#◦ 「 ☆ 」 —— ic › you and i will stand and fight‚ our hearts ignite to the call. .

[binniesbooks]

ahh hi my fayebae(idk is this cute?if its not I can think of another one)

anyways i thought real hard and long for this(while eating ice cream since its so hot here rn) but here's my idea!! gyu and reader are school rivals of a certain sport(u can choose the sport), let's just say boys and girls are both on the team!

they are pretty popular/well known (cos it looks like one wrong move and they would rip each other throat's out) but also cos they are both captains of their own school team!

but what others don't know, is that the whole tension and rivalry that they put on, is just an act. behind close doors well, one can say they are more than friends 🤭 seeing that after every game. they are both nowhere in sight.

(honestly dont mind switch between gyu and reader?? but u can choose who would take the lead n such idm!!) like it'll be hawt ughhh please ofc include smut!!(gyu eating out reader if possible I'm on my knees😳n anything else that is pleasurable for both of them heheh) everything else is up to u!!🤍

idk if this is any good cos this is like my 2nd ask of a fic to anyone T-T I rlly hope this inspires u <3

• LOCKED AND LOADED

BG 001 .F23 2024

wc 3.8k

pairing rival(?)!beomgyu x fem!reader

warning cursing, unprotected sex, oral sex, cum playing, dangerous activity(gun holding) (tell me if I missed anything)

faye's note dedicated to my one and only dearest Beomgyu's kitten, @babymochibeargyu here you goooo! I'm sorry for the delay, I feel bad omg. But here's a little TMI, I rewatched one of TODO episodes for this kkkkk! Plus I did my own research tooooo! But, okay, I know there's no Olympics likes this but just imagine. Omg. Kkkkk bye!

Btw, I feel like I'm being surrounded with bamtoris 😋 ❤️

2024 Campus Olympics

"And...they're out!" The crowd roared from cheers and disappointment coming from the bleachers as the big screen showed the "GAME OVER" sign.

"We have our semi-finalist! Ladies and gentlemen! ELITE EAGLES!" The crowd roared once again at the announcer's statement. You heard the deafening sound as you and your teammates stepped out from the range. The air was thick with competition and excitement.

This sport has been ongoing for years now. The sport that requires skill, accuracy, precision, and speed, is a shooting game. However, the guns used in this competition are nerfed, to lessen the power and accidents that may happen. You and Beomgyu's school had been the biggest rivals in this sport. Making it the spotlight and main event of the Camp Olympics.

"Now! Who will be our champion of the year?! Will it be the ELITE EAGLES?" the crowd cheered again, "Or our defending champions, the ALPHAS!" The crowd grew louder, you glanced at the other side of the entrance of the range. And there he was, standing all proud with a smirk plastered on his face, it was no other than your only rival, Beomgyu.

You clutched at the nerfed gun you were holding as your teammate were fixing their protective vests and head gears.

"This will be the game of the century for both of these teams! For the past 2 years, they have scored 1-1 so far, who will conquer this time?" The commentator announced. You could practically feel the stretch of the veins in their neck with the way they shouted.

It's been two years since you joined this sport, you were still a sophomore at that time. And this time, it was your last and final year to play, craving for the victor's crown. Beomgyu had been your rival from the start, making it his last and final year to play too.

Beomgyu turned his gaze towards yours, grinning at how you were practically boring holes in his head. As you line up in front facing each other's team, the fiery stare and sharp remarks on the field had all the students buzzing, and it seemed like a single misstep would ignite a full-blown feud.

"Go Eagles, we soar, we flight! United and bold, in the heart of fight!"

"Who's got the power, the strength, the drive? We are the Alphas, we thrive, we thrive!"

The cheer squad from both teams were doing their best to boost their player's determination. Showing off their respected school representative animals from banners to mascots, cheers to flaglets. The rivalry, driven by pride and competition, garners attention from everyone as both teams relish in the spotlight. The tension is palpable, with the upcoming round heightened by mutual taunts and challenging glances, fueling their status as competitors.

"Players! Lock and Load!" the rumbling sound of cheers and shouts envelops the field.

2022 Campus Olympics

"Y/n, you should definitely join, I swear it will be worth it." Yeonjun, your president of the photography club recommended joining the Lock and Load sports club. He used to be the team captain but since he and the members were about to graduate, he needed to keep the club alive. Persuading you to join and be the captain of the team.

"Jjun," his face crumpled at the name, "I really can't do that, prez. Look, I'm already in this photography club, I can't manage my time. " You sighed.

"Says the one who can stay up all night to watch her favorite movies but can't even accept her president's slash friend's request." He yapped and yawned.

"Fine!" You stomped your feet, "If you were not just my president and one of my dearest friends, I wouldn't have considered your request at all!" You crossed your arms, pouting as you hear his light laughs envelope the room

"We have a new champion! Ladies and gentlemen! Elite Eagles!" Your crowd cheered on you. This annual event is a big event for your schools. And you felt the proud look from the participants of your school. Being the champion in this sport was a normal occurrence especially when Yeonjun was still the captain. So as you turned to him, his smile was the brightest you had ever seen.

As you turn to the other side, you see your opponent's team. You can't see any disappointment in their eyes, but their aura practically screams revenge. Their team captain caught your eye. He's tall and looked like he had a pleasing personality the way he was talking to his teammates. Well, that's what you can see.

As your two teams gathered up in front for a handshake to show sportsmanship, you hesitated at the way he was smiling at you. You raised your hand to shake his, but you feel strange.

"Congratulations." The word rolled out of his mouth so smooth and sweet yet full of threat. Your skin crawled at how cold his palm was. You immediately pulled back your hand as you felt an electric sensation radiating off of him through you. A palpable tension between you ignited when both of your eyes met, frowning faces as if about to kill each other. -- That's when everybody knew, you would be the biggest rivals of this sport.

"I told you, you can do it!" Yeonjun said as he ruffled your hair while walking with your team. "All of you, you did well too, I knew you could do it." Greeting the group made them cheer and thank Yeonjun, for the support he gave and the persuasion he did.

"Are you coming?" One of your teammates shouted outside asking you if you would go with them to celebrate, but you're still not finished taking a bath to remove the sweaty scent that makes you feel icky. "I will! But go ahead, I'll catch up later." You confirmed. You heard the door closed. It was really good to have such a facility that caters for your annual school events. The big field could accommodate all of the participating schools for the event, and the participants' team themselves had their own rooms to stay in. You were more than happy, you got to experience using these athlete's rooms plus you even won the championship of Lock and Load.

You were about to leave when you stopped in your tracks as you saw someone standing leaning on the wall in the hallway. He's wearing your opponent's uniform.

"Hey there. Come with me for a while."

2023 Campus Olympics

"They're three points left behind with 2 minutes remaining! Will Alphas catch up or will they be the ones to win the championship?" The roaring crowd ignites the desperation of both teams to win.

With a ten-point difference, Alphas won the game. The victory wasn't supposed to be theirs but their captain changed plans last minute. The prideful face of Beomgyu shined bright as he walked out of the range. His grin grew wider when you were in his sight. You couldn't help but roll your eyes and turn your back to him. This rivalry between the two schools will get bigger, given the fact that you two will be playing your last games next year. The score tied at 1-1, the next annual event will be the tiebreaker.

"It's fine really. We do lose too, even before." Despite being a graduate student, Yeonjun still gives his full support to the Elite Eagles' Lock and Load team, patronizing them, especially at this event, he is also the acting coach of the team as of now. Besides, he was the reason why your school has its own team for the Lock and Load sport. He tried to cheer you up, tapping every slumped shoulder of every player.

You forced a smile at him, trying your best not to look too bad. "I have an idea. I'll buy tonight's dinner for you guys. I can't look at your droopy faces." He volunteered, gathering some "Coach, you don't have to" and "Hyung, you don't have to" as answers. "No, I insist."

When your fellow players got up to head to the accommodation room, you stayed behind at one of the benches for players near the range. Yeonjun sat beside you. "Don't be so disheartened. You know, there's still one more year for you. I know you'll make it." He ruffled your hair, giving you a bottle of energy drink.

"Replenish your energy. Then come over to the team dinner." Maybe Yeonjun felt that your silence had screamed that you wanted to be alone for a while. He put his hand in his pocket as he walked away.

"Come out. I know you're there." The same person from the opponent's team, leaning on the post not too far from where you are sitting, is hidden away from eyes that can see both of you.

Present

Your team ran through the course, earning points at each shot. For the past years, you have Beomgyu as an opponent, you could say that you can read his plans and movements. Allowing you to move and think faster than him. His teammates were quick, but you and your teammates trained yourself to be wary and not let your guard down.

"This is an interesting and intense game of the century!" You almost scoffed at the figures of speech the announcers had been using in their comments.

"Shit, that was a close call!" You muttered as you hid yourself on a stack of sacks, you were almost hit by his teammate. "Attention eagles! I can see their position from here. E7, proceed under the truck, someone's behind the wall. E5, someone just ran near your position. E6, remain seated, they might see you. Others, stick to the plan, be careful!" You quietly talked to your teammates as you distributed their tasks.

All 8 members of each team can earn points as much as they can, each shot is equivalent to a certain point depending on what part of the body the bullet hits. The suit and protective vests that the player wore had built-in sensors, that whenever an opponent’s bullets hits it, it would automatically count as a point.

It's almost the end of the round, and with 9 minutes remaining, the score was 88-67 with your team at the lower end. You're frustrated-- Beomgyu irks you so much. With 8 minutes remaining, you kept on shooting at any opponent that came your way. You did not camp anymore. Moving from one place to another. 7 minutes remaining, the crowd became louder. Your mind is blurry to think of a strategy. 6 minutes remaining, your teammates are trying to reach you but to no avail. 5 minutes remaining, you don't have much time left, you can't just remain still. 4 minutes remained, and you dashed to the opponent's base aiming for their captain, receiving a few glancing blows in the process. 3 minutes remaining, you covered yourself near the metal wall. 2 minutes remaining, the score ascended to 112-103, but still, your team was at the lower end.

The firing from others has ceased, probably killing the 2 minutes remaining to save energy and steady the scores. You roamed your eyes through the opponent's base. No captain in sight. "Shit, am I too late?" You muttered, slowly walking to search for him. You were about to step out of their base when you heard someone.

"Hands behind your head." The voice commanded. Fucking hell, you're doomed.

....

Both teams step out of the range with loud cheers from the crowd.

"We almost did it. We were so close."

"Man, that was close."

"This is my last year already."

Clear disappointment, was what you heard.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The game of the century has now officially ended! Our champion! No other than..." Your ears practically ring with the announcer's shouting voice.

"ELITE EAGLES!" Your team cheered as much as the crowd did, jumping and shouting their lungs out.

You turn to Beomgyu, one of his hands in his pocket, and the other still holding the gun. He smiled at you, mouthing a 'congratulations'. You nodded before you were called to line up and shake each other's hands.

"The annual Campus Olympics has officially ended. This is your official commentator of the year's event, Kim Jun-soo, signing off."

"Woah! How did you do it, captain? I thought we were going to lose!" Your teammates were overjoyed, but still not over the fact that you won.

"See? I told you, you can do it. And look you actually did!" Yeonjun placed his cap on your head. "Nice job, team captain."

"I..thank you." You were out of words -- no, you were out of this world actually.

"Hey, dinner is on--"

"Coach, the organizers gave me a stub. Dinners are on them for both teams." Yeonjun was cut off by one of your teammates.

Hearing the free dinner, Yeonjun cheered with your teammates. Free dinner = not a single cent to be spent.

"See you later then, rest for now, we still have plenty of time," Yeonjun announced.

...

"Hey move over, the seat is empty." Bickering can be heard from the next table in the restaurant reserved for the players. Yeonjun sighs, for three consecutive years, you haven't attended the team dinner. You are, again, not in sight.

"By any chance, have you seen Captain?"

"Oh yeah, Beomgyu is not here again. I wonder why the seat's empty."

"How many years has it been? 2?"

"Three years. He did not attend any single team dinner at all."

"Forget it, eat to your heart's content. He might not just wanna attend."

Yeonjun's head snapped at what he had just heard. Alphas and Elite Eagles have been rivals for so long. You and the other team's captain have been rivals for three years. And neither of you has attended team dinners for three consecutive years too. Was something going on? Or was he just overthinking it?

"Gyu... Beomgyu..." You whined.

"Shhh, stay still." He whispered.

"Ahh... Beomgyu..." his name rolling off your tongue so sweet it makes him feel tingly.

Your grip on his hair tightens a little bit, "More... I want more..." Your words are shaky and needy.

Beomgyu held your thighs to keep them steady, lapping at your sweet wetness. "Why are you so needy right now?" He asked sucking at your clit. Your back arched at his action. "I...I want more, please... I want you." He pulled back a little bit, just a few inches away from your dripping cunt. His hot puffs of breath make you shiver and whine for me. "N-no teasing..." Your legs felt weak. Shaking. Trembling. "But I love you being so needy, captain. I like seeing you squirm under me." Your hand clasped your mouth, refraining from moaning, the term captain gives butterflies to your stomach.

"Captain, just so you know, I love how you moan my name, I love how you make that face when you cum. I love it when you whine and whimper." His eyes are fixed on you while he's kissing your inner thighs. He watches the rising and falling motion of your exposed chest.

"Now, say my name again, will you?" He uttered, getting ready to dive in you again.

His hot and slippery tongue licked a stripe on your cunt, making your back arch once again as you gripped tightly on his sheets. "Beomgyu... Cap..captain Gyu.." you yelped, "I'm gonna cum.. please.." he likes this so much. He likes it when you beg for him to take care of you.

"Let it out, captain." He smirked as he continued tongue fucking you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you quivered as you reached your high. Beomgyu's bed was a total mess, from your thrashing, from your sweat, from your squirming.

"This never changed, you always taste good, captain. Ever since we were young." He grasped your waist to pull you closer, sucking your remaining cum from the intense orgasm he gave you. He sat down on the edge of the bed, just to rest for a while, but he did not expect what you were about to do.

You crawled down on him, between his legs. You look up at him as you lay your cheek on one of his thighs. He smirked at your quirks. He grabbed a gun from his table drawer. Pointing it on your temple. Your eyes flutter at him as he smiles sweetly at you. "Do it for me, yeah,?" He motions at his belt. Beomgyu owns a licensed gun, it was your gift when you two just turned 18. Probably the reason why he joined lock and load.

You carefully unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants agonizingly slow. The cold muzzle kissing your sweaty temple. You were still staring at him, he was biting his lips, abs clenching at the sight. You pumped him a few times causing him to groan at your work.

"Careful, Captain. Fuck." One hand still holding the gun pointed at you, another gripping at the sheets.

You spit on his cock, a makeshift lube, as you bobbed your head carefully. His breath was shaky and hot. Lips were now red at how he occasionally bit them from the sensation.

Your tongue prodded at his tip, trying to lick his slit.

"Ahh, fucking shit, y/n.." His hips were thrusting up to your mouth.

"Do it again. Fuck, do that again." He commanded when you stop licking his slit. One more move and he will fall from the bed.

You took him whole --that's when he lost it, he holds your head with both of his hands, still clutching onto the gun.

He was fucking your throat, your gag reflex kicking in, "Shit, god damn it y/n, I'm sorry!" Despite the apology, his movement did not stop one bit, if anything, he even moved a bit rougher.

"C-can I cum in your m-mouth?" His words fumbling, the muscles of his legs tensing. "P-please tell me if I can. I-i'm... Shit. Ahh! I'm close.." he stammered.

You hummed, causing him to lose himself at the resonance. His cock throbbed inside your mouth as white spurts of cum painted your mouth.

He quickly tossed the gun on his bed as he pulled you up to straddle him. One hand resting on your hand, the other on your chin. "Open your mouth." You opened your mouth, very carefully, not wanting to spill his milk. He pressed his thumb on your tongue, playing with his cum, as he let it spill out, trailing down to his hand.

"You always make me horny." He licked his thumb before pulling you to a fervent kiss. You started grinding on him as he kissed you with so much longing. He easily slipped inside of you with your slick still dripping on your thighs, causing you to gasp allowing him to fuck your throat with his tongue. You started to roll your hips in a circular motion causing him to curse. "Are we doing it raw again, captain?" You asked, but he dodged your answer with another question.

"Captain, I-I just came. How could you?" He wrapped his arms around your waist. You stilled before pulling away, "The stunt you pulled is dangerous," you pouted, "What if you suddenly killed me? I bought that for you as a souvenir when I went to the States. I did not expect it to be used against me." You crossed your arms. He planted a sweet kiss on your lips, "Rule number 2, firearms should be unloaded when not actually in use," he shrugged, "The magazine ain't intact." He added.

Your mouth gaped, you were dumbfounded, all this time your heart had been racing thinking about the danger that might actually happen. But in fact, it was actually unloaded.

"Damn you! I was scared to death! I thought --"

"You thought? You thought what?" He cuts you off when he starts thrusting, stretching you out. You hid your face in the crook of his neck.

"Wow, that's cheating, making an excuse to moan on my ears." His moves were unchanging, deeply thrusting in your sloppy cunt.

You can't help yourself but moan, not when he's gripping your waist to push his girthy cock deeper on you.

"Captain... Captain, you're hitting the right s-spots..." You moaned as you stayed glued to his sweaty body.

"I-i'll pull out. I'll pull out c-captain." His words stuttered as his moves also stuttered.

"Don't, please Gyu. I want you to cum inside, I'm on the pill." You buried your face more in his neck, embarrassed hearing yourself begging him to cum in you.

"How can I say no when you're c-clenching on my c-cock. Shit, I'm close." He huffed. You clenched more, you want him so much. You're desperate to feel his warm cum filling you up.

"C-captain, c-can I rub my..." You're too shy to finish your sentence, but he pulled the words out of your mouth when he started moving his fingers on your clit in a circular motion."Captain! Captain, fuck! Oh god!" You were both ecstatic rushing to chase your highs.

He restrained your hands behind your back as he started moving harder, abusing your stretched cunt. You moved closer to him, to his ears, moaning at it purposely, pushing him to the edge as he spilled inside you.

He continued fucking you and rubbing your clit despite the fact he had reached his own orgasm, overstimulating himself. "Fuck it fucking h-hurts! Fucking hell!" You can't hear any words from him other than his resounding curses until you are squirting on him. He was chasing his breath as he laid his forehead on your shoulder.

"I love this so much... I love you... You're so hot squirting on my cock.. sexy." He muttered. You pulled him into a hug, slight movements causing the both of you to wince. I love you too, Captain.." You whispered.

All you can hear in the room is the ticking of the clock, the thumping of your chest, and the heavy pants and breaths coming from both of you.

"Why did you do it, Gyu?" You look at him, eyes searching for answers. He just smiled.

"Hands behind your head." It was Beomgyu. You're doomed.

"Hello there, Miss Captain." He clicks his tongue as he stares at you. "You really wanted to win, yeah?" He added.

"Ah-ah! Do not move! Give me your gun." He commanded making you flinch, you glanced at the timer on his suit, less than one minute remaining. You handed him your gun and placed your hands behind your head again.

"Do me a favor." You looked at him confused, "What favor?" 30 seconds remaining.

"Call me captain." Short, yet precise words.

"What?" Your eyebrows furrowed.

"I said, call me captain." 20 seconds.

"Look, I don't know what-"

"Call. Me. Captain. Right now." His voice was full of authority. 10 seconds remaining.

9

8

7

6

5

4

3... "Captain!"

2

1... "Bang!" You flinched at what you've heard, he pulled the trigger! Beomgyu fucking pulled the trigger.

But it wasn't his gun, it was yours, and the muzzle was pressed on his headgear.

10 points were added to your score, a headshot is equivalent to 10 points. The score ascends to 102-113.

@binniesbooks 2024

[orewing]

WIND BREAKER Original Soundtrack: Official Lyrics

These were transcribed by me directly from the CD booklet included with the OST; I reviewed them carefully to make sure there aren't any mistakes. Please enjoy!

Upheaval

High in the sky The crows are calling and their wings unfold And now, they fly in circles like they've found a prey to hold Staring cold A bell resounds A blasting welcome portrays in its sound I wonder now What kinda mighty foes will come around Zest's unbound

The curtain unveils a sight I'm unleashing the rage, igniting a fight Position I chase, will be mine Through the gate, move on with my fist I'm set to face all foes, no twist

My unshaken resolve, unwavering rock The sight I pursue's kept away for the strongest one to unlock Rise to the top

Feeling the stares and piercing gazes I'm surrounded here And I don't care I love the tension, pitch-black atmosphere, drawing near

Only might will hold its weight in our realm Are you weaklings or are you strong? Heartbeat uncontrolled, racing on I'll be so ruthless with all foes I'll face

The curtain unveils a sight I'm unleashing the rage, igniting a fight Position I chase, aim assigned Through the gate, move on with my fist I'm set to face all foes, no twist

For my goal, that is above all <<Watch out, stay on guard>> I'll face and conquer my rival <<Watch out, stay on guard>> Today's bound to an upheaval

A Starting Sign

The wind of ease would calmly blow onto days I knew nothing of A battle fought for someone else comprehension's still on pause But emotions deep inside would change as sound was heard Unimagined movement now, I cannot be conquered

There is someone needing my strength There's someone I must now protect

It's getting hotter now, this fighting spirit burns The soul would shake, and emotions turn I stand and stare into this foe in front of me Blaze in your fist every meaning of the fight

A starting sign Denounced and praised

Higher I'll Go

Every enemy in front of me I'll strike down In position for the fight, I feel the time stop Fire's burning from the soul, to the sky And that's the cue to advance, let this ignite

Shall we begin it now, our show time You wanna see how the fight ends Like I'm distorting space, speed defines Attack of the fist forming gusts of wind, now break away

This hurricane

Even in mid-day, dark interference With no choice of home and appearance This is me, what's wrong with that What you keep calling "normal," I don't know what you mean My true worth I now must feel Gotta prove it's fine to be what reveals Walking in my isolation I'll be doing this my way, no room for your disruption

Way stronger, higher I'll go I'll live the life I must know Fist clenched with this heavy load Like it's cracking open the world, here comes my blow

All denial and refusal and rejection Discontinuation of retaliation Solitude has taken feelings astray Affection for tenderness would fade away

Shout it out! So, get up!

This is my Way This is the Way

Even in mid-day, dark interference With no choice of home and appearance This is me, what's wrong with that What you keep calling "normal," I don't know what you mean My true worth I now must feel Gotta prove it's fine to be what reveals Walking in my isolation I'll be doing this my way, no room for your disruption

Way stronger, higher I'll go I'll live the life I must know Fist clenched with this heavy load Like it's cracking open the world, here comes my blow

Way stronger, higher I'll go Hey! Then I'll live the life I'm owed

Stronger

When I wanted to seize my freedom It may've already broken But I don't wanna cease Only wished I'd neared the dream my heart has spoken

Unfolding disarray I couldn't understand what I should have done The colors fade away Why does my heart keep on becoming so cold?

The rain, pouring down from the dark Didn't care, kept walking on the path embarked And focusing hard on the place I wanna reach I even broke and lost what's dear to me

It is so bleak and iced Lone, I can't suffice

To become stronger for somebody Allies together, aligned with me Always remember Protecting someone Allies together Remember that Remember that

At last, found my treasure But it's unfilled, void of what I pursued

I noticed my heart is so dried All the memories I cherish cracked inside It felt unfulfilled, like there was a missing part Although it's been so close, here from the start

It is so warm around Lone, I feel the bounds

To become stronger for somebody Allies together, aligned with me Always remember Protecting someone Allies together Remember that Remember that

The rain subsides Here come the bright skies

Call My Name

Stand clear, volatile, our faces glaring near Why do you stand here? Show what is deep inside, and rooted all throughout Your conviction, unbending, firm and loud

With determination, make your move

The way of life abiding essence Turns doubt into belief Move, show no fear This burning soul shall surface, keep focus Welcoming new strengths outnumbers Just filling in the gaps Those powers couldn't mean nothing at all Come and call my name

Screech of the bones sound, Teeth, you bite down Fist clenched, and drenched in sweat, firm-body strike down Spectators overpowered Temperatures rise in the room They collide, boom! Smirking as they fight now

Being strong, full of power, brings a certain thrill But a dose of, oh, anything uncool can bring me down with chills Carrying out intentions ain't no drill

Taking lies, repainted on with truth Let go, don't accept that impulse with no proof If you don't know how to control your stance Let's keep it going until you understand

A fist you're clenching through deception Has no meaning or use One blow with truth beats sentences Confession, no fiction In this palm resides pain and woes Find answers through what guides Crashed down, look up, receive winds in these skies

The way of life abiding essence Turns doubt into belief Move, show no fear This burning soul shall surface, keep focus Welcoming new strengths outnumbers Just filling in the gaps Those powers couldn't mean nothing at all Come and call my name

Screech of the bones sound, Teeth, you bite down Fist clenched, and drenched in sweat, firm-body strike down Spectators overpowered Temperatures rise in the room They collide, boom! Smirking as they fight now

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 3

Series Main List

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

Also on AO3

Ch. 3 Warnings: Language; stalker behavior; abduction; vampire thrall; WWII references to Hitler and Nazi regime; non-graphic violence, murder and death

2023

A tall man stands before you in the parking garage with sandy blonde hair, broad shoulders and a lean, tapered waist that shouldn’t be so distracting in such a risky situation. He braces one hand against his hip and the other hangs at his side as he offers a small smile. “Hello.” He says your name, and all of your survival instincts go on high alert.

Your heart hammers as adrenaline lights you up. “Wha… who are you?” You freeze in place, gripping your laptop bag to swing it in self-defense if needed. “H-how do you know my name?”

“My name is Max, and Charles told me.” His mouth pulls to a tight, closed-mouth smile as if indulging a small child. “And, really, nothing more should be said right now. And certainly not here.”

“O-okay.” You force a hard swallow. “Um, then… I’ll just be on my way.” You motion towards your car behind him, but he takes a step forward with a tense shake of his head.

“I’m afraid you can’t do that. Or, at least, not yet.” He says, taking another step forward, and you instinctively step back. “There are some things that you’re better off understanding first.”

“I-I don’t need to understand anything.” You stammer, taking another backwards step but it’s no match for his forward advance. “I haven’t done anything, and if you so much as fucking touch me, I’ll scream and bring the security guard running.”

He sighs in vague annoyance, but hardly looks deterred. “Well, we could have done this the easy way – believe me when I say that I’m here for your protection, that I don’t want to see you hurt – but I guess we’ll just have to do it the hard way.”

He lunges forward with a burst of impossible speed, holding your gaze captive with his own. His ice blue eyes glow like twin stars, and you’re helpless to look away. Waves of warmth and security roll through you, and… why exactly were you trying to get away from him? Especially as the comforting weight of his palm cups your jaw and his fingers caress your cheek. You want to melt into him, to never be without him, to always have him like this.

“That’s it,” he rumbles gently, stroking your cheek. “Now that we’ve made up from our fight, give me a hug for the camera…”

Your arms wrap around him without a second thought, and fuck… the solid, firm build of him sends your blood racing.

“That’s my girl.” He praises through the fog in your ears, pressing his lips against your other cheek. “Now, shall we get on with our date night? Loop your arm around my waist now, come on, and how about a smile…?”

He draws back and you're helpless not to drown under his lovely gaze as he shifts to your side. Your arm lands around the lean line of his waist as a smile brightens your face, and really… what’s so bad about this?

Your footsteps match his as you both draw up to your car and he guides you into the passenger seat. A whimper passes your lips as the lean strength of his body withdraws, and you try to reach out for him as he closes the door.

“No, schatje.” He says gently as he folds your hand back in your lap. “I’ll just be a minute.”

The door closes, and you can’t breathe as he circles around the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat. It’s only as his hand envelops yours that the weight lifts from your chest and you stare at him, helpless to look anywhere else.

You barely hear the sound of the engine ignition or see the passing city lights as he cuts through the night. You don’t even know where you are as he finally brings the car to a stop. But again, the distance between you as he walks over to the passenger side of the car lances anxiety through you until his hand reconnects with yours – and you never want to be without him. How could you? Why would you? 

“Come on,” he whispers carefully as your feet move against a smooth surface – concrete, you think. A driveway. “This way…” He coos as he guides you forward and you cling to him, uncaring about anything else.

He pushes a large door open and golden light floods your vision. You can just make out white and cream blurs that might be furniture, but when you’re in his arms like this, who cares about furniture?

“Charles!” Max calls out loudly, and you press your ear tight against his chest as if to drown out the loud noise. “Charles, get down here!”

His strong arm disappears from around your waist and you're gently coaxed to sit on something soft and cushy. But you only have eyes for him as he starts to draw back, and you reach out for him as another voice echoes in your foggy brain.

“Mon dieu…” The voice is pure astonishment. “Max, what the hell is this? What is she-”

“George found her.”

“Fucking hell… and you had to bring her here for that?”

“You put her in danger and you need to get her out of it.”

“Seb would say that we should just drain her and be done with it.”

“And it may yet come to that, but with Xavi’s death, we might need her.”

“… Fine.” A long sigh follows, and another man moves into your vision. He’s… vaguely familiar, like a shadow from a distant dream, but he’s not the one you want..

Your hands reach out, feebly searching for what you know you’ll surely die without.

“Good lord, Max.” The man in front of you sighs again. “You didn’t have to go so hard on her.”

“I barely used my thrall… that’s all her, mate.”

“Then, get her out of it. Now.”

That same strong, comforting hand finds your jaw, and you reconnect with those gorgeous glacial eyes. All feels so right with the world and nothing could possibly –

“As you were.” Max commands, and the fog lifts.

You gasp as you come back to yourself, overloaded by too many realizations at once.

For one, the home you’re in is cavernous and opulent – for fuck’s sake, it's a mansion… if not a palace.

For two, Charles Leclerc, III, crouches down in front of you, dressed in grey joggers and a white t-shirt, looking far too relaxed despite the annoyed set of his handsome face.

For three, Max from the parking garage stands next to him with a terrifyingly neutral expression on his face.

“Where… what the fuck just happened? How did I get here? And…” your mouth goes dry and words choke in your throat. “Why am I here? I-I don’t know anything about what happened to Padros -”

“It’s alright,” Charles cuts off your rambling. “You’re not in danger, at least not from us.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I suppose you would say that.”

The corner of Charles’ mouth lifts. “And if I really did intend to hurt you, a comment like that could earn you a backhand across the cheek.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

The wicked lift of Charles’ mouth grows. “I don’t need to strike you to pacify you.”

A terrifying mix of vulnerability and arousal curdles in your blood. You’re suddenly all too aware of these intimidating men before you, and you’re still entirely too discomforted that you can’t recall anything about how you got here. To this… mansion with these two handsome – gorgeous, really – men staring down at you, oozing all confidence and power.

Dammit, this is not the time for your kinky side to take hold.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your unease and regain some modicum of control despite how powerless you feel. “Okay… but why am I here?” 

Charles blinks back at you. “I’m given to understand that you know George Russell.” 

Indignation furrows your brow. “And just how is that any of your business?” 

“I’m told that it’s my fault he contacted you.” 

The wrinkled set of your brow deepens. “You’re ‘given to understand’, you’re ‘told’… do you not do anything for yourself?” 

Max snorts a breathless laugh. “You know, she has a point, mate.” 

Nothing in the handsome lines of Charles’ face changes despite the hint of a smirk coming to his face. “I’ve known Max for quite a long time, and you wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t true.” He shifts his weight, bracing a forearm against a knee. “Has George told you anything?” 

You arch an incredulous brow. “Anything about what…? Just what the fuck is going on here?” Frustration tightens your voice as your hand clenches in your lap. “He’s nobody, alright? George hasn’t told me anything! He’s never mentioned either of you. He’s just some new guy at work –"

“How new?” Charles’ tone is disconcertingly calm. 

“A couple of weeks, he said.” 

“And when did you first meet him?” 

“The night….” A chill races down your spine as your mind catches up to your adrenaline-fueled instincts. “I was leaving work just after our meeting, just after I had met you…” 

Charles’ eyes brighten as the connection is made. “And where did you meet George? Behind the secured access points of your building?” 

“No…” A shiver creeps along your skin. “In the parking garage… and then again, in the main lobby…” 

Max shakes his head with a scoff. “It’s easy enough to walk around a vehicle barrier or into an open lobby during business hours.” 

The realizations mix with the memory of your search for George in your company’s chat program. And after hearing Charles say George’s full name tonight, you hadn’t misheard, nor had you misspelled ‘Russell’ so poorly. Your mouth goes dry at the implication as your stomach sours. 

But the last thing you want to do is admit that Charles is right. That this man, whose - lacky? Minion? Bodyguard? Max? – abducted you to his house, is actually telling the truth. 

Charles blinks and gives his head a gentle shake. “For that and all of this, I do apologize. I didn’t intend to put you in such danger.” 

You fix Charles with a hard stare. “But what about Xavier? If he had met with you instead of me, would George have contacted him, too?” 

An enigmatic expression comes to Charles’ face. “I’m afraid those are questions for another time. This is about George, not Xavi.” 

“But they’re connected, aren’t they?” You try to seek the answer in Charles’ face. “They have to be.” 

The muscles of Charles’ jaw tighten. “If George contacts you again, don’t engage with him. Don’t help him. And paramount for your own safety, never look him in the eyes.” 

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous. And makes no sense.” Another frustrated sigh escapes you. “Nothing happens from looking someone in the eyes. We’re not wolves, for fuck’s sake.” 

Max sighs. “It’s not aggression that you need to worry about from him. Hypnosis is far more dangerous.” 

“Hypnosis?” You glare up at Max as creeping realization overtakes you. “Is that how I got here...?” You feel stupid for even asking the question, but very little about this entire conversation makes sense. “You…” your gaze trails back to Charles. “Max hypnotized me…?”

The corner of Charles’ mouth edges up, revealing the gleam of white teeth. “You probably shouldn’t make direct eye contact with him, either,” he chuckles with a suggestive undertone. “Unless you want to, of course. Plenty of people do.” 

You recoil at the implication, leaning back against the chair as Charles’ gentle laugh continues. 

Max sighs with thinly veiled annoyance. “Come on, Charles. Don’t play with your food.” 

The words rot in your gut and you dart wide eyes up to Max. All your instincts urge you to fight for escape – to flee for your life – but you have precious few options. Especially as Charles leans closer and his eyes darken above his attempt at a calming smile. 

“He’s only joking. You needn’t be so frightened, cara mia.” He coos gently as his gaze runs over your face and down your neck with a sudden, startling hunger. “Your heart is beating so fast.” 

“Well, what do you expect?” You hiss, grabbing the chair armrests as if that would save you. “You hypnotize me, you fucking kidnap me –”

Charles pushes to his feet. “Technically speaking, that was all Max. He had no direction from me to do so, but I’m glad that he did bring you here.” He shakes his head as he braces a hand on his hip and looks at Max. “This development is an unfortunate wrinkle. Surprising, even.” 

Max nods shortly. “They’ve never come this close.” 

Charles hums in quiet agreement. “That’s something we should look into. But first,” he turns back to you with a quick glance. “Take her home. Put her to bed.” 

“And the rest…?”

Charles steps around him, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder that borders on overly intimate. “I trust you.”

You push up from the chair, heart pounding as you seize the moment and start to run. But faster than you can breathe, a strong, solid arm hooks around your waist. You collide with the broad plane of Max's chest, and he isn’t even breathing hard as his chilly fingers find your jaw. Fuck, just why is his skin so cold? “Please…" you whimper. “Please don’t –"

“I know, schatje.” Max says softly as he tips your face up towards his and you glimpse those ice blue eyes. “Right here, that’s it.” He praises as your gazes lock. “Just like that…”

The world turns warm and fuzzy, and calmness suffuses you. Your muscles relax from the tension and relief surges through you. Tears sting your eyes and roll down your cheeks as you all but dissolve into the only source of comfort and protection that you need. 

Max holds you close as you desperately cling to him. “I know, I know,” he says with a slight edge of irritation, and he guides your unsteady feet. “But like Charles said, you don’t need to be frightened of us. After all, this is just a dream. Just a dream.”

The words resound in your brain.

Just a dream.

1943

Nightfall in the Netherlands continues to yield its secrets. Each German-occupied country possesses scars of the looting conquerors and Charles’ keen nose for the hunt continues to surprise both him and Seb. 

And he’s not just referring to the acrid smoke in the air. 

“Fucking bombers.” Charles grouses. “Can they not tell the difference between a factory and a museum?”

“I imagine it’s difficult.” Seb muses as dirt crunches against the cobblestone beneath their feet. “Mortals’ vision is already so limited and from that high altitude, moving at those speeds.” He tilts his head up to the hazy sky in assessment. “How could you accurately tell one building from another?”

“Factories have chimneys and black smoke.” 

“Not all of them do. Textile miles don’t… at least,” Seb pauses as he frowns. “Well, they didn’t use to. But maybe they do now… the Industrial Revolution was a fascinating thing to witness, but far too much smoke to tell one factory from the next in the city centers. Even for one such as myself.”

Charles quirks a wry grin. “You surprise me, Seb. For a man of reason and organization, you should have nothing against the Industrial Revolution.” 

Seb shrugs a shoulder. “Progress always comes with a cost. The ages teach us that, if nothing else. Exploration comes with rampant disease. Colonization comes with inherent subjugation. Industrialization comes with unjust squalor. And technology comes with mass destruction.”

Charles hums in quiet consideration. “Is that what you saw during the Great War?” He has heard about the terrors of trench warfare and gas bombs, but he has no basis for comparison. Hell, even as an immortal, he barely has a stomach for the current war.

“Yes.” Seb’s voice holds the heavy weight of unwanted memory as they round a corner onto a side street. “Mercifully, the horrors unleashed by that war are yet to be repeated on this battlefield.”

Charles heaves a sigh – not that he needs to breathe anymore, but it’s oddly habitual. “Do you suppose there’s any hope that mankind will ever stop inventing ways to kill one another?”

A wry smirk cracks Seb’s face as he glances over in this darkness. “You don’t really want my –”

A muffled groan and grunts in German slice through their conversation. Charles’ gaze snaps to the street ahead, senses on full alert as shadows take shape in his sharp vision. A man lies on the ground, feebly trying to curl into himself despite the cordon of soldiers kicking and beating him from all sides. It still doesn’t make sense to Charles that the Netherlands has remained a neutral nation in the war even after being invaded and suffering Nazi occupation.

Seb sighs sadly. “Have they no basic decency?”

“For someone out past curfew, that looks more merciful than an interrogation chamber.” Charles replies. Even though they only roam the streets and countryside at night, whispers of the Dutch Resistance surround them – a thin thread of hope that still manages to hold the country together.

“Well, we won’t let that happen, either.” Seb says as he turns a confirming glance on Charles. “Shall we?”

Charles nods in helpless agreement. “I am a little hungry.”

They move together, swift as shadows and just as silent, just as deadly. Bones snap, blood warms their bellies, and screams die before they can begin. It never takes them long, and this time is no exception. It comes easier to Charles now – acting with aggression against the aggressors – but it’s still not his natural inclination.

Licking the blood from his lips, he glances down at the young man still curled up on the ground. His breathing comes in ragged, uneven draws – his chest rattles, even. The smell of rich, hot, dark blood permeates the air even above the scents of the dead soldiers, and the young man’s face is bruised and bloodied to match his expression of agony.

“H-h-help...” The words are just barely audible and laden with great effort.

Seb sighs with regret. “We’re not able to save you.”

Bright blue eyes flash beneath swollen eyelids, full of pain and fear. “No-o… please. I –” The Dutchman’s voice chokes off on a gurgling cough and blood flows past his lips.

Charles’ heart breaks as he stares down at the dying man. “I was wrong. There’s nothing merciful about this.” He crouches down and gently cups the man’s strong jawline, stroking his thumb over an angry cut, trying to impart any comfort that he can. Beneath the injuries and blood, the man is undeniably handsome with a strong, sturdy build. Maybe that’s why he’s still alive now. He’s a fighter… and maybe… just maybe that’s why he risked being outside after curfew.

The Dutchman’s breathing turns faint and wheezing, and Charles knows the window is closing. “I want to help him.” He says, turning to glance up at Seb.

Seb’s brows furrow curiously. “You want to help him…? Help him as in…"

Unease pits in Charles’ gut. “Turn him. Like you turned me.”

“He’s practically a dead man – you can smell it.” Seb shakes his head. “Mortals die all the time… you’ve seen it before.”

“And I haven’t asked to save a single one of the countless many that I have witnessed. I’m just asking…” he trails off, glancing back down, unable to explain why he’s so drawn to this man. “I’m just asking about this one.”

“You are still so young -”

“And I’ve gotten better with my thrall, with my control – even my finesse. I’m learning to let go of my ‘mortal construct’ as you call it, and now I’m asking you – will you help me with this?”

Seb folds his arms across his chest in silent contemplation as the Dutchman’s weak breathing wheezes between them. “Where do you think this will go, Charles? If you turn him, then what?”

Charles’ lip curls in a frustrated sneer. “Did you ask yourself that question before you ambushed me in the woods? Tell me, where did you think it would go with me, hmm?” He fixes Seb with a hard stare. “Or was I really just too pretty for you to resist?”

A tense moment hangs in the air before Seb drops his arms to his side. “We’ll have to guide him – you’ll have to teach him.”

Relief sparks in Charles’ chest. “Yes… yes, I can do that. And I will.” He turns back to the Dutchman, trailing down to the slope of his neck. His pulse weakly flutters beneath Charles’ fingertips, and Charles hopes he’s not too late.

Seb kneels beside him, curling his hand over the back of Charles’ as they gently trace over the main artery together. “Just there,” Seb whispers as Charles leans down, inhaling the Dutchman’s scent deep into his lungs as his lips buss the tender skin.

Charles’ fangs pierce the skin, and a delicious coppery tang rushes over his tongue as Seb softly continues. “And, now… just listen for the heart to stop.”

Series Main List

Tag List: @fictional-l0v3r

[delusionaid]

@resolutepath sent: "So it is you..." Wandering through Mondstadt at night had always held whispers from operatives of a vengeful wraith, a stalking predator who rids the land of any presence of the unwelcome. It had spoken to him when the tales reached his ears, the whispered words harkening back to the tundra of his homeland, the spill of crimson on porcelain, stark in its contrast under the glistening moonlight. The smile creeps onto lips, a fierce, predatory thing as the ignition of something begins, teeth hidden in that roguish visage. "So we meet again... what is it... Darknight hero? Care to cross blades once more... I have often thought about our glorious battle..."

( feel free to ignore this one if you want he just won't leave me alone ) [Never :)]

The voice, the hunger in his eyes when faced with the prospect of battle, they're enough to betray his identity even without the attire of his homeland and the unusual color of his hair. Cold sweat rises in Diluc's neck, his hair sticking to the damp skin as he stares at the man before him, his legs heavy as if they're made of lead. He knew the day would come on which the past caught up with him, but now that it stands in front of him like an omen of death on the familiar cobblestone of his hometown, it hits him like a strike of fever. It's not fear of the man himself that shakes Diluc, but the reality his presence heralds.

Last he heard this voice was on the day he thought he would die, on which he closed his eyes, embraced by a blanket of ice and snow, expecting to never open them again. He fought with all he had but with the grueling months that had came before their battle and Diluc's unwillingness to yield even in the face of certain death, he'd forsaken his life then and there. If not for the help of others he would have lost it on that day and so seeing the Harbinger now feels like death has come to reclaim the borrowed time he's lived on in the last two years.

And yet he won't lie down and let him take it, even if it almost seems righteous.

"I don't seek glory in battle," Diluc says and he means it with every fiber of his being. The days of youthful arrogance are long behind him, dreams of glory and honor achieved in battle buried alongside his father. He fights with a purpose, and with the night as his companion and the mask on his face it is evident that fame is not a part of it. Did it help his opponent to rise in ranks when he defeated him and left him for dead, finally purging Snezhnaya of its scourge? Diluc would lie if he said there isn't a part of him that craves a rematch, one with even chances, for while he may not share the Harbinger's bloodlust, he isn't immune to the itch in his arm to pull his blade.

But he won't fight him here, at the heart of the very place he seeks to protect above all else, the place his heart clings to despite its wish to root out evil wherever it grows. If his blood is to water the soil he grew up on, it won't be in front of the Order's gates. "I don't care to fight you for my own sake, but if you bring strife to this city I will stop you at any cost." He broadens his stance but doesn't reach for his weapon. There's no reason to fear that Tartaglia would easily best him a second time - his injury has healed and he has regained his vision (though at the cost of his father's delusion) - but Diluc knows not to underestimate a formidable opponent.

"Why are you here? I doubt you've come all this way to find me."

[inkwelloftheheart]

Sweet Delight

"I was so scared of falling, afraid of what I'd find. All my heartache taken me. I didn't want to try. But day by day you kept up your fight, and I start to realize that I'm not as broken after all, so I just may give it a try."

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

Autumn leaves paint the air with grace

Boundless sea, seeking solace in its own space

A canvas painted in a haze

Love's mysteries still perplex me

I stand still

Heart locked away, afraid to fulfill

Fears of love lost, scars that wouldn't heal

Hesitant to open, for fear to reveal

I've tasted the sweetness of affection's warm embrace

Only to be left with scars of love's bitter trace

The fear of heartache lingers, a shadow in my soul

Casting doubts upon my spirit, making me feel whole

Can I trust again, let my heart take flight

Or will shadows of doubt forever blight?

But then, like a ray of sunshine piercing through the gloom

With your charm so bright, you appear

Dispelling the darkness of my room

Conversations flowed like a gentle stream

Our laughter, a harmonious, sunlit gleam

We dance through the seasons

Our hearts intertwined, like threads in a chain

Yet I hold back,

A shadow lingered, a fear deep within

The ghost of past wounds still holding me apart

You're my enigma, a puzzle so grand

With eyes like hazel pools, where dreams expand

Your smile, a sunrise, chasing away the night

But my heart, a fortress, shielded from the light

Fear's cold grip, it holds me feet

The echoes of heartache, they linger near

Promises broken, tears I couldn't bear

To love again, a leap of faith so bold

Can my heart mend, its secrets unfold?

But in your eyes, I see a reflection of my own desires

A love that ignites, passion that fires

With trembling hands, I reach out

I surrender my heart

And let go of the past

You're a vision with eyes like twinkling stars

Your smile, a melody, captivating me

Our paths entwined, a dance so sweet

You see my soul

And vow to cherish with utmost care

You show me that love could be safe and true

A beacon of hope, shining through and through

With each passing day, my walls did crumble

Barriers fell, my heart now humble

Love's embrace, a warmth so true

Now I see, all I ever knew

Gentle breeze on a stormy night

Patient words, a soothing sight

Melting ice, chasing away fright

Your touch ignites a fire within

Passion burns, our love begins

A bond so strong, our hearts entwined

My heart once guarded, now in your gaze

No longer shackled by fear's hold

Hues of joy, sweet delight

Through sunshine and rain

Forever in this space

Forever our home

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

[hraabepex]

Overly Edgy

Characters; Kitya'Br'Mor, Chiss Sith assassin. HK-50, assassin droid belonging to Kitya. Katken, human spy. All working as Sith inquisitors. Setting; The inquisitors have been chasing Hondo across several systems after announcing himself as a anti-Empire terrorist. They finally tracked him down to an ancient Sith temple housing an infinite gateway. They just snuck into main gateway chamber and are watching him give a speech. Hondo "Friends, comrades, goons here for money. we are all here for the same goal, the death of the Empire. And now that we have secured this, The Infinite Gateway, we have a chance. We will be able to drop our troops directly onto their capital, completely bypassing their blockade. And now for a demonstration and introduction, of our method and allies." He steps to the side as the gateway opens, stepping out is Jedi master Syndoolu and their padawan. As they step up to the podium to speak Syndoolu is met with a wave of bloodlust and leaps back just as two thermal detonators explode. As the smoke clears Hondo steps forward, straightens his jacket one last time, and collapses from his injuries. The crowd scatters, half attempt to run up the stairs if the temple only to be gunned down by the reprogramed defense drones. The other half scramble over the rubble towards the armory. Shots begin to ring out. The assassin droid HK-50 taking shots at the few guards collected enough to fight. The guards returning fire but unable to hit their mark past the droids cover. The Jedi Master ignites his saber and calls to his padawon, "Run, inform the council we have been compromised." The padawon returns through the portal as Syndoolu leaps at the cloaked figure dripping with rage. Their blue saber slamming against the Cortosis shield, gouging the Sith's shoulder. The Sith's saber ignites, bathing the room in crimson, lunging for the Jedi's heart. The sabers clash, a bright flash as the red saber carves into the the Jedi's lower ribcage. Shots continue to fill the room. One of the guards falls, HK-50 takes a shot to it's torso, Katkin dives and manages to grab the dropped detonator and returns fire. The Jedi Brings his saber down, narrowly deflected by the Sith as it takes a slice out of his thigh. The sith breaths heavily, injects a stimpack, and swings with a swift uppercut. The Jedi attempts to deflect but is unable to bring it off a lethal trajectory. The red saber glides along the blue blade, shaving off a section of the handle before meeting the neck of the Jedi. The council members corpse falls limp, the head rolling in front of the guards. The Sith takes a deep breath as the room goes silent, none expecting a Jedi master, let alone a council member, to die here. Kitya looks towards the guards and says "Surrender now, while I'm feeling merciful." The guards steady themselves and say "You will never win, because we stand for righteousness, freedom and justice-" Kitya cuts them off with a voice like ice "And I stand on your graves." Taking his signal HK-50 fires a shot into the head of the guard that was speaking while Katkin detonates the explosives planted in the armory, the explosion and shrapnel killing the group that had gathered there. The room falls truly silent, HK-50 and Katkin moving to secure the connected rooms as Kitya bends down to take a souvenir. An ornate saber, even with a deep cut rendering it inoperable, it is still a magnificent work of art. And a valued trophy of a worthy foe.

[l3m0ngal5]

Kate:Hello there my enemy

Welcome to my punching spree

This is where I lay waste and you go home bleeding

Didn't have to be this way

Should have stayed out of the fray

Now you're heading for a beating

Didn't mother warn you?

Now she's gonna mourn you

Being damaged's how you'll end this day

You're a big mess

'Cause I'm relentless

I gotta tell you I'm on fire today

Crash and burn (crash and burn)

Some lessons are just hard to learn

Scathing eyes (scathing eyes)

That see things from only one side

Yet every misshapen spark

Suffers the judgment and pain

But just as light conquers dark

There's a beauty that's greater than pure symmetry can contain

So let's start the game!

Fool, you shouldn't stare into these eyes of fire

You're goin' to regret this little fight

You don't wanna mess with me

I'm something higher

Anguish you'll know for your miserable plight

Soon you'll bemoan your mistake of a life

You'll watch yourself suffer

You'll watch me ignite

Ana and Jake: Kate!

Kate:Usually, I devastate

This time, I'd annihilate

Any minute now, you're gonna rue our meeting

Messin' with my family

Means that soon, you're history

The moments of your life are fleeting

Looking pretty tattered

Your blood is really splattered

Won't be long until I end this game

You're looking toothless

I'm feeling ruthless

Watch me burn as you go down in flames

Ache and yearn (ache and yearn)

And wait for the pages to turn

Play both sides (play both sides)

The truth you could not recognize

As any remarkable heart

Has gone through the hardship and shame

That's born of standing apart

From the easily processed, the uniform army of same

And that's just so lame!

I dominate, desecrate, leave you in a foul state

Put you in the trash with that nonsense you perpetuate

Why'd you get me riled up? Don't you know I'm wild, bruh?

Bet you'll understand when I'm pissing on your ashes, son

Told you I'm torturous when you feel the force of this blast

You'll crash like a cardiac explosion, bitch

Bloody body, broken nose, screw it it's a bloodbath

Try to get away but there's no escaping Alcatraz

Look what you made me do, told you I would slaughter you

Fools you lose, blood cold, ice water dude

Reach into my bag of tricks, hit you with the baddest licks ever

You'll never contend, I win

Bringing out the beast in me, challenging my decency

Now I gotta ask; do you really want a piece of me?

Hope you're ready for the pain, suffer when I hit your brain

Erase your essence from Earth, no need to explain

Fool, you shouldn't stare into these eyes of fire

You're goin' to regret this little fight

You don't wanna mess with me

I'm something higher

Anguish you'll know for your miserable plight

Soon you'll bemoan your mistake of a life

You'll watch yourself suffer

You'll watch me ignite

This is beautiful Kate

[turnsorrow]

“  —  ARE YOU A PIRATE ? You look like one, though I suppose that’s insulting to say to someone these days.”  It’s a backhanded question, really. Suppose she may as well have just said he looks like a scoundrel.  “Don’t suppose you’d know how to fight, perchance?”  /  @seeasunset​.

[wh6res]

chase — renhyuck

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

tw bullying, violence, swearing, yandere themes, possessive themes, blood, weapons (a gun, a grenade), implied noncon, implied kidnapping, mentions of stalking

disc i dont condone this behavior

wc 5k

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29 hours before the annual purge

“hold her down—i said hold her down, idiot!”

putting everything into account, they saw you more like a glorified chew toy than an actual person. 

they ruined your life simultaneously and it's ironic, that despite being sworn rivals, it seems you were their neutral ground—after one has had their own fun, you’re passed on to the other person so they can deliver that final, shattering blow that weakens your resolve. 

it was meant to be that way because it had always been that way. you’re the unlucky loser that ignited the worse sides of both lee haechan and huang renjun. 

they’re like oil and water; they don’t mix but with you, they found a compromise. stealing your lunch money, trashing your homework, quickies in between lectures. all of these should’ve been enough to give them a good power trip. but they’ve developed a hunger so severe that these past instances are but mere crumbs that hardly satisfy their cravings. 

it was beyond exhausting, being caught in between two headstrong people that were unwilling to back down at any cost. their aggression and anger towards each other directly being channeled onto you as they shove and swing you around like some ragdoll. 

you weren’t a bunch of kids, you knew that. you don’t cry and sob and say that it’s unfair, you hold your chin high and walk up to the guidance counselor’s office to report them for bullying. but you never should’ve underestimated the power of money and their respective families’ broad network of connections. 

without a doubt, the empty promises for justice is what broke your heart the most. it breaks with every bruise, every tight grip, and every nasty name the people willingly turned a blind eye to. 

it’s sad but it was a reality you taught yourself to get used to—the meek mouse learning how to evade the cats hot on her trail. 

but you weren’t as lucky today. 

“i am holding her down.”

a pair of lips comes in contact with your neck. its feathery and light at first until its biting down to mark you with his teeth. not too strong to draw blood, but enough to dent the surface of the skin. 

haechan has an oral fixation. biting his lips. his nails. whenever you see him, he always has a lollipop on his mouth and if he doesn’t, he’s painting hickeys across your skin. you hated his oral fixation, especially when makeup and clothes proved useless to hide the marks he gives you. 

“why run?” renjun asks you, slipping his fingers underneath your skirt as he kneels. “you know you have nowhere to hide in the campus.”

haechan snorts. “or anywhere else.”

it’s always the same thing. you go to school. you sit in your first period for thirty minutes until one of them shows up. then the other boy probably felt a gut instinct that he’s missing out on the fun. last time, it was an empty classroom in the abandoned left wing. 

they like taking you there all the time, it was always dark, the blinds pulled and shut tight. not to mention it was incredibly dusty. but both male knew you’re afraid of the dark, exactly why it’s their favorite spot. but empty classrooms and supply closets are close seconds, too. 

“you’re so pathetic. useless—only know how to whine like a fucking pornstar,” he quickly comments, feeling you arch against him when renjun’s tongue comes in contact with the pearl between your legs. “my cumdump.”

you feel a sharp exhale against your lower lips. you shudder. renjun clicks his tongue in annoyance. “can you shut up? you’re making my dick soft with all that talking.”

but haechan had ignored him completely, blissfully ignorant of the petite boy’s frustrations as he angles your head up to crash his lips onto yours. when he slightly pulls away, still playfully nibbling your bottom lip, what he said next made your blood run cold. 

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6 hours before the annual purge

the price to pay for protection started rising again this year and you, much like your neighbors, are in a sense of turmoil. jamming the doors with cabinets and nailing your windows with wood is hardly enough to satisfy the gnawing feeling in your stomach. much less when you didn’t even have a weapon to wield other than a wooden bat and a cheap taser you bought on sale. 

“its not like anyone will be coming for you, right?” the little girl says, touching the randomest stuff in your apartment. her name was naeun and she never really liked pink and sparkles like most girls her age, maybe that’s why she took a liking to you. 

her mom works a 9 to 5 and her grandma stays with her on occasion. but the old lady loved to sleep, naeun said, so she gets the chance to slip out and come knocking on your door. you tried shooing her out of your apartment countless times but she’s stubborn. 

she reminds you of yourself. 

“well, i hope no one does.” you joked, putting on a turtleneck. 

naeun’s mom doesn't like you as much as it is, but if you yourself let naeun see the bruises on your skin? you’d hate yourself forever. “now, come on little missy, go back to your grandma. i need to head over to the bank to settle my protection fees.”

“but you just said no one is going to come for you anyway,” she whines stomping towards the door. “mom already settled ours yesterday becase grammy forced her to. mommy said it was just a waste of money because who’d bother to rob us anyway?”

a memory flashes in your head. two boys who’ve sandwiched you between them in the dark of a fucking supply closet at uni. wandering hands, labored whispers, curt giggles, one pair of lips trailing up your neck while the other up your inner thigh.

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

you needed that protection. that was no slip up because haechan never makes mistakes. if he wanted to make you feel like some animal on the run after catching a whiff of trouble then he sure is doing a good job. 

“hey! i think you just went someplace else there,” naeun says, nudging your side irritably to get your attention again. 

you try forcing out a chuckle but it doesn't work, still deeply peeved by a memory from last week replaying vividly in your mind. if they ever mean what they meant (which you know they do) then this is now more than just trying to get through the night—you have to survive, prepare, and pray neither of them finds you. 

“i think your grandma’s right in doing what she did, naeun. with humans, you’ll never know.”

and just like that naeun went silent, bid you goodbye, and disappeared behind the apartment door.

the bank was a quick walk from your apartment. you hardly broke much sweat and you even managed to stop by the grocery store to make some last-minute runs. the store’s nearly empty, deserted of any human being as the seconds slowly but surely ticked away. it was only when you walked past aisle seven did you pause, the hairs on your back standing as a slow chill crawled up your spine. 

you look over your shoulder. 

no one’s there. 

you swallow, quickly looking down your watch to check the time as you made your way to counter. 3 hours before the annual purge. you needed to get your ass moving. you just need to grab one more thing and you’ll best be on your way. 

you practically ran towards the dairy section and just as you spin around, strawberry ice cream pint in your hands, you jump as he appears before you in thin air and you drop whatever you’re holding. 

“such a skittish little kitten,” renjun clicks his tongue, bending down to retrieve the ice cream on the floor. “here you go.”

you couldn’t even stare at him in the eye. your hands shook but it wasn’t because of the cold desert. now you get it. it’s his eyes you felt on you earlier, ever intrusive and piercing as he watched you from afar. was he stalking you?

“i didn’t quite catch a thank you, kitty.”

how foolish of you to think he’ll let you duck away without at least speaking to him, hm?

“thank… thank you?”

renjun grins, satisfied with your stuttering as he raises a hand to ruffle your hair—he ignores how you flinched away from him—before walking away with one hand in his coat pocket, whistling an eerie tune that can haunt your nightmares way after purge night. 

“see you later, kitten.”

if it wasn’t the whistling that set you on edge or that clear promise of your doom—it’s the pack of zip ties and duct tape in his hands.‏‏‎ ‎

you were watching a rerun of your favorite morning reality tv when it cuts to the dreaded blue screen showing the flag of korea. 

this is not a test.

this is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the south korean government. 

weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. all other weapons are restricted. 

commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. 

police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 am when the purge concludes. 

may god be with you all.

you’ll never get used to the blaring siren that echoes through the empty streets. you can feel the floor vibrating and it travels throughout your whole body as the dread starts sinking deep into your skin. 

you’ve already double checked all your windows and the front door. activated the security system provided by the bank. and you’ve also already charged your taser and have hammered down nails into your wooden bat. fine. if they wanted to scare and bully you into a panicked frenzy, it did its job but fuck no will you go down without a fight. 

you shut all the lights, the apartment basking in the moonlight glow brought by the translucent curtains as you make your way to your bedroom, nearest the emergency exit just in case they barge through your front door by force. 

at first, nothing happened. it was peaceful. tranquil. you can hear a pin drop with how quiet it was. both inside and outside. you were almost tempted to cover your mouth in case you were breathing too loud. 

it’s silent. until it wasn’t.

your phone rings. it’s there, vibrating on your desk and you make long strides until you’re face to face with a set of numbers on your screen. an unregistered contact. there’s a debate inside your head whether to answer it or not, fingers hovering between the red and green button… until it eventually lands on the green. 

you put it up to your ear, hands sweating as you wait with bated breath for the person on the other end to speak. 

“kitten?”

it’s renjun. you don’t answer. 

“i can hear you breathing, you know. i can’t wait to see you. we’ll have so much fun together. it’s sad that i have to share with that imbecile but better half of you than nothing of you, right?” he laughs and you feel a rush of anger surge through you. yet, you don’t bother to give him the satisfaction of a reply. 

“i can see you’re angry, little kitty. while it’s cute and hot… don’t be. turn that frown upside down for me, wouldn’t you?”

but the blinds are drawn he couldn’t have seen you—

“you’re never going to get me, you fucking bastard. i’m not scared of you,” you sure do hope he can’t hear the tremble in your voice. “whatever you plan on doing to me, you’ll fail.”

you walk back slowly, eyes darting everywhere to look for a camera they could’ve installed in your room. they have connections and the money to do it so you won’t put it past them. 

“oh, my stupid kitty. how can we fail when we already got a head start?” 

the floorboard behind you creaks and before you could turn around, someone slams your head against the desk. you hear a crack, whether it’s the screen of your laptop or your nose, you couldn’t tell. the person is agile and silent as he maneuvers you to the ground and seals your lips with duct tape. 

“after all,” haechan giggles. “you can’t lock out what’s already inside, kitten.”

your phone lands somewhere near your head. renjun has already dropped the call and the line goes silent. 

squirming, you glared at the person on top of you. is this how you’re gonna go? you can’t deny, even you yourself find this pathetic. the security alarms you bought, the nail-studded bat, your taser, everything was all for naught? just because you didn’t check under your bed to make sure no one was there?

how long was haechan waiting? when naeun was still here? when you went out to buy groceries? 

you thought it would be fear you’ll be feeling as you get caught but the emotion isn’t present at all. instead, it’s white hot anger that overrides your system and forces you to act without thinking—and it just fucking saved your life. 

haechan always saw you as a vulnerable, sad little human being who couldn’t do shit on her own. it’s easy to underestimate you and that’s his first mistake. 

the second is rather foolish—not tying your legs up first. it’s all too easy to slam your forehead against his before jerking your leg up to knee him in the balls. 

you can see the anger in his eyes clear as day as you made a run for it to the kitchen, having come up with another escape plan—because surely if you went down the emergency exit, haechan would’ve caught up easily with those long legs after he’s recovered from your assault. 

your nose was probably bleeding and your head is in the early stages of a full blown migraine, at least you were able to function enough to wobble your way towards the trash chute situated near the stove. you had cursed that chute the first day you moved in here (who would put a trash chute next to a fucking stove) but the day has come for you to thank the gods that you have that in your house. 

going for a swim in all your neighbors’ trash is disgusting and unplanned (plus, falling down maybe six floors to your doom) but you’ll choose that over lee haechan and huang renjun any day. 

“don’t you dare fucking think about it!”

you flashed him the middle finger to tick him off. a petty retaliation for all the bullshit he and renjun put you through but it felt good nonetheless. 

“catch me if you fuckers can.”

and you were falling down the trash chute.‏‏‎ ‎

okay, yeah—maybe you should’ve thought it through before hurling yourself six floors down only for some half-filled dumpster to catch you but at least you’re still alive, right? alive and free, mind you. but you don’t have time to celebrate. 

it smelled awful and you swear your knees and elbows are bruised but you scramble to climb out and run away as fast as you can. 

it was only haechan inside your apartment. no sign of renjun but he did see you somehow and you have no doubt it was a camera inside that room. you didn’t have much time to ponder for how long they were installed in your room. it’s the least of your worries at the moment.

you’re outside. 

during purge night.

even if you did manage to escape it felt more like a win than a lose, forced out of your own apartment in nothing but shorts and a shirt—heck, you don’t even have shoes on!—it felt like they won. again. 

if you’re not going to die in the hands of some other wacko, you’ll die of hypothermia. how nice. 

you didn’t know where you were running to, the only thing you knew was you need to get the hell out of this neighborhood as fast as you can. you didn’t want to run in alleyways and risk getting stabbed for fun. maybe the sewer system… oh, right. you don’t have your phone on you and it’ll probably be pitch black down there. 

you really, truly, genuinely didn’t want to run so out in the open but it was the best you can impulsively come up with. 

when you feel like you’ve put a reasonable distance between you and the apartment, you stop, hands resting flat on your knees as you crouch to catch a breath. just as quick the adrenaline appeared as fast as it had disappeared. you feel the weight and tension crushing your legs, not to mention you’re really starting to feel that headache settle after headbutting haechan. 

you almost collapse against the brick wall. 

the last person you ever thought you’ll see jumps out from the corner of the alleyway and you almost broke their nose. 

until you saw who it was. 

“NAEUN?”

their apartment got raided, some buffy sickos who they had the misfortune of breaking into their house to purge. luckily they got away, but after getting attacked on the streets, naeun got separated after she ran for her life just like you did. you can’t help but feel sorry for the little girl, who experienced the full effect of this godforsaken holiday. 

this is bad. you can’t leave her but it’s tough enough to have to fend for yourself. you’re not so sure whether you can protect another human being but you’ll have to try. 

“did your mom or grandma tell you anything? anything at all?” you ask, crouching to her eye level. “you said your mom knew the way… where? what do you mean?”

“mom said they’re providing refuge on the other side of town but it’s a 30-minute drive. walking would take longer.”

shit. you didn’t want to risk it. you don’t have a car and you’d rather die right here right now than walk another step out in the streets—

“who’s ‘they’?”

“i don’t… i don’t know. she didn’t say.”

you licked your chapped lips. you can’t trust what she’s saying, not when you didn’t even know these people. it’s too risky, not to mention you’re already running from not one, but two people.

naeun sits next to you against the bricked wall of the alley, looking down at her lap. “i’m scared,” she admits. you hear a tremble in her voice. “are mom and grammy de—”

“no,” you cut her off, pulling her tiny body against yours. when you feel her fists clutching your jacket, you swear to protect this girl with your life. “no, they’re not. i’m sure they’re heading there now to the refuge center just like we are.”

her head pokes out, looking up towards you. “we’re going? i thought you didn’t want to.”

you shake your head, wiping her tears. “well, it’s the one way for you to meet your mom and grammy, right?”‏‏‎ ‎

walking down the streets during purge night—man, this has got to be the most ballsy thing you’ve ever done after that one time you spat at renjun in the eye. you managed to find a litter of bodies way into thirty minutes of walking and you nearly sent naeun flying onto the asphalt with how hard you pushed her back. she couldn’t see this mess, you’d be damned to allow a nine-year-old walk right into psychological trauma. 

you pocket a gun—you didn’t have enough courage to fight with a knife. you wiped the blood off using your shirt before shoving them down onto the garter of your shorts. you didn’t bother to take their shoes, none of them would’ve fit you anyway and it’ll just slow you down. 

“hey, are you alright? is that blood—”

“it’s not mine, naeun. come on, let’s get moving.”

for two hours you walked towards this mysterious refuge center on the other side of town and both you and naeun managed to evade death three times. 

the first attack: a group of high schoolers with their uniforms on. there were three of them, about your height, and while you weren’t responsible for the blood on your shirt, you’re not so sure about their lot. they looked crazy, excited even, but sloppy in the way they flung their knives and bats around. their first purge, you assumed, so it was fairly easy to take them down. a bullet to the head worked like a charm. naeun didn’t say anything when you urged her out of her hiding place to flee the scene. three bullets left. 

the second attack: it was a surprise, one that got you stabbed in the shin of your right leg. it was a drunkard with a knife, you could smell him as you walked past by his slumped form in the sidewalk. he wasn’t moving, so you thought he was dead and it was poor judgement on your part. it’s pathetic getting injured this way, you thought, but at least it was you who faced the consequences and not naeun. two bullets left.

the third attack: two men but deadlier than the girls and the drunk. you didn’t get to reason out with either of them, not when they drove their cadillac at 140 miles per hour and nearly ran you over. a chill crept up your spine when you saw the bloody, naked women strapped down onto the hood. victims. you didn’t engage in any form of combat, it’s impossible, so you took naeun in your arms and ran straight to the back alleys. number of bullets remain the same.

three lucky strikes. 

three times you’ve cheated death. 

but time is up and your luck has run out. 

“beating up a girl? what a coward, if you ask me,” you say, spitting out a tooth after someone kneed you in the face. you were in no position to say such things when they’ve got you busted up and bloody, left eye swollen after one hard punch. 

naeun is nowhere to be seen. 

good. 

who knows what these assholes could’ve done to her. you told her to run so she better fucking run and make sure she lives through this nightmare. 

another kick flies to your ribs and you lie sprawled on the dirty pavement of an alleyway—what an uncool way to die but at least you’ll die with a clear conscience. 

you passed by city hall a few minutes ago. surely, the refuge center is not too far from there. naeun will make it safe. she’ll make it. 

“what’s that look on her face? is she dead?”

another one scoffs. “well… if they’re after her then she’s as good as dead.”

you blacked out. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

you hate the scent of disinfectant. it crawls up your nose and you hate how the stench is so strong you can taste it on your tongue. this isn’t heaven, not when you know you’re better off burning in hellfire.

unless you weren’t dead—your eyes shoot open, sitting up in haste as you clutch the thin blanket. 

rows upon rows of the same cot you were lying on greets you. people injured, some standing, some sitting. there were people treating them, too, but they were in normal clothes so this can’t be a hospital. in fact, it looked like you’re in some warehouse, stacks of metal crates sealing off all entrances. 

“it’s the refuge,” you whisper. 

“you’re awake!” before you could even turn around, a body launches itself onto you and nearly makes the cot collapse. judging by the small frame and the pitchy voice—

“naeun, be careful!” her mother hisses but the girl in between your arms couldn’t care less. if she’d been an adult, she’d be squeezing the life out of you. when she pulls you closer, your healing ribs made a strike of pain surge through you. 

you groan, bowing in the pain. distantly, you can hear the mother and daughter fighting and it was a banter you’ve never experienced with your own mom. it nearly made you tear up from the overwhelming wave of emotions you were feeling but all else disappears when a person tenderly grips your shoulder. 

“thank you for taking care of my granddaughter.” the old lady was smiling appreciatively as she stared at you. 

that was it. it could’ve been the happy ending to a gruesome and bloody storyline—it should’ve been, family of three reunites again and that was all thanks to you, right?

but even heroes have their own bad endings. 

you heard the ticking of the grenade only seconds before it detonates. the other refugees didn’t even have the time to take cover as some closest to the sealed doors were sent flying so far back they crashed into the row of crates behind you. 

you were severely injured, limping, ribs broken, and you only had one good eye to rely on—yet the first thing you thought of was protecting naeun. maybe the midget had a way of worming herself into your heart. but before you even push yourself off the cot, a figure emerges from the smoke. 

petite and harmless, pretty as the tips of his hair grazed porcelain cheekbones. renjun’s eyes are as cold and calculating as can be and it’s the only thing that terrifies you to no end. when he opens his mouth, anger is hidden well underneath that calm tone. 

“i’ll give you one minute to come here willingly.”

there’s no room for bargain, he needn’t when he knows you have absolutely nothing to offer him but yourself. he doesn’t finish his sentence but he trusts you’re smart enough to figure out the silent threat—come, or he’ll turn this place into a fucking bloodbath. 

cornered and weak, defenseless. weird how they have a fixation for calling you ‘kitty’ when they’re the cats in this chase. 

“naeun,” you whisper, trying to crane your neck to look for her in the filth of rocks and debris. please don’t be hurt.

you freeze when you feel a barrel pointing at your head. it was only there for seconds, haechan probably doesn’t have the guts to hurt you in any way permanently (unless it’s inflicted with his own hands and not through some other medium). 

“ah, look. now we have matching black eyes,” he giggles like a madman, craning your neck up and the leather in his globes brings discomfort to your skin. 

you see the way the other refugees looked at you—scum, dirt on their feet that brought about trouble in their lives. they were already badly hurt as it is and now, this happened? you don’t blame them. 

not one man tried to stand up for you as haechan hauls you up and throws you down on renjun’s feet. your ribs were screaming and you’re cold and so, so afraid. with shaky fingers, you gestured towards the crowd. “just... please, don’t hurt them. they don’t have anything to do with this.”

renjun coos. such a cruel smirk for a pretty face. “aw, such an angel my darling is. always thinking of others instead of her own safety. funny because i don’t think you’ve ever done such a thing for me and haechan, though. i wonder why...”

the latter digs his heel in your injured legs and you scream as black starts to surround the corners of your vision. you tried to crane your neck back, pleading eyes wanting to look at the assaulter but renjun’s calloused hand is gripping your chin too tight.

“should we make a bargain, kitten?”

you stare deep into renjun’s eyes. he knows you don’t have anything left, he can see it in your glassy eyes, too wide and vulnerable. he’s doing this all for show, trying to make you even more desperate and self-aware of your eventual demise.

and you thought haechan was the only cunning one.

“what… what bargain?"

renjun practically gleams in pride. “i’ll let everyone walk free—even your precious little naeun—that’s her name, right? the little girl you’ve been protecting the whole night?—we’ll let her and everyone in this building walk away unharmed. that’s my bargain. you know how those work, right? now, you need to give me something i want.”

forcing you to offer yourself up to them.

what a brutal way to crush your pride.

choice wasn’t an option. if you don’t oblige and choose to run away on your own, they’ll kill them and still hunt you down. you gotta say, it was a tempting bargain that appealed to the sense of heroics in your heart. naturally, you have to choose where there is less blood shed. and as renjun lets go of your chin and lets you look over your shoulder to meet little naeun’s eyes, how she sobbed against her mother’s arms and shook her head and screamed…

“hurry, kitten. i don’t like to be kept waiting.”

you know what needs to be done.

“me. i’ll give you… me.”‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎

they stood playing a game of pool in the dead of night. it’s peaceful inside the estate while the city beyond rampaged and burned. they achieved their goal, had finally seen an end to a plan that had been set in motion for years. they’ve succeeded and the broken woman lying on the bed meters from the pool table is proof of their victory. 

“don’t you just love it when an elaborate plan works like clockwork, injun?” he asks, voice like trickling honey as he hits number 9 with the cue ball. 

the other, more petite male, rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. “oh, please, people like us always triumph, donghyuck. it’s nothing new. although i am surprised that little girl and her so-called “family” played along so well. almost had me fooled.”

“i agree. it's such a shame they had to go.”

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jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[tsukishumai]

Hello hello! May i get headcanons for when the haikyuu boys’ S/O says not having kids is a deal breaker? Like they don’t see a future where they don’t have their own kids. As for the characters, if it’s not too much I’d like it if you use any four who you think would have the hardest time dealing with this. (Of course I can resend with characters of my choosing if you so wish.) you’re one of my favorite writing blogs btw love you 💕💕💕

HQ Boys + Unplanned Parenthood

feat. Sakusa Kiyoomi, Oikawa Tooru, Ushijima Wakatoshi

genre/warnings; angst, f!reader, menstruation

a/n: thank you so much ur so sweet 🥺 ilyvm, and ty for your request&patience! I hope I understood the assignment?? Pls forgive me if I didn’t lmao also these are the only three I can imagine that might have issues with having children

✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

Sakusa never considered having children before. It was not something he could say he wanted, nor was it something he could say he didn’t want. Though, that no longer mattered when you told him that you were three weeks late. The possibility of an impending pregnancy seemed to ignite your spirits. Well, the two of you have been together for years, have you not? A little unconventional before getting married, but surely a family was somewhere in the cards, right? You were getting more excited the more you thought about it — the color of the nursery, what kind of names, maybe you should start looking for a bigger place? And while you were mindlessly chattering about the benefits of breastfeeding, Sakusa was sitting next to you just wishing the ground would swallow him whole, and spit him out far away. A child? At this age? At the height of his career? All he could picture when thinking of children are the snotty, dirty fingered, food-stained lips, sneezing-into-open-air little humans that came to his games, and he wanted to shiver. He could only stare at you blankly as you ask him if was he hoping for a boy or a girl? The answer was simple — he was hoping for neither. Though, the universe thankfully saved him from that when a week later, you told him it was a false alarm. Your time of the month came, and an ocean of relief crashed over him like a tsunami. “It’s okay, we can just try again,” you giggle, and he freezes. He hadn’t thought about children before, but now he knows parenthood is not for him. With the excited smile on your face from the prospect of trying again, how the hell was he supposed to tell you that?

OIKAWA TOORU

Oikawa was so good with his nephew. They bicker and fight, but you know that Oikawa would move mountains for the kid. You realize this even more after a night of babysitting with Oikawa, seeing him prepare his nephew’s dinner, and watching anime together on the couch. When his sister gets home, and the two of you bid them farewell, you walk away with Oikawa’s hand around your shoulders, and a smile on your face. “Aren’t you excited to have a kid of your own?” You ask lightheartedly, though your heart drops when you hear him scoff and sputter. “Me? With a kid? Can you imagine?” He laughs, but your lips keep morphing into a frown. “What do you mean? Of course I can, you’re amazing with Takeru,” you retort, and Oikawa shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m good with him because I can give him back,” Oikawa continues with an amused lilt to his voice, “But I can only stand him for three days, MAX.” The disappointment that weighed on you made you drag your feet across the pavement, until you stopped in your tracks and you couldn’t help but to pout. “But I want kids of my own someday,” you say shyly, and Oikawa just looks down at you with uncertainty. “Well, I… I’m not really sure that I do,” he admits quietly. The silence of the night pierced through both your hearts.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Ushijima thought he might have reacted better to a bucket of ice water dumped on his head. He hadn’t meant to be upset when you told him you were pregnant. It’s not that he didn’t want to have children with you… well, actually, he’s not certain what it was. But the thought of being a father just filled him with an anxiety that he couldn’t place. With the way he reacted, he’s not surprised that it took you three entire weeks and a missed ultrasound appointment for you to finally allow him to speak to you. “So, what is it, Wakatoshi?” after hours of back and forth, you finally snap. “I don’t know,” came Ushijima’s lame response, and you rolled your eyes and turned to leave. “If you don’t want be the father to our child, I can do this by my—“ “I do want to be the father,” Ushijima had never raised his voice, but this was something he must get out, “I just don’t know how. I’ve never had — How am I supposed to provide for you, to be a father, if I don’t even know …” Ushijima trails off, and the mist behind his eyes speak every word unsaid. “You’re afraid,” you finally say, after what felt like lifetimes of silence. Ushijima just slowly nods. “But I can figure it out,” he says sternly, and you reach out for his hand. He squeezes your fingers in his. “We will figure it out.”

✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

rbs v appreciated <33

[darkandstormyart]

Xicheng fic recs

(figured i might make a list of my own)

(to be expanded as i dig out more treasure/remember stuff)

in no particular order:

Deep as the Yearning Night by FreckledStarKnight

“At first, it was pure chance. The second time was accidental. And the third time? Well, they say the third time’s the charm, after all. Lan Xichen discovers that Jiang Wanyin sings beautifully and is immediately enamored by it. His pursuit of Jiang Wanyin’s secret talent leads to a discovery and a series of events that he did not anticipate at all. Not that he’s complaining, of course. He got what he came for and more. Or, how two sect leaders get together through the song called love. CQL-verse.“

post-seclusion lxc

trying to get jc to sing

bonus lxc & jin ling feels i hadn’t considered before

cute

Always use protection by hesselives

“In which Lan Wangji attempts to hire a new bodyguard for his older brother, a well-known traveling exorcist. Jiang Wanyin doesn’t even make his carefully considered list of Top Ten Candidates, and yet here he is.

Lots of wandering in the countryside, distant yelling, and mildly inconvenient spirits.”

bodyguard au

honestly just really intersting worldbuilding

Rewrite the stars by Arashii

“Five great kingdoms have been fighting for years and when the kingdom of Yunmeng is destroyed, the Crown Prince Jiang Cheng vanishes.In Gusu, Lan Xichen makes an offer impossible for Jiang Cheng to refuse. His life or revenge? There’s only one option and Jiang Cheng swears loyalty to the man he hated the most his whole life, the Crown Prince of Gusu, Lan Xichen himself.Written for XiChengFest2020 - Day 4“

ROYALTY AU ROYALTY AU

enemies to lovers!

flashbacks! i love flashbacks so much ohmygod

No paths are bound by Arashii

“In seclusion, Lan Huan has the support of a ghost no one has seen since the massacre of Yunmeng Jiang. His feelings start changing with the often visits and conversations they share. Before Lan Huan can confess though, he ascends, leaving everything and everyone behind him.

Two hundred years later, back to the Human Realm and without powers, the Martial God Zewu-Jun has a mission to uphold. His Heavenly Calamity started. The clues are little and the support comes in the most unexpected form, the current Ghost King: Sandu Shengshou. Now they need to stick together to contain a menace that is slowly growing.“

TGCF AU TGCF AU

ghost king jiang cheng come on

doesn’t follow tgcf plot, just the setup so no spoilers

jiang cheng gets the dogs and the xichen he deserves

once upon a dream by cafedeolla

“Xicheng soulmate AU

An au where your dreams are small snippets of your soulmate’s day. They’d show small things like buying coffee, reading a book, or hanging out with people from their perspective.

The problem was that people always have expectations and Jiang Cheng knows he always falls short of them. Time and time again.“

soulmate au, but being soulmates is more a problem than a solution

misunderstandingssss all over the place

now with a squel (in progress?)

Lan Furen series by jagaimocchi

“Jiang Cheng leaves Lotus Pier before the Wen Internment Camp and before the destruction of his home. When he meets Lan Xichen on the run from the Wens after the burning of Cloud Recesses, his plan to live a peaceful life away from cultivation sects is quickly derailed. Now, free to make his own choices, he cannot find it in himself to leave the other man's side.

With love, patience and time, Jiang Cheng finds his own happiness and peace with his past.“

have you ever wanted a fic where jiang cheng peaces out from home in search for a better life, bc he’s Had Enough??? jags got you covered

adorable xicheng

good uncle-dad-figure Lan Qiren

ongoing <3

Just around the riverbend by JungleJelly

“One day.

Jiang Cheng just wanted one day of peace and quiet, away from home, away from his responsibilities, away from his idiot brother and his nutcases of a mother and father. Just a few hours alone — him and a boat and nothing else.

Clearly, that was too much to ask for.”

now with a new story in the series which is adorable too!!!

mermaid!lxc need i say more?

Bad ideas (where they lead) by JungleJelly

“Jiang Cheng is a busy man. Fortunately, he is also a huge pushover when it comes to his sister, so when she recommends that he start doing yoga, he agrees pretty easily.Featuring Lan Xichen in yoga pants, Jiang Cheng’s inability to handle a crush, and, perhaps most importantly, a big fluffy dog.“

done for 2020 MXTX MiniBang

yoga instructor Lan Xichen

Jiang Cheng is: struggling with a crush on the yoga guy from youtube & very angry about that

If there’s a price for rotten judgement by TheWanderingHeart

“All Jiang Cheng wants to do is, well... his job, really. Other than that? Keep the city safe, keep his nephew alive, keep his sanity intact (if possible).

So when his brother calls with unexpected news, he knows all of that is about to fly out of the window.

***

[Every instinct is telling him don’t ask, you don’t want to know. By this point, Nie HuaiSang has scooted closer to listen. Jiang Cheng takes a steadying breath and pulls out his antacids. “What did you do?”]”

superhero au, come on

jc just trying to do his job in peace

(he can’t)

i love it so much oh my god *sobs*

The Form of Boneless Ice by TheWanderingHeart

“Mythical beasts have long ago been driven to extinction by the gentry — hunted for sport, but more importantly for their magical cores. Since then, there remains only one creature that has never been caught. The Jiang’s retreated a long time ago. Abandoning land altogether, they sought safety where the humans could not reach.It all comes to a head though, purely by chance. (Or is it by fate that a spontaneous decision allows for them to meet? If fate were a rock!) Jiang Cheng suddenly finds his whole life balanced on the head of a pin — on the flimsy promise of a human boy. In his opinion, things cannot possibly get worse!(But then they do when the Wens decide it’s finally time to search for the elusive merpeople, and suddenly nowhere is safe.)“

there she goes again, with another beautiful xicheng story full of awwww and mythology

actually one of the first xicheng fics i read

i chose it because there were mermaids

painfully accurate takes on Jiang family dynamics

kids! lots of kids!

Let me Slytherin to Your Heart by TheWanderingHeart

“Jiang Cheng never thought he'd return to Hogwarts, but in hindsight, he probably should have known that someday he would.With his nephew about to start school, he reluctantly takes his good friend's bad parenting? career? advice and ends up tumbling head-first back into the madness that he hoped he'd left behind... and rediscovering some feelings he thought he'd left behind too.“

Harry Potter au!

just really fecking cute

lots of snakes

[I am not going to link all of Jo’s fics, though I probably could, just my 3 favourites. UOSB is there by default]

Talent Hunt Crew Finds Angry Guy Shouting On College Campus, Recruits Him For Vocal Projection Abilities by oh_fudgecakes

“Jiang Cheng, resident Angry Guy and heir to a conglomerate empire, has never been the apple of his father’s eye. Quashed under the shadow of his brilliant brother, the music prodigy Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng sees his chance to turn things around when he is recruited by the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt. One problem: he can’t sing to save his goddamn life.As he struggles to develop his nascent singing abilities, Jiang Cheng finds himself sucked into the whirlwind drama of reality TV, helped along by his adoring siblings, his irritable vocal coach Wen Qing, and strangely enough, the unfairly attractive host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt, Lan Xichen. Somewhere in the glare of the stage lights and an unexpected first love, Jiang Cheng stumbles upon the thing he was searching for all along: the courage to dream — and to attempt the impossible.“

done for 2019 MXTX Big Bang

uuuuuuuuuuh i might have cried maybe

heartwarming? painful at times? lots of family love?

slowburn xicheng being lovely

The Provenence of Hope series by velithya

“A chance meeting on a night hunt sets a course of events into motion that will change everything. Featuring Xicheng getting together, recovery for Lan Xichen, healing for Jiang Cheng, and always, always, hope.“

got everything. feels. hope. love. ~~healing~~

A Small Measure of Peace by Sandstone112

“With his brother in seclusion, Lan Xichen finds himself in temporary custody of his nephew with little to no expertise in the child-raising department. Uncertain and alone, Zewu-Jun is willing to do everything to be the person Yuan needs—even if it means inviting Sandu Shengshou to a playdate.“

a loooot of adorable family times with jc and lxc taking care of their nephews

good grandpa lqr!

canon but fixed and less painful

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋if you wish to avoid scurvy:🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

Some day I’m gonna make you mine series by locketofyourhair

xicheng getting together through the years

friends with benefits but the real benefits are the friends we made along the way

Take me over (take me tonight) by velithya

jiang cheng has a tattoo and lan xichen doesn’t stand a chance

i'd be the sweet feeling of release (mankind now dreams of) by piyo13

two bros, chilling in a cave, no feet apart because they don’t want to lose their cultivation powers what are you gonna do

haven’t read yet and shame on me, but AM GONNA:

Upon Our Silver Bridge by TheWanderingHeart obviously

““When the path ignites a soul, there's no remaining in place. The foot touches ground, but not for long.” ― Hakim Sanai

**

Lan Xichen's sorrows have caught the attention of something. Unlike the adventures and foes they have faced before, there is no obvious enemy here to defeat. If this is the same thing they thought had taken Nie Mingjue's life, then he believes it is fated for him to die as well. Nothing can stop the black fire when it wants to burn.Jiang Cheng is sure his part in this is over. Wei Wuxian is back, his grand adventure concluded, and he'd never been at the centre of it anyway. So what does it matter what happens to him in the end? Slowly, he will come to realise that there will always be a battle to fight, a story to tell, a choice to make, and there is no such thing as an end to anything.“

it was difficult to do things in 2020 and few i regret not doing more than not reading uosb yet :’(

i will tho

Emergency Help Wanted by piyo13

“EMERGENCY HELP WANTED I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.“

Running Our Hands Through Embers by MarvelousMar

“If asked, Jiang Cheng would compare falling in love with Lan Xichen to a moth inevitably drawn to a flame.It burned.***In which Jiang Cheng discovers that even death can't help him escape from his trauma, so he embarks on a quest to save the people he loves, fix what he can, make the love of his life fall for him, and maybe, somewhere along the way, do a little bit of healing.”

The Beginner’s Guide to Moving On by InvincibleMel

gone from ao3, but i think there’s a link with a pdf going around

[beverlyonvinyl]

wasteland, baby! - JJ Maybank

summary; after a jealousy-fueled fight with your Kook ex-boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, the hot-tempered JJ has a long awaited meeting with you on the dock.

warnings; swearing, underage alcohol/drug consumption, plenty of angst, fluff.

word count; 1.5k

song; wasteland, baby! by hoizer

[ gif via pinterest ]

wasteland, baby / i’m in love / i’m in love with you.

The Boneyard was crowded with all walks of life tonight. Slimy Tourons looking for a girl to hook up with before they left town, rich Kooks getting drunk off of just a few beers, and the almighty rulers of the Outer Banks, the Pogues. Party animals by nature and fighters by chance, whether a nosy Kook got in their business or a Touron took something too far, a Pogue was always up to throw punches.

One of the Pogues stuck out, a particular blond-haired boy that was consistently sporting some kind of gnarly bruise or cut. The infamous JJ Maybank was always getting into of trouble, typically for a good cause. He's a ticking time bomb, and he can't keep his hands to himself.

The sandy-haired troublemaker was currently surrounded by a small arena of people, unbeknown to his circle of close friends that were sipping on bitter alcohol on the opposite side of the moonlit beach.

"JJ has been gone for like, twenty minutes," a girl with caramel skin and the most annoyed expression on her face pointed out to her other friends. "He probably found a girl."

The boy across from her looked behind him, he was a bit more sober than his reckless buddies.

"Kie... are they screaming his name?" He asked, still gawking at the large swarm of people behind him.

Another girl chimed into the conversation. "I bet someone is—"

"Is he in a fight?" Kie set her solo cup down on the ground and stood up. "What is his deal?"

The ringleader of the Pogues, and the boy who had thrown this party in the first place, came striding over to his other three friends with a freshly filled cup in his hand.

"John B.," the other boy stuttered. "JJ is beating the shit out of someone..."

His drunk and tired features expressed enough that he was done dealing with JJ's outbursts. Honest to god, everyone was tired of it. Picking him up from police stations, icing his bruises, making sure he didn't break something, he was acting out more than he ever had previously.

"Go deal with it," John B. gestured to the girl that wasn't Kie. "He'll listen to you."

Y/N raised her eyebrows at her best friend, contemplating if what he was saying was the truth, or just bullshit to get out of meddling with JJ's antics.

"I'm not getting between him and whoever he's kicking in the ass," she took down a gulp of her beer. "He's dangerous when he's angry."

"You make him less angry," John B. countered. "Now go fix it and I'll get the rest of these assholes off our beach."

Y/N headed for the crowd of onlookers, kicking up the sand with her worn, green Vans. She could hear another voice barking back at JJ, and unfortunately she recognized it.

She pushed her way through some brainless Tourons in cheap shark tooth necklaces, shoving them to the side and ordering them to scram. This was between her, JJ, and the guy that had got beaten to a pulp.

"Fucking Rafe," she sneered, watching JJ throw another punch to her ex-boyfriend's bloody face. "What did you do this time?"

JJ turned his head, his cerulean eyes piercing into hers. Rafe took this precious moment to breathe, for JJ's very violent assault had offered him little time for that.

"Everyone out!" Y/N yelled at the last few nosy people that surrounded them. She watched Rafe catch his last breath before he took another blow to his jaw. "Stop it, J."

"What?" He pushed Rafe's limp body to the side and looked at the frustrated girl standing above him.

She disregarded JJ's questioning look and crouched down next to her quivering, former lover. He was still very much alive, lord be damned if Rafe Cameron ever lose his life to a weed-smoking, beer-slugging, couch-surfing Pogue like JJ, but he had stil been pummeled horribly.

"Tell me what you did to make him hurt you," she muttered in Rafe's ear.

Rafe chuckled at her. Once his beaming girlfriend that thrived in country clubs and sundresses, she traded her perfect Kook life for a life full of treasure hunting and disappointing her parents.

If only he hadn't started with the cocaine.

"Just told Kelce some stories of how good you were in bed," he smirked at her with dark eyes.

JJ came stomping back towards them, open lighter in his tight grip. "You're fucking disgusting..."

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. "Wait for me on the dock."

He let out a huff of aggression, not feeling free of the anger he had towards Rafe. His heavy boots hit the frail wooden planks of the Chateau's dock, and he couldn't help but let his thoughts drift to maybe, just maybe, Y/N wanted her dickhead of an ex-boyfriend back. Maybe they were out in the Boneyard reminiscing of old times when they would go to the country club and sneak kisses when their parents weren't watching. Maybe she wanted to help Rafe get clean so they could be together again.

JJ looked out at the calm water, such a contrast to the storm he was feeling in his chest. When he felt that strike of hurt, that pain and fury within him, he took it out on the nearest thing that crossed him.

"I'm sorry about that," a small voice hummed from behind him.

He turned around to see Y/N's figure framed by the blue moonlight.

"I should be the one that's sorry," he mumbled.

She sat beside him on the splintering dock. "J, I would've cut his face up with a beer bottle if I heard what he said."

He laughed at her a little. "So what'd you say to him?"

"That I'd cut off his dick if he talked about me like that again."

JJ looked at her in pure admiration. He knew when he first met her that she was locked up in the gates of the Kook lifestyle. Rafe always made him jealous, whether he spotted them holding hands while he was busing tables or sharing a drink while he was at a party with his friends. It dampened his mood and he wasn't afraid to show it... until she became a Pogue herself.

It would be an instant crime to make a move now. Pogues don't mess with other Pogues.

"I've always liked you, Y/N," he observed the way her eyes sparkled, even though it was dark.

She backed away from him every so slightly.

"No! Wait— not like that," he put his paw-like hand on her shoulder, cold rings creating a vibrant contrast against her hot skin. "As friends."

"Oh," she glanced down at the water. Endless nothingness.

There was a string of tension between the two rebellious teens that just couldn't be cut. Every time he saw her it made him dizzy, and getting drunk or high in her presence seemed to be a risk. If he let out even a whisper of how he felt, she'd hear him.

Y/N took his chin in her delicate hand, bringing his face towards hers in a moment they had both long awaited. His golden strands of hair fell in his entranced face. The ice had melted from his doe-eyes and the curve was back in his lips, formulating the smile that she chased after.

"I've always liked you too, JJ," she ghosted her lips over his. "Not as a friend."

He tried to stutter something out, tripping over his own tongue, but he was cut off by her plush lips on his own. The pungent liquor that she had been downing in the wake of her boredom met the smokiness that laced his breath. His warm hands found her waist, wrapping her in an embrace that he didn't want her to get out of. Maybe he would wake up in a cold sweat on John B.'s couch, this whole ordeal just a result of attempted manifestation, but he just wanted to indulge in her soft skin and sweet nothings. Even if they were a figment of his imagination.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against her mouth. "Closer."

She whined at JJ's words, propping herself in his lap and kissing him harder. He had been waiting so long for this to happen, and now that he was getting it, he couldn't believe it was real. It was better than he had imagined it late at night when his heart and body ached for her. This was a new kind of euphoria.

If the world was ending, he would have no idea.

“Why didn’t we do this ages ago?” Y/N breathed against him as she left little pecks along his jaw.

JJ melted like a burning candle into her touch, praying that the flame in her that had ignited for him would forever stay lit.

“The Pogue rules,” he answered.

She cupped the side of his flushed face with her hand. She had never seen him so malleable for as long as she’d known him.

“I’d break all the rules for you,” she hummed. “I’m in love with you, that’s it.”

[amiedala]

SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 4: An Open Wound

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, canon-compliant violence, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past abuse/trauma

SUMMARY:  “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello my loves and happy Something Deeper Saturday! this chapter is truly a whirlwind, it's hard and sweet and intense and simple all at once. there are very graphic descriptions of violence and death in the one (in the form of Force visions, no one's actually dying, I PROMISE!!!), so please be aware that there is potentially triggering material in what you're about to read. it mentions past abuse and dives pretty deep into current violence, so please just read with caution! i hope you enjoy this journey—i certainly did writing it! more notes at the end!!! <3

*

Mandalore isn’t a ghost town.

Not how Nova originally thought, anyway. The throne room is filled with wary, armored people. Some are the guards that usually stand watch outside, through the giant palace doors. Nova recognizes Koska Reeves and Axe Woves from the brief, charged encounters she’s had with each of them. Bo-Katan is there, of course, regal and pristine, her shoulders pushed back, her red hair impeccable. There are a handful of villagers that Nova’s seen in passing, but besides the few faces she recognizes, most of the people gathered in the throne room have been hidden somewhere on Mandalore, away from this strange Capitol, away from the everyday. Half of them are without armor, without impressive beskar helmets to hide their wary expressions. Bo-Katan’s icy, measured gaze is clearly a popular currency on Mandalore, because every single person in this room looks skeptical at best and enraged at worst. Nova keeps her eyes on Din, who’s decided to stand at the helm of the dais instead of taking a seat on the beskar throne, watching his every movement to ensure he’s safe up there, and that he stays unharmed.

“I want...to be your leader,” Din says, his voice quiet but earnest. He sounds like he’s incredulous at his own words, like he’s reading off a script he’s never seen before. But there’s power hidden underneath whatever’s scaring him, an undercurrent that Nova knows is unfettered, genuine passion. “I wasn’t raised in the way of Mandalore. Not in the ways that you were—”

“Clearly,” Koska whispers, and the Mnadalorians standing closest to her proximity offer uncharacteristic smiles and snorts. Nova steps forward, but Bo-Katan raises her sharp hand at her side, and they immediately fall silent.

Din looks back at Nova, and for the first time, she can see the fear in his eyes. She nods, encouragingly, even though she has absolutely no clue what point he’s trying to make. Every time she closes her eyes, even if it’s only for a heartbeat, she sees the strange, young hologram of her face, with the word MURDER, MURDER, MURDER flashing back at her, a ceaseless and terrible pattern. Nervously, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, realizing that she’s the only person in this room who isn’t outfitted in Mandalorian regalia. Her black shirt has remnants of dust on the sleeves from the amphitheater. Her pants saw their best days weeks ago. Her shawl, the only proof that she wears any sort of allegiance to the throne, Mandalorian blue and regal, is thrown haphazardly over her rounded shoulders. The boots on her feet are older than her relationship with Din, picked up planets and planets ago, somewhere sunny and warm and an entire lifetime away. When Din’s panicked brown eyes find hers again, Nova smiles, taking a half-step forward, trying to portray anything other than her own frenzied state, the hammering heartbeat that could likely be heard outside of the palace.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Din finally continues, turning back to the crowd. Even from this angle, with most of his face obscured, Nova knows how hard it is for him to stand here, in front of dozens of people, without his helmet, how many rules he thinks he’s breaking, how this must feel like agony. He reaches for the Darksaber hanging on his belt, and when it ignites, every single face in the room is on Din, on that horrific, captivating blade of electricity and death. “I won this in battle. Twice. Both were accidents,” He inhales heavily, studying the flickering, wicked blade. “But they still happened. I wasn’t born on Mandalore. I wasn’t raised here, either. I’ve given some of you this speech before, when I first took the throne.” He exhales through his nose, and Nova wets her dry lips. Her throat feels like the middle of the day on Tatooine, parched and treacherous. “I...I am not a Mandalorian in the way that you’re Mandalorians.” Nova chances another half-step forward, letting the captive, tensioned room blur in her vision as she just focuses on Din. There’s a tremor in his voice, something alive and unsteady, something she only notices because she’s spent over a year studying every inch of him, memorizing Din right down to his bloodstream. “I follow a Creed that you don’t. I’ve spent most of my life trying...trying to be a good soldier, a true Mandalorian. I know I’m not the leader you wanted. I’m not even sure if I’m the leader I wanted. But I’m the one we’ve got, at least for right now. And—” Din exhales sharply, his breath strained, and Nova knows he’s suppressing a sigh, “I swear, I will try my best to do right by this planet. But—but I’m not only the reigning Mand’alor. I’m—”

“Right,” Axe interjects, but there's no malice in his tone. Nova stiffens, crossing her arms over her chest, staring over at him. But he doesn’t look threatening. His smile seems genuine, like he;s just attempting to get Din to lighten up. “And a bounty hunter. A damn good one, at that. He’s caught me twice.”

“Three times,” Nova corrects, and her eyes go wide when she realizes that everyone’s attention is now on her. “But,” she continues, rather nervously, trying to square back her shoulders in a shoddy imitation of Bo-Katan to not display that nervousness, “Din hasn’t been just a bounty hunter in a long time.”

Din sheathes the Darksaber, and instead turns his outstretched hand to Nova. Heart pounding, she slides her hand into his large, gloved one, trying not to show the massive tremble in her fingers. Quietly, he reaches for the Skywaker lightsaber hanging from her belt, and when Nova hesitates, he lets her hand close over the grip instead. Bo-Katan moves forward, so quickly Nova doesn’t even notice, and when she ignites the crisp, illuminated blue blade, half of the people gathered in the throne room draw a weapon. Nova’s expecting Bo-Katan to do the same, but she raises one impeccable eyebrow and turns back towards the room.

“Stop,” she says, and immediately, the majority of the room lowers whatever weapon of choice they’re gripping. Nova manages a tiny, stuttered breath. “She’s not going to hurt us.”

“She,” a voice says from the back of the room, “is wanted by multiple parties. Contacts all over the galaxy will pay a pretty price for Andromeda Maluev, you know. I accepted the cult member as Mand’alor. I accepted you standing down from the throne, Bo-Katan. I will not accept harboring a criminal,” he continues, voice as icy as Hoth, “and a Jedi, at that.”

Din moves forward, all tension, all rage, but Bo-Katan holds up that same, steady hand, and the man making his way across the foreground halts in the same beat that Din does. Nova pulls her own lightsaber back, pocketing it, pulling the shawl higher over her shoulders, trying to unclench her jaw before all of her teeth break off in her mouth. She’s tired. So tired. Exhausted, slogging through this conversation, her heartbeat accelerating, stars shooting out behind her eyes. And still, this time, when she closes them, all she sees is MURDER, MURDER, MURDER.

“Her name,” Bo-Katan returns, measured and cool, “is Novalise Djarin. And yes, she is wanted by both the scum that still survived after the Empire’s demise, and a middleman somewhere in between which we cannot identify yet. Yes, she is a Jedi, or at least is certainly heading in that way. Yes, I stood down from the title. But that wasn’t because I was weak, or because I wanted them on the throne.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Nova,” Bo-Katan interjects, “I’ve got this.” She steps off the lowest stair on the dias, posture perfect, right arm curled around her distinctive helmet. Everything in her screams royalty, regality. Behind her eyes is a fire so much stronger than the ice in her voice. “I didn’t want this. Neither did you. But Din won the Darksaber, fair and square. And Mandalore isn’t what it used to be. None of us are, either. We’re good at surviving, but we’re even better at fighting. And I believe,” she says, pointedly, glancing over at Din, who’s still coiled in an attack position, “that was the point our Mand’alor was getting to. So let him finish. With your mouths closed.”

The man who spoke, wizened but grizzled, exhales angrily through his nose, but his mouth stays clamped shut. Bo-Katan stands at attention, nodding back at Din.

“War is coming,” Din continues stiffly, and half of the people crowded around the room roll their eyes or mutter under their breath.

“War is always coming,” another woman enunciates, “it’s what the galaxy knows best.”

“War is coming,” Din repeats, and Nova has to force herself to unfurl her palms. Before she can even try to jump to his aid, though, he walks down the steps and presses his flat palm against the holotable. Reflected in the glittering dome above them is thousands of pixels of blue light. Nova’s juvenile mugshot is up there for the entire room to see, but so are statistics from every mission they’ve engaged in, anything even remotely related to the Order. Hundreds of faces swarm the screen, all with interwoven lines connecting them to other profiles and rotating planets. There, at the center of the screen, is the First Order’s name in menacing, large letters. Underneath are the silhouettes of Luke, Nova, and Grogu. When Din opens his mouth this time, his words are vivid and clear. “I know that Mandalore has been razed and sieged. I know that in your eyes, I’m not one of you. I know that none of you signed up for another battle. But I also know that fighting,” Din says, his voice weary, but his dark eyebrow raised, “is what’s in our blood. All of us.”

“I won’t follow a ruler who isn’t a true Mandalorian,” the same man finally continues. He steps towards them, and his face is angry and ghastly in the flickering blue light. His rage is barely concealed, and Nova’s hand flies unconsciously to the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “And I certainly won’t protect a Jedi who doesn’t belong here.”

“Well, then,” Nova says, and she’s so bone-dead tired that she doesn’t realize she’s the one who’s speaking until the second word is out of her mouth, “good thing I can protect myself.” She chances a glance at Din, who could very easily be aggravated at her stoking the fire. The only thing written across his face, though, is pride. Nova’s eyes flicker over to Bo-Katan, who is somehow, unbelievably, wearing the same exact expression.

Din slams his fist down on the holotable, sending all of the blue light back into the atmosphere it came from. The low light of the war room is returned to its usual state, but no one speaks. “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

Still, no one moves.

“Mand’alor,” Bo-Katan snaps, icily, all of her usual vigor and venom back in her voice, and it’s like she’s given an order no one can deny. Half of the Mandalorians nod in wary agreement, and the other half keep their low mumbles close to their chests, all of them shuffling out of the throne room, presumably to disperse outside. When the heavy door closes shut, with only the three of them remaining, Bo-Katan turns back to Nova. Din is already climbing the steps back up the dais where the menacing beskar throne sits to retrieve his fallen helmet. When he pulls it back over his handsome face, it’s like closing an open wound.

Nova looks at Bo-Katan, who doesn’t look nearly as threatening in this low light. Her hair is slightly ruffled, and the hard set of her jaw is tense, electric. “Bo-Katan,” Nova whispers, and her gaze snaps impeccably back to Nova’s. “Thank you,” Nova continues, earnest, “for defending me. Defending us. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” Bo-Katan counters, but there’s the ghost of a small smile on her beautiful, cold face. “They were wrong, and they needed to hear that. See? I’m not always a total bitch.”

The word—so commonplace, so foreign—sounds absolutely ludicrous coming out of her mouth that it makes Nova laugh out loud. The sound is both musical and jarring, and the tension held in Bo-Katan’s shoulders evaporates, even if it’s only momentarily.

“Noted,” Nova says, smiling. Maker and all the stars above, she’s exhausted. Bo-Katan glances back at Din, armored and impenetrable, and then back at Nova.

“You need sleep,” Bo-Katan allows, pulling her own helmet back over her head. “Both of you. I’ll stay down here and monitor any incoming correspondence. I’m too wired to go to bed anytime soon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her usual edge is back in her tone. “And I will. Go.” She raises that commanding arm again, and Nova’s too exhausted to resist. She wants to take a shower and wash the last few days off of her, and then sleep for three more. Her scar hurts. Her shoulders ache. Her head feels impossibly heavy. Silently, she lets Din lead her over to the heavy double doors, her ears buzzing with fatigue, but before they step into the hall, Nova hears her name chase her across the war room. In tandem, she and Din turn, watching Bo-Katan ignite the blue holotable. There’s something unreadable about her, even under the helmet. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and the heaviness of her words is louder than the doors when they close on her impenetrable face.

*

Steam from the shower fills the entire fresher. It’s wet and hot, the humidity seeping deep into Nova’s skin, burrowing under the residual ache from the last few days, nestling between her cold bones from the chill back on Ahch-To, the frigidity back on Hoth. Din joins her once he wrestles off the rest of the armor, and before Nova can explain she wants him, but it’s impossible right now with how exhausted she is, how she can barely keep her eyes open, Din wordlessly lathers up his hands with her favorite, clean-smelling soap, gently raking the suds through her hair.

Nova sighs in the silence, letting her shoulders hunch over, her body weight alleviated by sagging against the warm shower walls and by the soft grip Din has on her arms, making sure she stays upward. For what feels like years, they stand together under the warm running water, reveling in the steam, the heat, without either of them needing to say anything. Din wraps Nova’s long hair up in the freshly washed towel, while she dries off the residual runoff down her arms, her thighs.

The room is cool and dark in the blue twilight, that same fog and haze sinking over the horizon. Wherever the rest of the Mandalorians went, they’ve all but disappeared off the face of the planet. Everything is an eerie kind of quiet, no bugs, no animals, no clamor, nothing that signifies any kind of sentient life outside of the castle. Most nights, that kind of awful silence makes Nova wired, like it permeates even into her dreams, but not here, not now. She has what feels like years’ worth of sleep to catch up on, and the second that Din pulls back the fluffy, silk comforter on their giant bed, Nova steps out of the towel and into the soft cocoon. Din’s barely even settled up behind her before she drifts off somewhere peaceful, somewhere that’s not here.

*

She sleeps. For hours, maybe days, Nova sleeps. It’s dreamless and empty, warm and safe. Usually, nightmares flicker and flash through her mind, her legs sprinting away from whatever menace or threat is chasing her, but not tonight. Nothing wakes Nova up, not the strange quiet, not Din tossing next to her, not the immeasurable weight of saving the galaxy on her shoulders. She sleeps, uninterrupted and powerfully, swaddled up under the light blue blankets that are somehow keeping all the bad things away.

In the end, it’s not a nightmare that startles her away, nor is it Din’s unshaven face pressing into the crook of her neck. It’s the sleepy, quiet beeping of her commlink, which has somehow been removed from its usual place on her wrist and is buried under the extra pillows that stand sentinel over their bed when neither Nova or Din is there.

Din, at this very moment, is also nowhere to be found, and Nova rakes a hand through her hair, tries and fails to suppress a yawn, and digs through the array of pillows on the floor until she can see the bright, red light. “Hello?” she asks, her voice still off somewhere in dreamland, and she rubs sleep from her eyes as she collapses down on the bed, body still stuck in sleep.

“Hey,” Nova hears, and it’s halfway through another yawn before she realizes it’s Cara calling. “Listen, I’d love to actually catch up, but—”

“You have news?” Nova asks, suddenly wide awake. She smooths the comforter out under her hand, crossing one of her legs underneath the other. Outside, the sky is dark.

“I have news,” Cara confirms, grimly. “I know Wedge called you to Hoth a week or so ago because there was a prison break somewhere outside of my jurisdiction.”

Nova nods before she remembers Cara can’t see her. “Yeah,” she adds, belatedly. “Yeah, but no one seemed suspicious or in league with the Order, and it was a holding cell full of minor offenders, so it was kind of a dead end.”

“Well, it was,” Cara sighs, “until it wasn’t. We were right, kind of, because no one who escaped was linked to the First Order. But the night after that prison break happened, your photo with your old name and manufactured crimes popped up as a hit from the Guild.”

Nova’s heart sinks. Something suffocating is blocking her airway, and she tries to swallow past the feeling before she can exhale. “What does that mean?” she manages, barely, hand fluttering around her necklace, pressing into the embossed star.

“Someone’s setting you up,” Cara continues, and her voice is gentler than Nova’s ever heard it. “Someone who likely knows you or Din, knows how to get under your skin. The reason why this is so dangerous is because whoever did it knows exactly what they’re doing. I’ve tried, and Karga has tried, but we can’t even identify where the hit originated from, let alone who put it out. We’re not going to stop looking, but it’s going to be hard to figure out who did it. And because the warrant is for you alive or dead…” Cara trails off, the silence buzzing and dangerous.

Nova closes her eyes before she fills in the blanks. “I’m going to be in danger anywhere I go.”

“Listen,” Cara tries, but it’s too late. Nova’s still exhausted, she’s in pain, she has no idea where Din went, and all she wants to do is to bury her face in Grogu’s head and smell his sweet, reassuring baby smell. Her heart aches. “Novalise, I’m not going to let them get to you. You have some of the strongest forces in the galaxy who’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Nova whispers, “and I appreciate that, Cara, I do, so much, but—but Mandalore isn’t exactly a safe haven, either. The planet knows I can use the Force, and besides that, most of the people Din’s supposed to be ruling hate our guts. I’m not scared of being left to defend myself, because it’s kind of what I’ve learned to be best at. But with what you’re telling me, there’s not a single safe place left in the galaxy for me right now.”

Cara’s silence is deafening. Nova’s heart sinks just a little bit deeper, swimming around somewhere in her stomach. “It’s not forever,” she says, but her voice is a little too glum to be anywhere near reassuring.

“I’m so tired,” Nova admits, feeling tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyes. “And I can’t rest, because that’s when someone can get me. I mean—what would you do, if you were me, Cara?”

Nova can hear Cara moving, a soft rustle underneath the comm. When she speaks again, her voice is low and clear, like she’s telling a secret that only Nova can hear. “I would do what we both know you’re going to do. You’re the rebel girl, remember?” She pauses. “So rebel.”

Nova watches as the comm clicks off, everything in her body electric, a live wire. Before she can bolt to Kicker, or try to find where Din’s hidden in the chambers of the palace, or call Wedge and tell him she’s coming back to Hoth, the door opens, and Din walks in.

“Hi,” Nova breathes, suddenly very aware she’s not wearing any clothes, which is completely ridiculous, because Din has seen, ravaged, and worshipped every inch of it. “Where were you?”

She watches as Din crosses over the floor, the low light of the day catching on his armor. He sighs, moving closer to Nova until he’s standing in between her open legs. Halfheartedly, he hooks his fingers under the rim of the helmet, but gives up completely the second Nova’s hands reach to pull it off instead. Underneath, his mustache isn’t manicured, his hair has been weighed down by the metal, and he looks about as exhausted as she feels.

“Ruling,” Din says, tiredly, and there’s a flint to it Nova hardly hears. He lets out a small scoff in the silence, and she reaches out the smooth palm of her right hand for his cheek to nestle against. “Trying to get the people of this planet to recognize I’m not here to destroy it, or that you—we’re not the enemy.” He catches his slip almost as quickly as it comes out of his mouth, but still, Nova’s heart sinks deep down in her chest again. “I didn’t—look, Nova, I’m not blaming you—”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, even though they both know it’s not. For a second, Din just stares at her, and then he presses his forehead against hers. The warmth his skin gives off is almost enough to make her forget about where they are, about the people that refuse to see her as an ally, about having to save the galaxy from forces that want her dead or for their own malicious intent. “They’ll come around,” she offers, her voice barely there, and Din shakes his head, his hair rustling against Nova’s forehead.

“What if they don’t?” Din asks, and by the weight in his voice, it’s clear he’s not just talking about Mandalore accepting her as the Mand’alor’s riduur, as an ally, as on their side, but about the infiltrated Guild that’s out to kill her, and the First Order that’s out for worse.

Nova’s quiet for a long time, just listening to him breathe, trying to map both of their heartbeats, yearning for the constellations hiding above the hazy Mandalore sky. “What if we can’t do it?” she whispers, her mouth hollow, her head aching. “Any of this? What if we can’t pull this off, Din?” She doesn’t point out the specifics, the weight of planets hanging over both of their heads. They both know what she means. The silence is horrible, but Nova keeps her eyes closed, just like she used to, predicting every move Din will make in the dark.

“Then we don’t,” Din breathes back, and Nova’s about to resist, tears springing back to life in her eyes, and then Din’s mouth is on hers and nothing else matters. She lets him sprawl her back on the bed, the smooth satin coaxing and cool under her skin. Stars are burning out behind her eyes, the same celestial imprints that flood through hyperspace, something more, something deeper, something beyond this planet, this moment, this darkness. When Din’s mouth leaves Nova’s, her eyes stay shut, and his lips trail down to her ear. “I’d give everything else up but you.”

They both know he’s lying—Din’s heart is too big, Nova’s purpose is too bright—but neither of them say it out loud. Nova keeps his words in the hollow of her mouth, something shiny and devastating, a supernova or a pearl.

Din kisses Nova like he’s never had her before, low and desperate. It’s an echo of what happened in the amphitheater just hours ago, but it’s sustained, huge, warm. His mouth is made to devour, and if he’s whispering anything to feel the silence, Nova can’t hear it. She’s focused on where his kisses are trailing, desperate and hot and everything she didn’t know she needed. It’s freezing in here, but he’s so warm, his body heat louder than the cold.

“Kiss me,” Din whispers, his voice rough, a plea. One of his hands comes up and braces against Nova’s chin, not an order, but a question. She reaches towards his neck, trying to pull him down, to anchor their bodies together. It’s dark in their room. Without the stars shining above, it’s even darker.

She’s so tired. Still, even after all that rest, it’s like the exhaustion has permeated Nova straight down to her bones. She shudders and sighs as Din moves down her naked body, his lips planting kisses that she doesn’t know she needs until he’s already there. It’s easy and devastating and wonderful and crushing all at once. When Nova tries to return the favor, Din gently pushes her down, mumbling something about taking care of her.

It’s sweet. So sweet, even, that she’s on the verge of tears. Nova would do anything to stay here forever, to feel her husband’s lips on her bare skin, washing away all of the horror, the trauma, the darkness. She doesn’t open her eyes, even though she wants to. Din’s spent so much time without his helmet to appear like one of the people that call themselves Mandalorians, and she wants to give him back every single second of the time that prying eyes stole away.

Before long, Nova’s already close—her orgasm bubbling up quietly, without fanfare, without dramatics, just because Din knows exactly how to make her body sing—and when she taps at his arm to let him know, his mouth unlatches from the small hickies he’s leaving on the terrain of her bare stomach, and moves in between her thighs.

Effortlessly, he hold her legs up, hooking both of them around his shoulders so that his tongue can stay anchored in place. Nova moans, a quiet, radiant thing, and Din’s tongue finds exactly where she needs it to go. It pulses there, on the sweetest of spots, over and over again until she’s finished.

Breathless, she claws at his pants again, but Din shakes his head, his mouth dropping to her forehead as he pulls her into bed. “Rest, Nova,” he whispers, his voice faraway, a deep rumble. He pulls her in against his body, warm and soothing, and both of them are out before their heads hit their pillow.

*

Din’s asleep next to her, his slow, even breaths barely anything even in all the silence. Nova wants to fall back to sleep, but she knows she can’t. Her heartbeat is running itself rampant, and she’s a tangle of wants and needs, everything pulled in opposite directions. As quietly as she can, she slides herself out from the protective warmth of Din’s arms and the comforter, gently placing her feet on the floor. Even in the cool darkness of the night, her wardrobe, sleek but huge, has nothing but clothes in the same shades of Mandalorian blue, of beskar silver, but right now, Novalise doesn’t want to be a Mandalorian. She doesn’t want to be royalty, doesn’t want to be a figurehead. She doesn’t exactly want to be a Rebel either, because both titles mean the ultimate fate of the Outer Rim and beyond in her hands, so she settles for somewhere in between.

When she’s all dressed—black monochrome right down to her scuffed boots, in a weak imitation of the Luke Skywalker style—she braids the top half of her hair back, sleek and functional, and chooses a shawl buried at the back of her closet, underneath all of the Mandalorian haze of clothing. It’s a stormy grey that shimmers with the silver her husband wears when the fabric catches the light. If you pay close enough attention to the shawl, small, intentional stitches of rust and orange are woven into the fabric, hidden, furious, tiny flames.

Not exactly Mandalorian, but not entirely Rebel, either. And when Nova looks at herself in the mirror, studying the way her eyes flash with all that fire she was so certain was gone a few minutes ago, she sees herself right down to the quick, the high wire in between—she looks something like a Jedi.

So she pulls the Skywalker family lightsaber out of the hook on her door and pulls it to her belt loop, watching as the metal sways and dances in the low light. The weapon seems ancient, like something from another world. Something holy, even though she knows Luke Skywalker is a man and not a myth.

When she closes the bedroom door behind her, Din doesn’t even move. Usually, Nova’s the loud and clumsy one, worlds more obnoxious than Din’s practiced quiet, but she’s grown into her stealth over the last few weeks, especially living here, in a palace that has more rooms than the planet does people. It’s strange and eerie here at night, down the sprawling marble stairs, and she takes the first corridor she can find, just trying to walk off some of the pressure, to put her head back on her shoulders.

It’s lit only by candlelight, an archaic, flickering warmth, so in contrast to the rest of the steel and metal that Mandalore is made up of. It’s like she’s stepped into something that’s been around for years, even though she knows that it’s not possible. Mandalore was sieged, usurped, sieged again, razed and brought to the ground, destroyed. The planet’s atmosphere is mostly ash and haze, all that leftover war from years ago. But this part of the palace looks older, like a tomb that somehow survived.

It’s too creepy, Nova decides, even though the curious part of her is itching to explore it. She wants to pore through every aspect of it, try to find remnants of lost Mandalore, like her father used to unearth texts, like her mother used to excavate history. Before the war, before the Alliance was necessary, before all this death and darkness. When Nova comes out the other end of the corridor, she’s right next to the intimidating double doors of the war room, the holiest place Mandalore has. She pulls her shawl a little closer to her body, trying to retain the warmth she left back upstairs, trying to hold onto a memory more than anything tangible.

Nova isn’t intending to slip into the war room, let alone walk towards the sprawling dais that holds the beskar throne, but she does. It’s still quiet, so quiet, and the dark is coaxing her closer, pulling her up the steps, something beyond a simple want or need. She has the sneaking suspicion that she’s not supposed to be in here, not this late, not without Din, not when she has no legal or physical right to this place, but when she sits down on the throne, something deeper echoes out from within her chest.

It feels like a hymn and a battle cry. Before she has a second to adjust, to rationalize anything, everything becomes starry and disconnected. It’s been so long since she had a Force vision this immediate, this intense, and it hurls her through the proverbial hyperspace, everything dropping away.

It takes three steps forward in this strange, terrifying liminal space before Nova can even identify what’s scaring her. It’s the same kind of evil she felt way back on Takodana, before she was married to the ruler of a planet, before she even knew it was her destiny to be both Rebel and Jedi. There’s a mask she doesn’t recognize, twisted and devious. Behind its menacing, blank expression is something horrifying. Looking into the visor, it’s like her own soul is being fractured into pieces.

It’s humanoid until it’s not. The figure wearing the mask of destruction is tall, easily a foot taller than she is, horrible and menacing. But when the lightsaber they’re using ignites, it’s scarier than the vision of the person at all. It’s awful. It looks like it was forged out of lava, menacing red, the blade flickering and hissing in a way that’s somehow even more terrifying than the stark contrast of the Darksaber’s blade. Nova gasps, the light too bright, too sudden, and she can feel the residual thud on the floor, even in the vision. She knows when she comes out of it, she’ll be hurt, but the blade is getting closer. It looks like a giant rapier, a sword made only for evil things. At the hilt, spraying out in both directions, the blade extends. When the figure in the mask swings, it’s without remorse, so quick, so terrible.

But Nova’s not the target. She rolls away, out of the strike zone, and then she hears Luke Skywalker’s voice cutting through the darkness. She turns, and suddenly she’s not in the horror of the vision, anymore. She doesn’t know where she is. The ground looks icy, like Hoth, but there’s red powder spit everywhere, vomited across giant salt deposits. It’s so bright that her hand comes up in front of her eyes, and when she lowers it, Luke is gone. She’s gone, too. She turns around, hair whipping in the furious wind, trying to find where her name is being cried, and she trips over a mound on the salty ground, and when she falls to her knees, it’s a person, newly slain. The blood is so red, redder than the powder, redder than the evil lightsaber. It drowns through the lines on her hands, slips through her long fingers. She screams, trying to back up from the body, and then she realizes it’s Bo-Katan, gurgling through the slit in her throat, and when Nova tries desperately, in vain, to buffer the blood spilled, Luke Skywalker calls her name again.

But it’s not Luke. It is him—for a second, for the tiniest fraction of a moment—but then it’s not. His lightsaber floods with red, cancelling out the green light. The hallway flickers, once, twice, and then Darth Vader is charging towards her, and all Nova can hear is her blood pounding frantically in her ears and his heavy breathing through his mask, the sound that used to fill all of her nightmares. She’s slamming on the door at the other end of the hallway, and when it opens, the only person standing there isn’t a person at all, but a small alien baby all of two feet tall, green and adorable, and Nova drops her body around her son, protective and sobbing, curling every single inch of her around his tiny little frame, trying to shield him from Vader’s wrath, but when she cries, the vision changes again.

She can feel the motion sickness bubbling up in her stomach, horrible and nauseating. When Nova lands, she doesn’t open her eyes. She’s seen more than enough. Even right now, in the middle of her Force vision, all she wants to do is go back to sleep. She can feel the ache she slept away burrowing right back into her bones. Her scar is pulsing, enraged and angry. The headache she spent the last two and a half weeks fighting off is back, radiating straight down to behind her left eye. It’s all too much, and she can’t look. She doesn’t want to see anything else.

“Novalise,” she hears again, and the only reason she opens her eyes this time is because it’s her mother speaking. Her mother, who only ever called her Andromeda. Her mother, who spent half her life in the stars. Her mother, long dead. Her mother, who never got to know this version of her daughter, this Jedi-in-training, royal Rebel Girl that just desperately needs a hug from her mom.

“Mom,” she cries, and it’s so white. Everything here is antiseptic and deafening. It doesn’t even look like a planet, or even a room, or anything at all. She’s not even sure if there’s a floor, but Nova starts running like she’s never ran before in her life. Her breath is ragged and coming out in bursts. The jiggle in her chest and thighs burn under her speed, but she doesn’t care. She’s racing towards her mother, towards open arms, towards everything she’s been cheated out of for the last ten years.

It lasts for a second. Just a second. The figure is Piper Maluev, her skin dark and radiant, her hair down to her waist. Her lips are wide open and welcoming, her eyes crinkled at the seams. She’s tall and radiant and strong, and she’s everything Nova’s missed for nearly half her life.

And then it isn’t Piper. It’s not Luke, either, or Darth Vader, or whoever the dark, terrible, masked figure was. It’s not her usual nightmare transformation of Jacterr Calican. It’s not Bo-Katan, convulsing and dying. It’s Din. Just for a moment, a tiny fraction of relief, and then it’s not Din, either.

It’s a woman Nova’s never seen before, and her hand is clamped firmly around Nova’s windpipe. Like it’s nothing, she pulls her right off the disappearing floor and choking the life out of her. Her eyes are light but so terrifyingly menacing, her hair is a mess of a dark blonde. She’s pale and awful and her face is gleeful as she pulls the life out of Nova, a sucking, open wound.

She can’t talk. She doesn’t even want to plead for her life. If she’s this close to death anyway, and she just saw her mother, Nova figures there’s a pretty damn good chance that both of her parents are just over the other side. The woman is so happy to be killing Nova off, she doesn’t want to fight it. When her grip recedes, just for a half a second, Nova chokes out a confession that makes everything else grind to a halt.

It’s four words. Barely anything. Tears are streaming down her cheeks when her lips finally open. “I want my mom.”

Then she’s being dropped onto the floor, which very much exists now, and the light room filled with nothingness curls away, receding like it’s being burned. It’s dark in here, the tiled floor slippery and treacherous. In the background, there’s a makeshift trophy made from what looks like bones. Nova’s gasping for air, fighting back with a newfound vigor, kicking her legs helplessly to try and get some leverage on this woman who wants her dead, when, suddenly, she’s at eye level with her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she seethes, a terrifying smile still spread across her horrible, beautiful face. “When I find you, you’re going to be begging for your life instead of your death.”

“Who—who are you?” Nova manages, through agony. Her shoulders hurt. Her headache feels like it’s trying to split her jaw in half. Her scar feels like it’s being reopened. Everything is torture, and she can’t even breathe.

“You’ll see,” the woman whispers, and her voice is so deadly that Nova internally corrects every time she’s ever called Bo-Katan venomous. Bo-Katan Kryze is a flower. One of the iridescent, gorgeous ones, that lined all the brush on Yavin, the ones Nova’s spent years pressing into the pages of every journal she’s ever owned. She’s kind and lovely and Nova’s very best friend, and when she gets out of this alive, Nova’s going to tell Bo-Katan that. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, Andromeda.”

Nova heaves one giant breath into her lungs, trying to muster up anything that she can, even if it’s just more air. “I—” she starts, and the woman smiles again, loaded and dangerous. “I—I already did that, you miserable bitch,” Nova manages, and when she’s slammed into the awful floor, it’s worth it. There’s some kind of desperation behind the woman’s eyes, now and when her hand finds Nova’s throat again, she spits in her face.

And then she’s out of it. Hurtled out of it, actually, like a dying starfighter in the middle of space. She gasps and heaves on the floor, and as her sight comes back, her breathing does, too. Her head is still killing her. Her shoulders feel like they’re trying to carry the entire weight of Mandalore. Her scar is awful, white-hot and painful to the touch. Somewhere, distantly, her knees hurt like she’s fallen to them, and when she gains back her sense of sight and the feeling of her life being choked out of her body subsides, Nova realizes she has fallen to them. She’s fallen a lot, actually, down multiple steps leading to the floor from the raised platform where she was once sitting in the beskar throne. Nova shudders, inhaling through a terrible wheeze, curling her legs up close to her chest, trying to shake off the absolute shitshow that just hurtled her through the most traumatic Force vision she’s ever had.

“You,” comes a booming, rueful voice, and when Nova’s eyes flutter open, she’s expecting it to be the malicious, purple-haired woman from her vision. Her eyes take a second to adjust, her left one throbbing from the horrid ache pulsing behind it, and when she finally locates the source, it’s the miserable man from the gathering earlier.

“Can I help you?” Nova asks, her voice shooting up at the end, on the verge of tears.

“You aren’t supposed to be up there,” he spits, and Nova squints up at the throne she’d just fallen from.

“I know,” she whispers, dully. She presses a shaking hand to the ache behind her eye, trying to shut out this conversation like she wishes she’d ignored the vision. She tries to stand up, but her knees are too bruised to sustain pulling her to her feet, so she just slumps back against the step she’s on, trying to muster all the strength she has in her exhausted body to not break down. “I’m sorry,” Nova tacks on, the words barely there. “I—I wasn’t intending to sit here, or even come in the room, it just—”

“Happened,” he finishes, oddly calm. His voice sounds closer. Much closer. Nova opens her right eye, and he’s only at the bottom of the staircase. There’s something so wretched and dangerous about the energy he’s giving off, and she wants to run, but she’s in no position to even stand, let alone fight him off, so she just sits there, curling her knees into her chest, pulling her shawl as tight as she can against her upper body. “You’re an abomination.”

A laugh, the traitorous thing, bubbles up inside Nova’s throat. It’s not funny. It’s not. It’s pathetic, and likely racially motivated, but she can’t help herself. Her ribs ache, like they got banged up in her distant fall down these sharp, steep marble steps. “That, surprisingly, is not the first time I’ve been called an abomination in my life.”

“Do you know what the Jedi did to our people, little girl?” He’s angry. Nova can hear it in his voice. And normally, it would scare her, trigger her fight or flight reflex, keep her moving, but after her paranormal face-off with two of the scariest figures she’s ever seen, this one isn’t really that high up on our list. “I do. You were eradicated for good reason. You scorched our planet down to nothing, and now you and your cult leader husband come back here and try to take over? Not on my watch.”

Nova can feel him getting closer. He’s so much bigger than she is, up close, tall and buff, menacing and taut. She weakly pulls her hand away from her eye, trying to at the very least give him her full attention, but she’s so fucking tired. It’s in her bones, at this point. She doesn’t want to be royalty. She doesn’t want to be a Rebel. And, in contrast to what the man in front of her is screaming, she doesn’t want to be a Jedi.

She wants to be the Novalise she was on Naator, with nothing but domesticity and yellow leaves and pink skies. She wants to be the protector she was out there in hyperspace. And, for the first time in ten years, she wants to be Andromeda Maluev, fifteen and gleeful, running around Yavin knowing the stars were her destiny and that evil could always be defeated.

“I don’t even want to be here,” Nova whispers, finally, and it’s like something inside her breaks.

“Good,” the man spits, “then we’re in agreement.” And then his hands are yanking away the hood of her shawl and tangling in her braided hair. Nova’s scream gets cut off as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, like her body’s giving up. She chokes out something horrible, fighting to get to her bruised, banged up knees, sore from the fall, aching from the blissful time riding Din’s face less than an hour ago, but she can’t summon the strength. Somewhere, she knows Luke Skywalker is yelling at her to use the Force, but Nova’s had enough force today to last a lifetime. When she’s kicked in the stomach, brutal and awful, she just curls in on herself, hoping her death isn’t a slow one. He startles towards her again, ripping her shawl off of her body, clawing at the meat of her upper arm, and something snaps inside of her. If she’s going to die, really die, it’s not because she succumbed to the injuries this rabid Mandalorian is giving her to try and put the blame on her shoulders. She survived Moff Gideon. She survived Din and Grogu leaving her. She survived her parents dying. And she survived the abuse of Jacterr Calican’s awful hands. Novalise can survive this.

When her lightsaber roars to life in her hands, it’s not only Nova swinging. She can feel the weight of what it being the Skywalker family lightsaber, of Luke and Leia before her, of his father before him, of all the generations yet to come to wield this weapon, this holy sword, this impossible thing. It takes all of her energy, a brilliant beam of blue light, and then she falls to the floor, knowing that even if this is where it ends, that she fought back.

Everything next comes in flashes. It’s in these tiny fractals like what happened when the Crest had died right over Dagobah and crashed to the surface. She sees a blade ignite, and in between the rhythm of her fading in and out of consciousness, Nova thinks she’s just watching herself fight the man back. Suddenly, he drops to the floor, his body nothing but dead weight, and she wants to scream, but she’s back out. It’s horrible and deafening. She’s being scooped up, she can feel that. She’s crying. She’s definitely crying. There are voices, loud ones. When she has enough strength to open her eyes again, Din is slamming his gloved fist against the airlock on Kicker, his voice frantic. She can’t make out what he’s saying, though, and another face appears above her. Din gently transfers Nova’s limp body into someone else’s arms, and when Nova looks up, it’s Bo-Katan, her face so panicked it’s almost impossible to recognize who it is.

“Nova, you gotta stay awake,” Bo-Katan whispers, her palm slapping softly at Nova’s cheek. “C’mon, I mean it. If you die here on this planet you hate, I will haunt you in the afterlife. I swear, you have to stay awake.”

“I don’t—” Nova starts, and Bo-Katan shakes her head.

“You literally should not be talking,” Bo-Katan says, her eyesight dipping to Nova’s neck. Her eyes widen for a second and then her smooth fingers ghost over the outline. Nova coughs at her light touch, and she realizes that the marks from the vision she had of being choked within an inch of her life are here, that they followed her back out of the vision and into this moment. “Nova, no, shut up, I’m serious—”

“I don’t—don’t hate Mandalore,” she manages, her voice sounding like shards of glass, and Bo-Katan offers her a hasty, worried smile.

“You do,” Bo-Katan argues, but her voice is so gentle. “But don’t worry, princess, we’re getting you the hell off of it. No complaints now that you’re off Mandalore, you got it? The second you got here, I knew both of you wanted to leave.”

Din’s at her side again, and Bo-Katan kneels down, gently placing Nova in her familiar tangle of blankets and pillows. Nova’s eyes close again, and when they slide back open, Bo-Katan is standing, trading worried glances and hushed tones with Din.

Nova’s head hurts. So bad. It’s splitting down the middle of her skull, actually, but all she can do is press a hand over her eye and try to block out the familiar low light of the ship that smells more like home than this entire planet ever had.

“Listen, about what I told you back on Hoth—”

“It’s fine,” Din cuts her off, and his next few words are warbled. “I get it. Your allegiance is to Mandalore, not to us.”

Nova can’t hear Bo-Katan’s answer. In fact, she’s not even sure if there’s even words being spoken, because the next time she looks up, Bo-Katan is just staring down at her, incredibly concerned, such an obvious change from her usually stoic expression. Nova’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. She’s exhausted. Bo-Katan kneels down again, just for a split second, to pull the loose end of Nova’s shawl over the rest of her folded body. Nova wants to cry.

“Flower,” she garbles, nonsensically. She’s trying to tell Bo-Katan that she’s sorry for all the animosity, that she trusts her, and more than that, she likes her. It doesn't make a single lick of sense to anyone outside of Nova’s head, but Bo-Katan offers a tiny smile anyway.

“Here,” Din says, stiffly, holding out the sheathed blade of the Darksaber to Bo-Katan. Nova’s eyes flutter closed, just for a beat, and when they open back up, Bo-Katan is pushing the weapon back into Din’s grip.

“It’s not mine,” she insists. “Besides, you’re not getting out of it that easy. You’ll be back.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Take care of her,” Bo-Katan interrupts. Nova blacks out again until they’re up in hyperspace. Din’s body is shielding her from the cold, his limbs draped all over the places that hurt the least. When she opens her eyes, they’re floating through the cosmos, and all her eyes can see is sweet, sweet stardust.

*

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*

[junghelioseok]

rogue.

↳ a night out leads you to exactly where you want to be.

◇ yoongi x reader ◇ smut | bit of angst | strangers!au ◇ 3.9k [1/1]

⇢ for danica aka @dee-ehn, as part of ficswithluv’s changeswithluv project for black lives matter ♡

notes: i told danica this was going to be daechwita!yoongi and boy i was not kidding one bit! i took quite a few creative liberties, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless. thank you for your donation to such an important cause!

warnings: dom!yoongi, tatted and pierced!yoongi, like he has a tongue piercing whoOPS my hand slipped 🙈, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected sex (stay safe kids!!!), a very vague sense of the time period in which this is all happening bc it’s an au and i’m a dumbass idk!!! 🙈

It’s impossible to miss the man sitting in the corner of the bar.

He’s surrounded by a raucous group of people you can only assume are his friends, dressed in muted green with a silver chain at his throat. Dark eyes peer out from behind dark hair, ever vigilant as they flit around the room, scanning faces and assessing threats. Some would call it caution—others would call it paranoia—but you have to applaud him nonetheless. One can never be too careful, after all. While this bar does serve as an unofficial headquarters for the resistance, you’ve seen time and time again that the government has eyes and ears everywhere. You’ve watched friends and acquaintances alike get dragged off by uniformed guards, the emperor’s insignia on their chests shining bright as a flame and just as dangerous.

You’re seated at the counter on this particular evening. The bar is crowded, but even the other patrons’ chatter cannot drown out the conversation surrounding the man and his friends. It’s almost as if you’re attuned to them—like a radio set to a single station before the dial broke off. Every word comes through as clear as day, and you lean back in your seat to listen, sipping languidly on your drink.

“I’m telling you, we’re ready,” one of the men is saying. In the firelight, his brown hair glows orange, and the scruff of beard on his chin is rust. “One more week, and everything will be set. Taehyung’s already talked his way into the palace. We won’t have a better shot than this.”

“It’s hard to believe he’s already in,” the man across from him says, his wide doe eyes a stark contrast to the hard set of his jaw. “I thought it’d take him a lot longer, to be honest.”

“Tae’s a good liar,” a third man pipes up, shrugging. “Always has been.”

The second man snickers, his nose scrunching with mirth. “Really? You don’t say. You wouldn’t happen to be thinking about the dumpling incident again, would you, Jimin?”

Through all of this, the dark-haired man stays silent, sipping pensively on his drink. His gaze roves past where you’re seated, and though you can’t be certain, you swear it lingers for a split second before moving on.

“Let’s give credit where credit is due, though.” The first speaker is talking again, giving the dark-haired man a hearty clap on the back that nearly sends his tankard flying. “We wouldn’t have gotten half as far in our plan if it wasn’t for Yoongi here. How about a toast?”

“To Yoongi,” the one named Jimin intones immediately, raising his cup. “He’s always fighting the good fight.”

“To our very own Min Yoongi, finally taking out the asshole emperor for good,” the first man adds. “To one asshole killing another—and with the same last name, nonetheless. You sure there’s no relation between you two? We could be planning a patricide, for all we know.”

Yoongi stiffens. “Don’t even joke about that,” he says, his voice deep and lilting with a pleasant rasp that sends a shiver down the length of your spine. “That bastard isn’t my family. And even if he is—well, he won’t be for much longer.”

The threat lacing his words is unmistakable, and when you shiver again, it’s for a wholly different reason. People who want the cruel emperor dead aren’t difficult to come by, but few have the courage to speak of it so openly. But now, with the resistance’s plan finally coming to fruition, people are getting bolder. Tougher. Happier.

It hadn’t felt real, at first. The initial whispers were hesitant and disbelieving, but gained momentum with each passing day. Have you heard? The resistance is finally making a move. They’re going to kill Emperor Min. But despite the growing excitement amongst the townspeople, your heart remains heavy.

Ever since Emperor Min came into power a decade ago, his cruelty and ruthlessness have been unparalleled. His guards patrol the streets at night under the guise of keeping the peace, but you know as well as anyone that they’re searching for dissenters. Every night, you huddle away in your home with the windows shuttered, listening as the guards loot the bars and beat the helpless, all the while trying to root out rumored members of the resistance.

So far, their efforts have seen mixed success. Last you heard, some lower ranking members had been imprisoned. Several were executed two months back, their severed heads hung from the palace walls as an example to those who dared defy the regime. But the topmost members of the resistance, as well as the leader, have all managed to evade capture. They began a series of weekly raids, sneaking into the palace’s kitchens and coming away with stocks of food to feed the hungry. Next they looted the money vaults, filling their bags with bars of gold for distribution. And then they visited the armory.

Needless to say, the rumors swelled—as did the emperor’s desperation to quash the dissenters. You kept a careful ear close to the ground for any news, and listened in disbelief as each subsequent story grew more outlandish.

The leader of the resistance is the old emperor, who faked his death all those years ago.

The leader is Emperor Min’s bastard son, and he’s avenging his mother’s death.

The leader is—

A fresh wave of laughter draws you out of your thoughts, and your attention immediately goes to the source. The group of men surrounding Yoongi has dissolved into mirth, but the dark-haired man isn’t grinning with the rest of them. His dark eyes are trained on you, sharp and steady, and you wonder at what he could possibly be thinking. Is he even staring at you? You turn to check behind you, just to be sure.

And when you turn around again, he’s standing right in front of you.

“Oh!” you squeak, startled by his sudden proximity.

Yoongi blinks lazily at you, unfazed. He catches the bartender’s attention and buys another drink, and you belatedly notice that the tankard in his hand is empty and instantly feel foolish for assuming that he came over for anything else. Still, you can’t help but zero in on the way he leans against the counter as he waits, his body a hair’s breadth from yours, his elbows propped up on the polished wooden surface. This close to him, you can see the beginnings of an intricate serpentine dragon coiled around his right forearm, the inky black tail looping around his wrist before coming to a stop near the silver ring on his thumb. The rest of the tattoo disappears into the rolled up sleeves of his worn green jacket, and you wonder exactly where it begins.

Then you wonder what it would be like to trace those lines of ink with your fingers—and your tongue, if he permits it. Your throat bobs at the thought, your thighs squeezing together unconsciously, and it’s almost as if he can read your mind because he’s suddenly leaning closer, a crooked smirk playing on his lips.

“You seem tense,” he murmurs. “Why’s that, doll?”

A spark ignites the base of your spine at the term of endearment, flaring up through your veins. He’s so close you can count each individual eyelash, fluttering against his pale cheekbones with every blink. Silver earrings dangle from his ears—a combination of thin chains and hoops that glitter in the dim light. You think you spot another flash of silver between his lips, embedded in his tongue.

“Long week,” you manage at last, thanking your lucky stars that your voice comes out steady. “Trouble at work. But you don’t want to hear about that.”

“You’re right,” Yoongi replies, accepting the fresh drink that the bartender hands him with a nod of thanks. He takes a long sip, and you can’t help the way your gaze lingers on the soft curve of his lips around the rim of the glass. Then he nods at your own glass, which is half-full and mostly ice at this point. “Can I get you another? I hear alcohol makes your troubles go away.”

You raise a brow. “Really? I hear it just causes new, different troubles.”

An amused grin pulls at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “You may be right about that,” he concedes, setting his drink down with a thunk and leaning in close again. “So how exactly do you propose we make your troubles go away?”

Your other brow rises to join the first. “I don’t recall asking for your help.”

That earns you another grin. “And yet, here I am, offering my services nonetheless.”

A beat of silence stretches between you, taut as a tightrope and thick with tension. Yoongi raises his glass to his lips again, but his dark eyes remain fixed on yours over the rim, unblinking and never once wavering. The clamor of the bar fades into the background, slowing until it feels like you’re swimming in molasses. Your heart thuds in your chest, arrhythmic and fluttery as the wings of the butterflies that have made a home in your belly.

You blink first. Your gaze drops to the soft pout of his mouth, and that’s all it takes for the thread to snap—for Yoongi to ditch his drink and grab your hand instead. “You wanna get out of here?” he asks.

And maybe it’s the alcohol swimming in your system, but you nod. Yoongi stands up, tugging you with him, and you relish the way his fingers fit perfectly into the spaces between your own. He leads you through the crowded bar, weaving amongst the scattered tables and their occupants, and you gasp when he suddenly veers to the side and tugs you into a dim corridor. Several closed doors line it, and he doesn’t hesitate to cage you against the nearest one. His mouth descends on yours, slanting fervently across yours in a kiss, and your eyes flutter shut.

Yoongi kisses you with intoxicating ferocity. His palms are hot against the sliver of skin that your shirt has ridden up to reveal, and devious fingers slide beneath the hem to push it up further. You moan into his open mouth, your breaths intermingling, and it turns into a gasp when the doorknob suddenly digs into your back, cool and unyielding.

Your companion pulls back, frowning at the way the knob refuses to give beneath his fingertips. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Locked.”

“What a shame,” you breathe back.

He hums and takes your face in his hands, kissing you until you go weak in the knees. “I’ve got a car out back,” he rasps when he pulls away.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Not two minutes later, you’re stumbling out into the back alleyway, the low drone of traffic and passersby a welcome change from the din inside the bar. As promised, a beat-up black sedan is parked against the brick wall, and Yoongi wastes no time in pressing you down onto the hood, slotting himself between your spread legs and mouthing insistently at your neck until you’re scrabbling at his back, your breathing labored and shaky.

“Come on, doll.” Yoongi straightens up, raking his dark hair out of his eyes and offering you a crooked smirk. “You can do better than that. Be a good girl for me and let me hear you.”

A pulse of heat spikes through you. His hands come down on either side of your body, twin metallic thunks as the rings on his fingers meet steel. One side of his mouth quirks as he looms above you, but he doesn’t touch you just yet. The silvery chains around his neck glint in the dim glow of the streetlamp at the end of the alley, and Yoongi huffs out an amused chuckle when he notices your diverted attention.

“Eyes on me, doll,” he chides, tapping the side of his nose. “Unless you’re looking for an audience?” Thoughtfully, he glances over his shoulder, where the alley opens up into the main street. Despite the late hour, there are still cars and pedestrians ambling past, completely unaware of the obscene way you’re sprawled atop the hood of Yoongi’s car with the man himself between your legs.

Completely unaware of the way your skirt is now slowly riding up, aided by Yoongi’s warm hand sliding along the soft, delicate skin of your inner thigh.

“I think you might like the idea of an audience too much,” Yoongi breathes, leaning down until his breath is fanning against your cheeks. There’s a tinge of alcohol that lingers on him, the barest hint of sweetness, but it’s neither overbearing nor unpleasant. You’ve been with men like that before—men whose drunkenness made them bold and stupid and immune to your desires. Those men were nothing like Yoongi, who’s staring down at you, ravenous, as if you’re a feast just begging for him to partake. Nothing like Yoongi, whose carnal gaze promises that he knows exactly what you need.

“I think,” he continues, so casually he may as well have been talking about the weather, “it turns you on, knowing that anyone might look this way and see you like this.” His voice is casual but his smile is wicked, and the combination is enough to have your core seizing, untouched.

And then he’s grabbing at the material of your skirt, bunching it up and leaving your bottom half fully exposed. Teasing fingertips skim the lacy edge of your panties, and your eyes widen when he snaps the elastic against your skin. “Yoongi!”

“Much better,” he hums approvingly. Your cheeks flush with warmth.

When he touches you again, it’s with much more fervor, the pad of his index finger tracing your clothed slit and molding the dampened fabric to your folds. Distantly, you think that you should be more embarrassed, being this wet from just some kissing and a few calculated touches, but the rest of your brain is too lost in Yoongi to care. Your gaze traces the dark ink blossoming across the skin of his forearms, following the serpentine coils of the dragon around his wrist. And then it drops to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans, straining against the faded denim.

Yoongi spots your new fixation almost instantaneously, his smirk morphing into something mocking. “What is it, doll? Do you want something?”

“I—” you try, but your voice sticks in your throat. Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“That won’t do,” he says. He cups your mound in one warm hand, his middle finger dipping inside you through the lace of your underwear, and you keen at the foreign texture of the sodden material. “Would you like to try again?”

“Yoongi, please,” you breathe shakily. Your thighs clench together unconsciously, and your companion merely chuckles as he pushes them back apart and settles between them, nosing forward until he’s inches from your dripping core.

“Good girls tell me what they want,” he proclaims softly. “Good girls get rewarded. But bad girls, they get punished. Do you want to guess which one you are, doll?”

He leaves you little room to answer—not that you could’ve mustered up anything coherent even if you tried. In the span of a single breath, Yoongi pulls aside your drenched underwear and sinks his tongue inside your pussy, and you belatedly realize that you’d been correct when you thought you saw a silver piercing embedded in his tongue. The metal ball glides smoothly along your walls, hard and unyielding. Each time he pulls back, or darts up to flick at your clit, or laves at your folds with the enthusiasm of a man starved, you feel it rubbing up against your sensitive flesh, the stimulation unlike any other.

If this is his idea of punishment, you would happily take it any day, night, or afternoon.

There’s something beginning to brew in your belly—something coiling tighter and tighter with each movement of Yoongi’s questing tongue. He’s mouthing languidly at your clit now, winding lazy circles around the little nub while two of his fingers stretch you open, and you’re beyond thankful that he’s chosen to wear smooth rings tonight. The pressure grows as he digs deeper, and he must sense your rapidly approaching high because he doubles his efforts to get you there, sliding in a third finger and sucking harder on your clit. You’re so, so close.

And then it all stops.

Yoongi straightens up and withdraws his fingers, licking his lips. His chin is shiny with your juices and his fingers are likewise coated in your sheen, but he seems otherwise unruffled as he adjusts his sleeves and takes in your gaping visage.

“You—!” you splutter, distraught. “How could… I was so close!”

He pins you in place with a look, the corner of his mouth lifting into a wry smirk. “I told you that bad girls get punished, doll. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now, do I need to repeat myself again, or do you want to tell me what you w—”

“I want your cock,” you blurt. “Please, Yoongi.”

At your shameless declaration, his expression shifts—turning into something dark and positively predatory. “Then turn around for me,” he commands, his voice soft but no less authoritative. “Hands on the hood of the car. I’m not planning on being gentle.”

A shiver dances down your spine as you comply, bracing yourself against the car. It’s a warm night, but the steel is still cool to the touch, smooth and hard beneath your palms. Behind you, you can hear Yoongi shedding his jacket and unbuckling his belt, a muffled grunt of relief escaping him as he frees himself from the confines of his jeans. You want so badly to turn around and look at him—to take in the way his hand grips his cock and memorize every ridge and protruding vein—but you resist the urge. Instead, you wait, your head bowed, for him to make his next move.

Much to your relief, you don’t have to wait long. He’s palming at your hips before you can even draw your next breath, inked arms winding around your body so he can squeeze at your clothed breasts. He takes his time fondling each swell, pinching your nipples until they ache, and you sense the satisfaction radiating off of him when he finally decides to rid you of your shirt entirely.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he rasps, tracing along your spine before splaying a hand at the base so that you’re forced to arch for him. Immediately, you bend to his will, wiggling your hips slightly as you move into position. His sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and neither does the low hum of appreciation that bubbles up from his throat as he smooths a hand along the curve of your ass. You can’t help but preen a bit under his approval, and when Yoongi notices, he chortles and lands a teasing smack on your rear that has you moaning.

“Dirty girl,” he accuses, amusement lacing his tone. “You really want my cock that badly, doll?”

You can only nod, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind. He makes quick work of your soiled panties, hooking two thumbs into the waistband and tugging them down to pool around your ankles. Now completely bare, you can feel every inch of Yoongi’s lean torso as he pulls you close and positions himself at your entrance, parting your walls with near-tortuous deliberation.

“Faster,” you gasp, clenching around him in an effort to goad him into picking up his pace. “Yoongi, I want your cock so bad, please—”

The rest of your sentence ends in a garbled, choked moan. Yoongi thrusts forward with no preamble, filling you up to the very brim, and when he simultaneously finds your clit with his thumb, the jolt of pleasure is enough to steal all the oxygen from your lungs. He circles the sensitive nub between his fingertips with expert precision, and you can only whimper out his name as he starts up a steady rhythm, his mouth finding its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder and lingering there.

The tight coil of pressure is growing in your belly once more, and this time you know that Yoongi has no intention of stopping it. He’s so deep you can practically feel him in the back of your throat, and you hear rather than see the strain in his jaw as he grits out your name and commands you to come, his thumb rubbing against your clit in just the right way to send you hurtling off the precipice and into white-hot bliss.

By the time you come back down, he’s getting close too. You can tell from the way his pace gets more and more erratic, and you pretend you don’t hear the I love you intermingled with the filth and praise he whispers into your skin. Instead, you let him palm your hips and tug you closer, sighing out his name and encouraging him to yes, come inside me and I love you too.

It isn’t until your combined juices are beginning to drip down your thigh and his cock is slowly softening inside you, that he huffs out a hoarse laugh. “You ruined the immersion,” he murmurs, pulling out and turning you around so he can kiss you properly. “I don’t think you’d tell a complete stranger that you love them, no matter how good the sex may have been.”

You smack his arm weakly, giggling. “Oh, shut up. You told me you loved me first, you know.”

Yoongi hums and presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Whatever you say, doll.”

Still smiling, you nestle closer to him, burying your face into his bare shoulder. Idly, you trace the scars littered across his chest—each one its own individual constellation, telling the story of just how long he’s fought against the tyrannical regime you live under. At the thought, your smile fades.

“I hope you’re not wrong about the plan,” you murmur, stroking the scar that’s just above his heart before moving to the ones that decorate his ribcage, the puckered flesh intermingling with the inky gladiolus blossoms he’s gotten tattooed there. One flower for each member of the resistance who’s lost their life—a permanent in memoriam. You follow the delicate outlines with a fingertip, committing each and every one to memory, and think back to all the rumors that say the leader of the resistance is the zombified old emperor, or Emperor Min’s bastard son.

Yet none of the rumors are as powerful as the one that you know to be the truth—that the leader of the resistance is just a man. A man with a good heart and a kind soul, who grew tired of living under the emperor’s relentless tyranny and decided to take matters into his own hands. A man who remembered his fallen comrades, and always kept his word, no matter how small or trivial a thing it might be.

“Come back to me when it’s all over,” you whisper.

Yoongi tilts your chin up gently, cradling your face in his hands as if you’re made of glass. “I will,” he whispers back. “I promise.”

[aeonghaseyo]

Your Trace, My Treasure

Summary: Marc and Nathaniel write and draw, respectively, on each others' notebooks because it's DEFINITELY a couple thing to do.

Word Count: 2105 AO3 link

Relationship/s: Nathaniel Kurtzberg/Marc Anciel Category: M/M Characters: Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel, Alix Kubdel (mentioned), Marinette Dupain-Cheng (mentioned), Juleka Couffaine (mentioned), Rose Lavillant (mentioned), Alya Cesaire (mentioned) Language used: English Author's Note: The creators of MLB really need to give the side characters screen time. The love square isn't the only romantic set of ships in the show and there are much more cute ships to write about. And so in my first time of writing a Miraculous Ladybug fanfic, it's about a ship that's entirely not part of the love square. This is my final workshop output from a creative writing class I enrolled in during the summer to get units in advance. Special thanks to my professor and two of my classmates for their feedback; I couldn't have made this work even more wonderful without their help. For the non-love-square ship and this being a successful workshop output thus far, I think I'm gonna give myself a pat on the back and more fanfic ideas to write. :)

Compared to the courtyard at Françoise Dupont High School where the lively chattering of students can be heard and the scrambling of footsteps were a staple, the art room was its own entire world of silence.

It was supposed to be a calming silence in that same art room where Marc and Nathaniel were to work on art-related endeavors of their own, but the former found this unwelcoming and rather deafening. It weighed down on his being that the atmosphere was unbearably awkward, much like he was most of the time even before he met Nathaniel and became his partner in creating comic books about Ladybug, Chat Noir, and their akumatized alter-egos who turned good and served as part of the superhero duo’s akuma-fighting team. Despite a remarkable development from being acquaintances, to newfound partners, and now to a bloomed romantic couple, Marc Anciel, as awkward as ever and still testing the waters on this newfound relationship, couldn’t shake this nagging feeling of inadequacy as someone’s significant other.

It just goes to show him that even though his romantic feelings for Nathaniel had been reciprocated at Day 0, it does not remove the remaining unease that Marc currently feels at Day 1. It was his first time in a relationship, and it was with the boy whose drawings he admired so much from the school paper. Simply put, it was too good to be true.

Unfortunately, the awkwardness Marc felt wasn’t masked enough, and Nathaniel immediately noticed from his place by the table beside his raven-haired beau. How could he not? It was very obvious, from the way Marc’s hand shakily distorted his usually refined, elegant script while writing the next chapter of their comic to the way his expression was contorted as if he was constipated. Nathaniel thought to himself that it was still an adorable sight, but clearly, something was up, and it wouldn’t do well to just ignore whatever troubled his beloved partner. Attempting to break the ice, the redhead cleared his throat, then spoke to call Marc’s attention.

“Marc.”

The novelist jolted in surprise at the utterance of his name. “Y-yes, Nathaniel?”

Leaning in for a better view of the page Marc was writing on, Nathaniel replied, “Your handwriting’s different.”

“W-wait, really?” blurted out Marc, quickly covering the page with his gloved hand. “I d-didn’t know you were p-particular with handwriting.”

Nathaniel placed a gentle, caring hand on his boyfriend’s with a smile aimed directly at him as he clarified himself, “It’s not that, Marc. I’ve seen it and it’s great. Right now, it just looks… wobbly. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Even if Nathaniel was a recluse in his own class, he could very well read into the emotions of people, but he doesn’t show it that often. As endearing as it was as a show of concern towards shy Marc, it was also overwhelming for the raven-haired novelist to have been the subject of such deep perception, even from the boy his heart palpitates for.

It was then that Marc’s fight or flight response reminded him in a split-second that he needed some sort of diversion for Nathaniel not to remind him of his own awkwardness.

“Isn’t it weird that our art teacher didn’t come here?” Marc rapidly questioned as he struggled not to look at the red-haired boy beside him. Despite this attempt to keep Nathaniel’s focus off of his disposition, glancing towards the door and not at Nathaniel did not help stop the blood from rushing to the novelist’s fair cheeks. His partner might be tired of this, of him, already, but that light chuckle of pure amusement coming from Nathaniel disproved that thought.

“Hey, hey, settle down Marc,” chided Nathaniel, “he might be running late. It’s okay for us to use the art room so long as it’s reserved around this time. Good thing that he reserved it at an earlier time than usual.”

With innocent green eyes, the raven-haired boy looked his boyfriend in the eye and asked, “H-he can do that?”

“Of course, he can. Let’s just wait for him, okay?” reassured Nathaniel, his left hand making its way on Marc’s right shoulder discreetly. “I’m sure my other classmates will arrive here shortly too.”

A shy smile emerged from Marc’s face as he replied, “Okay, Nath.”

Suddenly, a ringtone from the phone which was in Nathaniel’s pocket sounded audibly enough to catch both the boys’ attention. The redhead immediately fished out the device from his pocket and unlocked it, revealing three unread text messages from his close friend Alix.

Hey Nath! Something came up and I couldn’t swing by the art room. Love troubles again with Marinette. Juleka and Rose are also helping out with me so they can’t come.

I can’t believe that Marinette got invited personally by Adrien to his photoshoot but she can’t even give him her handmade gift or ask him out. Because she’s such a wuss, I got dragged here in the park by Rose because Mari needs all of her girl friends to push her towards Golden Boy Agreste YET AGAIN.

And apparently Alya alone couldn’t do it. Sorry! You’ll have Marc to keep you company anyway. Have fun! ;)

So much for those girls coming over to the art room. Nathaniel let out a sigh as he muttered, just enough for Marc to hear, “I stand corrected. The others aren’t coming.”

Catching on his partner’s crest-fallen demeanor and gazing at his face with sympathetic green orbs, Marc replied, “Guess it’s just the two of us for now.”

The next minutes were spent in silence again, with Marc continuing to finish a paragraph while Nathaniel sketched a bird’s eye view of the Eiffel tower as the background in one panel of the comic storyboard in his notebook. After several minutes elapsed, however, curiosity got the best of Marc, and so, with the tip of his pen lingering on the period of his last sentence, he kept on glancing at Nathaniel and the storyboarding he was working on. Besides the sheer focus that was evident in Nathaniel’s turquoise orbs, the shy novelist couldn’t help but notice the fine, steady strokes his beau’s hand were making with his fine-pointed mechanical pencil. So neat, so pristine. It’s amazing how he didn’t need an eraser to erase certain portions of his drawings over and over.

Marc had seen artist sketches himself of both people and objects, mostly done by his friend Marinette. As someone aspiring to become a fashion designer, she would be engrossed in sketching designs day by day, passion ignited by the sparks of inspiration she draws from around her. However, since Marinette’s sketches had obvious hints of disorder, as it normally is with crude artist sketches, it clearly contrasted with the otherwise structured sketches Nathaniel makes for his comic books. Marc, fully in awe, couldn’t help but take a break from his writing and stare at the red-haired illustrator’s creative process right next to him.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel, thanks to the strong, overbearing feeling of being watched, was getting overly conscious of his work. Keeping his composure to the best of his ability, he quickly turned to Marc and asked, “Do you need something Marc?”

Snapped out of his trance wide-eyed, Marc inwardly panicked. ‘Oh no, I must be staring at him too long! I hope I didn’t spook him too much.’

Scrambling for a sensible response, the novelist stuttered out, “I-i want to write something in your notebook.”

Setting down his pencil while his turquoise eyes were still on Marc, Nathaniel blinked inquisitively. “Oh, why would you want to do that?”

“B-because,” the shy writer reasoned, “I want to write something to remind you of me. T-that is, if y-you don’t mind.”

The red-haired teen averted his gaze from his partner as he remarked, “You know I don’t let anyone write on my notebook, Marc.”

This response triggered the disappointment that Marc had anticipated from the moment that they started continuing to develop the rest of the comic book they were working on together. It was even more daunting for the timid writer that their art teacher and the rest of Nathaniel’s classmates who were usually in the art room with them did not show up at that moment, or even at all. Marinette would tell Nathaniel that it’s a great idea for his newfound love to leave special traces on his personal notebook while Rose, somehow finding this romantic, would gush at this gesture with Juleka mumbling to herself in response. But what would have been the cherry on top for Marc at the moment is that if Alix was there to egg on Nathaniel, pressuring him to give in and let his boyfriend write something in his notebook. At least the comic relief from Alix’s teasing would help alleviate the collective awkwardness the couple felt at that moment. God, if only it wasn’t just the two of them in the art room at that moment.

But alas, he was alone, helpless and daunted, and he was facing the dragon which was Nathaniel, or whatever Nathaniel thought of him at that moment.

However, all of the fears and doubts that plagued Marc left him when Nathaniel continued with a small, endearing smile on his face, “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

The novelist beamed at his boyfriend, green eyes sparkling with delight. “R-really?”

“In one condition.”

Marc took and held in a quick breath. “Anything, Nath.”

The illustrator picked up his pencil once again and uttered, with an outstretched hand right by Marc’s notebook, “Let me draw in your notebook.”

It was at that moment when Marc could feel his heart flutter, accompanied by the butterflies in his stomach as he opened his own notebook to the very last page and laid it out right by his beau’s workspace.

“It would be my pleasure.”

In a span of 2 minutes while Nathaniel was drawing on the last page of his boyfriend’s notebook, Marc, fidgeting and tapping his pen softly on his chin, racked his brain for a simple yet memorable piece to write on the first page of the illustrator’s notebook, which was left empty out of personal preference by its owner. Hoping to obtain bit by bit of inspiration, he glanced at Nathaniel, then at the empty page, then at Nathaniel, and so on and so forth. This went on, albeit unnoticed by the redhead, until mere seconds after, he scribbled away on the page once he had gotten attuned with his creative writing flow.

After both of them finished leaving their traces on each other’s notebook pages, Nathaniel and Marc gave each other back their notebooks and instantly opened them to where they each left their special mark. Struck with awe, the novelist softly traced the outline of the drawing and his emerald eyes were drawn to Nathaniel’s signature which he left underneath the recently drawn portrait. A tinge of pink formed on Marc’s cheeks as he admired every stroke that constituted this drawing of him done by none other than the boy he once looked up to, now loved, and who loved him back.

“No one’s written me a poem before,” Nathaniel uttered as he perused every line written by Marc on that now extra special page in his notebook, eyes taking in every word written in that distinct elegant script that served as an epitome of beauty that the redhead beheld. One particular line at the end of the writing, however, caught him by surprise: the words ‘Je t’aime’ accompanied by Marc’s signature in that same fancy handwriting the illustrator adored dearly.

Having regained his composure, Marc turned to Nathaniel and asked, “Do you like the poem? I-i thought of it on the spot so it might not exactly be to your liking, but-”

“I love it,” interrupted the red-haired teen breathlessly, wrapping an arm around his significant other and squeezing his shoulder. “Really Marc, you make the most wonderful written pieces.”

An expression as bright as day graced Marc’s features as he replied, albeit with a bit of shyness in his voice, “Y-you really think so?”

Nathaniel threw any single hint of hesitation in his being out the window as he placed a tender, loving kiss on Marc’s forehead. “I do. We’re meant to be partnered together, after all.”

And just like that, the uncomfortable awkwardness that haunted Marc was instantly warded off, and in a flash, he enveloped Nathaniel in a tight, warm, loving embrace and leaned into him in newfound solace. The silence in the art room has never been this comforting as the couple relished in this seemingly endless embrace together.

[turnsorrow]

Her, reaching both hands out, placing them Alisaie's cheeks and giving them a gently squeeze. "We're both short..." - fuyu

&  RE  :     your days are numbered    /    @galaxiasus.

NEVER HAVE FUYUMI’S HANDS BEEN KNOCKED AWAY  so quickly, not even by the violent attacks of their mutual enemies. The glare that Alisaie fixes her with is so dark that it could readily kill, given the chance to do so.

“I will end you.”  She would have the last laugh, when the genes of elezen kicked in as she grew older. A full several feet should she tower over this girl, she’s sure.