#lord scourge x y/n

[the-tomato-patch]

Fluffyfebruary - Prompt 1: Snow

Fandom: SW:TOR ( Star War: The Old Republic )

Pairing: GN! Reader x Lord Scourge

Written for: @fluffyfebruary

Tags: Fluff without plot, potential ooc, cloak sharing?

You weren't aware that it snowed on Odesson. Granted it was the first year you were actually spending a proper winter here since joining the Alliance, but to be fair, your duties hadn't required you to give this world much attention. There hadn't been the slightest white dusting in your line of sight since your arrival, and maybe not for years before that either. Who knew. Who could possibly recall the last time it snowed on Odesson— the answer not being you. What with one catastrophe to the next, you couldn't have afforded the time to wonder. And evidently, neither could the Alliance, as the kriffing heat was busted too.

Today heavy clouds carried fat flakes of snow which fell upon the planet and collected where it lay. While Odesson could handle a light sprinkle, the lack of cold weather gear or warm clothes to bundle in left you feeling less prepared to meet it than normal. Like a protective shell, you wrapped your hands inside the excess material of your sleeves around your wrists. You shivered while pulling the collar higher up the sides of your neck and drew the hood over your head in the hope it would trap more heat.

The meager ensemble was the most suitable clothing you could dig out of your closet, though. And it would be some time before you could seek other, more sufficient outfits to get yourself through the rest of the season. Kriff it all, you might be in for an unfortunate, freezing week or three. It's not like you didn't deserve such hardships in the least, but did it have to be so blasted cold?

As you marched from the exterior of the base, your head was down in hopes the additional fabric over your face could block the bitter gusts which swept the open corridor. The icy needles were strong enough to make tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as they stung into your cheeks. Your breath danced out of your mouth and nose in a cloud of white fog.

"Take my cloak." A shadow stepped into your path, startling your gaze to lift, "You're cold."

You gawked, still reeling at his offer, when the dark lord returned your stare. His intense red pupils seemed to search your very soul. That and he'd spoken to you of his own accord— surely a strange day. Perhaps, a trick. No, it has to be. Still, you nodded an acceptance as the Sith stood tall and began to remove the swath of his cloak from his broad shoulders. He was so quick in response, a surprised gasp tumbled out of you when a newfound heat hit your chest in the most delightful way.

The shock of warmth rushed across your body, banishing some of the frost which clung to your bones. You gulped, reminded then how easily Lord Scourge was capable of killing. You knew the former emperor's Wrath had no ill intentions now, but his imposing figure was enough to make a chill run up the length of your spine. "I know the Alliance's current facilities are somewhat subpar—" he drew the edges of his black cloak around your shoulders a little tighter— "but perhaps, we can fix that."

With the air of superiority Scourge typically held, and the dark power of a Sith always laced in his veins, it had taken a moment to understand just how Lord Scourge wasn't completely immune to the harsh winds himself. Now, without his cloak, the Sith wore the thin, yet heavy weight, of his armor. In all the time you'd known Lord Scourge, he appeared unperturbed by many things and never acknowledged such discomforts or weaknesses. Had he merely pushed them aside? Or was the fact that this is something which couldn't be avoided making the thought all the more urgent in your mind.

Either way, the fact that he'd seen the cold rattle you so easily and had willingly removed the protective cover he could've kept over his own body, left you grateful.

You did the best you could not to take notice of his unusual softness. Though you had come to be familiar with this side of him as well since befriending him, the smallest parts of him were always easier to pick up on than others. Maybe that's why he doesn't share his kindnesses and generous moods so openly. Everyone's got to start somewhere, and it could prove awkward and clumsy if he went about it in full. As awkward and clumsy as he once made his introductions, for sure. And he already felt uncomfortable at times. But how lovely and endearing it was to learn a part of his heart you never thought would reveal itself.

"Thank you, Scourge," you said with an appreciative smile in place.

The glum attitude had suddenly shed itself, leaving a newfound appreciation in its place. You swallowed another cold shudder and hoped the deep hood of his cloak would do its job and hide some of your blushing.

It may or may not. It couldn't be avoided— not the affection.

"It is nothing," the Sith uttered with a curt bow of his head.

You barely managed to follow his step, Scourge didn't slow his stride and even quickened it. Once you had fallen into stride, it didn't take long for your gait to catch up with his, though the angle of his pace took you somewhere else entirely, forcing you to study the length of his arm. You ran a slow eye along his sinewed, nearly perfect build. When a pang of self-consciousness seized your confidence, you lifted the line of your sights and struggled to be free of the temptation to gaze his way.

Then Scourge would pass a subtle glance at you. It must have been the lingering shivers from the cold because every time you glanced his way, it was like lightning shooting straight up the length of your spine.

Stars. Stop it, he's only offering you a cloak.

Scourge looked back again to offer you a curious eye. His attention shifted your way, and when he opened his mouth to speak, a ping on his holocomm went off.

You never got the chance to discover his intentions, or even why he was interested to ask, the ring of his holocomm brought all those answers to a crashing halt. With a displeased hum, Scourge took the time to answer, turning a way for privacy. When the holo communication finally ended, a fresh sigh had the Sith returning his gaze to you, but when the inevitable happened, Scourge's footsteps also came to a standstill.

"I'm needed. You would do best to hurry and remain indoors," the Sith stated. He tilted his head as the contemplation of words danced behind his eyes. But they remained unsaid. You reached around to take the cloak from your shoulders, but his hand paused your efforts to return it. "Do not forget to hold onto my cloak," Scourge muttered.

The sith stepped aside to create a wider gap between the two of you. His ruby eyes latched onto your person. Scourge gave you an amiable, comforting nod. You smiled a faint grin in kind. "Keep warm."

"You, too," you muttered. Scourge bowed his head and turned, striding away.

[gaysindistress]

Running from the Daylight - two

pairings: pirate!James “The Scourge of the Sea” Barnes x royal governor's daughter!reader 

Summary: based on this request

Warnings: reader uses She/her/hers pronouns and is AFAB, mentions of the female body/parts, cursing, suggestive sexual content, violence and mentions of death, sexual content (p in v), some dark shit (like I can’t tag it without spoiling it but people get freaky over someone who’s bleeding) I'm actually awful at tagging things but there's smut. for the love of all things holy, do not read if you are a minor.

Word count: 3.6k

part one | my master list

Tag list: @talesofreading

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif, found on google/Pinterest/tumblr. Credits to @boltlightning for the gif on the bottom left & @owenhcrper for the gif on the bottom right

Begging, pleading, and sucking him dry did nothing to convince James that I’ve been ready to take his cock since that first night.

He would be a monster and allow me to believe that he would finally take me only to stop right before it went too far. He would give me hollow reasons like “the sea is too rough,” “you are too tired,” “we don’t have a proper bed and I will not take your maiden hood without one.”

Useless excuse after useless excuse was all I received for months on end. A part of me wondered if he was growing bored but when I confessed this to him, he spent the following several hours between my legs. He lapped and sucked at my core until I was crying and shaking but kept pulling climaxes from me until I very nearly passed out.

I tried to tempt him by wearing thin nightdresses or simply nothing at all but it all failed. I even convinced Natasha to play along with a scheme in which James would just so happen to find us in the middle of fucking but nothing. All he did was sit in his captain’s chair and watch with sharp eyes, occasionally telling us what to do.

Months of pent up frustration finally came to head when we docked in New Providence to replenish our supplies. My father had been overjoyed to see me again but his happy mood was as soiled when he observed the way that James and I were.

“My darling please tell me that he has not ruined you,” my father harshly whispers to me as he pulls me aside.

I gasp in disbelief and rip my arm away from him.

“Excuse me! You are not allowed to ask me such a thing!”

“I am your father, Y/N Stark. It is well within my rights to know if my daughter has been abused by a pirate.”

I catch the watchful eye of James as he’s instructing his crew and he gives me a concerned look. I brush it off and look back to my father.

“Your daughter has not been abused,” I sneer as I spot the Commodore approaching us, “I’ve been kept safe and protected.”

Steve makes a face at my words as he stops beside us but my father seems satisfied. He backs away and nods goodbye to us before retreating back to his fortress.

“You may speak freely with me; has the pirate lord abused you?”

“The only abuse to be had is that what my throat endures from taking his cock every night,” I calmly state before also leaving to find my captain. I don’t wait to hear or see Steve’s reaction but I can feel his piercing stare on my back.

“You said you wouldn’t fuck me until we had a proper bed,” I say lowly as I drop myself onto the canopied bed behind me, “and I think this meets that requirement.”

James narrows his bright eyes at me but doesn’t move from his place leaning against the raging fireplace. It’s odd seeing him look…normal? He’s out of place in this world of luxury and refinement but here in the room that I once called my own, he looks like he belongs. A part of me wishes to pretend that our pasts were different and that he had been the man who proposed to me, yearning for me for years. I wish that time had been kind to him and that it hadn’t stolen his heart and soul. I wish that I could’ve been the one he fell in love with all those years ago so he wouldn’t have had to face that curse. I wish we could delight in being together alone in my room at my father’s estate, a situation I would’ve blushed to even think about a few months ago. I wish we could ignore the reality of who we are and wholly engulf ourselves in the opportunity that presents itself.

“I did say that, didn’t I love?” He muses for a moment, allowing his eyes to trail down my barely covered body. I’d found an even thinner and smaller nightdress to wear for tonight, hoping that it might finally be what breaks him.

Maybe my last wish would come true.

He pushes off the mantle and prowls towards me. As he gets closer, my body starts to burn with anticipation and I inch back to accommodate his imposing stature. James knocks my legs apart with his knee and slots between them as he leans over me. Both hands cup my face and my eyes flutter closed at his warm touch. He dips down to whisper in my ear and chuckles when my breath hitches.

“You need sleep my love.”

I let out a snort, “no I do not. What I need is…”

He interrupts me with a gentle peck and mutters against my lips, “I know what you need and that is sleep.”

James presses another kiss to my lips with a subtle roll of his hips into mine while wearing a wicked smirk. I stick my tongue out at him as he pulls away and waits for me to settle into bed. He finds his place in the huge and ugly arm chair that my mother insisted I needed in front of the fireplace. His hat is sat on the small table beside him and his feet are kicked out in front of himself. Crossing his arms over his chest, James settles himself into the chair as if he’s going to sleep there and I frown at him.

“I can feel you thinking, love,” he quips and although I can’t see his face, I know there’s a smirk.

“Is that where you intend to sleep? In my armchair that I know is most certainly the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in this house?”

His shoulder shrugs and he makes a show of making himself comfortable with a loud sigh.

“It’s perfectly comfortable to me, your highness,” the jab at my upbringing doesn’t go unnoticed, not with the way he elongates the word and lowers his voice.

Scoffing, I throw a pillow at him and he chuckles when it flies past, missing him.

“Remind me to work on your aim in the morning,” he teases me before adding that I need to be going to sleep.

“We’re not on your ship anymore so you’re not my captain,” I snipe and that catches his attention. He perks up and goes to say something smart back but the doors fly open, slamming against the poor walls.

James stays seated albeit ready to jump up if needed. Seeing as he’s playing it cool, I do the same and remain tucked into my bed.

The person who dared interrupt our night is none other than the Commodore. He stands at his full height with a scroll in his hand as he glares at James.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of being granted your presence so late at night, commodore?” James mocks as he watches Steve.

The wigged man says nothing but sends a death glare towards the pirate before looking at me. He takes a step towards me and James makes a clicking noise, telling him to stay put.

“Y/N,” Steve starts as he ignores the subtle warning, “your father has found a way to free you from your deal with this vile creature.”

I glance around him at James who’s smirking to himself and raises one dark brow at me. He’s no longer stretched out like a cat but instead is leaning back against the chair with his head resting on his fist as he watches us.

Turning my attention back to Steve, I ask him to elaborate and elaborate he does.

“You were under duress. You cannot be expected to uphold a deal that you made when you were in fear for your life. Your father and I handled everything, Y/N, all you need to do is say that you were afraid for your life and otherwise would not have made the deal.”

In another life the gut wrenching way that Steve is pleading with me would’ve worked. I would’ve jumped up and ran for him, falling into his arms as I sobbed that I was afraid. I would’ve taken his hand and begged him to save me for the sake of being free from a pirate even if it meant being in debt to him for life.

That is if I hadn’t met James; the man who’s shown my unconditional and undying affection. The man that has sworn to protect me and honor me as if I were his ruling goddess. The man that has seen parts of me that no other man has and the man that I want to know every inch of me, mental and physical.

“Steve, ever the gentleman,” I coo as I push the blankets from my lap and slide off my bed.

“There is but one fault in your proposal,” I state as I softly pad toward the two men, “I was not under duress. I was not afraid for my life by any stretch of the imagination. I was not afraid at all, in fact, I felt the safest I had in years in that moment.”

I can feel the heat of James’ stare on me as I come to stand beside him and continue to tear Steve apart.

“If anything, I was concerned for your life but not afraid. I knew that James would not harm or otherwise act in a way that would scare me. I knew that he would agree to my terms but you,” I point at him and allow my voice to become more harsh, “you were the one I was afraid of. You’ve always been a liability, never quite knowing when you’re going to lash out on those around you. You’ve always freighted me and that night at the bar only solidified my fears that you would cause me harm. Even if my life depended on it, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you or went back with you that day on the Serpent’s Cry. Quite frankly, Steve, I’m perfectly content being bound to this vile creature.”

James snorts from behind me and wraps an arm around me, tugging me to sit on his lap. Steve is fuming, his face turning red with anger at my lecture and I know he’s plotting both of our demises.

The man beneath me grips my chin and tilts my head down so that he can capture my lips in a heated kiss. My hands fly to tangle into his hair as his tongue swipes at my bottom lip. A moan tumbles from me when the hand gripping my chin slides to cup the back of neck.

“Enough!” Steve’s voice rings out and he storms towards us to rip me away.

The familiar cock of a gun halts him and he frantically looks down to see a readied pistol pointing at him. It had been lying under James’ hat, hidden from plain sight so Steve had no chance to draw his open weapon.

James has the audacity to look bored as he holds the weapon and rubs small circles into my hip with his other hand.

“Out,” he orders in a low rumbling voice.

Steve, however, the oaf of a man takes another step forward and James rolls his eyes.

“Is pain the only way you learn, Commodore? Out before I shoot your cock off.”

Steve scoffs at the crude words and I stifle a giggle while tucking my face into James’ neck. He shudders slightly at the feeling and squeezes my hip.

“Y/N,” Steve tries to appeal to me but I’m not having any of it. I begin to plant wet kisses on James’ neck and nip at the soft skin occasionally. Steve calls to me again and I suck a deep red, nearly purple mark into the pirate’s neck which earns me a throaty groan.

A series of sounds ring out and I jolt away from my haven. First is the sound of Steve stepping forward, a gun shot, a cry of pain, and a thud as Steve falls to the ground. With wide eyes I try to look at him but James catches my face in a tight hold, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Don't look at him, love. Eyes on me, understood?” He whispers, letting his lips dance over mine and holding my eye contact with a fierce look swirling in his blue eyes.

I manage a small nod and he smiles at me before addressing Steve who’s clutching his leg.

“I warned you and you did not listen. As far as I’m concerned, you are to blame for the state of your leg. Now I suggest you drag your cowardly self out of this room before I do depart your cock from your body as I promised."

Lost in the way his eyes captive me and his words cause a fire to ignite in my body, I don’t hear Steve’s protests that break through the cries of pain. It’s not until James breaks our trance and rolls his eyes that I realize our situation. I still obey James and don’t look by hiding my face in his neck once again. He coos to me to go to my bed and turn away from them as he helps me stand.

“Keep your eyes on the ground for me,” he tells me when my hand slips from his and I cautiously make my way to my bed.

From behind me, I hear James let out an exaggerated sigh and the crackling of leather from him bending down.

“You’ve shot my leg, how am I to be expected to leave?” Steve hisses through the agonizing pain.

“Drag yourself like the worm you are. It's none of my concern how you choose to obey my command."

“I will not leave her alone with such a demonic savage like yourself.”

There’s a pause, a tension filled pause as I assume James debates what to do. However his next words are not exactly what I was expecting.

“Pain doesn't seem to be a strong enough deterrent for you, Commodore. Remember; you are to blame for your current situation,” he huffs as he yanks Steve up and drops him into the chair we’d been sitting in.

“Love hand me the sheet,” he says to me without looking.

I quickly bundle up the item he’s asking for and toss it to him. I want to ask what he’s planning but it becomes clear when he starts to wrap it around Steve.

“Since you refuse to leave her alone with such a demonic savage, as you put it so beautifully, you’ll have to watch her damnation.”

Steve lets out a roar of protest and it met with a pistol pressed under his jaw.

“You were told to leave and you did not. Seeing her defiled and ravished as she deserves is a fitting punishment. I think this is preferable to death but I am not the true judge. Love?”

The nickname catches me off guard and my eyes dart between them but it’s the stormy eyes of James that are given my full attention.

“What do you think? Should I grant him mercy and kill him before you take my cock? Or should he watch as I take what he's desired for years?"

As I fail to answer, James adds, "I will only do this if this is what you want. If not, I’m more than happy to show him just how acquainted with the devil I am.”

Words escape me and I just nod.

Apparently that’s not good enough.

“Use your words love. Tell us what you want.”

“I…fuck,” I mumble under my breath and James’ smirk spreads across his face. He knows that I want this, that I want nothing more than for him to finally take me even if it means Steve is forced to watch.

“I don’t think the Commodore heard you. Louder.”

“Yes. I want this. I want you. I want you to take me.”

James cocks a brow at Steve with a sinister smirk, “it appears that your pure angel wants me to defile her while you watch.”

The tied up man jerks forward with a threat on his lips and james lets out a terrifying laugh. He ignores the protests and calls me over with the hook of his finger. My body is trembling as I let my feet touch the ground and nearly stumble as I try to walk. Steve must think it’s out of fear but my captain knows it’s due to anticipation.

I stop at his side and James draws away from the injured man to wrap an arm around me. Pulling me in front of him, my back is to his chest and I’m facing Steve. James keeps his gun pointed at him while bending his head to my ear and whispering to me.

“You tell me when you want to stop, understood?“ he tells me in a voice so low I almost don’t hear him. When I don’t acknowledge his statement, he squeezes my hip with his free hand and repeats it.

Breathlessly I agree, “Yes, please James. I need you.”

He nudges my legs apart and drifts his hand from my hip to my core, pulling up my night dress in the process. My head lolls back, falling onto his shoulder and he captures my lips in a searing kiss. Moans and sighs fall without hesitation as he begins to run firm but slow circles into the bundle of nerves that only he can seem to find. His name becomes a chorus that is caught between our lips as the pressure builds within my core. He releases my lips and lets me sing my song for Steve to hear clearly. I feel him smile against my temple as I grow louder and louder. Just as I’m about reach my climax, he pulls his hand away and I nearly cry. A few tears leak from my eyes and he coos sweetly to me.

“Shhhhh love, I promised to defile you and I intend to do that. Lean forward and put your hands on his shoulders.”

“James,” I whimper when I feel him back away.

“Do as you’re told.”

The sounds of his belt and pants dropping silences me. I lean forward and with hazy eyes, look Steve straight on as my hands grip his shoulders. There’s a fire burning in his light eyes and I’ve come to know what it truly is. He can try to deny it but we all know watching me is causing him to grow hard and angry.

“Y/N,” his voice breaks as he whispers my name and I blink hard trying to look at him.

The heavy heat of James behind me distracts me and I drop my head at the feeling of him rutting against me.

He taunts Steve with cruel words as he drags the head of his cock through my folds and pulls wanton moans from my swollen lips.

“James,” I plead, “please.”

He coos mockingly as he lines himself up.

“Louder, my love. I don’t think your fiancé heard you.”

“He’s not my fiancé,” I grit out angrily but it falls flat when he pushes his entire length inside of me. It turns into a wince and pained moan but he doesn’t pull out. He keeps it there, watching me struggle with the pain that morphs into blinding pleasure. Only when I push back against him does he withdraws a few inches but keeps most of his length inside me as he starts to rock his hips into me. He’s slow and deliberate at first, focusing on pulling the loudest and most embarrassing moans he can from me but as his own body betrays him, his hips increase their pace.

Below me Steve is a mess. His breathing is ragged and the color is draining from his face as the blood loss becomes too much. I can’t bare to look at him and James must see that in the way I keep my head bent down. A sharp tug on my hair forces my head up and I see the devastation written lines on his face. The cold barrel on a gun rubs against my scalp and it dawns on me that the hand that’s in my hair is holding the gun. He grunts as he pumps his dick into me and I cry out as pleasure washes over me. He keeps one hand coiled into my hair as the other slips to my core, rubbing me and drawing my climax from me.

James tugs me up against his chest and I tilt my head back to rest against his shoulder as we continue to move against each other. His cock drags against my walls in a nearly painful way but I don't care. I’m pulsing around him and pleading with him to let go with me. As my eyes flutter shut from the white hot pleasure, he tugs my hair again and demands I look at Steve.

“Look at the Commodore, love. Look at what just watching you does to him,” he mumbles against the skin of my neck. My eyes are heavy and it’s a struggle to do as I’m told but I do and it earns me my climax.

James thrusts up hard one final time and we’re both moaning as I finish. He’s not far behind and groans out my name as he releases his hot seed into me. We’re a panting mess as he slows and eventually stops. He loosens his grip on my hair with a sweet kiss to my temple and whispers praise into my ear.

Intertwined in those sweet phrases is a promise and at first I think it’s for me. Only when the second shot of the night rings out do I realize that it was intended for Steve.

“I hope for your sake that your false god takes pity on you and allows you to die before morning.”

With that he tucks himself back into his pants and lifts me into his arms. My final memory of commodore will be blurred in pleasure and blood but I don’t care. He can bleed out for all I care after he dared to lay a hand on me and insult the man I love.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[justalittletomato]

Maul X Reader Drabble

Shockingly not about dad!Maul! 

This little drabble is more of a start for the relationship of Maul and the reader, it will be a bit angsty mostly as Maul can’t quite grasp his emotions and the Reader is trying her best not to let her feelings be known. 

Some quick backstory to help: Reader is Mandalorian, and now works alongside the brother’s. She tends to know more than expected for someone with her status and this has saved her again and again and now here she is working with some Sith. 

Lingering Night 

The knock on the door was a welcome change from the endless text before him however he knew Savage was not up at this hour and Almec was sure to stay clear of being alone with Maul., therefore the only person could be…

“It’s me, sir. “ Y/N’s voice called out,

“I brought some data you might want to review for the council meetings, I can just leave them outside if you’d like.”

There was a shuffle and soft curse from her. Maul pulled away from the desk and stood stretching after too many hours reading endless contracts and negotiations  that would likely be revised and altered by Almec then by Y/N once again, “Enter , Y/N” The young woman poked her head in, “I just wanted to…” her face reddened and she pulled back out from the door stammering, “Sir do you want me to wait a bit longer so you can dress?”

Sometime during his work he had forgone his tunic, leaving the crimson skin and black markings of his torso bare, Y/N reaction was amusing to say the least.

“There’s no need, come in” Again a soft curse under her breath, Y/N slowly crept into the room, looking straight at his face trying her best to minimize the tale tell blush on her cheeks. Even at this late hour Y/N was still in her gown from the last council meeting so many hours prior, she walked to the desk and placed down the data pads before again just staring at his face alone,

“ You have to review the settlements with Black suns and the Pykes there’s also some government business Almec wants reviewed. If you would like I can assist, it’s governmental sanctions, place-holding the new council, reestablishing the boundaries. “  

The time for amusement was over, Maul just did the same giving her an unwavering stare, Y/N felt her composure begin to waver, “Did I misspeak, Lord Maul?”

Her eyes flitted to the floor, “I am sorry-“

he interrupted her immediately ,“ You continue to perplex me, you know more than some of the current officials. How is that?”  He picked the first data pad, Y/N had already annotated the settlements, and offered suggestions and highlighted contentious content. Each aside citing a bylaw or previous settlement that had been transacted,  Maul waited for her answer.

Y/N raised a brow, “I thought you had already heard,” given the lack of reaction from him, Y/N just took a deep breath and began,

“I’m the daughter of one of the more influential families on Mandalore, however, being a bastard only allows you education and no titles, its why I was stuck as handmaid for the past 5 years,”    

“I thought Mandalorians  didn’t care for bloodlines?” he watched as her y/ec eyes looked away a look of resentment marring her usually calm features as she mulled over how to explain the next part.  Maul  opened another data pad, more annotation. He should be angry that she was looking over all this information, but if it saved him time for the next step of the plan he was more than pleased. Y/N always brought results.

   “To a degree”, she started again  “Foundlings are gladly accepted into families as they have no one, but family loyalty in mandalore is important. Martial lines are fortified they need to be honored,” her eyes narrowed as she continued on “Having a child outside of one’s marriage is a great offense. These children are usually raised up as foundlings if they can get away with it.” she had paused Maul again looked to her, she had finally looked up at him again, her eyes had lost their brightness now just passive, “ or  you’re like me, people find out and raise you up with the stigma. Ostracized and kept away from a place that should be yours paying for a mistake that you were never a part of. “  She ended, her matter of fact tone slightly unsettling, as if she rehearsed this explanation for years. Her face was void of any affect, she kept looking at Maul waiting for the inevitable sign of dismissal or reproach. Instead Maul just gave another glance down at the pad, what could he say? He was seen as a scourge upon the galaxy maybe his lack of reaction would benefit her.

Instead he heard her release her held breath, “Well now if that is all. I’ll take my leave,I can recommend another councilor to help you Lord Maul,”  Y/N wanted to run it was pure reflex now before he could throw her out.

She turned to go struggling to keep her face calm and her tears from rising, she felt him  grab her wrist. Y/N looked back to Maul tugging her away from the door, “ as I have mentioned you know more, you started this great work let’s finish it.” golden eyes stared down at her y/ec.  She was going to run he could sense her panic he found he did not like that reaction in her, he tugged her a little more, “ You are one of my councilors and clearly the most competent.

Y/N ket out a shaky breath and allowed herself a small smile “Of course.” ,  she walked with him back to the desk, setting open the latest data pad, “Well this one is more than a bit unfair I think we can…” there she was again, composed and confident while her heart betrayed her with its insistent flutters.

She makes herself useful anything to gain favor, Maul notes as they walk to the throne room Y/N double checking the duties of the day and meetings she can help with as long as he’s around else no one would listen. However he also notes Y/N does not do it in  a manner of groveling. She needed to have a place, she needed to show she was of use, for years she had been denied this a feeling Maul knew too well and seeing Y/N flourish in her new role was a delight. He watched as  she sometimes has to bite her tongue before making a remark, her composed features only marred by a slight twitch at the corner of her full lips. He admired her composure, even as the other councils bristled y/n just refuted each time, ready with a rebuttal and if not the calmness to accept their input for consideration before returning back to Maul with another point of the argument.  He enjoyed the utter shock and anger the council showed, y/n had bested them as she always did.  She would smile at him and Maul gave her an approving nod.

“I could just choke them for you it wouldn’t be a difficult task.” They were back to working at night again, with Y/N pouring them some spice tea to keep them awake. She had learned caf made him anxious, she had walked around the gardens with him as he tried to settle back down at some point she had even gripped his hands with hers to try and help, it had, but Y/N would not risk that again. She had stayed in the room that night curling up at one side of the bed, and Maul on the other. By morning she had woken to the Zabrak curled up behind her, a glimmer of hope has risen within her only to be squandered when Maul had woken up and just apologized and promised to make sure that it wouldn’t happen again. “

To address his offer, Y/N gives him a disapproving look, “They already don’t like me, let’s not add kindle to the fire,” she looked over his shoulder and leaned over to point at the pad, “You forgot to sign this one. “ she had a hand on his bare shoulder with her lips close to his cheek, Maul normally would let her linger calmed by her proximity and helpful reminders but today he scrunched his face in annoyance, “You can’t possibly agree with this settlement. They practically want to take over the foundry.”

This is where she gave a laugh, genuine and one that tickled his cheek, Maul let the warmth wash over him before returning back to a scowl. Y/N of course elaborated what she had found,  “ Those Pykes didn’t ask about which foundry, this was one is practically depleted. I was overlooking the mining records it was seen as last resort not that they know that and the records are sealed so it could just have been an error.”

It was silent, “You should take Almec’s place, you are more competent that that blithering chess piece”  Y/N  deserved a higher status she knew the workings of Mandalore better than anyone, she could easily run this planet. With y/n at the helm he could continue his next steps to reach other regions of the galaxy and pool current resources.  The thought pleased him, his brother on his right and Y/N on his left. Y/N at his side that ever faithful Mandalorian who was ever present and who worked with him. He let himself imagine more nights going over plans and details and the ever lingering smell of Y/N’s tea collection as she whispered and let thier hands brush.  

“With you at my side the power struggles would quickly cease.” He said to her, “ You can picture it don’t you, with the three of us we’d be ready to overcome anything,” Y/N’s smile fell slightly but she didn’t dare pull away, however  she had to know , “ In what capacity do you mean?” she needed to hear him say it, thought she already knew the answer.  

Maul looked up at her from his seat, “As my advisor, me and Savage owe you that much , it’s what you deserve.” He expected her to give him another brush of thier hands as she did, instead Y/N just stared at him her y/ec eyes again slowly loosing thier brightness, and gives a small nod.

“Of course that would be an honor,”  Maul felt her pull away from his side, the familiar comfort of her presence slowly slipping away,

“ I think that’s enough for tonight,” she said gently, Y/N struggles not to throw something, how could she allow herself to react this way. She should even be feeling like this!

Maul got up slowly, “But you just poured tea,” why was she trying to go? he was giving her what she wanted, now they could be closer than before,”  I’d say we still have some time.”  

Y/N forced herself to give a half smile, “ I suppose you’re right” she sat opposite to him, Maul waited for her to bring her chair closer as they had done for the past few weeks, but she did not she just began to work and sip her tea.

Maul followed suit trying to ignore the knowing feeling that something had been twisted on both ends.

[bangtan-madi]

All Of Our Lifetimes — Interlude: First Life

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 3.4k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories? 

Part — 3.5 / 15

Warnings — relatively none, minor language, brief mention of death in childbirth

Previous — Next

{Paris, France — 1789 a.d.}

If there's one place on earth that you feel safe in, it's the garden surrounding the Chateau. With the large trees giving shade from the afternoon heat, the overgrowth of flora that attracts a variety of birds and insects, and the expansive maze of roses that covers the remnants of the grounds, it's a magical wonderland that's kept private for your family alone. When your father is away on his lengthy excursions around France, and the staff is busy keeping up with his home, you're left in utter peace to recline amongst nature and contemplate the state of the world.

You've concluded that there are a lot of things that have gone terribly awry in recent years. The citizens of Paris go hungry every day. Children are left without parents. Families are torn apart by famine and war. Endless war. Fear, anger, and hopelessness run rampant through the streets like gutter rats. 

Even in the modern year of 1789, the aristocracy to which your family line belongs has refused to do anything but suck the lifeblood of your country dry. They consume and destroy and tear the meat off the bones of your beloved France.

And your father is one of the worst there is. Your grandmother, the one who raised you, always told you to trust in yourself and in her family's power. She promised you that no matter how cruel or unkind your father, or the world, might be, you can always count on yourself.

"You have magic inside you, mon cherie," she would tell you every night. "One day, that magic will lead you to love."

"Why didn't it lead Mère to love?" you'd asked one day.

Your grandmother merely stopped what she was doing and laid her leathery hand on your head. "It led her to you, did it not? To you...and the garden outside your window."

Ever since then, the garden has been the place where you feel your mother's presence, but it's also the place where you harness her family's magic. The power that flows in your bloodline grows stronger every day, and when you reach your early twenties, it multiplies ten-fold.

Without control, your grandmother warns that your only escape will start to wilt and wither. And though you never intended, she's right.

One morning, you awake to a shriveled garden outside your balcony.

And a very angry father.

"What the hell happened here!" he shouts, storming out of the doors below your perch and into the supposed greenery. His eyes are wild and angry, nostrils enlarged as he fumes at the groundskeeper for not doing his job properly for a full five minutes.

You'd been on the end of that rage yourself. Not wanting to be caught in the cross-fire, you pull back the curtain and shield yourself from his view.

"Sire, it's become a terribly dry year," the groundskeeper says, giving one last attempt to console your father. "Everyone is suffering. It's part of the reason that the Third Estate is so restless."

"I don't care about the peasantry!" he bellows. "The Third Estate is the scourge of France. The only reason they exist is to keep the wheels greased and the treasury full. Drought or not, my garden should be blossoming. You find someone else that can properly do your job and you make yourself scarce! I never want to see your face again!"

Your grandmother finds you on the floor next to your balcony window, partially shielded by the curtains. She gives you a soft expression, extending her hand to you to help you to your feet.

"It's growing again, Grandmère," you whisper. "My spells are getting more powerful. I—I almost killed the garden this time. If Père ever found out..."

Your sentence trails off, and Grandmère puts her palm against your cheek. "Mon cherie, if you ever get the chance to leave this place, promise me that you'll take it and never look back."

"But I wouldn't leave y—"

The elderly woman shakes her head, moving a single finger to your lips. "—Never look back. Promise me."

Despite yourself, you nod once, and your grandmother places a kiss on your forehead.

True to his word, before the week is over, the usual groundskeeper is nowhere in sight and a new one has taken his place. You meet him while in the garden, though the last thing you expected was for a boy your age to sneak up on you while you were collecting a few herbs for your next spell.

"You must be Princess [Y/n]?"

Jumping back, you turn and face the strange man with wide eyes and hands clasped tightly around a handful of Mimosa blossoms, Yucca leaves, and Life Everlasting blooms. 

The person standing in front of you isn't bad looking. Quite the opposite. He has an alluring aura about him that goes beyond the wavy black hair and honey skin. Behind his warm eyes and boxy smile, there's a uniqueness to him that you've never seen before. Even with a mother that wasn't French, you'd never seen someone like him.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man smirks a little before responding. "I'm the new groundskeeper? Your father hired me this morning. I hate to think of what happened to the other one. I saw him leave through the front gate when I arrived. He didn't look the best."

Your eyes soften, and your guard drops. "If you knew this job was going to be hard, if you knew my father was cruel, why did you take it?"

"We all have our reasons, right?" He gestures to your hands. "Such as why you're holding all of the living things left in this place?"

You shove the flowers and herbs into the pocket of the white apron, laid over your casual dress. "This is my garden, Monsieur..."

"Kim. Kim Taehyung."

"You're not from France, are you, Monsieur Kim?"

"What gave it away?" You gesture to all of him, which makes Taehyung laugh.

"Well, if we were going by appearances, I never would've known you were the lord's daughter. You're dressed like a servant."

"You called me 'princess.'" Your head tilts to the side, eyebrows pulling together. "I have no such title...but how did you know I was his daughter?"

Taehyung shrugs and nods to your open balcony door. "I saw you this morning while you were reading on the balcony."

Your face pulled into a scowl. "Why you—"

Taehyung raises his hands in mock surrender, the smile never faltering. "Calm down, Princess. All I'm saying is that you might want to keep your doors closed. You never know when someone might be peaking in."

From that day onward, an unlikely friendship blossoms between you Taehyung. The man is odd, there's no doubt about that, but he's just about the only normal person in your life. The only one you've ever known, actually. He's real and kind and lovely in every possible way.

He comes to the Chateau several times a week for the next several months in an attempt to get the garden back to normal. The winter had been cruel, and the drought unforgiving, but Taehyung brought with him knowledge from other lands, especially from his homeland of Korea. If you hadn't had him explain the science behind his tricks of the trade, you would have thought he had magic in him, too.

"You have to irrigate them well, starting at the upward slopes so that the water can drain back down. Use gravity to our advantage. Then the new system I created will take the excess and bring it to the herbs, which tend to be more resilient than Mimosa, Yucca, or Life Everlasting."

You stare at him with wide eyes of curiosity, watching him as he takes water from the well and pours it into the starting container of the extensive irrigation system. The pipeline crawls all over the garden, out of sight as to not distract the eyes from the beauty. The precious liquid flows and forks into the various braches, giving lifeblood back to the garden.

"I've also been adding phosphorus to the soil," he tells you, placing a hand on his hip with a pleased expression. "That should aid the root systems so that water can be absorbed easier."

You shake your head, amazed and awestruck at what he'd accomplished in a short few months. Turning to Taehyung, you throw your arms around him and hold him tight.

"You're magic, Taehyung. Just magic!"

He laughs at your sudden outburst and embraces you tightly to him. "It helps when you're from a family of farmers. Not magic, Princess, just practice."

Spring comes with thunderous applause and unconfronted feelings. The rain stays, but Taehyung's ingenuity has all but brought the Chateau's surroundings back to life.

Your beloved garden blooms, as does your love for its savior—both of which despite your magic, not because of it.

As spring marches forward, you find yourself spending more and more time together. And while it was as friends or mutual curiosity before, these days you spend in the garden are more than that. There's an underlying yearning for each other, but for reasons you both know, neither of you moves on it.

"Isn't your birthday coming up?" Taehyung asks, out of the blue, one afternoon. He's sorting through the various seeds that he'd purchased using the allowance your father gave him, kneeling down beside the arrangements on the ground.

Reclining against one of the Mimosa trees, you place the pen and paper on your lap. You'd been messing around with a spell idea for a few weeks now, but it's been difficult to get it onto paper. Being with him in the garden aways brought about inspiration, so you came prepared today.

"I overheard some of the staff discussing it," he adds, seeing the question on your face before you verbalize it. "How old will you be?"

You sigh, "Twenty-one."

Taehyung sorts the rose seeds from the marigolds, ensuring that the two plants don't end up in the same soil, which he says will ensure both of them die early on. "Why do you sound so glum about it? Isn't your birthday worth celebrating?"

The side of your mouth tugs into a tiny smile at the sweetness of his last sentence. "Not when your father's insisting that he find a suitable groom for you once you turn twenty-one."

The dark-haired man's hands halt suddenly, his eyes transfixed on the layout in front of him. He slumps back, resting his weight entirely on his knees and lower legs. "And you're not happy about that."

You shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself. "Not at all. Especially since I have a sinking feeling I know who his selection will be. He's a son of a wealthy lord on the other side of the Seine. It would be a strategic marriage, completely in my father's favor."

"You don't love him." His observation is not a question.

"Of course not," you scoff. "I hardly know him. I've only met him a few times. He's the last person on earth that I would pick to marry."

Taehyung finally shifts his gaze from the seeds to your face, meeting your eyes. "Who's the first then, Princess?"

His question catches you off-guard and brings heat into your cheeks. "I—I hadn't thought about it, didn't have anyone in particular in mind. Only for love. That's my only requirement."

The foreigner nods once then relinquishes his intense gaze, seemingly satisfied with your reply.

There's a pause before you continue. "This is exactly what happened to my mother. She wasn't French, a foreigner who married my father because it was beneficial. She was forced into this marriage and died in childbirth."

"That's terrible," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

You offer a grateful nod, turning your eyes to the clear blue sky. "Taehyung...have you ever thought about running away?" The question comes out of you, surprising you with your honesty. It's as if it has a mind of its own.

Taehyung cracks a smile. "Princess, I've been running my whole life. I ran away from my hometown to travel the world, to see it all. Never thought I'd end up stuck in France, in Paris of all places, and yet I'm still trying to run towards the New World."

You turn to stare at him in awe. "You're so brave. I don't know if I could do that."

"Do you want to?"

"Of course. I want to be free from this place, free from the future my father has set up for me. My greatest fear is becoming my mother, engaged to a man I don't love and dead after giving birth. My mother wanted the same thing, but she died before she could arrange it. I was lucky to survive being born. Grandmère tells me that I lived because of—"

You catch yourself before you continue, knowing that this story goes into a secret that only you and your grandmother carry with you. You've never told another soul about your magic, not one. Not even your father knows. What would he think if he did? Or worse, what would Taehyung think? Would he think you a freak, something wicked, a pawn of the devil?

"Because of...?" Taehyung prompts. He sees your hesitation in your bit lower lip and shifting gaze. "You can tell me, [Y/n]. Whatever it is, you can trust me."

Taehyung almost never calls you by your real name. It's almost always "Princess." That little bit of reassurance pushes you to continue your story. If this relationship is going to go forward at all, it's time.

Now or never.

"Grandmère tells me that I survived because of my mother's final...final spell. A spell of love."

The brunet tilts his head curiously, obviously not expecting that continuance. "A spell?"

You nod, trying to keep your nervous voice even and controlled. "My mother's family has a secret, one that's passed down from generation to generation. We're witches. Magic runs in our veins. I've been magical all my life, but the past year or so, my power has grown a lot. I've been practicing and trying to get a handle on it, and Grandmère has been teaching me, but sometimes that power is...too much."

His gaze softens as a smile of realization tugs at his mouth. "Hence the garden suddenly wilting overnight. I thought there was more involved than the drought."

Your breath catches in your lungs as Taehyung puts the pieces together. "You're not freaked out? You don't think I'm evil?"

"No," he laughs, scooting closer as to sit in front of you. "Why would I think that? Back home, we have soothsayers and card readers and all kinds of magically-inclined people. I don't think you're evil or anything of the sort."

A wave of relief washes over you, and you slouch back against the tree. Your companion gives an amused chuckle at your state, but you're too drained to make a comment."But if there was magic involved, then the garden shouldn't have come back on its own, even with my help. Did you, I don't know, cast a spell to heal it?"

You shake your head and sit straight once again. "Nothing of the kind. I think...I think it had something to do with you."

"Me?" he asks, surprised.

You nod. "The more time I spent with you, the better you made me feel, the more of a friendship bond we created, the more I felt my magic wane. In a good way! I felt balanced, for the first time in my entire life, and then the garden started to bloom again. I can't explain it. It's like you made me feel like I was safe enough to express magic in a healthy way, not just in a way that could destroy."

Your heartfelt confession makes Taehyung lift his hand to your cheek, cradling your face in a tender way that only your grandmother has. "And you said I was the magical one. Princess, I've got nothing on you." He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your face. "Can I kiss y—"

"—Yes."

Taehyung chuckles and closes the distance between you. His lips graze yours, hesitant at first. His are soft and delicate, just as you'd imagined they would be. The hands cupping your face pull you closer, and yours move to his shoulder to balance yourself. Though gentle, the gentle push and shove causes you to smile into the kiss.

It doesn't take long for the gesture to shift from shy to needy, from sweet to passionate. All the pent up emotions you'd both kept inside these past few months come pouring out in the form of hands on waists and hips, fingers desperately gripping clothing and grazing skin, teeth greedily nipping at lips and elsewhere on the face. Taehyung is a passionate individual, but you never really knew how much until now.

Moving closer to you, he pulls you into his lap, adjusting your dress as to let your legs slide to either side of his hips. Pulling you ever closer, he continues to fight for dominance. One hand shifts from your waist to your neck, tangling in the hair at the base of your neck. You slide your fingers through his hair, inadvertently tugging at a few curls and dragging an unconscious sigh from Taehyung.

After a few moments, the brunet pulls back. Both of you come up for air, breathing heavily and feeling dizzy. A euphoric feeling rushes through your body, something much closer to magic than you've ever felt. All around you, new flowers begin to bloom. Taehyung's gaze flickers from you to the new flora around you, watching in awe as the flowers grow taller to encase you both in a cradle of spring.

And it's there—in Taehyung's arms, sitting in the middle of a revived garden—that you realize you've fallen in love with him.

His next words come out softer and more tender than anything you've never heard. "Come with me."

"Tae..."

He shakes his head, resting his forehead against yours. "Don't do that."

"Where could we go?" you reply. "France is falling apart. The Third Estate is going to rebel before summer's end; it's all anyone can talk about. There's not a place on earth that my father won't find me. Find us. You know what becomes of us both if that happens."

Taehyung brushes the tears away from your eyes with his thumbs. "He can't follow us across the sea."

The weight of his offer hits you. The sea. The New World. America. Could it really be true? Could it really happen? Freedom and love and life, all at once?

"What about Grandmère? I couldn't just leave her here with that monster."

"Then we'll take her, too!" He presses another kiss to your mouth, pulling back after a brief moment. "I'll have the money by the end of July. That's not too far away. I will do anything to keep you safe, Princess. Anything. Run away with me. We can start over. I've fallen in love with you over these past months, and I know you feel the same."

You nod fervently. "I do, but..."

"But what? But nothing. You said it yourself: if you stay here, your future is that of your mother's. Wouldn't she want you to spare yourself of it?" His hands cupping your face tighten ever so slightly as he sees his argument making an impact. "Come with me. I can protect you. I love you, magic or none. Don't make me lose you."

"I love you, too."

"Say you'll come. Say you'll run away with me."

Heaving a heavy sigh, your place your hands over his and look him in the eyes. "I'll go anywhere with you."

[kill-for-cookies]

Missing you, finding you (pt. 3)

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Words: 1648

Note: yeah, I finally publish it! I just decided to write some fluff after this heartbroken moment (well, at least for me this was so). Hope you enjoy it!

Previous parts: 1 / 2

Tags: @actuallyanita

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

Friday. Another day at work. Basically, nothing unusual happened. Calm and easy day. Even a little boring. You didn't do anything, just sat in the office. Well, there were a couple of things to do, actually. And you probably would have said they were important before. But after traveling with the Master and even more after the argument, everything was so small and distant. 

It was two weeks after you left. Two painful weeks, actually. Probably the worst in your life. You were just thinking all these days. Thinking and thinking of everything. Especially of how things could have been different. You reproached the Master for destroying the planet and killing the innocent. But also reproached yourself for your behavior. You shouldn't have reacted like that. It was too abrupt and impulsive. You should control yourself. 

And recently, everything was so good. It seemed only yesterday you met the Master for the first time. Well, actually, he stole you from the Doctor while you fell behind, looking at something. And that was probably when your relationship with him started. Not as a Doctor's companion and her best enemy. 

*

You were pushed into the storage room. There was an unknown device at the back of your head. Well, not exactly unknown. At least, you knew what it was doing. Miniaturised objects and most likely people, too. You didn't want to test it on yourself. So that was enough to convince you. Although you left a few bruises for the Master. This was already success. 

The Doctor mentioned him several times. How they grew up together and then became enemies. In fact, you saw the Master once. But it was in the TARDIS, because the Doctor asked you to stay. She said it was too dangerous and you could get in trouble. So theoretically, you could say this was the second time you saw him. 

The storage room was bigger on the inside and looked very much like the control room in the Doctor's TARDIS. Just a little darker and more cluttered. Oppressive situation. You assumed it was the TARDIS. 

Surprisingly, you weren't tied up or handcuffed. It didn't make much sense, though. First of all, the Master watched your every action so you wouldn't be able to escape, even if you thought about it. And secondly, you didn't even want to. He wouldn't do anything to you anyway. The Doctor wouldn't let him hurt you and he needed you alive. It wasn't very comforting, but it was something. 

"You know, you don't have to do this..." 

You were the first to break the silence, crossing your arms over your chest. The Master looked at you carefully. This look made you very uncomfortable and scared. You wanted to look away, hide or run, but you didn't. You found some courage. 

"Nothing personal, darling. I just need to get the Doctor's attention" your skin crawled. 

"I didn't say about kidnapping. It doesn't matter now" the Master raised an eyebrow and his grin became even wider. He looked like a Cheshire cat. He was very interested in your last sentence. "All these evil plans, threats... You don't have to do this."

"Oh, my little Y/N..." he tucked hair behind your ear, making you shiver a little. "I've been doing this for thousands of years. Do you think if I didn't want to, I would continue?" 

You looked away, not daring to say the next sentence. It may cost you or may end well. But you had to say that. So you took the courage and sighed, ready to ask the question. 

"Then why do I see only pain and loneliness in your eyes?"

You bit your lip so hard that you could taste the coppery taste of blood. You still didn't look at the Master. Only occasionally and out of the corner of eye. You didn't need to look to know the Master was glaring at you. You wanted to hide. But in any case, not to take back your words. 

*

No one deserved such pain and loneliness. Nobody. Even the Master. It was surprising you could see this in him. The Master was usually angry, explosive and arrogant. Who would have thought he had a vulnerable heart? That was probably why he reacted like this. Well, you thought so.

Now in the office you flipped the pen in your hands and pressed the button on it. You stared at one point. But you weren't definitely in this reality. Thoughts were somewhere far away, about that evening when the Master offered you all the time and space. 

*

You entered the apartment. Just got back from friends. You took off your jacket and shoes and went into the living room. Surprisingly, the room wasn't dark. Light came in from the kitchen. You definitely turned it off before. Someone was in your apartment. 

"Hey! Who's here? I know you're here. Show yourself!" you saw the dark figure in the chair. Your eyes strained to see who it was. 

"Oh, Y/N. Why are you so rude to a guest?" the table lamp theatrically turned on and you saw Time Lord in a purple coat. 

"Master? What are you doing here?" there was a spot on his waistcoat (as far as you could see behind purple fabric). "Wait... are you bleeding? I'll go get the first-aid kit. I'll be there in a minute. Wait a bit." 

Before you could turn around and head for the bathroom, you saw the Master trying to get up. It must have been quite a big wound and the pain was intense, because he closed eyes, barely holding himself from hissing.

"Don't you dare to get up. You, Time Lords, live for thousands of years and you are such idiots..." 

You came back with a first-aid kit and treated his wound with antiseptic. The wound was big enough that you had to sew it up. But it wasn't so bad. At least, nothing you couldn't handle. You had basic knowledge of first aid. 

"Why did you come to me?" you just needed to make a couple of stitches and the Master would be as good as new. "How did you know I would help you?" 

"Because you're the only one who is good to me" your hands stopped. You slowly raised your head, examining the Master's face. You didn't expect him to be sincere. All his rough facade disappeared somewhere and before you was the real Master, without taunts and arrogance. 

"Would you like to go on a trip with me? As a thank you" he said with a low and shy voice. This was exactly what you didn't expect to see and hear today. 

So you had doubts. You didn't even know what to do. It was tempting, but also kind of weird. Besides, it wasn't every day (or evening) that the most wanted criminal in the Universe came to you and offered you time and space. But you didn't hesitate long. His plaintive eyes disarmed you and you agreed. 

*

You always saw through the Master. Always. It didn't matter how many times you met him. A couple or dozens. His sharp appearance didn't affect you at all. And he liked it in you. 

You were on your lunch break. You had a cup of tea in your hand. Nice cup of tea. You should enjoy it, but you stared blankly into the dark liquid. Like into the void. As it was in your eyes. You tried to throw away a memory. Tried to not think about it. But you didn't succeed. Because it was unforgettable. 

*

You ran into the TARDIS after the Master, quickly slamming the door. And just in time. After all, a second later, shots were heard directly at the TARDIS doors. Basically, it was a normal adventure with the Master. Usually all adventures ended like this. 

"Whoa! Good run, wasn't it?" you asked cheerfully as you approached the console and the Master. 

He looked somehow frowning and gloomy, although his eyes stared blankly at the console. The Master was clearly worried about something. Weird. Everything went according to plan. Well, almost. Running wasn't provided. But everything else went smoothly. 

"Hey... is everything okay? You don't look very well..."

The Master sharply turned around and gave you a tight smile. This was supposed to comfort you. Like everything was fine and you didn't have to worry. But you couldn't be fooled easily. Eyes always gave him away. They were talking shouting something happened. And it pricked your heart. 

"Don't look at me like that. Just tell me what happe..." before you could finish, the Master interrupted you, raising his voice, which caused you to jump.

"What happened? You ask me what happened?! You could have been killed! And I couldn't have done anything! How can you react so calmly..."

You pressed your lips to the Master's, grabbing the lapels of his coat and pulling him closer to you. He took care of you. Was afraid something bad might happen to you. The main scourge of the Universe had a soft spot for you. How could you not to kiss him? 

*

These were good times. Old good times. You missed them. Sometimes you wanted to drop everything, that kept you on Earth, and go on trips again. On dangerous, but exciting trips. 

"Y/N, can I ask you a favor?" 

It took you a few seconds to realise you were addressed. You turned your head to the source of the voice. Before you was your colleague Jack, a nice and kind guy. 

"What... A favor? Which one?" you tried to concentrate, even though your head was in a fog. 

"Will you take the papers to the boss? I'm starving."

"Um... Yes, sure" a sweet smile appeared on your face. At least, it would distract you a little from the constant stream of thoughts. 

[dreams-of-the-arcana]

A Cleo story! Let’s have some Cleo and Muriel after the Lucio angst. Their first meeting was.... confusing? Pre-Death

Pairing: Muriel x OC! Cleo

Who’s The Guest In the Right Wing?

“Oh Cleooooo~”

“Yes, my lord,” Cleo rushed to the Count who was lounging at the head of the dining table. Delicious food was piled around his seat but the Count was dangling some meat for his hounds with his boots up on the table. He smiled and seemed to be almost bursting with enthusiasm, the sight put a knot in Cleo’s stomach.

“I’ve had a wonderful idea, my pet. In fact, I think it’s one of my best ideas!”

Cleo’s blood ran cold.

“I need you to perform a very important service for me. It’s something I think only you are suited for,” Lucio was enjoying the suspense.

“Go to the guest staying in the far right wing and provide your services. Do whatever he desires and you are forbidden from saying no or leaving his chambers before morning,” the Count dropped the meat and the dogs snatched it up viciously before it hit the ground. “Butler, escort her to The Scourge”

Cleo stared at Lucio’s wicked smile in shock. Monty had often brought others into bed with them, even enjoying watching her with others but he’d never sent her to someone without him.

“Do as your told!” Lucio snapped.

Cleo jumped up and rushed away after the Butler.

After walking in silence for a ways Cleo couldn’t hold back.

“Who’s the Scourge?”

“The Count’s executioner, Cleo. His favorite gladiator. I’m so sorry, he’s known to be so brutal but he won’t kill you. I heard the Count, he’s not allowed to kill you,” the Butler choked out.

Cleo’s other questions died in her throat. They continued in silence.

The Butler led her straight to the door then even turned back to give Cleo one last glance as he left. Cleo paid no attention. Inside she had steeled herself for what was about to happen. She’d dealt with pain her entire life, this would not break her. If the Count wanted her to suffer than he’d have to try harder than this. Whatever they did to her body, her spirit would remain hers. She knocked on the door then entered.

The room was dark and smelled of various spices and oils. The scent was a pleasant musky haze. As her eyes adjusted she noted the scarce furniture about. A massive four poster bed with velvet curtains dominated the room at first and the few couches and chairs were also large and imposing. The floor underneath felt strange and when she looked down she recognized furs strewn about.

“.... what do you want?” a quiet husky voice questioned from the dark. Cleo couldn’t Place it’s source.

“Um, Count Lucio sent me. For The Scourge.”

“What does he want from me?”

“N-nothing, he sent me as a gift,” Cleo cursed the slight wobble in her tone.

Suddenly one of the shadows began to move in the dark and lifted itself to an impossibly tall man shape. It moved closer to Cleo.

“A gift?”

As the stranger came closer Cleo began to make out features. Long shaggy hair hid the man’s face but his arms and chest were exposed. The muscles strained against the skin almost as if this man could lift his own bed but desperately needed a drink of water.

“I’m yours for the night. Count Lucio has instructed me to stay here at your command. Would you be more comfortable knowing a name? It’s not necessary. I’m freshly washed and trained by the best brothel. I can handle any desire known to man or beast.”

Finally he was close enough for Cleo to see him clearly. The dark hair fell back as he started, his broad heavy face arranged itself in a look of absolute shock.

“Y-y-you’re a-a...”

“Well yes,” Cleo stared into his eyes with confusion.

“.... leave”

“What?” Cleo was taken aback. “I can’t leave”

“You need to leave”

The stranger began to back away from Cleo and back towards his corner. Cleo stared hard at the retreating giant.

“Wait just a minute,” she insisted. “I’ve been ordered to stay the night with you. Did the Count not tell you?”

The silence she took as confirmation.

“Well that’s.. that’s just... ridiculous,” Cleo couldn’t make sense of it and the stranger curled in on himself in the corner once again.

“Wait, come back over here,” she grew frustrated with the darkness around her. “Oh for the love of-“

With a flick of her wrist the candles in the room lit. Now she could finally see the room. It was indeed sparse. But amidst the barren space a few extravagant looking gifts sat untouched. Alcohol, foods, weapons, all still gleaming with newness. The stranger stared at her wide eyed.

“Y-you can do magic?”

“Yes I can, now come back here and tell me what’s going on!”

He refused to move.

“I want you to leave.”

“Well unfortunately for you, that’s one of the two things I can’t do.”

“Why?”

“Because the Count has forbidden me from leaving this room until morning! You want me to walk out and straight to the noose? Defying a direct order from Count Lucio?”

He hunched further into himself.

“I want to be alone”

“Well,” Cleo sat hard on the closest chair and stared down the man cowering in the corner. “Then I guess you’re just going to have to get used to it because I’m not going anywhere”

The stranger never left his corner and Cleo never backed down until she saw the first few rays of sunrise peeking through the curtains.

The night left both parties extremely confused but Cleo was determined to keep the truth to herself. She glamoured some new wounds to hide the fact that nothing had happened.

Lucio was thrilled when he saw her and instructed her to spend every night in The Scourges room from then on. Cleo sighed inwardly, this was going to be an uphill battle.