#to ensure his death is slow and painful while he is forced to think about just what is going to happen to him

[pastafossa]

I kinda want the man in white to be killed by a pack of wolves. Like ya'know, show him what a wild animal really is.

I don't want to spoil anything but let's just say I have a very painful death planned for him that will basically hit upon everything he fears and hates, down to the point where even his molecules will be forced into a wordly purgatory, one created by his own hubris.

There will be no escape for him.

[starqueensthings]

Summary: a small ficlet that follows Hunter through a really rough night. Inspired by the below lyrics of a great song (which I encourage you to listen to at least once!). Please ensure you read the warnings before continuing into the fic.

POV: 3rd, 3591 words.

Warnings: TW: alcohol abuse, TW: self-medicating with substances, TW: self-hatred, TW: grieving the death of a loved one, TW: brief mentions of smoking. This is an angsty one folks! Give yourself a big hug after.

“The night I hit rock bottom, I was sitting on an old barstool. He paid my tab and put me in a cab… but he didn’t have to. He could see I was hurting, oh I wish I got his name. I didn’t feel worth saving, but he saved me just the same.”

He pushed the empty vessel across the counter and away from him; a subtle handprint embedded into the condensation on the glass by the clammy palm that held it just long enough to bring it to his lips. He’d drained many a frosted cup that night, each contributing a little more to the swim in his vision and the sway of his shoulders. The bartender, an abrasive Besalik male with a dirty rag draped over his shoulder, had long since stopped trying to make conversation with the sullen soldier, instead leaving him to self-medicate in peace while the sum of his tab grew larger and larger.

Another knock from the man’s knuckles had a full Corellian ale placed in front of him, precisely where the empty glass had rested seconds before. The pathetically thin crown of foam hugging the rim of the glass was an obvious indicator that the keg needed changing, though his presently anguished mental state had robbed him of the desire to care. It didn’t matter what it tasted like; he wasn’t here to be a beer connoisseur. Hell, he’d drink engine fuel right now if it promised even a brief moment of respite from the gnawing chest pain that had rendered him paralyzed for weeks.

He brought the cool glass to his lips again, his long hair falling off his shoulders as he tipped his head back and gulped until the contents were emptied. The heavy thud of its return to the counter echoed loudly in the room, or perhaps only loudly in his mind. He wiped his mouth with the back of a shaking hand, indifferent to the disgusted look the neighbouring patrons sent his way as he failed to stifle another burp.

The bartender’s gruff but well-intended warning of “you should maybe think about slowing it down a bit”, must have appeared to fall on deaf ears, as the man to which he was addressing made no motion that he’d heard, instead impatiently tapping on the counter again.

But Hunter’s ears were not deaf. They never had been, and never would be. He heard everything; every sob that left the mouth of the Twi'lek woman in the dimly lit corner booth as she cried to her sister about some betrayal of love; every jeering scoff from the man sitting four stools down as he boasted loudly about robbing an imperial officer several days previously; every clink of glass, and hiss of pressure as the bartender opened bottle after bottle of beer. But despite the raucous din reverberating from all angles, it could never be loud enough. There wasn’t a patron in this room whose boasts and complaints were boisterous enough to drown out the commentary in his mind, for it was the loudest and heaviest voice of all, and one that refused to be silenced by the nearly two dozen beers that he swallowed as a silent plea for relief.

He pulled the fresh pint towards him and brought it to his mouth, closing his eyes and willing the next few heavy gulps of stale ale to force down the painful lump that had taken permanent residence in his throat.

The soggy paper coaster adhered to the bottom of the glass by condensation, went unnoticed until it fell into his lap, startling him enough to send a sloop of liquid down his unshaved chin. His bleary eyes searched only briefly for a neglected napkin nearby before deciding the scarf around his neck would do the trick, and quickly reached for the red fabric to dry his face.

The mushy excuse for a cardboard coaster was now nothing but an afterthought, as his unfocussed eyes fell onto the mismatched thigh plates that adorned his legs. He clamped his eyes shut and swallowed against the sudden onslaught of sadness that threatened to overtake him, dozens of memories launching into a kaleidoscopic dance across his mind.

Hunter had never been a sentimental man, and when the time came to trade his Kaminoan-issued commando armour for a juxtaposed mixture of other, more discrete pieces, it had felt nothing but transactional at the time. It was a necessary change to maximize the concealment and safety of his family, so there was nothing else to it. Now, staring at the foreign straps that crossed his legs and roped around his waist, the desire for his old red and black armour overwhelmed him. In this lonely moment, alone in an obscure pub on an unknown planet, there was nothing he wouldn’t trade to go back to that time… that life.

Existence had been so simple then. So linear. So unproblematic. Back when he knew, without a fraction of a doubt, what his purpose was. A soldier, created to protect… to eliminate threat… to win. Straightforward. Uncomplicated. An existence that required his only responsibility was to maintain the continued safety of his squad, and to keep his boots from blistering his heels. There was no need to stay ‘off the radar’ then, because there was no radar to be on; with the exception of a few easily out-gunned tin heads, no one was after them. There was no need to stay hidden… there was no one black mailing him… no one manipulating the secrecy of his position to their advantage. He longed deeply for the carefree mind that he wasn’t aware he’d had then; a life free from guilt, remorse, resentment, pain. He longed for the past… a time where the only imminent concern was what the long necks would say when he landed back on the planet with half his face tattooed, and even concerns like that were trivial… almost comical.

He tried again to force the lump down his throat with whatever dregs remained in the glass clutched in his hand before discarding it. The image of his silver haired brother appeared in his mind before he could stop it; a vivid memory of a better time.

The Sniper pole on his pauldron claimed an unnecessary amount of space in his immediate vicinity, as it always did when Crosshair folded his long arms across his chest. As he leaned back against the counter, and watched the tattooist put the final touches on Hunter’s skull tattoo, the toothpick in his mouth danced playfully across his ever-smirking lips. The sound of the wood flicking against his molars was more than a little irksome to Hunter’s overstimulated ears, but he refused to comment or complain, knowing the annoying new compulsion was replacing the much unhealthier habit of smoking deathsticks.

“So much for subtle,” Crosshair had snarked through a heavy sneer, gesturing to the fresh black ink embedded in Hunter’s skin. “Might as well have done your entire body. Nala Se is going to shit a brick when she sees you.”

“Perfect. A nice healthy dump might do her some good,” Hunter answered back through a chortle. “And I don’t know about you, but I have no desire to go back to Kamino any time soon.”

“Of course you don’t,” Crosshair had answered with one of his infamous eye rolls. “There’s no dirt for you to sniff. If it was up to you, we’d park our life in the forest and you’d spend the rest of your life climbing trees and hunting animals.”

“Better than spending hours on-end laying in the grass with a soggy twig between my teeth.”

“I’ll happily resume smoking if you’d like. I only stopped because the smell bothered your princess nose.”

Pain gnawed at Hunter’s chest as he wrapped his knuckles on the counter again, biting down on the interior of his cheeks in an effort to control the emotion welling inside of him. He hadn’t been able to banter with anyone like that in a long, long time. Crosshair had always been a bottomless pit of sarcasm, an endless loop of snarky quips that he could deliver with such tactful ease, the target rarely comprehended that he was insulting them. Hunter had yet to meet anyone else like the Sniper, and with each day that passed, it seemed less likely that he ever would again.

He had initially coped with the fracture of his squad with an unbecoming ignorance, refusing to entertain the nagging sadness that swelled inside him every time his eyes fell on Crosshair’s empty bunk, or when he found himself wishing the flick of a toothpick would break the deafening silence of his absence.

Wrecker had taken Crosshair’s departure the hardest, frequently turning to Hunter for an explanation as to why things had played out the way they did. Again, Hunter pled blissfully ignorant, choosing to blame the decision on the idiopathic activation of the inhibitor chip, because it was an easier pill to swallow than the thought of his brother leaving willingly, and abandoning their symbiotic relationship for the cold hands of the Empire. That was until their last meeting, when the hope of a peaceful reunion was scorched by an inferno of truth; Crosshair’s chip was out, and he’d continued to hunt them long after its removal.

Despite the admission, on Nala Se’s hidden landing platform, they offered Crosshair an opportunity; the chance to fortify what was left of the shambled bridge that connected him to his former squad, the chance to forgive and forget, to rejoin them… but he’d chosen not to. Whether it be pure asinine obstinance, or his innate inability to see perspectives other than his own, he’d turned his back on them again.

Hunter cleared his throat and drained another glass, returning his gaze upwards to the holoscreen perched behind the bar that was showing last nights podracing highlights on loop. The room swayed around him as his eyes sluggishly tried to follow the speeders zooming across the screen, churning his stomach enough to force his eyes away again almost immediately.

The sudden illumination of blue light from the comlink on his wrist went ignored; an unnecessary reminder that Hunter was not where he should be. He told Echo hours ago that he was going for a walk back to the nearby town to poke around again, but an unexplainable amount of time had passed since then, and the countless ales he’d swallowed since, had yet to placate the lingering pain in his chest. Guilt forced his gaze to his fiddling fingers, drumming distractedly on the counter in front of him. Echo deserved better than to be blatantly ignored like this.

The fire of resolve and determination that burned brightly inside Hunter’s chest in the immediate wake of Omega’s capture, had been doused repeatedly by the lack of usable information they’d been able to scrounge up. Echo had reached out to every contact he knew, every unground clone he’d connected with after joining Rex’s efforts. They’d flown to every planet that promised even a whisper of a chance of finding her, but the continued let-downs had collapsed Hunter’s confidence entirely.

Tonight was the closest he’d ever felt to throwing in the towel. They’d raced sixteen parsecs across the galaxy, burning through more fuel than was smart at the promise of finding an Imperial Science Lab on the sand planet of Jakku, only to arrive and find out it was nothing but a group of Mechanical Mod Doctors, paid to replace miscellaneous body parts with cybernetics, all-the-while wearing imperial uniforms they’d undoubtedly stolen at some point.

Unfortunately, they realized the nature of the establishment a little too late, and Echo had launched into an unbridled fit of blind rage at the sight of their work, forcing the three of them to retreat back to the ship before they drew any more attention.

Knock knock. Another glass pressed to his chapped lips.

Echo had been living life on a short fuse since Tech’s fall. Where Wrecker was devastated, Echo was angry. As an ARC, it was his job to be aware of all the possible outcomes of a mission, but they’d waited a long time for a sign that Crosshair was still himself, and when his warning came through an old com channel, there was barely a breath of hesitation. They premeditated as much of their moves as they could have based on the extremely limited intel they had… but no one had prepared for Plan-99. Nothing could have. Nothing would have.

The sound of his own panicked voice rang across Hunter’s mind: “Wrecker, get him on board!” Such a simple command. As if Wrecker hadn’t already been doing his best. As if Tech hadn’t been dangling in the middle of the sky, calculating the probabilities of every possible outcome of that situation. As if Omega wasn’t already terrified and traumatized enough by the extended firefight they’d found themselves in.

He slammed the glass down on the counter, and clamped his eyes closed on the tears that threatened to escape his eyes as the image of his goggled brother appeared in his mind. Tech. Trusty Tech… keeping everyone firmly grounded with logic. What would he say if he could see him right now? Tech never indulged in alcohol, finding the separation it induced between his mind and body to be too unnerving. Hunter could almost hear his info dump on “the enhancing effects that alcohol had on the neurotransmitter GABA that controlled a person’s sense of inhibition and self-control.” A small smile peeled across Hunter’s anguished face as he remembered Wrecker’s booming: “Buzzkill!” triggering one of Tech’s longest ever cold-shoulders.

“What a mess,” Hunter whispered thickly to himself, slowly shaking his head in defeat.

“You sure are.”

He turned his head to the left and frowned at the stranger lifting a leg and perching himself on the neighbouring stool. Through blurred eyes, Hunter noticed a thick mop of white hair, combed neatly to one side and seemingly held in place with a wax or cream of sorts. The man’s skin was a shade of gold that only years in the sun could achieve, and he had a collection of brown age spots scattered across the thin skin of his frail cheeks. Hunter turned away from the reminiscent looking smile on his wrinkled lips, feeling suddenly and unexplainably exposed, and vulnerable.

“You better get some food before you float away on all that beer in your belly,” the man continued, gesturing an arthritic finger to the empty glass clutched loosely in Hunter’s hand.

“Not hungry,” Hunter grumbled, abruptly rotating himself away from the man, but the alcohol coursing through his veins had rendered his movements sluggish and delayed, and he realized a fraction of a moment too late that he’d swayed a little too far off his seat. He quickly flung his hands out, his sandy fingers grappling against the rim of the counter as the rickety wood stool holding his weight teetered on its two back legs. His heart lurched into action, beating heavily and loudly in his ears as he hurried to stabilize himself.

“It’s okay. You’re alright,” the old man cooed from beside him, extending a hand outwards and applying a surprisingly firm, steadying grip on Hunter’s arm. “Slow and steady does the job.”

Hunter jerked his arm from the man’s grip, readjusting himself on the seat of the stool as embarrassed breaths left his nose in sharp huffs. With knitted brows and a scowl that would have made Crosshair proud, he wrapped on the counter again, deliberately ignoring the kind albeit searching looks from the senior beside him.

“You a soldier, son?” the man probed warmly, pivoting on his seat to face Hunter, and leaning one arm against the bar.

“I was,” Hunter grunted back, again deliberately turning his face away from the man, eager to hide the emotion he knew was still present on his flushed face. The man hummed through a small smile and a gentle nod of his head.

“And who are you now?” he asked with a tone of warm intensity.

Hunter snorted and shook his head, blinking slowly and keeping his eyes averted. The sudden increase in his heart rate from what his body deemed to be a near death fall off the stool had sent his head spinning uncomfortably again.

“I dunno…” he slurred. “A failure.”

“Nice to meet you, Failure. I’m Old Geezer.” The man extended a wrinkled and slightly trembling hand into the space between them, the same reminiscent smile still tugging at his lips. Hunter merely glanced down at the offering of peace, but could not muster the resolve to return it, instead directing his hand to collect the refilled glass from the counter in front of him. “Just a little old man humour,” the stranger continued in a mumble, retracting his offer and interlacing his fingers with his other hand. “Let me tell you something, son. I’ve lived ‘round these parts for close to eight decades, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone throw beers back like you.”

“Well, ‘ur we— hic… welcome for… hic… the show…” Hunter stammered through a sudden bout of hiccups. “Con— hic… consider ‘urself luc— lucky.” To his surprise, the man tossed his head back and chuckled a wheezy laugh, his weathered cheeks narrowing his already unapologetically crinkled eyes.

“I already do, son,” he answered genuinely. “Now, let’s get you out of here before you’re evicted for drinking the whole town dry.”

Hunter glared against his implications, though could not stall the balloon of shame from expanding in his gut. He hung his head to his chest, the scowl on his face softening to an anguished frown as his fingers slackened their hold on the half-empty glass in his hand. He heaved a weighty sigh and closed his eyes, nudging the cup until it was beyond his reach.

“Good man,” the senior praised, standing up from his stool and pulling Hunter’s slack arm around his shoulders.

The sergeant was grateful for the added stability of his new companion as he got to his own feet and immediately felt his knees begin to buckle below him. He reached for the counter again, gripping it with an iron fist as his lethargic brain hurried to keep up with his heavy body’s movements. As they pivoted on the spot and headed towards the door, the faces of the other patrons turned to ogle at the odd pair; a frail old man that they knew well and had likely seen hundreds of times, acting as a living crutch for the inebriated, unknown soldier that had spent hours warming a stool at the bar. Their lips flattened in a mixture of disgust and contempt at the sight of his heavily lidded eyes and uncoordinated, staggering steps.

“Hold up! That man has a hefty tab he needs to pay down!” the bartender shouted as the wizened old man pulled the door open into the night air.

“Not to worry, Philo. Just go ahead and add it to mine,” the senior answered nonchalantly, detaching his hand from Hunter’s to toss the bartender a brief dismissing wave.

The sergeant was shocked to see that the scorching sun that had burnt the backs of their necks earlier that day, had disappeared completely, leaving the sky to be illuminated only by the waning light of a distant crescent moon. As they took a hobbled step outside onto the stone walkway, a cool and refreshing zephyr lifted the hair off the back of his sweaty neck, forcing his eyes open. After standing unsteadily on his feet, waiting for the old man to hail the nearby taxi, he let his bulky armoured frame be guided carefully on to the bench seat in the back of the car. The cabin of the vehicle smelled sickly sweet, something along the lines of the Mantell mix that Omega always insisted they snack on post successful mission, and it brought a new wave of sadness to his chest.

“Let me tell you something before you go, son, and I want you to remember it.” The old man spoke quietly and deliberately, leaning onto his forearms to speak into the backseat through the lowered window. “People only hurt this hard, because they’ve loved equally as hard, and that will never make you a failure. Do you understand?” Hunter swallowed against the poignancy of his words, dropping his gaze to his knees as his dark eyes threatened to fill with tears.

“Look at me, son.” It was not a command but a request, voiced without even a hint of dominance or demand. Hunter swallowed again and turned to look at him. “Whatever it was that you’ve done, or lost, to make you feel like a failure,” the man continued, his blue eyes twinkling with a sentience that future Hunter would never be able to adequately describe. “It can be repaired, as long as you keep your hopes high, and your chin higher. Remember that and you’ll be just fine.”

He backed away from the door and gave the hood of the taxi a sharp pat with his palm before stepping up onto the curb, and shoving his hands into his tunic pockets. Hunter, still trying to force his painfully languid brain into processing the kind advice, hurried to sit upright, suddenly eager and desperate to offer some sort of rushed thanks to the selfless stranger, but the taxi pulled away before his exhausted body would obey his commands. He had no choice but to lean forward in his seat and watch the wizened old man’s figure shrink away into the darkness behind him.

[moondirti]

masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Rated: Mature Word Count: 3.3k Summary: You've been The Mandalorian's safe house medic for a while now. After a near death experience, he asks you to accompany him on his travels. Warnings: Mild gore, graphic descriptions of an injury, language Notes: This was originally posted on ao3! (You can find that here). There are a few more chapters out on there, if you wanna check them out. Once I get around to editing them I'll crosspost them on here :)

The Mandalorian is at your doorstep, again. 

He limps in when you greet him, his movements strained but graceful with what seems to be practised poise. Usually, you’d quip about the length of his absence - ‘it’s been 6 standard weeks Mando, you had me thinking you were dead’ - but he shoves the child in your arms with alarming urgency, which silences you up until he manages to make his way to your operating table. It’s only then you notice the blood trailing in after him, and his heavy, laboured breaths.

The immediate panic that overwhelms you at the sight is both paralysing and demanding. Acrid bile crawls up your throat; you do your best to hold it back as you tuck the child into the couch, ensuring he’s safely secured behind a throw pillow before letting the urgency catch up to you. This situation is all too familiar, frighteningly so. Your hands tremble when you douse them in antiseptic soap, quivering against the crushing wave of anxiety swelling within you. You have to be thorough in washing up, any contamination of his wound would be disastrous - still, it’s hard to think about anything other than how slow you’re being, about all the ways you could potentially mess this up. 

By the time you’re done, Mando has already removed the back plate of his armour and collapsed atop your surgical station. Your chest squeezes, crowding your drumming heart tight against your stomach and threatening to turn it over. It’s apparent there isn’t time for speculation on your end. Nor is there space for stress; you try to dodge yours by mindlessly talking as you rush towards him. 

“You usually contact me before you land. I would have had time to get numb spray.” Your words spill, toppling over one another in haste. He’s never come to you this hurt; you rarely get any other patients. You’re out of practice. Severely. 

Your guiding hands help him shift so you can pinpoint the location of his wound. It’s just a way off his waist, in a spot thankfully away from any critical organs. The blood has soaked through his under armour by now, parts of his skin melded to the fabric in a way that provides little give. You worry your lip, opting instead to snip away at the cloth over stripping him bare just yet, for respect of his creed.  

Along the edges of the oozing gash, his skin is singed and blackenned. It might be a blaster shot, but with the amount of bleeding, you can’t be too sure. Those tended to do more damage to the innards than the outside, the heat of their shots like a cauterizer of sorts. 

“C-Comms… Comms down. Couldn’t.” The modulation of his helmet does little to aid the legibility in his broken voice. He’s out of breath, wheezes racing after every word. You press a wad of sterile gauze onto his flesh; that almost knocks him right out, you notice, based on the way he stills for a couple moments afterwards. 

“Shhh, shush. Don’t speak, just focus on breathing and staying alive for me. I don’t have much to numb the pain, I’m sorry.” You gulp when the blood soaks right through the gauze, forcing you to bring out a thicker piece of cloth. “I’m sorry,” your choked apology is more for yourself than for him. 

“Sh.. Shushing m-me?” In face of the extenuating circumstances, the dying hunk of metal on your table attempts to joke with you. And if it weren’t for your fixation on his injury (and your persevering, stomach-churning worry for him), you might’ve laughed. 

Unfortunately, you are too busy gawking at the pus that escapes from under your makeshift compress. 

“Maker, Mando. How long have you been hurt?” You don’t wait for a response before you change up tactics, washing the area using a canister of water with one hand and picking a sterilised vibroblade from your tray of tools with the other. “Don’t answer that. Be quiet. This is going to hurt.” He’s silent, but the tensing of muscles is all the indication you need. He heard you. 

You try to be quick, keeping as steady as possible while you cut off necrotized skin. Mando provides little in ways of reassurance, other than the occasional grunt, letting you know he’s conscious. It doesn’t help, you want to tell him, but you figure he’s earned the right to complain a little. That isn’t going to stop you from giving him hell later, though. Not with the state he kept himself in, not with the ceaseless blood that continues to pour over your fingers as you work. You curse, softly enough that you hope he doesn’t pick up on it. 

He did.

“T-That bad, h-” He coughs, and you pull away just in time as his body seizes with it. The vibroblade veers dangerously close to his hip. “H-huh?”

“Yes, you fucking fool.” You mutter, absolved in your work. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you because I need you to understand never to do this again. Never leave something this bad unattended.” Your aggression is entirely unwarranted. You don’t blame him, of course you don’t, but telling him off is the only thing keeping you from weeping. You want him to be okay, it’s on you if he doesn’t end up okay. 

“C-Cauterised… cauterised it.” 

“Oh,” Your chuckle is humourless as you slice off another piece of burnt flesh. “Is that what this is?” Pulling back to inspect your work, you check for any remaining infected areas. “Don’t answer that. Stop speaking.” You repeat. When you’re somewhat sure of yourself, you wash the trauma again, then duck to pull out a heavy jar from under the table. You thank the Maker that you went out on a bacta run yesterday; you’ll need a shit ton of the gelatinous substance now. 

After changing your gloves, you use the fresh pair to pick up a glob of the gel and lay it down on the now clean wound. While you do, you reel over standard procedures to guarantee you haven't missed anything. Are you making the right choice, not stitching him up? An uncomfortable memory resurfaces to scream at you - you can’t undo anything once you wrap this. It’s critical you make every right decision. 

You study the wound. The shape of it is too irregular to warrant stitches, and the slightest fluke on your end will cause Mando unnecessary pain. You can’t trust your nerves with it. Bacta is the safer route. 

Hesitantly, you place a patch over your work with a note of finality. Your fingers graze his heated flesh as you smooth out the edges, and in any other case, it would pull a blush to your cheeks. But now, Mando’s continued, eerie silence concerns you above all else. Your gut lurches to your throat. 

You attempt to draw in a shaky breath. “H-Hey, I’m gonna need to roll up your shirt to be able to wrap the bandages around.” Your voice quivers, adrenaline rapidly dissipating to uncover stone-cold fear. He doesn’t answer. “Mando?” 

Nothing. His body lies completely motionless, unresponsive to both your inquiry and alarmed prodding. Your blood turns ice cold in your veins. 

“Mando!” You jump to check his pulse, but he is startlingly fast given his current state. One large hand shoots to wrap around your wrist, stopping you. 

“...okay.” 

“D-Don’t do that! Dank Farrik, don’t ever scare me like that.” You’re incredibly distraught, crying, actually, but the one thought that preoccupies you is how badly you want to smack him when this is over. You choke on your own spit in a half laugh, sniffing back the tears that begin to escape. 

Your father’s face swims to the forefront of your mind, remarkably clear for the years it’s been since you’ve seen it. It’s almost too much to bear; you turn your head away from the scene at hand to compose yourself before you can sob out loud. You have a job to finish, you can’t afford to be thinking about this right now. 

Distracting yourself, you lift his shirt, tucking it midway upon his torso. Aside from a sneaky glimpse at the way his muscles ripple underneath his bronze skin, you otherwise ignore his physique. The heat you undoubtedly hold for him does not need to grow any larger than it already is. No, right now, you need to focus on dressing the injury, getting him some food and a fresh pair of clothes. 

It’s difficult to keep to your self-made resolution, though. Now that you are out of immediate peril, you can’t help but notice the magnetic force of a man the Mandalorian is under his armour. He’s just as sturdy and powerful, yet alive at the same time, fleshy beneath your fingertips. You bring the gauze to circle under his stomach, one hand sliding underneath him to grab the roll, and holy fuck; his abdomen is solid against you, not cut like a model’s washboard abs but firm and large and warm– 

Mando grunts, noticeably exhausted from hoisting his body up for so long. Right, the bandaging. You apologise, voice too soft. And as much as you wanted to keep your arm underneath him, content to stay there forever, being reassured by his beating heart and prevailing warmth, you have to put his comfort first. Thus, you’re quick with the rest of it, wrapping the gauze around his abdomen ten times, plus once more for extra measure. 

Just as soon as you’re done, you release a pent up gasp, bent on ignoring the violent emotions that crash down on you, the strange mix of relief, fear and security all too devastating in their severity. He’s no longer in any imminent danger of bleeding out, you’ve managed to pull this off. Your anxiety is ever-present though - it prevents any real solace you might glean from successfully not killing the one constant in your life. Perhaps you’d pursued the wrong career as a safehouse medic - you clearly aren’t cut out in situations where someone’s life was on the line. 

While wrapped in your own contemplation, you fail to acknowledge the bigger challenge that awaits you. 

Getting the piece of steel to relax for recovery. 

Immediately, you’re punished for underestimating him, nearly toppling back in your seat when he decides to drop down from your operating table into a stunted stand. He places all of his weight on his unaffected side, grasping the nearby furniture for balance. His strained grumbles don’t escape you, either, and you wonder - in that brief instance - whether he wears that bucket on his head because he was dropped as a child. 

“What are you doing?” You gawk.

He doesn’t respond, instead turning to check on the kid. It’s almost painful, watching him push himself beyond his limits for whatever justification he must think is fair. You sit for a little longer, staring, open-mouthed, as he continues to move around your living room, slower once comforted by the knowledge that his son is sound asleep. Maker, what is wrong with him. 

“Mando.” He limps to your front door. He must not hear you, because if he is intentionally disregarding you right now, you’d kill him. “Hey!” You’re louder than you intend, but your voice is surprisingly firm. He notices, slightly peering over his shoulder at you. It takes all your willpower not to grimace at the endlessly dark visor that meets your gaze, your mind a symphony of conflicting notions. ‘Did you overstep?’ contested by ‘Who cares, he almost bled out on your hands.’

“I’m going back to the Razor Crest.” He shuffles awkwardly when your glare hardens. “To get a fresh set of clothes.”

“You’re joking.” He doesn’t answer. You know he isn’t. “Sit down! Sit down right now! I have a flight suit that’ll fit you, just stop ruining all my hard work.” You don’t mention that half of your horrible reluctance in letting him go is accredited to the fact that you don’t want to risk him getting hurt again. You can’t if you wanted to - you’re having a hard time admitting it to even yourself. 

Begrudgingly, the bounty hunter does as asked, coming to lean against an arm of your couch, uncharacteristically careful in not letting his blood stained shirt touch the cushions. You stifle a sigh of exasperation; the contrast of his awkwardly hunched stature, clad in gleaming beskar, with the groaning man who was just on your table is nearly unbelievable. He’s so reluctant for all the power he possesses, so unsure of himself when placed in an environment of relative safety. You want to help him loosen up a little, to teach him the pleasures of home. You have no doubt that this man, who’d come barreling into your life, desperately needs one. Just the same as you. 

You grimace at the swell of affection. His clothes. He needed some clothes. You’d occupy yourself with that. 

The child does not like porridge, it seems.

He squeals and attempts to flip his bowl over, face scrunched up at you in displeasure. Tutting, you deposit a couple of dried jogan fruit into the mixture, hoping to satisfy him for the time being. His whines hush while he examines the colourful additions to his plate, poking at the purple cubes. Your shoulders tense, waiting for his consensus, hands at your hips like you’re expecting a death row sentence under an unforgiving jury. And, if possible, you stiffen further once the little terror grasps at a fruit with three little fingers, bringing it up to his open mouth. 

He swallows faster than you can blink. You don’t think he chewed. 

Time stills for the moment with which he ponders upon his opinion. Then, like a mini critic, he gazes over at you with an intense stare, noting your unease in his silence. To fill the tension, you prattle: 

“You’ve got centuries worth of wisdom in those eyes of yours, kid. Don’t unleash it all on me.” His large ears quirk upwards in recognition of your voice, followed by a small ‘patuu’. You scoff, petting the top of his head. It’s more of a response than his father usually gives you, that’s for sure. “I’m guessing you don’t like the fruit, huh?” And though he can’t confirm, he doesn’t fuss when you take the bowl away from him. 

In its wake, you succumb and give him a box of the blue macarons that he loves so much. You almost die when he shoots you a grin with those tiny teeth of his. If Mando couldn’t fight, you’d kidnap his kid from right under him. 

Speak of the devil. “You shouldn’t give him those. He goes wild with the sugar.” 

Stars, for such a large man, he is astonishingly light-footed. You roll your eyes dramatically, taking the tray he carries and placing it by the kitchen sink with one grand move. You’re pleased to learn he has eaten all of the food you’d cooked, even the dessert you threw in as an apology for being so bossy last night. 

“I say let him have at ‘em. You probably only feed him ration bars anyway.” You hum, starting on the dishes. Mando grunts but doesn’t say much else, plopping down by the child’s highchair. You notice the way he teeters when he puts too much weight on his injured back - partly because his broad shoulders stretch the flight suit you’d given him when he does - yet strive not to think too much about the pain he’s in; you just changed his bandages, and he looks to be healing fine. That’s all that should trouble you. 

Besides, he refuses to take any painkillers, something about this being the way. 

Still, you find it’s hard to waive off. Ever since Mando had first sought your services, almost half a cycle ago, he’s grown to occupy the gaps in your life. Your nighttime fantasies would always lead to him and his hulking frame (now you had the image of his muscled back to refer to instead). Your weekly visits to Greef’s cantina would be spent inquiring on the hunter’s whereabouts (in the least conspicuous way possible, you liked to tell yourself). Kriff, you even kept a cupboard of equipment exclusively for him (as if you regularly saw other patients, anyway). 

The Mandalorian has officially taken root in your life - and that is a reality that’s too disastrous to face at the current moment. Scrubbing your dishes harder, you rub your hand raw with the sponge and welcome the subsequent irritation; anything is better than the realisation that just dawns on you.

And, as if cursed by the Maker above, Mando goes ahead and makes your struggle a hundred times worse. “Thank you.” 

You blink, turning to face him. Opening your mouth, you try to muster a comeback worthy of a martyr, only to shut it and simply nod. 

When you circle around to continue the dishes, you discover you lack the energy. 

Groaning, you forfeit moments later and seat yourself across from the object of your turmoil. Mando is unmoving, though you can feel him studying you from behind his helmet. You watch the child munch on a macaron while you prepare yourself for the word vomit that will inevitably tumble from your lips. 

“You could have died,” is all you manage.

He tilts his helmet slightly at you. “I’ve been shot before.” 

You shake your head. “You let it fester for too long.” 

“I tried to cauterise it.” His voice drops a few octaves in response to the accusation. You repress a shiver. 

“And when that failed, did you seek help immediately?” It’s rhetorical, but he shifts as if he wants to speak. “You could have died.” You re-emphasise the severity in your tone. You can feel your veins work overtime, supplying you with twice the normal amount of blood to fuel the distress that courses within you. Does he not understand what that means? The child stops eating for a second, glancing between the two of you with a furrowed forehead. 

“I was systems away. It took me a while to get back to you.” 

“I’m not the only medic in the galaxy.” Certainly not the best. You figured Mando knew that, and if not, then you’d probably need to evaluate him for a concussion. 

“I didn’t want to.” You should have found the implicit answer in his blunt words before you push for clarification, because nothing could have prepared you for what comes next. “I don’t trust anybody. Just you.”

Oh. 

You figure he deserves an award for being the only person to have ever shut you up for this long. There’s nothing to say, at least, nothing you know how to say. It makes sense; he is a wanted man, and to be so vulnerable in front of just anybody is a death wish. So you sit there, hands clutched in your lap shamefully and shoulders slumped. The kid chitters in concern, shimmying out of his chair. You stretch your arms out to him as he totters atop the table, needing to pick him up, desperate for the comfort he’d bring. 

“Okay.” The peaceful withdrawal is unlike you, but you concede nonetheless.

The three of you sit like that for a long while after, soaked in morning light. It isn’t until the baby falls fast asleep upon your chest does Mando interject again. 

“Come with us.” The request is spoken with a resounding, weighted meaning, one which should hit you with full force. This man, this Mandalorian, who has sworn to a life of secrecy, has invited you to impede on what he holds the most dear. You can't comprehend why he would want that - you’ve made it pretty clear you’re a nightmare to deal with - but some part of you recognises this as his own surrender. Just as you acknowledged his uncertainty in trusting others, he appreciates your worry for him.

Frankly, that’s a mortifying notion. You choose not to ponder on it just yet. Rather, you smile, holding the kid the tiniest bit closer. 

“Okay.”

chapter two →

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Choice - Chapter 5

Summary: With each step you make, you reflect on your past

A/N: Hello lovelies

I hope everyone's had a great weekend, mine's been busy, running here and there.

This chapter is more of a self-reflection, I guess you could say. Anyways, you'll know what I mean once you read it. Also, this one is a slightly longer chapter, not by much.

Warnings: mentions of death, injuries, walking away, fluff, angst, play-fighting, pain, force-use, I think that's it, if I missed any please let me know.

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Your movements were slow, focused, your body radiating with pain with each step. It was either from the fall, or the punches you received, either way you were pretty sure you’d broken a rib or two fighting your way out of the compound. 

The pillow that had doubled as your pregnant belly was flattened now, it’s stuffing strewn across the floor of the compound. No doubt leaving some sort of trail all over the compound, and you would’ve cared if anyone had actually survived.

With each passing second, you went over the battle, doing your best to keep your mind distracted from the pain. As you thought about what could have been done differently, what you had missed, except despite all your efforts the one image that kept playing over and over again was seeing the trooper flying through the air as he crashed into the wall on the other side of the compound. 

Could this have been the force, that Luke had talked so much about? You’d seen him do strange and wonderful things, lifting things as though they weighed no more than a piece of paper, sensing people, even talking to people over distances, you even saw him use his Jedi mind trick, but there was no way what you did and what he did were anywhere near the same. It must have been an accident, maybe you actually threw an explosive at him or … maybe Grogu. Yeah, that would make sense, maybe Grogu was the one who pushed that trooper away from you. If it meant protecting him, you were happy to have faced all those assailants on your own. 

Well at least there was no worry of retaliation, you made sure of that.

However you were still cautious as you made your way back, ensuring you weren’t followed as you double-backed on yourself at least four times, you would’ve done ten more times, if it meant you weren’t putting Din or Grogu in any more danger, but the pain was a bit too much to bear.

You were certain, they managed to escape the facility, and once you were sure they were safely away, you made it your mission to wreak havoc on all those who had sided with the Empire. 

As your steps drew closer to Din and Grogu, your mind drifted back again to the battle. The images of watching Din’s armour absorb the blaster bolts hitting him in succession, repeated with each step. 

It wasn’t difficult to imagine how much pain he’d be in, no matter how many times you saw him get hit, it always worried you. 

Yet, a smile crossed your lips, as you thought about his tall imposing presence refusing to take anything to help with his own wounds, until he knew you were safe. He always put you and Grogu first, no matter the situation. What frustrated him even more was watching you put him and Grogu first. It always led to an argument about who had the right to show the most concern, usually ending in both of you trying to put bacta gel on the other, inevitably ending in a weird poking, trying to subdue the other type of fight.

The last time you both were fighting it ended up being rather physical, in where you both ended up with more bruises than you started off with, not because you hit each other, rather due to the fact that he would try to push you against the wall, while you flipped him on his back, causing him to hit the floor. You both were so intense about looking after each other, it ended with him on top of you, while you kept your legs intwined with his. Both his helmet and your lips were a mere hair’s breadth length apart, which ending up leading to both of you breaking down laughing until you both conceded as you wiped tears away.

A warmth in your heart began to spread as you realized they became your family. Truthfully, you’re not sure when it happened, but now that you thought about it, it had been a feeling you’d long forgotten. 

The day you walked away from Luke, from your rebel family, it was probably one of the hardest things you had to do. You closed up your heart for a long time until those two came along. When you left Leia understood your decision better than you imagined. Han not so much, but that wasn’t exactly a surprise. Chewie lovingly offered to rip off one of Luke’s arms, and as much as that thought brought a smile to your face, you couldn’t condone it. He accepted your stance, and instead offered a hug along with leads to a few jobs. 

As you shuffled and dragged your feet down the familiar streets, all you wanted right at that moment was to see Din and Grogu’s face. It was the one thought that was giving you strength to keep moving. 

To be in Din’s arms, as Grogu patted your cheek. 

It somehow became a sort of tradition, after a mission you end up in a hug, holding on to each other for however long each of you needed. Lately, you both noticed the hugs seemed to be growing longer with each mission, then again neither of you were complaining.

A few times it looked as though Din wanted to say something after Grogu fell asleep, from the tilt of his helmet you could tell something was weighing on his mind. Something he was battling out, but each time, he simply readjusted himself and walked away, as silent as ever.  

As you drew closer to the block where the apartment was, you thought back to how the tradition began after the fight on Tatooine. 

Din was exhausted and in pain from being tossed about, his arm was hurting from being in the rancor’s mouth, and the number of blaster bolt bruises riddled across his torso, back, and legs were slowly forming. Grogu was passed out on Din’s shoulder from putting the rancor to sleep, and you were exhausted, bruised, and bleeding. 

Every ounce of strength each of you had was put into making your way back to the palace, you were nearly there when you tripped over your own feet. Quick as a flash, Din threw his arm out, catching you in his arms drawing you close to his chest, trying to help you regain your footing. All you could manage to do was wrap your arms around him. Even now as you reflected back on the moment, you didn’t know what got into the both of you, but neither of you moved, especially when you rested your head on his other shoulder, rather than push you away, he simply rested his helmeted cheek on your head. The three of you holding on to each other, as a sense of comfort filled all of you, something none of you were expecting. 

It was that single moment when you felt your defences finally begin to break down. When you started to recognize the feeling that began to bloom in your chest since walking away from Luke, a sense of belonging. From that moment on, there was no more hiding yourself away. Not from Grogu, and certainly not from Din.

The street you’d been looking for all night was finally under your feet, with every step you took the precaution of looking around once more, confirming you weren’t followed, before approaching the door that kept your family hidden. 

You picked up your speed hoping to close the gap, between you and your comfort, as quickly as possible.

Which only caused you to jostle your arm against your ribs, allowing for a moment of excruciating pain to radiate it’s way throughout your body. You closed your eyes, not slowing down as you began to take in shallow breaths. You rushed those last few steps till you stood in front of your solace. Willing your hand to move forward and push the lock for the door. 

The door slid open, teasing you in its own right at its own ability to move around unencumbered and with pure ease. You’d have it out with the door later, but right now you needed to sit down. You needed Din. You needed your family. 

The room was quiet and dark, a sense of vigilance flared up within you, apprehension entered shortly after as the welfare of Grogu and Din first came to mind, it was quickly overshadowed by the odd sensation of sensing several pairs of eyes focused on you. Before you could even turn on the lights, a small body flung it’s way into your arms, clinging on to you, throwing you off balance for a brief second, before the familiar tiny head and long ears tickled your chin. 

As the door closed behind you, the light turned on simultaneously. A breath of relief escaped you, as your eyes locked on to Din’s helmet, he stood there leaning with his shoulder against the wall on one side of the room. A smile brushed against your lips as an overwhelming sense of relief flooded your body seeing he and Grogu were safe and looked relatively unharmed. 

Din adjusted himself off the wall, seeing your bruised face angered him, your face was a reminder he left you behind to protect Grogu. He took a step towards you, the way you were leaning into your side, and not running your fingers over Grogu’s head told him everything he needed to know. You were in excruciating pain, and all he wanted to do at that moment was offer you any kind of comfort he could give.  

However, that relief was quickly replaced with heartache, as your eyes focused on the third body in the room, you blinked several times to confirm you weren’t in fact seeing a ghost resting his back against the wall on the other side of the room. 

“Luke?”

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[legendsofmyriad]

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 27: The Waters of Skuld - Part 2

Lilith rubbed her hands together and smuggled them under her sleeve cuffs as the bitter winds nipped mercilessly at any exposed skin it could reach. Like flags in a concentrated breeze, the dwarven braids swayed and their golden beads clacked. A piercing howl assaulted the assembly and arms flinched to bat away the spray of dirt and snapping leaves. 

“You nervous or something?” Lofran said from beside the waiting mage. “You’ve spent the past ten minutes squirming like a mud beast in heat.”

Throwing him an unimpressed glower, Lilith cleared her throat and stuffed her hands behind her back, doggedly fighting the urge to fidget further. “I’m not nervous. It’s brisk is all.”

“Shouldn’t a soldier of your reputation be able to withstand the cold?” he teased. “Here I was thinking mage warriors would be stoic and unyielding, yet in the face of a bit of wind, you fumble about worse than an irritated child.”

“Are you trying to insult me?”

“Not at all, Commander Cleaver,” Lofran laughed. “Just having a little fun.”

“If only you knew the fun we mages have,” Lilith quipped, triumph swarming when the curious sweep of the leader’s eyes offered her an upper hand. She kept her own gaze forward, fixated on the trees where Bartholomew had vanished hours earlier. “The beauty and the chaos we can create. I have seen fire burn in a kaleidoscope of colours, watched healers bring back fatalities on death’s doorstep, felt the pain it inflicts and bear the scars of its malevolence.” 

In a soft lull, the flurries hushed. Lilith synchronised each breath as though she herself compelled the elements, and commanded them to slow. “Do you feel that?” 

“What?” Lofran asked. 

“Exactly. No wind.” With a pointed finger, she connected with her silent spell and sent ripples overhead. “I slowed down time and used the excess to form a barrier. Nothing can get in. Not even the weather.”

“But are we able to leave?” 

“Of course,” Lilith said, undoing the enchantment. The screeching gusts and creaking boughs resumed their protest. 

The tension discharged from Lofran’s muscles with the exhaled breath he had been holding. To think that she had used her power without him, or any of the other guards realising, both intrigued and frightened him. And it took something truly extraordinary to shake Lofran Redblade. “You hold a tremendous force within you,” he said, his usually gruff tone tamed into awe. “Great and dreadful indeed.”

Once the last few crackles burrowed into the gaps between her fingerless gloves, she shook the rest off, ensuring they couldn’t wriggle under the fabric. “You grow used to it after a while.” 

Ahead of them, Nestor planted his ceremonial spear into the mud with a deliberate thump and motioned into the forest, startling many in the gathered group. “I see them,” he declared. “There. Look!”

Two figures wandered through the underbrush, sunlight winding like a mangled halo around their forms until the natural shade brought them into view. Lilith remained still, her heart soaring as she curbed the overwhelming urge to sprint to the woman who had nurtured and protected her. 

Lofran stepped forwards, his jewellery and multitude of buckles creating a symphony of jangles with each stride. “Welcome back, Professor Spark,” he said and diverted his focus to the representative accompanying him. “You must be Farina Canaris. It is an honour to receive you into Thuldran, my lady.”

Farina’s pale yellow gaze assessed the welcoming party, and she lowered her head to the territory’s leader. The wind that tormented everyone else seemed to avoid her as though it didn’t dare disturb the sleek black curls over her shoulder or the loose, flowing sleeves of her dress. 

“I must express my gratitude to you, Elder Redblade, for allowing me to marvel at such a wondrous city,” she said, tender as summer silk. Every set of eyes lingered on her, but the ones she sought were not vibrant green, calming blue, or earthy brown. They were the richest violet, dappled with lilac, and when she found them, her smile could have warmed the entire planet for weeks. 

“There she is,” the councillor beamed, cupping Lilith’s wind-flushed cheeks and kissing her forehead. “What trouble do you have for me this time, little sunray?”

“No trouble,” Lilith promised. “Has Bartholomew explained the situation?”

“He has, and I am here to help in any way I can.”

“That is music to my pointy ears,” Lofran said over the cacophony of rattling armour as the guards assembled into formation. “Come. Negotiations wait for no-one.”

Lilith stayed close to her guardian as they navigated uphill paths and sprawling stone bridges. “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she said, peering at their guide who was animatedly conversing with Professor Spark about the intricate architecture. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Do you honestly think I would miss an opportunity to see you?” Farina replied. “The council wish to commence trade and build alliances as quickly as possible, so you have done me a favour. Your actions in opening the gateways created a fresh era of hope for us. New friends and allies will allay concerns among our citizens.” A glowing butterfly, no bigger than her palm, circled her shoulders as though to bask in her soothing power and dipped below the bridge barrier. “You blame yourself for the war, but there were many involved in returning magic to Solgarde. I take full responsibility for my part, and so does Altair, and Azra, and the council.”

“The entire council?” Lilith asked sceptically. “Because they have a tendency to shift accountability onto others and dodge liability unless it benefits them.”

“I understand your difficulties with them, but it is essential for us to mend the fractures together. Otherwise, we leave the door wide open for another authority like the Exalted. Alliances such as this will aid in healing.”

Grumbles simmered in the depths of Lilith’s throat, but she swallowed them down. No matter how much she had resisted and clashed with the council, cooperation was the key to restoring Solgarde. She would have time to argue with them later; for now, she needed to comply with whatever they ordered until her home was fixed again. 

As they reached the central hall, Lofran promptly took charge, settling himself into the largest chair at the table and ensuring refreshments were served before discussing his conditions. Arrangements were thrown back and forth in an almost dizzying trade of terms, promises securely established and concessions allowed in the spirit of a newfound friendship. 

“I can see why Commander Cleaver spoke so highly of you,” Lofran said as he downed his third tankard and mopped the foam from his bristled moustache. 

“Once the water has been collected, I shall organise for the zedite shipment to reach you within three days,” Farina agreed. “We will even bring it straight to your door if that is more convenient.” 

Lofran’s infectious smile reached his ears, and he leaned in closer, hands clasped and planted firmly on the table in front of him. “That is a kind gesture, my lady, and one I appreciate. Rest assured, I’ll get the medicinal supplies ready for you to take back as soon as the zedite arrives.”

“Then that is settled,” she said. “If you ever want to establish consistent trade agreements in the future or would like to negotiate a potential alliance, I am more than willing to sort it out for you personally.” 

“I shall hold you to that, Lady Canaris.” Lofran rose from his seat and the chiselled legs squeaked on the polished boards. “With passage between worlds possible again, it is important to determine these alliances now. We honest folk can’t let the gateways fall into the wrong hands.” 

* * *

“All it took was a rope, twelve tons of explosives, and a diving suit,” Nestor laughed. “You can imagine the look on Elder Redblade’s face when we returned, covered in damp grit and water, looking like we’d just been eaten by a river monster and spat back out.” Amusement shuddered through his ribs and he cast a sideways glance at the mage clutching the saddle seat. “She won’t bite you. Forest arachnids are tame. If she had any objection to us being up here, she would make it perfectly clear.”

Lilith loosened her grip a little until the blanched white of her knuckles returned to a faded pink. The sway closely resembled that of a clicker horse, but it was faster. Each set of four hairy legs thumped in perfect rhythm, stirring up the undergrowth and kicking up dirt. 

“Everything here works in unity,” Nestor continued, easing on the reins to guide the procession towards a more open trail. “The things we do every day sustain the forest and the life within it. In return, the creatures here allow us to pass through their territory should we need to. Even help like Jacina.” He patted the arachnid’s back and leaned in to whisper a few dwarven words to her. 

“I didn’t realise she had a name,” Lilith said. With a hint of hesitation, she immersed her hand into the prickly bristles beside her leg. The warm skin it grew from resonated with a vibrant energy, integrated with the pulse of the forest. 

The creature emitted a series of fluctuating clicks, and Lilith retreated. 

“Don’t panic,” Nestor chuckled. “She’s purring.” 

“Oh.” She nestled her palm into the silvery fuzz, and Jacina purred again. “I never would have believed it if someone had told me a few months ago that I would be collecting magical water while riding on the back of a giant spider. I have seen many things my people would consider otherworldly, but this…” Her eyes chased the patches of sunlight as they filtered through the rifts in the overhang. The blood red leaves of this section of wood collided with one another as if engaged in a fierce battle for survival. The winners settled down and basked in the glow of victory, and the defeated twirled in disorienting circles before coming to rest beside the pale white roots. “This is truly something else.” 

“There is a peace here,” Nestor agreed. “A harmony.” 

“Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“I am glad you think so, commander. We are proud of our home.”

I wonder what it feels like to be this proud of your homeland, Lilith wondered. Amidst the chaos of the purge, she found solace in the unity of the mages who banded together, disregarding their disagreements to conquer a mutual foe. But she also harboured a deep sense of shame that some of them had willingly joined forces with their enemy, embracing the belief that their power was too dangerous and should be eradicated or controlled. 

The dwarves cherished their home and the enchanting creatures that resided in it. Nurtured the world and cared for it together in peace. True peace. It wasn’t the empty promises of deceitful politicians, but a symphony of harmony that inspired them to thrive and bloom. To align with nature instead of dominate it. 

“You’re quiet,” Nestor said, interrupting her musing. “Not fallen asleep, have you?”

“No,” Lilith replied. “Just thinking.” 

“You see that light over there?” Using a gloved finger, the captain guided her gaze towards the silver glow holding its own against the burnished sunlight. “That’s our destination.”

The procession came to a halt as they approached the pool, the guards creating a gap for Nestor and Lilith to continue on their own. The boles of the trees became whiter, as if they had been forever kissed by the frost of winter, and the leaves deepened to a sinister crimson. From inside a chalky ridge face, a sheet of water splashed into the basin below. Stones of varying sizes protected the edge, smoothed by time and weather, glistening and sodden. 

“I’ll wait here,” Nestor said, careful not to jostle Lilith as he supported her onto stable ground. “You need anything, just shout.” 

Her long coat swept the fallen leaves as she neared the bank of the water. The magic within swelled, charged with a power so ancient it smelled of musty, old books and damp cave systems. 

She positioned herself beside the protective rock barrier and retrieved a small vial from her jacket. With a steady hand, she dipped it into the cool surface and filled it almost to the brim. As she tightened the metal cap, a flicker of movement caught the fringe of her vision. Keeping her movements deliberate, she returned the glass container to her pocket. 

In a dash so quick it could rival the speed of her magic, a tiny fluttering creature poised in front of her face, humanoid but winged, like a river bug.

“She takes the water,” it giggled. “She took it.” 

Others joined from the shadows of the ridge, wings shivering so rapidly that it was impossible to see the membrane and blood that formed them.  

“I have the permission of Elder Lofran Redblade of Thuldran,” Lilith informed them. 

“Oh, we know about that,” the sprite smirked. “And about you, Sunbreaker. You will split so much more than suns.” A chorus of trilled snickers accompanied the flurried splash of imbued water as more came to taunt her. “Both parts of you, breaking in two. Rip. Break. Tear.”

They burst into laughter once more, and Lilith rose to her feet, lips set firm and her jaw clenched. 

“It has already happened,” the sprite said, the amusement fading with a tickled sigh. “Can’t stop it now.” 

In a playful flurry, the group of sprites scattered behind the waterfall, disappearing in a giggle at her fate. 

Lilith’s chest heaved and fell in short bursts. She forced herself to release the tension, first her jaw, then her shoulders, controlling each inhale and exhale until her body settled. 

“Don’t listen to those troublemakers,” Nestor said staunchly from behind her. “Water sprites are tricky creatures and like to have fun with outsiders.” Waving towards Jacina, he led her away from the mirror pool. “Nobody controls your fate but you. Whatever they told you, pay their words no heed. You hear me?”

Lilith nodded, but she wasn’t wholly sure what she was agreeing to. Despite the mischievous giggles of the sprites, their warning vibrated within her, puncturing the very essence of her being and leaving her with an unsettling sensation that was proving difficult to calm. 

At the Thuldran boundary, the small group dismounted, settling their arachnids into their cavern stables with the handlers and continuing on foot. As the sun dipped and the first stars peeked over the billowing horizon, the city descended into a tranquil hush. Doors shut for the evening as night wafted its blanket and set it across the land, window light and humming bugs guiding the captain, the mage and their procession. 

“I can feel you thinking about what those water sprites said,” Nestor griped. “I told you, they are not to be trusted. They saw an outsider and spotted an opportunity for a bit of fun.”

But what if they’re right? Lilith’s mind cried. I’ve already caused so much harm. Am I truly destined to create more? Her head reeled, thoughts zooming at lightning speed and whenever she tried to catch one, to rationalise with it, it slipped between her fingers with a cruel laugh and joined the rest of the fray again. 

“If it will ease your worries,” Nestor offered, “they have predicted many things that never came true.”

“Never came true, or didn’t manifest in the way you interpreted?” Lilith asked. 

At that, the captain puffed out his chest, as if preparing to deliver an important statement, but ultimately deflated with a reluctant exhale. “Look, you are the one who controls your fate. Stuff happens that is out of our control, but what matters is how you respond to it. Are you going to let those pests get to you?”

“No.”

“There then. Best thing you can do is forget about them.”

Lilith wasn’t sure she could ignore those trill, foreboding words competing with the flutter of their wings, but Nestor had a point; with the safety of every soul in Myriad at stake, she couldn’t afford to waste time fretting. 

As they arrived at the courtyard outside the central hall, their triumphant return was met with a thunderous applause and clatter of weaponry on armour. 

“I knew you would get it,” Farina declared, embracing her ward. “Haven’t I always said you are capable of anything you put your mind to?”

“More often that I can count,” Lilith responded with a fond grin. 

Councillor Canaris delicately set her slender fingers on Lilith’s cheeks, leaving a faint trail along her cheekbone. While she may have been able to fool others with a cheerful facade, that trick had never worked on her. She recognised the doubt in the tension in her shoulders and the slight bob of her throat. “What’s the matter, dearest one?” she spoke softly and quietly. “Has something happened?”

Lilith scuffled her boots, the fragile twigs and dense dirt crunching beneath the worn soles. In her peripheral vision, she caught Nestor’s watchful glance and the discreet shake of his head. Hurt and death lay in her wake, churned up and spat out in her quest for freedom, and although she wanted to follow his advice and erase it from her memory, the mere prospect of history repeating itself left her soul aching. 

“There were some water sprites at the mirror pool,” she explained. “They made cryptic remarks about my future, but Captain Nestor advised me to pay no attention to it. According to him, they find it funny to tease outsiders.”

“The captain is a local and knows what he is talking about,” Farina said. “We should trust in his knowledge.”

In Farina’s glossy golden eyes, Lilith caught the telltale glint of concern, the curl of her lips slower than usual and the reassuring smile faltering a few inches before it came to an uncertain stop. But it wasn’t the prophecy that weighed on her mind. It was her. Her ward. The girl she had been tasked with caring for who had blossomed into a daughter. Farina may have known her well, but Lilith also understood her guardian better than anyone else, and in that moment she saw the motherly worry ingrained on her face. 

Before they had the chance to exchange another word, Bartholomew and Lofran appeared from the hall, drawn by the noise outside. The professor’s features lit up with delight when he spotted the filled glass vial, his hands clapping together in a gesture that seemed to ignite the very essence of the night sky. 

“Speaking of trust,” Farina continued, “do you trust Professor Spark?” 

“Strangely enough, I do,” Lilith answered. Her attention drifted to the man in question as Lofran briskly patted him on the arm and released a boisterous laugh. “I can’t quite explain it. You know how there are people you meet and you swear you’ve already met, but you don’t recall ever seeing them before?”

“Like a blood-calling?”

“I suppose that’s one way of describing it.”

Farina hummed under her breath, her eyebrows furrowing as she pondered the enigmatic professor and his valiant quest to safeguard the nine worlds under his watch. While she entrusted Lilith’s judgement, she found it increasingly difficult ignore the restless churning in the pit of her stomach, a persistent thorn that warned her he was concealing truths. “There is something about him that makes me uneasy,” she admitted. “Please be vigilant. It’s easy to be misled by appearances.”

“I’ll be careful,” Lilith promised. “You know me. I’ve always got a trick or two up my sleeve.” 

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging. Reblogging helps to get work out there and seen.

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[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 1 - Helpless

A/N: Welcome to my Febwhump 2024 collection! Decided to challenge myself this time and write for a fandom that could use some more whump. I know a few writers have previously used BTTF for whump challenges, and I’ll do my best to ensure I don’t write the same things as them! Most of these will be based on scenes from the films simply as there isn’t much other source material to base off - and yes, that means no animated series characters or scenarios will be mentioned. Be aware that there will be some coarse language (as it is a part of Marty’s character) and graphic descriptions of violence/injuries.

A/N: Things were definitely ‘heavy’ now. Marty’s thoughts as he is hung by Tannen in Part III.

The rope bit painfully into his palms as he gripped it for dear life, the ground racing towards him at an unbelievable speed

He cringed as he was dragged through a collection of wooden slabs, screaming as individual splinters were thrust into his chest, some embedding themselves through the fabric of his shirt.

Stop stop stop stop!!

Tannen’s laughter rang faintly in his ears amongst the roar of the horses’ hoofbeats. His torso dragged along the ground, the force of the friction burning into his chest. It felt as though he was sliding across the world’s roughest rug.

Holy shit, this is gonna rip all my skin off!

He blinked furiously at the dirt that was continuously flung into his watery eyes. A few clumps being stirred up by the horses’ hooves had somehow managed to enter his mouth, and he gagged on the foul gritty taste.

Oh please, God, please make it stop…

He scrunched his eyes shut, tucking his head between his arms. The lasso was digging into his armpits so tightly that it felt he was being pulled in half.

If only I’d had a damn skateboard, this would’ve turned out better…

Hang on, something feels different-

His trembling hands relaxed as he felt himself slowing down. He let his head sag, the agony coursing through his body beginning to dull slightly, only for it escalate as he finally stopped.

Oh, thank God…

He lay motionless for a few moments, panting as he tried to breathe through the pain. He couldn’t even think of an analogy worth comparing it to; even his burns from the living room rug weren’t this painful. He vaguely registered a small whine as being his own, and instantly turned red with shame. Come on, McFly, get a grip on yourself…Not like you just survived a near-death experience or anything.

While it would’ve only been seconds, it felt like an eternity before he decided to try extracting himself from the dirt. He leaned onto his right elbow and used his shaking left hand to push himself to his feet, feeling considerably dizzy as he rose.

He gazed down in amazement, realising the shoddy costume Doc had given him in 1955 was still intact, apart from a few stray threads and some impressive dirt stains. What sort of magic shit is this?…

“If we got ourselves a new courthouse, it’s about time we had a hangin’!” Tannen roared. A chorus of whoops and cheers erupted from his fellow gang members.

Marty felt his blood turn to ice. Wait-

Even if he’d had the strength to fight off his oppressors, they operated so quickly that it felt as though it happened all at once. A second rope was expertly lassoed around his neck and immediately tightened. Shit, no no no no-

His fingers began to fumble uselessly at the noose, a strangled gasp escaping his throat as he felt his feet leave the ground.

No no no no no…!

He pulled against the rope with all the strength left in his battered body.

The pressure around his neck increased by the second.

His throat began closing over.

No! No no no, Doc, help!!

His vision began to tunnel.

Doc, dammit, do something!!

The wet, strangled croaks from his throat faded, as did the jeering taunts from Tannen.

Jennifer…

He felt the strength fading from his arms.

The tips of his fingers were beginning to unfurl from the rope.

It was tempting just to let go.

Let go.

His fingers fell.

…Mom…

For a moment, all he knew was blackness.

The ground suddenly appeared before him, and his eyes flew open.

He lay in an ungraceful heap in the dirt, wheezing as air finally entered his tortured body. The world around him was silent, apart from his desperate gasps for breath. The fire of the rope burn currently sizzling around his neck was nothing compared to the overwhelming relief of finding he was still alive.

“…off a dog at five hundred yards, Tannen! And it’s pointed straight at your head!”

Hey I can hear again, that’s nice-

Doc!!

Holy crap!

Oh my God, Doc, you did it.

Marty’s hand unconsciously went to his throat, hissing as he rubbed at the raw skin. It took a few blinks for his vision to start clearing up.

“So the way I see it, you owe me five dollars for the horse, and seventy-five dollars for the whiskey!” Tannen’s shouts broke him from his daze.

Hang on…

I guess my brain still isn’t working properly…

Seventy-five and five…

“That’s the eighty dollars!” Marty thought aloud, cringing at the pain in his throat. Geez, I hope my voice isn’t damaged…Sounds like I’ve smoked one too many packs-

“Well that’s your problem, Tannen!” The aggression in Doc’s voice brought him back to the present. Why the hell can’t I focus? Did I get brain damaged already?

Choosing not to think too hard about it, the young man wearily gazed up at his saviour, glaring valiantly at Tannen with his suspiciously-futuristic rifle. I don’t care what you think about drinking, Doc, but I am definitely buying you one after this.

[wexarethewalkingxdead]

sonofsaviors​:

Plotted RP with @wexarethewalkingxdead

Logan did his best to retain his calm, cool demeanor as the gates of Alexandria screeched shut behind him. He did his best to stand tall and unbothered by the people of the community almost staring at him. He resisted the urge to fidget and move under their burning gazes, forcing himself to breath slow and steady, showing a confidence that he certainly did not feel at the moment.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what he looked like. Almost a carbon copy of his father. Fuck… the idea of Dad still hurt. He blinked quickly, feeling his eyes burn with unshed tears. He naively thought that after a year, he would of mourned and grieved enough, but every reminder of Negan was a painful wound that never refused to heal. Even if the man himself was dead and buried. Logan had done it himself, refusing any help from anyone else. It was his job. 

As a Savior.

As a son.

Logan wished he had Lucille, but he had left the bat on Shadow’s saddle. It was not wise to bring the weapon into Alexandria. Especially when he was here to beseech Rick for another mercy. All he held was a worn notebook of plans and ideas, idle comforts in ink and paper of a future he wanted to build for himself and for the people who wanted to follow him.

A nervous swallow, and Logan forced himself to speak with a self-assuredness he garnered from his mother and father’s memories.

“I need to talk to Rick.”

Rick didn't know how he'd managed to survive losing Carl. Following his son into death was not an option. He still had Judith. And Michonne needed him, too. She needed them both. So they'd grieved together and separate, and they did their best to ensure that Judith had everything she could ever need or want and that she was safe behind the walls of Alexandria. He focused on raising Alexandria up and making it something that his son would have been proud of.

The communities had been reluctant to welcome the Saviors that wanted fresh starts, but things were working out and some of them had found people to love them in the year since Negan's downfall and death. Now with the work on the bridge that would make it easier for the communities to access each other as well as have a regular route for trade and medical needs, he had found the Saviors from the Sanctuary weren't exactly willing so he'd promsied to make it worth their while. They had delivered on their end, but Rick was still waiting on the Saviors to follow through.

So when he was told that Logan was at the gates and requesting and auidence with him, he couldn't help but think that things might be starting to look up and be moving in the right direction. He slipped his Colt Python into his holster as he headed toward the gate with his mind on the mission of securing the manpower to get the bridge complete before winter set in.

He offered his hand to the younger man. The boy who looked so much like his father that even Rick had to do a double-take sometimes. "Logan," he gave a nod. "I was about to ride out to the Sanctuary in a few days. Thanks for saving me the trip."

@sonofsaviors

[husbandohunter]

Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Albedo's despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps

(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫

_______________________________________________

The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.

It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.

Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.

So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.

"Master Diluc..."

Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."

"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."

Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.

"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."

Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.

Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"

Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.

Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."

"You're just going to leave her here?"

There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.

It was his concern.

-------

A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?

"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.

The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.

Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.

"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."

The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."

"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."

Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."

The pen slows into a halt.

No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.

"Fine, but I'm not eating that."

"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."

He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.

People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.

Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.

I should have pushed you away.

Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.

Then you'd still be-

Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.

She needs you to focus.

The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."

His reaction was immediate, "Where?"

"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"

"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."

Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."

"..."

"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."

"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."

"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."

"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."

The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.

-------

The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.

Diluc was tired, so tired.

He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?

In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.

"Diluc."

He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.

"Diluc."

"I'm sorry..."

The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?

"Diluc."

"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.

"Diluc, I'm here."

"Stop..."

"Diluc..."

He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.

And screamed.

Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.

He wanted you.

"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."

For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.

Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 4: "do you trust me?"

(part one)

There are logistics to consider, when it comes to publicly executing a wizard. It’s a show of assurance from the Dynasty, to have him killed under the eyes of all Rosohna, to prove their strength, but also a risk. It looks unprofessional for a captured traitor to make a last stand within feet of the axe, even if all he achieves is going out in a blaze of glory rather than a quick drop of steel.

Steps have been taken to avoid this eventuality. Essek’s hands are shackled behind his back, forced into gloves with steel wires running through the fingers and palms to prevent even the smallest gesture. Between the cloth between his teeth and the metal muzzle holding his jaw tightly closed, he’s no closer to speaking a spell than he is to walking on the sun. Every fiber of his plain prisoner’s shirt and pants has been searched, twice, to ensure that he has nothing on him that might conceivably be used for casting.

Essek has seen this before, although rarely. It was not a surprise, when the appointed day arrived and his guards brought the restraints. Yet it feels unreal, as everything since his trial has felt unreal. As everything since Jester’s message has felt unreal. A dream, unspooling before him, outside his control.

There is a kind of ease to it, that Essek has never experienced before. There is nothing left for him to do. He made his attempt to run, and he failed. He said his words of defense at his trial, and they were not enough. And now, they will use the same techniques that he helped to perfect to drag him to the block and kill him for his treason, his callous disregard for all the lives lost in the war. All neat and tidy, and all he has to do is let the current carry him forward to the inevitable end.

He tells himself, as the gloves are locked onto his hands, that this is one of the better possible outcomes, and he even believes it. His friends, his family—they are not here. Jester has done as she agreed, giving him time to resolve the situation, and hasn’t messaged him since his trial. The Nein are well outside the possible radius of destruction that Essek has caused, in his arrogance and carelessness. He knows his actions will reflect poorly on Den Thelyss, but he hopes that Verin might escape with a mere demotion, as unscathed as anyone could hope to be, protected by Essek’s full, willing confession.

It’s worth it, to pay for their lives with his own.

Essek believes this. He believes it with his whole heart.

The gloves keep his hands from shaking.

Two guards, a goliath with her arms tattooed so densely she looks scaled and a burly half-orc with skin nearly as grey as the stone walls, haul him to his feet in his cell and push him forward. They hold him up by main force when he stumbles and he would otherwise take a head-first fall into the stone. Nonetheless, his pride prickles and burns when the half-orc yanks him upright after his latest near-fall, grip hard on the collar of Essek’s shirt, and snorts a laugh.

“Can’t believe he’s the fucking traitor,” the half-orc says over Essek’s head, drawling the words in a tone full of vindictive amusement that Essek has become regrettably familiar with, lately. “Fucker can’t even walk in a straight line. Can you, Shadowhand?” He gives Essek a sharp cuff on the shoulder to punctuate the insult, and it’s only because Essek has a sense of how this goes by now that he manages to anticipate the blow and stay on his feet.

The goliath laughs, a rolling rumble of thunder as she checks Essek hard with her hip, sending Essek into the corner of the next corridor hard enough that he’d have a bruise, if he lived long enough for it to show up.

“You’re telling me,” the goliath says. “Goddamn, wizards are useless once you get ‘em quiet, huh? Up this way next, what is this, your first time down here?”

“You’ve got to do a pretty good job, but yeah, pretty much just decorative once you shut ‘em up.” The half-orc grabs the cuff holding Essek’s hands together and tugs to indicate the next corridor, ignoring the way it forces Essek up onto his toes against the pain in his shoulders. “I just got in from Jigow,” he continues, as if Essek isn’t even there. “Y’know how it is, they were looking to cover y’all’s staffing problems since this bastard’s confession did a real number on things. Anywhere good to get a drink around here?”

“Thought you looked new,” the goliath said. “You trying to get lucky, new guy?”

“Hey, miss every shot you don’t take,” the half-orc said, sly, angling a glance up at her. “How’s my progress?”

“Depends on how much you spend on those drinks. Hold him, I’ll get the gate.”

The half-orc’s hands close firmly around the tops of Essek’s arms, holding him in place as the goliath strides ahead. In front of her—in front of Essek—is the great gate to the courtyard, and beyond it he can hear the roar of a crowd, bloodthirsty and victorious.

He can picture it. He’s put people here himself, attended executions for treason. The flagstones, smooth and dark beneath the crowd of witnesses. The stone dias with the Bright Queen’s throne, the chairs beside her for close advisors and other nobility. His mother might have been there, if he hadn’t so recently destroyed the reputation of Den Thelyss. And at the center, where all could see, the stairs, and the platform, and the block, and the axe.

The goliath is at the door, and the lock clatters, metal-on-metal.

Under cover of the noise, the half-orc lowers his head and speaks into Essek’s ear, no longer the careless drawl, but quick, clipped words in a familiar accent.

“I don’t have time to explain,” the half-orc murmurs in Fjord’s voice, so quiet that Essek would think it was a hallucination if he couldn’t feel the air move against his skin. “We have a plan. Do you trust me?”

Essek’s first response isn’t relief. It’s not even shock. It is pure, undiluted, blazing rage, that, after all this, these fucking morons are here. It hits him so hard that his skin burns with it, his vision spotting black at the edges, lips twisting against his gag. All at once, for the first time in a week, Essek is awake, jarred back to the present by the fury pounding through his veins. He can feel the air rushing into his throat, the hammering of his heart against his ribs, every fiber of his coarse prisoner’s clothing and every imperfection of the stone under his bare feet.

Fortunately, Essek has been a traitor in the heart of the Dynasty for too long to let it slow him down, and he nods, once, minutely.

“Okay,” Fjord breathes. “She’s going to open that door. When I yell, make a run for it.”

Once upon a time, Essek would have spent valuable time thinking about how astronomically terrible that plan is, but prolonged exposure to the Mighty Nein teaches a person to accept the reality of a plan being terrible right away and move on to thinking about managing the terrible plan quickly. And—

Even if it was the worst conceivable plan, even if it was—well, make a run for it, when there’s a sword-wielding goliath between him and the outside, which is entirely populated by guards, magic users, and a crowd that wants him dead—even then, Essek can’t imagine turning down the offer. It’s not exactly a port in a storm, but it’s something.

Essek is twenty paces from his own death, and even if this plan just ends with him having a friend at his side while he dies, it’s already better than dying alone. He never claimed to have entirely cured himself of selfishness.

And besides, Essek reassures himself as the goliath shoulders open the door. If this gets Fjord killed too, Essek will just have to find a way to drag himself back from death and throttle the entire Nein on principle. Stranger things have happened.

The door creaks open, and Fjord’s hands loosen, just slightly, and Essek runs.

“Fucker!” Fjord roars behind him, sounding breathless—pained? It buys Essek a bare moment to close the distance to the gate, and then dart around the goliath’s side as she starts to turn. “He’s using magic! Stop him!”

The goliath snarls, and Essek puts on a reckless burst of speed. Her hand shoots out and grabs his shirt, but Essek is moving too quickly. The fabric cuts into him as it rips, and then he’s stumbling into the courtyard.

He doesn’t get any further. His luck doesn’t hold up to a second blow from the goliath, and she slams a fist into his chest so hard he hears ribs crack. He’s shoved backward, toward the door, with a helpless, strangled shout of pain that draws every eye.

He’s caught from behind, a fist in his tangled white hair, and he hears a whisper of “Trust me.”

And then Fjord’s hand, unremarkable guard’s sword in his grip, comes down, and cuts Essek’s throat.

[queenshelby]

The Policeman’s Daughter – Part Three

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Mention of Assault and Sexual Abuse, Mention of Suicide, Murder, Fluff, Slow Burn Smut, Drugs

Words: 5,245

Please comment, like, engage if you like it xo 😘

Shelby Company Limited, Birmingham, 17 September 1924

At around 10 o’clock that day, Tommy had a meeting with Moss, Michael and Arthur at his office in order to ensure that the plan he had hatched in the previous two days came to fruition.

‘So, we are all good for the rallies this evening?’ Tommy asked as Moss, Michael and Arthur sat down with him in the conference room.

‘All this for a fucking woman, eh?’ Arthur asked, causing Tommy to chuckle. Of course, he had more than one motive for organising extensive rallies across Birmingham. Sure, he wanted to see you but he also needed to get a shipment of cocaine out of the city unnoticed.

‘The rallies are going ahead as planned. All but three policemen will be dispatched and busy breaking up the fights’ Moss explained before handing Tommy a list of names of policemen who had recently joined the force.

‘All but three, eh?’ Tommy asked surprised, causing Moss to nod. ‘Are you sure that this list complete?’ Tommy then went on to ask, noticing that none of the men on the list carried the same surname as you.

Moss nodded again before breaking some more news to Tommy.

‘Three of the men have been called into London, investigating a few killings. You may have heard in the news this morning that a High Court Judge had been killed last night’ Moss explained.

‘I’ve heard’ Tommy said before taking a short pause while reading over the list again. ‘Can you tell me who the three men are’ Tommy then went on to say while pointing at the list. In his mind, it was unusual for local coppers to be called to a different district and the killing of the judge was going to be a high-profile case, unsuitable for most small-town policemen to investigate.

Moss was quick to highlight the three names for Tommy before taking his payment and leaving the office just as requested by Tommy.

‘I need you to find out about these three men. Where they have transferred from and why they are here. Get me their addresses and see if they have any skeletons in their closet, eh’ Tommy said, handing the list to Michael.

‘Why?’ Michael asked, unsure about Tommy’s motives.

‘If these men investigate a murder of a judge in London, they aren’t just coppers’ Tommy explained before confirming with Arthur that he has dealt with the security guards at your property.

‘Blackmailed them and paid them Tommy. Just as you ordered’ Arthur confirmed and it was at this point that Tommy called the end of the meeting, allowing Michael and Arthur to get on with their business.

Just as Arthur and Michael left the office, Tommy’s secretary Lizzie walked inside, asking Tommy to sign off on some of the paperwork she had prepared for Shelby Company Limited.

Without acknowledging her, Tommy read the paperwork and signed it. As usual, his thoughts were elsewhere and it wasn’t until Lizzie asked him about his plans for the evening that he acknowledged her.

‘Would you like me to stay back this evening Tommy?’ Lizzie asked while she seductively ran her hand over one of his upper thighs all the way towards his crotch.

‘I’ve got plans this evening Lizzie’ Tommy quickly responded, removing her hand from his thigh while signing the last piece of paper she had given him.

‘It’s been a while since we’ve fucked’ Lizzie then said, looking at Tommy with her dark eyes.

‘It has’ was all he responded with before clearing his throat and getting on with business matters.

Your Residence, Birmingham, 17 September 1924

Meanwhile, earlier that day, your father had told you that he had business to attend to in London. As usual, he didn’t tell you what this business was about but you expected that it had to do with the killing of the high court judge and the three men who, several years ago, caused you so much pain and suffering.

Your father seemed pleased about their killing when he called in at 10 o’clock that morning, asking you whether you had read the paper. Nonetheless, there would be an investigation and, knowing your father, you knew that he was desperate to know as to who did the killing and, more importantly, why.

When you asked him when he would return, he advised you that he wouldn’t be back until Sunday afternoon and you couldn’t help but chuckle before wishing him safe travels.

At around 7 o’clock that evening, you had a quick bath before picking out your clothes for the evening. You were excited to see Tommy again. But you were also slightly nervous, knowing that you might be spending the night with him.

You had only ever been with one man who was nothing but cruel to you in the end. Intimacy didn’t come naturally to you ever since the night you were hurt and abused.

But you knew that you had to get over all this eventually and, for some reason, you desired Tommy like you never desired any man before. There was something about him that not only made you feel at ease but also attractive and worthy.

He had an aura about him which no one had ever matched and, deep down inside, you knew that you both shared struggles no one else could comprehend.

When you told him about the night your life changed for the worse and your thoughts about ending your own suffering many times in the past, he told you that he understood how you felt.

He told you about France, he told you about the death of his wife and how, on many occasions, he didn’t think it was worth it to carry on like this.

But, he had a son he loved and cared for and assured you that, one day, you would have someone who makes life worth living for.

Of course, you wanted him to be right and, until then, you were determined to try and enjoy life and indulge on what was at offer.

‘Fear nothing Love. Everything after is extra’ was what Tommy had said to you when you told him that you had nearly died that night. And he was right, everything after was extra.

With these thoughts running through your mind, you slipped on some nice lingerie, a nice dress and applied a generous amount of make-up.

At exactly 8 o’clock, you heard a car pull up in front of the property and you looked around for the guards who, miraculously, had disappeared.

You quickly put on your coat, grabbed your handbag and walked outside into the cold autumn air.  Without second thoughts, you walked to Tommy’s car and, as soon as you opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat, he pulled you close for a kiss. You didn’t even get a chance to greet him before his lips were firmly connected to yours.  

His lips were warm and soft, just as you remembered and you immediately parted your lips, allowing his tongue to enter and explore. His hands were caressing your face as he kissed you for what felt like an eternity.

‘You look beautiful’ he eventually said, quickly gazing over you after your lips drifted apart before putting the car into gear and driving off.

‘How did you know that my father would be going to London?’ you then asked without worrying about where Tommy was taking you.

Without answering your question immediately, Tommy swallowed harshly, realising that your father must be one of the men he asked Michael to research which, yet again, would pose another hurdle for him and you.

‘I didn’t know that he was going to London but I did know about some rallies in Birmingham tonight, keeping all the coppers busy. I was certain that he would have to work’ Tommy explained before asking you for your father’s name.

‘It’s James and he will be in London all weekend’ you smirked, causing Tommy chuckle.

‘All weekend, eh?’ Tommy said while realising that none of the three men on Moss’s list who were travelling to London were named James.

‘Are you alright Tommy?’ you then went on to ask as you became to notice how quiet Tommy had gotten after you told him about your father.

‘Yes Love, there is just some business on my mind’ Tommy explained before changing the topic.

‘Since your father is gone for a while longer than I had expected, how would you like to spend the weekend with me at my house?’ Tommy then went on to ask before realising that this might make you uncomfortable after what you had told him the last time you saw each other and, before you could answer, he qualified his proposal. ‘Separate bedrooms of course and you are free to leave whenever you choose’ he added quickly, taking your hand and running over it gently while trying to concentrate on the road.

‘I would love that Tommy’ you answered equally quick while your hand searched for his thigh.

Tommy’s Residence, Birmingham, 17 September 1924

After a thirty-minute drive filled with interesting conversations, you finally arrived at Tommy’s house and, when he pulled up in the driveway, you were speechless.  

‘How many people do live here exactly?’ you asked while looking at the large mansion.

‘Just me, my son Charles and some maids’ Tommy said as he parked the car and before walking around it, opening the door for you like a gentleman.

‘Right’ you said, clearly lost for words.

‘Common. It’s warmer inside’ Tommy said with a warm smile as he reached for your hand.

As soon as you walked into the door, you were greeted by one of the maids who took your coat and provided Tommy with a list of messages received via phone during the day.

Tommy quickly skimmed over the list and decided that he had to make a quick phone call before he would join you in the reading room.

You were impressed by the decoration in the house, looking around and into each and every direction while Tommy’s maid Francis walked you to the reading room.

‘Miss, would you like a glass of wine, or champaign perhaps?’ Francis then asked and you quickly shook your head, thanking her for her offer.

From the reading room, you could hear Tommy talking to someone in quite a firm tone and you began to wonder how he came into possession of such wealth and position of power as a gypsy.

While you waited for Tommy to return, you walked around the reading room, looking at the books and artwork and, just as you did, a young boy walked inside wearing pyjamas.

‘Hey, you must be Charles’ you said with a friendly voice and the boy nodded shyly.

‘Are you one of the new maids?’ Charlie asked and you quickly shook your head just as Francis walked in behind him.

‘No running away, remember’ Francis said and, just as she did, Tommy finished his phone call and quickly gave Charlie a hug before telling him that it was time to go to bed.

You said goodbye to Charlie and couldn’t help but marvel about the fact that he looked just like Tommy.

‘You are very lucky. He is a beautiful young boy’ you said just after Francis carried Charlie to bed.

‘I am sure you will be just as lucky one day, eh’ Tommy said before pouring you glass of whiskey which you chose to decline.

‘I cannot have children’ you explained, holding your stomach momentarily and, immediately, Tommy sat down next to you and took you into his arms.

‘I am sorry’ he said quietly as you leaned against his shoulder.

‘It’s alright. I made peace with it a long time ago’ you said, still glancing around to take in the artwork and décor.

‘Now, tell me, what is it that you do’ you said, looking into his deep blue eyes.

‘Lots of things’ Tommy responded before pressing his lips onto yours.

‘Lots of things? Right’ you giggled before asking Tommy how he managed to get the security guards your father had employed to turn a blind eye on you leaving that evening and not returning to your home until Sunday.

‘I paid them a substantial amount of money’ Tommy said bluntly.

‘You paid them?’ you asked with surprise and Tommy nodded. ‘Yes, I paid them. Like most things these days, their loyalty was for sale’ Tommy said with a cheeky smile.

‘You know, it seems to me that everyone does what you tell them to do’ you then said, biting your lip as you did.

‘Perhaps’ Tommy then said with a chuckle before causing you to lean against him.

As you did, you could his heart pound and smell the scent of his aftershave. It was divine and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him tightly.

As you held each other close, Tommy gently kissed the top of your head causing you to feel relaxed a little more.

‘Did you want to get some rest? I had Francis prepare one of the guest rooms for you’ Tommy said as he noticed how quiet you had gotten. But the truth was, you simply enjoyed his closeness, his smell and listening to the sound of his beating heart.

‘No Tommy. I also don’t want to stay in the guestroom’ you said shyly but with a slight smirk on your face as you looked up into his deep blue eyes.

‘Where do you want to stay then, eh?’ Tommy smirked, his voice low and gentle, as his hand was slowly feeling down your side, causing your heart to skip a beat when his fingertips brushed against the side of your breast.

‘I thought I could stay in your bedroom…with you’ you said shyly as your eyes met again and he smiled warmly at you, as if he was assuring you that he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want him to do.

‘I think that could be arranged’ Tommy said before kissing you gently as his fingers continued to traverse your body, slowly walking onto your thigh.

You watched his hand intently after you lips parted from his, feeling frozen like a doe in the headlights but still safe and secure somehow.

You knew that he would stop if you asked him to, so there was no harm in enjoying the pleasant sensations.

You scooted a little closer to him, looking into his eyes with your head on his shoulder and smiling up at him. He had such amazing eyes. And hands. One of which slowly smoothed down your thigh ever so gently.

Your breath caught in your throat as those fingers delicately brushed up your inner thigh and you lifted your head to say something, but you didn’t know what. Your body begged him continue but your mind fought it.

He whispered softly, his lips brushing against your ear and his warm breath causing little goose bumps on your neck. ‘If you would like me to stop, let me know’ he said and your lips quivered as you tried to make a decision.

Logic was fighting a losing battle against libido. You had never been touched this way, not even by yourself and the man you had been with in the past was far from being gentle.

Your internal monologue was shattered when he finally reached beneath your skirt slowly and gently. You leaned into him and buried your face in his neck to stifle a whimper as two more fingers joined the first, casually stroking your through your panties. He smelled wonderful too.

Your body moved seemly with a mind of its own as your hips rising gently with each soft caress of those wonderful fingers. His other hand joined in, his fingertips caressing your cheek and playing across your neck. You couldn’t focus on anything more complicated than that thanks to the stimulation down below and the warmth of his fingers moving along the V of your blouse.

You quivered with desire from his manipulation, one hand now running over your breast and the other dipping his fingers just feeling along the edge of your panties. You looked up at him as he leaned towards you, his lips slowly moving towards yours but teasingly sliding along your cheek instead to whisper in your ear again.

‘Would you like to continue this in my bedroom?’ Tommy asked and you mumbled something in the affirmative.

Tommy smiled at your shyness and took your hand and helped you to your feet. You held onto him for support, your legs still shaky from the experience. He gallantly gave you his arm and you held onto it as you left the reading room and made your way upstairs to Tommy’s bedroom.

When you arrived in his bedroom, Tommy guided you all the way to the front of his large bed which is where he stood before you, reaching out to gently caress your cheek.

You smiled softly and looked at him through half-closed eyes, leaning your face against his hand slightly.

‘I am nervous Tommy’ you shuddered.

‘We don’t have to do anything Y/N’ Tommy said reassuringly.

‘I want to. I just don’t know if I am ready to go all the way…you know’ you said nervously, biting your lip again as you did.

‘We won’t. Just let me make you feel good, eh’ Tommy said gently as he winked at you and you literally had no idea what he meant by that, but nodded anyway.

Tommy then trailed his fingertips down your arm before he kissed you again gently. But this time, his lips moved from yours to your shoulder and neck in no time. You felt yourself start to tremble again. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t move. You could barely breathe. All your being was focused on Tommy and you wanted him so badly.

He looked into your eyes with his piercing gaze, placing his hands on your shoulders, whispering softly with his lips almost touching yours.

‘Turn around’ he said and you complied with his request. His hands moved your hair out of the way gently before his lips started to kiss the back of your neck all while his hands started to unzip your dress.

Your dress fell to the floor almost instantly and you stepped out of it slowly before turning around to face Tommy.

You covered your stomach with your hands, covering up your scar as you stood in front of Tommy nervously. Tommy smiled at the sight before him, drawing another blush from you as he traced his finger down the strap and along the edge of the material of your bra, gliding lightly over the gentle swell of your breast.

You stiffened again at feeling a warm gentle touch where you hadn’t let anyone touch you for a long time, but forced yourself to relax and enjoy it.

Tommy then moved your hands away from your stomach gently. ‘Don’t hide it. You are beautiful and I want to see all of you’ Tommy whispered as he traced his finger up your cleavage slowly, drawing a line up along your neck and across your jaw to your chin, tipping your face up to meet his gaze.

He then leaned down and made your head spin by flicking the tip of his tongue along your cleavage. You shuddered and moaned softly, holding onto his shoulders as your knees wobbled under you. You tangled your fingers in his hair as his lips and tongue teased your skin, eventually wrapping around one strap and slowly pulling it down your shoulder, then doing the same to the other. Unsure of how to react but filled with desire, you kissed and nibbled at his neck as he had done with you. He tasted good too. His fingers flicked briefly behind your back and you felt your bra clasp fall open. You let the bra fall and felt your cheeks flush slightly as your breasts were revealed, almost covering them with your hands before remembering what Tommy had told you.

‘Lie down Love’ he then instructed while he took off his vest and shirt, leaving him wearing nothing but his black suit pants.

After he got partially undressed, he joined you on the large bed and, yet again, guided your hands away from covering yourself up and kissed you passionately. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your nervous giggle turned into an elated sigh as he pulled away and, almost suddenly began to trail kisses down your chest and breasts. Your sigh then turned into a moan when his tongue slowly flicked your nipple before mimicked the circular motions of his fingers with his tongue. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your head fell back, your eyes fluttered as he made you feel alive.

You whimpered softly as his lips wrapped around your nipple, tenderly sucking on it and lashing at it with his tongue, fondling your other breast with one hand as the other smoothed down your belly. Following his lead, you felt down his body to find his belt buckle, keeping one arm wrapped around him for fear that you might faint. But, his hand covered yours quickly and placed it back on his shoulder, causing you to eye him curiously.

‘Tonight is about you Love’ Tommy said with a grin and you gasped as he caressed his way down to your hips, softly kissing down your belly. Was he going to kiss you there too you wondered as you watched his progression intently.

You arched your body against his lips as they softly pressed against your belly button and Tommy shifted his hands to brush against your inner thighs, smiling up at you as your body reacted to his touch. He then slipped his fingers under the edge of your panties and pulled them down slowly, letting his touch linger on your long legs. She blushed profusely as you lay there beneath him completely naked, the night air teasing all your sensitive spots.

His hands slowly moved up your legs, gently caressing your thighs before parting them gently.

He traversed your body with agonizing slowness and you tensed as he kissed the inside of your thighs.

He wasn’t really going to kiss you there, was he? You blushed even more and whimpered softly with desire as Tommy traced little circles with his tongue slowly towards your centre until, finally, his face hovered between your legs, pausing to enjoy your arousal.

‘Is it alright if I kiss you there?’ Tommy asked, looking up at you as you twitched at the feather light touch of his lips followed by the hot air of his breath.

‘Are you serious?’ you forced out with a moan.

‘Yeah’ Tommy said with a low voice and you shyly nodded, thinking it was a strange request until, suddenly, his lips touched your wet mound.

‘Oh Jesus’ you moaned at the sensation as he placed gently small kisses over your mound but your moan soon turned into scream of pleasure when, suddenly, Tommy darted his tongue and licked through your slit.

His teasing had already brought you to the brink and you felt like you would explode. What was this feeling, you wondered? It was new and unfamiliar to you.

You inhaled sharply at the pleasure coursing through you as Tommy’s warm tongue traced slowly up your slit and then slowly back down. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you pressed his face between your legs, your whole body seemingly on fire as he licked up and down, moving a little deeper inside you with each pass. He used his soft lips to tenderly nibble on your folds, triggering another incoherent outburst of encouragement. Then he ever so gently pressed his lips to your clit.

Your entire body writhed with pleasure from his touch, fireworks going off in your mind. Slowly Tommy smoothed his tongue over your clit, back and forth, up and down. You moaned loudly, all thoughts gone from your mind save for his tongue. He then caressed your thigh briefly and brought his hand to your slit, where he began to gently glide his finger in and out of you. By this point you let go of his hair and dug your nails into the sheets, shuddering as his finger moved within you. Then he added a second finger and your moans became even louder as he stroked a special spot on each pass, lighting up all of your senses.

‘Oh my god Tommy’ you moaned loudly as, finally, you began to experience your first orgasm, convulsing as the pleasure washed through your like a wildfire.

You were a shaking mess after as little as ten minutes of Tommy pleasuring you with his tongue and finger, crying and whimpering for him. Screaming his name for all the maids in the house to hear.

After you finally came down from your high, Tommy gently withdrew his tongue and fingers from you and rose, kissing his way back up your body gently.

You wrapped your arms tight around him, nuzzling his neck as your body quivered from your experience.

‘You taste fucking amazing Love’ he then grinned, clearly satisfied by what he had just achieved.

‘Really?’ you chuckled, still surprised by his actions. You didn’t realise that anyone does things like that, kissing and licking intimate places like this.

‘Yeah, really’ Tommy smirked before he kissed you again, gently but yet passionately and, as he did, you could taste your juices on his tongue and on his lips.

‘See’ Tommy smirked after your lips had parted and you couldn’t help but giggle.

‘Now can I taste you?’ you asked as you slipped your hand over his crotch, feeling how hard he was, straining against his pants.

‘There is no need Love. I can wait’ Tommy said reassuringly, not wanting to push you farther than you were really prepared to go. It was also obvious to him that you had never done this before.

‘Please’ you then said shyly, raising up over him slightly and he nodded, giving you permission to proceed with whatever you are comfortable with.

You began to place little sucking kisses on his neck, then on his shoulders. Then you began to kiss down his chest, occasionally adding a little lick here and there just as he had done with you. Tommy smiled down at you as your fingers and tongue slowly walked down his body.

Your hands were trembling with anticipation as you unbuckled and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Then you pulled his pants down along with his briefs and freed his cock. His erection stood proud before you, begging to be touched.

Tommy let out a quiet moan as you reached out and gingerly brushed your fingertip along the head, feeling it respond to your touch. You then began to gently stroke up and down his shaft, watching his expressions to try to find what he liked best. You slipped your finger between your lips briefly to wet it, then drew circles around the head before bringing your mouth down towards his hard member.

Experimentally you extended your tongue and brushed it against the tip, smiling as Tommy let out a sexy growl of approval. You began to circle the head with your tongue, smiling up at him each time you made him twitch or moan. Then you closed your lips around the head of his shaft, hungrily lapping and sucking.

‘That’s it Love, fuck’ Tommy moaned while brushing his hands gently through your hair. He seemed to like this best of all, judging by his growls.

You soon began to taste small amounts of precum which had escaped from his shaft and you were savouring the taste and texture and the pleasure you were giving him.

‘Come up here Love. I am close’ Tommy barely managed to force out after you bobbed your head up and down his shaft for the past ten minutes, your lips closing and sucking around him firmly while your tongue explored every inch of his hardness.

‘Cum in my mouth Tommy’ you demanded while disconnecting your lips briefly, causing Tommy to growl even louder.

‘Fuck’ Tommy growled within seconds, causing you to smile all while you could feel his shaft pulsate inside your mouth.

Then, another few seconds later, he bucked his hips slightly and involuntarily, while, with one loud groan, he began to fill your mouth with his sweet and warm cum.

Another curse word soon escaped him as he let rope after rope of his warm seed flow into you and you were quite surprised by how much there was of it.

After you collected at all in your mouth and Tommy slowly began to come down from his high, you looked up at him with your eyes full of questions.

Unsure about what to do, you swallowed, causing Tommy to groan again briefly as he watched. Quite obviously, it turned him and you were quite satisfied being able to pleasure him the same way he pleasured you.

‘Come here, eh’ Tommy then ordered with a gentle voice and crawled back up on his body and leaned your head against his chest, listening to his still somewhat racing heart.

‘So, people do that kind of stuff’ you huffed out with shy but cute giggle.

‘Yeah’ Tommy chuckled, adoring your shyness in sweetness.

Tommy’s Residence, Birmingham, 18 September 1924

After having explored your sexual desires with Tommy and some more gentle intimacy and pillow talk, you eventually managed to fall asleep at around 11 o’clock with your body pressed firmly against Tommy’s.

Together, you only needed about half the bed as your bodies were intermingled with each other and you loved feeling his closeness.

But, unfortunately for you, it was around 4 o’clock in the morning that yet another one of your nightmares ripped through you, causing you to kick and scream in your sleep.

Your nightmares always felt real, causing you to wake in a state of panic and anxiety.

Just as your dream was worsening and you let out a loud cry, you could hear Tommy’s voice, calm and deep.

‘Y/N, shhh, it’s alright’ you heard Tommy say gently, his hands running through your hair as he held you close just as you woke from your nightmare.

‘It’s just a dream. You are safe, eh’ he said as he held onto you, realising that you were close to having a panic attack.

‘Tommy’ you said with a small cry as your breathing was easing almost immediately.

‘I am here. It was just a dream’ he said again calmly and reassuring before kissing your forehead.

‘I am sorry Tommy. I must have woken you’ you said, looking at him through the dim light of the small lamp which Tommy had left on upon your request.

‘No Love, I have trouble sleeping and I get those too, the nightmares’ Tommy then said as you rested back against him but this time with your eyes wide open.

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ you then went to ask after a few minutes of silence.

‘Yeah, common. I know just the place, eh’ Tommy suggested with a warm smile and off you went into the cold spring night.

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[babydarkstar]

cacoethes

part two: bring your sweet loving 

rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k

chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.

 warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here

a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789    

crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.

Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.

Definitely wary of the two of you.

Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.

And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.

But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.

“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”

“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”

He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.

Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.

“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”

“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”

“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.

“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”

“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”

You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.

“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.

“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.

When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”

Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.

“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”

Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.

Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?

With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”

The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.

Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”

You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.

“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.

Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.

As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.

So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.

After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.

Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.

My heart is yours. Take it.

You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.

Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.

The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.

Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.

But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.

One man.

One man was all you’d expected.

One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.

He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.

And that was that.

They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.

That was that.

Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.

Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.

Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.

And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.

Maybe it held true for some men, but.

Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.

He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.

They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.

It was only supposed to be one. One man.

Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.

The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.

Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.

Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.

Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.

So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.

And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.

That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.

It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.

So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.

A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.

Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.

You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.

Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.

“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”

You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.

“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”

“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”

“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”

“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It’s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”

You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.

“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”

“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.

“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”

Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.

“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”

“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.

“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”

Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.

With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.

You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.

“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”

“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.

“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”

“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”

“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.

Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.

Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.

You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.

The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.

And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.

“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.

You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.

Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.

But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.

“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”

“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”

“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.

“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”

His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.

“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”

Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.

“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”

“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.

Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.

Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.

Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.

Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.

“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.” Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.

So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.

Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“

Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out

“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”

Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.

“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.

You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.

Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.

So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.

“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”

The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.

“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.

Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.

This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.

“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”

“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.

“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.

Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”

Because he was.

“Nothing without you.”

That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.

And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.

As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.

————————————

“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”

You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.

“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“

“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”

A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.

“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”

Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.

“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”

His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.

————————————

It comes with sacrifice. That it did.

That long-ago night haunted you to this day.

But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.

“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”

“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.

“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—

“No, the girl, she—“

“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—

Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”

You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately. “What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.

It was just Ez.

…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.

“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”

“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.

Then you sang.

Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.

Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.

It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.

Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.

Down, down, down.

And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.

And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.

The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.

But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.

When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.

“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”

And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.

By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.

Fuck, you were exhausted.

This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.

The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.

How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.

He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.

You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.

Everything would be alright, you could just…

Just…

“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.

“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.

“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”  

Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.

“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”

“But you have each other,” she insisted.

“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”

The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.

You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.

And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.

“How’d you meet?”

A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.

“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”

You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.

Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.

You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.

“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”

“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.

“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”

For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.

Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.

But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.

They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.

Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.

It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.

So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—

—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.

Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.

Unrestrained.

Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.

Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.

Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—

That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.

Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.

“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”

Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”

You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.

“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”

“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”

If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.

“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”

“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”

That wasn’t the whole story.

It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.

You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.

But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.

“Did you kill the crew too?”

“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”

You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”

You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.

And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Nezu finding a younger Izuku and helping him hone his analysis skill (and build some confidence and ultimately creating a terrifying child who can analyze anyone in seconds and take them down just as fast with a smile) and then enlisting him to actually teach classes on the subject

just imagine Aizawa having to interact with this terrifying nightmare child who can read him better than a book

~Ah hell here we go again~ Read More Below!

Nezu doesn’t often leave UA’s grounds these days and even more rarely does he venture out unaccompanied in some way.  He has made it a habit of sorts to stay on the campus as much as possible ever since he solidified his hold on the school almost a decade ago.

It’s a move that is he admits, even if only to himself, fueled by equal parts pragmatism and paranoia.

After all UA has most of everything he needs within it already including a set of private apartments scaled just perfectly to his size and tastes despite what impression the large, human suited desk in his public office tends to give any visitors to his domain.  Why should he worry about venturing out into the city when anything the campus might not be able to provide for him can easily be procured by his minions dear employees or through delivery via secured drone?

And the fewer trips he makes off campus means the fewer opportunities there are for those who are still displeased with something someone such as himself holding such a position of power over such a prestigious hero school to take action.  He, of course, has all faith in his ability to protect himself from whatever ham-fisted assassin might come his way but Nezu is, above almost all else, pragmatic.

The fewer bodies left in his wake the smoother his daily life tends to run.

It had, after all, been such a pain to get the records from his time at the tender mercies of his human captors completely sealed and the quietly buried.

The humans involved in the case had finally agreed though and in the years since they did so like to tout how the illustrious UA Principle had been “rescued” from the laboratories.

Few remained who remembered what the heroes who’d raided that hellish place had actually found when they’d arrived.

Those unlucky few who did remember had long since been silenced by hook or by crook.  That had been one of the first things Nezu had done when he’d finally managed to accumulated enough power that his subtle threats and sharp toothed promises had finally come to hold real meaning on more than one level.

When he’d finally managed to bite and claw himself into a position of power that showed him as the threat he always had been for those who might dare cross him.

That had been the very first secret he’d ensured would be kept as it was one that posed the biggest threat to his reputations in a number of circles.

Nezu’s intellect wasn’t his only weapon after all, only his most dangerous. Though his teeth and claws could work in a pinch if the situation called for it.  And when they’d tried to take his eye it had certainly called for it.

A self professed level of resentment and sadism could be excused by most of humanity for someone of Nezu’s circumstances.

But a body count?  Well. That’s when humans tended to get ... tetchy. 

So while Nezu does, of course, have a residence of his own off campus for paperwork purposes and as a secondary fall back location, UA’s campus has been his unofficial residence for some number of years now.  And it will be his official one as well as soon as he manages to finally get the dorm system he’s been aching to implement passed through.

They will have to pry that school, his school, and what he’s attempting to build there from his cold, dead paws and whatever other insurance policies he manages to put into action between now and his inevitable death. Which will, of course, be some time in the far far future if he has anything to say or do about it.  And he will.

All of that aside there are times when leaving the campus is unavoidable, this being one of them.  An unfortunate scheduling conflict and a private meeting that absolutely had to be conducted in person had left him where he is now, strolling down the sidewalks of Musutafu and quietly lamenting how very oversized so many things were.

It truly was a pity that more accommodations had not been made for those whose quirks and circumstances of birth left them on the smaller side instead of on the larger scale.  But progress could be rather unfortunately slow and so it was just one more issue Nezu hoped to begin subtly influencing in the coming years.

He’s just turning a corner, intent on visiting a nearby cafe with an excellent tea selection before he returns to UA (one must have their indulgences and a good brew and a finely crafted cigarette have long been amongst Nezu’s chosen pleasures), when he hears it.

“Get back here and get what you deserve, Deku,” a voice, rough and young but edged with a viciousness that makes the backs of Nezu’s teeth itch, practically howls.

Nezu, attention instantly captured, pauses just long enough to avoid being mowed down by the child who comes tearing around the corner.

For a split second their eyes meet, a blazing green gaze Nezu can’t help but admire just a bit locking with his own, as the boy sees him and swerves to avoid running into Nezu in his obviously frantic escape.

Nezu hops backwards a half step just as the boy loses his footing and crashing painfully to the side walk beside him.

“A-Are you o-okay?” the boy half stutters, half pants as he looks up at him, eyes wide and seemingly uncaring of the blood Nezu can already smell on his scraped palms and likely ripped kneecaps.

“Are you?” Nezu asks back evenly, eyes tracking over the boy and instantly compiling details and facts as he takes in the tattered school uniform, the pale face, the singed backpack and the bruises he can see just peeking out from beneath unseasonal long sleeves.

Everything about the boy screams battered to Nezu’s sense.

And then he looks down at his feet and sees his shoes.

His distinctive red shoes at that, vibrant in color and thick soled, subtly different in make and construction than most ordinary shoes seen these days, much like the footwear Nezu himself wears even now.

Which means that this boy either has a quirk that affects his feet or ...

“Thought you were going to get away didn’t you, you Quirkless fuck?” A small group of boys rounds the corner then, ignoring Nezu entirely and focusing on the boy who abruptly goes even paler somehow.  “Just cause sensei couldn’t prove you cheated doesn’t mean we’re gonna let you get away with it.”

Ah, Nezu thinks even as he presses the urge to snarl down and away, option two then.

The green boy, because Nezu will not be calling him Deku even in his own mind, scrambled up onto his feet then.  But, surprisingly enough, he doesn’t turn to run.

Instead he edges forward just a bit, sliding a shoulder and a foot forward until he’s standing almost protectively in front of Nezu himself.

“K-Kacchan,” the green one stutters, “I-I didn’t cheat I s-swear!  I wouldn’t d-do that.”

“Tsk,” the blond leader, Kacchan, tisks then, a snarl thick and heavy on his young face.  At his sides his hands flex in a move Nezu knows must be related to his quirk.  “Bullshit.  No way you’d get top of the class in anything without cheating, you worm.”

Nezu has known this child for roughly 6 seconds and he finds that he does not care for him at all.  But then he’s never been overly fond of most of humanity either so perhaps that’s to be expected.

“H-Heroes don’t cheat,” Green insists, the naïve if well meant words sounding like a declaration.  “If I’m g-going to be a hero then I c-can’t either.”

That explanation only seems to enrage Kacchan even further if the way his hands begin to pop and crackle is anything to go by.

This, Nezu knows as the scent of burnt caramel begins to fill the air around them, is going to escalate quickly.

“Public quirk usage is ~illegal~,” Nezu singsongs as he steps around the green boy and plants himself firmly in front of him instead, abruptly drawing the blond boy and his followers attention toward him.  One paw slips into his vest pocket to remove the specially designed cell phone he’s never without.  “I would hate to be forced to report this to the proper authorities.”

Never mind that, technically, he is the proper authorities.

The blond glares at him for a long moment before he huffs.

“This isn’t over Deku,” he snarls.  “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

It’s an obvious threat but the boy turns on his heel, shoves his way through his friends, and stalks off back around the corner in the direction he came.

So Nezu lets it go.  For now.

“Now that that has been handled for the moment, young man,” Nezu turns towards the green boy beside him with all of the showmanship that’s come to define his patented introduction, “let me introduce myself! Am I a dog, a rat, or a bear? Either way I am Nezu th-”

“Y-You’re the Intel Hero Nezu,” the green boy says brightly, cutting Nezu’s introduction off even as he rubs raw and bloody palms against his black slacks and starts to dig through his backpack, “You solved the H-Hanamura kidnapping and the Inugami murders! You’re one of my favorite heroes!”

Nezu can’t help the way he stalls out just a bit at that because ... well he’s never been anyone’s favorite anything.  Their nightmare yes but not their favorite.  Especially not a child.  Children around this age normally tend to have more simplistic reactions to him.  And most of them don’t know about the string of rather gruesome ritualistic homicides he’d solved or the high profile kidnapping cases he consults on in his down time.

“C-Can you please sign my notebook?” the boy says then, head bowed low and a notebook and pen held out in Nezu’s direction.

Nezu admits to being slightly intrigued when he sees the way the cover is labeled Hero Analysis For The Future Vol 8.

That intrigue only grows when he opens it and his attention is immediately captured by the rather impressively done sketch of Pro Hero Starstreak that he finds there.

Unable to help himself Nezu reads over the page quickly and then keeps going.

Well now, Nezu can’t help but think just a bit gleefully as he sees the absolutely unbelieve level of analysis this young, quirkless boy has compiled, isn’t this interesting.

[itsagrimm]

Imperial!Tech 3

Summary: Tech's chip activated instead of Crosshairs so Tech is now an imperial commander tasked to serve the Empire at any cost. But is he willing to do so? And are you, dear Y/N as member of the experimental Elite Squad, willing to follow any order your commander Tech gives?

CN: self-harm, talk of death murder and war crimes, stalker behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, power imbalance, overreaching behaviour, structural violence, sexually predatory behaviour and the likes, sensual overload, insomnia, references of drug abuse, depression and mental health issues, trauma

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader, afab

Thanks a lot to @eyecandyeoz for your insight, feedback and thoughts. Check out their lovely blog!

I am sorry it took me so long. next part will be faster. I already started writing it.

And feel free to criticise especially concerning my use of CN and if the reader perspective is inclusive for you.

2800 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Tech collapsed into the chair as soon as Y/N had left the room. He was tired, so tired. He leaned back and put on his glasses. Him taking off his visual aids around Y/N was a degree of trust Tech rarely allowed. He was nearly blind without his glasses and the Kaminoans had considered terminating him for that. Tech was sure Y/N did not even know how much he had surrendered himself to Y/N and their touch. Their oh so soft touch. The memory of it was still fresh on his skin. It raced through is mind which for once was craving to match his body with the need to slow down and take a rest.

But it didn’t.

Y/N was pleasant to be around. Their touch was careful and considered. Only his brothers used to treat him like his. – His brothers, the former clone force 99, had left him behind after they refused to comply with order 66. Due to their divergence the inhibitor chip had not worked while he, Tech, had tried to kill the Jedi. – He had tried to kill a child. – The effect of the inhibitor chip was decreasing. His wound received on Bracca had an 84,743 % chance of damaging the inhibitor chip. But he should investigate further and get the chip out to stop any possible interference with his superior thought process. - Y/N was not aware of the inhibitor chips. He felt the need to tell them. Why? – The Havoc Marauder had not been mentioned on the imperial comm chatter for a while. – Echo was likely to take care of the ship now. – He should get some sustenance. He felt hunger. – Y/N – The Empire expected a degree of loyalty, uniformity, and compliance he was unsure he could deliver for long considering his diverging mind. – what would Hunter do? – the kaminoan proverb “yn’ja tha vaí m°O” was untranslatable into Basic but could be understood in Sit Bisti as “it needs tö be döne för the betterment öf äll”- The Empire was unlikely to grant him the freedom to find his brothers or in fact any freedom. – The canteen might serve Tiingilar tonight – He was a child slave destined to die in approximately 34,6 standard yearly rotations from old age if not sooner. – maybe the canteen will serve uj’alayi too. – Does Y/N speak Mando’an? He should enquire. – Of course, there will be no uj’alayi today. The Kaminoans did not allow sweet foods. – Y/N – How did the atmospheric controls work that ensured breathable air even for the highest floors of coruscanti buildings? - He knew why his brothers left him behind, but why did it feel so painful. – The empire was likely to kill him if he out served his usefulness for them. - He had tried to kill a child. He had killed several children on Onderon. How could he live with that? How could-

Tech forced his thoughts to stop by digging his fingers into his bloody scar.

The sharp pain felt soothing.

“Let’s consider making a list of the most pressing tasks for now.”

He starred at the ceiling.

“The Empire. It is the closest threat to my demise, but it can be my salvation if I am useful. Am I willing and capable to do that?”

His head started spinning again just at the thought of killing another child for the Empire. And yet serving the Empire gave him purpose he wasn’t sure he could muster on his own.

“Where are my brothers? How are they? How do I feel about them?”

Another unpleasant wave of thoughts and feelings washed over Tech before he continued.

“What is with the inhibitor chip inside my head?”

He nodded to himself. That was a rational and containable problem with fixed variables and clear answers. He felt comfortable with that question, pushing aside all the things he might have done due to being under the chips influence.

Only one question was left now.

“Why do I enjoy Y/N presence?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryloth had a warm and dusty climate during daytime. Y/N felt sweat dripping under the dark armour. The elite squad, including a new ES-03, was ordered to stand close by to Admiral Rampart, the highest imperial officer on Ryloth. And so, they had spent the last rotations following the Admiral around, doing tedious security work and presenting themselves like the Admirals favourite guard dogs to a public very much disliking their military presence. For once, even commander Tech looked annoyed about their not spec-ops appropriate services.

Today they were on the outlook. The Admiral wanted them scanning a large crowd for troublemakers and resistance fighters during a public announcement. Y/N couldn’t blame them. The Twi’lek of Ryloth had spent years fighting for their independence and spilled an ocean of blood on the dusty planet’s surface only to face an Empire now. Half a life ago Y/N would have hated themselves for being a soldier in service of a suppressing ruler. But now it was paid work.

“ES-01?”, Commander Tech brought Y/N back from their thoughts

“I am in position before the crowd.”

“ES-02?”

“Yes sir, I am on the building as you ordered.”

“ES-03?”

“Any nonimperial transmissions are being blocked now.”

“ES-04?”

“The war hawk is ready for take-off in case we need it.”

“Good. Do you register any noteworthy activity?

Y/N gazed through the crowd. They were mostly Twi’lek, waiting to hear from their leaders. All of them were in civilian clothing, none came with visible weapons.

“I can’t spot anything, sir.”

Tech said nothing. But Y/N could hear him type something.

“Analysing previous rebel fighter behaviour and strategies in similar situations they are likely to appear at these coordinates within the crowd today. I am sending you a list for you to especially pay attention to, ONCE.”, he finally said using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Yes sir.”

Y/N looked at their holopad and started checking the coordinates commander Tech had calculated. At entry four they spotted their targets.

“Commander. I have a visual about 40 meters from my position, 10 o’clock. There are two fighters. Twi’lek. One female and one male passing. Shade of blue and orange.”

A moment everyone was silent.

“Confirmed.”, ES-02 stated.

Another moment passed.

“Observe them for now. Stay alert.”, Tech ordered before ending the transmission.

High above the Twi’lek senator started to talk. Y/N could not remember his name and paid little attention to his words. Unlike the Twi’lek.

“They are not happy.”, ES-02 stated flatly.

“Yeah thanks, I would not have noticed without you.”

“Always a pleasure to help out, ONCE.”

ES-02 was right. The crowd was angry. The imperial presence, the empty words of some disaffected politician, the fresh memories of the clone war. It was no surprise that the Twi’lek called out for their resistance leaders to speak.

“We want Syndulla! We want Syndulla!”, the crowd chanted.

A different voice from above started speaking. The crowd calmed down, not entirely happy but at least not a raging mob.

“At least we will not have to gun them down, now.”, ES-02 mumbled with a bitter voice.

“Would you really do that, two?”

“You know what they say, good soldiers follow orders, ONCE. And I intend to be one. Especially when I’m getting paid for it.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rampart was an asshole. He was a smug little administrator, willing to lie, back-stab and sacrifice whatever needed to achieve his goals. Rampart was the perfect general to handle a loaded situation like the one on Ryloth. And he was no fool.

Y/N hat noticed that he had kept both commander Tech and Howzer, the commanding clone trooper in charge of the regular clone troopers on Ryloth, close. A strategic move. Spec-ops commandos like the elite squad and regular commandos were in constant competition and mistrust to each other. Should one commander not deliver or even consider treason the other would interfere. And Rampart would always end up on the winning side of their clone infighting.

Y/N could here their arguing inside the office.

Commander Tech had ordered for Y/N to wait outside the office for new orders.

More arguing from the office was audible until finally Ramparts voice cut their bickering short.

The door opened and Howzer left. His expression was that of a practised reserved solider hiding his worries.

The door opened again, and commander Tech stepped outside of Ramparts office.

He looked tense.

Instead of a greeting or an order he just started walking. They followed him.

“Clone force 99 is here. But we are kept on a short leash. As always.”, Tech stated, “It is implausible to not use the best tools possible when confronted with a problem. Howzers troopers will not be able to beat them if necessary. Just like they won’t be able or unwilling to beat the Twi’lek should the need arise.”

Since Kamino the commander had started to share more of his thoughts with Y/N. All they had left to do was to listen and ask the right questions.

“Sir, you think Howzer will commit subordination?”

“There is a possibility of him and his men disagreeing with the new imperial leadership and it’s methods. Howzers unit has fought alongside the Twi’leks the past years. Bounds forged in the trenches can be stronger than loyalty to an administrator from Coruscant. But I require further data to assess the likelihood of treason.”

“What about clone force 99?”

“Their abilities and erratic strategies will be a challenge should we … no, should I have to face them.”

“So, we did not get the order to hunt them down?”

“No. Not yet.”

“And yet you already imply them as of importance.”

“It would be a grave strategic mistake to dismiss their presence.”

“So, what is the elite squad going to do about them? What are your orders, sir?”

Tech paused and adjusted his glasses.

“We are going to do nothing.”

“Sir!?”

“Don’t.” There was a warning in his voice. A signal to Y/N not to cross a line, invisible yet perceptible. He was after all a commander and Y/N just a soldier.

“I am sorry. I overstepped. You are in charge.”

He turned, stepped away and looked at Y/N. His eyes scrutinized them like a scientist inspecting a rare specimen of remarkable value.

They shivered.

His gaze was intriguing. It was painful to feel on display like that. And yet it was nearly intimate to be studied by Tech. Unsure if he would finally hit Y/N for their countless discretions or if he just contemplated their objections.

Finally, Tech nodded appeased and continued his walking without any further talk.

“What do you want us to do now, sir?”

Tech stopped.

“What do I want you to do now?”, Tech repeated as if the question had a different meaning to him than it had to Y/N.

He took out his holopad only to put it away again. He cleared his throat.

“I need you to stay alert. The situation is complicated. For now, get some sleep. The chances are below 4,65 % that there will be a significant development within the next two hours. After that I except the elite squad to be combat ready.”

“Yes sir.”

XXXXXXXXX

The Refresher room was empty. Most clones avoided the elite squad, and all the other members of their unit were taking a nap before the night shift which left Y/N to have the large washroom for themselves.

They signed.

Taking a shower and having some alone time to think and feel before finally taking a rest was what they needed.

Y/N started to strip out of the armour.

First, they took of the helmet, then the vambraces and shin guards before getting the shoulder pieces and lifting the heavy breast armour off before finally getting out of the abdomen armour. The black katarn fell to the floor, making loud echoing noises.

Y/N didn’t care. No one was to correct them on their improper handling of equipment here.

And as much as the armour was a useful necessity, it was a heavy burden in more than one way.

Their blacks followed and soon Y/N was standing under the refresher, naked and alone.

The water was hot and painful.

It was a welcome distraction to all the feelings of … well what exactly?

Y/N felt tears running down their face.

No, no, no. It’s just the refresher.

An uptight sob escaped Y/Ns throat. It was all so different from what they imagined. They had entered imperial service for the payment during a desperate time. And ended up witnessing murder after murder, committing murder.

Today they could have become accomplices to killing a crowd of innocent Twi’leks. And Y/N knew that they would have complied with the order to open fire on the civilians if given. How could they not? Surrounded by troopers like them, ordered around by heartless and calculating commanders.

Would Tech give a killing order like this?

Was he that heartless?

He had done so before.

He had killed so many times before their eyes and yet a piece of Y/N refused to see him as a murderer. In fact, they felt shameful about feeling and thinking about Tech – about their commanding officer – at all.

Y/N stopped fighting the tears and cried out loud.

Nobody would know about this.

Nobody would know about their doubt and vulnerability.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As always sleep had been an unwilling friend to visit Tech. With a sigh he gave up and got up from the cot. As always, his mind was racing. He had tried the breathing techniques Crosshair taught him after a particular long stretch of insomnia, but it didn’t work.

And Tech wasn’t in the mood to experiment with the vast collection of sedatives to force his body to sleep right before possibly facing his brothers and definitely meeting admiral Rampart soon.

Work it was then.

His holopad listed only unchallenging administrative tasks.

The new Shuttle was in top shape.

His weapons were cleaned.

Tech had nothing to keep is overthinking brain in check.

Kriff, his life really was miserable. A never-ending effort to bringing his spiralling mind some peace.

A notification came in.

What a blessing.

Tech looked at the holopad again. It was just a reminder to check on his subordinates, to listen in on their private talks and vital signs.

The order from Imperial Command was an uncomfortable task but it was the best he had to do right now. And listing in on some snoring was better than listening to the elite squads talk like last time. At least it felt less overreaching.

He started with ES-04 and workout down from there. Four was in deep slumber, nothing of interest to note. ES-03 was still new and his sleep was restless, a few murmurs about his home planet and family escaped his lips. ES-02 was dreaming. His heartrate was accelerated. Tech turned his observation of, not interested in the rutting sounds of ES-02.

ES-01 was left. ONCE. Y/N. The thought of peeping into their private life was not only uncomfortable, but it also felt violent to strip Y/N of their peace and privacy.

And yet, Y/N was the only one Tech WANTED to know more about. He felt his desire to learn more about Y/N like a physical need, an addicting obsession Tech knew he needed to be careful with not to indulge.

Was their slumber peaceful and sweet?

Did they have dreams about home?

Or did they fight their nightmares in sleep just like they did awake?

He swallowed.

He was just following an order.

He will do nothing more.

He was just a good soldier.

Y/N wasn’t asleep. Their bucket was off and there were no vital signs coming of them. But the acoustic signal was working.

Y/N was somewhere with a lot of echoes and running water.

Tech felt himself blushing and getting hot.

They were in the shower.

It felt so right to listen in on Y/N. Tech felt bad about it.

The thought of water running down their bare and naked body made Techs mind slow like nothing ever before. The pleasure of a calm mind made him groan.

He hesitated. This was not okay. He shouldn’t listen. He shouldn’t imagine a subordinate like that. He hated that he had to. He hated that the Empire gave him order to do so. But more than that he hated himself for following that order so willingly.

He reached for the off button on his holopad.

A sob.

Was that Y/N? Were they crying?

Tech’s mind went from zero into overdrive. He needed to know who or whatever made you feel like crying. He would find out. And he would remove whatever it was from your life.

Part 4

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

It's been a while, but the Undertaker role on Friday night among us got me thinking!

The glitch where a player doesn't die instantly after being injured happens again, this time to Etho. He's in shock at first and can't communicate what's going on, and the Undertaker imposter (pick who might go best with Etho) starts to drag him away. The Imposter quickly realises that somehow, horribly, this guy isn't actually dead, and makes a snap decision to drag him to the medbay and try to save him rather than hiding the body, knowing they'll probably get seen on the way and have their cover blown. Whether or not the Imposter succeeds in their first aid attempt is up to you!

(Also gives room to explain Etho's absense that night with him having to recover from the glitch! Fluffy recovery opportunities!)

yay for the return of the long-and-painful-death glitch! lol

technically a sequel to this one

...

  It’s the first match of the session and the tension is palpable. The newest role has everyone quietly excited: the Undertaker role, allowing an imposter to move a body from one place to another. It’s such a simple thing and yet, as with all the special roles, it could be a game-changer. 

  Crewmate Etho is on his own again, monitoring the cameras in security. There’s six people left and even though they’ve already ejected Impulse, Etho isn’t completely convinced it was him. He has two suspects in mind, and he wants to make sure he knows where they are. 

  But all of a sudden, he hears the vent flap open and he spins around…

  ...just in time to see a flash of green and feel a sharp pain in his stomach. 

  Etho sinks to his knees, pressing his hand against the wound to try and help the pain. He lets himself collapse to the floor, the agony dulling his senses and threatening to pull him under. He’s not even attempting to stem the blood flow; he knows he’ll be dead in seconds. 

  But seconds go by.

  A minute.

  He doesn’t die.

  His mind is fuzzy. But he knows something is wrong. He just can’t do anything about it except lie on the ground and slowly bleed out.

  Eventually, something takes hold of him under the arms and starts to drag him away. Even though he’s seconds from death, he feels a bolt of panic and he lets out a groan.

  Immediately, the grip on him is released and at the same time, he hears a quiet yelp: “HOLY fu-!”

  A very brief pause.

  “E-Etho…? Are you… alive…?”

  This time, Etho can’t muster another noise. But as he attempts to move his hand, arm, leg, anything, his chest spasms and he lets out an involuntary cough.

  “Oh my actual god, you ARE alive…!”

  Etho is able to identify the voice now, and it’s one of the people he suspected of being the imposter. 

  But before he can make another attempt to speak or move, Brody takes hold of him again and continues dragging him. More panic hits him; Brody must be the Undertaker but he knows Etho’s not dead, so where is he taking him? He wishes he could look but when he opens his eyes, the world around him is still too fuzzy for him to register where he is.

  Finally, Brody stops dragging him and heaves him up. Etho can’t work out what Brody is trying to do until he registers a soft surface below him and he realises.

  Brody has brought him to medbay.

  “Stay with me, Etho,” Brody murmurs, hurriedly collecting up first aid supplies. The benefit of being an imposter here is the fact that he’s able to shut the medbay doors to ensure he’s not disturbed. 

  But he realises there are two people who need to know about this. 

  Thankfully, one of them vents into the room just as Brody is cutting open Etho’s shirt to access the wound. 

  “Brody, what on earth are you doing?” Astro demands. “What is this?”

  Brody fixes him with such a serious look that a chill runs down Astro’s spine. “Astro, there’s been a glitch. When you stabbed Etho, he didn’t quite die.”

  Astro stares at him in shock. “Wh-What?”

  “He’s still alive and suffering horrible pain. Astro, I need you to go get Evil.”

  Astro, frozen in horror at what he’s caused, doesn’t move.

  “Go get Evil!” snaps Brody, giving him a quick push. “Just GO!”

  Managing to shake himself into action, Astro jumps back into the vent.

  Brody turns back to Etho and finishes cleaning up the wound. Unfortunately, the majority of the machinery in medbay is just for show, so he can’t assess any internal injuries Etho has. But all he really needs to do is keep Etho alive until the game ends. 

  As Brody is patching up the wound, the medbay doors slide open and Astro reappears, followed by Evil. Astro closes the medbay doors again while Evil dashes over to the bed, his worried eyes asking a silent question.

  “It happened again,” Brody confirms. 

  “Again?!” Astro bursts out. “This has happened before?”

  Evil nods slowly, ignoring Astro. “You two are the imposters, then?” 

  “Yeah. But I don’t care about that now. I just need to keep Etho alive until the game ends. The post-game process will heal him.”

  “Guys, WHAT are you talking about?” Astro demands. “What’s going on?”

  Brody huffs annoyedly. “Evil, catch him up.”

  As Evil explains, Brody finishes patching up Etho’s injury and starts to wrap a bandage around his body. Throughout all of this, Etho has remained pale and still, prompting Brody to continually check his pulse. He’s still alive, but barely. Brody’s treatment is helping him cling onto life. 

  Evil appears back at Etho’s side. “How is he?”

  “Hanging in there. Where’s Astro?”

  Evil points over at the corner near the vent, where Astro is sitting against the wall with his knees drawn to his chest, his face buried in his hands.

  “What’s wrong with him?” 

  As a response, Evil simply gestures to Etho.

  After a moment, Brody sighs and hands the tail end of the bandage to Evil. “Finish this off for me quickly.”

  He joins Astro in the corner and crouches down next to him, awkwardly placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “This isn’t your fault, Astro,” he says.

  “How is this not my fault?” Astro responds despondently, his voice muffled through his hands. “I caused this.”

  “You were playing the game. There’s no way you could’ve known this would happen.”

  He doesn’t get a response to this, so he gently pulls Astro’s hands away from his face, forcing his friend to look him in the eye. “Astro. You can’t blame yourself for this, okay? Etho is gonna be fine. And going by what happened last time, he won’t even remember that this happened.”

  “But I will, won’t I?” asks Astro quietly. 

  “Actually, I’m not sure,” Brody admits. “Impulse was the imposter in this situation last time and as far as I know, he never found out what happened.”

  “Oh. So even though Etho won’t remember me stabbing him and leaving him to bleed out very slowly, I actually might?”

  Brody nods reluctantly. “You might.”

  Astro lets put a low groan. “I feel sick…” 

  “Brody?” calls Evil at that moment, his voice low and shaky.

  Brody turns his head. “What?”

  “He- He’s not breathing.” 

  Brody’s stomach drops and he shoots forward so fast he almost trips over. He rushes back to Etho’s side and checks his friend’s pulse using both his wrist and his neck. 

  He finds nothing. 

  Touching Etho’s hand, he finds his friend’s skin cold already, confirming what he already knows to be true. 

  A muted noise comes from Astro as he turns away. 

  As Brody hangs his head, Evil reaches over and gently touches his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. 

  “We need to end this game,” says Brody, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “Now.”

  With almost no hesitation, Evil says, “One of you kill me.”

  Brody glances sharply at him. “What?”

  “There’s five of us left, right? Etho was the sixth. So there’s five left now. Kill me and end the game.”

  “Are you sure?” asks Brody hesitantly. “The glitch might happen again.” 

  “I’m sure,” Evil responds firmly. “Like you said, we need to end it. It’ll take too long to just vote you guys out; I’m standing right here so you may as well end it by killing me.” He glances over at his friend. “Astro?”

  “No,” says Astro shakily. 

  “Astro, it’s okay.”

  “No it’s NOT!” Astro’s voice rises. “You think I can bear causing so much pain and suffering to two of my friends in the same game?! I’m NOT killing you!” 

  Evil quickly nods. “Okay, I understand. Brody?”

  “Aren’t I in the same boat?” Brody says. “Do you really trust me to do it properly?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Evil gives a brave smile. “I trust you, Brody. With my life.”

  Ignoring the twinge in his chest, Brody draws his gun and aims it directly at Evil. “Okay. Good luck.”

  Taking a deep breath, Brody fires. 

  BANG.

  And luckily this time, the game acts as it’s supposed to. 

  As soon as Brody respawns in the lobby, he rushes over to his friend. “Etho, hey. You good?”

  “Me?” Etho blinks. “Yeah, why?”

  Brody gives a slow nod. “Nothing. Just checking.”

  He draws Evil aside to a corner of the lobby. “Okay, Etho definitely doesn’t remember,” he confirms.”

  “Does Astro?” asks Evil.

  Brody glances over at their green-clad friend, who’s leaning against the wall, arms folded and eyes staring blankly out into space.

  “...I think he might.”

  Evil and Brody approach Astro, who glances numbly at them as they get closer. “I remember,” is all he says. 

  “So the crewmate in the situation won’t remember what happened but the imposter will,” says Brody thoughtfully. “Interesting. I wonder why that is?”

  “I don’t really care,” Astro responds bluntly. “I just want to forget that whole thing ever happened.”

  “No, this is good. Kinda. It means you’re now part of our little trifecta of people who know about the glitch. Evil and I promised each other last time that if we experience this again as imposter, we’ll go find each other and let them know, even if we’re the imposter.” He fixes his friends with a serious look. “This is a dangerous glitch. Astro, promise me that if this does happen to you again, you’ll come find one of us.”

  Astro watches him for a moment, before slowly nodding. “Okay. I- Hey, Etho’s leaving.”

  Brody turns just in time to see Etho leave the lobby. Frowning, he quickly follows Etho out and catches him just going down the corridor. “Etho, wait!”

  Etho pauses and glances back. “Oh, hey. I just let Tango know I had to leave; I’m suddenly not feeling too great.”

  “O-Oh.” Brody stares at him. “I’m sorry to hear that. Feel better.”

  “Thanks. See you.”

  Brody watches his friend disappear round the corner, his mind racing. This has NEVER happened before. Etho has never felt unwell this early in a session before — or really ever. Surely it’s no coincidence considering what happened last round? Even though his brain doesn’t remember what happened, maybe his body does. 

  Or maybe his code does. 

[lemonjoonah]

Blood Bounty - Part 2 (M)

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, ft. Seokjin x Namjoon Word Count: 15.5K Rating: M Genre: Historical fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Thriller, Drama, Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), vampire feeding during intercourse, referenced non-consensual vampire feeding, attempted non-consensual vampire feeding, attempted vampire feeding on a minor, referenced captivity, referenced injury to animal, blood, violence, gore, threats, obsession, poisoning, murder, minor character death(s), illness, referenced death of brother, historical medical practices, self-inflicted injury (for the sake of vampire feeding), contemplation of action which might result in self-harm, discussion of drugging (with vampire blood)

| Series Masterlist |

Summary: He’s taken everything from you, your blood, your memories, your life, and after months spent as Taehyung’s own personal feast, you eagerly take your chance to flee. Unfortunately your escape doesn’t go as well as you had hoped, as you are soon caught by another blood thirsty beast. The vampire Yoongi claims to know you, and that he wishes to return you home. But when you can only remember the pain caused by his kind, you find it difficult to trust him, since he too could just be another monster waiting to feed.

A/N: Just a quick note, there will be a few flashbacks in part two, all of which should be italicized (as long as Tumblr doesn’t fail to format properly). Hope you all enjoy it, and please let me know what you think!

...

You wake before Yoongi at the start of dusk, after having fallen back asleep propped against his chest. The tension in your thighs from your two days of riding resurfaces as you stand. Restricted to a strained hobble, you grab the nearest supply sack. Heading outside to take a moment of privacy and address your bodily needs, while leaving Yoongi to continue his rest.

As you finish putting on the fresh clothes you acquired the day before, swapping out for a new tunic and the much needed smaller boots, Yoongi bursts out the door of the ramshackle house. His face fraught with worry. “Your Highness?!”

“Here,” you call over to him, stepping out from the cover of the trees. “I’m here.”

His chest heaves with a sigh as he relaxes. “You should have woken me.”

“So you could hover over me as I change?” You ask with a raised brow as you fit your cap back on your head.

“N-no... it’s just best if...” Yoongi’s reply is marked with stuttered speech and a tone of frustration. “H-how can I keep you safe if you wonder off in the night? You act as though you don’t have a bounty on your blood. There are sure to be hunters about and still looking for you.”

“I didn’t stray far, and there was still light out when I left you.”

“Even so, it worried me to wake, and not find you by my side.” He mutters, before returning inside to fetch the horse’s tackle and the rest of the bags.

“It won’t happen again.” You promise to his turned back, disarmed by his compassionate concern.

While he readies the horse for the day's journey, you keep to the front of the stead. Holding on to the bridal, you brush the dark mane as you make a request. “Are we able to stop at a river soon? The waterskin is running low.”

Yoongi nods, “We will cross one shortly before my ally’s post.”

“Your ally?” You ask, your heart starting to race as you panic over the suggestion. “You never said we would have to meet with more of your kind.”

“He has a residence he keeps for the clan between here and your castle. He will have a spare room and bed for us. I can promise you resting there will be far more comfortable than it has been the past two nights.”

“And it’ll be safe for me to be around such company?”

“He has no need for your blood. He resides there with his blood consort, a human-”

“A human! A captive-”

“No, no of course not.” Yoongi cuts in. “They are companions, Namjoon feeds Seokjin by choice, and in return Seokjin looks after him with his own blood, keeping Namjoon free from age and ailment.”

“But-”

“Seokjin will not approach you if I ask him not to. I trust him.” Yoongi comments as he straps the last bag in, the horse now equipped to depart.

Placing your foot in the stirrup before Yoongi can even offer to assist. Muttering your apprehension over the situation as you attempt to mount the stead. Though your endeavour to reach the saddle on your own fails miserably, resulting in your back colliding with Yoongi’s chest as you fall. His arms catch yours while your foot remains caught in the metal brace. “Careful now,” Yoongi warns you.  

“I know. I can do it on my own.” You urge back, frustration edging out into your voice over your apparent state of helplessness, as you struggle to right yourself.

“I’m sure you can.” He chuckles, while pushing you up and onto the horse, before joining you himself. “But it doesn’t mean you have to.”

You shrink down between his arms trying to avoid his touch, continuing to fume over the prospect of spending the day within reach of another vampire. Yoongi may have become less of a concern after the revelation last night, but the thought of being in such close proximity to someone of his clan puts you on edge.

As you shift in the saddle trying to find a comfortable position for your seat, one of his hands comes to clutch your waist. He presses you back against him, mercifully relieving some of the weight from your thighs.

“Better?” He asks.

You nod in reply. Despite your bitterness you lean into him further, the ache being a far more pressing issue at this moment, then the ally you meet later tonight. Soon finding comfort in his support, you turn your concern to the other vampires that neither you nor he can dismiss so easily. “Earlier you said that Taehyung’s hunters are still about, you don’t think they would make it out this far and this quickly do you?”

“For you? Most certainly. I’m sorry to say, I doubt they are far behind.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I was forced to work among them. The swiftest way for me to get to you on my own was to be granted an invitation inside, but to do that I needed to hunt. I gave them a false identity, calling myself Agust, and my services in an attempt to gain their favour.” You go rigid in the saddle. Yoongi must have sensed the change as he is quick to clarify his words. “I never gave them people, only blood I acquired in the same way that I obtained it for myself.”

“And how do you do that?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Yoongi mutters. You’ve come to despise this answer, still huffing at his need to keep all a secret. “When you keep insisting on hiding it, I start to doubt more and more that I will like the answer.”

He hesitates before replying. “What if that is what I want?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t judge so quickly? Now you wish for me to dislike you and your ways?” You blurt out in confusion. Why after attempting to build your trust would he want you to hate him so.

“Not necessarily, just to question and be critical once you have all of the information, to hold your own opinion and not my own view. If your memories come from me how can I know that they are unbiased.”

“But how is that a memory of mine if it’s your method of feeding?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond but merely clenches his jaw when you look back at him, refusing to speak anymore on the subject.  

The silence between you stretches on for most of the night, he checks in on occasion to ensure that you are well. But other than that you hardly exchange another word, right up to when Yoongi slows the horse at the sight of the moonlit river and bridge. He helps you dismount, and unhooks a pack from the saddle, giving you access to the provisions you require.

“Our stop is only a few more minutes away down road. We have several hours until day break.” He nods to the river, “Take all the time you need. I’ll give you some privacy and take the horse just around the bend.”

When Yoongi leaves your line of sight, you remove your boots, roll your trousers, and step into the chill waters. You take one stride in and another unit you are submerged almost to your knees. Filling up the waterskin you take a long daft, while also savouring the coolness of the river your skin and sores. The bandages on your heels are a ragged mess, in desperate need of being replaced. You reluctantly return to the banks, crouching to rummage through the pack to hunt for something that could be of use to protect the broken skin.

You have no such luck in locating any spare cloth, but find instead a heavy roll of leather at the bottom. Dragging it up to the surface of the pack, you are curious as to what it might be. While peeking up to ensure that Yoongi has not come back to check in, you loosen the string ties and unravel the well-worn wrap. There’s a small clang from whatever lies inside as it unfolds. Your heart races as you attempt to brace the objects within, slowing your motions to prevent the noise from happening again. Not wishing to draw attention to your invasion of the vampire’s belongings.

But your cautionary actions come to a swift halt when tucked inside you find sharp metal instruments, encompassing a variety of shapes, sizes, and serrations. Kept well enough to glare back at you as they reflected the moonlight. You immediately drop the leather carrier to the ground, and stumble away from the horrific implements. Though in your fear and hurry, you miscalculate the security of the ground on which you stand. Teetering on the rocks at the river’s edge, you fall back. Losing your hat to the current, while your hands plunge into shallow water. The sharp pebbles of the bank dig into your palms, skinning off the scab of Taehyung’s bitten wound.

You gasp in pain, pulling your hand out from the river to inspect the freshly opened break in your skin. Yoongi appears seconds later, reaching out for your hand from the edge of the water. “Are you hurt?”

You look from your palm up to Yoongi. The sting of the lesion and his presence triggering a memory of a darkened cobblestone street, a fanged monster hidden beneath a hood, reaching out for your hand, caked with dirt and blood. Then a gap, a break in your recollection, ending with a flash of Yoongi taking that same hand and passing his own blood over yours to close the cut. The brief glimpse ends, leaving you with a bleak look at your alleged friendship.

“You... you gave me your blood?!” You ask, delving further back into the river out of fear, the prospect of the freezing water is nothing compared to the demon who seems to have poisoned you long ago.

“What are you-”

“You gave me your blood. You used your sway to compel me into-into caring for a monster like you!”

His face falls at your accusation. “Is that how you truly view it then? You do in fact see me as a monster?”

“How else can I? Why else would someone like you carry those tools other than to harm? ”

Yoongi looks down, his lips tightening upon seeing your discovery. “Because you gave them to me!” He counters, to your shock and horror, allowing his forced confession to sink in for a moment before continuing in a more sombre tone. “If you feel that I influenced you poorly, for that I am deeply sorry. I thought, I hoped you might have seen it all differently. I had your blessing back then, but I can see that I was right to question my undue-influence on you.”  

“I’m not talking about your influence, but your blood, you used it to manipulate my thoughts and actions! If I gave you such things I was surely under your spell.”

“No, I would never intentionally force you to think a certain way! But your circumstances back then made you vulnerable, I fear they made you open to my persuasion, and to desire my good graces.” You stand there thigh deep in the river, frozen in place, as his words continue to challenge your perception and memory. “If you revoke your once good opinion of me I will not fault you for it. But I don’t know how else to remedy my mistakes other than to take you home. Can you please trust me long enough to do that?”

“I-” You begin, while trying to figure out where your answer will end, your head swimming with conflicting recollections of his blood, and kindness to you.

But your answer is halted by the sudden change in the vampire before you. Yoongi turns his head back to the line of trees his nose lifting before like it did when he caught the scent of the highwaymen. “Hunters, they’ve found us.”

A shiver passes over you, unrelated to the cold water. “You can smell them? Are they Taehyung’s?”

“No, not them per se, but the blood they are dressed in, and based on that...” He turns back to you, his expression fraught with worry as he points to the river. “Go in further and remain in there until it is safe to come out. They will not be able to fetch you if the river reaches past the leg of their mount. Promise me, whatever happens, whatever I say, whatever you hear, you will not leave until you are certain it is safe.”

You nod unable to verbalize your agreement. Your breath catches in your chest as you continue to lower yourself into the water's depths. The slow current comes to reach your waist, just before a mounted hunter and his much larger companion on foot break near the banks of the river.

“Agust,” the mounted hunter address Yoongi by his false persona, confirming your dread of who they serve. “Fancy meeting you here. We thought we smelled something sweet, but had not realized you would be attempting to collect it too. Since when do you capture live prey? I thought you dealt more in bottled goods.” He proceeds to laugh at his own words, while his fellow remains silent.

“This bounty is mine Thane.” Yoongi commands from the ground standing between you and them. His attention focused solely on the vampire with the stead, marking him as the superior of the two hunters in your eyes.

“Is it now?” He asks with an air of conceit. “It looks more like it’s just beyond your reach. Smart of her to use our weakness in such a way.”

“She’s just playing a game,” Yoongi mutters. “She won’t last long in there, the cold will send her out soon.”

You wish it wasn’t so, but there’s truth to his words, for you are unsure of how much longer you can bear the frigid temperatures. The chattering of your teeth brings further evidence to them that the chill has sunk deep into your skin.

“If she was so difficult to control why did you not give her your blood?” The larger of the two hunters asks.

“What, and taint the product with my own?” Yoongi spits back, looking offended that the hunter would suggest such practice. “I plan to take her back to Lord Taehyung, unspoiled, and alone.”

The lip of the leader, Thane, curls at Yoongi’s comment. “I do not think you will. She seems like more than you can handle.”

“Then you and your partner leave me to fetch a human who may breach the water’s banks.”

“No, you will come with me. Averill will stay and watch her.” Thane nods to the hulking vampire next to him.

“And leave my blood bounty with you? I think not.” Yoongi’s worry starts to cross into his voice, his wavering tone evident to even you. He stands down with a fake chuckle and proceeds to dismiss their presence by busying himself with the task of repacking the belongings you left out of the sack. “If you're not going to send for assistance leave me be, for I plan to wait as long as it takes to recollect her for his lordship.”

“And what will you do when the sun rises? You are not in a position to negotiate Agust. You should be glad that we are offering to even do you this favour. I hear the reward for this one is greater than any before. Lord Taehyung is offering an immediate position among his keepers to whomever can capture her.”

It becomes clear to you that they will not give in so easily, and Yoongi too pauses upon hearing this news. “Since you insist, I will go with you, but he does not make an attempt to touch her until we get back. If I find out you’ve tried to cross me-”

“He will stick to the shore of the river, until our return.” Thane looks to his companion who nods to confirm that he will abide to such terms.

Yoongi turns his back to them, the light of the moon granting a dim view of the concern on his face. He points one figure at the ground, what you can only only read as a supposed signal for you to stay, before mounting up and riding off with one of the hunters in the direction of his ally.

The vampire on the water's edge began to prowl back and forth, watching you with intrigue. “You look cold and tired my dear. You should come out, let’s not play this game any longer.”

“It’s not a game.” You mutter in response to the vampire.

A menacing grin takes hold of his face. “Of course it is, your kind consider hunting to be of sport, do they not?”

You turn your head and ignore his comment. Letting minutes pass with you in silence, until the vampire's pacing comes to a halt, and the smile has all but faded from his features.“Where the hell are they?”

Considering the torment his clan has brought you, you take great pleasure in seeing his frustration rise. “What’s wrong?” You tempt him, hoping that he might be foolish enough to try to reach you on his own. “Does the night wane too quickly for you? Is the vampire afraid of a little sunlight as well as running water? With so many weaknesses it’s a wonder you’ve survived.”

“There are still a few hours to go until sunrise human, I wouldn’t raise your hopes just yet. Because when I pull you from that river, I will show you just how well I survive. ” No sooner than the threat passes from his lips, a single horse rides back into view. Though to your terror it is not Yoongi’s stead, but Thane’s, with it’s rider wrapped his tattered and blood stained cloak. Your chest tightens and breathing stops, as you consider what might have happened to Yoongi. His absence brings grim thoughts to your mind regarding his fate, fearing what kind of situation he must be in to prevent his return.

Looking downriver with a choked sob, you contemplate your only escape with Yoongi now gone, ready to take the current to its end, or yours.

The imposing vampire that was left with you calls out to his ally. “What in the devil's name took you so long? I thought you were going to deal with Agust, and bring back someone who could assist? I see no humans!”

Thane doesn’t answer out loud. After dismounting he pulls his cloak tighter, and approaches his friend, leaning in to talk to him. It’s not until a stake pierces Averill’s chest that you see the true face of the rider. Painted with blood from, and contempt for, the being he just slaughtered.

A sense of déjà vu grips you once again, and refuses to let go. You’ve witnessed something like this before, so many years ago. Another memory starts to resurface, another vampire slaying much like this, both executed by the hand of... “Yoongi?!”

...

-10 years ago -

Just a few hours outside of the palace walls, that is all you desire. Dressed in your lady’s maid’s change of clothes you go in search of the sights outside. Hoping to find something unfamiliar and new. After hearing the very maid you ‘borrowed’ the clothes from, discuss the bakery, the public houses, the marketplace, and more. You could no longer hold back your curiosity. Your books and maps are not enough to quell your taste for adventure, your eyes seek to explore the areas that the tomes in your library fail to touch. And since it all resides on the crown's land, surely you have a duty to study it?

As much as you would have preferred to go out in the day, the cover of darkness is so much easier to slip out under. No one should look twice at a person your attire, and you yourself are not expected to be anywhere else other than bed.

Unfortunately that means the bakery is closed and the market packed up. The only place warmed with light and presence is the tavern, but you know it would be foolish to go in there. For you have no coin on hand for a meal, and are far too young to have any other sensible reason for entrance.

Despite your first expedition not being everything you wanted, it only makes you determined to plan better for your next. After two hours pacing the streets, looking for sites of interest, you consider heading back. You turn to face the direction you had just travelled and look for another route home, not wishing to view only the same roads as before. Travelling one side street and another, though you soon make an error and find a dead end greeting you on the third.

Turning about, you double back, but fail to notice the slick pile of refuse, which sends you falling forward. Your hands reach out to stop your face colliding into the cobblestones, while the rest of your body flattens painfully in your tumble.

Following the shock of your plummet you take a moment to inspect your well-being from the ground. You curse your foolish inattention when you find your palms coated in mud, and stinging with scrapes. Resulting in a small amount of blood, beading on the surface of your skin.

A man dressed in a long cloak and hood from the nearby road turns into the alley and encroaches upon your, no doubt pathetic looking form. You thought he might be there to offer his assistance after such a fall, but he only looks down upon you with a hunched posture.

“Well aren’t you a rare breed. Surely you are not from these parts, or I would have found you before.” His sinister words immediately put you on your guard, after giving you the impression that you are something to be collected rather than aided.  

“I’m sorry sir but you are mistaken.” You ascend from your knees and brush yourself off, seeking to flee his uncomfortable presence, but the stranger blocks your path. With an outstretched arm, his hand rests against the wall, taking up the entire width of the alley. The lower half of the man’s face peaks out from beneath his hood, only to show his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You clench your jaw and stand firm, attempting to give him reason to reconsider preying on one such as yourself. “I hail from here, and my family expects my return soon. Now let me pass.”

“I am not mistaken, I know a new and valued vintage when I smell it, and you are quite something...” He steps closer as you back away, continuing to cut off your escape by dragging his fingers along the stone wall. His stride resembles that of a predator, narrowing in on their presumed feast. You raise a hand in to signal for him to stop, but he merely gives it a keen stare.

“Did you hurt your hands my dear? Here let me take a look.” He reaches out with his own taloned hand, his long fingers ending with sharpened nails. “I can help heal them right up for you.”

“Thank you sir, but I would rather just go home and tend to them myself.” You give one last plea, one last appeal to his humanity. Fearing that his next action against you will be truly monstrous.

“It will take only a moment, and I promise,” the fabric of his hood falls back to reveal his feral face with pointed teeth, “You won’t remember a thing.”

He grabs your hand, pulling it to his mouth. You try to tug it back, but his grip is like none you’ve felt, so firm that even the strongest pull you can muster has no impact on him. Even a push to his chest from your other fist does not disturb him. You close your eyes waiting for the pain of his strike but there’s nothing of the sort. Only a soft grip on your wrist for a second and your hand is released. You open your eyes back up in hesitation, to find your attacker pinned against the wall by another.

“We do not feed on children! Have you forgotten our clan’s law?”

“Yoongi, I’m sorry sir you’re right. But you must understand, you must smell how sweet her blood is. Do you not find it as tempting as I?”

“We do not feed on children.” The newcomer reiterates his tone drawing into a low growl.

“Surely she is not so young that you cannot make an exception this once? No one else in the clan has to know sir, it’s just us here. I’ll even share her with you.”

There’s a swift flash of movement and the second has impaled the first through the chest with a wooden stake. The predator who cornered you looks on him with shock before slumping down the side of the wall, leaving a strip of blood in his wake.

You stare into the vial stranger’s blank eyes, unable to quell the worry that he might still launch an attack on you. “Is-is he, is it-” You manage to stutter out, as you battle your nerves, deeply shaken, but increasingly grateful for the intervention of the one before you.

“He’s dead.” The vanquisher tends to the cast-off on his coat and skin, brushing his hand over the crimson stains while he addresses you. “You should run along princess, it’s not safe for you to wander about at night.”

“You-you know who I am?”

“I’ve come across your scent before, it was just after one of your family’s gallant displays of authority.” You tilt your head confused by what he could mean. He takes in your bewilderment and explains further. “One of the royal processions, I spotted you just after dusk when you returned to the castle some years ago. Your aroma is not one my kind would forget.”

“Your kind, what do you mean your kind? What was he?”

“A weak willed monster who feeds on blood, and hunts by night. He is not alone out there, so you should stay very far away from the darkened streets.”

“But you are not like him.”

“I swear to you, he and I are the same.” The man comes towards you lowering himself on one knee and baring his fangs. “He is a vampire, and so am I.”

You don’t turn away but look at them with curiosity. His brow furrows as you move in closer. “And what of your name?” You ask, desperate to know more about him, for his appearance, his very existence, has certainly become the most intriguing part of your night .

“You don’t need-”

“But I would like it.”

“Yoongi. I go by Yoongi,” he mutters, looking taken aback once again. “May I?” He extends his hand for yours. You give it to him with little hesitation, wincing as his thumb brushes the mud away. He pauses upon noticing your discomfort and extends an offer to you. “If I take away this pain, will you promise to go straight home?”

You nod back, wondering how he could offer such a thing. He bites his hand before taking your own, rubbing the blood over the scrapes. And to you surprise, the cuts vanish before your eyes, the skin forming back together as though your fall never happened. Regardless if this being thinks he is a monster or otherwise, it’s apparent a miracle cure flows through his veins. Your brother's condition jumps to the forefront of your mind. “You can heal wounds? Cuts and contusions too?”

“I can.” His answers with a raised eyebrow.

“So you could help my brother?”

“Your brother, what of him?”

“He has an illness. My parents don’t want to spread word of his condition, but whenever he gets hurt, he bruises and bleeds without end. You can save him, right?”

“I cannot assist your brother.” He rises from his knee and proceeds to drag the body of the former vampire deeper into the shadows, all while continuing to answer your request. “Making myself even known to you goes against the wishes of my clan. I should wipe your memories, but if I do, I fear you’ll forget the danger and return here once again.”  

“Please! He needs your help.” You beg, hoping that he’d agree to be your salvation once again.

The self proclaimed monster looks at you, while tugging the stake from the chest of the corpse. Meeting your eyes when you refuse to look away from him or the gruesome sight. “If you swear to stay within the walls of your castle and tell not a soul... I will see what I can do.”

You lead him back to your home, the vampire following a few paces behind. Returning to the passage hidden in the roots of the hedge, the trap door beneath the flora, from which you ventured out earlier tonight. You open it stepping in first. Your companion stops as if being held back by some invisible force. “I need your permission to enter.”

“Why?”

“Consider it a courteous limitation of my race. Now do you want me to heal your brother or not?”

“Yes, you may come in.”

Lighting the lantern you left for yourself at the entrance, you lead him through the dark tunnel beneath the castle.

“What is this place used for? I can’t imagine anyone ventures down here much.” He remarks brushing away cobwebs that stretch across the path.

“It is an escape tunnel, to ensure the safety of the royal line. Only my immediate family knows of it. If there were to be danger we could flee down here and leave the grounds. And no, they do not visit here, only I come down myself when I wish to hide away.” The hidden offshoot of the cellar is ample space for you, and far less restrictive than the palace above ground.

You climb a set of stairs ending in a door which returns you to the halls of the castle, the entrance to the secret route concealed behind a painting of a king who came long before. Peeking out into the corridor you find it clear of guardsmen and servants, and doing the same again at your brother’s door.

The physicians and surgeons had left him for the night, which allows for Yoongi to slip in behind you. He checks over your sleeping brother, paying close attention to both the recent injury to his knee and the incision on the inside of his elbow. “Why was this made?” He points to the latter. “It’s too clean to be an accident.”

“Bloodletting, they bleed him regularly to dispose of the weakened blood.”

“Weakened Blood?” Yoongi shakes his head as he reopens the spot on his hand, spreading his blood over your brother's wounds. They close up with the skin returning to its normal state and hue. “I hadn’t realized that surgeons practiced such things. If you want to keep him alive don’t let them bleed him anymore. Come to think of it...” He examines the tools of their trade, and roles up the leather pouch in which they are contained. “May I borrow these? I might have a use for them.”

“Take them, please.” You urge, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s a shock to see your brother's condition, which has plagued your family since his birth, so easily remedied with Yoongi's help. But the worry over the uncertain future still holds. “What if it happens again? How will I find you if I shouldn’t leave the castle?”

“You said few know of the cavern below? I’m in need of somewhere safe to rest during the day when I come to town, that spot will do. If I have your consent to use it?”

...

It’s been a couple weeks since your first meeting. The vampire, Yoongi has grown more comfortable within the tunnel beneath, and far less hesitant around you. You’ve learned so much about him, and his shrouded kin, both the good and the bad.  

He lays back against the stonewall his eyes closed in satisfaction. Far different from the first few  times you met him. “You look... more relaxed.”

He keeps his eyes closed as he gives you his answer, “I had the ability to address some of my needs I’ve been neglecting. I’ve been able to feed on a far more frequent basis.”

“Oh...” You exclaim, not knowing how to comment further on the topic.

One of his eyes opens to peek at you while he remains at rest. “Does that scare you? Do you fear me now?” He chuckles darkly.

You respond with a quick and decisive, “No.” Catching the vampire by surprise judging from his tongue in cheek and open mouth.

“And why is that?”

“If you took no issue with human suffering you wouldn’t have saved me. You wouldn’t have saved my brother. Did you bring pain to the person you feed on?”

 Yoongi scoffs, his tongue still rolling in his cheek as he looks to the floor. “No, I did not. And I have you to thank for that.”

“How did I help?” You ask in utter bewilderment. The two of you have never discussed his own meals before.

“When a vampire feeds they don’t often care about the damage they cause, they can make their prey forget they ever saw them, becoming nothing more than a bad dream. I have been struggling with this way of life for a while now. But you, you gave me another method to feed, and for that I am eternally in your debt.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I know,” he chuckles back. “I’ll show you one day. When I can be certain it is safe to do so.”

...

A month later, Yoongi sneaks into your room in the dead of night, waking you from your slumber.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” You ask with slurred words as you rub your eyes.

“Nothing, nothing, but I’m ready to show you. Dress in what you wore when we met. We can’t have anyone recognizing you.”

You bolt up out of bed and dash over to your desk. Yoongi watches as you tug out the false bottom you created in one of the drawers that hides the cotton-spun dress from sight.  

“You appear to be well versed in the art of hiding secrets princess,” Yoongi laughs, as he examines the panel.

“When every eye in the household seeks to critique you, you find ways to hide your less-than-amiable indulgences.”

“And is that what this is?” The vampire holds up a book of cartographic exploration also stored in the secret nook of the drawer. “An indulgence?”

You take the tome in question from his hand and return it to the drawer, replacing the panel to conceal it. “For a situation like my own it is.”

After changing into the plain garment Yoongi takes you from the castle, bringing only the leather roll of surgical instruments you had given him. He doesn’t take you far, a house, located only a five minute walk beyond the gates of your castle. “Are you sure you want to see this?” He asks as his fist hangs above the door.

You nod, curious as to how he’s been feeding himself.

“Very well, if anyone asks you are my assistant.”

“Assistant for what?”

He answers only with a wide grin as he knocks. The door opens a fraction, by the hands of a startled woman, whom Yoongi is quick to greet. “Sorry to intrude, and so late too. I heard you might be in need of a surgeon?”

“W-we can’t pay,” she croaks back, and attempts to close the door, but Yoongi stops it by placing the leather case in the gap.

“I require no monetary payment. My services have already been covered.”

“By who?” The woman is sceptical, and rightly so. Based on your experience with your brother’s past needs, you know a surgeon’s fee to be no small price.

“The daughter of the crown.”

“The crown? But why would she-”

“Because there are those in this kingdom in need of my assistance. I’m sure you’ve noticed the rapid recovery of your neighbour just a few doors down.”

Her eyes widen, lighting with hope. “The surgeon was you?”

“It was.” He answers with a closed lip smile.

The resident looks from Yoongi to you, her gaze lingers for a second on your appearance, before opening the door further. “You may come in.” She takes you to a small residence, her hands trembling as she escorts you into a nearby bedroom.

The stench of a sickly-sweet rot overpowers your nose the moment you step into the room. You cover your mouth in an attempt to keep down your rising dinner, while Yoongi goes to the aid of an unconscious man laying in bed. A deep and putrid gash extends from the inside of his thumb to his wrist.

“Another surgeon said he might need to take the hand... it’s not so bad is it?” Her voice quakes. “My husband won't be able to work if he loses it.”

“No, he’ll keep it.” Yoongi states, as he lifts a ceramic bowl, notched at the rim, from the bedside table and props the wounded man’s arm over it. Several small cuts already adorn the weak skin at the crease of his elbow joint. “I take it you've bled him regularly?”

The wife nods. “Yes, but we ran out of money. I couldn’t afford to have anyone else continue the bleeding. So I attempted it myself.” She looks down at the floor in shame, clearly upset that she had not been able to help her own husband.

“He will be well again. I promise I can heal this.” He assures her, before turning to you. “Can you hold these for me?” Passing you the same tools you gave him just months before. You unravel the leather pouch. Exposing the sharp tools for his selection, his slender fingers choose one of the smaller blades to make the incision. As the scarlet fluid drains, Yoongi calls for fresh linen and the wife leaves the room in search of his needs.  

The second she is out of sight, you start to question the vampire. “Bloodletting? But I thought you said-”

“It’s both a cover, and an exchange. He gives me his, and I’ll give him mine. I must thank you for the tools, they’ve been very helpful in keeping up the disguise. But do you think you can keep her out? I can’t let her see this next part, the improvement to his hand will be too drastic and too quick for her not to suspect a mystical source.” Yoongi requests as he breaks the seal on a bottle filled with thick crimson fluid. Pouring out a drop he rubs his blood onto the festering wound of his subject's hand.

You nod, watching the two sides of the laceration seal together, leaving only a clean scar. When the wife returns with a knock at the door, you take the material and ask her to wait there. Thankfully she obeys without much resistance, taking a seat just outside the room, her eyelids drooping from exhaustion, and her skin slick with the sweat of worry.

You hand over the linen to Yoongi who wraps it around the previously infected area. The man, much to your concern, remains unconscious. “Will he wake soon?”

“It might take some time, but yes. He still has a fever, but that should break in the next couple of hours with the infection gone.”

“And that?” You nod to the basin of blood.

“That, I will keep for myself.” Yoongi finishes wrapping the man’s hand before taking a wine skin from his coat, carefully pouring the viscous fluid into the flask, and taking every drop.

“It won’t affect you adversely even though he was ill when he gave it?”

“No, his ailment won’t harm me.” Taking a draft as if to prove his point, he wrinkles his nose as it goes down, and licks his lips clean to hide the evidence of his feast. “The taste isn’t always perfect, but it fills my needs, and it’s far better than the alternative.”

Yoongi passes off the patient’s care to his wife and warns her not to remove the bandages for several days. A continuation of his ploy to maintain that his methods have a more realistic recovery rate.

After returning you to the passage of the castle shortly before dawn, Yoongi looks to be apprehensive, wringing his hands as he bids you farewell for the day. “Seeing that... taking part in it wasn’t disturbing to you? You do not think it malicious for me to lie and profit in such a way?”

“No, not at all.” You shake your head, and beam at the vampire before you. “I was pleased that you showed me.”

“I owe my thanks to you,” he whispers, as a smile starts to cross his own features.

“But I did nothing.”

“You gave me the idea. I was not aware, nor did I think to benefit from such a human norm. I thought I was condemned to feed like a monster until the end. So as long as you approve, as long as you think it decent to conduct myself in this way, I will continue.”

“You’ve already helped us so much, how could I not? You are the reason my brother is well again, the reason that man will continue to live and work. You are more a saviour than any being I’ve met before.”

...

You thought him a hero in your past. Every action had a valid reason, every motive morally sound. His store of blood, the surgical knives, every memory of his history with you is beyond reproach.

“Yoongi?”

The friend of your past, falls to his knees beside the body of the hunter. He raises a hand to his face to contain a cough, but even from your distance you can see scarlet sputtering from his lips and spilling down between his fingers.  

“Yoongi!” You wade through the water as quickly as you can. Reaching his side while he continues to expel blood. “What happened?”

“Powdered silver.” He sputters again spraying your drenched trousers and ground with scarlet. “The bastard asked for some of my drink. I obliged to maintain my cover, but I didn’t notice he poisoned it in the process, and then took a sip myself.”  Despite his state he proceeds to hastily shove the body of the vampire into the river, where it starts to burn and disintegrate in the current. “Don’t worry, much like this one, he is far worse off than I.” Yoongi chuckles darkly before doubling over in another fit.

“We need to get you somewhere safe to heal.” You take his shoulder and help him on to the stolen horse.

“Seokjin, he's waiting for my return. I left everything with him. Down the road,” he whispers as another clot of blood leaves his mouth. “You’ll find a stone house.”

Once he is mounted you take the spot behind him this time, in an attempt to keep him in the saddle. “Yes, I remember it now...”

...

- 9 years ago -

You’ve fallen into a routine, where every morning an hour before sunrise you wait in the underground passage to see if Yoongi will show. It’s been over a week since he’s visited last. In the year you’ve known him he has never stuck to a schedule, his visits are random but frequent. You pass the time waiting with a travel log of a famous explorer, and an atlas for reference, studying the map and marking his trek as you pass through the pages. Cartography has long become a hobby of yours, much to the disappointment of your mother, she deemed such interests as unladylike forcing you to hide your activities. Though your hands stained with ink from your nightly studies, have betrayed you on more than one occasion.

The trap door to the outside opens, revealing your long awaited friend. “Yoongi!” You run and pull him into a hug. When you allowed him to rest here and tend to your brother as needed, you never thought that he would become your salvation too, your craved glimpse into the outside world which you have long since been denied. “You said you’d only be gone a few days!”

“I know forgive me princess, something came up. The travel back was slower than expected.”

“Were you able to do what I requested?”

“I was.” He pulls out several pages you had torn from your atlas marking them with details important to those of his kind. “Excuse my penmanship. It’s not as practiced as it once was.”

Dismissing his concerns with a wave of your hand you peer down at the sheets eager to see the world from his eyes, starting with the details closest to your own home. “Who is Seokjin?” You ask pointing to a dark spot labelled ‘Seokjin’s Post’ less than a day's ride away.

“I see you waste no time.” Yoongi smiles at your enthusiasm. “A member of my clan, a keeper, one who is stationed at a waypoint for ease of travel.”

“A keeper?” You ask unfamiliar with the vampiric title.

“One who has a claim to our land, and can give permission to other vampires to enter. It’s an honour to be trusted with such a responsibility.”

“Are you a keeper?”

“A form of keeper, yes, I share claim to the main stronghold with our clan’s lord. It took me near a quarter century as a clan hunter to be given permission to even enter, and three times as long to gain my current status. It is a prestigious role, but also a double edged sword, for it also is what keeps me away.”

“I should like to see it.”

“My clan’s fortress? No, I will never take you there, your scent could plunge the whole estate into chaos.”

You frown at the inability to visit his station, but continue to search the map. Finding another castle marked much like his own out to the west. “What of this one? ‘Lord Taehyung’s Fortress,’ you have never spoken of him.”

Yoongi goes rigid as he hovers over the mapped sheets with you. “I have not, for he is of a different clan, with far darker ambitions than our own. I choose to mark it as a warning and a place to avoid. If you should ever hear of or be near someone in his service, run. Run as far and fast as you can.”

You swallow any further questions regarding the rival clan, uneased by Yoongi’s words. Changing the subject again to learn more of your confidant and friend. “Where did you come from if you have not always resided with your clan.”

Yoongi forgoes the sheets you have given him of the surrounding area, taking the atlas out of your hands, he flips the pages to a wider view of the land. “I come from out here.” Pointing to an area not on the page, but to the right of the book, far more east than the last recorded city.

“Off map? Could we visit your old home instead?” You ask, your excitement bubbling to the surface.

“No it is far more than a night’s journey away, making it too long of a trek for you. It would take months on foot, and even if we were to make it, I doubt there would be much left, for the hearth kept by my family grew cold long ago.”

“I would like to see the area at the very least. We could get a horse. Money is no object, I have-”

“Princess, even still, your absence would be noticed. You cannot just disappear for weeks on end and return when you please. You would lose your home, your own station.”

“What if I told you that I don’t want to be a princess. That my dream is to leave this castle, and find an adventure with you.”

...

- 5 ½ years ago -

For years this disagreement raged between you both, with you desiring to leave, and him insisting you must stay. His return is always a bright moment, but your partings always cast a dark shadow when he once again embarks alone. Existence without him in the kingdom is so cold and rigid, to the point where you’ve come to rely on his visits to breathe life back into you, needing his company to live as much as your brother needs his blood. To your dismay the length between each of his appearances grows longer. Though his apologies still accompany him each time you must wait beyond his promised return.

“I told you, you should invest in a horse.” You mutter as you cling to him, greeting him with your usual hug the second he slips into the underground tunnel.

His hand draws across your back soothing you with his presence. “And I’ve told you I don’t need one for myself alone.”

“Then you will get one when we leave together?” You ask, pulling away looking up with hopeful eyes.

“Princess...” He growls as you once again bring up the dreaded topic.

“We need to talk about this Yoongi. We can’t go on like this forever.”

“No, but how is your brother? What would happen if you left?” Yoongi asks, setting up his bed roll for you both to sit on. He never leaves anything behind out of concern that someone in your family will find it while he’s away. Requiring him to get re-situated upon every return.

“He is well...” Your statement trails off unable to make a further valid argument regarding his situation.

“But that could change in an instant. And if you’re not here-”

“I might not be here much longer anyway!” Your statement hangs in the air between you both.

His face reads only of confusion, with his mouth hanging open as he attempts several false starts to respond. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You take your seat next to Yoongi determined to make him see it your way this time. There has been something weighing on you, feelings that you’ve found difficult to approach, but if you don’t say it now you worry you’ll never get to. “I am eighteen Yoongi, and well of age to marry. There have been suggestions of prospects and matches. I’ve tried delaying them but I know I will not stay in this castle much longer either way.”

His eyes darken and brows furrow. “I suppose congratulations are in order then.” His words in no way match his expression.

“No, they are not! I don’t want that life, I’ve told you this before. I have no wish to leave this castle only to become locked in another. You know that is what will happen! Any union made will be to benefit the kingdom in an alliance, they will have their own expectations, their own walls I cannot cross.”

“Maybe that is for the best though. You will live the life you were intended, saving you from a life with a monst-”

“You are not a monster Yoongi, I do not need saving from you!”

“If not from me, then at least from my kind. I cannot give you the life nor the safety which lies here, or in another castle with your own kind. A life alongside a vampire will not have a happy end.”

“And what of a life without living one’s dream? Without the one you’ve come to admire and befriend. Can that have a happy end? Would it not bother you to yield me to another who is not as kind, nor caring as you? Yoongi, I lo-”

Yoongi emits a low growl halting your argument and paramount confession. “I profess I would loathe to lose you too, but dreams and desires change. I do not wish for you to regret your path with me as I once regretted choosing this life too. If it weren’t for you... ” His voice trails off as he hangs his head in shame. “I could not bear to see you suffer knowing I brought you the pain which haunted me for years. The loss of a family, of a home, I do not wish for you to endure the same.”

“Then what would convince you? What will show you I am truly earnest in my desire?” You ask hoping to find the answer to not only show your determination to leave, but your true feelings for him too.

He pauses the discussion, getting up to pace the room. His fingers run through his hair as he ponders your query. “I don’t want you forced into this because of circumstances beyond your control...” He stops his stride mid thought, and glances to you.“I can still supply your brother with blood if you choose to marry, and leave my side. Now in having that safety I need to know that you’ve given this consideration more time. Without the weight of your brother's life hanging over you.”

“It has been all I’ve wanted these past few years, to leave this place with you.”

“But first I need you to give this life the honest chance without my presence. I will leave you with enough of my blood for the time I’m gone. Though we should discuss who you will entrust to take care of him if you are in another castle, or with me.”

“My lady’s maid.” You suggest, for you know she loves him as much as you, though she tries to keep it concealed. “I would trust his life to her, but how long do you plan to stay away?”

“My clan intends to launch a wave of hunters into rival territory, it’s the best chance we have to take down Taehyung’s stronghold.” Yoongi explains while returning to the seat next to you. “If we can do this before you wish to leave then I will be as far greater ease to take you from here, but knowing that they are out there now worries me when it comes to your safety.”

“How long Yoongi?” You reiterate, scared by his avoidance of your question.

“Six months.”

“But that’s such a long time!”

“If you want to leave with me you will have to endure it, but I wish for you to take this time and consider your options. Don’t close every door yet, simply because of how you feel now.”

You inch closer to him, “My answer will be the same half a year from now. I want you to take me will you.”

“Nevertheless, I would like to wait, and hear it again upon my return.”

“I will do as you ask, but after that wait, I expect you to be ready for me to leave alongside you. We’ll need a travel plan, supplies, and a decent horse too.”

“Whatever you require, I will have. I’ll even let you name the stead.” Yoongi promises with a smirk. Taking the glass vial of blood he uses on his patients from his coat, he gives it to you. Cupping your hands as you take it from him, he leans in, putting his lips enticingly close to your own. “I’ll be back for your final answer, just please think it over. I will bear you no ill will if you decide...” He pauses, a grimace weighing heavy on his expression. “If you decide, you would be better off if you forgot me entirely, and moved on with your life.”

“I would never wish to forget you.” You give another thought to confessing further, telling him how much you’ve grown to love him. How you crave more than just to leave with him. Wishing to close the gap between you and seal your deal with a kiss. But despite your determination to confess to him earlier, you hold your tongue and lips in place. Suspecting that he will dismiss those desires too. When he returns, you reason with yourself, putting it off for a little longer. Yes, then you will express it all to him.

...

Just as Yoongi said, further down the road and nestled between the trees, there resides a small stone house. Had you not been looking for it, you might have missed it entirely. You stop with a pull of the reins, sliding down from the saddle you tie the horse to an outdoor post, and proceed to help the increasingly catatonic vampire with his own dismount.  Propping one of his arms over your shoulder you approach the dwelling and hammer on the door.

A booming voice responds from the other side. “It damn well took you long enough!” It opens to reveal a tall man draped in a spattering of blood, extending from his broad shoulders to the small of his waist. He curses upon the sight of you and the barely conscious Yoongi on your shoulder. “I told him he wasn’t well enough to return to you alone.”

He looks human at first glance but a small chuckle reveals pointed teeth hidden by his set of full lips. “‘I must do this Seokjin,’” The vampire utters in his imitative tone of Yoongi. “‘Just look after this one’s body for me.’ That is the last time I do you a favour. I swear I’ve never seen a vampire’s corpse so saturated with blood.... even ruined my favourite shirt.”

Seokjin takes Yoongi from you and calls out to another. “Namjoon? Come help me with this determined fool and his human princess.”

You cringe from the unexpected use of your title, but the vampire pays you no mind. Looking to his human partner who descends the stairs. Namjoon ushers you into their residence, looking troubled by the state of your soggy clothes.

Just as with the abandoned house from the night the windows have heavy shutters that close from the inside, most of which are currently open, letting in the night air. But this dwelling is thankfully well lit, with several lanterns bolted to the walls, a fire roaring off to the side, and an iron candelabra at the centre of a massive wooden table.

The vampires take the lead up the narrow wooden stairs, with you and Namjoon trailing behind. Gliding through an open door in the upper hall, Seokjin places your now fully unconscious companion on the bed of a well furnished room. He takes Yoongi’s tunic and tears it open, exposing a trail of burns down his throat and chest.

“I’ve never witnessed a silver poisoning to this extent. It’s a miracle he was able to still retrieve you.” Seokjin mutters.

Namjoon grabs a blanket from the cupboard, and wraps it around your damp shoulders, before attempting to take you from the room. “Come let's get you some dry clothes.”

But you stand firm and refuse to be parted from Yoongi. Concern grows within you over Seokjin’s statement. “Will he- will he recover?”

“Yes, but it’ll take time. Though if he feeds soon, his injuries will heal far quicker.”

“Do you have any blood on hand?” You ask on his behalf. “With his supply poisoned he has nothing else to drink.”

Seokjin’s eyes bore into you expectantly, a smile coming to the corner of his lips. “Am I not looking at his blood consort now? Has he not fed from you?”

You shake your head, backing away from Yoongi’s supposed ally.

He takes in your reaction with a tilt to his head. “That must have been a struggle for him, considered I’m using all my power to not feed from you now.”

Namjoon steps in between. “Let her be Seokjin, you know who she is, and where she’s been kept. She’s clearly scared to do so, I can spare-”

The smirk on the vampire’s face dies with the offer of his human. “You will do no such thing! Your blood is mine, and mine is yours is it not?”

“It is, however-”

“Then that is the end of this discussion. If she wishes to help him then she must make that sacrifice, not you.” The vampire pushes his human out of the room before he turns back to you. “If I were in your position I would heal him, and do so quickly... for he has given up far more for you than a few drops of blood.” Seokjin then shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone with Yoongi.

You pace back and forth at the foot of the bed, hugging your blanket close in comfort. When you consider feeding him, your anxiety starts to rise to an undesirable peak, with the feeling of your heart rising to your throat and pounding in your ears. Your mind can’t help but draw on the memories of Taehyung's feeding, but this instance is different, with you in control, and the one who requires blood is not a monster but your past saviour, and love.

You empty his bags on the desk provided in the room. Making one last effort to look for any additional store of blood that might have remained unpolluted. Finding nothing but clothes, and basic supplies, until the roll of surgical instruments hits the wooden surface with a dull thud. Left with no other option but the tools before you, you grow more determined to push down the horrors of your past. Doing it for the sake of Yoongi, and the returning portion of you who adores him so adamantly.

Freeing one of the knives, you take a deep breath, and slice along the partially opened scar on your hand. The pain takes control for a moment, forcing your jaw to clench and your breath to seethe between your teeth, as the sight of scarlet turns your stomach. But seeing Yoongi suffering brings your mind back to focus as the blood wells to the surface, creating a thick pool in your palm. You go to him and straddle his form taking his chin in one hand to open his mouth. You clench your ruby drenched fist and tilt it over him. The first drip hits Yoongi’s lip, the second entering his mouth. His eyes fly open, and a snarl leaves his throat. Reaching out he grabs your hand, not to draw it closer but to push it back towards you.

“You’ve spilled enough of your blood for my kind.” He whispers, his ache evident in the hoarseness of his tone.

“Seokjin said you needed it. Will you just take it.”

“No! I have no wish to become the next monster who haunts your dreams.”

“You won’t, I remember now. From my first time meeting you, all the way up to our parting. You did so much for me and my family. You were right in saying those you feed off of were not your victims, I saw how they suffered from illness and injury.” Your voice starts to quake as you force it all out, confining his depth of importance to you to a few small statements is no easy task. “I understand why you feared your influence over me in the past. But please, know now, I do not consider myself a casualty of yours. I give you my blood of my own free will.”

You offer your hand once again but Yoongi doesn’t move his narrow gaze giving the impression that his decision is final. “Very well.” You counter, as you cup your hand with your own, pressing down on the wound as you consider the already escaped blood. “It seems a shame to waste it though. Maybe your friend Seokjin will take it, he appeared to be interested.” You play your bluff, hoping to gain a rise out of him the way Seokjin claimed Namjoon.

Shifting your weight, you ready to leave, but Yoongi moves faster, pulling you down to lay beneath him. “Why must you be so stubborn?” He mutters as he places one hand gently over your eyes obstructing your view of him. “Please, if I am to do this don’t look. I don’t want you to remember me by this act.” His other hand takes your blood soaked palm in his grip before he finally presses his lips to the dripping wound.

The tug of his mouth on your skin is gentle lasting only for a few seconds. His tongue then starts to drift down the scarlet trails that lead across your fingers, licking every inch of your skin clean. His touch is soft and attentive, you find yourself enjoying his caress, forgetting entirely the purpose of his actions. But it’s soon brought to an end when a soft scrape of his fangs crosses your knuckles, with your immediate instinct to flinch, it incites him to draw back and apologize.

He removes himself from your hand, and turns to draw his own blood. When he goes to press it to your laceration he hesitates and gives you his assurance. “This will only heal it. Do you trust me to do that?”

You nod with a deep breath and clenched teeth, dreading this part most, you look away until the tingling sensation of the skin's repair stops. When your gaze returns to the spot you find it without flaw, for his blood had also erased the scar of Taehyung. Tears begin to prick the corner of your eyes .  

Yoongi wipes at the edge of his mouth taking away the dark remnants of your blood. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, quite the opposite. Thank you for taking it away.”

“I’m sorry you had to bear his marks for so long.” His lips kiss the newly healed skin of your hand before he lays down on the bed next to you. As much as he tries to hide it you can see that he’s still weary from the silver. Your fingers trace down the slowly fading burn of his throat, a rumble of contentment flowing from it as his eyes close.

Embracing the softness of the bed you were promised earlier, and far too weary to change out of your damp clothes you join him in sleep.

...

You rest for only a few hours with the sun starting to break across the horizon, shocked but grateful that no appearance of Taehyung brought halt to your peaceful slumber. Rising to close the shutters to the light, you leave Yoongi to his sleep.

You open the door a slight amount, checking to see if anyone else is about, when you find a form of kindness you had not expected on the floor in front of your room. It would seem that Namjoon must have brought food while you slept, a small collection of bread, cured meat, and fruit awaits you along with the clothes he promised. Though your current outfit is now dry, you take the fresh garments inside for a later change before you depart in the evening. The food however, barely lasts a few minutes in your presence. For you indulge hastily on the wonderful meal as you sit at the rather cluttered desk.

Naturally, the mess you made earlier in the night still remains, the contents of Yoongi bags strewn over the desk and floor. Once finished with your plate, you start to pack the clothes and supplies all away again until there are only a few items left, including a piece of folded parchment lying in the corner. You flatten it out across the surface of the workspace, reuniting yourself with Yoongi’s map.

Of course, it wasn’t always his. No, this was the map that you had made from the fragments and pages he recorded. It was intended to be a gift for him upon his return after those long six months apart. Every stroke of the pen, every hour, and every drop of ink which bled into this creation brought you so much joy. But you also remember the sorrow that led to the error, the blotch left while trying to conceal the map before the ink had set.

...

-5 years ago-

It has been seven months since Yoongi’s departure, with no whisper or hint to his whereabouts. The blood supply he had given you was fully consumed in the past fortnight. You assure your lady’s maid, whom you imparted with the knowledge of the cure, that your friend will return soon. But still you wait for him, while putting the finishing touches to the map in the form of an ornate compass rose.

With the final mark of ink in place, your mother bursts into your room, consumed by a wealth of tears. You fold the map in haste, and tuck it under a book. Thankful that she is too distraught to realize that you should be in bed and not at your desk, but the news she shares gives grave reason to her oversight. Your brother had fallen from his own earlier in the night, causing a lesion to the back of his head. Without the aid of your vampire, you know it to be a likely death sentence.

Come near dawn, you wait in the hidden passage, praying for Yoongi to show. But when the sun comes to rise without his presence, you can only hope that your brother will survive this day without the medicine he’s grown so dependent on. However, as night falls, his health worsens, and the physicians resort to bleeding him again. You try to stop them, but that only results in you being banished from his room.

With no other options left, in the late hours of night, you don another of your maid’s old dresses, tugging it out from your hiding spot, and replacing it with the finished map which now bears an unfortunate scar. Taking your usual path you escape to the town of your kingdom. Your plan, to pace every street until you find him, or another who might know of his whereabouts.  

...

Your memory fails to pass the darkened cobblestone roads which frame your search. Leaving you to conclude that was when you were found by your capture of these past five years. Yoongi was right, the open night is dangerous for one such as yourself, even so he left you with little choice, he broke his promise first.

There’s a creak from the bed behind you, but you keep your focus forward on the map, still trying to piece it all together. Until two hands wrap around your waist and Yoongi’s chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

“You said you would come back.” You remain still in his arms, scolding the vampire with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Why didn’t you return to me as promised.”

Yoongi turns you around to face him, raising your chin with his finger. “You remember our arrangement?” You nod your response, refusing to meet his gaze, until he lowers his own head in disappointment. “There were... difficulties. I know it does not excuse my broken oath in full, but I was prevented from going to you.” He sits you back down in the desk chair and kneels before you, taking your hand in his. “Taehyung had found the hunters we were attempting to embed in his ranks. He dealt us a swift blow with their deaths, and then sent his men east, towards our fortress, and your kingdom. The keepers, such as myself, were ordered by our own lord to remain within the walls of our residences, out of concern that we might be captured and lured into giving Taehyung's clan access.”

“Then you should have sent word of your delay!” You cut in, had you known this you never would have left to find him.

“I did. I wrote a letter and sent it by raven, telling you to stay within the castle walls no matter what. That it was far too dangerous for you on the outside, and my return would be a longer wait. But I received no reply. I thought then that you did not want to hear from me, that you had chosen a different path. It was weeks before my raven returned badly injured. I feared then that my warning might have gone astray.” He sighs, as continues to recount  the dark narrative. “I couldn’t remain a willing captive of my own home when I know you might be in danger. So I renounced my title, I gave away my claim and access to the stronghold. Lowering myself to the status of clan hunter so I could leave and find you. But I was too late, you were already gone and well beyond my reach. I searched your room looking for any clues as to how you ended up in his hands. I found no dress, and only that in your drawer.” He nods over to the map.

“I have spent the past five years trying to correct my mistake of not going to you sooner, for not leaving with you when you asked. But when I found you again, without your memories, I had no way of knowing the choices you made or any feelings you had previous to your captivity. I kept our past from you so as to not impact your previous decisions with my own desires. If you thought me to be a monster who groomed you for my own needs, I would back away. If you were just catering to me to save the life of your brother, I wanted you to be free of that.”  His hand comes to the side of your face, with a finger dotting at a tear that had fallen from the corner of your eye. “I’m aware I don't deserve it, but please I must know. What was your decision before I let you down so horrifically, what was it that led you to be in his custody?”

“I never felt pushed to stay by you because of my brother's condition. I had no wish to marry nor leave with another, it was never simply about journeying outside the castle for an adventure. I wanted to be with you. Those six months we spent apart only confirmed what I did not wish to tell you out of worry you might dismiss those feelings too. I loved you, and still do.”

Yoongi chokes out a wavering sigh of relief, lowering your head by his hand, he presses his forehead to yours. “And I you, your highness. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I just didn’t want to unknowingly imprison you by my side with-without-”

“I know.” You whisper back. “You were right to be concerned, I was young and sheltered. I do not blame you for what happened. When the blood ran out, I could wait no longer. I had to find you. I went into the town but that is the last I remember.”

“And there you were taken.” Yoongi pulls back pausing as he bites his lip. “Now that you remember. Has your desire to return home changed?”

“I-I don’t think it can Yoongi. I still have so many gaps in my past. I hope that my return will mend that, as my time with you has brought light to our own history. Despite that, even if I was whole, the loss of my brother, it-it complicates things.”

“Your kingdom needs you to have an heir, a son to maintain the line of the crown.” He swallows glumly, as you reach out to clutch his hand. “Something that I cannot give you.”      

“When my duty was just for the sake of pleasantries between kingdoms I could find it within reason to leave, but now, the kingdom’s people, the ones you’ve helped to save are at stake.”

Yoongi gives you a solemn nod. “At least now you can be certain you will not be sent away.”

“Once I return home...” You pull back, folding your hands on your lap, fidgeting while you ask the next important question of him.  “Will you plan to stay nearby like before? You will not leave me alone again will you?”

“I must. With my lower position now, I will likely be sent back into Taehyung’s land again. Though I will be glad of it, for I can not stay still while he is still hunting, and risk you falling prey to him again. And for the sake of our attachment I feel that our parting would be easier on the both of us. Especially since it will not be long before you are asked to-”

“Marry?” You let out a deep breath of air in an attempt to dispel the building weight in your chest. Is he right to think that upon your return you’ll be bound to another so soon? You hope that there would be time to find yourself again, to re-educate your mind into what it was before. But how long will that take and how patient will your parents be without the line of succession secured. You can only hope any man who is chosen will be... will be, “Though I wish it to be you who remains by my side, if my future husband has half the character of you I should be so lucky.”

“Do not say that.” His voice cracks with his hushed plea.

“Why not?”

He stands up before you, pulling you from your seat, and tucking you into his chest. He holds you there while with one hand to your back, and the fingers of the other rooting amongst your hair. He breathes in deeply, whispering the challenges to his choice. “Because it’ll make leaving you so much harder. You made my cursed existence not only bearable, but desirable. When I consider the possibility of spending my life, with the one who gave me purpose, who saw me not as a monster but as a salvation, who I came to love more than I thought possible.” Yoongi lifts your head again, directing you to look up at him. “An eternity with you, is the greatest temptation of all.”

You reach up to take his face in your hands, delivering a solemn kiss to his lips before pulling away.“If we can not have eternity, what of one moment within it? One final memory together to help us through the time we must spend apart. Can you give me that? Can you give me yourself?”

Yoongi’s mouth comes down to you in search of another, the wave of passion in his approach is so much stronger and forceful than your own. His tongue, endeavouring to taste you in a far different manner than hours ago. “You already have me, my blood, my life, my love, it’s all yours.”

He picks you up and returns you to the bed with him, tugging off his oversized shirt, while you remove your own. His mouth seeks out your neck, your collarbone, and downward soon finding the peaks of your chest. He’s soft and careful not to leave a mark as his lips tug gently on your skin. With each graze of his tongue he insights an inadvertent reaction from you, in the form of a moan or twitch. As your fingers tangle in his locks, his eyes gazing up to look for your expression. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”

You lower your hand to his face, dragging your fingers across his cheek and lips. “Yes, I can’t tell you how much I desire a memory like this.”

He stands to remove your pants before lowering back down to hover over you on his hands and knees, straddling you as you lay on the feathered mattress. His fingers trail down the side of your chest, your waist, you hip, before moving inward to reach between your folds. You inhale with the first touch of his fingers to your slit. As his index starts to stroke from the inside, his thumb circles your clit. Forcing you to groan into his mouth which comes down again to cover yours.

Once he appears satisfied with the wetness pooling around his digits. He pulls out and takes his finger to his mouth with a hungry moan. Cursing as it slips out from his lips.

Your face heats up, embarrassed by his reaction. “Surely you are making too much fuss over it.”

“You think I don’t find you enjoyable? That I can’t see, feel or taste how divine you are?”

You grin, taking pleasure words despite their boastful nature. “Divine? No, you are just too kind to say otherwise.”

“Then allow me to prove you wrong.” Yoongi smirks, adjusting to take his place between your legs.

“What do you intend to-” He answers your question before you can finish, his mouth latching firmly onto your cunt. Your words lost as he takes in a long draft, his tongue playing along darts inside of you before shifting up to tease your most sensitive spot. When paired with his fingers, which once again come to stretch your inside, you do not stand more than a minute before biting the pillow to muffle your scream. Drenching his mouth and hands with your cum.

“As I said divine.” Yoongi grins as he looks up at you, his lips glistening with your fluids. After leaving  you with no energy to debate his notion you can only nod and accept his truth. He cleans his fingers once again with his tongue, before sending them to undo the laces of his trousers.

When his cock slips free he takes your hand, guiding it along to stroke his shaft. His head falls back in pleasure, giving you the confidence to grow bolder. You sit up to meet him pulling his length down to glide along the outside of your folds and become wet with your slick.

You find to his mouth again with a kiss as he throbs against the inside of your legs and mound. “You are sure of this then?” He asks one last time.

“I am.” You promise looking into his eyes as he leans you back and guides his cock past your folds. The air in your throat catches, and your eyes flutter as you adapt to the sensation of him inside you.

The back of his fingers brushing at your cheek before folding out to cup your face. “Still with me?”

You nod back, pushing your lips to his upper chest and shoulder as you adjust to him. Yoongi lowers you back down to the bed, cradling your form as you descend. Finally cocooning you in a close embrace, with his nose buried in the nape of your neck.

His cock swells, and you arch your back in response, meeting his chest with yours. With his arm tucked around, he keeps you in that position. Dragging his hips away and towards, his thrusts come slow as your arousal coats his shaft. Every push becomes easier for you to take, but it would seem it’s harder for him to hold on. His forehead comes to rest on your shoulder a rasping grunt, as he remains inside. He changes tactics and turns to tend to your neck instead, slowing his pace to a halt, as he kisses the marked spot.

You take note of a low growl emitting from him as he continues to lavish the spot. He must hate it as much as you, his failure to come to you in time on display before him. But you know no amount of simple affection will remove the spot from view.

“Yoongi?” You ask in concern as his disdainful rumbles grow louder. Adjusting your head to get a glimpse of his pained face, you find a dampness forming in the duct of his eye.  “Yoongi, is it-”

“I hate how he continues to mark you. It shouldn’t be here between us.”

“Then take it.” You suggest, for you like him are unable to tolerate it any longer.

He looks fearful of what you ask, his eyes wide as he explains, “I’ll need to break the skin.”

“Then do it. Please, help rid me of this too.” You tuck his head back down so his lips come to rest against your neck. No longer fearing such an act with him, not after the gentleness he showed you before.

His mouth opens with his teeth dragging across the scar. There’s a brief prick of pain before the spot is soothed by his lips. Yoongi’s groans of satisfaction start to encourage and blend with your own, his arms continuing to embrace you and coddle you.

With his still mouth fixed to your neck, you feel as his tongue turns beneath his teeth, and with a swift bite he laps his own blood on to the fresh wound. The lingering pain soon falls away as the skin heals. Your head swims in a state between dizziness and pleasure, a sense of euphoria takes over.

You place your hands on his hips wanting him to resume, craving more of his pleasure. And so the thrusts return with Yoongi’s hand pressed to the small of your back, ensuring that your clit grinds against him as he pushes deeper. He dives into you to the point where you can hear the dull thump of the bed frame against the wall.  You wish you could hold on longer, you wish you didn’t have to let go, you find yourself whispering Yoongi’s name repeatedly as if it might change that. Only to be left stuttering between breaths as you claim your last climax.

He pulls out after his own release, hovering as he smiles down on the sight of you, and your legs wrapped around his thighs. After taking a moment to collect himself he goes to grab the washing dish and jug of water, dipping the supplied towel he proceeds to take care of what he left behind. You attempt to claim the cloth from him, as he lingers between your thighs, but he insists on being though. With a grin tugging at his lip each time the towel passes over your sensitive flesh and causes you to twitch.

“I will not forget this, not ever.” Yoongi whispers once finished, as he takes to your side covering you over with the blanket.

You nod in agreement, brushing the hair from his face. “When it is all done, I want you to come back to me. I don’t care how long, I have to see you again.”

“I-I will try, but I cannot promise I will survive this task. If my demise will allow me to stand between you and him then I will gladly become that barrier.” You gasp ready to argue against such a sacrifice, but one tap of his finger to your lip stops your conflict in its place, allowing him to finish. “Rest now. Think not of what we can’t change.”  

You curl into Yoongi trying to do as he suggests. Though just as you get comfortable there’s an unexpected tap on the shutters of your room, a circumstance made even more surprising when you remember yourself to be on the second floor of the house. Your vampire rises, careful to open the window so no light shines on him. Allowing a raven to make its way inside.

Yoongi is quick to free it of a rolled letter attached to its foot before releasing the bird and blocking out the window behind it. As his eyes scan the paper, his brow furrows and his hand clenches the parchment to the point where it starts to crackle in his grip. He proceeds to throw back on his clothes, not even bothering to change out his torn shirt, while keeping the letter clutched in his hand.  

“Yoongi, is something-”

“I need to talk to Seokjin. Stay here.” He growls bursting out the door in a formidable rage, slamming it behind him. You give time for him to descend the steps before crawling from your bed wrapped in the sheet and leaning your ear to the solid wood that bars you from the hall, but nothing can be heard through the thick barrier.

You can not help but fear what might be wrong for Yoongi to react in such a way. Going against his command you throw the clothes Namjoon left you and ready to exit your room. Carefully pulling on the latch of the door so as to not make a sound. You ease through the smallest crack you can muster before settling at top of the stairs, hidden from the view of the floor below. The voice of the vampires trailing up from the main room.

“You have her smell all over you, lucky bastard,” Seokjin groans. “How did she taste?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer the question, posing his own instead, with a rustle of parchment and a loud thump on the table. “How long, how long have you known of this?”

“Yoongi-” Seokjin responds, the uncertainty of his tone is a jarring contrast from your own previous interaction with him.

“Answer me Seokjin!”

“I couldn’t tell you, you gave up your position, because of her. You know there is information we must keep from the hunters in case it falls into the wrong hands. I’ve known this to be the truth since you first went to recover her from Taehyung. We all knew it was your primary goal to retrieve her, but I wasn’t allowed to say anything that might cause a change in course from you. If you had known you would not have led her this way.”

“So you kept me in the dark? All these years?” Yoongi seethes. “I promised I would take her home! And you're just now sharing with me that I can’t? You didn’t care if I knew the whole truth, just as long as in the end I brought her closer to the clan’s reach?”

“We can keep her safe.”

“No, she deserves her life away from us. She has been tortured enough Seokjin. How am I supposed to tell her this? She was just starting to recover, to remember her past, and to trust me again, but this... it will break her. She won’t accept this new fate if this is your only solution.”

“Then don’t tell her, don’t give her a chance to refuse. She accepted your blood, did she not? Use it to send her off to sleep and don’t wake her again until she’s resting comfortably behind the clan’s walls. You can return to your old life, Hoseok will grant you your title back if you do this, I’m sure of it. You can be the high keeper again, with your princess safe by your side.”

There’s a loud clamour and groan, prompting you to peak just around the edge to witness the struggle. There on the table, Yoongi has pinned Seokjin, his fingers wrapped around the vampire's neck.

Seokjin doesn’t appear to be too put off despite his situation, choosing instead to give advice to the one who has him by the throat. “You’re immortal Yoongi, she is not, you need to remember that. Her sadness will be only temporary if she chooses to hold it against you, but if you go against us now you will be alone, without a clan for eternity.”

Yoongi stands there in silence, no more refusals, no more rebuttals. Instead of continuing to argue on your behalf, he nods and lets Seokjin up from the table. His fellow vampire claps him on the shoulder and mutters, “You’ve made the right choice old friend. Hoseok will be pleased to have you back in the clan’s coven.”

While they embrace every part of you is lit ablaze with pain and anger. You both had been played, but he... he acquiesced to his puppeteer, and plans to string you up too. There’s nothing that could willingly compel you to take shelter in a castle full of vampires again... with Yoongi by your side though? You consider the notion for a fraction of a second before a resounding ‘no’ takes hold. Your younger self might have gone, and willingly so, but now the cost to you and your people is far too great.

With the growing list of broken promises, how long before the vow of safety fractures for the sake of his clan too? What is there to stop the situation from evolving into your own past with Taehyung? You can not, you will not endure that kind of life again.

With your only option being to run, your head concocts a plan to flee. Creeping back to the bedroom you crack the window open, and glance over the edge, thankful to see that there are several crates stacked close enough for you to reach with your feet. If you’re lucky Yoongi will stay downstairs for some time and have no reason to believe you’ve flown from his side. Fitting a spare cloak you escape out the window taking the map with you. Climbing down you flee towards the stables out back.  

There you find the horse without a proper name, another painful reminder of Yoongi’s promises, and inability to return. Forcing you to recognize the constant pull between you and his clan. Your heart is left broken down the line of betrayal and understanding, for how can you entirely fault him when you yourself are determined to return to your own kingdom at the expense of his happiness. In the end the both of you are left to suffer the pain of duty over love.

Not wanting to journey with such a bitter token of the past, you choose the other smaller stead stolen from the hunters instead. Mounting the horse, you ride off into the noonday sun, eager to make it home before he or his kind have the ability to alter your course.

[killianglyndon]

Hope

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Skywalker! Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: force choke, killing younglings (basically what had happened in rots...), death, age gap (16 years)

A/N: my first Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader imagine haha, and I use some lines in ROTS for plot purpose. I have another one in my draft, will post it as soon as I finished it!

Tatooine, it at the same time felt like home and not. You and Anakin lived on this Planet with your mother for nine years, it still felt like yesterday to you.

Things happened quickly, you didn’t even have time to digest the recent incidents. You knew Anakin was struggling, his fear of losing Padmé. You tried to reach out to him, yet, he shut you out. Build walls around himself, keeping your reach in the force away.

(Flashback)

“Please Ani, don’t do this. The dark side is not the solution to this!”

“It is, sister. Join me, together we will be the most powerful.”

“No! Power is not anything. Did you hear yourself, Anakin?”

“It’s the only way. Chancellor showed me what Jedi didn’t teach us. You can too if you join me.”

“No, I will never pledge myself to the dark side.”

You never thought this would happen, Anakin had joined the dark side. His doubts to the Jedi council, his fear of losing Padmé, and the words of Palpatine, drive him to reach the dark side. How could you not see these signs? If only you could help him if you had tried harder. Maybe, maybe Anakin would not turn to the dark side.

According to master Yoda, not many Jedi had survived during Order 66. You were relieved that your Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi had survived.

“Obi-Wan! You’re alright.” You exclaimed while you ran towards him.

“(y/n)!” Obi-Wan pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around you.

You two had feelings for each other for a long time, but two of you knew it was against the code, you both buried your feelings and agreed to not do anything.

“I...I the younglings...Anakin killed them all…” You sobbed thinking about the image of that, he killed them in front of you. You tried to save them, but there was nothing you could do, Anakin used the force to pin you down. After he killed them, he used the force to choke you until you passed out.

“I know… we saw the security hologram…” Obi-Wan said and put his hand behind your head, trying to calm you down. “I’m sorry…” Obi-Wan trailed. He blamed himself for this, he had failed Anakin, he had failed you, he had failed everyone.

“Don’t. It’s not your fault…” you whispered against his chest.

“It is… I’ve failed him.”

“You didn’t. You’ve taught him everything you know. You’re a great master, Obi-Wan.” You pulled away to look into his ocean eyes, you had to be strong for him. You knew the guilt he carried, his eyes told you everything. His former Padawan turned to the dark side, the one who supposedly brought balance to the force.

Obi-Wan leaned down to kiss you on your forehead before C-3PO headed your way. “Master (y/n), the medical center requested you and Master Kenobi.”

——————

“For unknown reasons, we are losing her. If we want to save the babies we have to operate quickly.” The medical droid said.

“Babies?” Bail Organa exclaimed, looking shocked.

“She’s carrying twins.” The droid answered.

“Save them, we must. They are our last hope.” Yoda said.

After hearing the answer, the droid rushed back to the operating room, you and Obi-Wan followed.

You and Obi-Wan took Padmé’s hands, encouraging her not to give up. She screamed from the pain, the droid holding the baby, “it’s a boy.”

The droid handed you the baby, and you showed him to Padmé.

“Luke…” Padmé whispered and struggled to touch his forehead.

“And a girl!” The medical droid said.

Obi-Wan took the girl from the droid and showed her to Padmé.

“Leia…”

“You have twins, Padmé. They need you...hang on…” Obi-Wan leaned down to talk to Padmé.

“I… can’t.” Padmé winced and took Obi-Wan’s hand, holding Anakin’s japor snippet. “Obi-Wan, there’s… good in him. I know there is… still…” she gasped.

You looked at Padmé then Obi-Wan, tears rolled down your cheeks. You lost your brother to the dark side, and you lost your friend too.

——————

You, Obi-Wan, Master Yoda, and Senator Organa were in the Conference Room of the cruiser.

“Pregnant, she must still appear. Hidden, safe, the children must be kept.” Yoda said.

“We must take them somewhere the Sith will not sense their presence.” Obi-Wan recommended.

“Split up, they should be.” Yoda added.

“My wife and I will take the girl. We've always talked of adopting a baby girl. She will be loved with us.” Senator Organa said and looked at Master Yoda then you. Somehow, ensuring you that they would take good care of her. She would be happy, healthy, and grow up under the love they provided.

“And what of the boy?” Obi-Wan asked.

“To Tatooine. To his family, send him.” Yoda answered.

“(Y/n) and I will take the child and watch over him. If (y/n) want to, of course.” Obi-Wan said and turned to look at you.

“I want to.” You answered and gave him a sad smile. “That’s the least I could do for him and Padmé…”

“Master Yoda, do you think Anakin's twins will be able to defeat Darth Sidious?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Strong the Force runs, in the Skywalker line. Hope, we can . . . Done, it is.” Yoda trailed, then added. “Until the time is right, disappear we will.”

You, Obi-Wan, and Senator Organa stood up, heading out of the Conference Room. Before Obi-Wan left, Yoda stopped him.

“An old friend has learned the path to immortality.” Yoda trailed.

“Who?”

“One who has returned from the netherworld of the Force to train me . . . your old Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Qui-Gon? But, how could he accomplish this?” Obi-Wan looked puzzled.

“The secret of the Ancient Order of the Whills, he studied. How to commune with him. I will teach you.” Yoda answered.

“I will be able to talk with him?” Obi-Wan was stunned, and to be honest, maybe a little relieved. The recent incidents had him questioned himself, perhaps he could find guidance from his former master.

“How to join the Force, he will train you. Your consciousness you will retain when one with the Force. Even your physical self, perhaps.” Yoda trailed.

Before Obi-Wan left the Conference Room, “Jedi code, no more.” Yoda said, then added. “Feelings, you and (y/n) have for each other. Hide, no more.”

———————

You, Obi-Wan, and the newborn baby Luke were on the ship to Tatooine. Luke was sleeping soundly in his baby carrier. You couldn’t help but look at his face, he looked so peaceful.

You trailed your fingers softly on his forehead, for the first time in a while, you felt calm. You just sat there for a while before returning to the co-pilot seat next to Obi-Wan.

“How’s the baby?” He asked while changing the setting to autopilot.

“Sleeping soundly.” You answered.

Then it went to the comfortable silence again.

“(Y/n), I would like to tell you something.” Obi-Wan said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, “I want to be honest with you, (y/n).” He looked into your eyes. “I love you, for a long time. There are no Jedi codes anymore…” He took your hands in his. “We don’t need to hide our feelings anymore. Now, we have a chance to have a new life, together. Only if you want to…” He said, trying to sound hopeful.

“I’d like to.” You looked into his ocean-colored eyes.

His eyes lightened up when he heard you, “Really?” He asked.

“Yes. And I love you too, for a long time.” You traced your hand to his face, caressed it.

He eyed your lips, then back to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

He closed the gap between you, putting his big, warm hands on your cheeks. The kiss started slow and gentle, you two savored the moment, and you closed your eyes. It was like the world stopped, there were just two of you. This was even better than you had imagined. He delicately nibbled your bottom lip, sucking it a little. You put your hands on his nape, massaging it a little.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Nothing.” You smiled at him. “It’s just so… unreal. I can’t believe it’s happening.”

“It’s real, (y/n). This moment, you, and I are real.” Obi-Wan caressed your cheeks.

——————

You watched Obi-Wan hand Luke to Beru, you knew he would be happy there, living a life he deserved.

Obi-Wan walked back to you, standing beside you, and put his hand on the back. You two stood there watching Beru, Owen, and Luke, knowing there was hope after all.