#knives and the ladies can not escape

[pidgydraws]

💥 NMLW - No Man’s Land Wrestling 💥

it’s WrestleMania weekend and it’s my blog! so now you all have to witness my tristamp professional wrestling AU! >:3

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 1

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2.2k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 1: The understatement of the century

To say Roronoa Zoro was intrigued would be the understatement of the century. The straw hats had arrived at the peaceful island the day before. It was by far the most boring island they’d visited on their voyage. The small port town was serene, seemingly untouched by the chaos of the outside world. It was a refreshing change of pace for the crew after the usual turmoil of their adventures. They’d decided to spend a few days on land while the log pose set the way to their new adventure. They’d relax a little, take the time to stock up on provisions and perhaps even enjoy a bit of leisure time.

At first he’d thought it was a fluke. He’d been seated at the bar when the bar tender whipped out a black bladed knife to cut a lemon. It couldn’t be, could it? And yet as he continued to examine it from afar, the more certain he’d been. It was most definitely a haki infused blade. His eye had narrowed as he’d taken in the old pudgy bar tender. No. He was normal. There was no way he’d infused the blade with haki. Whatever. He’d given up on the mystery for the night. He was here to drink, it didn’t matter.

It was the next morning as he reluctantly accompanied the silly cook for his errands that the mystery hit him again. The merchants were all using haki infused tools. Hell, even the farmer they’d crossed was raking with a haki infused rake. This should in no way be possible. It took years of battle for haki to infuse permanently with a blade. One was a fluke, there was an insanely small probability that maybe a kitchen knife could be infused with haki through generations. But this? This was not a fucking fluke. He’d felt something drop in his stomach at the realization. There was someone on this island infusing every scrap of metal they could find with haki.

The sudden awareness of the sheer amount of haki infused objects on the island ignited Zoro’s curiosity like a blazing fire. He had to know. That evening, he asked the bartender. “Oi, that blade. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, this old thing?” The portly man answered casually, as if it were the most ordinary knife in the world.

Zoro nodded encouraging the old man to continue.

“The witch made it,” he chuckled.

“Witch?” he asked incredulously.

“Well… She’s not exactly a witch. It’s just how the children refer to her,” he laughed heartily. “I bought this knife from our resident blacksmith. She can be a bit abrasive, but you won’t get a better knife anywhere else.” The old man twirled the knife in his hand, a fond look in his eyes. “I’ve had this one for years now, never had to sharpen it once. It’s just as sharp as the first day I used it.”

“Huh,” Zoro grunted in response.

“That’s right! They’re really amazing! If you want one of those, young man, you should go up the mountain to see her,” an older lady joined in to the conversation.

“Yes! It really is a must! You won’t find anything else like it,” another middle aged man sitting next to him added. “She always has a few good knives in stock.”

“She might chew you out though,” a younger woman added behind his back. “You never really know with her. It’s always a fifty-fifty chance,” the whole bar laughed at the comment. Clearly invested in the conversation. Comments and funny stories about their interactions with the ‘witch’ flowing through the tables.

“Up the mountain, huh?” Zoro muttered more to himself than anything.

“Aye, lad,” the bartender answered him. “But heed that warning. With her you never know whether she’ll sell you the knife or throw it at you.” Another wave of laughter went through the bar. Acclamations of ‘that’s right!’ and ‘true, true’ in agreement flowed around him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He downed his drink, a half-smile quirking his lips. He’d decided he’d find this ‘witch’. He had questions and he would get answers.

The next morning he’d woken up early. Robin had quirked an eyebrow in surprise as he’d entered the kitchen, sun still low on the horizon.

“Oh! Zoro!” Luffy had said between mouthfuls. “You going somewhere?”

Zoro grunted in response, his mind already set on the task ahead. “Yeah, I’m heading up the mountain” He replied tone resolute.

Luffy paused mid-bite, his expression shifting to curiosity. “What for?” He asked interest glinting in his eyes.

Zoro couldn’t help the faint smile twitching at his lips. “I’m gonna find a witch,” he said cryptically.

“A witch?” Robin inquired, setting down her book, evidently intrigued.

Sanji, who’d been quietly preparing breakfast, perked up at the mention. “You mean the blacksmith girl?” he interjected, a smile playing on his lips. “They say not only she’s talented but she’s a true beauty,” he added, hearts almost coming out of his eyes.

A ‘tsk’ escaped Zoro’s lips at the pervy cook’s reaction. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“You better not spend all my money on some fancy blade,” Nami cut in, opening the door to the kitchen.

Zoro grunted in response.

Luffy with a full mouth asked “Can I come with?” He was clearly bored of doing nothing.

“Me too?” Robin added.

Zoro nodded in response. It didn’t really matter to him. He just had to put this mystery to rest.

Luffy swallowed down the mountain of food before him in one go. “Alright! Let’s go!” He declared excitedly with his signature grin marking his face.

“Don’t get lost!” Nami had screamed from the deck of the ship as the three of them made their way to the mountain path.

The trail was an arduous one but it wasn’t too hard to navigate. The air growing crisper and colder as they ascended. Robin led the way, chuckling at their captain’s tone-deaf singing. The scenery was nice, the quiet rustle of leaves and distant hum of birds accompanying their journey.

“Oi, Zoro, why do they call the blacksmith a witch?” Luffy asked along the way.

“Dunno,” Zoro replied.

“I heard some children say the witch puts magic in the metal she forges,” Robin answered instead. “Some of them say they could see black things floating around when she works. Others say it’s only the product of children’s imagination” She continued. “It’s a mystery really.”

“Ehh! “ Luffy interjected. “Magic huh, sounds interesting” he mused.

“It’s probably just haki,” Zoro added.

“Most likely, after all not everyone is able to see it” Robin agreed. “You see, Luffy, what’s actually the mystery is the concentration of haki infused objects in this town,” She carried on, all attention on her. “In archaeology, haki infused blades are an extremely rare find. They are very few and far in between. Zoro probably knows more than me on the subject,” She eyed him a small smile on her lips. “But it takes a lot of skill both from the person forging the blade and the swordsman wielding the blade for it to become permanently infused with haki.”

Zoro nodded, confirming her suspicions.

“Now what is actually strange here is” She took a pause, trying to find the right words. “While haki infused blades are found here and there, haki infused daily objects have never been heard of.” She stopped in her tracks, looking at Zoro, a serious look in her eyes as she finished. “And this town is practically overflowing, with haki infused objects. Knives, rakes, sewing needles, even nails. Name it it’s probably there. It makes no sense really.”

“Is that so?” Luffy said. “I’m not sure I understand, but it sure does sound interesting,” he continued ahead on the path. “I wonder if she’s a good witch or a bad one,” he mused, Robin’s explanation going right over his head.

Zoro and Robin exchanged an amused look. A small sigh escaping their lips as they continued up the mountain.

It didn’t take long for Luffy to scream back at them. “Oi, I see a house! Hurry up you guys!”

As Zorro and Robin rejoined Luffy, they spotted a tall frail looking woman exiting a building. Something was clearly wrong, she had a hurt look in her eyes, her pace slightly off. Before they could stop him. Luffy was already shouting, “Hey! You! Are you the witch?”

The interruption seemed to snap her out of whatever trance she’d been in, blood coming back to her rosy cheeks. A soft smile plastered her lips. “Me?” She asked, amusement clear in her voice. She laughed, a clear cheerful din travelling in the crisp morning air. “Gods, no. That would be my sister.”

“That so? Why is she called a witch?” Luffy asked, no tact as usual.

She chuckled. “I’m not sure” She pondered. “Maybe it’s because of her temper, maybe it’s because of her skills as a blacksmith. Not everyone can see her magic after all.” She added in a sing song. It was clear to Robin that the young woman was the one entertaining the children’s fantasies.

“Is she here? I realllly want to see a witch,” Luffy probed. “I’m Luffy by the way. I’m gonna become the king of the pirates.”

“What?” The young woman laughed, incredulous at the captain’s antics. “I’m Mary.” She answered the introduction. “My sister is in her workshop, I wouldn’t recommend going in there though, she’s in a really bad mood today.”

None of the straw hats heard the second half of the sentence. Following their captain in the workshop instead.

To say the past few months had been hell to you would be the understatement of the century. You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or scream. Your hammer clanked against the block of steel you were working. You were in a really bad mood. Enraged, would be more appropriate. You were aware your strikes were a touch too hard, risking the steel to settle wrong. You didn’t really care; anger clouded your eyes. Tears of fury threatening to blur your sight.

At first it’d been a captain from the navy. He’d offered some kind of contract from the government. You’d politely refused him, you were no government dog. But the bastard had simply turned away and said they’d be back. Then it had been fucking pirates. One after the other, you’d refused them. Ain’t no way you’d serve under thieving assholes either. But then. Then, a fucking admiral had shown up on your door. You scowled as his sleezy smile made its way in your mind. You’d told him no. He’d told you he’d pick you up in a month. Before he’d gone, he’d given you a wanted poster with your face on it. 1 Billion berries, it said. Dead or alive, it said. The threat was clear, refuse the government’s offer again and they were going to make sure you’d regret it. AND THEN. As if that wasn’t enough, a Yonko… A FUCKING YONKO, had strolled in your workshop as soon as the sleezy son of a bitch had left and asked you to join his crew. Admittedly you might have snapped, thrown a few knives and foul words his way. But the red-haired jerk had simply laughed and said he’d be back soon.

The one-month limit was nearing the end. You sighed.

“(Y/n)! Are you listening to me?” Mary, your sister, asked, sitting on a stool at the other end of your workshop.

“What?” you snapped at her not stopping your work. The rhythmic clank of your hammer on steel the only thing keeping you sane.

“I’m just saying, maybe you should reconsider that last offer. He didn’t seem like a bad guy, and you know the next time the Navy docks here, they won’t give you a choice.” She tried to plead with you.

“I’m not going to serve under a fucking Yonko,” your answer was final and she knew it. Still, she flinched at your tone, brows furrowing angrily.

“Why are you always such a bonehead,” she shouted at you. “At this point, your stubbornness is going to be what’s going to kill you. You need to leave this place!”

The next clang of your hammer was definitely too hard, leaving a deep dent in the hot steel. You didn’t stop even though the block was most definitely ruined. You’d have to re-melt it later. It didn’t matter. The outrage you felt at the situation started to border on fury. The air around you felt heavy, red crackling lightning-like filaments joining the threads of black flowing around you and into the steel.

“(Y/n),” You heard Mary plead. You saw her start to sway a little, her face beginning to blanch. “Stop! You know I can’t breathe when you get like that” She tried to calm you.

You couldn’t. The only thing in your head was that poster. 1 Billion berries. Fuck. You almost wished you could hand yourself in for that amount of berries. The sleezy asshole would be back soon. The atmosphere around you crackled more intently. The rage simmering under your skin threatened to boil over.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Then.” You answered, each word punctuated by the clank of your hammer.

Even looking only from the corner of your eye, the hurt was clear on her face. The pace of her footsteps was uneven, threatening to crumble under the oppressiveness of your haki. You sighed, guilt temporarily flooding your heart. You’d apologize later.

Next Chapter →

Masterlist

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 2

Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.4k

(CW: general vampirism, period typical sexism, forced marriage)

Summary:

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the little time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top. 

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

Read on ao3

There’s a knock on your door the next morning, but you ignore it- too consumed by the throbbing pain in your head and the feeling of tiny knives stabbing at the back of your eyes. This is what you get for crying yourself to sleep. 

At some point last night, you had managed to pull yourself off the floor and into the bed, still wearing your gown. You had barely thought to pull the pins out of your hair before you were curling in on yourself under the covers, pillow dampening under your cheek. 

But there are no tears left this morning, only anger burning through your veins. 

Anger felt easy, anger felt familiar. Anger masked hurt and gave it a purpose. You were hurt by Astarion because he made you feel special and you were angry at yourself because you had been too caught up in the fantasy and believed him. The two sentiments twisted and warped in your mind until you were left angry at Astarion for tricking you.

There’s another knock at the door and it infuriates you. Why couldn’t you be left alone to grieve? These people would have the entirety of your life to bother you. Did you not deserve one day to yourself? You pick up one of your shoes from the floor and hurl it at the door as you yell at the person on the other side to leave you alone. 

Thankfully, your message must have been received, because for a few moments, there’s nothing but glorious silence. You let your eyes drift closed again, but your mind is too quick to turn back to last night- how easy it had been to dance with Astarion, how his arm had felt wrapped around your waist, the solid line of his body as he had pinned you to the wall and threatened you. And through all those memories is your new fiancé’s stupid, perfect, beautiful, lying face.

The way you see it, you have two ways of getting out of this wedding. Either you manage to escape or figure out how to kill Astarion. 

How do you kill a vampire, though? You try to pull the stories you were told as a little girl from the recesses of your mind to see if you remember any weaknesses or weapons you can use against him. You’re supposed to drive something through their heart- a wooden stake. The elegant wooden bed posts are perhaps the most reasonable candidate, you just have to figure out how to saw through the thick wood. At this point, you’re desperate enough to start gnawing on one like a beaver. You’re studying the posts and losing hope at the feasibility of turning one into a stake when the dark haired woman from last night bursts her way into the room. 

“Get out!” You practically screech at her, reaching down to pick up your remaining shoe to throw it at her. The woman simply dodges the shoe and continues wheeling in a cart of food. 

“You weren’t answering the door, my lady,” she says, in a sickly sweet voice that makes you want to grab the butter knife from the cart and jam it into her throat. The way she looks at you makes you feel like you were the one inconveniencing her and not that she is complicit in your captivity.

The butter knife had you thinking again, though. It was not the best weapon by any means, but it was perhaps the best defense you would have access to. You rise from the bed and move toward the cart under the guise of investigating the food on it. 

It is a lavish spread. Someone had obviously gone through great care to make sure you would find at least something on it appealing and your growling stomach is tempted by some of the sweet-looking pastries. Nevertheless, in your scheming this morning, you had already decided that one of your little acts of revenge will be to refuse food. Astarion can’t very well keep a prisoner who is dead. Or at the very least, it will be a great inconvenience for him and that thought fills you with the tiniest spark of joy.

You press your hands to the cart, continuing your fake investigation of the breakfast. The servant has her back turned to you as she remakes the bed and you take the opportunity to carefully slide the knife off the cart, concealing it in the pocket in the folds of your skirt. 

“I’m not hungry,” you finally declare, as you settle at the little table in the corner of the room. You feel better, now that you’ve got your secret little knife with you- more prepared, and at least a small step further on your plot to get out of here. 

“Lord Ancunin will be worried about you if you don’t eat,” the lady answers, but you can tell she is growing a bit exasperated by your antics. She prepares a plate of food anyway, setting it on the table in front of you. Passing over the food, you instead pick up the cup of tea she’d poured in an attempt to soothe your stomach. 

“Astarion can worry all he’d like. I’m not going to let him fatten me up like I’m some pig he’s readying for slaughter,” you push the plate back toward her as you speak. 

Astarion might have gotten what he wanted for now, but you were by no means going to make this easy for him. You were going to fight and claw and resist him in every way you knew how. A dark, vengeful part of you smirks at the idea of his pretty face marred by your claw marks. 

“If he wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” the maid says, though her face does soften a bit, full of pity. You hate her for that, for pitying you. Had you really fallen so far that you were seen as nothing more than a helpless little snack for a vampire Lord? 

 “At least let me help you out of that dress. You’ll feel better with a change of clothes,” she says and even though you’ve decided that this woman is your new enemy along with Astarion, she might be right that you would feel better in new clothes. You debate whether you should accept this offer of help or not, worried that if she were to help you out of your dress, she would find your precious knife tucked in the pocket. 

She seems to notice your internal struggle and offers, “Or I could bring you a new dress and you could change on your own?”

You do end up agreeing to those terms, but quickly discover that you have vastly underestimated the difficulty of removing a ballgown. You weren’t used to dressing by yourself and the tiny buttons down the back of your gown seem too slippery and impossible to manage on your own. For a moment, you consider giving up entirely and just wearing this dress for the rest of your miserable life, but now that the idea of changing your clothes has gotten in your head, you want out of the stupid dress that is so full of reminders of last night.

You quickly tuck the knife underneath the pillows of the bed so that the woman cannot find it in your skirts before you swallow your pride and hesitantly knock on the inside of the door. It whips open almost immediately, the dark haired woman looking at you curiously, her long ponytail swaying behind her.

“Can you help me? I can’t get this dress off by myself,” you say, but you can feel your voice is tinged with embarrassment.

She enters the room again and undoes the slippery buttons on the back of your dress with dextrous fingers. Her speed is irritating since you had just spent the past half hour hopping around your room with your hands twisted behind your back like a fool. 

“What’s your name?” you finally ask, as she’s helping to undo your corset.

“Shadowheart, my lady.”

“That’s a…” you struggle with the words, trying to be polite, “unique name.”

Shadowheart snorts out a laugh and you appreciate that she seems to have a sense of humor. “I’m not from around here.” 

The dress she helps you into is soft and simple. The pale blue cotton is light and will keep you cool during the warm summer afternoon and the thin lace trim around the neckline is delicate and refined, hinting at your fiancé’s wealth. It’s the complete opposite of what you would have expected for the bride of a vampire. A part of you had even considered that Astarion might keep you dressed up in gaudy ball gowns for the rest of all time. He did seem to have a flair for the dramatic. Your initial pleasure with the dress sours when you realize this dress was just another reminder that as your husband, Astarion could completely control every aspect of your life, right down to the clothes on your back. Or the lack of clothes, though you shudder at the thought. 

“We can go to a dressmaker soon and get you new clothes,” Shadowheart says, when she notices you plucking sadly at the material. “Or we can try writing a letter to your father and organize having your old clothes sent here, if you’d rather?”

Her offer makes you question if you might have been too quick to judge Shadowheart, who has been nothing but kind to you this morning, even when you have screamed and thrown things at her. Perhaps you could manage to turn her into a useful ally in your escape, after all. You couldn’t allow yourself to think that you might grow friendly with her over time. No, right now, all your mental faculties need to be dedicated to getting out of here before the wedding, before you would be legally bound to Astarion. 

“The dressmaker is agreeable to me- though, it would be nice to have some of my old items sent here. Personal belongings and books and whatnot,” you answer and she gives you a small smile. Truthfully, you’d rather not have your old wardrobe sent here, especially since you planned on leaving before it would arrive. Those dresses hold memories that at this point, you’d rather forget. But, if you were to be stuck here forever, you would certainly miss your little collection of books and you also long desperately for the necklace your mother had given you before she died- it would provide a small bit of comfort in this very stressful time.

You hesitate to tell Shadhowheart that the necklace is the real purpose of your request. If your father was given any inclination how much that necklace meant to you or how much it was likely worth, it would certainly be missing if your belongings ever did show up. 

“That can certainly be arranged, my lady,” she gives you another sweet smile as she guides you to sit so she can work on your hair. She looks like she’s debating whether or not to speak for a moment before she says, “Believe it or not, but everyone here really does want what’s best for you. This was just the only way for Astarion to ensure you kept his vampirism a secret.”

You scoff, immediately dismissing her words. You hadn’t missed the way that she had mistakenly called him Astarion rather than Lord Ancunin. There was a familiarity that was suggested at her use of his first name and it sat wrong with you- this idea that Astarion could be respected or, gods forbid, friendly enough with his staff that they would feel comfortable using his first name.

“But what about the woman he was drinking from last night? Why does she get to leave with her freedom?” You snap back at her, the hypocrisy of it all fanning the spark of anger within you again. 

“The Lord has a longstanding agreement with several local people.” Shadowheart explains and when you let out a huff of annoyance at her answer, she continues, “There’s a level of trust and predictability there that isn’t present with you. You’re a wild card.”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” you grumble, though you aren’t entirely sure if there was any truth to your words. You hadn’t really had time to think about what you would do after the ball since you were too focused on trying to escape Astarion. Perhaps you might have told your father on the carriage ride home, but he would have probably used it as an excuse to send you to the nuthouse and finally be rid of you. You would have still ended the night locked in a room, though admittedly one with worse interior design. 

Even after Shadowheart excuses herself from the room, you sit glumly over this realization. It seems predetermined that your fate was to be imprisoned- in the asylum, in this room, in a marriage to Astarion or a marriage to that rat of a man who had been with your father last night. 

The escape efforts continue in your mind, but you grow half-heartedness as the hours continue to tick by. 

Shadowheart returns a few hours later with lunch, a spread of meats and cheeses with breads and dried fruits. Your fingers pass reluctantly over the dates, which were always a favorite of yours, while you reach to pour yourself a cup of tea. It’s dark and rich and you only realize after you’ve drunk the whole pot that it’s filled the room with a hint of a lovely bergamot smell. Your heart twinges when you realize that Astarion has taken this from you now, too- that bergamot has become intrinsically linked with him in your mind

You spend time staring out the window at the view of the garden, watching the servants come and go as they clean up after the ball and you can’t help but wonder if your view is by design or if this room is just the most equipped to hold a prisoner. Since your room is on the top floor, the distance to the ground makes jumping impossible. The drop could potentially kill you or at least leave you so injured you wouldn’t be able to get very far. It takes about an hour to tie together the sheets from the bed and see how long you can fasten the makeshift rope, if maybe you can climb down the side of the building before you jump. Ultimately, you don’t have enough material and the drop would still be too far. You remake the bed, disheartened at your lack of viable escape options. 

When Shadowheart returns a few hours later, she lets out an annoyed sigh at your uneaten lunch, replacing it with dinner, roast duck on a bed of fragrant rice. The aroma wafts through the room, but you hold strong, letting the bowl sit untouched on the small corner table. Once again, you greedily suck down the tea, grateful that you were given an herbal blend that smells of lavender rather than bergamot. 

The lack of progress you’ve made in escaping today has you feeling defeated, and you resolve yourself to the fact that your only available option is to fight your way out. After retrieving your hidden butter knife from underneath the plump pillows, you wait by the door. Strength isn’t your strong suit, so the act of surprise will have to be your weapon. You aren’t entirely sure how much damage you can do with the dull knife, but a poor weapon is better than no weapon at all. Hopefully, you can subdue the next person who comes through that door and negotiate your way out. Shadowheart would likely be back to help you prepare for bed soon and as guilty as you feel at the prospect of using her as a hostage, your own well-being was paramount. 

The doorknob twists and you pounce. It’s perhaps the worst or the best possible option of who has opened the door.

“Oh, I rather like being in this position with you. Tell me, dearest, what will you do with me now that you’ve caught me?” Astarion practically purrs with his beautiful, lilting voice. 

You have Astarion pinned to the wall in the perfect mirror image of last night, your arm against his chest so that the knife is pressed firmly against the column of his throat. You don’t allow yourself to look at his neck longer than it takes to position the knife, too scared you will be distracted by the way the muscles curve and dip into that delightful hollow at the base of his throat. 

But you do catch the two distinct puncture wounds on his neck. The crude markings looked as if a wild animal had ripped their teeth into him carelessly. They can only be one thing. Bite marks. 

The twin scars were an obvious clue to his true nature, a birthmark left from when he was reborn anew as a vampire. The high collar he had been wearing last night had covered them but the scar tissue is jagged and rough against his pale skin and they stand out unmistakably now. 

Ripping your gaze from his neck, you glare into his definitely-not-distracting eyes as he regards you with a hint of amusement that just serves to irritate you further. You were supposed to be intimidating here, not amusing. 

“Really, what was the plan here?” Astarion seems to grow bored at your lack of a response, lips turning up at the corner as he lets out a breath of laughter, “To stab me to death with a knife that’s not even sharp enough to cut a slice of bread?”

Your arm holding the knife up to his neck wavers and Astarion’s fingers trace a gentle path across your arms until he grasps your hand, nearly crushing it in his grip. The pain makes you involuntarily open your fist and the knife clatters to the floor with a clunk. Astarion’s quick to move his boot to step on it so you’re unable to pick it up. 

With the threat of the knife removed, Astarion still lets you keep him pinned to the wall. “I see you got at least something out of the breakfast I sent for you.”

“I don’t appreciate being locked in my room,” you snarl back at him. 

“Yes, well, when you start to earn some trust, I’ll let you out. But you’re not off to a strong start with the knife, darling.”

Darling.

You think of how he had called you darling last night as he swept you into his arms and danced, how it had sounded like a hymn dripping from his lips that caused a sweet warmth to pool in your belly. Now, you practically hiss at him using the words, hackles raised in defense like a wild dog. 

He pokes your cheek, lips curled up in a smile, “Very scary.”

“I hate you.”

“A shame, really. We could’ve had so much fun together,” Astarion’s hand sneaks down to curl around your back and rest against your hip while he talks, pulling you closer against him. The position is so similar to how he had held you while you danced last night and for a moment, you give in, letting yourself enjoy his touch rather than immediately shaking his hands off. 

His voice is deep and sultry, hand tightening where it clutches against the fabric of your dress, “If only you hadn’t ruined my plans for last night… I would have come back from my midnight snack, satiated by blood, but starving for you. I would have taken you to stroll the gardens, fed you a line about how the roses were jealous of your beauty and I would have even cut one off for you for you to remember me by.”

You’re struck by how similar his plan was to your daydream last night, as if Astarion was intimately familiar with your deepest desires.  

He’s leaning closer and the soft brush of one of his white curls against your forehead is nearly divine as his words continue to hypnotize you, “I would have kissed you, over and over and over again, until you couldn’t think straight.” 

“I could’ve touched you,” he emphasizes his words by dipping the hand on your waist just a fraction of an inch lower. The warm smell of bergamot is flooding your senses and his mouth is moving so, so close to yours, only a hair’s breadth away from your own as he speaks in a rich, seductive voice. Your lips part in anticipation, breath hitching in your throat at the thought.

“Have you ever been touched before?” His gaze feels like a caress as it slides down your neck to your collarbones, gentle fingers tilting your chin up to refocus your gaze on his lovely face. 

“No, not a proper little girl like you. I can’t imagine how pent up you are. I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars.  Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.”

“Enough,” you shake your head, placing your hand against his chest to press yourself a step away from him. His eyes are dark and hooded as he follows your movement and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the flaming heat you feel licking at your face. 

It’s cruel of Astarion to imprison you and then come in here and fill your mind with delicious fantasies. Perhaps this is his way of playing with his food- to visit you and shame you for how desperately you wanted him. It was cruel of him to demean you for your desire, not after he pretended to need you just as badly last night. 

“You don’t get to mock me,” you say to him, once you’ve collected your composure.

“I’m not mocking, pet, I’m teasing.” He’s still leaned against the wall, arms casually crossed across his chest. “It’s what good lovers do to each other.”

“Lovers?” you splutter.

“I’m teasing again, dear. Gods, you make it so easy.” Astarion finally pushes himself off from the wall, leaning down to pick up the knife and tuck it in his own pocket.

You glare at him while he moves, attempting to assert your dominance over a situation that you were quickly losing control of. 

“You haven’t eaten today,” Astarion breaks the silence, eyes softening a bit. He sounds genuinely concerned and his pretend sincerity has you wondering if you could be quick enough to grab the knife back out of his pocket and give him a good stab in the side. He doesn’t get to be concerned about you. Not when he is the one causing you distress.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Your stomach betrays you by choosing that moment to grumble. You know Astarion heard it. Damned vampire.

“My, my. Well, you’re either lying or you’re dying of some weird stomach condition. And as much fun as the latter would be, I’d really prefer you stay alive until our wedding.”

Refusing to respond to his taunts, you cross your arms over your chest and continue glaring.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you, darling. That would be a waste of perfectly good blood.” Astarion says, rolling his eyes. You know that he catches how you stiffen at the mention of blood.

“Oh,” he draws out the word all long and self-important now that he thinks he has you figured out, “So that’s what you’re worried about, that I’m going to drink from you. Dearest, as fun as it was chasing after you last night, I prefer meals that are a bit easier to catch.”

You remain silent, still, and Astarion takes a step closer to you, his fingers brushing affectionately against your upper arm. It’s nearly impossible to hold back the shiver that threatens to run down your spine.

“Just promise me you’ll eat something,” his eyes have got that stupid soft-ness to them again that makes you want to do the opposite of what he’s saying just to spite him. 

You remind yourself that you can’t believe a word he says. Astarion has proven himself as a liar and a cheat. In fact, his whole act tonight is probably a part of his masterplan to sacrifice you for your virgin blood or something. 

“I won’t promise you anything!” you cry, incredulous. 

Astarion moves to leave but pauses in the doorway, hand curled around the doorknob. If he would just open the door, you could try to rush out around him. 

“How do you feel about a nighttime wedding?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. 

“Whatever pleases you, husband.” You hiss back at him. “My opinion on our upcoming marriage hasn’t seemed to matter so far.”

“Yes, well, you do forfeit some right to make your own choices when you exhibit poor decision making capabilities and sneak around, following scary monsters in the dark,” he snarks, which sets off a fresh wave of anger within you. 

Astarion closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath. You feel a bit of pride that you seem to be getting under his skin just as much as he is frustrating you. 

“You like roses, right?” Astarion asks.

“Yes,” you reply. The initial pleasure that he had remembered a detail about you from last night fades as you begin to grow wary about his motives in asking.

“Good, I’ve planned for there to be plenty at the wedding tomorrow night. I’ll be the handsome devil standing at the end of the aisle,” he shoots a wink over his shoulder before the lock clicks behind him. At this point, the familiar sound nearly makes you sick to your stomach. 

—---

Shadowheart comes in to see you sulking a bit later and draws a bath for you. The warm water feels wonderful, but does nothing to tamper the heat that has been rising under your skin since the moment Astarion let you pin him to the wall. 

You don’t sleep very well that night, anger and something else coursing through your veins. Astarion’s words from earlier stick with you in your dreams. 

I would have kissed you, over and over and over again.

I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.

And a day ago, you would have let him, would have been driven half mad with ecstasy at the prospect. But Astarion had to ruin that. Astarion had to ruin everything. He was the subject of all of your daydreams and the architect of all your nightmares.

You do manage to sleep, eventually, but you wake up hot and sticky with sweat, the taste of Astarion’s lips still a whisper in your mind. 

And yeah, okay, maybe you do snag a pastry at breakfast when Shadowheart isn’t looking. She doesn’t say anything, but you know she notices. You can only hope that she doesn’t report it back to Astarion. 

In the morning, you watch the gardens as they’re prepared for the wedding, observing how the ornate flowery archway that you suppose will be your altar is constructed at a moment’s notice. You feel like you are marching to your death as the wedding crawls ever closer, your chance of escape slipping further away with every passing moment. 

Shadowheart returns in the late afternoon to help you prepare for the ceremony. The dress she carries with her is far simpler than you expected, less intricate even than your dress from the ball a couple nights ago. The dark material is offset with shimmery, golden thread embroidered into the material in beautiful floral patterns. You wonder if Astarion just kept this on hand or had managed to contact a dressmaker who could make this dress so quickly.

Shadowheart pins your hair up in tasteful braided style and you do have to admit that you look beautiful when you look into the mirror. That familiar rage is burning in you again. You don’t want to look beautiful for Astarion, you don’t want to drag this out any longer or harder than it needs to be. 

You dread the thought of tonight. You were not as naive to the world as your father might have thought; you had heard the whisperings of other ladies when they discussed the horrors of their marital beds, heard the talk of greedy husbands and so much pain. On a normal wedding night, even the best of men could turn into a savage and you shudder to think what it might be like with a man who is already a beast. How much worse would it be for you?

But were you not a hypocrite? Had you not dreamt of coming undone on his elegant hands just last night? You force yourself to stop before you can continue down that train of thought and get carried away with silly, romantic notions. No, it was best to prepare for the worst. Tonight would be a worse torture than your two days locked in a cage. And you had to attend a stupid party about it first. 

Shadowheart seems to be able to sense your nerves, probably because you’ve spent the whole afternoon alternating between fiddling with your hands and sighing.

She kneels down in front of you, staring at you with an intensity that lets you know her next words will be very important. “You know that I am your lady’s maid. That I default to serving you over the Lord, right?”

“Deep down, he is a good man, but if anything, and I mean anything, happens tonight that makes you uncomfortable, you call me and I will drag Lord Ancunin out of here bruised and bloody. I don’t care if it’s as simple as him attempting to hold your hand when you don’t wish him to.”

Her words comfort you even though you wonder how much time that would really buy you. After all, it was part of your wifely duties to satisfy your husband, to bear his children. Although you aren’t entirely sure if it’s possible to have children with a vampire, you’re going to operate under the assumption that it’s possible until you’re told otherwise as part of your ‘prepare for the worst’ strategy. 

“Thank you,” you sincerely tell her because you want to let her know that her words have comforted you even if you doubt that she would be able to fight off a vampire.

“If you really wanted to help, you could get me out of this marriage,” you offer up, partially as a joke and partially to see if maybe the solution to your problems is really that easy. 

“We both know I can’t do that,” Shadowheart says, because it never is that easy. Once again, she’s got that stupid, sad smile on her face again that makes you want to knock her pretty teeth out. 

“Thought I’d try, at least.”

Your feet seem to have stopped working, so Shadowheart has to practically drag you out of the room and dump you in the garden. She’s, unfortunately, much stronger than she looks. Who knows, maybe she could take down a vampire?

The floral archway you had spent all morning looking at is even more breathtaking in person. The deep, red roses are braided in against beautiful ironwork. You hate Astarion for remembering that you liked roses, hate him for feigning kindness and trying to do something that you would like.

Astarion is standing at the end of the altar, as promised, and damn it all if he doesn’t look like Lucifer incarnate- the most beautiful angel hiding an evil and twisted soul. When you get closer, you can see that his waistcoat has matching floral embroidery on it. 

So, you’re matching now? That’s what the world has devolved into. It takes everything in you to not rip the stupid dress off right then. But, you refrain yourself because you’re in public and you’re a lady (and definitely not because you were humbled by the button fiasco yesterday).

You practically snarl when you meet Astarion at the altar but he ignores you, his finger reaching out to trace along the petal of rose embroidered on your dress, right next to your collarbone. If he were alive, you would be able to feel the warmth from his hand. 

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“You have ruined roses for me,” you spit back at him. Astarion’s brow furrows for a moment before the man standing next to the two of you is awkwardly clearing his throat. You recognize him from the ball, as the man who interrupted your and Astarion’s dance. He must be Astarion’s valet, serving him as Shadowheart does for you. 

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” The valet tries to sound enthusiastic but he wilts a bit when you shift your glare to him. 

You can feel Shadowheart standing behind you and you know that if you try to run, she’ll simply grab you and drag you back. 

“The quicker this is over with, the better.” You say and can’t resist looking at Astarion and adding, “Though, I’m sure you know a thing or two about finishing quickly, darling.” 

You can tell that Astarion’s valet is holding back a laugh at your comment. 

“Continue, Gale.” Astarion finally instructs after a few seconds of stunned silence. 

The man, Gale, holds up a stack of papers that he begins to read from. Oh my, were all of those pages filled with words? You might be here all night. 

“What is marriage? A contract, yes, but also the blessed union of two souls, sealed together in eternal love. The marriage bond is sacred and divine, but we must not mistake it as pure. No, real love is never pure. It is messy and confusing and the both of you will make many mistakes as you grow together.”

Hang on, was this guy even married? Who the fuck is he to be out here spewing nonsense about the sanctity of marriage? And when did he even have the time to write this? You’re so confused by the situation that your anger at Astarion has managed to dissipate completely.

Gale is somehow still rambling on, minutes later, as you stare at him with an open mouth, “And although, the two of you are entering this contract under… less than ideal circumstances, we can only hope that your love will grow to flourish. In fact-”

Astarion finally cuts him off. “We can do without the fanfare, I think.”

Gale gives a disappointed sigh, grumbling about how he was just trying to make this a nice moment.

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top. 

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have? 

You slide the rings on each other’s fingers and Astarion’s cool skin against your hand feels wonderful amidst the balmy summer night.

There’s no after-party, no fanfare. You simply say the words and sign the paperwork and leave immediately, content to go wallow by yourself in your room as you wait for Astarion to consummate your marriage.

You’ve half sent yourself into a panic as you pace, even if Shadowheart’s promise from earlier rings comfortably in your ears. You wish you hadn’t already wasted your knife yesterday. It would at least provide some false sense of comfort for when Astarion came for you. 

You sit and you wait. And you wait. And you wait. Astarion doesn’t come. 

You feel your eyes struggling to stay open and only when you catch your chin falling down to your chest do you snap yourself awake. This isn’t like you, to just take something lying down. The only solution left is to confront him. You jump to your feet, crossing the room with the most determination you’ve been able to muster all day. 

For the first time, the door to your room is unlocked when you turn the handle. Surprised, you poke your head out, scanning left and right down the hallway to check that there’s not some sort of booby trap. That seems like something Astarion would do- offer you hope of escape and then callously snatch it away at the last moment. 

Candlelight flickers in the doorway a few rooms away. When you peek into the room, Astarion is reading something, leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the desk looking like the arrogant asshole you know he is. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence at all, just turns the page of his book.

“The door was unlocked,” you say, because you aren’t really sure of how else to greet him. Hello felt far too simple after you had spent the past two nights pinning each other to walls and playing mind games with one another. 

Astarion hums in affirmation, eyes still focused on the book in his lap. “Yes, I only had it locked in order to keep you here long enough for us to get married. Do what you’d like now. You are the new lady of the manor.”

It seems unreal, that the past two days of torture were ultimately going to amount to… nothing? Perhaps this was just another one of his tricks to catch you unawares? If you stopped thinking of him like a threat, stopped expecting the worst in him, or gods forbid, if you lowered your guard, it would be that much easier for him to trap you.

“So, I’m free to leave?” You try asking cautiously, expecting his red eyes to snap up and for him to hiss out an angry no, for him to laugh at you and snatch away your freedom right after he had teased you with the unlocked door.

“I’d suggest you wait until the morning, but yes, feel free to leave and continue on with your life however you please. Or stay. I really don’t care.” He says instead, turning the page of his book again. Was he even bothering to listen to you?

“Then why did you force me to marry you?” You cry out because nothing these past two days has made any sense to you. Nothing has made sense to you since you saw Astarion standing in front of you like a holy angel who had been blessed with all of heaven’s beauty, when all you knew was that this man had been made to ruin you. 

And now, everything about Astarion is a contradiction. You hate him and yet you crave him. He offers you hope while crudely stabbing through your back with a knife. He imprisons you and shackles you to him by law and offers to let you go free. Even now, as you stare at how the candlelight sends shadows dancing across his pale skin that make his jawline somehow appear even sharper, you aren’t sure whether you want to kiss him or kill him. 

“Well, I doubt anyone would believe a new bride when she says her husband is a vampire. They’d chalk it up to a newlywed squabble or perhaps think that you just don’t understand the sensuality of a good bite. And if you do choose to leave, the longer we aren’t together, the more people will assume you’re spreading nasty rumors because we’re estranged.”

That… actually makes a lot of sense. You had been too caught up in your panic and your anger to look at this situation with any real rationality. 

But now, faced with the choice, where would you go? If all the freedom in the world was yours, what would you do with it? Certainly, you wouldn’t go to your old home, with your angry father and unsympathetic brothers. 

You would want a garden, you think, perhaps one to rival the Ancunin’s. You would want to fill your days with reading and gardening and walking. For the first time, you wonder if perhaps the life you’ve always wished for has been offered up to you on a silver platter. Your mind had been so tainted with your hatred for Astarion that you didn’t even imagine that perhaps you could be happy here. That perhaps you could be happier than you even were before.

“I don’t… I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” your shoulders drop in realization, fingertips nervously running along the pretty embroidery of your dress. It feels like an admission of defeat as you stand in front of him, as if you’ve been eviscerated and are trying desperately to keep your insides from falling out on the floor in front of him.  

“Stay here then,” Astarion answers and he looks so bored with the conversation that the familiar fire of anger is burning in your veins. How dare he callously act like his actions have had no consequence on your life? How dare he act like he didn’t have the legal authority to control you as your husband if he wanted to? How dare he act like he hadn’t flipped your world upside down the moment he first swept you into his arms?

You force yourself to take a deep breath, to soothe the anger that sits deep in your chest and you finally decide to bring up the issue that’s plagued your mind all day. “You didn’t come to my room tonight.”

“Do you want me to?” He looks genuinely shocked and finally closes the book and drops his feet from the desk. He takes a moment to collect himself before leaning forward, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. “I know I’m irresistible. There is still plenty of time tonight for me to ravish you, if that’s what you’d like.”

You know it’s an act, know he’s probably teasing to get a rise out of you. But you can help the panic that bubbles in you and you immediately shout a refusal to his offer.

Astarion leans back in his chair, hands coming to rest under his chin. His fingers are long and slender and oh, so elegant as they press together as if in prayer. This man, who could destroy faiths and desecrate holy ground with just the flick of his pretty wrist. 

It dawns on you that the gold wedding ring you had slipped onto his finger hours ago has already mysteriously disappeared from his hands. And though it might be hypocritical of you, who removed your ring almost immediately, you can’t help but be a little hurt that he apparently wasted no time in casting you aside, either. Have you already been so cruelly disregarded? 

“I don’t go where I’m unwelcome, darling.” He curls his lips up at the corner in a devilish smile,  “I’d much rather wait until you’re so desperate that you beg me to have you.”

You’re determined not to give Astarion the shocked, embarrassed reaction you know he’s itching for. 

“And what if I want you to be the one to beg?” you ask him instead. His eyes flash with a wicked gleam, so red you can’t help but remember the blood running down his chin in the moonlight.

“Well, that can certainly be arranged, darling.” Astarion keeps you locked in his fiery gaze for another moment or two before he sighs and breaks the tension. “But that’s not going to happen tonight, so I suggest you go to bed. Get some beauty sleep, not that you need it.”

And yeah, maybe you do have to hold back a laugh at that stupid line. 

“Goodnight,” you say, turning to go back to your room.

“Sweet dreams, little flower,” Astarion calls after you. 

And for the second night in a row, you dream of crimson eyes and elegant hands that have you waking restless and unfulfilled.

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

Notes:

For the record, I absolutely love Gale, but lets not pretend that he wouldn't go SO over the top if he was allowed to officiate a wedding.

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading! ETA for the third chapter is next Sunday, 12/31.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger's Wicked Birthday - 1st -

The story's in his POV. As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

Nsfw. Awkwardly translated smut.

They say that something predestined, something that cannot be changed or avoided, is called fate.

Being born male, female, or otherwise.

Where and when you were born, how long you'll live and when you'll die, all of these seem to be predetermined.

I've always been looking for a way to fight against all of that.

--

Roger: Hey, Jude. Cut back on those cigarettes. You don't know when those lungs of yours will fail.

Jude: Quit yer yappin'. Are ya my mom or somethin'?

Roger: Don't remember givin' birth to an arrogant, swearing bastard like you.

As I walk away after finishing up Jude's regular check up, my ears pick up the hustle and bustle of the dining room.

Roger: Huh? They're bein' awfully noisy.

As expected, when I entered the dining room, I found Harrison listening to a distraught Liam.

Roger: Hey, what's up? Did somethin' happen?

Liam: Kate isn't back yet so I want to go look for her now.

(The little lady?)

Roger: Calm down... You're not gonna find anything if you run out in the dark.

Harrison: Yeah, Roger's right. You were the last one to see Kate, weren't you Liam?

Liam nods.

Jude: You were supposed ta be watchin' 'er. Why'd ya let 'er go about as she pleases?

Liam: Tomorrow's Roger's birthday so we went out shopping to celebrate in advance. I thought about dressing up a bit and doing some stuff that'll surprise Roger.

Harrison: Liam, I now there's something you don't want to tell us, but now's not the time.

Liam: After we finished shopping, we parted ways near Leadenhall Market. Kate told me to go home first because she wanted to buy something in secret.

Harrison: Where'd you and Kate part?

Liam: At a bakery called "Harmony". Around there.

Harrison: If it's around there then...flowers, huh?

Liam: Flowers?

Harrison: Did she go by herself to get flowers for Roger?

Roger: Me?

Harrison: Yeah. There's a popular flower shop in alley where Liam and Kate parted ways. She probably knew about it.

Jude, who was quiet this whole time, muttered something troubling.

Jude: Tha's right, there's been some strange incidents lately. The naïve princess must've gotten mixed up in it. That woman (the queen) must 'ave some kind of info. Maybe.

Roger: I'll go get Victor...

--

There's been some kidnappings recently where Kate was now alone.

All those kidnapped were women, and those who were lucky enough to escape only had their hair cut, so it seems like they were kidnapped to sell their hair at a high price.

Based on the information from Victor, it was decided that Crown would search several hideouts of the criminals.

Harry and I ran through the back alleys of London in the dark.

Roger: ...? Hey, Harry. I can hear a man...and the faint voice of a woman through this door.

Harrison: May that's it. Let's go.

The man's voice gets clearer as we head down the path leading to the basement.

Men with guns and knives gathered in the dark.

(I see. So a bunch of thugs were kidnapping people)

Bearded man: After our watch is done, let's go for a drink- Huh, who're you?

In the dim light, Harrison and I exchanged glances. In times like this, a liar and traitor's quick thinking is useful.

Roger: Don't be so guarded. We're your buddies. We thought we'd take part too.

Bearded man: Huh? What're you on about? We'll lose our share with more people.

Harrison: Don't be like that. The police have been sniffing around lately.

Bearded man: The police...?

Harrison: We got contacts in the police. I got info on how to escape them.

Man with a gun: Hey... Wouldn't it be better if we brought them in?

Roger: Oh, we got a right to choose though. Let's hear some details about what you guys are doin'.

Bearded man: It's simple. You kidnap a woman to sell her hair and if she gets out of line, you kill her. That's it.

Man with a gun: In this day and age, a corpse has some value so it's like killing two birds with one stone.

(Yep, these are definitely the guys. Can't mess this-)

(0)

Harrison and I fire at the same time.

Criminal: Guh...

Roger: What's up? You're bein' unusually aggressive Harry.

Harrison: Yeah, wel... Anyway, I'll take care of the rest. You go ahead.

Roger: Yeah, I'm on it. Can't help but hear Kate's voice in my ear. Don't die Harry. Bringing you back will be a pain.

Harrison: Gotcha...

I head into the darkness, the sound of gunfire behind me.

(Multiple female voices...One of them...sounds like Kate)

I thought Kate would be sobbing in fear-

Kate's voice: -ight... It'll be alright. Help will come. It'll be alright...

My ears picked up Kate's voice, who was assuring the other women with her.

Roger: Geez... You're even worryin' over others in a time like this.

I run and run toward the voice, open the door in the dark, and head up the stairs.

Muscular man: Hey, who're you- Gah?!

I shoot and kill the criminals that come at me as I keep going.

(Found her...)

Among the women bound in rope is Kate.

Kate: Roger...

(Why're you trying to smile at a time like this?)

(You're not fooling anyone...)

As I go up to her and cut the rope with a knife, I notice flowers that fell at Kate's feet.

Roger: ...

Seeing them, I impulsively-

I held Kate tight in my arms.

Roger: Are you hurt?

Kate: Nothing serious. Just some scratches...here and there.

It's so like her to not count scratches as injuries.

Roger: I see...

Kate: I was sure...

Roger: Hm?

Kate: I was sure that Crown...that you would come and save me.

Kate knew about my curse as the "treacherous huntsman".

Still, she believed in me and fought against fear and anxiety.

(Damn. You're so cute and brave)

Roger: You're my birthday present, got it? Not letting anyone take you away from me.

Kate: Got it...

Kate's body starts trembling as if finally letting go of all the pent up fear.

I pat her back as if soothing a baby.

Roger: Scary wasn't it...

Kate: Yeah...

Roger: You did your best. You were great.

Kate: ... Roger... I-I...

Kate bawled so loudly that I couldn't help but smile.

--

After taking care of everything, I brought Kate back to the castle and tended to her wounds.

Kate: O-ow. It hurts...

Roger: It's supposed to hurt. Otherwise this wouldn't be moxibustion.

Kate: I'll accept it...

Maybe because she was still feeling guilty, Kate endures the pain without a fuss.

As I watch her in amusement, a thought appears in the back of my mind.

It's said that those cursed will meet an equally tragic end.

That's a solid conclusion I came to after years of researching curses.

(That's what's supposed to happen to us)

(I wonder what Kate's fate's like)

Kate's a curious woman who's aware of the fact that the world isn't pretty, yet still retains some purity in her heart and eyes.

Even those in Crown with strong personalities seem to be moved by her.

(A miserable fate doesn't suit Kate)

A long life's better than a short one, better to be surrounded by people than alone, and a warm place's better than a cold one.

(The kind of fate that suits someone who's able to smile so peacefully)

It was out of character for me to think of that for Kate who trusts others so easily.

Roger: Alright, done.

Kate: Thank you so much. Sorry for bothering you so late. Then...

Roger: Hey now, who said you could go?

Kate: Huh?

Roger: The treatment's finished, but the punishment isn't, little lady.

I sit down next to Kate on the bed, who makes a sound in her throat.

Kate: Punishment...

Roger: Thinking you'll get an answer right away just by asking's a bad habit of yours. Ask yourself why you're getting punished.

I whisper in her ear as I swipe my thumb across her lips.

Roger: I won't stop until you get it right.

Kate: Um, uh...

Kate jolts when I nibble on her ear before capturing her lips.

Kate: Nn...Roger...

(Soft as ever...)

Roger: Mm...Come one, answer me.

Kate: Because I got hurt...?

Roger: Wrong.

Even after releasing her wrists after kissing her repeatedly, Kate lets me do as I please.

Kate: Nnn... Hm? Ah...

(Hmm, not runninn'? Ahh...you obediently did as you were told)

The way she accepts my kisses while thinking fills me with sadistic desires and I hook my fingertips on the neckline of her dress.

Roger: That's it, think about it.

Kate: You don't need to tell...Ah...

Her breasts spill out as I pull down her dress and my lips are on her.

Roger: Hm? Givin' up?

While licking a nipple, I tease the other with my fingers.

Kate: ! I'm not...

(Ah~ That's a good look. You look so frustrated...like you're about to cry)

Kate: Ah...Is it...because I wandered off on my own?

Roger: Nope.

Kate: Huh...Ah....

I roll the peak in my mouth and Kate lets out a faint gasp.

(I'm disgusted at the thought that other men did that to her...)

I continue to suck and nipple as I slip my fingers in the wetness between Kate's legs.

It was already so wet and like with her nipple, I flicked her bud with a finger.

Kate: Ah...Nngh...Roger...

The moment I saw tears welling up, the irritation I felt within me finally subsided.

Kate: I...give up...

I grab Kate's chin and look at her as she muttered in frustration with tears in her eyes.

Roger: Hey, Kate.

Kate: Yes...?

Roger: I can't stand it when others make you cry. I'm the only one allowed to do that...Right?

Kate: Ye- Huh?

(What......................)

Roger: What's up with that response.

Kate: I just didn't expect it... I'm...not Roger's or anyone else's!

Roger: Then why're you squeezing my fingers so tightly?

Kate: That's because...Ah...I can't...

Roger: I'm not gonna last so let me enjoy your tears for a little longer.

Kate: Ah...wait...Roger

After that, I made Kate cry out a lot before having her finish me with her hand.

Satisfied, I went out for a drink with Jude.

Using my birthday as an excuse, I made him buy me a drink.

--

(I drank too much last night...)

I was lying on a sofa in the lounge with the aftertaste of alcohol still lingering when I felt a shadow over my face.

Kate: Roger...? Are you dead?

Roger: I am. So what do you want with a dead man? I'm not taking any complaints about last night.

Kate: It's not that. I have something for you.

(...?)

When I sat up, Kate shyly held out a bouquet.

Kate: Happy birthday Roger. Also... Thanks for being born.

Roger: O_O ...

(Wha...)

(Thanks for being born... That's the first time I've heard it since my curse)

(Kate...Only you of all people would say that without any hesitation)

Kate: Roger? Um...I went shopping with someone this time?

Roger: Haha, I know. Thanks...

Kate smiles happily like a puppy.

(Her crying face is the best, but her smile- it suits her)

Her smile's so cute that I can't but want to tease her again.

Roger: Hey, Kate. I must've fallen for you if I'm always thinking about you right?

Kate: Excuse me........ I-I don't know!

Roger: Pfft, hahaha. How cold.

After that, while I was walking with the bouquet Kate gave me, Victor suddenly told me what those flowers meant.

Anemones meant "fleeting love".

Kate probably didn't know what the flowers she gave me meant, but it's ironic.

My fate's a future ruined by guilt.

The worst fate lies before me, but I'm not gonna let it get me down now.

Trampling on fate, I-

Roger: Now, let's fight against it again today.

[fanficdelulus]

Greetings

Fate (Gojo x Fem! Reader)

————————————————

As the three of you arrived at your destination, Satoru turned to [Name] with a mischievous grin and asked, "If you could choose any seat in a classroom, where would you sit?"

[Name] considered the question for a moment before replying, "Hmm, front and center." Her response reflecting her eagerness to learn.

An eager grin spread across Satoru's lips as he playfully took hold of the back of your uniform. A small yelp escaped your lips as your body suddenly fell forward, and surprise was evident on your face as you realized you were practically floating in Satoru's hold. Your [e/c] eyes turned toward the explosion on the side of the building.

Swiftly, Suguru leaped into action. He summoned one of his curses and skillfully caught Riko in the process, displaying his expertise and quick thinking. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the danger was averted, but it was quickly replaced by a squeal. Your stomach felt like it was in your throat as Gojo swiftly advanced, propelling the two of you toward the next target.

"Phew! Just in time," Gojo stated with a touch of cockiness. He had swiftly stopped an onslaught of knives from piercing the two of you, showcasing his incredible combat and protection skills in the nick of time.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you watched in awe as Satoru easily pushed the knives to the side. As the tension in the air grew, the Q Soldier Vayer made himself known. "Ahh, the famous Gojo Satoru, hmm, and who's this foreigner?" he inquired, acknowledging your presence in the mission despite the palpable disgust in his tone. The encounter marked a critical moment in the unfolding mission, where you, a foreign sorcerer, were stepping into the spotlight and engaging with a formidable adversary.

Before you could react, a cocky laugh escaped past Satoru's lips, and his gaze hardened on their opponent. "Of course, you'd think in such an archaic way. Apologize now for what you've said, and I'll let you live," Satoru reiterated, his confidence unwavering. His imposing presence and the demand for an apology created a tense stand-off, setting the stage for a decisive moment in the mission. The Q Soldier Vayer had a choice to make, and the outcome was far from certain.

————————————————

“Gahhhhhh!”

"Would you two let go of her? That's not how you treat a lady!" You worriedly exclaimed as you and Kuroi swiftly made your way towards the trio. Your concern and assertiveness in defending Riko were evident.

"Kuroi!" Riko gleefully exclaimed, "My lady, they are our friends," Kuroi happily explained as Suguru's cursed spirit carried her along. The warmth of their reunion was palpable.

A warm smile graced your lips as you stuck out your hand. "I'm [Name] [Surname], but you can call me [Name]! Those two idiots over there and I will be escorting you for the merger. It's nice to meet you," you kindly introduced yourself. The introduction marked a moment of camaraderie, with you extending a friendly hand of welcome to Riko.

"You're so pretty," she softly muttered as she gazed at your voluminous curls and the golden hoops that accentuated your look.

Riko's soft compliment made you blush, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth. Your heart melted at Riko's cuteness. She reminded you of one of your foster sisters, and the connection between the two of you was immediate.

Unable to contain your affection, you swiftly pulled Riko into a sisterly hug. "Riko, you're so cuteee," you squealed with genuine delight.

Tender smiles formed on Satoru and Suguru's lips as they observed the heartwarming moment between the two of you. "You know she's spunkier than I thought," Satoru softly commented, revealing a newfound appreciation for Riko's spirit and energy. "Aren't you supposed to be all gloomy because of the merger?" Satoru questioned, genuinely curious about Riko's optimistic attitude.

"I am Riko Amanai, so you better listen up," she confidently began as soon as she finished hugging you, her determination shining through. "I am Master Tengen, and Master Tengen is me! So there's no need for me to be sad about the merger." Riko's resolute words demonstrated her strength of character.

"Well, that's good. I guess was worried about you for no reason," Satoru nonchalantly informed, his demeanor relaxed but clearly relieved by Riko's conviction. "You talk as if the merger and death are the same thing, but they are not! I will live on with Master Tengen!" Riko confidently declared, emphasizing her faith and resolve.

You couldn't help but be impressed by Riko's unwavering dedication, but it also brought a bittersweet realization. Beneath her strong front, she was just a middle school girl, facing a profound and challenging destiny. Your smile faltered in the slightest as you pondered this fact.

Determined to support and protect her, you quietly vowed,

"I'll make the time we have with her as memorable as I can."

______________________________

Hi loves!! Thank you so much for all the love and support for the first two chapters! Tell me what you think so far!

As always, much love xoxo (´･ω･`)

ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ

[catandrabbitt]

The Good Doctor

chishiya has a dark secret that he keeps from everyone. he encounters you at a café after a long shift at the hospital, and you pique his interest

warnings: murder, chishiya is a fake and manipulative little shit, knives/scalpels, blood, surgery mentions, mentions of chishiyas sociopathic behavior, minor s2 spoilers about chishiya’s past

“I think I’m done for the night.” The blonde man murmured to himself, leaning back away from the patient after her heart monitor flatlined.

He set the scalpel next to his set of other bloody tools, standing up and pulling off his gloves.

The doctor began cleaning off his tools, not bothering to alert the nurses so soon of yet another dead patient. Another ‘surgery gone wrong’.

He supposed it could have been labeled that way. Taking another glance at the mess that laid upon his operating table, he couldn’t help but to scowl.

An open-heart surgery. He had been eager when he found out about it, immediately offering to be the one to perform the surgery. After an analysis of the patient, the doctor decided that she failed his very high standards.

This one in particular happened to be a café owner. Underneath that facade, she was a deadbeat mother who spent all of her earnings on cigarettes and alcohol.

Chishiya couldn’t stand people like her.

One tiny nick on the wrong artery. One that the doctor was well aware would kill her if even scratched, which is why he did it. It could be seen as an accident.

Chishiya rolled his eyes as he thought back on the memory. It was becoming mundane to continue killing people, as he had accumulated over 15 ‘failed’ surgeries. He needed to get a new hobby, or at least spice things up a little.

A scoff escaped his lips. He was one of the best, if not the best doctor in the hospital. Surgeries only went wrong if Chishiya wanted them to.

Chishiya left the operating room, on his way to alert a few nurses of what happened. Well, obviously not the entire truth. He’d just have to twist it a little.

It was around 7 PM. Chishiya decided that he was finished for the night, and after cleaning himself up and letting his hair back down, he left the hospital.

Café Whimsy. It was a small, quaint café right down the road from the hospital. He frequented it often, before and after work to get a coffee. It was his favorite way to end the night, as they usually stayed open later than normal cafés.

However, as he pulled into the parking lot, he felt a frown tug at his lips. All the lights were off and the ‘open’ sign was turned off. This was definitely unusual.

Chishiya was irritated. He didn’t like change that much, and not being able to end his nightly routine the way he typically does didn’t sit well with him.

Nonetheless, he went home anyway.

The next morning, Chishiya stopped by the café before heading to the hospital, glad to see that they were open their normal hours again.

He entered the shop, hearing the door ding behind him as he walked in. One glance around the store told him that he was the only customer inside. It was rather early.

“Be right with you!” An unfamiliar voice shouted from the back. Chishiya was taken aback — he was familiar with all of the workers at Café Whimsy since he visited so much. This one was new.

You emerged from the back room swiftly, the flour on your apron and face signaling that you were in the middle of making something.

“Sorry about that! What can I get for you?” You asked, tapping on the computer to begin taking his order.

“Are you new?” Chishiya asked instead, his feline eyes analyzing your entire figure.

You chuckled sheepishly. “I’m actually not. I just have to work the opening shift this morning since the café owner is out.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “The owner is gone?”

You nodded. “She will be for awhile. We had to close early last night because she needed surgery. Anyways, what can I get for you?”

Surely it wasn’t the lady he killed the previous night, right?

“What kind of surgery was it?” Chishiya pressed further.

Your smile faltered a little, as you realized he wasn’t going to order anytime soon. “Heart surgery, I believe? I don’t know what was wrong, but she mentioned needing surgery for awhile. Maybe you know about it? Since you look like a doctor and all.”

That confirmed it. It was definitely the lady from last night.

“Oh, yeah.” Chishiya finally said, glancing down at his outfit and realizing he had his scrubs and doctors coat on. “Iced vanilla latte, please.”

A small sigh of relief came from you as he finally ordered. “Sure thing. It’ll be just a moment.”

His eyes never left your figure as you made his coffee, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

You slid the latte across the counter, tapping on the screen once more. “$3.41, please. Thank you.”

After handing you the money, Chishiya continued your previous conversation. “So, what time did you close yesterday? I stopped by after I got off work, but you were already closed.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in thought as you handed him back his change.

“Around 5, I think? I’m not sure. I’m glad we did, though. I would have regretted it if we didn’t close. She’s a nice lady. I hope her surgery goes okay.” You smiled sweetly at him. Your raw happiness was difficult to find nowadays, and Chishiya found himself becoming intrigued by you.

Your boss was not a nice lady, or a good person for that matter. He had killed her during her surgery tonight just based on the facts he learned during their patient analysis.

Obviously he couldn’t tell you that without blowing his cover.

“Regretted it?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at you. How could you be so oblivious to your boss’ actions? Or unable to sense the danger standing right in front of you?

“Yes. It’s hard not to. Like I said, she’s a nice lady.” You proceeded to explain, still offering a gentle smile towards him. “Do you regret anything? Wish you could have changed anything?”

Chishiya stared at you for a few seconds, fighting the urge to scoff in your face. He doesn’t regret anything he’s done, ever. He’s a sociopath for fucks sake, do you really think he cares about how his actions affect others?

“No, I don’t.” He finally responded, his tone blunt and icy. The cold look now in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and any comfort you had with the blonde man instantly vaporized.

“See you around.” Chishiya said firmly, grabbing his coffee off the counter and leaving the shop with his coat flowing behind him.

You were definitely an interesting little thing. Maybe it was time to switch hobbies.

[anothermarkedone]

I'm too old to get adopted, right?

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: This is inspired by this post by @aprill-99 Feedback is always appreciated!

Xaden had no idea where he was, but he certainly wasn't in Navarre. It stands on the edge of a beautiful town spread out over rolling, steep hills. A dark blue river meanders through the landscape into the sea.

Xaden feels through his bond with Sgaeyl, but it's as if she isn't there. Xaden sighs, he has no weapons and no Sgaeyl. He tries his powers, which luckily work.

Wary, Xaden walks into town, hoping he can get a better idea of where he is. Around him he sees buildings made of white marble, warm sandstone and red stone.

A large mansion catches Xaden's attention. It is large, made of white marble with accents of dark wood. It was safe to say that Xaden has never seen such architecture in Navarre, or in Poromiel.

Suddenly there is a tall man standing in front of him with dark hair, golden-brown skin and- are those wings? Out of the corner of his eye, Xaden sees another man, this one pale with striking violet eyes, and before Xaden can react, he is unconscious.

-

Xaden wakes up with a start and sits up abruptly. He lies on a red lounger in a dark room, lit by the fireplace on his right.

Alert, Xaden scans the room and his eyes fall on a man behind a large desk. Xaden tries to move as softly as possible so that he can surprise the man and escape. But the man turns out to have really fucking good hearing, because he looks up from his papers, straight into Xaden's eyes.

“So let me see if I have it right,” the man says. "You have immense shadow power, incredible combat skills, height, tattoos, secrets, dead parents, a thirst for revenge, the weight of the world on your shoulders, a rebellion to lead, and..." he looks at his papers and tilts his head, “a dragon?”

'He probably has the same signet as Aetos,’ Xaden thinks to himself as he takes a defensive stance.

The man waves his hand dismissively, "I'm not going to hurt you." He adds with a grin, “see it for yourself.”

Xaden directs his second signet to the man and reads his true intentions in his head. The man truly has no intention of harming him. Slightly put at ease, Xaden decides to listen to the man.

"Well could I know your name first before I tell you my life story?" demands Xaden. The man smiles showing his white teeth. "Rhysand, high lord of the Night Court." Xaden has never heard of such a place, but mentally shrugs.

"Yes? I mean, there's also my girlfriend and 107 people under my protection, but-" Before Xaden can finish his sentence, Rhysand, ‘the high lord of the Night Court’, frantically flips through the pile of papers on his desk.

"This is the hyper-intelligent girlfriend with unprecedented lightning powers? The one you speak to telepathically and permanently nickname?" he looks expectantly.

Xaden decides to humor the man, "I only have one girlfriend. A bit offended that you would think otherwise."

Rhysand nods enthusiastically before scribbling something on a piece of paper. "Adopted. The rebellion thing is taken care of. Me and your aunts and uncles have this. Your new mother will need some time to add you and your mate to the family portrait in the gallery."

Xaden abruptly interrupts, "I'm sorry, my new mother?" Rhysand nods enthusiastically. "That's right, your bedroom is upstairs, the knives are in the training ring, the family dinner is every Thursday, you don't get any pocket money, but you have unlimited access to my finances and the curfew is...." Rhysand puts a finger thoughtfully on his chin, “…never.”

Rhysand stands up, "any questions?" Xaden mentally nods, ‘yeah, what the fuck?!’ Rhysand chuckles as if he heard it.

"Okay, crash course. So my name is Rhysand, I am 538 years old and the high lord of the Night Court and your new father." Xaden sputters in shock "538 years?!" "My wife and mate is Feyre, she is 21 years old and she is the high lady, we have a son Nyx, your brother." Rhysand opens his mouth, but Xaden cuts him off before he can say anything. “I'm….older than your wife?” Rhysand nods, "she'll be happy to have another son, Fae pregnancies are very difficult you know. But she'll be super excited to hear that we adopted you."

Xaden interrupts him again, "I'm still older than her." “Did I fucking stutter?” Rhysand asks with a raised eyebrow. Xaden gapes at him, "no sir." Rhysand nods happily, before paling, "don't tell your mother I swore or she'll refuse to give me soup." He ignores the disbelieving look Xaden gives him and continues introducing Xaden's ‘new family’.

Suddenly another winged man walks around the corner. “Ah, Rhys, we found them,” he says in a deep voice. Rhysand nods and gestures for Xaden to follow along. "Son, this is your Uncle Cassian, he is the general of my army, the two of you will work closely together to ensure that this rebellion of yours succeeds." 'Uncle' Cassian gives Xaden a big grin, "finally another nephew!"

“We found your friends, including my daughter-in-law,” Rhysand explains after seeing Xadens questioning look, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he says “daughter-in-law.”

When the three walk into the foyer, Xaden sees his self-made family. Garrick, Bodhi, Liam, Imogen, and Quinn. Behind his family is Violet, along with her squad, Rhiannon, Ridoc and Sawyer and her brother, Brennan.

Garrick, Liam and Bodhi immediately walk up to Xaden and after a quick hug they start asking hundreds of questions. Xaden calls the other riders over and explains what happened.

"You're adopted?" Bodhi asks incredulously. “Seriously man, he just says we can finally win the rebellion and that's what you get out of it?”

Bodhi shrugs, "It's not every day that you hear that your cousin has been adopted by a 538 year old man and a 21 year old woman who is 2 years younger than the literal man she’s adopting."

"Okay kids," Rhysand claps his hands together and looks at everyone enthusiastically, "let's make sure you win the rebellion."

-

After Rhysand introduces the rest of Xaden's new family, including his new mother, who doesn't even seem shocked when Rhysand tells them that Xaden is their new son, and that he is two years older than her.

He then gives everyone an explanation of his army, what species they are and what their signets, or powers, are, the riders took the Fae to the hidden cave where Bodhi said they left their dragons.

The moment the group walks into the cave, Cassian gives a loud scream. Xaden looks over and sees that Cassian is hanging on to a very irritated Azriel like a koala with a scared look.

“What the fuck is that,” he points. Xaden looks over and sees that he is pointing at Sgaeyl. "That's Sgaeyl."

Cassian looks at him in disbelief, "I thought Sgaeyl was your cat!" he exclaims. Sgaeyl lets out an indignant huff and Cassian lets out another yelp.

Xaden ignores his so-called fearless uncle and focuses on Sgaeyl, prodding along their bond, but he comes up with nothing.

“My bond with her is muted,” he states. The other riders nod, theirs too.

"Violet and I can see if we can make a medicine," Brennan suggests. Violet nods in agreement. After the riders make their dragons promise to stay hidden in the cave and behave, they especially had trouble with Aotrom, who is apparently a dragon version of his rider and Andarna, the group walks back to the mansion in town. Cassian continues to look behind him uneasily, checking to see if the dragons are coming to attack him.

Violet walks up next to Xaden and hooks her arm through his, "so, adopted huh, I never expected my future mother-in-law and I to be the same age." Xaden grins, "mother-in-law?" Violet rolls her eyes and punches him in the arm.

“Shut up, you're the one in a ridiculously hilarious situation.”

-

The mansion turns out to have a lab slash medical bay. Violet and Brennan immediately start working on a medicine, Brennan mumbling all kinds of things under his breath, especially confusing curses.

Violet continues to throw grinning looks his way and she and the other riders burst into unashamed laughter as Rhysand deposits a winged baby in his arms and states that the baby is his new brother and that they should get acquainted.

-

Once Brennan and Violet perfect the medicine, they hand it out in cups.

“Well, bottoms up,” Garrick says, before putting the cup to his mouth.

Xaden follows suit and immediately feels the bond with Sgaeyl opening. "That was interesting," Sgaeyl says disinterestedly, a complete contrast to what she just said. Xaden rolls his eyes.

"The screaming human dragon from before is back," she says. Xaden raises his eyebrow. "He brought food, he's afraid we'll eat him."

Xaden wonders why that was worth sharing as Sgaeyl adds, "he completely freaked out when suddenly some kind of black mist with eyes and sharp teeth and claws appeared."

“He screamed like a little baby!” adds Andarna enthusiastically, "the mist's name is Byraxis, he's super funny!"

“He was indeed amusing,” Sgaeyl states, “in just a few minutes he humored me more than you have done in three years.”

Violet has clearly been listening as Xaden hears her laughter in his head. She stops abruptly when she hears Tairn's angry, jealous growl.

Andarna either doesn't realize what her adoptive parents are doing, or she just ignores it as she gleefully tells Xaden and Violet that Byraxis told her the story of when Cassian came to the bottom level of the library and how he literally wet his pants when he saw Byraxis.

Xaden sighs, he would do anything for a nap before fighting the rebellion with the help of a few extremely powerful centuries old Fae, three not so old Fae and an army of winged warriors.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” he asks Violet. She snorts in response, “as if I’d let you do this on your own. Besides, this is way too hilarious, I haven’t laughed this much in years.” Suddenly Liam appears next to Xaden, watching them interact. “Will you fight with me?” Xaden asks his brother. 

“It would be my honor,” he answers without hesitation.

[petrichor-idyllic]

HEYYY I love your work! I saw your post about the different Maze types, and one that really struck out to me was one Glader in a Maze by themselves. Could I request a Minho x Fem!Reader where they’re the one who survived in their Maze by themselves and they’re kind of a well-known badass around the Safe Haven? And he thinks he just platonically admires her until one of his friends points out that it’s definitely a romantic interest. So he ends up talking to her about it, and they share a cute first kiss? Just tons of fluff please!! 🥰 Thank you so much! I appreciate the hard work you’ve been putting into these. They absolutely make my day <3

I'm happy that you guys like my prompts lol. This is my second story based on this idea, but this one isn't gonna be as long or as complicated.

SOLIDARITY

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Movie based fic.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, Minho being oblivious to his own feelings, you're not a people person, Gladers teasing Minho.

In all honesty, Minho didn't really think there were that many interesting people around the Safe Haven.

Sure, it was fun casually flirting with some of the girls, talking to members of the Right Arm and learning about other people's Maze experiences. But, nothing really stuck out to him.

Him, Gally and Frypan did get a kick out of having actual girls to talk to. (Thomas has had enough of romantic complications for a while.) But unlike Frypan, who fell in love with every girl who looked in his direction, and Gally, who always spoke about wanting a very specific type of lady- Minho didn't actually care that much.

It wasn't like he'd never fantasised about it. I mean, most of the boys in the Glade used the chance of future romantic prospects as motivation to escape.

But no one had actually taken his interest.

Until he heard about you.

"I can't believe she did it on her own," Harriet says during a lunch break, taking sips from her drink. She sits with Sonya and Aris, with the Gladers sitting on a nearby table.

Bored of the boys' conversation, he ends up eavesdropping.

"We're still talking about (Y/N)?" Aris chuckles, rolling his eyes at Harriet's on-going admiration towards you.

"Dude, she survived a Maze on her own! How can I not talk about it?"

"It is pretty impressive," Sonya agrees.

"What?" Minho jumps in, not one to be scared of involving himself. "What do you mean this girl survived the Maze on her own?"

"What? You haven't heard?" Harriet looks puzzled, and Minho shakes his head.

"No? Should I have?"

"Probably," Harriet scoffs, "yanno how there was a bunch of different Mazes?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, for one of them, WCKD decided to just put one person in there. On her own, for three years- (Y/N) survived and escaped the Maze completely on her own."

Minho blinks.

Someone survived the Maze completely isolated?

"How the shuck is that even possible?" Minho asks, and Harriet shrugs.

"You should ask her yourself."

"Well, where is she?"

Harriet looks around. "Uhm, oh! There!" She points vaguely off out into the sand, where you're stood talking to Vince. "That's her; Vince keeps saying he has a lot to learn from her or some klank."

Minho simply hums in response, his gaze fixated on you. You're definitely attractive, but more than anything, he's impressed.

Instead of going to talk to you, however, he gets swept back into the conversation with his friends.

But, now Minho has his eye on you.

He starts to frequently ask Harriet, and some other people about you- mainly because he actually isn't sure how to casually start a conversation with you. Especially since Harriet unintentionally scared him off by telling him you're pretty standoffish

He started admiring you from a distance, watching you do some physical training with the Right Arm. You seem to be particularly skilled with knives and have a natural instinct and awareness of your surroundings.

He also starts talking to other people about you, learning more and gaining more knowledge about you, often eavesdropping on stories about you. Apparently, you're actually pretty well-known around Safe Haven, despite mainly keeping to yourself.

Honestly, he's beyond impressed by you- by what you've achieved, how you hold yourself, your level-headed nature and the level of casual power you somehow permanently have.

You are what he wanted to be whilst in the Glade. He was Keeper of the Runners, sure, but he always just felt slightly lost. Minho is a confident guy, he knew his skills and that he was more than capable of surviving.

But, he still had a certain level of anxiety, and getting trapped in that Maze at tight was the most terrifying experience of his life.

He looks up to you. You must've been so brave and bold. It takes a special type of person to deal with Grievers and the Maze- but dealing with that on your own? That's insane!

He's full of admiration for you, and he's never actually praised someone this much before, and you're just so-

"Dude, are you crushing on this girl?" Thomas asks between mouthfuls of food, having listened to Minho's new-found fixation on you for the past few weeks.

The table goes silent.

The Gladers have been discussing it in private- sending knowing glances, smirking and whispering amongst themselves. But, apparently, Thomas has gotten sick of it and decided to just straight-up ask him.

"What?" Minho blinks at him. "The shuck are you talkin' about?"

"Do you like her? (Y/N)?"

Minho scoffs. "You're shuckin' with me, right? I don't even know her."

"Yeah, but you don't shut your damn mouth about her," Gally joins in, having wanted to do this for a while now.

"Yeah, well, I just admire her- she did something impossible."

"Yeah, it's cool, dude," Thomas kind of cuts him off, "but we don't talk about her all the time, or try to find out more about her, so..."

"So?"

"So, you're kinda obsessed, dude," Frypan finally says.

"What? I am not."

"Okay, okay," Gally puts his hands out in front of him, leaning over the table, sighing. "Let's uh, let's talk about this, then." He pauses for a second. "Okay, you talk about this girl more than you do anything else- and you've never even spoken to her. Ever since learning about her, you've been ignoring every girl that approaches you and you spend half your time staring at her. It's definitely not normal, man."

Well, when you put it like that...

Minho sits there for a second, processing everything. "Shit." He mumbles. "Is this what it's like to... like someone?"

The boys don't say anything, looking at each other before turning to Thomas- the only man with an actual answer.

"I mean, kinda? I thought about Teresa a lot- but I don't think I was nearly as whipped as you are, dude."

"She did betray us." Gally points out.

"And we were always with her- and always nearly dying, so it's not like you got much time to think about it." Frypan adds.

"Guys, this doesn't help me," Minho groans.

"Look, the fact that you're acting like this probably means there's something else going on- but you should probably talk to her and figure out this klunk on your own." Thomas gives him some actual decent advice.

Though, the thought of actually talking to you is scary. Minho has stared death in the face and been tortured- but God forbid he have to talk to a hot girl his age.

Well, actually, he isn't given much choice.

"Minho! Get your ass over here!" Vince shouts him the next day as he's busy going about his job. He'd drunkenly bragged about how he was one of the strongest Gladers, and Vince took note. "Need to test your fighting skills!"

He seems like a good match for you.

Minho freezes, seeing you standing there, looking at him as Vince waves him over. He glances over at Gally and Frypan, who stand by the kitchen area, watching the whole thing.

With little choice, Minho walks over.

This'll be fine. He just admires you and the boys are over thinking things. If he talks to you, he'll realise he doesn't have a crush and he was right and things can go back to normal.

Right?

"Minho! This is (Y/N)," Vince gestures towards you, "(Y/N), this is Minho- he was the best of the best from his Maze, and I'm sure he'll make a good sparring partner."

"Uh, what? Sparring partner?" Minho splutters out.

"Yeah, most people don't wanna fight me 'cause they're scared- but all anyone around here tells me about you is that you're tough. And I need someone to fight to stay vigilant, so.." You say pretty matter-of-factly, clearly unfazed by his presence.

"...People have spoken to you about me?" The question catches you off-guard.

You'd vaguely heard Minho's name been throw around. From kneeing an armed guard into a wall and knocking him out to throwing a guy through a glass window, Minho has a reputation for having a short temper and a dangerous temperament.

So, why is he now this awkward mess in front of you who keeps glancing at his shoes?

You went into the Maze with some fighting knowledge, presumably trained beforehand, even if you can't remember it. You used to train with makeshift dummies and by stabbing Grievers, then when you got here, you had some wrestling matches with Right Arm members.

It's a good way to let the stamina you spent years building up.

"I guess...?" You're not the best with people, which is probably why you've never actually spoken to Minho before and have come across as very blunt. It's hard learning to act like a normal person so far in life, especially when you spent the only part of your life that you remember completely on your own. "Are you down to help me let off some steam and fight or what?"

He blinks.

That could've probably be phrased better.

Minho looks over at his friends, who give him a very awkward thumbs up.

He swallows, wanting to impress you, and also he doesn't know when he's going to actually talk to you again, so he nods.

"Sure," he grins, trying to push his normal cocky personality to the front as he grins, "I'll go easy on you."

You scoff, immediately taking a fighting stance. "It's your funeral."

"Wait, we're doing this now?" He looks at Vince, who shrugs.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Yeah, alright," he mumbles, copying your footing. He figured once he got out of the Maze, he wouldn't have to deal with weird situations anymore, but it looks like the universe has other plans.

Vince counts you in, and it quickly dawns on him that he doesn't know how to fight a girl- but it's not like it matters because you floor him. He barely has any time to react before you crash into him, rugby tackling him to the ground.

There's a series of "ooo" from the Gladers watching.

He groans, landing on his side and you chuckle, standing up as he cradles his ribs. "Weak." You scoff.

"I wasn't ready," Minho tried to excuse himself.

"I thought you were meant to be tough?"

"I am tough," he stands up, shaking his fists as he takes another stance. "You don't see any of these shanks messing with me?"

You smirk, and it sends butterflies through his entire body.

He's got some fire in him, after all- that's what you like to see.

"Do I look like every other 'shank' to you?" You don't even know what that means, but he said it so you do too.

This time, when you charge, he blocks you, and you end up having a pretty decent fight where he kicks your legs from under you. So, 1-1.

You both fight for another few rounds, which quickly become less competitive and more playful.

Minho isn't a real threat to you, so you have no reason to take it seriously.

"Okay," Vince says, "you kids are tiring me out just watching- and I should actually go do my job."

You scoff, stepping away before sitting down on the sand, legs crosses, taking a sip from a bottle. "Here," you pass it to him, and he accepts. "You're not half bad."

"Likewise," he smirks at you from between swigs. "So," he clears his throat before sitting next to you, his breathing slightly laboured, "you survived the Maze all on your own?"

"Why you asking?"

"Because..." He sighs, "because I was incharge or dealing with my Maze- mapping it, exploring, figuring out how it worked- and I had a whole team to do it. It's... impressive that you did it on your own."

"It was shit," you say bluntly. "I don't need to be told I'm cool for surviving. My options were get out alive or die trying. And I'm still here, so..."

For some reason, Minho hasn't really considered how difficult it would've been. Well, he did, but he focused on the fact you were able to do it, not the trauma or problems it would've left you with.

"Couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't."

"Do you, uh, do you wanna get food? We can eat together? Share some Maze stories?"

You raise your eyebrow. Minho is cute, and he's kind of funny. Not to mention, it's probably about time you actually tried to make friends.

"Yeah, alright."

So, you and Minho start spending some time together. You get properly introduced to the Gladers, and all spending more time with you does is confirm to Minho that he actually does like you.

You have a lot in common, your competitive spirit driving both of you along with eye-rolling at other people.

And, he's like the only person you like, or have ever liked. Which is a lot of pressure.

Though, it's getting a bit much.

Minho is practically bursting with his feelings for you, and he needs to say something. So, (with an adequate amount of peer pressure) Minho decides to do that.

You lay in your hammock, reading a random book you managed to steal from the supplies the Right Arm brought to the Safe Haven.

"Yo," Minho says, trying to play off being casual as much as possible.

"Yo," you respond, scooching over and pushing the fabric down so he can join you in the hammock- you don't really know when you started doing this, but now it's kind of a normal thing. "You good?"

"Yep," he says, throwing his leg into the hammock and shimmying in next to you, though he does seem pretty awkward. Laying your book across your chest, you nudge him.

"You seem... tense? Everything okay?"

"Mhm, yeah, I'm just... Long day, yanno?" You furrow your brows, he's being weird. But, you're still not great at people, so you decide to just pick up your book again.

Minho is normally much more relaxed than this as he stares up at the fabric roof, fiddling with his fingers. You focus as the words in front of you, but that's kind of hard when you have an anxious boy squashed next to you.

"Okay," you slam the book shut, "what the hell is going on with you? You're stressing me out-"

"I like you."

You look at him, laying in your back with your chin touching your shoulder. "Come again?"

"I, uh, I like you?" Now he sounds uncertain, and you are confused.

"I like you, too? That's why you're like the only person I talk to?"

"No, uh, no," he sits up a bit, pushing himself back so he can get more comfy. "I like you, like, more than a friend." He sighs. "I uh, i started looking up to you, at least that's what I thought it was. And the other Gladers thought I had a crush on you, and I thought they were wrong- and then I spoke to you, and we started training, and they- they were right."

He huffs, looking at you before his hands come to his face, hiding.

That's when it kind of clicks. You don't mind some people, but you always prefer Minho. You like talking to Harriet and Vince, but you'd rather be with Minho.

You've been mistaking your possible friendships with people as neuatrality and being civil. And been mistaking the strong feelings you have for Minho as finally having a friend.

Which clearly isn't the case as him confessing has you blushing and your heart jumping out of your chest.

Being isolated for the majority of your teen years has definitely made this complicated.

"I don't know," he mumbles, "sorry, I just had to say something." His hands flop to his sides as he unintentionally slips further down, ending up in an awkward half-sitting, half-lying position as you're still pressed together.

There's a few moments of silence as you process.

Minho seems frozen. But you're not.

Turning so you're on your side.

"Look, I'm sorry-"

"Shut up, Minho," you kiss him, your hand coming round to the other side of his face, hovering over him at a bit of an awkward angle.

You break away, your eyes meeting for a second. He smiles at you, it's soft and content. His hand comes to your waist, loosely hanging as he kisses you again.

You break for a second time.

This time, you flop back down, snuggling next to him.

"You got it all out of your system?" You ask him.

"Yeah," he grins, slipping his arm under the back of your head and pulling you closer. "Think so."

"Good- now, shut up and let me read."

I don't even know if this one makes any sense, I'm becoming delirious.

I hope it does.

Hopefully you kinda enjoyed :))

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

LOVE AND WAR

001; I CAN BRING YOU IN WARM

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Warnings: guns, violence, alcohol, drunkness, blood, knives, allusion to slavery

Summary: you had spent your entire life running, from corellia, from your family, from the empire and now from bounty hunters. But when one man sees how you care for his child, what is he going to do with himself, especially as he finds himself falling for you

Wordcount: 3.9k

Daiyu was the worst planet you’d ever been on and it wasn't for the lack of nightlife or for the lack of interesting jobs but because of its weather. With a dark black hood over your head, hands pressed into the pockets as you walked through the crowded cities, you scanned the area for anyone with a bounty puck.

This time 6 years ago, you were one of the most celebrated people in the entire galaxy. You had people fawning over you left right and centre, you had more medals than you could possibly want and you had everything. Or so you thought.

You tried not to think about that time of your life too often and on a planet like this, you didn't have to think about much about anything for too long of a time. It was easier to sit there in one of the bars, a drink in your hand as you drowned in the neon lights and the large crowds that swarmed the city.

However, the planet required you to constantly be looking over your shoulder, always watching out for the next person who was going to try and attack you, whether it be imperial sympathisers, random drunken men with no impulse control or bounty hunters.

You had spent your entire 20s saving the galaxy, joining in on the rebellion and whilst your brother and your best friends got to sit pretty in their Jedi training camps or their coruscant apartments or their thrones, you were stuck living day by day, hiding from bounty hunters.

There was no way to determine when you changed from the hero to the girl being hunted down by Bounty Hunters every other week but you assumed it had something to do with Lady Proxima, a tall white grindalid who looked after you - more like worked to the core - after your parents death.

She was the one who had set the bounty after you nearly eighteen months ago now and though you wished you could escape it, you had no regrets for trying to kill her - the act that landed you with a bounty in the first place.

In the distance, you spotted the nearby nightclub and cantina and it wasnt hard to distinguish its flashing lights from the dark dreary weather on Daiyu. You looked around, pulling the hood off your head as you took shelter under the opening to a loud nightclub. You looked around before stepping inside, entering the world of drugs and mayhem and forgetting.

Hesitantly at first, you pushed your way through the mass of people that had grouped in the middle, dancing along with the live band in the corner. You pushed past a human and a zabrak making out in front of the bar as you tried to make it to the alcohol as fast as possible.

You pulled a chair back at the bar, your jacket now draped over your lap as you called out to the twi’lek at the bar to bring you a drink. In a few seconds, she placed the drink on the bar in front of you, waiting for you to slide a handful of credits across the smooth surface before walking away.

You reach for the shot glass on the table, swirling it around for a second before pulling it to your lips and downing the glass in one fluid motion, throwing your head back before putting the glass back down on the table.

The burning feeling was present in the back of your throat, causing your nose to scrunch up in a mix of disgust and euphoria as you allowed the drink to overwhelm your senses. You opened your eyes, pushing your lips together as you looked at the bartender again, hand raised to signal her over.

Before she made it over to you, another man slid up next to you. He was a slimy man with greasy blonde hair that was sticking to his temple and the way that he looked at you, almost like a stick of meat, made you sick to your stomach.

“You want to buy some death sticks?” He questioned, his voice hoarse like he'd been smoking them all morning - and it wasn't even 12 o’clock yet, not like you’d be able to tell that with the dreary grey weather on the planet.

You had dealt with your fair share of assholes at bars - actually, you had dealt with your fair share of assholes in general - but today you were not in the headspace to fight with him.

It had been nine years since the day that you had lost your best friend, a memory that you didn't want to spend too much time thinking about. All you wanted to do was drown in your liquor and forget about the troubles of the world, to just watch it spin around you.

“She doesn't want to do that,” a deep voice said and you felt chills run down your spine at the sound of it. There was something about this low, almost modulated voice that drew you to him and slowly, you turned around to see a man standing there.

He was tall and still but the most recognisable feature was that he was covered in armour. It was glistening, multi-coloured in the club's neon lights and there was no expression in his body language and you couldn’t see his face to determine what he was thinking either.

You took a deep breath in, eyes narrowing on the man. You two were looking at each other - or at least you assumed he was looking at you - and neither was moving. The man trying to sell you death sticks just rolled his eyes, standing up and tucking his seat in before stumbling towards the group of people to sell too.

You hadn’t realised that you’d been staring at the man for too long, an uncomfortable amount of time really, but when you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you looked away from his visor and back at the new shot on the bar in front of you, “I don’t need to be saved,”

He didn't make a noise, just reaching into his pocket and before you could panic and imagine him pulling out a blaster and shooting you point blank, he pulled out a holo-puck and you couldn’t figure out which scenario was worse. You stared at your face as it spun around on top of the holo-puck, your name plastered at the top of it.

Your eyes trailed from the puck to him and he hasn't moved a muscle. There was something uncovering about the man and you couldn’t tell whether it was the fact that you couldn’t see his face and recognise any emotions, or if it was his regular demeanour.

“I guess this means you’re not going to buy me a drink,” you teased, standing up from your seat at the bar. Now standing up, you realised how tall he was, towering over you as you tried to find an escape plan.

He didn't laugh at the joke and you assumed his face was as emotionless as his body as he stated, “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” The modulator made his voice deep, the sound reverberating through your body.

Your breath hitched in your throat because although you should be scared of this emotionless bounty hunter who was probably here to kill you, you werent. There was something about him that you couldn’t put your finger on that made you feel intimidated yet secure.

“What does cold entail?” You questioned, hoping the slight fear bubbling up wasn't too obvious in your voice.

He tilted his head to the side slightly. Nobody had ever asked him that before and if Din was being honest, you weren’t like any bounty he had hunted down before. One, you were definitely the most beautiful bounty he had ever encountered. And two, you were the most calm; everyone else would either be running or begging at this point but you were doing neither, just staring him down like you could see through the visor.

“Carbonate,” he stated, his voice cold.

You felt a shiver run up your spine at the word, and not the good kind of shiver. There weren't many things that scared you in this universe, maker, you’d even encountered Darth Vader himself bur carbonate, that was what scared you. You’d seen someone you cared dearly about be stuck in there for half a year and you’d seen what it could do.

He noticed your shift in demeanour at that movement. Whilst your face didn't react to the words, he could see the flash of fear in your eyes, a small crease appearing between your brows.

“Well then Mr Mandalorian, I think I might have outstayed my welcome,” you stated and before he could respond to what you said or even comprehend it, you were ducking down under his clas arm the knife which appeared in your hand dragging along a slit between the pieces.

He swore under his breath, eyes scanning the room before seeing someone with a similar hood to yours running out of the door into the pouring rain and when you made the mistake of turning back round, hood falling from your head, his eyes met yours and he started running through the crowd.

Din shook his head as he pushed through the high and intoxicated people of the planet, knocking one or two of the down as he tried to make it up for the maker forsaken club.

When he got outside, the rain hitting his armour, he scanned the area for you but he had no idea where you went. He shook his head, unsure how he could’ve lost you.

The sound of a vendor yelling and a crate of fruit falling to the floor in a near alleyway was a telltale sign of escape and he decided to hitch his bets and chase down that way and lucky for him, the maker was on his side today as he saw you running round the corner, wet from the rain.

He chased after you, feet carrying him as fast as he could as he raced around the unfamiliar streets of Daiyu. He didn't know why you were being hunted but he didn’t care, as long as it gave him enough money for petrol and food for him and Grogu.

You looked behind you, swearing out loud as you trod in a puddle, broken shoes filling with water. You kept going despite the pain in your legs and the burning in your lungs. You’d be damned if you survived Darth Vader himself but a Mandalorian took you out.

Stopping round a corner, your hands on your legs as you caught your breath, you thought you’d be okay and you were. You found the best way out but then you saw a group of men shooting at this round ball.

You watched as they laughed to themselves, shooting at this thing that you suddenly recognised as a pram. That’s when you spotted a small green alien sitting behind the pedestal, looking up at you.

Every instinct told you that you had to keep running from that Mandalorian bounty hunter that was pretty ready to ‘take you in cold’ but your morals told you that you had to save the little baby from whatever these rogue gang members wanted from him.

You sighed, shaking your head as you pulled your blaster out, closing one of your eyes as you shot one of the three men in the head, killing him instantly. The next shot hit the second man in the stomach and he doubled over, hands on his stomach as the other man searched for where the gunshot came from.

He let out a yell as he noticed you, the two men shooting at you and you managed to take them both down before rushing down and grabbing the child. He was small and green and as you held him in your arms, he reached out for you with little green hands.

“What’s your name, little one?” You asked, watching as he grasped one of your fingers with his little hand. He just babbled and you assumed that he was too small to answer you so you smiled, giving him your name.

When you heard more yelling and blaster fire, you assumed that there were more gang members and you hid behind a wall, hearing them yelling about finding the child.

“They're talking about you kiddo?” You questioned, voice quiet so that they didn’t hear you. He cooed, a mischievous smile on his face and you assumed it was him.

You didn't know what to do, just waiting and looking around and hoping that they had passed. You had also managed to escape the Mandalorian that was after you and as soon as you got this kid back to his family, you were going to get off of this planet and find the next hiding spot, maybe .

That's when you heard more blaster fire and the body of one of the gang members fell down at your feet as you shielded the child from its view.

You assumed that they were all dead when it went quiet and you stepped out hesitatingly, blaster in one hand and the child in your other. He cooed, smiling up at you as you looked around, “Listen, don’t be worried, i'm going to find your parents,”

You felt a presence behind you and froze up, turning around and looking up at The Mandalorian who had been hunting you down earlier. He was wet from the rain as well and when he noticed that you had a little child in your arms, he tilted his head in confusion.

Now it was your time to start bartering and you stepped back, holding the child closer to your chest, “Listen, take me in warm, I don’t care, just let me find this kid's parents,” you said.

Din felt his heart pounding in his chest as he watched you, an insanely beautiful bounty, holding his child to your chest protectively. There was something weird about the feeling bubbling up in his chest, one that he’d never felt before.

The child reached his little arms out, giggling to himself as he tried to reach for Din and you looked at it confused, “He’s mine,” he stated, a small bit of emotion evident in his voice.

Your brows furrowed as you looked down at him, the child cooing in your arms as you placed him back down in his slightly battered cot. He used the controls, going back over to Din and looking up at him.

“You’re an awful parent, leaving him here alone,” you said, your blaster still in your hand. You

Din smiled to himself under the helmet, glad that you couldn’t see his amused reaction to your comment, “I didn’t, he must have escaped my ship,” he stated, that cold tone to his voice.

You sighed, looking up at him. You brushed your wet hair from your face, only now realising that you were still standing in the rain, “You gonna take me in warm Mr Mandalorian?” You asked, hands held out in surrender.

He cocked his head to the side and you definitely recognised that movement as confusion, “You’re just giving up like that?” He questioned.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I’m not going to be able to convince you to let me go,” you stated and he nodded, reaching into his back pocket, eyes narrowed and focused on her; he didn’t understand why she was just letting him take her away.

He had his hands on the restraints, about to put them on her when more gang members sped around the corner, looking around for the two of them - and by that, they were looking for Din and Grogu.

The Mandalorians head was spinning with the events of the days and his oddly submissive bounty and as he looked at the people who were hunting down the child and trying to kill him, he knew he had to make a rash decision that any other day he would scold himself for.

He turned to you, pushing your hands down and putting the restraints back onto his belt, “Can you shoot?” He asked, his voice still cold but now you could sense a bit of fear in it. It was strange, how you could feel this emotionless man opening up to you little by little but you could.

“Can I shoot?” You teased, repeating the question back at him before pursing your lips together and nodding, “Of course I can,”

Din nodded, looking down at you just as the gang members looked into the alleyway, one of them exclaiming that they had found the child and you wondered what was so interesting and lucrative about this kid that this many people were ready to die for.

He looked back at you, taking a few steps forward, “Stay in front of the kid okay,” he stated and you nodded, watching as he began shooting at them.

You looked back at the child who put the lid over his pram and you turned back and started shooting, the sound of blaster fire echoing through the alleyway.

This morning when you woke up in tha5 small, damp hostel, this wasn’t how you expected the day to go. You would never have imagined that you would be standing in the pouring rain, fighting alongside the man who was trying to take you in as a bounty so that you could protect his son.

You slid down, the rain making the cobblestone pavement wet as you slid under the man's legs, slicing through his thighs with your knife and watching as he collapsed down, your knife jamming into the back of his neck. You pulled it out with a grunt, wiping the blade on your trousers before grabbing your blaster and shooting the man behind you.

Din watched in awe, he shouldn’t feel this way towards anyone, especially not towards a bounty but the second that he had laid eyes on you in the cantina bar, he knew there was something special about you and now, as you stabbed men to protect his son, he shouldn’t have felt as turned on as he did.

You turned around, spinning on the heel of your foot as you shot another one, watching him fall down with a scream. It was the last man and as you took a deep breath, pushing your wet hair out of your face and looking at the Mandalorian, you smiled.

He watched as you stepped over the myriad of bodies on the floor, using the pad of your thumb to wipe some of the blood that had splattered on your chin away and you walked up to the cot, watching as the child opened the lid.

He chuckled at the sight of you and you smiled back at him before looking up at the Mandalorian. Your smile fell as your eyes landed on his helmet, unable to see what he was thinking and he was glad you couldn’t see underneath because he was sure that from the heat on his cheeks, he was blushing like a schoolboy.

There was an awkward silence that fell as you looked around at the bodies that littered the floor of the alleyway and you held your hands out again, “Take me in warm?” You questioned.

You could hear the faint sound of his breath hitching in his throat through the modulator as he pushed your hands away. He watched as your brows pulled together, a deep crease appearing between them as you looked up at him, "They won't be needed,"

You chuckled, a slight smile tugging at the corner of your lips, "You might be the nicest bounty hunter I've ever encountered," you stated and Din knew that if you could see under his helmet, you'd have teased him for the way his cheeks were bright red as he looked at you.

Being in his mid thirties, he had spent the best part of twenty years hidden under the helmet and away from the world and with his helmet on, he could be as expressive as he wanted, a superpower that was working overtime right now.

"Lets go," he said, keeping his head held high as the child followed in the hovering pram next to him.

You had so many questions that were trying to bubble up to the surface but you pushed them away, not wanting to agrivate the man who was being so kind to you whilst holding your life in his hands.

Some people looked at you as you walked alongside him and now you wondered if the attention was from the gunfire earlier or from the large Mandalorian you were walking with.

You looked up at him, continuing to walk. You’d only encountered one mandalorian before and he had been a bounty hunter too but you knew that’s not all they ever did. The one you were walking with now hadnt told you his name unlike the last one and this one was a lot more quiet and reserved.

There were so many questions swimming in your head and it made you dizzy as you wondered what this man wanted and why he was being so kind. Why did he have a kid? Why was he green? Was the Mandalorian green? What was your bounty for? What did he want?

“You okay?” He asked, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts and that’s when you’d realsied you’d stopped and had been staring at him for at least thirty seconds. He had his head cocked to the side, one hand on his hip as he stopped as well a few feet in front of you.

He was waiting for your answer and you nodded, a smile appearing on your face to try and be polite as you started walking again, “Just got lost in thought, its been a long day,” you stated, tryin to make your excuse sound plausible. You couldn’t just explain that you’d been staring at him.

Din hummed in response, continuing to walk alongside you, guiding you in right direction towards a ship that you recognised as a razor crest. You walked towards it, one hand brushing over the cold and slightly wet metal of the ship as you looked back at him, eyes wide, “You have a Razor Crest?”

He nodded, walking over to you, “Let’s go,” he said and your face dropped as you watched him walk up the ramp, remembering that you were just a bounty to him like you’d already forgotten that.

He didnt notice and just watched as you walked up the ramp as well, looking around at the room and watching as he picked up the child and placed him on the floor. The little child giggled, running in the direction of the cockpit and you just watched, as smile on your face.

Din looked back at you, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the smile on your face and when you made eye contact - or he made eye contact with you - he gestured to the cockpit, “You probably want to come sit down, we’re going to jump into hyperspace soon,” he explained.

You nodded, muttering a thank you as you squeezed past him into the cockpit, seeing the child having already strapped himself into the seat behind the pilots seat. Din came in, his hand brushing against the child’s head which made him laugh, before he sat down in the pilots seat.

You strapped yourself in, eyes focused on the front window as you felt that familiar presssure of hyperspace, watching the blue lights in the distance get closer, laughing you three into an unknown destination to you. But you were so ready for it.

So this is the first chapter of the bounty x bounty hunter series and I hope you enjoyed it, I really love the concept and can't wait to expand on it. If you liked it, I would love to hear any feedback. Also, I am going to be opening a taglist so if you want to be added, just send an ask or comment on here, I don't mind. Hope you enjoyed it :)

Taglist:

@babygirlrex0504

[steponmeinejghafa]

Little Crow Pt. 1

Summary: The Crows (Kaz, Inej, Jesper, Wylan, Nina, and Matthias) find a lost child and kinda raise them as their own. So, a collection of scenarios where they all try and (sometimes fail) to parent you.

Six of Crows x Child!Ravkan!Reader

Age: 6

———

The afternoon sun beat down harshly on the streets, making its rays glint off blindingly from closed windows of the nearby buildings.

There you were, standing outside, alone and scared, lost in the streets of the Barrel. You’d managed to escape the slaver’s ship, and you were desperate to find food and shelter. Tears gushed down your cheeks as the sights and sounds overwhelmed you, and you backed away into an alley, unbeknownst to a watching figure nearby.

Kaz Brekker was not unfamiliar with the strangeness and frightening demeanour of the Barrel, so it was no wonder that he found a crying child in an alley, with nothing but the clothes on her back and not a penny to her name.

He limped towards you and tapped on you shoulder gingerly, “Excuse me, young lady, are you lost?”

You gasped and smacked his hand away, not knowing if he was a just being friendly or just a slaver in disguise. Kaz didn’t wince, simply smirked as he silently appreciated your fiery and vigilant spirit.

“Where are your parents, little one?” He asked, eyebrow raised.

“I—I don’t know,” you replied, about to burst into another flurry of tears. “I escaped from the ship, that’s all I remember.”

Seething internally, Kaz muttered to himself, “Damn slavers,” before looking at you with shockingly gentle eyes as he added in a slightly lighter tone, “Why don’t you come with me, I’ll give you some shelter and warmth for the night. Then you can be on the next ship back to…” he paused, unsure of where you were from.

“Ravka,” you corrected.

“Ah,” he nodded. “Your Kerch is very good, for a Ravkan,” he admitted as he let you hold his coat sleeve and walk with him back to the Crow Club.

“My mother was Kerch,” you said, feeling comfortable with this strange crippled man with a sour face. He gave you the vibe of a guarded, but well-intentioned person. “My father was a Ravkan translator for the foreigners who’d visit, so I know many languages!” You puffed your chest out with pride, earning a soft chuckle from Kaz.

“Interesting,” he said. “I didn’t catch your name, though.”

“I didn’t tell you my name,” you replied, frowning.

“Naturally. But if you’re going to stay with me for a while, we should get to know each other.” He replied, ushering you inside the club as you both arrived.

“You first,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m Kaz Brekker,” he said. “The owner of this club.”

“I’m…I’m Y/n L/n,” you replied, “The owner of nothing.”

He barked a laugh, something which didn’t happen often, and limped to his office, where he could offer you some peace and quiet.

“There’s a bed, and I can ask around for some clean clothes,” he offered. “You can go to the bathroom there and bathe while I do.”

“Thank you, Mister Brekker!” You smiled, running to the bathroom.

Inej, meanwhile, had crept in, soundlessly as usual, saying softly, “Seems like Kaz Brekker has a soft side.”

“Please,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “The child is here temporarily. I’m just offering her something which none of us got when we were alone in the world.”

“Like what, letting her sleep in your bed, bathe in your own bathroom, going out of your way to actually buy her clothes?” Smirked the Suli, placing her knives down.

“She escaped a slaver’s ship, Inej,” said Kaz. “It’s a wonder how she’s still alive.”

“She’s got the potential to be a Crow, wouldn’t you say?” Suggested Inej, crossing her arms across her chest. Seeing his stubborn face, she added, “Come on, we both know her parents are dead and she’s got no family to go back to.”

“And?” He replied, limping over to the door, calling for one of the worker boys and asking him to fetch some comfortable clothes for a child.

“She needs a family, Kaz,” the Wraith replied, following him. “Can’t we just do that? Can’t you?”

Kaz thought for a moment, and sighed, “Fine. But we’ll have to tell the other crows, too. Jesper, Wylan, Nina.”

“Nina is going to be thrilled,” said Inej. “Trust me.”

You came out of the bathroom, wearing one of Katz’s shirts which was long enough to be a dress for you, and your face dropped into an expression of intense vigilance again as your eyes landed on Inej and her knives which glinted in their sheaths.

“Mister Brekker,” you said, eyes wide with fear. “Who is she?”

“This is—“ Kaz began, but Inej cut him off with a hand.

“I’m Inej Ghafa,” she smiled, approaching you, hands up in surrender to show you she meant no harm. “I’m a friend of Kaz.”

“Oh,” you said. “You’re not a slaver’s friend then, right?”

Inej laughed and shook her head, “No, I’m not.”

The worker boy appeared at the doorway, panting as he held a paper bag in his hand. He handed it to Kaz, and scurried away, before he former handed you the bag.

“It’s something I figured you might like. My shirt cannot possibly be your only source of clothing,” said Kaz, his jaw set firmly as usual, but his eyes still held that same softness.

You accepted the bag with a happy little ‘thank you’, and pulled out a shirt with a pair of pants and suspenders, which made you laugh gleefully.

“It’s comfy!” You grinned after having run to the bathroom to put it on.

Another knock sounded at the door, making your face turn fearful again. What if the slavers had found you?

It wasn’t the slaver, as three bright and cheerful faces appeared at the doorway. Two males and one female.

The woman gasped and rushed towards you, before she had to take a pause to ask Inej, “Why’s her heart racing so fast?”

“She escaped from a slaver’s ship,” explained the Wraith. “Kaz seems to have gone soft, so he took her in.”

The woman nodded and waved her hands, slowing your heart rate down and calming you. A Heartrender? More importantly, a Grisha?

“Hi,” said the Grisha with a beaming smile at you. “I’m Nina Zenik. This is Jesper Fahey and Wylan Van Eck. We’re friends, don’t worry.”

The reassuring words and Nina’s smile kept you at ease, and you looked at Kaz, asking, “Why did Inej say you ‘took me in’?”

The man limped over to you and kneeled to your height, making sure not to put too much pressure on his bad leg, before saying, “How would you like for us to be your new family, Y/n?”

You thought about it for a moment, before asking, “You’re all going to take care of me?”

“Yeah,” nodded Nina.

“Absolutely,” said Inej.

You nodded and looked at Kaz, responding to his question, “I’d like that.”

“Well,” said the Zemeni-looking boy, “Welcome to the Crows, little one. Get ready for a life of madness, mayhem, and murder.”

“Do we beat people up? The bad people?” You asked with a big grin on your face, looking at Kaz.

“Oh yes we do, little crow,” he replied, smirking slightly.

“I don’t know this kid,” said Jesper with a grin, “But I love her already.”

[ladyeckland28]

Galley of the Damned: A Journal from Below Deck

A cosmic horror/deep sea terror by Lady Eckland and Ms Darkwood

*April 15, 1847*

The gentle sway of the *Peregrine's Fortune* has become as natural to me as breathing. Three years I've served as cook aboard this sturdy merchant vessel, and my little galley feels more like home than any hearth on solid ground ever did. The brass pots gleam in the lantern light, my knives are sharp and true, and the steady rhythm of chopping vegetables meshes perfectly with the creak of timber and splash of waves against the hull.

Today's inventory: thirty-six pounds of salted pork, twenty-eight pounds of hardtack (showing signs of weevils in the lower crates), fifteen pounds of dried beans, and eight precious onions that I've managed to keep from sprouting. Captain Morrison assures me we'll make port in Jamaica within the fortnight to resupply. Until then, I'll have to stretch what we have.

"Another fine stew, Mr. Hayes," First Mate Williams said this evening, scraping his bowl clean with a crust of bread. "You work miracles with what little we have."

I smiled and ladled him another helping. "The secret's in the timing, Mr. Williams. Everything has its proper moment—when to add the salt, when to stir, when to let things simmer."

Little did I know then how prophetic those words would prove.

*April 20, 1847*

The captain altered our course today. Something about favorable winds and a shorter route he'd heard of from a Portuguese trader in Boston. The crew seems uncertain—I heard murmurs of concern during the evening meal—but Morrison's never led us astray before.

Young Tommy Fletcher, our cabin boy, lingered in the galley after helping with the dishes. "Mr. Hayes," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "have you noticed anything... strange about the water lately?"

I hadn't, but the boy's usual cheerful demeanor had given way to something more subdued. "Strange how, lad?"

"Sometimes, when I'm swabbing the deck at dawn, the waves look... wrong. Like they're moving against the wind. And there's colors in the deep I've never seen before." He shuddered. "Colors that shouldn't be there."

I ruffled his hair and gave him an extra biscuit. "That's just the morning light playing tricks, Tommy. The sea's full of mysteries, but they're natural ones."

He nodded, but his eyes remained troubled. As he left, I noticed he'd barely touched his supper.

*April 25, 1847*

The fog rolled in three days ago and hasn't lifted. Thick as pea soup, it clings to the ship like a burial shroud. The crew's growing restless—I can hear it in their voices, see it in the way they huddle together during meals, speaking in hushed tones that fall silent when I approach with the soup pot.

Something's off about the food stores. The salted pork's taking on an odd sheen, and the water in the barrels tastes... different. Not bad, exactly, but wrong somehow. Like drinking tears.

"It's nothing to fret about," I told myself, examining a piece of meat that seemed to twitch under my knife. "Just the rolling of the ship playing tricks on tired eyes."

But when I started preparing tonight's stew, I could have sworn I heard something whispering from inside the pot—a sound like waves lapping at a distant shore, growing louder with each bubble that broke the surface.

"Samuel..." it seemed to say, though surely it was just steam escaping. "Samuel... we hunger..."

I nearly dropped the ladle when Bosun Jenkins burst into the galley, making me jump.

"Christ's sake, man!" I exclaimed, clutching my chest. "Announce yourself next time!"

Jenkins didn't smile or apologize. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken and glazed. "Need meat," he growled. "Raw. Now."

"But dinner's nearly ready—"

"RAW!" he roared, slamming a calloused fist against my cutting board. Then, more quietly: "Please, Samuel. I'm so hungry. So very hungry."

I gave him a slab of salt pork, watching in horror as he tore into it like a wild animal. His teeth seemed sharper than I remembered, and when he looked up at me, blood and brine dripping down his chin, his eyes reflected the lamplight like a cat's.

He left without a word, and I spent the next hour scrubbing the cutting board, trying to convince myself the scratches in the wood weren't arranged in patterns that hurt my eyes to look at.

*April 30, 1847*

The captain's stopped taking meals in his cabin. He stands at the helm day and night, staring into the fog with an unsettling intensity. When First Mate Williams suggested he rest, Morrison struck him across the face and screamed something in a language none of us recognized.

The crew's behavior grows more disturbing by the day. They've taken to pacing the decks at night, muttering to themselves. The food I prepare goes largely untouched, except for the meat—that they fight over like starving wolves, preferring it bloody and barely cured.

Tommy Fletcher came to me in tears this morning. "Mr. Hayes," he sobbed, "I saw something in the water. A face... but not a human face. It was looking at me, and it... it smiled."

I held the trembling boy close, noticing how cold his skin felt. "There, there, lad. Your mind's playing tricks—"

"No!" He pulled away violently. "You don't understand! They're calling us, Mr. Hayes. All of us. Can't you hear them singing?"

I couldn't, but later that night, as I stirred the stew, I began to notice patterns in the way it moved—swirls and eddies that formed and reformed, like dancing figures performing an eternal, underwater waltz. And deep in the pot, something that might have been an eye opened and fixed its gaze upon me.

I slammed the lid down and threw the whole pot overboard.

*May 3, 1847*

Three men went missing today. Jenkins claims they jumped overboard, says he saw them dive into the waves "like they were answering a lover's call." But the screams I heard in the dead of night told a different story.

The fog's grown thicker, if that's possible. It seeps into the galley like a living thing, making the lanterns flicker and dance. The walls weep constantly now, not with normal condensation, but with something that tastes of salt and copper when it drips onto my tongue.

"Your meals grow cold, Samuel Hayes," a voice whispered from the shadows today. It might have been Williams, but the accent was all wrong—too fluid, like words spoken underwater. "We require... fresher fare."

I'm running out of ingredients, but that's the least of my concerns. The remaining food has changed. The vegetables pulse with an inner light when cut, leaking phosphorescent fluid that stains my hands. The meat... the meat writhes and whispers when touched. I've taken to wearing gloves, but I can still feel it trying to grab me through the thick leather.

*May 5, 1847*

I heard singing today—real singing, not just the ever-present whispers. It came from the captain's cabin, where Morrison has finally retreated. The melody was beautiful in a way that made my teeth ache and my vision blur. When I pressed my ear to his door, I could make out words:

"Deep beneath the waves we dwell,

Where no mortal tongue can tell

Of the feasts we there prepare,

Come below and join us there..."

The captain's voice cracked on the high notes in a way that suggested his throat was full of water. I fled back to my galley, but the song followed me, echoing through the ship's bones.

Tommy Fletcher stopped by again, but he's changed. His skin has taken on a greenish cast, and there are things moving beneath it that make me sick to look at. "We're almost there, Mr. Hayes," he said, smiling with too many teeth. "Almost home."

"Where?" I asked, though I dreaded the answer.

"Where the old ones feast," he replied. "In the dancing halls beneath the waves. They've saved you a special place, you know. The cook who'll prepare their final banquet."

He reached for me with webbed fingers, but I pushed him away and barred the galley door. I can hear him scratching at it still, humming that damned song.

*May 7, 1847*

The ship no longer rocks with the waves—it pulses, like a heart about to burst. The brass pots in my galley have started to tarnish in impossible patterns, forming images that shift when I'm not looking directly at them. Scenes of underwater cities, of creatures that have never seen the sun, of feasts where the food screams and the diners have too many mouths.

I tried to make bread today, but the dough kept trying to crawl away. When I finally forced it into the oven, it screamed—actually screamed—and the smell it produced sent me retching into the corner.

The crew doesn't even pretend to be human anymore. They slide across the deck on bellies that have grown scales, leaving trails of slime that glow in the dark. Their eyes have gone huge and black, and their fingers have grown long and boneless. They gather at the railings, pointing and chittering at shapes in the fog that I refuse to acknowledge.

Williams visited me today, crawling across the ceiling like a grotesque spider. "Time to start preparing the feast, Samuel," he gurgled through gills that had split open along his neck. "They're so looking forward to your cooking."

"Who are they?" I demanded, brandishing a knife that seemed to bend and warp in my trembling hand.

He laughed, and seawater spilled from his lips. "The ones who taught us how to hunger. The ones who showed us what real food tastes like. They've been so patient, Samuel. So very patient. But now they want their supper."

*May 8, 1847*

The captain emerged from his cabin at last. God help me, I wish he hadn't. His uniform has fused with his flesh, brass buttons sunk deep into green-tinted skin. Tentacles writhe where his beard should be, and his eyes... his eyes are like windows into an ocean trench, bottomless and full of terrible wisdom.

"We've arrived," he announced in a voice like waves crushing a drowning man. "Time for the final preparation, Mr. Hayes. They're waiting for their cook."

The fog has pulled back at last, revealing what lies beneath us. The sea glows with otherworldly light, illuminating the ruins of a city that should not exist. Massive shapes move through the waters below, casting shadows that drive me mad to look upon.

I'm writing this from inside a barrel in the galley's deepest corner. They're coming for me—I can hear them slithering through the ship, calling my name in voices that sound like dying stars would sound. The ship's tilting, slowly but surely pointing its bow toward the depths.

The knife in my hand promises a quicker end than what awaits below, but my hands shake too much to use it. Or perhaps something else stays my hand—some horrible curiosity about the feast they've promised me I'll prepare.

The barrel's lid is being pried open now. I see faces I once knew, transformed into something ancient and hungry. They're reaching for me with limbs that were never meant to exist above the waves.

"Come, Samuel," they sing in horrible harmony. "Come cook for us. Cook with us. The greatest feast awaits, and you're the guest of honor."

They have me now. Their touch burns cold as the deepest ocean, and I can feel my flesh beginning to change, to adapt to the pressures that await below. The last thing I see as they drag me from my sanctuary is my reflection in a pot's tarnished surface—my eyes are already growing larger, darker, hungrier.

I am the last to bear witness. The sea has taken them, and soon it shall take me, too. And when it does, it will feast on my very soul.

But first, it seems, I have a meal to prepare.

With thanks to @dadrizzle34 for providing the inspiration for this story.

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

Bittersweet Revenge

Alcina Dimitrescu x FEM! Reader

(A/N- I hope you enjoy this! Tell me what you think about this in the comments or reblogs, I would really appreciate it!)

(Warning: Angst, swearing, heavy description of blood and gore)

In all your years of life you’ve never expected to meet a person like Alcina, but damn were you grateful for her. Despite how Alcina treated the other maids, she had a soft spot towards you. Always taking good care of you whenever you were ill, made you feel safe, and much much more.

You were hiding in your bedroom, slightly shaking from fear. You had just encountered Ethan Winters, luckily he didn’t see you. You knew who he was because Cassandra told you about how he entered the castle and got captured. So why was he roaming around? How in the hell did he manage to escape?

You take a deep breath in before breathing out, your anxiety starts to calm down as you think about Alcina. You have faith in her that she can defeat him, she is incredibly strong after all. A mere human cannot be able to kill her.

Some time passes by and you hear a loud menacing roar, you know instantly that it’s Alcina. It concerns you that she had to result to that form, but you still hold a strong sense of faith in your heart.

You waited and waited for what felt like ages until you heard the fighting come to a halt. Surely Alcina would’ve come find you after she transformed back to her usual self, right?

So you waited..and waited..and that’s it you’ve made up your mind. You are going out there to check on your love.

You walked around to where they just battled, stepping over some debris before you saw her. Your one and only love of your pitiful life crystallized on the cold ground.

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach as you felt a overwhelming feeling of sadness and guilt for not protecting her. You should’ve done something, anything to help her win. You walk up to your deceased lover and hug her tightly, warm tears fall on the ice cold crystal.

Soon your tears stopped and you felt the blood in your veins boil with rage. You are gonna kill that ma- no, monster you are gonna kill that fucking monster.

You gave a soft kiss on the crystal head before whispering a quiet “Rest my love” to it. You got up and quickly but quietly went to your bedroom to avoid drawing any unwanted attention to yourself.

When you got to your bedroom, you opened the bedside drawer and pulled out a steel pistol. The look of it saddened you as you faintly remembered Alcina gifting that to you just in case something ever happened and she wasn’t there to protect you anymore.

Loading up the pistol, a sinister smile appears on your face, “Don’t worry my Lady, I’ll be sure to avenge you.” You say with certainly. Opening up the drawer below, you pulled out a belt, sheaths, and a few knives.

The rage continued to boil throughout your blood as you suited up, putting on the belt, attaching the rough leather sheaths to it, and putting the knives inside and the pistol in it’s holster. You had everything set now for your perfect revenge.

You carefully walk outside, the cold breeze hitting you. It was a weird feeling to be in the freezing cold but not feel cold at all, you can thank your anger for that. You were looking around for awhile until you finally saw him. He was trading stuff with the Duke and you carefully walked closer.

The Duke gave a small glance towards you, opening his mouth to speak. You shot a rage filled glare at him and he kept quiet, but still had that smile on his face.

You got closer and closer until you stopped. You were right in front of him. That monster. You swiftly but quietly pulled out your already loaded pistol and fired two shots. One of the shots hit Ethan’s left arm and the other on his right. The bullets went through his bones so he couldn’t move his arms, he turned around and tried to back away. There was nothing he could really do to defend himself without the use of his arms.

You tighten your grip on the pistol before firing two more shots hitting his knees, causing him to fall on the hard ground. You drop the pistol and pulled out your knife, getting on top of him you say,

“I’m gonna make sure this hurts.” You stab him in the shoulder making sure the knife is as deep as it can go and cut all the way to his wrist. A loud pained groan erupted from him, making a smile appear on your face. “Ah that’s music to my ears. Come on, you can be louder, right?!” You yelled over his groans.

He was struggling but you overpowered him using pure rage and the struggling only added fuel to the fire. You pulled the knife out of his wrist and brought it down, stabbing one of his testicles. You laughed and laughed as his pained groans turned into yells and failed attempts to get the Duke to help.

“He ain’t gonna help you so just give it up.” As you said the last word you pulled out the knife and stabbed through his digastric muscle, you also managed to stab his tongue in the process. You grabbed the other knife with your free hand and stabbed his right eye. When you got the knife out, you took the stabbed eye and shoved it in his mouth, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to chew on the organ and turn it into pure mush.

When you forced him to swallow it, you stabbed his throat and he started to suffocate. You took the knife out of his digastric muscle and sliced through both of his cheeks, carving a smile on his face.

“Great I’m glad you’re just as happy as I am!” You say in a psychotic manner, your crazed smile never leaving your face.

You watched as he slowly stopped struggling and the light in his left eye died. You laughed one more time as you thought about his pained face, “Finally the monsters dead.”

You got up off the corpse and gathered all your weapons, and walked to the castle. You didn’t care if you were all bloodied you just wanted to go home..

Home, that single word brings a question to mind. Where was home? Home is supposed to be a place where you feel comfort and peace. Oftentimes it’s a place where you can come back to someone, but where was it? You didn’t have what everyone called a home, instead the only thing you had was..

You fell hard on your knees, as tears came down your bloodied cheeks and made a pitter-patter noise as they made contact with the ground, you had nothing now.

....

[xuchiya]

"Chapter 5: The Chase" || kang yeosang [a mini-series]

|| next: chapter 6 || if you haven't read the previous chapter, here's the masterlist.

genre: non!idol yeosang. fluff. angst. violence. mentions: gun. knives. attempt murder/kidnapping. blood. anxiety attack.

"my lady as much as I want to drive that ... chariot as our runaway vehicle ... you're on your own."

"KANG YEOSANG?!"

The carnival lights twinkled in the distance as you and Yeosang made your way back to the motorbike, you hum as you felt your body in a less stressful state looking at Yeosang, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this Yeo.” He bumps his shoulders to yours with a boyish grin, “Just because my duty is to protect you in general doesn’t mean I cannot protect you from things that can hurt you from the naked eye.” 

Your heart flutters and nod— feeling that intense butterflies flying around your stomach. Yeosang rev the motorbike to life and hands you the helmet. The night had been a delightful escape from the stress that had consumed you. You felt lighter, more at ease, thanks to Yeosang's thoughtful gesture. The drive back home was quiet at first, the peaceful silence a comforting backdrop to your thoughts.

The muffler silence as you approached a red light, you noticed Yeosang's eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at the side mirrors. You took notice as he pull up his visors,  "Something wrong?" you asked, sensing his tension. You pull away, doing the same thing but Yeosang grab your wrist and pulls down your visor, “Don’t baby.”

If it wasn’t for the other car on your right, a little too close, you would have been blushing mess from the other nickname he gave you. "Keep the visor down okay?" he said and you nodded, but his tone was cautious. "Just a car that's been a little too close for my liking."

You glanced back, seeing a black Mercedes idling behind you. The light turned green, and you continued on your way, but Yeosang kept a close eye on the mirror. After a few more red lights, Yeosang's suspicion grew. "Hold on," he said, his voice low and serious.

"What's going on?" you asked, feeling a knot of anxiety form in your stomach.

"I'm going to confirm something," he replied, taking an unexpected turn down a side street and braking on a side of the street. The Mercedes followed, shutting down the engine and exactly 4 men came out of the car, you watch them approach you two and Yeosang calmly took the situation, raising his visor, “Is there a problem?”

The first guy did not answer Yeosang but instead looked at you. You felt your heart stop and drop on the pit of your stomach when you notice the scar that was above the eyebrow. Your grip on Yeosang tightens.

“It’s her. Get her!” The first guy shouted, his voiced laced with menace. Without hesitation, Yeosang rev the motorbike loudly before launching off, “Hold on tight baby!” 

You screech down the street. Yeosang's jaw tightened, looking back then front. "Just as I thought. They're following us."

Your heart rate quickened as Yeosang navigated through different areas, trying to lose the tail. But the Mercedes stayed with you, matching every turn. "Hang on tight," he instructed, his voice calm but firm. Yeosang changed gear, and the motorbike sped up. The Mercedes did the same, closing the distance. "They're not giving up," you said, glancing back nervously.

"Then neither are we," Yeosang replied, his eyes focused ahead. He maneuvered the motorbike skillfully through the narrow streets, weaving in and out of traffic. The city lights blurred as you raced through intersections, the tires screeching with each sharp turn. 

The chase intensified, the Mercedes relentless in its pursuit. Yeosang took another sharp turn, heading towards a less crowded area. "We're going to have to lose them," he said, determination in his voice.

As you sped through an industrial area, Yeosang spotted an alleyway up ahead. " Are you ready my lady?!" he warned.

“Let’s just get over it gahd damnit!” He swerved the car into the narrow passage. The Mercedes followed, but the tight space worked to your advantage. Yeosang navigated the twists and turns with precision, creating a bit of distance between you and the pursuers. Suddenly, the alley opened up into a wider street. Yeosang revs up the accelerator, and the motorbike shoots forward. The Mercedes emerged from the alley, struggling to keep up with your sudden burst of speed. "We're almost there," Yeosang said, glancing at you to make sure you were okay. His other hand, holding on to your hands that were tightly holding on to him.

As the speedometer climbed, you could see the outskirts of the city up ahead. Yeosang took a final sharp turn onto a highway, pushing the car to its limits. The Mercedes was still behind, but the distance was growing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Yeosang spotted an off-ramp leading to a secluded area. He took it, and the Mercedes hesitated for a moment before following. That hesitation was all Yeosang needed. He took another sharp turn, heading into a forested area, the dense trees providing cover. He pulled the motorbike into a hidden driveway, shutting off the engine and killing the lights. "They won’t know," he whispered. You both watched as the Mercedes sped past, missing your hiding spot entirely.

After a tense few minutes, Yeosang let out a breath he had been holding. "I think we lost them." Your heart was still pounding, but relief washed over you. "What was that about?" you asked, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

"I'm not sure," Yeosang admitted. "But they seem to recognize you, do you know them?” You shook your head, the image of the first guy still vivid in your thoughts, “No. Not that I remember something like that.”

He nodded, slightly out of breath, probably from the adrenaline, “I’ll have to report this one but for now, let's get you home." He started the engine again, and this time the drive was uneventful. You arrived back at the manor, still shaken but grateful for Yeosang's quick thinking and expertise. As you stepped off of the , you looked at Yeosang. "Thank you," you said sincerely.

"Always," he replied, his eyes reflecting the seriousness of his promise to protect you.

As you were about to leave the parking lot, a black sleek car— similar to the ones you use whenever you got to a meeting or such— pulled up and you instantly recognized who it was. Yeosang took the helmet and placed it on the seat and stood tall beside you.

“What are you doing here, honey? Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?” You watch as your father approaches you, two of his bodyguards trailing behind him. You exhale, looking at him “Few of my schedules today are cancelled or move to next month, dad.” 

You saw his eyes flickered to you then to Yeosang then on the motorbike at the back then his eyes returned to you, “Did you go somewhere?” You look behind you then to your father, “I—”

“Sir!” A voice roared, capturing everyone's attention. A male—probably one of your dad’s bodyguards—approached your father with urgency. “The SPD is here for some interrogations.” Confusion rippled through the room as everyone wondered why the Seoul Police Department had shown up suddenly. Then, it clicked in your mind, and you glanced at Yeosang, who remained stoic and stood tall beside you.

“Why? What do they need?” your dad asked, his voice tight with controlled anger. Your heart stopped when the bodyguard replied, “KYS 61599 is being tracked down for overspeeding.” Your dad slowly turned to Yeosang with a deep frown on his face, his knuckles suddenly tight at his side. You immediately stepped forward. “Dad, I can explain.”

Your dad’s eyes did not waver, “Take her upstairs and put this man in a confined house.” Your breath hitch when all of his bodyguards move, taking your arms in their hands as your head snaps towards Yeosang who is being dragged rather harshly towards the confined house, “Dad no! Wait!”

Your dad looks at you with an intense look in his eyes, “And as for you, I’m disappointed that you would go behind my back just like that and use Yeosang as a way to escape from your duties and responsibilities.” Those words hit you like a punch to the gut. Every ounce of effort, every sleepless night, every sacrifice felt meaningless in that moment. “Dad, that’s not fair!” you yelled, your voice breaking. “I did not use Yeosang to escape! I did it because I needed a break! I’m suffocating under all this pressure!”

Your father’s eyes were cold, unmoved by your outburst. “You are the heir to De Villalobos Corporates. You have responsibilities. You cannot simply run away whenever you feel overwhelmed.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I never asked for this! I never wanted to be the heir! I never wanted to take care of the family business! All I wanted was to live a normal life, to pursue my own dreams, to have friends, to be free!”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You think you’re the only one who had dreams? Your grandfather worked his entire life to build this empire, and he chose you to continue his legacy. This is bigger than your personal desires.”

Your heart shattered at his words. “But what about my life, Dad? What about my happiness? You’re confining both me and my sister to a life we didn’t choose. And using Yeosang? That’s beyond my dignity. He saved me. He’s the only reason I’m still standing here!”

Your father’s face hardened, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Your happiness is secondary to your duty. You were born into this family, and with that comes sacrifices. You will fulfill your role, and that is final.”

Despair turned into anger, hot and fierce. “I refuse! I refuse to be your puppet! I refuse to be confined to this gilded cage! I will not let you or anyone else dictate my life!”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. Your father looked at you with a mix of anger and disappointment. “Take her to her room. She is not to leave until I say so.” As the bodyguards led you away, you looked back at Yeosang, who was being pulled in the opposite direction. Your heart ached with a pain you couldn’t describe. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear you.

Back in your room, the door closed behind you with a finality that echoed through your soul. You collapsed onto the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. All your hard work, all your efforts to balance the demands of your family and your own dreams, felt in vain. The weight of your father's harsh words and the reality of your situation crushed you, leaving you feeling more trapped and hopeless than ever.

Then thinking of Yeosang. Your tears continue to fall out of your eyes as you think of that man who did nothing but be kind to you, treating you not like royalty or an heir but rather a person and friend. 

Pulling your knees close to your chest, “I’m sorry.”

taglist: @yeosangsbabygirlsblog, @hi-kariii,@ateez-atiny380

[pancake-breakfast]

One of the things that fascinates me about the counterattack on the ark in Chapters 3-4 of TriMax Vol. 8 is, best we can tell, it's not exactly a coordinated attack.

You have Luida and the people from Home timing their own attack to coincide with the attack from the Federation Military, but Home isn't exactly talking with the Federation. Whether that's because Knives already destroyed all communications or because Home wants to continue preserving their own isolation is anyone's guess, but the point is they don't have a Federation representative at their war table and they aren't sending a runner or anything the Federation's way. Their plan is just to show up at the right time and the right place.

Luida knows it's a gamble. She's taking it in hopes that Vash shows up, but it doesn't seem like she knows what's become of him. She suspects he's been captured and/or is somehow fighting Knives on his own and needs their help, but she doesn't know that. She's just hoping that, if they give this their best effort, they'll tip the scales in Vash's favor so he can take care of the rest.

Except he can't.

He's being physically restrained, and seven months of constantly battling with Legato's telekinesis has left him drained and weary. Even as the ark comes under attack, Vash remains stuck in his little oubliette, unable to do anything to help. Luida's guessed much of the situation, but one thing she doesn't know is they need a man on the inside to actually get Vash free.

Enter Wolfwood.

We don't have any real insight on how Wolfwood got on the ark at this point, so since the last place we saw him was fighting side-by-side (sort of) with Chapel and Livio, we kinda have to guess he's still working with the Eye of Michael, especially since those two are shown to be on the ark, as well.

But that begs the question: why did Wolfwood wait so long to make his move?

I think Wolfwood kind of answers that himself as he goes up against Legato.

Wolfwood knows that, on any given day, Legato outmatches him, big time. If he's gonna go after Legato and have even the smallest chance of success, he's got to do it while he's worn down.

Maybe seven months seems a bit excessive, but Legato isn't Wolfwood's only concern here. Aside from the Eye of Michael and Chapel, specifically, trying to make sure Wolfwood falls fully back under their influence, Wolfwood also has to worry about Elandira, who's determined to see this through and outmatches him on a similar level to Legato. And then, of course, there's Knives, who could not only make mincemeat of him as soon as look at him, but has the kind of keen awareness that makes it extremely difficult for anyone to do anything in his general vicinity without him noticing.

What Wolfwood needs is an opportunity. He needs a moment where not only is Legato worn down, but all three of the parties with their eye on him are distracted with other things.

We don't really know what the Eye of Michael is up to before they show up to try and stop Wolfwood from escaping with Vash, but presumably they're a bit distracted by the sudden fire the ark is coming under. Elandira is also distracted by the attack, but it doesn't really become a focus for her until a fourth ally decides to make their move.

The Plants. All Knives' sisters that he's been absorbing take this very moment--while Knives is trying to defend the ark--to hit him with another vision, one of all the humans they remember. There's a lot to take in with these people, but I want to focus on just one.

This lady here. At first glance, it might seem like she's holding up a cloth of some kind, but if that's the case, why isn't the cloth bunched and draped where she's holding it? No, this woman is cleaning the glass on the plant bulb, and smiling as she does it.

The plants are bombarding Knives with all their good memories of humans.

This takes Knives down so effectively that Elandira goes from having a light bit of fun to having to compensate for the defense and offense Knives is no longer providing. She's good, but she's not as powerful as Knives, so she's a bit overtaxed trying to fill his role while he's out of commission.

And that's what clear's the path for Wolfwood to finally make his move.

It's difficult to say what exactly the Plants were thinking at this time. Their consciousness is a bit of a mystery to us as readers, and even to their brothers, who are the beings in the narrative that they are closest to. But I like to think they saw this opportunity to help their one brother and fight against the other, and they took it. It would explain why, when they showed their vision of the child and her mother thanking one of them, it was seen not only by Knives and Vash, but by Wolfwood.

But the one thing that really gets me is how this uncoordinated counterattack just flies in the face of Knives' conclusion about humans in Chapter 2 of this same volume.

Knives concludes that if the strain he's about to put on them just causes them to murder each other, then all they are good for is their own self-destruction. On the one hand, there's been a LOT of death because of what he's done, and a good chunk of it is absolutely due to human-on-human violence. But plenty of it is also due to exposure, with the bodies lying where they fell from exhaustion and heat and dehydration rather than due to infighting over what little was left.

When an organized chunk of humanity actually gets an idea of what's going on (which is no small feat with their main source of communications destroyed), they don't decide to hoard resources or thin the population further. They decide to put themselves at risk against superior technology to do their best to defend those who are left.

The Federation Military had no way of knowing they had help on the way. They weren't planning for it or counting on it. Luida and the people from Home knew they risked their way of life and the continued preservation of their cryopods and their own resources if they helped, but they spent three months pulling every spare resource they could to build something that would help, and when they saw the opportunity to back up the Federation forces, they immediately decided to take it.

And Wolfwood... he probably could have lived out his days more simply (I hesitate to say "more easily," since there's nothing easy about what he does) if he'd just bowed his head and gone back to Eye of Michael. But he can't just leave Vash there, even if it's to save his own skin, even if chances of him making it out alive are slim.

When Knives takes away what slim resources humanity has, it absolutely causes more chaos and strife, but it also causes people to band together to do their best to look out for each other... for people they hold dear and for complete strangers they'll never meet. Knives expects it to only bring out the worst, but it also brings out the best.

It's that one thing Vash gets that his brother seems entirely incapable of seeing.

[masterqwertster]

Ooh always love seeing the Hurt/Comfort D&D Subclass Prompts make a reappearance. Also love a good time travel/loop story, so might I request Chronurgy Wizard for any CR character?

Subclass Hurt/Comfort Prompt Chronurgy Wizard: Going back in time to try and stop the event from happening to them. I chose Imogen trying to save Laudna in a weird dunamancy mess courtesy of Ashton.

Imogen can’t help herself. 

Not when she can see the refracted image of Laudna, all dressed up and flush with life, walking up the road to Castle Whitestone, her parents at her side, in one facet of the crystal labyrinth they’ve all been thrown into by a clash of dunamancy and Ashton’s own dunamantic nature. 

Not when Imogen has the gut feeling, the certainty, that if she can push through the crystal glass like that disastrous dive into Ashton’s mind, she will actually be in that moment.

This is a place of possibility and time and space (and gravity, though she doesn’t see its effects here not yet). 

If Imogen can make it work with her, those powers could allow her to undo the worst thing to ever happen to Laudna. She could save Laudna. From the cruelty of her first death. From the harsh glares judging her appearance instead of her bright personality. From Delilah fucking Briarwood and nearly 30 years of isolation. 

An inexorable gravity draws her to that scene that she could change for the better. So Imogen places her hand to the glass and pushes.

It doesn’t yield, and for a moment, Imogen can feel a noose around her neck, strangling her. 

This is what Laudna experienced, how she will die if Imogen doesn’t interfere. 

Still drawn to it, Imogen pushes harder against the glass, electrical sparks dancing across her hand. Yet again, it’s not enough. The burning sensation of knives through the curve of her ears echo back, the mutilation that still marks Laudna to this day. 

Again. Small arcs of electricity dancing around her hands and forearms as Imogen pushes, mind and soul and body (is it even her actual body in this space, or all mental?).

Imogen stumbles through onto the road, Laudna and her parents about a hundred feet ahead of her.

As she begins to sprint towards them, Laudna’s name on her lips, Imogen feels the kiss of a knife to her wrist. Not deep enough to open her artery, but close enough to flirt with the idea of it. Hot blood spills across her fingers, but she has to press on. For Laudna.

“Wait!” Imogen pants out, magic flowing into the word to make them pause as she draws up to the little family, ignoring the phantom blade that kisses her other wrist, closer to the essential veins.

“What–? Oh! You poor thing, your wrists,” Laudna exclaims upon seeing her.

“Don’t worry about me. If you go up to that castle, she’s gonna kill you. All of you,” Imogen desperately imparts, hoping it will turn them away from this awful path.

“Now that’s not a nice thing to say. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Laudna’s father rebukes her, even as a glint of fear gathers in his eyes.

“I’m beggin’ you, please don’t go up there. Please,” Imogen pleads, looking Laudna dead in the eyes, hoping against hope she’ll be believed. Ignores the almondy taste on her tongue as she says the words, painful, poisonous nausea roiling through her gut.

“They could just send the guards to collect us anyways,” Laudna quietly responds, even as her eyes dart about, looking for escape.

“I’ll protect you. I promise. Just come with me.” 

A glowing, lightning scarred hand offered. Accepted by a trembling hand (too warm, too plush. But the difference is okay because it will be better. It will).

“Now hold on, Matilda. You can’t just give up this opportunity on a stranger! This is your one chance to try to impress the Lady of Whitestone, to convince her to teach you real magic!” Laudna Matilda’s mother protests.

“I can teach her,” Imogen insists, anything to get her away. Except as she tries to cast her Dancing Lights to prove her claim, river water fills her throat and splatters down her front as she chokes it out.

“Are you sure you’ve actually got control over what you do?” Matilda’s father asks skeptically.

Imogen growls at his stubbornness, and flares her power, rising off the ground, hair floating and electricity crackling around her. 

“Still think I’ve got nothin’ to teach her?” Imogen grits out, glaring down at him, daring him to keep doubting her.

There’s fear in his eyes as he takes an unsteady step back and shakes his head, conceding to her. Finally. Now Imogen just has to get them out of here and it’ll be fine–

Imogen chokes on blood as her throat opens, draining her life away. The last thing she sees as it all goes dark is Matilda’s horrified face. And red and blue flickers around everything.

___

Imogen wakes with a gasp, rolling to her side to heave the last of the blood from her lungs.

“That was a really fucking stupid thing to do.”

She turns a glare towards Ashton, their seated position suggesting her head had been in their lap previously.

“It was not stupid to try and save her,” she hisses, even as she aches terribly.

“Laudna saved your life. If there’s no Laudna, there’s no you,” he evenly replies, his face tired and strained as sharp sparks burst in the glass in his head.

“I know that. But she didn’t need to die. To have Delilah stuck in her head,” Imogen stubbornly refutes, still drawn dragged towards the idea of saving her.

“She wouldn’t be Laudna if she didn’t. She’d be Matilda, an old woman living somewhere, or dead in the ground,” Ashton tells her, purple galaxies swirling across their eyes and glass for a moment.

“...You put it back,” Imogen accuses Ashton. 

If it really is Ashton. Or, well, just Ashton. She doesn’t think they are, not when Ashton doesn’t really have that kind of control of their powers. But infinite versions of Ashton exist inside them, so maybe this is one version that does and thinks they can ‘help.’

“I don’t want you to die. Laudna doesn’t want you to die. And the future is fucking full of possibilities. She doesn’t fall to Delilah in all of them,” they say, offering her hope with a wry grin. “So stick around and work on it, instead of destroying yourself.”

“Okay,” Imogen says after a moment, feeling that demanding draw start to fade. (Feeling a dawning horror for how a strange gravity pulled her to chase that sacrificial, suicidal act. What is gravity but attraction? And she was so attracted to the idea of saving Laudna)

“Great.”

They grin widely at her, and Imogen blacks out again.

I did some rolling for this adventure. First to get through the glass, DC13 Wis, 2d6 damage if fail from Chaos Burst Rebuff. First roll, Nat 1, Failure, 6 damage. Second roll 8+1, Failure, 7 damage. Third roll 13+1, Success. Next 2d6 damage plus another d6 for each turn to go through with saving Laudna as the paradox of no Laudna rips at Imogen. Because if Laudna fully escaped the dinner and being hung on the Sun Tree, she’s got little reason to ever meet Imogen later, and Imogen has said that she was real close to trying suicide when Laudna showed up and gave her reason to live, so no Laudna feels like a no Imogen situation. First round, Dash and 5 damage. Second round, run and Command (all fail save with 12, 10, 18 against DC19) and 10 damage. Third round, persuading Matilda to come with her DC30 19+15, success and 17 damage. Fourth round, convincing mom DC30 17+15, success and 15 damage. Fifth round, Imogen casts Fly, Intimidation against dad DC15 14+5 success, 23 damage, bringing Imogen to exactly 0hp.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Kiss it better

An: Here is my entry for @flordeamatista's Loveeeeeee Song Writing Challenge. I chose the song ‘Kiss it better’. Love you Alice! Enjoy some angst, smut and action with our bad boy.

Beta’d by the American disaster, @yarnforbrains 

Master list

Relationship: Nick Fowler x Morally grey private contractor Fem!Reader

Word count: 4.5k

CW: alcohol consumption, violence (knives and guns), angst, smut (oral - m receiving, unprotected sex - don’t do this) star-crossed lovers, feels, Nick talking a bit of Romanian. (înger means angel)

You weren’t surprised when you ran into Nick. Given the line of work you were both in, it was inevitable that you’d cross paths now and again.

You’d both spotted each other at about the same time, and he raised his champagne glass in salute at you from across the ballroom, flashing you a wry smile. You tilted your head in a small nod in return, before returning to the conversation you’d been having with your mark. You chatted; you flirted, and you simpered, putting out the air of a vacuous party girl, only concerned with dresses and jewellery.

You felt you were getting there, turning the older millionaire in front of you into putty in your soft, manicured hands, when suddenly you were snagged by your arm.

“Please excuse the interruption, but I haven’t seen this lovely lady in quite a while, and we have lots to catch up on.” 

The pretty speech was aimed at your companion, and before you could open your mouth to protest, you found yourself whirled onto the dance floor in the arms of the man you hated to love and loved to hate.

“Rude, Nick.” You pouted at him as you looked up into his artic eyes. You took in the subtle changes since you’d seen him last: another small scar on his left temple - no doubt a souvenir from some kind of fight - a few more grey hairs here and there, and a deepening of the scowl line across his forehead. “I had that guy just where I wanted him, and now he probably thinks I’m going to throw him over for you.”

Your heart and your stomach lurched, and it had nothing to do with how he was gracefully leading you around the floor and everything to do with the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“You mean you’re not, sweetheart? I thought you’d at least try it on with me, especially after last time.”

“What can I say, Nicky. Sorry, not sorry. It was just business, nothing personal.”

He pulled you closer, lowering his head and whispering directly into your ear - anyone watching would take the gesture as romantic.

“You cost me a lot that day, înger. Not just money either. It was the connections too. So let’s just say that any loss you make today is just a rebalance of the scales.”

He artfully twirled you away and then brought you back into the sturdy enclosure of his arms. You weren’t going to escape him or get your way through brute force, but you had your cunning and, while you didn’t want to hurt him physically, if push came to shove, you had your handy stiletto strapped to your thigh under your Versace gown.

However, now you were being held by him, your body recognised a certain safety, so you slid your arms up around his neck, your fingers delicately teasing the ends of his dark brown hair. His hands came down lower on your back, almost sweeping the top swell of your ass, pulling your hips flush against his. You reacted instantly.

“Is this your way of saying you want me to make it up to you?” You rubbed the side of your nose against his jaw, his trimmed stubble biting in a way that made you want to salivate. 

Why the two of you had never properly teamed up, you didn’t know. You’d be formidable if you did, but it was probably because both of you had trust issues. It was a shame really. Both of you were ambitious, driven, intelligent, and fast on your feet - figuratively and literally. Then there was the chemistry. Neither of you could deny the pull between you, like opposite poles of a magnet, constantly being drawn together. 

Sex with Nick was something entirely mind blowing. He managed to perfectly toe that line between being rough and dominating enough to excite you, but not so far it made you rail against it. You were independent; no simpering miss waiting for a ‘Daddy’ or a ‘Sir’ to make you feel loved and cherished. You knew what you wanted and when you saw it, you took it. And despite it being a very bad idea, your mind and your body wanted Nick again as soon as you’d locked eyes with him earlier. You had to promise yourself that this would be the very last time you succumbed to his charms.

You rotated your hips and scraped your teeth down the column of his throat, pleased when you saw his reaction - a narrowing of his eyes and an almost inaudible grunt that no-one but you would pick up on.

“Come on, Nicky-baby. Let me say sorry. You can put your pride aside for that, can’t you? Let me kiss it better.”

When he came to a sudden halt on the edge of the dance floor, you knew you’d pushed him too far, too fast. He unwound your arms from around his neck and stepped back, looking down at you with his nostrils flaring in frustration.

“Nice try, înger. Despite how tempting your offer is, we both know it would be a bad idea.”

Time to go for broke. You smiled at him, coyly and tried to close the distance between the pair of you once more.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you agreed to a bad idea. One last time, whaddya say?”

He snorted then, in derisive amusement and taking hold of both humour wrists in one of his hands, stroked the knuckles of the other down the smooth skin of your cheek.

“Are you that desperate for my cock? Your hungry little cunt not satisfied by anyone else? How very sad for you.”

You felt the heat of embarrassment suffuse your neck and face and pulled your arms from his grip with a sudden jerk. Now you remembered why sometimes you couldn’t stand him.

“Fuck you, Nick!”

“You wish, sweetheart. You wish.”

You spun on your heel and stalked towards the bar, deciding you needed a drink to wash the bad taste of that conversation from your mouth. Fuck Nick and the helicopter he flew in on.

A martini and a half later and you were feeling decidedly more calm. You planned to finish this drink and then see if you could recoup lost ground with your mark from earlier. Part of you wondered why Nick was at this gathering, but given the mixture of folk in attendance, it could be anything from corporate espionage to arms dealing. Everyone here was in pursuit of power and money at all costs. You and Nick were no different than the rest of them.

The problem with a group like this, though, was that it only took one idiot with a short fuse, and an even shorter dick, to turn it into a shit show. 

Across the room, you became aware of Nick being in deep conversation with some other men that made even someone as hard as you shiver in distaste. Yes, you were ruthless, but even you had morals - certain enterprises that you would not entertain even as a means to an end.

The conversation turned heated, voices rising to a level where they could be heard above the band. You slipped away from the bar, drink abandoned, instinct driving you to see if you could assist Nick and lower tensions. You were charismatic and had a way with people, especially certain men who could be manipulated by a melodic laugh, a flash of cleavage, and the insinuation of a good time to come.

“Nicky. Gentlemen. Everything alright over here?” They fell silent at your interruption, but none of them took their eyes from each other. You stifled the urge to sigh. Men and their need to dominate one another.

“It’s all good, înger. You run along now.” Nick’s voice was tense, and you guessed that the man he was staring at was the leader of the group. Unfortunately, you were standing closer to him than any of the others, and with the protection of his men around him, he felt confident enough to drag his eyes from Nick and run his gaze over you. His interest made you feel nauseous, but you kept your vapid smile on your face.

“I think she should stay, Nicky. It’s always a good idea to improve the view.” He took hold of your arm and hooked it through his, pulling you close, half in front of him, his free hand poking into the small of your back. No, not his hand. His gun. With only Nick able to see your face now, you rolled your eyes. This idiot had signed his own death warrant, and didn’t even know it yet. And he kept on talking.

“Let’s take this party outside, shall we? Continue our discussions in private. I’m sure I can persuade you to see my point of view, Nicky.”

Your hand inched down leg, to the thigh-high slit in your dress, and you watched the tiny twitch of Nick’s own hands, desperate to be holding a firearm and taking out these bozos. You turned your head to look up at the man holding you, putting on your most doe-like expression.

“But I don’t want to go outside. It’s cold. And the party's here.”

He gave you a rough shake.

‘Shut your mouth. You obviously mean something to my friend here, so I need you to help me keep him in line.”

With as much honey dripping from your mouth as possible you delivered your coup de grace.

“But how are you gonna keep me in line?”

For a second he was speechless, processing what you’d said, but before he could make any retort he jerked as your blade pierced his side, sinking into his flesh with hardly any resistance. He let out a grunt and his gun clattered to the floor. 

There was a moment’s silence before all hell broke loose. 

You dropped down, out of his slackening hold, scooping up the firearm with your free hand as you jerked the knife from his body. He collapsed, blood pouring from the wound and splattering your dress. 

Then the gunshots started. 

Whether Nick started shooting first or the goons, you didn’t know or care, but the ballroom was filled with screaming, and the smell of gunpowder mixed with blood. Nick grabbed your hand and pulled you up and behind him, shielding you as he reversed you both out of the chaos, returning fire against the four men shooting at the pair of you. 

You plastered yourself to his back, the pilfered gun in your left hand, firing around his body. Nick jerked, letting out a stifled shout and you glanced with him, seeing the darkening of his suit jacket fabric on his right upper arm. It didn’t slow him down though. 

Reaching the doorway, you turned and bolted through it along the corridor towards the exit. The pair of you burst out into the chill of the night, passed the startled valet’s having a secret smoke, and towards the rows of parked cars.

Keeping low with Nick covering you, you tried the handles, finally finding one that the low paid teens hadn’t locked properly. Carefully, you slid into the passenger side, then moved across the centre and into the driver’s seat. Nick followed you in, closing the door quickly to extinguish the overhead light.

“Why the hell are you in the driver’s seat?” His whisper was harsh as your hands worked their magic with the wires under the steering column.

“Just keep an eye out, okay, Nick? Let’s play to our strengths here and not gender roles. I’m better at hotwiring, and you’re better at shooting. Also, I’m not bleeding. Therefore, I drive; you clear a path. Oh, and put your seatbelt on.”

From the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head and heard him chuckle, and you couldn’t hold back your smile. However, your concentration returned to the job at hand as the engine of the car roared into life. You heard shouting as the men chasing you suddenly identified where you were.

“Hold on!” You threw the car into reverse, the spinning wheels kicking up gravel as you manoeuvred the car out of its space. A loud bang, followed by a ‘thunk’ let you know your escape vehicle was now being shot at, and the pair of you ducked your heads as you moved the shifter into drive. In a shower of glass, the rear windshield was gone, but that just allowed Nick to turn in his seat and shoot back as you flattened the accelerator, and the car screamed down the driveway. You exited onto a narrow, country road. You had no choice but to turn on the head lamps, because without them you were likely to end up upside down, in a ditch, on fire.

For a minute or two it was quiet, the only sounds were those of the engine and your and Nick’s breathing.

“We need to turn off this road. Might be being followed.” His voice was strained, probably due to the shot he’d taken.

“I know a place nearby.”

He grunted and went silent again. Then a minute later, “Did you have to kill him?”

You chuckled. “You know me, Nick. He pissed me off. Underestimated me, and he only got to do that once. No second chances. Besides, he was annoying you. Only I’m allowed to do that.”

Another grunt, but you could tell it was one made with a smile, albeit a pained one.

The car hugged the road surface, and you drove along at breakneck speed, only slowing down just before you returned off, not wanting to leave obvious treadmarks leading onto the dirt track.

You pulled up outside a small cabin and killed the lights and engine. Knowing Nick was capable of getting out of the car himself, you strode straight to the front door, turning the handle and giving it a shoulder barge in just the right place to pop the ineffective lock.

It was a rustic place, and you grabbed hold of the oil lamp and matches, quickly illuminating your immediate surroundings with a soft glow. The door clicked, letting you know that Nick had joined you.

“Get that jacket and shirt off, big boy. Let’s see how big your new scar is going to be.”

You moved off toward the back of the cabin, searching for the first aid kit and the half bottle of vodka.  When you came back, Nick was standing where you left him.

“Swallow your pride, Nicky. Sit and strip.” You inclined your head to the rickety chair next to an equally dilapidated looking dining table, and finally he complied, but not without a deep sigh. He hissed in pain as he took off his suit jacket, and even in the low light it was impossible to hide the amount of blood on his dress shirt underneath.  It was obvious his adrenaline was dropping with how sluggish his movements were getting, and after watching him fumble one handed with his shirt buttons, you came to his rescue, freeing them all in a matter of seconds.  You helped him shed the ruined fabric and tried not to let your gaze linger on his chest.

Passing him the vodka bottle, he took a hearty swig before sloshing some over his wound.  Taking the bottle from him, you gave him the lantern to hold instead.

“Hold it steady - I need to see what I’m doing here. I was never any good at embroidery at school.”

You did your best not to listen to the small sounds of pain he let out as you cleaned away the blood and shirt fibres from the wound.

“You’re lucky, Nick. Just a deep gouge where the bullet grazed you. Good job those guys couldn’t shoot for shit.”

“Stop yapping and get on with it. I wanna go to sleep and try to forget that this evening ever happened.”

“Well excuse me, Mr Grumpy Pants!”

You didn’t take his attitude to heart - you knew he was cross with himself for how the evening had gone down and for letting himself get hurt.

Having made sure you’d done the best cleaning job possible, you threaded the needle, heated it in the flame of the lantern and then dipped it in the vodka to cool and sterilise as best you could. Nick let out small grunts as you pulled the edges of his damaged flesh together, doing your best to be neat about it. You found some gauze and dressed the wound, wrapping the fabric around his firm bicep.

First aid completed, Nick placed the lantern in the middle of the table and you slumped down in the chair next to him. You took a drink of vodka from the bottle and then passed it to him, watching as he took another swig.

“You sure you’re okay, înger?”

“Peachy, Nick. Can’t say the same for my dress, and I really liked this one.” In the gloom the blood stains on it weren’t obviously visible, but you knew they were there. The pair of you lapsed into silence, passing the vodka bottle back and forth, and you trying to ignore how Nick looked at you when you hiked up your long skirt to make it easier to remove your heels. 

As you freed your feet from their confines you wiggled your toes.

“Up.” Nick’s command didn’t take you too much by surprise. He knew how much you hated wearing heels. You placed your feet in his lap, and with his good hand he started to massaged up the ball and arch of your foot. You let out a moan at the feeling and heard his small laugh.

“Don’t change, do you, sweetheart?”

“Neither do you, Nick. It’s why we make such a great team. Like tonight. Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“Hey, I think we both got both of us out of there.”

He was right, and you hated to think how things could have ended this evening. There was a lump in your throat as you considered your life without Nick in it. It was getting harder and harder not to admit how you felt.

You watched him concentrate on your feet, seeing some of his rarely unveiled softness.

Fuck it.

You suddenly pulled your feet from Nick's lap, and while he was still momentarily confused you rose out of your chair, closed the distance between you and sat down on top of him, your legs bracketing his thighs.

You took his face in your hands and watched the yellow glow of the lamplight reflect in the mist-blue of his eyes.

“You know how I feel about you, Nick?”

His left hand came up to cover your right, an unusually tender gesture for him.

“I feel the same, sweetheart.”

“But we’re no good for each other, are we?”

“Not in this lifetime, no.”

Nick responded so apologetically, and you felt your heart swell. Leaning forwards you pressed your lips to his, kissing him slowly and sweetly. He accepted your kiss for what it was, not trying to deepen it. Your hands fell to his shoulders and his large ones clasped your waist. 

You pulled your lips from his and trailed them down his throat and across his right collarbone. He stayed still, his emotional state only given away by the way his fingers tightened their grip.

You pressed your kisses over his shoulder stopping where the gauze you’d wrapped around his arm started.

“Will you let me kiss it better, Nick? Just one more time?”

“Of course, înger. This last time, and all the other ‘last times’ we find ourselves in.”

“I mean it, Nicky.”

“You mean it every time, sweetheart…”

Your lips smiled against his warm skin, moving back across to his chest. His scent was stronger due to his earlier exertions, and you breathed it in as you kissed across his small, pebbled nipples. You couldn’t resist the urge to bite down on the meat of his left pectoral, and you delighted in the sharp intake of breath that Nick took.

“Înger….” He growled out a playful warning and you laved your tongue over the small marks you’d left. Part of you hoped it would bruise and leave him with a reminder of you that would linger.

Your hands moved lower as you continued to worship Nick’s torso, working on his belt and the fastening of his dress pants. Nick shifted on his chair, allowing you to pull the expensive black fabric down his legs. You didn’t need bright lights to know how aroused he was; the way his cock bounced against your hand from inside his briefs made it more than clear.

Curling your fingers around the waist band, you freed him as your mouth travelled lower. You licked up his length and revelled in how he rested his left hand on the top of your head, not controlling, but just to feel you. You licked him again, just to feel him shudder with anticipation, before finally taking the tip of him into your mouth.

The chair creaked as Nick shifted his weight under your sensual onslaught. You’d done this dance so many times before that you knew what he liked, how to make him lose his resolve. You dipped into the slit of him, tasting the pearly drops of precum that leaked out before swirling around his head and teasing his frenulum.

You sank down further, drawing him deeper into your mouth, feeling his cock twitch as it bumped against the back of your throat.

“What are you doing to me, sweetheart? You know I can’t resist you.” Nick’s voice was soft, almost tender and romantic, and you wished the pair of you could be more.

His hips twitched pushing him further into your throat, and you could feel tears prickling at your eyes. If this was going to be your last time doing this you wanted him to remember it. Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs, feeling the strength of them as the coarse hair grazed your palms.

Nick’s breath was coming out in heavy pants, his hand gripping the back of your head.

“Înger, fuck, I need you. Please…”

You allowed him to tug you away and off his cock. He dragged you back onto his lap, pulling and pushing at your long skirt so that the only thing separating the pair of you was your flimsy lace underwear. This time when he kissed you it was with more passion than before, like he was trying to brand his body with yours.

You rolled your hips over him, both of you moaning into each other, desperate for that final connection. It took you only a moment to reach between you and pull your thong to the side, finally allowing him access to you.

You took him all in, relishing in the burn and stretch, too impatient to feel him to take your time.

“Nick!” His mouth latched onto your throat sucking and biting, his hands gripping your waist as you started to move. There was no romance here, just need and passion and want. As much as you wanted the former, there was no space for it between you and Nick - it would just make it hurt more.

“I wish we could run away, sweetheart. Tu și cu mine, away from all of this, somewhere where no one could find or bother us. Ți-aș da lumea.”

“I don’t need the world, just you.”

His hands were on your back, working the fastening of your dress, pulling it down your body to pool at your waist. He freed your breasts from your bra and lavished his attention on them, rolling your nipples between his forefinger and thumb, then pulling the sensitive nubs into his mouth in turn.

The fingers of one of your hands ran up into his hair, holding him to your chest, and the fingers of the other moved to where you were joined, drawing tight circles on your clit as you rode him.

Three words rested on your tongue, words that you desperately wanted to say, but knew you couldn’t. You both knew there was nothing more for the pair of you than this, and you just had to accept it. 

You whimpered as you felt your orgasm approach, repeating his name like a litany.

“That’s it, înger. Give me it. I need to feel you cum, vă rog.”

His words, though starting like a command, ended with a plea, and you knew he was feeling as wrecked as you were.

You cried out, your walls spasming around him as you kept rocking, waves of pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

“Fill me up, Nick. I need you.”

You kissed him, letting him take over the movement as he planted his feet and thrust up into you in harsh strokes, reaching for his end. You swallowed the noises he made as he spilled inside you and you ground down on him, the final darts of your aftershocks shooting through your body.

Your bodies continued to rock gently against each other and you lazily made out as you both came back down. Nick shocked you though when he stood, and you squeaked as he let you slide down his body.

Your dress fell down your legs to land on the floor and Nick toed off his shoes and shook off his pants and briefs from around his ankles. His skin glowed golden and there was still a feral hunger in his eyes.

“Lead the way to the bed, sweetheart. You need to be lying down for what I have in mind next.”

Sunlight shining on your face finally woke you. Your eyes blinked open, and you found yourself lying with your head on Nick’s chest with your legs tangled together with the sheets.

For a moment you let yourself daydream about what it would be like to wake up like this everyday. You watched his face as he continued to sleep. It was strange to see him so relaxed.

With a sigh you made yourself get up, gently easing away from the man you could easily give your heart to. On silent feet you gathered your clothes, quickly redressing in your bloodstained gown. You didn’t fancy wearing your heels, so you stole Nick’s socks to protect your feet.

You felt bad about what you were about to do, but Nick had his phone with him, so he’d be able to sort himself out, sooner or later. You snuck out the door and climbed into the car, finding it much easier to start it up in the light when you could actually see the wires you were trying to manipulate.

Just like last night, the engine roared to life and shifting into drive, you drove a tight circle to turn the car to point towards the track back to the main road. You had a lot of damage control to do after last night, and despite your feelings, as you’d said to Nick last night, it was just business. You just needed your heart to get the memo. 

As you pulled away you glanced in the rear-view mirror, and there was Nick, standing in the doorway, in just his briefs and arm bandage. His expression was unreadable as you lengthened the distance between you until you turned the corner and could no longer see him. Why did driving away this time hurt more than last time?

Hurting bad man, and it hurts inside when I look you in your eye.

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