carrying a box piled high with file folders and trying to pull the doors open that draws your attention.

“Here,” you say in greeting, offering a friendly smile as you step up to assist with the door handle. “It looks like you’ve got your arms full – literally.”

“Oh, thank you.” The man turns brilliant, blinding blue eyes on you and a megawatt smile around his posh British syllables. “You have no idea just how heavy this box is.”

You hold the door open for him as he steps through, maneuvering the box and his messenger bag through the opening. “You’re welcome. Do you have a big case ahead?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod as the door closes behind you. “Boss needs recommendations by noon tomorrow and I’m so far behind.”

“Ugh,” you groan in commiseration. “I’ve been there, too – it can be so fast-paced sometimes. Who’s your boss?”

“Musconi. He’s not one of the senior partners or anything – not like Padros or Bonnington – but, well, I’ve only been here for a few weeks, so I’m still learning. I’m George Russell, by the way. I’d offer you my hand, but well…” He shrugs and flashes another handsome smile as he hefts the box in his hands.

“No worries, George.” You say before offering your own name. “Welcome to the firm. I hope you continue to settle in alright.”

“Thank you. Everyone’s been really helpful so far.”

You spot your car ahead and turn to offer him a wave. “Well, if I can help with anything, please let me know; otherwise, have a good evening and see you around, George.”

“Lovely to meet you, and thanks again!” He calls out after you, poorly attempting to offer a wave despite his full arms.

As you start the ignition and drive through the garage, you just catch George rounding a concrete pillar to another car.

You don’t see George open the car’s boot, depositing the box and bag before slamming the top down. You don’t see George reach into the backseat, to the dead body slumped across the backseat like someone sleeping. You don’t see George tuck the borrowed employee badge back into the man’s pocket before sliding into the driver’s seat.

And you definitely don’t hear George make a phone call as he drives off. “Yeah… Leclerc just left, and I’ve made contact.”

1940

“Quel est l’ordre, Lieutenant?”

Charles slows his steps, surveying his assembled platoon of French and Monegasque soldiers as he answers in French. “We’re stopping here for the night.”

Beaufort glares over at Charles. “Stopping here, sir?” He glances around at the splintered remains of the French woodlands, the craters in the earth, and the tree shards that litter everywhere. “I’ll roll over and get a splinter in my ass.”

“Better than up your ass!” Moreau bellows as he laughs at his own jab and a few others join in.

Charles can’t say that he disagrees, but he’s careful to keep the amusement from his face. “Either way, I suggest that you use this last bit of daylight to clear a resting place that won’t result in needing medical aid.”

A low murmur of chuckles and assent rises from his men as they start to settle into the destruction. Other platoons flank them on all sides, making similar encampments as they stretch out among the shattered trees and the growing shadows of twilight that rapidly obscure into darkness.

For days now, they’ve been marching through burned and battered countryside, each ruined village indistinguishable from the next. The Panzers prove relentless in their siege, and the Luftwaffe bombs haven’t helped, either. Charles isn’t a high enough rank to possess a map, but his basic knowledge of the sky from training indicates a steady march in a northwesterly direction.

Fall back to Dunkirk. That’s his command from on high.

He yawns as he continues to survey his men. They number so few now, and the missing faces will haunt the rest of his days. As their commanding officer, he knows every last man in his platoon, but now… only a handful remain. A handful that he is personally responsible for leading out of this hell and into the unknown.

If the Allied Forces are well and truly surrounded, what fresh horrors await them when the enemy finally catches up to them in Dunkirk? Will the British prioritize evacuation of their own troops first? What chance does he stand to ever get back home to Monaco?

But wars are lost on pointless thoughts like that. Thinking so far ahead won’t serve him well in the here and now. He just needs to solve this problem, and then solve the next problem. To stay alive and always keep moving forward.

Someday – when Charles has access to endless alcohol and a real bed – he’ll lose himself to those other dark, destructive musings.

“Merde, that’s an ill wind, isn’t it?” Severin’s voice carries low in the night.

“Sure… like ghosts are riding its wings.” Porcher agrees with a grumble as the sound of a hand slapping thick fabric becomes audible. “But no more of that talk. Between the Jerrys, your ass, and these damnable tree roots, I don’t need any extra help from nightmares for not sleeping.”

Allowing his lips to quirk in the cover of darkness, Charles turns from his men, satisfied that they’re settling in well enough for the night. He slows and steadies his footfalls, not wanting to disturb anyone as he makes his way through the dimly lit landscape.

Moments alone are truly rare, but he can steal a few to relieve himself. Counting his steps to gauge his return, the sounds of men snoring, breathing, talking and coughing fade into the breeze.

True peaceful silence at last.

Charles closes his eyes, indulging it for the space of a breath, before going about his business. His eyes roam skyward, catching glimpses of starlight through the wispy clouds. In his mind’s eye, he imagines the brush strokes to try and capture such splendor on canvas. It makes him long to return to his position at the art institute, to nurture creation instead of destruction. With a sigh, he looks back down to the war-torn ground, righting his uniform and webbing. In truth, it’s better not to dally.

A cigarette is his next order of business. It helps him forget about his toothbrush that went missing during a forward advance some weeks back.

In complete silence, strong, vice-like hands grip his shoulders out of the darkness, throwing Charles off his feet. He hits the ground hard, breath forced from his chest and stealing his voice as plain blooms in the back of his skull. His assailant looms over him, a shapeless shadow that pins him to the ground with effortless ease.

Charles kicks feebly as his vision swims, thrashing to dislodge his attacker and break free from the commanding hold. But the impossibly cold weight above him remains immobile, crushing him into the muddy ground. Surely, this must be another man… but a German soldier? Or possibly a confused Allied soldier?

Icy fingers suddenly claw at the collar of Charles’ uniform, wool and buttons shearing easily as horror creeps into Charles’ rising panic. The dark shadow above him bears down, unbothered by Charles’ desperate attempts to scratch and claw along his back. Twin points of searing pain explode in Charles’ neck as sharp, pointed teeth rip through his skin. A strangled cry rasps in Charles’ throat against the agony as the shape of the attacker’s mouth changes, and he seals his lips to Charles’ skin, supping greedily as he pulls suction.

A new sensation erupts – one of ragged, exquisite pleasure – that mixes with the blinding pain to ebb and flow through his entire body. Charles’ mind overloads at the onslaught as his body grows stiller and more pliant. His pitiful protests become sluggish as a creeping fog eats at the very center of his being. His arms fall to the ground, weakened and motionless as the delicious, terrifying pressure continues on his neck.

And then… only darkness.

Series Main List

[il-predestinato]

WIP game

Rules: Post the names of the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks for the tag @alestire ... here's my shame for the whole world to see (aka. my Lestappen WIP folder): 😭🤣

a love story in carbon fibre (sentient SF21)

A Modern Fairytale in Five Parts (aka. Once Upon a Time in Monte Carlo)

looking for heaven, found the devil in me (serial killer AU)

Milton Keynes' Finest (Driver!Max/Engineer!Charles)

Polyamory Dune AU

post-Saudi Arabia 2021 hurt/comfort

Scheherazade (Star Wars AU)

Red (Max's Version) - Soulmate AU

the evolutionary theory of attraction (aka. "pheromones")

Unforgivable (Hogwarts AU)

Has everyone been tagged already? 😬 I'll tag @stylestappen @f-ferrari-forever @just-an-inchident @pressradio @dnfstrategist