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nebulousbrainsoup · 4 months

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Insurrection

Chapter 1: Catalyst

⛧ SUMMARY: One choice, made to fan the flames of love, may be the spark to start a war. ⛧PAIRING: vampire!kang yeosang x hunter!reader ⛧GENRE: fantasy, angst (so much angst), smut ⛧AU/TROPE INFO: fantasy au, vampire au, forbidden lovers, hurt no comfort ⛧WORD COUNT: 4.8k ⛧TAGS/WARNINGS: major character death (i'm so sorry), blood, violence, lots of emotion, mental breakdowns, pet names ([my] love, darling, love, Sangie), protective!yunho and protective!yeosang, treating vampires as unseelie fae, not beta'd ⛧RATING: mature ⛧A/N: for @a1sh1teruu; happy christmas from your secret santa! very sorry i'm a few days late; life has been interesting lately and this baby got away from me! i hope i didn't go too hard on the angst you asked for, but i did ask for your hard limits and, uh... i'm an angst writer first and foremost. (if i did go overboard, please please let me know, and i will whip you up something warmer and fluffier.) this did begin as a standalone, but the lovely @kwanisms convinced me to make it a series, so here we are! there will be a few more installments; a prologue and at least one sequel. even if no one else does, zerda, i hope you enjoy this. much love, orion <3 ⛧ smut tags under the cut ; banner by momther ki (kwanisms) ⛧masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

⛧ SMUT TAGS/WARNINGS: sex as a distraction/coping mechanism, yeo has vampire speed and strength (don't look too close i didn't logic), sensitive pointy ears, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (boo), multiple orgasms (fem), pet names (Yeosangie, Sangie, baby, darling, love, my pretty girl ), mentions of exhibitionism & sharing if you squint, lack of aftercare bc they're both exhausted

In hindsight, perhaps you should have seen the signs. You had never seen Yeosang eat, no matter how many cafés you frequented together. He had been known throughout the village for his strange attire, the reverse of the seasons; he was covered from chin to fingertip to toe in the summers, while the dark winters found him showing a bit more skin. His pale complexion or the way he could throw you around in the bedroom without breaking a sweat may have given him away to you if you had paid closer attention. You hadn’t, though, and now you paid the price.

Your elders stood in a semicircle in front of you, stony faced, and your blood ran cold. Gideon glowered at you over the top of his steepled fingers, jaw tight.

“Kill or be killed, Y/N,” he spat, “the decision is yours. Kang Yeosang will not be able to protect you from us.”

It took every fiber of your being to hold back the shiver that threatened to tear down your spine. Your mind swirled as you bowed your head respectfully, hands clasped tightly in front of you. Something churned in your gut as you met his eye; whether or not his words would ring true was still to be determined, but you knew he and the rest of the council would try their absolute hardest.

“I understand, Elder Lewis. I will begin my preparations immediately,” you agreed, turning on your heel to see yourself out of the room. Three of the five sat straighter at your promise, one smiling proudly. You sighed in relief; so long as most of them believed you, you would survive the night. You could warn him and, if you were lucky, run.

For most, Yeosang and the rest of his coven were nearly impossible to find; he had told you some story ages ago, but now the secrecy made sense. Few were trusted with a map to their home, and you were thankful tonight to be one of those elites. Strategically placed vines guided you through the trees like flags, their leaves blending into the color of the evergreens’ needles to the untrained eye. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you hurried through the snow, fists clenched at your sides. The path was familiar and though time seemed to drag on in a blur, it felt like you arrived in seconds. The trees parted to a familiar, comforting sight; three cabins and a grand hall circled around a small clearing, and you beelined for Yeosang’s front door.

It was his roommate, Yunho, who opened the door and tried to greet you but you pushed past him, body and mind set on your comfort. You practically collapsed into Yeosang’s arms, a small, pained sound leaving you as he bundled you into his embrace. His quiet questions and murmured comforts were lost on you. Your mind was running at a thousand miles a minute, a million questions running through your mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were vampires?” The first inquiry fell from your lips thoughtlessly, and you felt the air disappear from the room. Yunho’s footsteps halted where they were parting to allow you privacy, and you could feel the tension spike. The silence rang louder than any scream. “And don’t try to deny it; I’ve seen the evidence.”

“Who… how did you find this out, sweetheart?”

You scoffed, shoving him away from you and taking a step back. Behind you, you heard Yunho shift to his friend’s defense, but a sharp glare from Yeosang seemed to halt him. “I’m a hunter, Yeosang. You’ve known this; don’t play dumb. My elders showed me your files today,” you paused, turning over your shoulder to glance at Yunho. “All of ATEEZ’s files.”

You watched as the elder coiled like a spring, ready to strike, still pinned in place only by your boyfriend’s scathing stare. Silence once again stretched for what seemed like an eternity, heavy across your shoulders. Finally, Yeosang broke it.

“Leave us, Yunho.”

“Absolutely not.” The reply was immediate, the taller boy standing straighter, his chin high. “I’m not leaving you alone with a hunter.”

You scowled, hearing your boyfriend growl a warning. You knew his expression must match your own. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my girlfriend alone.”

Yunho opened his mouth to speak again but this time, you were the one to silence him. “I understand your worry and I appreciate your drive to protect your coven. I am not here to hurt Yeosang; I am here to… to ask for help,” you admitted, turning back to glance at your lover. “I forgot to even grab my knife before I left, if I’m being honest.” Yeosang let out a strangled noise of protest, worry painting his face, and you held up a hand to keep him quiet. “The elders… Gideon gave me a choice today. Kill or be killed. And I… I don’t want to do either.”

You could see Yeosang’s heart breaking, the corner of his lips curling down and his brow furrowing. “Yunho, please,” he murmured, “let us figure this out.” He gave no response, but a moment later, you heard the front door click shut, and Yeosang was bundling you back up into his arms.

The moment you were alone, you shattered into pieces. You grasped his shirt in fists as tears flowed like waterfalls down your cheeks, his grip around you tightening like a vice. Sobs wracked your body violently, and you thanked the gods for Yeosang’s strength as, despite your knees buckling under you, you remained upright. He muttered quiet reassurances into your hair, hands running soothingly up and down your back.

When you calmed, he gently guided you back, eyes soft and open as he cupped your cheeks and wiped the tears from them. You screwed your eyes shut and gripped onto his wrists like a lifeline, willing a fresh wave of emotion back.

“It will be alright, my love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out together. You can stay here for as long as you like, and we’ll protect you like our own.”

You whined in protest, eyes blinking open slowly. Sniffling, you shook your head. “I can’t ask that of you. If I’m tracked down, they’ll kill you all too. Hongjoong wouldn’t be willing to take that risk for a simple little mortal, much less one who has trained her entire life to hunt and kill him. He would be crazy.”

Yeosang giggled quietly, smiling gently. “I think you’ll find he is a little crazy when the situation calls for it. He trusts you like one of us already; he allowed me to show you the path here. You will be welcome.”

Hesitantly, you nodded, resigned to accepting your lover’s offer. There was little else you could do. “I will need a few things from the stronghold. I can go back to gather them tonight, and return tomorrow.”

Peeking over your head and out the window, Yeosang frowned. It had been nearing nightfall when you had arrived, and the thought of you unarmed and stumbling through the dark forest unnerved him. He pulled you against his chest, carding a hand into your hair to scratch at your scalp.

“Stay with me tonight, love. Let this be the first night of our new lives together. Let me protect you.” You felt your shoulders relax with every word he spoke, a soft smile playing at your lips. He had already convinced you but he continued, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Let me distract you.”

You let your tongue flick out over your lips, drawing his attention back to them as you grinned. Hands slipping up his chest, you pressed closer to him. “What better way to spend our first night together?”

Yeosang grinned, tugging you in to crash your lips together. You hummed happily as you melted against him, one arm draping over his shoulder while the other carded into the hair at his nape. He held you to him tightly still, sighing against your mouth as you melted against him.

“Take me to bed, Yeosangie,” you muttered when you parted for breath, and he was more than happy to oblige. Strong arms braced under your thighs and lifted you in one fluid motion. Before you had time to think, you were in his room with your back pressed to the mattress, and you let out a squeak of surprise. Your lover was grinning at you when you pulled away. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I assume you’ll be using all of your fancy vampire powers at every turn, hm?”

“Maybe not all of them,” he teased, pressing kisses up your jaw. “I’ll only bite if you ask nicely,” he purred into your ear, his silky baritone sending a shudder down your spine.

You whined, tugging him back up by his hair to lock your lips, legs wrapping around his middle to pull him impossibly closer. He groaned, low and broken, as you ground against him, losing himself for a moment before he pinned your hips down to the bed.

“Tonight is all about you, my love,” he hummed, hands running down your thighs as he sat back on his knees. You pouted up at him and he couldn’t help but grin, kneading at the soft flesh under his fingers. “I’m going to take my time with you and savor this. No more quick nights at the tavern, hm?”

You shuddered under his touch, eyes flickering to the door. “What about Yunho?”

The grin on Yeosang’s face was purely wicked and heat ran through your body. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure the whole coven can hear you.”

Despite his promise to take his time, Yeosang stripped you down quickly, tugging your shirt off and trousers down to leave you in only your undergarments. The moment he could, he leaned down, nipping at your inner thigh and grinning triumphantly at the sound it pulled from you. His lips quickly found their way to your throat as he let your legs fall in favor of slotting himself between them, lips attaching themselves to your throat. The drag of his teeth over your pulse had you whining into his ear, breath ghosting over the subtly pointed tip. It was Yeosang’s turn to shudder, all of his blood rushing south at the feeling. He sighed, burying his head against your shoulder as he gathered himself.

Or tried to, because a moment later, you were tucking his hair behind his ear, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin, and he was choking back a moan. “C-Careful,” he muttered, reaching up to grab your wrist and halt you. “They’re sensitive.”

“I don’t see the issue,” you hummed, drawing his gaze back up. You were grinning down at him and it was a pretty sight, but the mischief twinkling in your eyes had Yeosang wanting to wipe it from your face.

Pinning your wrist to the bed, he slipped down your body at lightning speed, face level with your clothed core. In an instant, his tongue was pressed against you, and you let out a choked shout at the wet warmth that joined your own arousal. Yeosang grinned proudly once more, letting his teeth graze lightly over your heat as he sat back. That particular friction was foreign but pleasant, pulling a pretty little whimper from you.

“Do you still not see the issue with playing with sensitive areas, love, or shall I continue?”

Not one to be upstaged, you huffed a sigh, the corner of your mouth ticking up in a grin. “I don’t think I quite get it.”

Yeosang chuckled, leaning back to lap a stripe up your thigh. Nipping at your hip, he slowly began a path up your body, leaving wet kisses in his wake. You sighed, the sound like music to his ears as you turned to putty beneath his hands.

Your bra was the next garment to leave your body, tossed carelessly to the side as his mouth descended on your chest, lips quickly closing around your peaked nipple. One hand bracing himself, the other lit a contrastingly cool trail down your torso, coming to rest over your underwear. A quiet squeak left you and you squirmed under him, his icy fingers bringing a delicious new sensation to your warm arousal while his lips worked over your other breast.

“Sangie,” you gasped out, one hand tangling into his hair and tugging encouragingly. “More, please.”

Chuckling lowly against your skin, he obliged, pushing the fabric of your panties to the side to slide his fingers through your wetness. You whined and writhed under him, hips seeking further stimulation—this wasn’t enough. The pad of his finger circled your clit and you jolted, a pitched whine leaving you that had Yeosang’s control snapping in an instant.

He needed more, and he needed it now. More of you, more of your lovely little sounds, more of your warm body pressed against his cold one.

Pulling back from your chest with a wet noise, he sat back on his heels, tugging his shirt off and tossing it away from him. Your remaining undergarment was pulled off and discarded as he stood, quickly ridding himself of his final layers, too. He drank you in with a gaze that made you feel like prey, delicate and helpless underneath the ancient power that coursed through his veins. Pride swelled in his chest as he took in your open-mouthed, hungry stare. He chuckled to himself and ran a hand across his broad chest, letting you drink in the sight of him. His grin only spread as he watched you turn away from him, shy.

“My pretty girl,” he hummed, running his fingers up the insides of your thighs as he settled between them again.

Your pretty little whine had him preening as he lowered himself to your core, grinning up at you. Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he held eye contact and sighed against you as you shuddered, before his tongue flicked out to tease at your slit. He delighted in the way your hands flew to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you urged him closer. His sharp, calculated gaze remained on you as he flattened his tongue against you, humming happily at the taste of you. His eyes rolled back in his head, finally slipping shut as he began to lose himself in the ecstasy that was your essence.

Your sounds only grew as he began to eat you out in earnest and they went straight to his cock; Yeosang found himself rutting into the mattress within minutes, desperate to find any amount of friction. His pride fell to the wayside as he gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, fucking his tongue into you with fervor. He barely came up for air as he buried his face in your pussy, pleasured moans leaving him as he chased both of your peaks. Your tugging on his hair was what brought him back into his mind and, though he shot you a glare, his fingers quickly replaced his mouth.

You were gasping for breath as he sat upright, grinning proudly while your legs dropped to rest over his elbows. “What’s the matter, love?”

“C-Can’t, g’nna cum,” you gasped, hands coming to rest over his biceps as you melted back into the mattress.

“Oh, well if that’s all,” he hummed, slowly lowering himself back down. You whimpered, hands tangling back into his hair at the warmth of his tongue and the chill of his fingers, but gave no further sounds of protest as he dove back into you. Within seconds, your legs were clamping down around his ears and he was opening his eyes, drinking in the sight of your ecstasy as he worked you over the edge. With one final suck to your clit, he sat back on his heels and drank in the whine that left you, sighing happily.

“Gods above, you taste good,” he murmured, licking his lips hungrily.

“Yeosang,” you whined, hands clawing up his arms to pull him close, “need you baby, please.”

“Need what?” He grinned, shifting up to cage you in completely, his cockhead teasing at your folds. You whine, shifting lower, and he clicked his tongue as one hand came to rest over your throat, stilling your movements.

You whined, blinking up at him with wide, doe eyes, and he had to bite back a growl. “Your cock, Sangie, please.”

He grinned down at you devilishly as he pressed into you, drinking down every whine and moan that spilled from your mouth as he sealed his lips with your own. When he was finally sheathed within your warmth, he sighed happily and buried his face into the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his and he felt secure, safe, as he began a slow and deliberate pace.

“So long as you’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his speed building. “I will protect you. What is mine is the coven’s and what is the coven’s is mine.” You clenched around him, and he groaned lowly, his eyes squeezing shut. “We keep our own safe.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, the air crackling electric between you as you climbed to your second peak at record speed. The way his speed built in tandem with the passion of his words had you squirming, clawing for him. He shuddered, too, as your walls spasmed around him, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. He sat up straight and sheathed himself in you fully as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, his hips rolling in tiny circles to prolong it.

With one last kiss to your forehead, he pulled himself from you and collapsed to your side. He gave himself to the count of ten to bask in the warmth as he felt himself quickly falling into the meditative state he considered “sleep,” emerging from the brink of it to clean you. You sighed, basking in the attention, and Yeosang’s heart skipped a beat as he crawled back into bed with you—tired, cuddly, smiling, perfect you. He prayed you were asleep as he whispered into your hair.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You hid your grin in his chest and fell asleep in his arms.

When you awoke in a bed that was not your own, the curtains around you pulled shut, you startled. Yeosang was laid next to you reading, and as you stirred, he glanced up from his page. “Good morning, darling.”

You smiled, turning over to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning when he flushed and turned back to his book. “Good morning, Sangie. What time is it?”

“Just after sunrise.”

Huffing, you pushed yourself up from the bed. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late. I’ll have to hope no one has a route in this direction today,” you muttered as you went about gathering your clothes, strewn about the room. “And that no one decided to hang around near my room.”

Yeosang set his book aside, frowning. “I’ll come with you.”

“You will do no such thing, Kang Yeosang,” you protested, continuing on before he could speak. “The moment you are within firing distance of the castle, the elders will see you taken out. Stay here and speak to Hongjoong; I’ll only be gone a few hours.” He frowned deeply, eyes tracking your movements carefully as you tugged back the curtains an inch. “It’s bright out today, anyway. You wouldn’t be very comfortable past the treeline.”

The fight was over before it had really started, logic winning out over Yeosang’s protective nature. You were right; in the full sun of the day, with the snow reflecting it back up at him, he would be weak. Not only would protecting you be a challenge, his presence might hinder the speed of your mission.

“Alright. I’ll speak with Hongjoong. I’ll give you until noon to be back before I start looking for you.” Grinning, you bounced back across the room, leaning down to press a kiss to Yeosang’s lips. He hummed happily as he carded a hand into your hair, gently tugging you back for more.

With a hand on his shoulder, you kept him at bay, chuckling quietly to yourself. “You had enough of me last night, love. You can have more tonight, but you have to let me go get my belongings.”

The sigh that left him was half-hearted at best, and you huffed another breath of laughter. “Fine. Be safe and hurry back.”

“I will.”

As the door shut behind you, something unsettling stirred in his gut. For inexplicable reasons, he felt as though you were lying.

“Yunho, you met this girl. Can we trust her?” Hongjoong questioned, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he leaned back in his chair. He looked relaxed, at ease in the safety of his own chambers, only the twitching of his jaw giving away his current inner turmoil.

The man in question thought for a moment, shrugging and giving a small nod. “I think Yeosang coming back in one piece today is a pretty good sign.”

He nodded slowly, mulling the request over. It was a great risk for the coven to take in a mortal, both to the mortal and the coven. Word had spread on one occasion they did such a thing, and they had been forced to move rather abruptly. Y/N’s upbringing as a monster hunter added another convoluted layer to the whole ordeal; she could be playing them to spy for her order or, if they truly were on the hunt for her, she could end up getting them all killed. But no matter how stoic and strict he may look to outsiders, Hongjoong had an undeniable soft spot for his coven. So, as Yeosang stood there, a determined and pleading look on his face, the elder vampire caved.

“Fine. But let her know that she will be expected to pull her weight. She can stay with you and Yunho until we figure out other living arrangements,” he conceded, huffing an annoyed sigh that held little weight. “Now go tell the others.”

Yeosang beamed, practically bouncing toward the door and flinging it open. Wooyoung, who had just started up the front porch steps, startled and fell back against San.

“Y/N is coming to live with us!” He blurted out, and the pair shared a confused look. “It’s a whole long story. Speaking of, have either of you seen her? I can’t wait to tell her.”

Wooyoung recovered before San did, blinking back into himself and sharing a bright smile with his friend. “That’s great! I can’t wait for her to meet everyone else. Sannie, I think you’ll really like her. I haven’t seen her around today; is she here?”

“She went to gather her things from the hunters’ stronghold. She should be back any minute.” Something unpleasant coiled in Yeosang’s gut, and he frowned. “You didn’t happen to see any hunters on your way back in, did you?”

San and Wooyoung shared a look that had Yeosang’s blood running cold. “We did,” San confirmed. “They were headed away from here, though. We didn’t bother with them.”

Behind him, someone stirred, and Yeosang spun on his heel, eyes pleading with Hongjoong as he approached. “She said she’d be in danger if she ran into other hunters. We have to look for her.”

Resolutely, Hongjoong nodded, turning back over his shoulder. “Yunho, get Jongho. San, Wooyoung, go get Seonghwa and Mingi. We’ll head toward their stronghold and work outward—stay in pairs, stay out of sight, and do not eng—”

Before the leader could finish his sentence, a sharp scream echoed through the forest, and Yeosang’s eyes widened. He went rigid for a moment, keen ears twitching as they scanned the forest, tracking the echoes until he could pinpoint a near exact location of origin. He was moving before he could think, dashing down the path and into the treeline. Dodging trees and leaping over fallen branches as he tore through the brush, the warning shouts of his coven fell on deaf ears. They would follow, he knew. He only slowed for a moment when he caught the scent of your blood in the air, tripping over his own feet before pushing forward with even more purpose.

In hindsight, he should have realized that your familiar yell was not one of fear, as he had been so worried about. He should have taken even a moment to breathe.

You were still upright when he barreled into the clearing, wrestling with another hunter for what looked to be a blade. Your face was twisted in a grimace, desperation and anger marring the features he was so used to seeing alight with joy. He called your name and you turned, the panic-stricken look you sent him sending confusion and hurt lancing through him. He was here to help; shouldn’t you be happy to see him?

In hindsight, he should have realized why your cry was so familiar to his ears. Maybe he would have registered that it had been full of pure, white-hot rage; the same rage you directed at him during your first meeting.

Time slowed, and with the snap of a wire, Yeosang understood.

The bolt burned as it pierced through his ribs, and his vision went white with the pain as he toppled forward, falling to his hands and knees with a shout of his own. This time, there was pain in your exclamation; he couldn’t quite make out the words, but he heard the break in your voice that he knew, all too well, meant tears were brimming. He tasted iron as he coughed, distantly registering the shadow of black that splattered the snow in front of him.

It had been a while since he’d seen his own blood.

More shouts echoed as he fell to his knees, vision going black for a moment. When his sight returned, you were in front of him, and Yeosang’s brow furrowed. Humans like you, as far as he knew, couldn’t move that fast. He glanced over your shoulder, gasping—when had the coven gotten here?

Another blink, and he was on his back, staring up at your distressingly heartbroken expression. Your hands cupped his cheeks for a beat, and he melted into the fleeting feeling, grumbling in disapproval as they streaked down his neck to his sides. About halfway to his hips, they stopped, and the pain that sparked through him had him coming back to his senses, a shout choked behind his teeth.

“Leave it,” he hissed, and you made a pained noise. The iron crossbow bolt had embedded itself firmly and, despite his protests, you gave it another tug. This time, Yeosang shouted, bolting upright and batting your hand away from him. “Barbed,” he croaked, falling back to his hands and knees. “You’ll rip me up if you take it out.”

“And it’ll poison you slowly if I don’t,” you urged, reaching for him. “You can heal the injuries, please.”

Yeosang frowned deeply, eyes squeezing shut as he took stock of his body. “Not… quickly enough.”

“Please let me try,” you begged, hand settling below his wound. “Please give yourself a chance. Let me give you a chance, Yeosang, please.”

Oh, how weak he was for you.

Swallowing thickly, he screwed his eyes shut and nodded, rolling once more onto his back with a wince. “If it pleases you.”

“None of this pleases me,” you shot back, choking on a sob around your words. Your grip solid around the arrow’s shaft, you gave a strong tug, and Yeosang shouted through gritted teeth as it came free. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” you breathed, cupping his face.

“No more… apologies. This is not your fault,” he muttered between coughs. His mouth felt wetter than usual and he turned, dizzy as he watched more black mar the white ground. “Oh.”

“Stay still, Sangie, please, let your magic work. Don’t make things worse. Just… stay here. It’ll be okay.”

You didn’t sound sure. Yeosang huffed a laugh, coughed. “I won’t heal… fast enough,” he muttered, rolling once more onto his back. “H’ngjoong s-said… You can stay with us. Make sure he keeps… ‘s word.”

His eyes fluttered shut. He was so tired all of a sudden. Distantly, he could hear you calling to him, could feel your hands on his cheeks. He smiled, leaning into the warmth of your palms, a stark contrast to the chill surrounding him. The world was turning to white noise; Yeosang sighed.

One voice, familiar and filled with venom, cut through the roar. He was just used to listening for his Captain, after all, and he heard him clear as day now.

“You have just declared a war.”

Everything went quiet.

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al-astakbar · 7 months

Text

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆part 6/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [2.1k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ none > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted. thank you so much @starwh0ers for beta of this part :)

> series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

The two stormtroopers on either side of the wide double hatch come to attention as Thrawn strides towards them. “Good morning, gentlemen. Carry on,” he says, just as quickly, and you get the impression he greets whoever’s on shift this way every morning. He has to be the politest Imperial you’ve ever met. Most in his position, of his rank, would barely acknowledge anyone under his command outside his own bridge crew and cadre of senior officers.

Inside, the bridge hums with activity, even while the ship is in stationary orbit. The officer of the watch announces Thrawn’s arrival. The Grand Admiral quickly waves it off; there are more important things on his mind than protocol.

You walk in Thrawn’s shadow down the main corridor, all too aware of the questioning murmurs following you.

Once you’ve passed through a sort of foyer and mounted three short steps, a younger officer with neat, short cropped hair strides up, shoots a concerned glance at you, the non-Imperial interloper, and greets the Grand Admiral.

“Good morning, Admiral.”

“Good morning, Commodore Faro.”

“Shall I pass the word, sir?”

Thrawn’s nod is all the signal needed. A junior officer stands by some sort of ship-wide PA system and blows on a shrill pipe. Then she says into the mouthpiece: “All departments make readiness reports for getting underway to the Officer of the deck in the pilothouse.”

Quickly, the reports come in. Supply, Weapons, Engineering, Operations, Combat Systems. A lot of it is familiar to you, but with slight differences that make you turn your head when you hear them. Shouldn’t be surprising. Many rebellion personnel were former Imps after all.

“I’ve word from the Quartermaster. Fuel and rations replenishment completed, sir.”

“Thank you, Commodore. Munitions?”

“Ordnance chief confirmed complete last night, sir.”

“Very good.” When they are done, Thrawn looks to another officer, who is seated at a console. “Senior Captain Lomar,” he prompts, and the Senior Captain anticipates Thrawn’s order. “Fleet channel ready for you, Admiral.”

“Attention, Seventh Fleet.” He does not settle himself in the command chair, but crosses the command walkway to stand directly in front of the forward viewport, hands clasped behind his back. You hang back, and find yourself transfixed by his presence, unable to look away. “This is Grand Admiral Thrawn. I trust you have enjoyed your time in the capital.”

A round of appreciative, quiet laughter goes around the bridge, which you imagine is echoed on the hundreds of ships he’s addressing. Liberty calls on core planets, and especially Coruscant, were always popular, a chance for Imperial personnel to let loose and enjoy the best the Empire has to offer.

“Our mission,” he continues, “is simple. To eradicate piracy and insurrection in the Limian Sector of the Outer Rim. To accomplish this, we will bring to bear the full skill and power of this Fleet. You have your orders. Carry them out with focus and professionalism, and we will be successful.

… and, good hunting. That is all.” He looks to Lomar, who ends the connection.

Commodore Faro is at his side again, stance wide, hands clasped behind her back. You’ve been on ships before, but had never seen them orchestrated with quite such precision. “Sir, the ship is manned and ready to get underway. Permission to spin up, sir?”

Again, Thrawn nods and his crew react instantly.

“Calculations for the jump ready, sir. Hyperdrive is spun up.”

“At your convenience, Commodore.”

She nods to a black-uniformed technician at a console, who slowly and steadily opens a heavy throttle.

You can’t help your quiet gasp as starlines flare out from a point right in the center of the viewport and then give way to the tunnel of hyperspace. The sight of it is beautiful and unexpected, and you’ve never had such a clear view of a jump before. Suddenly, you’re glad you didn’t stay in Thrawn’s quarters to pout and sulk. More than likely you’d have been stuck there all day with nothing to do except peruse his art collection, and you can’t be sure if he would even permit you that.

If getting to watch Thrawn and the view of the hyperspace jump is the high point of your day so far, meeting Brierly Ronan has to be the lowest.

He strides onto the bridge late in the morning, and before you even know his name, you hear him chastising the stormtrooper guards before the hatch closes again.

In a huff, he nearly gets his flowing white cape caught in it.

Then, he notices you and loudly demands, to no one in particular, “who is this?!”

Thrawn looks up and comes over. “Good morning, Assistant Director. Is something the matter?”

The Assistant Director draws himself up, puffing his chest out and managing a little flourish with his cape, even though he’s standing still. “Yes! There is. I want to know who this is. She’s standing in my spot.”

Thrawn’s eyes flick to the deck, as if trying to see where exactly the spots are delineated. “She was a gift from the Emperor.” He turns to you, making polite formal introductions. “This is Assistant Director Brierly Ronan. And may I present…”

At the utterance of your name, you feel an unpleasant jolt of shock. Companions like you were never supposed to be named in public. It just wasn’t done. Hearing your own name aloud feels vulgar, as if Thrawn had just announced to everyone how much he had enjoyed fucking you last night, and gone into explicit detail.

First he suggests you go without your veil, now he speaks your name. Perhaps he wants to humiliate you. This could be some game to him, but as you watch him, he does not show any sign of enjoying your discomfort. In fact, he seems oblivious to it.

Brierly Ronan, for his part, sputters and turns an ugly shade of red. “Do you really think this is an appropriate place to parade around your pet?” He spits. “Really, Thrawn, even with your famous disdain for the rules— or do you mean to share her with everyone here?”

A muscle in Thrawn’s jaw tics. He waits a moment in silence, a silence that attracts the attention of nearby crew.

“My pet?” He repeats. His tone is quiet and deadly, a trap inviting Ronan to try to explain himself.

Ronan draws himself up, unable to match Thrawn’s height. “Well, she’s obviously not a bodyguard--”

“Are you sure?” He waits for a response that doesn’t come, then continues. “They go through quite a lot of training, you know. She was in the capital for a year.”

“I know what the training entails!” Hisses Ronan.

“And why should I not make known our Emperor’s generosity and good will? I will remind you, Assistant Director, that you are here not as a civilian, but due to your position as an officer in the Imperial military department of advanced weapons research.”

You understand the implication a moment after Ronan does -- despite him apparently having a rank as a civilian, while aboard this ship, his military posting puts him under Thrawn’s command. And he is, after all, wearing a uniform.

Ronan stands a bit straighter, looking furious.

Thrawn again leaves room, a polite incline of his head, for Ronan to reply. When none comes, Thrawn excuses himself to attend to other matters that require his attention. You are left standing there with Ronan, and when you realize that your silent, faceless stare is unnerving him, you force yourself to show the deference that is expected of you. He gives a derisive snort, as if he doesn’t quite believe whatever act you’re putting on. The urge to persist, and entertain yourself by irritating him, is strong, but you know you shouldn’t-- not just to avoid trouble and punishment, but because out of everyone on the Chimaera, he could be the one who might be willing to get you off of it.

Yes. The idea strikes you like a bolt and you inhale sharply. Ronan is the one you need to befriend. He obviously doesn’t like Thrawn. Frankly, you’re surprised Thrawn had tolerated such disrespect, especially in public, in front of his crew. But any overture will need to come from Ronan himself; companions are forbidden from initiating conversations with anyone other than their masters.

You could ignore convention, of course. You eye Ronan again. After his outburst about Thrawn parading you around, you expect that wouldn’t go over well. All you can do is take to hovering near him, and hope that he starts talking to you first.

To your dismay, he says nothing more. He gives you another disdainful look and then turns away with a flourish of his cloak. He retreats to a corner where some officers are talking in low voices, and they hide grimaces when he intrudes on their space.

You are left standing alone, unsure of what to do, and rather self-conscious. Your veil helps somewhat.

Curious eyes follow you-- as professional as Thrawn’s bridge crew may be, you are a strange person encroaching on their space, and an interesting distraction during an uneventful long-haul hyperspace jump.

You watch the operations quietly, alert, not getting too close. There are about thirty people just in the forward section of the bridge, most busy with tasks at data terminals in the crew pits. When you had followed Thrawn down the main corridor, you had seen banks of comms stations, an array of scanners, a holo pod, and some pairs of large double hatches. Officers’ meeting rooms, maybe.

The scale of it all is enough to keep you entertained until Thrawn concludes his discussions and comes back over to you. You had been lingering near the starfighter operations alcove, listening for anything interesting, but of course in hyperspace there isn’t much activity.

Reading the bios last night had not quite conveyed the significance of the Grand Admiral’s rank. Of his extraordinary career.

As you follow him back down the main corridor, you ask how many ships he commands. Impertinent question maybe, but he answers. Nineteen capital ships and twenty-five cruisers.

He lists off more numbers, staggering numbers of ships and personnel, as if it’s the most commonplace thing in the galaxy. 1900 TIE model fighters, then of course there are all the complements of shuttles and troop transports, plus hundreds of smaller support craft.

It takes you a few paces to do the math in your head. “But then… altogether the crew must be over a million people…”

“One million, two hundred thousand and forty-two. Each one crucial, in his or her role, to the operational capability of the fleet.” “But I bet you don’t know all their names.” You grin up at him.

He merely raises an eyebrow at you.

“I apologize for that… scene,” says Thrawn in a low tone once you are in a quieter passageway-- close to his quarters, you think, though the halls are so easy to get lost in. The standard shift is not over, but there are still hours to go for the first leg of the hyperspace jumps. You had overheard from the navigation section on the bridge that this is the first of three. “I did not expect the Assistant Director to react so forcefully. And I can assure you, he does not have claim to any particular ‘spot’ on the bridge.”

“Who is he, exactly?”

Thrawn’s tone is just the slightest bit dry when he answers. If his sly antagonism of the man had been anything to go by, you’d bet Thrawn doesn’t particularly like him, or at least resents having to deal with him. “A mediator, of sorts. Assigned to the ship to ensure the terms of an agreement are upheld.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just jealous?”

Breaking his stride, Thrawn looks over at you, genuinely puzzled. “For what reason?”

You just pluck at your robe, holding up the fabric, and understanding dawns on his face.

“Ah, of course. A symbol of status.” He resumes walking. You aren’t sure how to feel about that-- reduced to being a rare prize-- nor do you mention the other reason Ronan might have reacted that way-- you are human, and Thrawn is not. “Regardless, I should have anticipated this. It should have been a private conversation. But in the end it was to our advantage, I think. Those who witnessed it will have gained some understanding of who you are and why you are with me.”

“And the rest of the crew will hear about it by supper,” you add. News travels fast on a ship, even one this big, where gossip will always be a favorite pastime.

He gives you a sideways glance, and you could swear he almost smiles.

☆ link to part 7 ☆

☆join tag list☆ <- this is the easiest way to make sure your request is recorded, however anyone is also welcome to dm me if they want to be added or removed.

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#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #thrawn fic #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #thrawn fanfiction #thrawn fanfic #star wars

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 10 months

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Bad things that robespierre did.

(I don't know why i don't feel safe by asking this question--)

Well, if we’re gonna speak in those terms, some things off the top of my head go as follows below. I don’t know if everyone on here would consider all of them fully ”bad” given the circumstances, so maybe a better way to see it is as ”ways Robespierre was involved in the period afterwards dubbed ”the terror” that are not all as known.”

On May 26, Robespierre, after having refused to for several months, openly called for an insurrection against deputies of the National Convention at the Jacobins — ”[…] the people must rebel. This moment has arrived. […] I invite the people to join the National Convention in insurrection against all the corrupt deputies.” Three days later, on May 29, he repeated this wish — ”I say that if the people do not rise in their entirety, liberty is lost.” Two days after that, the Insurrection of May 31 took place, with armed sans-culotte storming the Convention and obtaining the arrest of 29 Girondins. I find it hard to believe Robespierre’s words didn’t play a decesive roll for the insurrection to happen when it did.

Robespierre also had a hand in the creation of Desmoulins’ pampleth Histoire des Brissotins (May 1793), which is another piece essential in the fall of the Girondins. This is proven through the following passage from Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, au général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes (1793): ”The true origin of the rigor of the Committee towards you, would it be in a very long note, which was printed following l’Histoire des Brissotins, which Robespierre made me cut out?”

On October 29 1793, when the trial of the Girondins had been dragging on for five days, Robespierre proposed that ”If it happens that the judgment of a case brought before the revolutionary tribunal has lasted for more than three days, the president will open the next session by asking the juror if their conscience is sufficiently enlightened. If the juror answers yes, judgment will proceed immediately.” The motion was passed and became essential in getting the 22 Girondins condemned to death the following day. How many others fell victim to it afterwards I don’t know.

Robespierre also played an important role in the condemnation of the dantonists, who also got a not so very fair trial before being driven to the scaffold. I’ve already written about the different ways he was involved here.

Robespierre personally wrote to several representatives on mission and encouraged them to be bold when punishing counter revolutionaries in the departments. I don’t think such words coming from someone as influencial should be considered insignificant when measuring the repression that was later carried out there:

The National Convention, citoyens collegues, witnessed with pleasure your entry into Lyon. But its joy could not be complete when it saw that you at the first movements yielded to a sensibility way too unpolitical. You seemed to abandon themselves to a people who flatter the victors, and the manner in which you speak of such a large number of traitors, of the punishment of a very few and the departure of almost all, have alarmed the patriots who are indignant at seeing so many scoundrels escaping through a gap and going to Lozère and mainly Toulon. We therefore won’t congratulate you on your successes before you have fulfilled all that you owe to your country. Republics are demanding; there is national recognition only for those who fully deserve it. We send you the decree that the Convention issued this morning on the report of the Committee (this decreee, which contains the infamous phrase ”the city of Lyon shall be destroyed” — a slogan which Robespierre himself had come up with). It has proportioned the vigor of its measures to your first reports. It will never remain below what the Republic and freedom expect. Beware above all of the perfidious policy of the Muscadins and the hypocritical Federalists, who raise the standard of the Republic when it is ready to punish them, and who continue to conspire against it when the danger has passed. It was that of the Bordelais, of the Marseillais, of all the counter-revolutionaries of the South. This is the most dangerous stumbling block of our freedom. The first duty of the representatives of the people is to discover it and avoid it. We must unmask the traitors and strike them without pity. These principles alone, adopted by the National Convention, can save the country. These principals are also yours; follow them; listen only to your own energy, and carry out with inexorable severity the salutary decrees which we address to you. CPS decree to the representatives in the newly entered Lyon, written by Robespierre on October 12.

PS — Punish severely and promptly the traitors and royalists, especially the leaders and principal agents of Girondin and counter-revolutionary intrigues. Beware of the marks of patriotism with which they cover themselves, following the example of the traitors of the Convention, who are their models. Only by purging the den of counter-revolution and hypocrisy can you spare the Republic the new disasters with which it is always threatened in the South. Robespierre in a post-scriptum note added to a CPS decree to representatives in Bordeaux written by Billaud-Varennes (in other words something he really wanted to underline for the representatives)

The representatives of the people near the army of Italy and the department of Bouches-du-Rhône are in charge of these measures: they will have the leaders of the royalist and federalist faction severely punished. CPS decree regarding Marseilles written by Robespierre on November 4 1793

These fears for the suffering public good, which made me decide to come here (Lyon) on your (ton) invitation, were not in vain. Letter from Collot d’Herbois to Robespierre dated November 3 1793. A sign Robespierre played a decisive role in sending Collot to punish Lyon.

Like I wrote in this post, Robespierre and his collegues at the CPS and the Convention were aware of the wholesale repression carried out by representatives on mission like Fouché and Carrier without seemingly trying to do anything about it (so I suppose they accepted what they heard). In fact, none of the decrees recalling the representatives hint that the amount of executions carried out under their stay is the reason for it.

If Robespierre’s role in writing the Law of 22 Prairial is more dubious than what a few historians would have us believe (the only person who’s involvement in the development of the law can truly be established is Couthon) he was nevertheless the author behind the decree for the Commission of Orange on May 10 1794 (1, 2), a decree that has been accepted as the precursor of the aforementioned law. Like the law of 22 Prairial, the decree made it the duty for the commission to punish ”the enemies of the people,” which it defined as ”all those who, by any means whatsoever and with any deeds they may have covered themselves, have sought to thwart the march of the revolution and to prevent the strengthening of the Republic.” The punishment for this crime was always death, and the proof necessary for condemnation ”is all information, of whatever nature, which can convince a reasonable man and friend of liberty.” Within 47 days, the commission pronounced 332 death sentences, 116 prison sentences and 147 acquittals.

In April 1794 was introduced a police bureau subortinate to the CPS (Bureau de surveillance administrative et de police générale). It would appear it was meant to be run by mainly Saint-Just, but that Robespierre took it over when he was away from the captal. Due to Saint-Just’s frequent missions, Robespierre ended up being the actual head of the bureau during two of its three months existence (the notes for the bureau are in SJ’s hand from April 23-27, in both SJ and Robespierre’s on the 28th, only Robespierre between April 28-May 31, both on June 1, only Robespierre between June 2-29, both on June 30 and afterwards occasional reports made by either SJ or Couthon). Unfortunately, only one study exists over the bureau, made in 1930 by the historian Arne Ording. It has been digitalized by Internet Archive, but in super poor quality, so you end up having to rely more on what other historians say about it. Which isn’t that easy either because they all seem to lay out different numbers. According to Albert Mathiez (1930), Ording’s study found 464 decrees from the police bureau between April 24 to July 26 (and 1 814 from the Committee of General Security for the same period ) — 58 of which ordered liberations of prisoners and 250 were arrests. Annie Jourdan (2016) too writes that the bureau contained 464, of which 250 were arrests and 295 looked at officials. But she also adds that only a fifth of the judgments were acquittals, and that, instead of April 24, the bureau functioned between May 23 and July 28. According to George Lefebvre (1931), Ording only consulted 121 of the 464 decrees (out of which 55 were either written or co-signed by someone else than Robespierre, Saint-Just and Couthon), making you wonder how the two previous can be sure about what all the decrees contained… The same thing is claimed by J.M Thompson (1935) but he also adds that, ”out of 775 notes by Robespierre, Saint-Just, and Couthon, only 229 should be found ordering arrest, or reference to the Tribunal, or transference to Paris.” In other words, there would exist more notes than actual decrees… The bureau nevertheless makes Robespierre the CPS member to have signed the second biggest amount of decrees ordering arrests and or/transfers before the Revolutionary Tribunal during the period dubbed ”the great terror” (30, after Saint-Just’s 35, and yes, I have actually counted the arrests found in Recueil des actes du comité de salut public to come to this conclusion🤦🏼‍♀️) and this despite the fact that he was absent for about half of it. I also don’t think it’s impossible he was trying to make the Committee of General Security redundant with the help of the bureau, considering he does recommend making said committee subortinate to the CPS in his last speech.

On June 7 1794, a letter signed by Robespierre and Barère ordered Hermann — the chairholder of the Commission of Civil Administration, Tribunals and Prisons and put in first place on a list of patriots with ”more or less talent” written by Robespierre — to investigate if there were plans for a breakout in the Bicêtre prison after having received a warning from one of its inhabitants. Six days later, a CPS decree signed by Robespierre and seven of his collegues ordered 15 inhabitants from said prison to be transferred to the Conciergerie in order for them to come before the Revolutionary Tribunal as soon as possible. It further ordered Hermann to send to the tribunal all other Bicêtre prisoners suspected of being part of the same complot. Ten days after that, on June 23, Hermann sent Robespierre a letter in which he suggested applying this procedure to all the prisons of Paris, in order to ”purge the prisons at a stroke and to clear the soil of freedom from these dregs and rejects of humanity.” Robespierre sent the letter back with both his signature and the word approved written on it, together with the counter signatures of Barère and Billaud-Varennes. Two days later on June 25, the CPS confirmed their decision when writing a decree charging Hermann’s Commission of Civil Administration, Tribunals and Prisons ”to search in the various prisons of Paris for those who have been particularly involved in the various factions, in the various conspiracies that the National Convention has destroyed, and whose chefs it has punished, those who in the prisons were trustees and agents of these conspiratorial factions, and who were to be the actors of the scenes so often projected for the massacre of the patriots and the ruin of freedom to make it her own. The charge, moreover, of taking, in concert with the administration of the police, all means of establishing order in the prisons.” The decree bears Robespierre’s signature, along with those of ten of his collegues. Finally, on July 5, a CPS decree written by Barère and signed by him, Robespierre and seven others ordered the same commission ”to make a daily report on the conduct of the prisoners in the various prisons of Paris, and the Revolutionary Tribunal to judge within 24 hours those who have attempted revolt or excited closure.” This was the solution to the so called ”prison conspiracies,” in which on several days, prisoners were brought before the tribunal in big groups to be met with flimsy evidence against them, and where aquittals mostly numbered between about 0-3. In total, 363 people were executed (37 people on June 16, 36 on June 26 (the Bicêtre prison), 60 on July 7, 48 on July 9, 38 on July 10, 25 on July 22 (the Luxembourg prison), 46 on July 23 (the Carmes prison), 25 on July 24, 25 on July 25 and 23 on July 26 (the Saint-Lazare prison)) — about 27% of the 1366 official victims of ”the great terror.” Not only that, but among those executed can be found three 16-year-olds, the youngest people to ever have been executed by the Paris Revolutionary Tribunal. As can be seen from the decrees, Robespierre is certainly not the only one who bears responsibility for these executions (the direct orders to immediately send prisoners from the Luxembourg (signed Saint-Just on July 5) and Carmes prison (signed Saint-Just, Carnot, Prieur, Billaud-Varennes, Couthon and Collot d’Herbois on July 20) before the tribunal would for example appear to not have been made by him), but given his closeness to Hermann and the fact he, along with Barère, is the only one to have signed all of them, certainly shows he’s not blameless for what went down. According to J.M Thompson, the prison reports also built on facts reported by the above mentioned police bureau, which, according to him, makes Robespierre bear a double responsibility.

On August 15 1792, Robespierre was the first person to suggest creating a Revolutionary Tribunal, a wish that was fulfilled two days later (1, 2).

#robespierre #maximilien robespierre #frev #french revolution #ask

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weirdbeancurd · 2 months

Text

Attempted Apologies- ULTRAKILL Fanfic

Gabe gets the shit beat outta him. (but don't worry its kinda funny)

Takes place in an AU where the prime souls live, and Gabriel and V1 live on the surface as apocalyptic roommates. (oh my god they were roommates)

Summary: Gabriel attempts (key word: attempts) to apologize to Minos and Sisyphus for their executions, but it doesn't go as well as he had hoped. Chapter 1 out of 2.

Perhaps this wasn't the best idea. It certainly didn't seem like it as he traversed the endless winding halls, a labyrinth of books and furniture. Gabriel's anxiety was through the roof, and no level of self soothing was helping calm his nerves. Yet he had good reason to worry; his life was on the line, and he would very much like to keep his newfound mortality. Gabriel had left his swords and armor at their shared base with V1, hoping to show the two he meant no harm. Looking back, it was a stupid idea. A profoundly stupid idea. But tucked deep within the recesses of his mind, a part of him hoped they'd smite him on the spot, contradicting his yearn for survival.

He'd tortured, abandoned and murdered so many; Gabriel wouldn't fault anyone for hating him, especially his victims. And among those victims, he found himself ruminating over 2 notable executions: the killing of the kings.

Sisyphus put up a good fight, but was spared no mercy, liberating his head from his neck in one swift chop. He died with a smile on his face. While notoriously violent when need be, he was a just ruler that cared for his people. His existence was a morale boost in and of itself. Gabriel remembers the husk's wailing screams, their leader's lifeless body on the floor. It might’ve been for the best if the insurrection succeeded. He'd hate to face his post-mortem wrath.

Minos, on the other hand, was honorable beyond belief, his kindness knowing no bounds. His crown was filled with flowers gifted by the very people he so cherished. Out of everyone, he deserved his fate the least. Forced to watch his once prosperous city be demolished by his own hand and struck down under the false pretense of peaceful negotiation. It was cowardice. Gabriel doesn't know what'd be worse, Minos forgiving him, or the king crushing his skull. At least he wouldn't have to suffer the guilt of his actions if his head was caved in.

Guilt and regret was why he was here, after all, and he was dreading it. Gabriel heard from the machine that the two kings reformed as prime souls, freed from their respective prisons. It left them alive, if only barely, hoping it could get more blood from them later on. When V1 first told him, Gabriel nearly screamed in frustration. They sealed those two away for a reason! They might destroy heaven or hunt him down with (admittedly rightful) vengeance! Or… he could apologize and right his wrongs. He was far from redemption, but regret gnawed at his very being, and for good reason. Maybe releasing the prime souls was a blessing in disguise.

Gabriel ventured to the lust layer with shaking hands. If the two kings were still standing, they'd meet at Minos's castle. They were close friends in life despite their vastly different ideologies, and the kingdom Minos built was still perfectly habitable. The city was breathtakingly beautiful, the violet skies bleeding into every surface, pinks and blues painting the town. He silently treaded the empty roads, buildings lining every street. Gabriel made the mistake of peeking in one of the houses out of curiosity. He found two skeletons hugging one another on the bed, their eternal embrace on display for all to see, hands lovingly intertwined. He might've thrown up.

It took a while for him to get to the castle, purposefully stalling his entrance by pacing the streets. Eventually, he couldn't stand the silence and approached the castle stairs. The interior was just as stunning as the exterior, if not a bit repetitive, hence him getting lost, where he is now. Gabriel wanders for what seems like hours, whether it be from procrastination or the confusing, forking hallways, he does not know. Finally, he hears a voice: a very familiar one. They sounded like they were laughing, gruff yet jovial. Sisyphus. Another voice responded with clear amusement. Their tone was calm but regal. That must be Minos. His heart clenched in dread. What if they kill him before he gets to apologize? Would they even hear him out? Pushing his anxieties aside, he raised a quaking fist to the door and knocked thrice.

The conversation turned into uncomfortable silence. They knew everyone else in hell was dead, apart from him and the machine. V1 never knocks, so the kings knew only one person could be at the door.

"...If you are who I think you are, you may enter. But be warned, I cannot guarantee you will leave here alive." Sisyphus drawls. His voice shakes the very foundation of the castle.

That wasn't exactly the warm welcome he was hoping for, but it will have to do (it's not like he deserved one, anyways). Steeling himself and prepared for anything, Gabriel presses his hands against the double doors and pushes. What he saw left him in shock.

He was greeted with the sight of a modest stairway leading up to two thrones, a long dining table to his right. One of the thrones looked like it was haphazardly dragged over and placed next to the other. But what really caught his eye was the figures those thrones belonged to. The man sitting on his left was glowing a pale white color, his see-through skin putting his circulatory system out for display. Gabriel's heart sank when he recognized the crown atop their head: Minos. The king was left with a gaping hole where his face was, an unmistakable reminder of when Gabriel's sword pierced his skull. His guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders.

The second man was similarly transparent, but the shining star that replaced their head glowed with such ferocity that he could barely make out their facial features. The missing head made it obvious who he laid his eyes upon: Sisyphus. Unlike Minos, he stood with barely restrained fury, likely for the other king's sake. While Minos was taller than he remembered, Sisyphus towered over both of them. A bolt of fear struck through Gabriel's body.

"Come to gloat, have you? Ever so confident, you have the audacity to face us unarmed." Sisyphus bellows. Minos stares in stern silence, letting Sisyphus do the talking for him.

"Though we have grown in power, we grant you no mercy, as you have done to us.” He cracks his knuckles. “Come forth, filth, and die."

Like the obedient weapon he is, Gabriel does what he's told and approaches the two kings. Sisyphus readies his fists; Minos finally stands from his throne. Gabriel stares back at the two; his judges, jury and executioners. As he reaches the stairs, the kings prepare a fighting stance, and Gabriel, he-

-he kneels before them.

Baffled, Minos lowers his hands. Sisyphus has confusion written on his face but does not relax in the slightest. Wary, yet hopeful, they listen for what he has to say.

"...I'm sorry. For your executions, for your people, for everything and everyone I've ruined. I know words will never be enough to redeem myself, nor undo my wrongs, but I hope it brings you peace to know I deeply regret my actions."

The two share a suspicious glance. Slowly, Sisyphus turns back to him, giving a nod as if to say, "go on."

"The torment you've faced is unjust. You were just trying to help your denizens thrive, and heaven and I deemed it an offense worthy of death." His voice wavered now and then, but he willed himself to continue.

"It is with shame I say I willingly carried out their word. Now, far too late, I realize it was wrong."

Daring to meet their gazes, he raises his head. Minos's expression is hard to read due to the gaping hole where his face should be, but his posture seems more relaxed. Sisyphus had finally loosened his stance, standing deep in contemplation. Sweat drips from Gabriel's brow as the two silently scrutinize him. His knees feel like they're going to give out.

After what feels like eons, Sisyphus descends the stairs, approaching with an uncharacteristically kind smile. He says nothing, but Gabriel knows he can see him trembling. The fallen angel rises to his feet with wobbly legs, his height barely reaching Sisyphus's torso.

"What an interesting turn of events," Sisyphus says. “I’m tempted to say you’ve changed, Gabriel.”

The king leans in close to whisper in his ear, so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"But it's too bad you didn't spare us when you were given the chance."

Everything happens so quickly. Sisyphus's expression turns to one of disgust, grabbing Gabriel by the neck and tossing him across the dining table. He's sent careening towards the fireplace, his body landing on utensils and plates, sending silverware flying from the force of the impact. By the time he rolled to a stop at the end of the table, he was deeply battered, with aching joints and bruised skin. Yeah, leaving his armor behind was a very stupid idea. Gabriel coughs, a hand cupping his neck to soothe the pain. His eyes flit around the room in a desperate frenzy.

In his panic, he spots Minos on the sidelines, watching on with contempt. His crossed arms say he won't help Gabriel in the slightest.

Fuck. Nononono.

Minos's forgiveness was integral to Gabriel getting out alive. Even if Sisyphus still had his qualms, Minos would step in, ever the diplomat. But now, nothing and no one will protect him from Sisyphus's wrath.

"O' Gabriel. Now dawns thy reckoning."

Gabriel holds out his hand, a paltry attempt at shielding himself. Through sputtering breaths, he manages to plead, "I-I understand you both are rightfully irate, but-"

"You understand nothing."

Sisyphus advances at blinding speeds. He only manages to scramble backwards a couple feet before a palm strikes his chest, pinning him to the table. Gabriel frantically tries to pry his hands away. However, his white-knuckling is futile, for Sisyphus's strength dwarfs his own. He can barely breathe, lungs struggling to make enough room for air, ribs cracking under the pressure. Sisyphus ignores the snapping of his bones, his eyes portraying perfect hatred.

"You took everything from us!" He shouts.

"I know! And I know I cannot erase my sins, like the father once told us! But please, spare my life."

"So you've discovered the father's flaws. I'd congratulate you, if I wasn't about to destroy the very essence of your being."

“Wait-”

The hand on his chest draws back, only allowing for a moment of respite. Sisyphus’s hand shoots out, grabbing for him. Gabriel evades him, if only barely, lunging across the table. His wings beat the air and propel him towards the door; he’s almost there, if he can just reach the exit maybe-

His hope is shattered by a violent tug at his shoulder. Sisyphus has his wing in a vice grip and he can feel its delicate bones snap like twigs. Gabriel screams as his momentum carries him forward but is held back by the king’s firm hold. Something definitely just dislocated. As if it can’t get any worse, Sisyphus throws him to the ground, which isn’t doing any favors for his broken wing. He lands with a sickening thud. Gabriel clambers away while cradling his cracked ribs, keeping one wing tucked close to his body as every little movement sends pain shooting through his shoulder. His other wing is clumsily flailing around, unable to properly balance on its own.

“P-Please, don’t.” He begs.

“Mercy is reserved for the innocent.” Sisyphus growls.

Gabriel looks to Minos for help, spotting him at the window. The king is staring blankly at his desolate city, seemingly unaware of the fight going on behind him, yet he can tell from his tense stance that Minos knows; he’s just ignoring them. Despite being a known pacifist, that doesn’t mean he won’t allow another to do the dirty work for him. Especially for filth like him.

Gabriel is thrown back into the battle as Sisyphus grabs him by the throat and lifts him off the ground. His toes reach for the floor but miss it by a mile, the king dangling him effortlessly from his hand. He feels his windpipe being crushed, lungs burning like they've been charred. No matter how hard he struggles, he can't escape. This is it. This is how he dies: slaughtered at the hands of a man whose head once laid at his feet. Maybe he deserves this. What will the machine think? Will it go looking for him? Would it even care?

"I'd tell you to say your prayers, but there is no god to hear your pleas." Sisyphus chuckles. "Send my regards to the council then."

Oh, how Gabriel wishes he could laugh. How ironic. In a rare show of generosity, the man loosens his grip just a tad to let him wheeze out his final words.

"I…I do not know where angels go when they die, but I hope to see them in hell." He manages a single huff of laughter. Just out of spite. His eyes slip close, ready for his due reward of death, and waits. And waits…and waits. But retribution never comes. Cautiously, Gabriel opens his eyes.

He's met with the sight of his captor, utterly bewildered. It appears Minos is equally interested in his words, having moved towards their (very one-sided) fight. Air rushes to his lungs as the hand around his throat drops him, immediately gasping for breath. Stars are dancing in his peripherals and blood rushes to his head so quickly he can practically hear his heartbeat.

"Explain. Now." Sisyphus demands. Gabriel tries his best to reply, but he can't stop coughing. Regardless, Sisyphus requires an answer.

"SPEAK!"

"Wha-"

"THE COUNCIL. WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM."

"I killed them, alright!"

His labored panting is the only sound that fills the silence. The two kings have been rendered mute.

"They're…they're dead. All of them." He whispers.

Brushing the metaphorical dust off his vocal chords, Minos speaks up.

"...But what for?"

They grant him a moment to catch his breath. Meanwhile, he judges their expressions. Sisyphus has gone silent, the gears turning in his head, still glaring with scrutiny. Unsurprisingly, Minos is more difficult to read, but he seems more curious than anything. Schooching to slump against the wall, he lies broken and beaten. He stares at the rafters above, drearily explaining what happened in heaven. He's unsure if his incoherent warbling even gets through to them, but he tries. The fallen angel describes his run in with the machine and the unjust theft of his light. He rambles about the council's misgivings for the father and the only way he knew how to dethrone them with the little time he had left. Between his words, sisyphus takes a seat at the dining table, facing away from them. With an elbow propped up on his knee, a fist supporting his head, he resembles the pose of a cerberus. Minos nods along to show he's listening. Eventually, Gabriel wraps up his tale, eyes shut in complete exhaustion.

"...and I don't regret it. Not one bit."

There's a beat of silence before Minos replies.

"How do we know thou art truthful?"

"Without the father’s light, I cannot teleport. If I was still immortal, don't you think I'd have left by now?" He can't help the bit of sass that comes out of his mouth. Must be the adrenaline high.

"...Thou hast merit."

Sisyphus stands suddenly, nearly knocking over his chair and causing Gabriel to flinch. The movement makes his injuries absolutely blossom with agony. He looms over the former angel as his shadow encompasses his own.

"Let me make this clear," his tone is much more measured than before. "I do not forgive you. Nor will I ever."

He crumbles under Sisyphus's gaze.

"But, you've shown much growth from our last…escapade. You are a rebel exhumed, and for that, I can respect."

"I never believed mine eyes would witness a day of justice dawn. Though it was by thy hand, it seems the 'holy' council has met retribution." Sisyphus hums in agreement.

Oh. They were thanking him. Gabriel felt hardly worthy of praise, but if it meant getting out alive, he would gladly play the part of a hero. Relief washed over him in waves, finally settling his nerves. His head felt strangely light.

"I understand your resentment towards me. My goal was not to be forgiven, just to apologize.” Odd. His arms are numb. “Your gratitude for ending the council’s reign is not needed, for their demise is a reward in and of itself.”

Gabriel wrenches himself up to his feet, having to use the wall for support. He takes a single step-

-and promptly passes out. Ah. That would be the adrenaline crash.

“...”

“Have thou perished?”

“...Minos, how do you feel about digging a shallow grave?”

Said man elbows Sisyphus in the side.

(Don't worry, Gabe's not actually dead, this is chapter 1 out of 2)

Still kinda in beta, so don't be surprised if I change this fic around a bit, lol.

Feedback and comments are always welcome! :D

#ultrakill #minos prime #sisyphus prime #gabriel ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #ultrakill fanfic #whump #Sisyphus: *beating the shit out of Gabriel*#Minos: Yall hear sumn?

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data-la-forge · 6 months

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i present to you

GEORDI'S BIRTHDAY AU‼️

this au takes place not too long after first contact and before insurrection (hence data's skin defects bc i thought it'd be silly if he had "scars") but ANYWAU

after an away mission on a class-m planet that sent a distress call, data notices a dog that looks very uncared for and decides to take it in, the reason being geordi. he noted that ever since the events of s6ep13, aquiel, geordi always had a sort of emptiness to him, after the dog that aquiel had owned gained a strong impact on him. after the fact, geordi started bringing up more and more about how much he wanted a companion of his own (to which data gathered enough context clues to assume it was a dog).

he assumed it was more than a coincidence the dog was there, and that it was geordi's birthday on the same day, and took it in.

while troi and data were cleaning the dog up, troi helped data begin to realize that he didn't just do this to do something nice for geordi, but he was also very much in love with him, and he had to take a minute to process it. he thought about it more, and more realization came to him that it had started ever since they installed the emotion chip. he then confessed his feelings when he surprised geordi with the dog and they are happy and in love :3333

THIS IS GIZMO (laforge) :333 i guess you could call him an oc he is, of course the dog in question. he is a 5 year old border collie with some interesting quirks including;

a hypospray solution crusher gave him so he'd live out his silly doggy days longer (about 50 years), this is also the reason why his ears, paw pads, and mouth are purple‼️ crusher is still working on a way to fix that effect HEELP

he does in fact understand human gestures and basic language somehow, but doesn't speak it (he usually responds with pants and/or barks and etc.)

he is incredibly strong. like sooo strong he can push over heavy machinery/equipment with the help of another officer (probably effects from the hypospray)

him and spot are also like best friends i don't make the rules they met and immediately were companions

the comm badge on his collar does in fact work and can be used to track his location in case he gets out of geordi's quarters, or otherwise stated (he usually escapes when something is wrong)

i've had this idea ever since i watched the aquiel episode (which was about a month ago) and i hope u guys like it 😭‼️ i also have a fic i'm writing for it but it's still a wip, i might post it to ao3 so be on the lookout o_< here's some more little doodles for it!!!!!!

please pleeassee ask me abt this btw this au makes me soo insane /GEN HEELPP

#geordis birthday au #star trek #star trek fanart #star trek tng #st:tng #the next generation #data soong #geordi laforge #daforge #rozz's arts #digital art #traditional art

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letsgofoletsgo · 7 months

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I found this song on tiktok and it aligns so well with Insurrection’s epilogue. With Newton under treatment for two months, both he and Ramsey have a lot of pain they have to cope with by themselves. Particularly on Newt’s side, as he has to deal with his actions even if he was being controlled, along with his own feelings of betrayal towards Chen. Ramsey also has a vortex of conflicting feelings regarding what happened to xyr husband, and only really has Hermann and Aubrey to support xem.

I want to take note of the final line, “we both know you’re leaving with him”. While this is meant to be literal in the song, for Newt and Ramsey it represents their relationship being irreversibly changed; it’s something they realize the moment they finally reunite. Not in the sense that they can’t work through it together, but they never quite return to who they were beforehand.

When the first war was over, they celebrated in shared triumph. When the second war was over, they grieved for what had been lost.

#insurrection au #just something i wonder #under a rose tinted microscope #raiju danger #Spotify

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jacksgreysays · 5 months

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i saw this and this is SO perfect for shikako: "ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem" (with the sword, she seeks peace under liberty) - maybe something with the shikabane-hime in the gardens-verse?

Okay anon, I did learn a few things about this phrase, specifically: The phrase is often loosely translated into English as "By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty." The literal translation, however, is "she seeks with the sword peaceful repose under liberty." The "she" in question refers to the word manus from the full phrase manus haec inimica tyrannis ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem, which means "this hand, an enemy to tyrants, seeks with the sword peaceful repose under liberty."

Which, you know, is VERY in flavor of my usual “let’s murder Danzo, that’ll take care of at least 95% of the world’s issues” as seen within the Shikako Nara’s Guide To Delinquency and Military Insurrection series which is basically where I put all of my messing around in the Gardens-verse.

But I find myself interested in the, hm… steps of translation for the phrase… like, the original specifically saying “this hand, an enemy to tyrants” which is then removed from the final phrase. However, the final phrase does still keep the sword and also specifically says peace ONLY under liberty.

So my interpretation of this is: once “this hand, [she who is] an enemy to tyrants,” goes away, all that remains is the sword, ie violence, and the prioritization of liberty over peace. Which actually makes me wonder if… hm… I wouldn’t necessarily say a “dark turn AU” but a… pessimistic version of the “let’s murder Danzo, that’ll take care of at least 95% of the world’s issues.” What happens to Konoha as an institution after Danzo is dead and all of his machinations are brought to light?

ESPECIALLY considering how much he claimed to be merely following the Nidaime’s vision. Imagine the repercussions! The implication that Konoha has been so twisted and rotten from its founding. And I’m not saying it’s a return to the Warring Clans Era, because it’s not as if the clans would necessarily rekindle any issues with each other, but how much of the village infrastructure is suspect? How many people did Danzo influence either with the ROOT seal or with Shisui’s eye?

How many clans then think, we are not free under Konoha?

For example, the twins vows when becoming genin prioritize clan, then allies, then teammates, then the village. (I know they had different vows, but I think that’s roughly the order of priority for both of them?) But I can’t imagine—given Hatake Sakumo’s treatment by Konoha when he saved his teammates and “started the war” (although I do have Danzo-related headcanons for that, of course)—that vow would prevent a court martial or disciplinary action.

So if being a good soldier of Konoha contradicts being a good member of the clan, then the existence of Konoha itself is a contradiction to a clan’s existence—I am, of course, exaggerating for the sake of the premise, and I guess what I’m saying is that the premise is:

Shikako killing Danzo does solve a lot of problems, but then unleashes a whole lot of other problems which, unfortunately, a single murder will not solve. Might be multiple murders. Or maybe a war. Whoops.

Because! The fact that the phrase wasn’t shortened to just “Peace [Only] Under Liberty,” the fact that the “by the sword” part was kept is interesting. But a sword without a hand behind it, a sword without an enemy to target, is just an unsheathed weapon that could harm allies or yourself.

So that is the premise, but I don’t know what the plot would be, per se…

OR maybe this is a universe in which someone that ISN’T multiverse-traveling Shikabane-hime clocks Danzo’s rancid vibes and kills him but without a plan to deal with the fall out or a way to deescalate the situation. Like… if it were Shisui and/or Itachi who killed Danzo but in a kind of panicked way. The Uchiha clan is already SO SUSPICIOUS to the rest of the village (at least, that’s the impression they’ve been given) so they can’t come out with a laundry list of Danzo’s crimes and everything will be fine.

Okay, this isn’t the prompt necessarily, but the idea of two freaked out teenage Uchiha just panic whispering to each other over the corpse of Danzo who they just killed while Shikako watches from the shadows, bemused, because… well… they beat her to the punch, but also they have no idea what they’re doing. It’s very funny.

#jacksgreyson #anonymous #ask box advent calendar #ask box latine dictum #dreaming of sunshine #the many gardens of shikabane-hime #shikako nara's guide to delinquency and military insurrection #danzo shimura #shikako nara #shisui uchiha #itachi uchiha #ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem

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syneilesis · 4 months

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[fic] Floriography

Floriography

By next week, and the several following, Vlad gives you flowers.

A/N: One last fic before my vacation ends! Another installment to my university crossover AU! This one is just silly and pointless and I don't know why it's reach this word count lol. In this particular fic, characters from other ikeseries games show up, and there are some callbacks to the previous fics for worldbuilding lol. I'm not an expert of floriography, I just used this as reference.

The day the news broke out that the university president has been kicked out and replaced by a new one, is the day that you wake up as if your muscles are replaced by lead.

Sore, aching in places you don’t even know can ache, your heavy eyes struggling to pry open, you—after ten minutes of intense internal deliberation—decide to call in sick. This is rare, but the recent months have thrown you into a waterfall of activities: traveling to conferences, organizing events, research projects, department-related excursions—these on top of teaching and grading papers and lots and lots and lots of meetings held consecutively in separate buildings.

You steal a few more minutes of sleep, but the responsible (read: guilty) person that you are, you grab your phone on the desk beside your bed and fire off a heads up in your department group chat. An email announcement for today’s classes will be written a little later.

Not even ten seconds in and your phone lights up like fireworks.

HEY HEY YOURE MISSING OUT

Oh, no. Rest well, doc.

Oh my god guys! Did you read the paper?

Moving forward, what’s in it for us?

Its aLready been poSTED in teh WEBSITE!!!!!!!!

Proper typing please, prof. This is still a professional group chat.

You squint at the stream of chats as you try to feel for a sleeping position that wouldn’t exacerbate the soreness in your calves. The nerves at your nape feel pinched and your shoulder muscles burn. Thank god it’s almost the weekend; you think you won’t come to work until next week.

Then, in a private chat, one of your colleagues sends you a link to a livestream of an emergency announcement. On the thumbnail is the Executive Secretary Kicho’s face, and despite the woozy state of mind and body, you tap on the video.

“—thus, from this day onwards, our new university president—”

A close up shot of the HR director, looking like when Professor Clavis has installed a giant disco ball on top of the historical main building—again. A panicked glare towards the secretary, who ignores it, then a rapid blinking that can be interpreted as repeated SOS directly to the camera. The live comments are on fire: some asking what happened to the previous president, some celebrating the disappearance of the previous president, and some lamenting over the future of the university. Two in particular are a momentous standout:

Dr. Clavis Lelouch Haha so we’re allowing insurrections now? Splendid! @Chevalier Michel sleep with one eye open 👈(ﾟヮﾟ👈)

Kenshin Uesugi, PhD I will join the insurrection and challenge Michel to a duel to the death.

It’s chaos afterwards. You spare a sympathetic thought for your HR-Director-promoted-to-University-President. But, really, you’re too out of it and in pain to care. Sleep calls, and it is not to be denied.

A few hours more of sleep, breakfast, and an email announcement to your classes (with additional assignments so your students won’t slack off) later, there’s a knock on the front door.

On the other side of the doorway, a bouquet of gladioli and yellow tulips greets you. This is held by a pair of elegant-fingered hands attached to a beautiful specimen of a man, who is currently gracing you with the sweetest smile that has ever existed in your lifelong awareness.

“Special delivery!”

Vlad passes you the flowers, your hands coming up to meet the gift in reflex. You met Vlad—a pretty and charming florist across your building—right after you moved into your apartment. Noticing the moving truck, he had wandered into the building and introduced himself, a pot of anthurium in hand. You were so taken by his kind and pure heart that you’d swore to yourself to protect this man and buy flowers from him regularly. To this day, the anthurium is still alive and bright-colored in your living room.

“I didn’t order this?” you say, admiring the flowers. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s a get-well-soon gift from your students. They asked me to deliver it to you, since they have classes all day today and couldn't do it themselves.”

That’s sweet of them, to make a gesture like this. It warms your heart, and you bring the bouquet closer to your chest.

You almost forget that Vlad is standing outside the hallway, and he’s watching you with a curious glint in his eyes.

“Oh! I bought a strawberry cake yesterday. Have some as my thanks.”

“I won’t say no to that.”

You also brew him coffee, explaining that the combination is a feast on the taste buds. Vlad just hums in agreement, definitely not protesting against free strawberry-made food. As he enjoys the pastry, you sip your own coffee in contentment, the floral gift already arranged and added into the coziness of your living area.

Midway through decimating his cake, Vlad comments, “This is my first time inside your home.”

You pause. “Truly?”

“Truly.” He turns a little to his left, where the large windows overlook the campus, the sun glaring behind the edge of the main building far to the right. “Ah! The anthurium I gave you is still healthy.”

“Of course. I’ve been pretty diligent about taking care of it.”

Vlad smiles so prettily that your heart forgets to fulfil its function for a couple of seconds. Will that have to be added to your list of things to ask your doctor?

When all is finished, Vlad lingers in the hallway as you bid him goodbye. Then he asks, “Will you also call in sick tomorrow?”

You think about it for a moment. “If I still feel sore, then maybe. But as much as possible, I don’t want to cancel classes again.”

He takes the liberty to smoothen the wrinkles on your shirt, a move that you find odd yet not unwelcome. “I see. Then, rest well. I’ll see you around.”

The remaining hours of the day are spent on the bed, hot compress soothing your heavy muscles, while you catch up with your leisure reading. Every now and then your thoughts drift to the memory of Vlad’s smile, how it’s caught in the late morning sun, an example of perfect geometry. You don’t notice it—but your own lips curve of their own accord.

And then your phone buzzes with the group chat notification, the preview text saying, OUR SPY SAYS SURPRISE AUDIT TOMORR…

The next day, you come into the department office warmly welcomed by a mess of papers and Hideyoshi at the end of his wits.

“I’m sorry you have to come to work,” he says by way of greeting, the black undereye circles he’s sporting so obvious in his haggard face. “I would’ve told you to rest some more, but Mitsuhide says that the head auditor is personally seeing the audit of our college.”

You nod in sympathy. It’s not like your college doesn’t comply with the university standards—in fact, it’s one of the most compliant colleges ever, lauded (sarcastically though) by Executive Secretary Kicho whenever he has the opportunity for it. It’s just that, there’s a weird and tension-filled rivalry going on with your dean and the director of internal audit. Every time they cross paths you swear that the air thickens and darkens, static raising the hair on your arms and nape. It drives Hideyoshi insane and Mitsuhide gleeful. Dean Nobunaga, though—he’s just amused and so nonchalant about it all.

“S’okay, I planned on coming anyway. Uh, good luck to us, I guess? What time will the audit happen?”

“In the afternoon, right after lunch break—we have a little more time.” Hideyoshi sighs. Behind him your colleagues pass around a jug of coffee, the enticing smell reaching your nose. “It’s not that we’re not prepared, but we’ve been informed that today is going to be different. How exactly it will be different, I don’t know. Mitsuhide didn’t say.”

“But is Dean Nobunaga worried about it?”

Hideyoshi jolts at that. “Not at all! Our—our dean has full confidence in our capabilities. It’s just that—well …”

Hideyoshi’s devotion to Nobunaga has been a main topic in the college for some time now—ever since he assumed the position of associate dean, in fact. Apparently something happened between them in the past that made the once-average-performing student Hideyoshi shoot for graduating with distinction so that he could follow Nobunaga in whatever field he was taking. It isn’t like it’s a secret, but the teasing became so much for Hideyoshi he’d now get embarrassed whenever somebody mentions that particular point of his past around him.

Sometimes, you catch him unconsciously referring to the dean as ‘Lord Nobunaga’, but you don’t bring that up to him ever.

“It’s just that the audit director has been trying to sabotage our college and destroy our reputation! I can’t let that happen.” Hideyoshi’s phone rings, and he warily turns around. “I must check the other departments. We’ll have our post-audit meeting later. In the meantime, don’t push yourself too much, okay? Where’re the dept-heads when you need them …”

When you place your bag on your desk, a colleague offers you a mug of coffee, which you take gratefully. “Happy Friday, I guess?” you offer.

It’s met with a snort. “Say that again after you finish filing all your student evaluation forms. Bet it hasn’t even reached seventy percent compliance.”

Your co-faculty is right. “Mine’s sixty-three.”

“Ouch. You still have class this morning, right? There’s still time. Happy Friday.”

You sigh, thinking about begging your students to fill out their evaluation form again. Happy Friday indeed.

“Vlad!”

“Oh, hello.”

There are two other customers perusing the displays, curiously sniffing the blooms. Instead of meandering around, you head straight to the counter, where Vlad is rearranging the decorations beside the cash register. He waves a hand goodbye at the one customer who exits without buying anything and glances at the other, who’s still smelling the flowers. When his shining eyes fall upon you, you momentarily forget what you’re supposed to say.

“Uh—oh, right! I’d like to place an order,” you say, checking your phone for any additional instructions. When you find none, you go back to Vlad, who’s watching you with his customer service smile. “A bouquet for our boss, something that means respect and success and great job and all.”

“Hmm.” The smile cracks and becomes more excited. “Did something good happen?”

“We just survived a surprise audit. Everybody was ready to demolish our building out of sheer panic, but Dean Nobunaga led us to victory. The audit director looked so frustrated! We just want to celebrate tonight. Can it be done?”

“Of course, you can count on me.” Vlad steps out of the counter. Somewhere in the corner, the other customer sneezes. “I already have something in mind. I’ll get on to it right away.”

He shows you a preliminary illustration of the bouquet, and you, knowing nothing about the language of flowers, agree to everything he suggests. It’s paid by the college budget anyway, so whatever. When the flowers are finalized, you hand him Hideyoshi’s card. Vlad raises an amused brow, having gotten to know the man via your recountings of your college shenanigans whenever you drop by, but swipes it wordlessly.

“I’ll pick it up later, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

At the door you turn and see the remaining customer having an allergic reaction to sunflowers. Caught off-guard by the scene, you approach the person to help, meeting Vlad’s concerned eyes at the other side. It takes you an hour for the matter to settle, and you finally leave the flower shop, Vlad’s soft, cool voice lingering behind you.

By next week, and the several following, Vlad gives you flowers.

Not a bouquet, just one hand-picked flower that he offers you by the apartment exit with a cheerful smile and a morning greeting.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Just something to brighten your mood,” he answers.

And that would be that, except every day it’s a different flower: today it’s an amethyst flower; tomorrow it’s angelica flower; the day after that it’s lesser celandine; and so on and so forth. There’s no pattern to the choices of flowers he gifts you, and oftentimes you wonder if he’s just carding through the types of flowers alphabetically for no reason at all.

It comes to a point where even Nobunaga makes mention of it:

“Your admirer is committed to their daily presents, I see.”

He’s caught you on the way to your department office, studying the flower as if it holds all the answers to the universe. You freeze at your dean’s voice, and Nobunaga takes the opportunity to intimidate you through proximity. He eyes the flower before gauging your reaction, and something in your face delights him, because he grins and says:

“White clover. Interesting.”

It takes a few more seconds, but you manage to gather your wits.

“It’s just from the florist near my apartment building. He’s nice and generous enough to give me flowers to ‘brighten my mood’, as he put it.”

“Indeed.”

Nobunaga’s grin hasn’t slipped off, and a grinning Nobunaga means a dangerous Nobunaga. You still remember that time when he audaciously announced that he intended to unify all colleges under his lofty purview, which incited a whole spectrum of responses ranging from sardonic amusement (Dean Sariel) to a declaration of war (Professor Kenshin). It’s risky to stay inside the perimeter of a scheming Nobunaga, so you pretend to look around and gasp dramatically, pointing to a corner as if expecting somebody to materialize out of thin air.

“Oh, look! Isn’t that Doc Hideyoshi coming to get you? Well, dean, it’s nice to talk to you. See you around!”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of responding when he calls out, “I’ll guess tomorrow’s choice—peach blossoms.”

Vlad’s flowers are too beautiful to put away once they wither, so you elect to press them and have them framed in your home.

But as you stare at the array of the colorful gifts for you, you can’t help but think of what Nobunaga told you earlier. It haunts you until the next day, when Vlad hands you a frame of pressed peach blossom flowers.

“Peach blossoms are out of season,” he elaborates, “so I preserved them until I can give them to you.”

The words escape you quicker than your brain can catch them:

“What the hell?”

Vlad falters, his genial smile wavering, and you scramble to accept the gift with a sheepish smile of your own. A dour Vlad makes the world go dimmer, so you try to salvage your faux pas.

“I’m sorry! I just meant—you’re going to think it strange. Yesterday, my boss saw your gift and then predicted that today’s flower would be peach blossoms. And he’s right! I can’t believe he’s right.”

As you recount your conversation with your dean, Vlad listens in rapt attention, his expression serious, until you mention Nobunaga’s parting words, and that lights up Vlad’s face. “Oh,” he says, narrow-eyed pleasure uplifting his features. “What an interesting man.”

“Is he? He just made a lucky guess, I bet.”

“Why don’t you ask him what he thinks? Maybe he guessed my intentions correctly as well.”

That makes you pause. “What are your intentions?”

Vlad chuckles. He taps your nose once, almost teasing but also fond. Your heart skips a beat.

“That takes out the fun, doesn’t it?”

Later, at the faculty room, Nobunaga sweeps by and sees the framed peach blossoms on your desk. The smirk he’s adorning is practically radioactive in its smugness.

Before the end of the day, you cave.

You march up all the way to Nobunaga’s office, heedless of Hideyoshi’s offended squawk, and demand, “All right. Explain.”

Nobunaga leans back on his plush leather chair and eyes you critically, arms folded across his chest. If you were anybody else, and Nobunaga anybody else, the way you treat your boss could invite a surprise visit from the HR. But you’ve been working in this institution for a while now, and four-fifths of those years had Nobunaga as your dean. He may be intimidating at first—and he still is—but you’ve discovered that underneath that warlord-philosophy he’s got going for your college is a big brother who would readily tease his younger siblings with relish at every opportunity.

Which makes him all the worse when you think about it.

Behind you, Hideyoshi attempts to catch your attention. “What do you think you’re doing—”

“White clover. Think of me.”

You and Hideyoshi both halt and stare at Nobunaga. The twin looks of confusion fail to daunt him.

“In the language of flowers, white clover means think of me.”

He lets the words hang in the air, and you and Hideyoshi glance at each other—he bewildered and you boggled.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you doubting Lor—Dean Nobunaga?!”

You level Hideyoshi a pointed look. He coughs discreetly. Before you can say anything further, Nobunaga redirects back the topic at hand.

“I am certain. You may ask me about the meanings of other flowers, if you wish.”

“Okay … Amethyst flower?”

“Admiration.”

“Angelica flower?”

“Inspiration.”

“Lesser celandine?”

“Happiness coming your way.”

“Hibiscus?”

“Delicate beauty.”

You pause at that. “What? Really?” You shake your head. “Uh … Viole—blue violet?”

“Faithfulness.”

“... Peach blossom?”

Here Nobunaga smirks, just like earlier. He lets the silence marinate for a bit before dropping the bomb.

“I am your captive.”

Hideyoshi gasps; you’re not sure why—he’s not the one being wooed. The two of them await your response, Hideyoshi vibrating with what you suspect is materteral commentary on the subject matter.

“Seriously?” you say.

Nobunaga just nods.

“Is someone courting you?” Hideyoshi explodes, grabbing your shoulders and whirling you to him. His expression is a little frantic, as if he can’t believe that he wasn’t informed of this. You’re tempted to say that he can always adopt you if he wants to continue indulging himself of his motherly urges. “You know them well, right? You’re getting to know them well? They have a stable job, right? What’s their annual salary rate? They better not have any criminal record. Have you asked for their CV—”

“Okay,” you declare, escaping the associate dean’s line of interrogation and heading towards the door. “Thanks for the answers, Boss. And Doc Hideyoshi—you might as well slap my suitor’s face with money based on how you’re shaking right now. Anyway, gotta go.”

“Wait, I’m not finished—”

“Byyyyeeeee!”

Tomorrow comes, and just like any previous days, Vlad is waiting for you by the apartment building exit, and this time the flower he offers you is a rose. Red and fully blossomed.

“This is the most beautiful rose that bloomed in my garden,” he explains without your prompting. “I’d like for you to have it.”

Hesitation colors your movements. Even you know what a red rose means. Vlad’s gaze is guileless, and you’ve no doubt that the man knows that by giving you a rose, he’s declaring something with intent.

Though it's only a single flower, its fragrance is remarkably potent. “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You know what this means, right?” And, because you can’t help yourself, you add: “I asked what the other flowers’ meanings are.”

“And what did you find out?”

So you tell him what transpired the day before. Vlad listens diligently, a serene light cast on his face. When you enumerate the list of flowers he’s given you the past weeks and what they symbolize, the calm smile that curves Vlad’s mouth widens and widens.

When you finish, Vlad’s grinning, white teeth sparkling against the morning sun. For some unfathomable reason, the thought of him being a perfect toothpaste model renders you distracted. You nearly miss him stepping closer to you.

He leans towards the side of your face, his hand grasping one of yours and pushes something on your palm. Your fingers enclose on a narrow stem, thornless.

Then Vlad whispers into your ear, “So … have I succeeded, then? Did you think of me in the last several weeks?”

He also smells of roses. This close, you note the floral scents that cling to him strongly. Like he’s bathed every day in flowers.

“Well?” he spurs, and the warmth of his breath accelerates your heartbeat. It makes you realize the lack of distance you have with each other.

“Oh,” you mumble, shifting your feet. Vlad remains in his position. And then, softer: “Constantly.”

Vlad sighs happily, pressing his nose against your hair and inhales your scent. You jump in surprise, not expecting that. But before you can make another move, he’s lessened his proximity to you, hands on his back, head tilted, innocent smile on.

“Did you … Did you just—”

“I’ll send a frame of pressed agrimony to your boss, and—” Vlad looks at you slyly “—attach my CV while I’m at it.”

You blink.

“What.”

⇼

Endnotes:

Other reactions from Nobunaga's unification goal: confusion (Prof. Isaac); bloodthirst (Head of Security Motonari); airheaded intrigue (Prof. Dazai); nosy intrigue (Prof. Arthur); resentment (School of Divinity Dean Kennyo); rebellion plotting (then-Prof. Kicho); a raised eyebrow (Prof. Michel); pure stressed out (then-HR Director); pure amusement (Director of Audit); refusal to be one-upped by this villainy (Prof. Clavis); etc. etc.

The apartment building you live in is owned by the kind landlord, Comte.

Vlad deliberately set up his flower shop across the apartment building so he could unnerve Comte whenever the landlord visited the building. When Vlad had developed an interest in you, Comte barged in his flower shop once and threatened Vlad not to hurt his tenant. Vlad sent him hops flowers, just because.

You luckily managed to reach 70% compliance in student evaluation that day before the audit session. Happy Friday.

Hideyoshi reads Vlad's CV and ruptures his blood vessels. Mitsuhide is there to see it in real-time.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire fic #ikevamp fic #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp vlad x reader #ikemen vampire vlad x reader #cybird university verse #fic #my fic

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starsscarmyceiling · 1 year

Note

Cal/Merrin fic recs? 🥺🥺🥺🌹🌹🌹

ARE YOU KIDDING ME ANON YOU JUST MADE MY WHOLE LIFE! I would love love love LOVE to give you some recs over here!!!

Okayyy, first of all, @merricalfic is always a great place to start! I feel like here in the Merrical fandom, there are so many authors writing passionate and amazing fics for our fav space ginger and space goth lovers duo. There are plenty to die for, so here are some for ya!

Alriiiight, prepare yourself because it’s about to get looong!

Authors that I would just suggest you go and read all of their works:

believe_in_alderaan (@believe-in-alderaan) Yess, Bex has a series of oneshots called JFO Ficlets and Drabbles which is a series of just the cutest collection of our idiots falling in love!

Missuniverse5000bc and lightlark (@misfitz-7) Let me tell you…these two (who write a lot of amazing fics both together and separately) are like the real MVPs of this fandom. They have written SO many fics for us and I could not be more thankful for them!

myfaenwy (@myfaenwy) This author has a series of oneshots called But when I hold you I hold everything that is which is a very well written series that is just friends to lovers FLUFFY CUTENESS!

Oneshots:

you part the waters by januarys (G, 3k) Okay, I literally just read this, and it is so good! It is so well written it is almost astounding. The way this author has with words. It’s a first kiss story for the ages because I feel like this author captures Cal and Merrin’s dynamic so well (i.e., all of the unspoken understanding—that right there, is like the most Merrical shit ever imo)

Marriage; (noun) by Missuniverse5000bc (T, 15k) Okay, I know I already gave this author a shoutout, but I also literally just read this and it is fresh in my mind and I am dying. Our two fav oblivious idiots not realizing they are together but everyone else does at its best! And a few other delicious tropes to boot!

heart undenying by sunsorbit (@sunsorbit) (T, 10k) This is very well written and the tension dear freaking lord sweet baby virge Cal is like WHAT IS THIS WHAT AM I FEELING because the Jedi are a bunch of repressed weenies…so yeah he discovers what it means to feel attraction and it’s great.

you’ve broken new ground by sunsorbit (M, 6k) Okay, same author as above, same story, but from Merrin’s POV. Basically her being like omfg when is Cal going to notice that we are super attracted to one another WHEN??

A Failed Insurrection by aslanbrooke (T, 4k) Although this is based off a very heavy topic, this modern AU with both Cal and Merrin as police officers, is very well done. There is definitely some domestic bliss for our married babies with their own babies!

Funny Feeling by believe_in_alderaan (NR, 1k) Again, I know I already gave Bex a shoutout, but I put this one in here specifically because it is based off of a prompt suggested by yours truly AHHHH it’s so fluffy and cute oblivious Cal realizing in battle that he is in love with Merrin we love to see it.

Oneshots (Rated M & E):

I separated these out if smut is not your thing, but HEY if it is…😏😏😏

Let go of what you fear by Namesonboats (E, 3k) Okay so this is written by my giiiirl @namesonboats (also another author I am going to shoutout a lot sorry not sorry) and I mean, I am a sucker for one of the only other couple of modern AUs out there. It is very spicy and I love it like Merrin goes over to Cal’s apartment and tells him some great news, but then is just like…um yeah why haven’t we boned like yesterday??!!?!??

a different world by freedomatsea (@freedomatsea) (E, 2k) I mean, we love some awkward virgins doing it in the back of a space craft.

The Bad Girl and the Bounty Hunters by MaraLan (@darkowl-records) (E, 4k) Cal is kidnapped and guess who comes to the rescue??? OH YEAH. Ooooomg there is a line in this one and I am like…wow…that was good. That was very good for all of us.

Synchronous Orbits by FlyingMachine (M, 5k) Set after JFO, and it explores how Merrin and Cal grow close with one another (and yes there is some spicy stuff in there too) but it is amazingly well written and there are also a ton of fluffy and cute moments.

The Cave by ParaCord (M, 3k) Cal and Merrin get stuck in a storm, and they take refuge in a cave…so what do you think is going to happen hmmmmm? (they do it)

Multichaps:

What We Fight For by YamadaJisho (M, 61k) Okay, this one. This one and I cannot emphasize this enough, THIS ONE. OMFG. THIS ONE. SO. FUCKING. GOOD. First multichap Merrical fic I read and WOW. Set after JFO, Mantis crew sets up with the Partisons and they slowly fall in love as they do their part to save the galaxy.

A Path Forward by Namesonboats (M, 36k) Okay, another one by my girl, so good. Binged it in one day. Slow burn set after JFO. Oblivious idiots falling in love. Deals in serious issues of loss and what it means to carry on a legacy that is no longer around. SO GOOD.

Paths Aligned by Namesonboats (M, 77k) *DJ Khalid voice* ANOTHA ONE! Well HEY, look here QUEEN WROTE A SEQUEL!!! Set after A Path Forward and WOWIE I could literally talk about this fic alllll day (also binged this one in the same day lol). Cal takes on a purpose that I feel is so realistic; this should literally be canon. Lots of fun cameos by other SW universe characters. Sexy spy mission. Falling deeper in love. You know, just Merrical things.

Above Dathomir by RepeatOdyssey (M, WIP, 159k) Pretty sure this is the most popular fic in the fandom, and for good reason! An AU where Cal landed on Dathomir after Order 66 instead of Bracca. Very angsty slow burn, but hey, you know I am a fan of those. So good, really gets into their characters, and by the time they finally meet, you’ve already been taken on this amazing journey. Cute, awkward space cupcakes falling in love with a galaxy wide war and rancor attacks to just add to the angst.

Cultural Differences by MaraLan (E, 5k) (This is smut, obviously with the E rating) Lots of fun teasing between these two. They wanna bone and they know it. Author implements the game mechanics into the boning and I could not be happier about it (akaaaa Cal uses force slow and let’s just say he’s QUITE proficient).

Now, I am 100% sure that this is not even beginning to touch on all the many more amazing fics out there in our fandom, so Merricals, please I implore of you, if you love a fic and it is not on this list, please let me know on this post or send me a DM. There are a few fics out there on my “to read list” that I can think of already, so I will definitely update this list accordingly to spread the word of beautiful fics that need recognition!

Thank you so much for asking me anon! I loved compiling this list together! Hopefully this was helpful! 🥰😘🤩

Edit: there are some peeps I missed tagging, so if your fic is on here and you aren't tagged, just lmk!

#please please PLEASE merricals out there send me your fics!#unfortunately my fanfic time has mostly been dedicated to writing lately and not reading so i know there are PLENTY #that i very much want to read but have not yet #i would love to make this list more comprehensive #this was awesomeeee #merrical #calmerrin #cal x merrin #fanfic #fic rec #merrical fic recs #ask

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nebulousbrainsoup · 11 months

Text

neb.atz.masterlist

tags || [a] angst ; [au] alternate universe ; [f] fluff ; [hc] headcanons ; [s] smut ; [sugg] suggestive ; [sm] social media au ; [req] request ; [misc]

multi-member

comfort texts, exam edition [f,smau] ✧ part one | part two dancing in the rain headcanons [f] ✧ hyung line | maknae line ateez random texts [misc,smau] ✧ one ✧ two (may 4th seonghwa edition) ✧ three (wooyoung's luggage debacle) ateez reacts ✧ chronic illness hospital visit [f] ✧ class reunion ft. their first love [f,a] ateez x star wars au [misc] ✧ teaser one | teaser two

kim hongjoong

As a Secret Admirer [f,hc,req] business attire [s,f] Five Minutes [f,misc] Mine [s,f,req] hard thoughts ; vol. 4 soft thoughts ; vol. 1 (ft. wooyoung)

park seonghwa

Always, For You. [s,f] Relax. [s,req]

jeong yunho

hard thoughts ; vol. 3

kang yeosang

EVOLVE [a,s,f] quiet [s,f] Insurrection [a,s] ✧ Chapter 1: Catalyst

choi san

hard thoughts ; vol. 2 [s,req] [COMING SOON] untitled (ft. jung wooyoung) [s,req]

song mingi

hard thoughts ; vol. 1 [s,req]

jung wooyoung

Day One [f,s] soft thoughts ; vol. 1 (ft. hongjoong)

choi jongho

pending...

#neb.atz #neb.masterlist #ateez #ateez masterlist #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #song mingi #choi san #jung wooyoung #choi jongho

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minecraftbookshelf · 4 months

Note

LETS SAY IM OBSESSED WITH YOUR MARRIAGE OF STATE AU

Just a little.

Maybe....

I have questions to posture you about if you don't mind-

How does adoption work in most Empires?

Also, if Xornoth is overprotective of their brother, and Lizzie with Jimmy, if Scott and Jimmy ever decided to adopt a child, how overprotective and spoiled with that kid be?

Does Scott and Xornoth have wings?

Is there a group in Rivendell that doesn't like Xornoth as king, and maybe some tries to take them off the throne throughout the years?

How does Jimmy fair to being in the cold?

Is the Ender Dragon important in this world? And how so?

How long does Xornoth visit Joey?

Should Scott or Jimmy even be trusted with a child?

Hello! Welcome to the chaos! Grab a seat, grab a snack, and join the circle!

I love talking about this AU (If you hadn't picked up on it by now XD)

Adoption varies from empire to empire, for some it is very culturally central, such as in Mezalea, and in others it is much more rare simply due to either the nature or size of the population, such as the Overgrown or Rivendell. In some places its more informal, such as the Swamp and in others its much more formal, again, like Mezalea.

The concept of adoption varies wildly between cultures as well. In Mezalea it is very much a formal "you are now part of our family as if you were born into it" stance, while in the Swamp its more along the lines of "you lost your family, whether through fate or their own poor choices, so now you will go find a new family either in your relatives or your immediate community"

The very concept of family varies so of course adoption is also going to change from place to place.

If Scott and Jimmy ever adopt a child that child will be absolutely spoiled rotten from all directions. (also addressing the last question here, no, Scott or Jimmy should never be trusted with a child tbh.)

Scott and Xornoth do have wings I had a whole crisis about it on here somewhere because I didn't want them to bc it felt a bit like too much but the more i wrote and built the more obvious it became they would have to have them. So here we are.

There are multiple factions among the Rivendell population that are Not Xornoth Fans. There have been some attempted insurrections, though not recently. The only major one was resolved with Xornoth's marriage.

Well now that would be telling ;)

See previous statement. But also yes, the Ender Dragon is going to be very important.

Xornoth visits Joey semi-frequently, though Joey probably visits them more often. Especially early on when Xornoth was still trying to figure out what was happening and how it happened XD

#ask and it shall be answered #ep2nd #thankee for the ask!#marriage of state au #rain rambles #flower husbands #rivendell siblings #mos: asks #mos: worldbuilding #mos: mezalea #mos: the swamp #mos: flower husbands #mos: xornoth #mos: jornoth #mos: rivendell

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sopejinsunflower · 1 year

Text

a/n: I keep writing from dreams! This was a dream that was so vivid it woke me up crying. Although I didn’t dream of Yoongi specifically, I changed the main actor of my dream to him as I think he fits the bill the most. Hope you like this short one :)

Title definition: insurrection of peasants against the nobility in northeastern France in 1358—so named from the nobles' habit of referring contemptuously to any peasant as Jacques, or Jacques Bonhomme.

Warning: 18+, minors DNI

Summary: The world is in ruins. The new government, The Order, is corrupted and it’s a constant battle for people to even have access to basic needs. But a vigilante is fighting for the people, leading The Jackals against the government. You were forced to join The Patrol, working under The Order to curb the rebellion. What happens when you run into an old familiar face on an impromptu assignment? What happens when you learn that the dead can come back and the truth has been under your nose all this time?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x you

Tags: Childhood lovers AU! Reunited lovers, dystopian world, vigilantes and revolutions, corrupted government, violence mentioned, coarse language, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

Word count: 13.4k

Another bomb goes off in the distance, the ground rumbling with the aftershock, sending you slightly unsteady on your feet.

All this for one man.

You let out a sigh as your in-ear crackle and the Commander’s voice echoes through, gruff and urgent, like always. “All units move to Precinct 1, now! I want every warm body there right now. We’re going to box this motherfucker and bring him in.”

Again, you sigh, dread filling your chest and weighing your feet down. To be honest, you don’t want to join the fight. You rather hang back, patrolling the usually empty alleyways for renegades that are never dwindling now even after the heavy push back from The Order lately, thanks to him. Most vigilantes work in the cloak of night but this one, this one doesn’t seem to care for cover much. He does as he pleases, appearing and disappearing like some kind of wizard from one place to the next, wreaking havoc.

He came out of nowhere, rising out of the shadows the moment The Order established themselves as the new government twenty-five years ago; a backdoor government that no one voted for, mind you, sneaking in the same way pesky cockroaches infest a house. It was a betrayal to the people’s rights, taken away from them in plain daylight and enforced so blatantly it was just rubbing salt on wounds. People were angry, they rioted until it was all snuffed out with police force and smoke bombs and threats of emprisonment. It wasn’t pretty.

Many ended behind bars. Many lives were lost but were unaccounted for. Anyone who raises their voice against The Order ends up missing. Families are torn apart. And when they still couldn’t completely silence the people, the lockdown came, heavy and callous. Food and water were rationed, resources were cut, companies burnt down, jobs were lost, curfews were imposed. No one is allowed to be out after 6PM. It was punishment, they say, until the people learn to behave.

But humans are resilient beings, learning to adapt to survive. Within the hushed whispers of the residents, there were talks of a revolt, a group of people called The Jackals who are slowly planning, scheming for The Order’s downfall and he is leading them. They were quiet and careful, sneaking out past curfew hours for secret meetups. To curb this, the Peace Patrol was formed, tasked to help tame and whittle them out, with the guarantee of extra water and food and even access to special items like liquor and soap and even hot water directed to your household if you give up any information and more if you join the ranks. It was the promise of comfort-living, of ease.

As an orphan, you lived with an uncle who is a heavy supporter of The Order. He ranted about putting a bullet through The Jackals as if he personally knew who they were. He made random, wild assumptions about the neighbours being one of them based on anything that he didn’t agree on, like looking at him funny or not taking out the trash on time or even for watering their own plants with a watering can instead of the garden hose like ‘normal people do’. He didn’t even have plants to take care of so how would he know what was normal?

So when you were old enough, he insisted you serve his beloved government, joining the ranks of the Peace Patrol. “I have a bad knee so you will have to. Get me some of those beer kegs they promised,” he had said. “Or you can go ahead and live in the streets. Time to repay all the money I spent raising you.”

So here you are, jogging only lightly heading towards Precinct 1 with your lead feet, your face growing pale and a stomach that is threatening to upend all your measly breakfast. Here’s another honest truth: you are fucking scared. Everytime there are sightings of him, it’s a warzone. It’s like no one cares what happens to the area that gets under heavy fire, the people caught in the crossfire. And he doesn’t seem to care, either. They call him Robin Hood but no one knows his real name. Hell, no one knows who he is, they’ve never even seen his face.

To the people, he’s a hero. To the government, he’s a menace that needs to be eliminated. To you, honestly, he’s just a troublemaker, an annoyance. You don’t agree with The Order but he wasn’t making things any better. His small good deeds of stealing from the government to give to the people is only causing problems to the same people he’s helping. It’s a loss, loss. What is the point even?

You finally join your platoon, crowding a desolate grey building riddled with bullet holes all across the bottom wall. Someone squeezes your hand and you look around to find Daiki smiling down at you. He pulls you in for a quick kiss on the top of your head.

“You there,” the Commander calls out from the front, pointing your way. You jump slightly, gulping hard as you look at him. The information was that he’s holding up in the yard at the side of the building and they are sending in ten people to scout the place. “You’re the tenth. You’re going down to the yard, give a look around. If you find him, immobilise him. If he’s not there, join the others on the first floor.”

You don’t respond. There’s a ringing in your ear and you stand there, rooted to the spot, unmoving. Daiki nudges you and you blink rapidly, trying to get your bearings. The other nine are already making their way forward. You move, joining the Commander at the front.

“We got him blocked in,” The Commander says smugly. “All you need to do is find him. Now go!”

Why not send the whole team, you wanted to ask but your voice is lodged in your throat. The plan doesn’t seem foolproof, something is off. As you approach the building, unshouldering your AR-15 and holding it in both hands, one of the others huffs, “They don’t know if he’s alone or not. That’s why they’re sending us in first, the bastards.”

Right. Baits. Lure him and his people out. They can afford to lose ten patrol officers, no big deal. There’s always more waiting in line to enjoy the limited privileges. Did Daiki know this before he had pushed you forward?

Your palms are sweating inside your gloves and the lightweight rifle feels too heavy to hold up properly. An older officer looks at you almost sympathetically. “The yard’s not that big. You can cover it in a couple of minutes, a quick sweep. If nothing then join us upstairs.”

“And if he’s there?”

He seems to think about it. Most of the other officers will just say shoot him dead or alert the others or anything along those lines. But all he says is, “Pray he goes easy on you, kid.”

They disperse, going up the stairs to take on different levels of the buildings in pairs. The officer’s words rang in my ears, his words echoing in my brains. Robin Hood is a ruthless killer, they say. He once wiped out ten patrol officers to break through one of The Order’s resource warehouses to steal supplies. All on his own. Anyone with the Patrol uniform on, anyone who wields The Order’s emblems and idealistics is his target.

There’s a small flight of stairs to head down to the yard on the west side of the building and you’ve never gone down a longer set of stairs in your life. From the top of the stairs, you can literally see the whole yard below and contemplated calling it all clear without having to look. But the yard follows a bend that rounds to the back of the building. Your heart is hammering in your chest like a wild bird wanting to be free and each step further down feels like an eternity. You’re at the bottom of the steps now, praying that you will find nothing when suddenly there is chaos up above upstairs.

Gunshots and yelling. You freeze, craning your neck to look upward. Did they find him upstairs? A window glass shatters and you dove to the bottom of the stairs, covering your head, crouching down low as glass pieces rain down over you. Fear grips you like a vice and you remain there with your hands over your ears, dry-heaving. Your blood has run cold. Somewhere along the Patrol line upstairs, you can hear heavy machinery moving. Tanks. They got tanks.

You press yourself against the wall as the commotion upstairs escalates. The smell of gun smoke is heavy in the air and you think you can even detect the hint of copper as bullets bury or zip through flesh. That’s what you imagine is happening upstairs. You can’t tell apart the shoutings of your comrades and those of the enemies. Is he among them?

Something in your periphery moves and you turn to look. There in the corner of the building, you can see a pair of boots peeking out. They’re scruffed and look nothing like the Patrol’s issued pair. Your stomach twists and your heart is in your throat, ready to jump out if you even open your mouth.

Please just walk the other way, please just walk the other way.

But the person steps forward into your line of vision and walks cooly over to the middle of the yard, looking up as if he can see towards the Patrol line. Then slowly, almost deliberately, he turns his head to look directly at you and your breath hitches.

It’s him.

This is your first time seeing the infamous Robin Hood but something in your gut tells you that it’s him, no doubt. He stands there in black cargo pants and a tight black t-shirt that you can see the silhouette of his toned chest. A dark maroon jacket completes the look. As your eyes travel upwards, you first notice the long hair tied up in a half-knot before you see his eyes; dark and angry like that of a dragon, glaring at you from above the black cloth hiding the bottom half of his face.

Realisation dawns on you like a cold bucket of water; you know him. Even with the mask, you know him. And judging from the way he softens his eyes, tilting his chin to the side, he remembers you, too. Emotions flood into your chest as if someone had broken a long-standing dam inside you, filling you with confusion and sadness and nostalgia all at once. You want to rise to your feet but you can’t, your body not listening to any feeble commands. You want to call out to him but it feels like your lips are sewn together.

A loud crashing noise jerks both of your attention upwards and you see the tank crashing through the iron fence that circles the building. It moves slowly, an impending doom that is about to put this whole place on fire. You turn back to him, panic bubbling. He’s staring at you again, his eyes conveying nothing, not even the urgency to flee the area. They are just calm, taking you in.

“What are you doing?!”

The Commander’s voice bursts through your in-ear, loud and angry. “What are you doing?! Get him! Shoot him!”

That’s when you notice your Commanding Officer standing at the top of the hill, safely out of the way of the tanks, pointing at him. But it’s too late. You watch the man called Robin Hood run to the edge of the yard and scale the fence. At the top, he takes one last look back at you and his name comes back to mind. Before you can call out to him, he disappears on the other side.

BOOM!

The tank takes a shot at the fence, tearing a hole through it, the shell landing somewhere on the residential area below; whether it’s the noise or the artillery shaking the ground, you’re not sure. Your ears ring so loud you feel disoriented, stumbling to stand up but tripping on your feet. You lean against the wall, breathing hard while the world around you sway under your feet before you finally crash to the floor, your vision going dark.

***

You wake up to Daiki leaning over you, his forehead creasing with worry. He has a tight grip on your right hand in both of his.

“Hi, there,” he greets softly, helping you to sit up. “Slowly, slowly. There we go.”

The infirmary is the last place you want to be in. The place is dark and dingy for a hospital and smells of death and vomit and strong disinfectant. You would think that a dystopian world would be much better but when the government is battling a single man with a group of unarmed people, scrambling to remain in power, money is being poured into weapons and armoury. Whatever’s left can’t even help maintain the society they want so desperately controlled. It’s a joke. Maybe he wasn’t wrong after all.

“How you’re feeling?”

You rub at your temples. “Like my head is full of cement.”

Daiki chuckles. “That’s not too bad, I guess.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Just a few hours,” he replies. “The team’s worried about you. They think he did something to you. Some kind of poison or something.”

You stare at him, not comprehending.

“The Commander said he was just standing there while you sat, frozen, unmoving,” he explains, shaking his head. “And then you just passed out. They did some blood tests but found nothing. Must be advanced work. The Jackals are growing more dangerous.”

“You’re saying that a group of people who meet at night in sewers or abandoned places,” you say carefully, gauging his reaction, “are making advanced bioweapons to attack us?”

He shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“Are you hearing yourself?” you push, incredulous. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. How would they ev-”

“Who the hell knows how they’re doing what they’re doing, babe,” he retorts heatedly. “Hell, I don’t even understand what they’re trying to do. They’re a nuisance to society.”

“They’re not the ones with tanks bombing every little place,” you mutter almost cautiously, looking down as you fiddle with the edge of the worn blanket.

Daiki is looking at you funny, like he can’t quite understand you. Maybe he doesn’t. He shrugs again, patting your arm. “Look, you probably still have whatever it was he gave you in your system. You’ll feel more like yourself once that’s flushed out.” He stands up.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the frontline,” he says, putting on his gloves. “They found a new hideout.” The way he’s grinning at you makes you sick but you bite your tongue and don’t say anything. He leans down and places a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be back soon. Rest well.”

The door closes behind him and you subconsciously wipe at your cheek, the same spot he kissed you. You’re not sure why and only realise it when it’s done. A few minutes later, you decide to leave, not to join Daiki at the front line but somewhere away from it to unwind. You have one place in mind, the only place unmarred by all the fighting and the chaos and the chase of a man no one knows who. Maybe except for you now that you’ve seen him.

– – –

The park is situated at the edge of the city, a place no one really goes to anymore lest you want to be accused of being a Jackal exploring new hideouts.

But you’re here in your Patrol uniform of black pants, black long sleeves shirt with the Patrol emblem on the chest as well as a red band around the upper arm. Black fingerless gloves for gripping the weapons issued to each officer and a pair of heavy combat boots that you find hard to run in, ironically. You left your bulletproof vest and rifle back at the barracks. You didn’t think you’d need them here nor do you like having them with you.

The park is a stark contrast to its surroundings, its lush green grass like a beacon on a map. The trees swayed gently in the wind, making this soft, comforting sound that can lull you to sleep if you let yourself. The park isn’t big, with a huge water fountain in the middle. It’s not working anymore, the pool is so dry there’s cracks and dust. Back in its glory days, people used to come here to watch the water light up in different colours as music fills the air. You only remember seeing it as a child. Now, it’s like people have even forgotten the place exists, but nature seems to thrive in the absence of humans.

You choose a tree and sit down under the shade, your back against the bark, your legs stretched out in front of you, crossed at the ankles. The wind blows through your hair and you take a deep breath and close your eyes. When was the last time you felt at peace like this? You can’t remember, probably since you joined the Patrol two years ago. It was also the last time you saw your uncle, opting to live in the barracks instead. But even away from him, it wasn’t easy to quit the force. Those who did, no matter on what grounds or for what reason, were all hunted later down the line, marked as traitors or enemies’ spies, anything to have them killed unquestioned. It’s like they couldn’t handle people leaving.

You let out a heavy sigh. You just want some peace and quiet, to relax without having to think about this fucked up world you’re living in. Just as you’re in between falling asleep but awake enough to notice sounds around you, you hear the quiet rustling of footsteps. Your eyes shoot open, looking around the park to locate the source of the noise. The silence almost sounds dubious, narrowing your eyes as you peer at certain bushes and dark spots that may hide something within it.

“You’re away from home.”

Your skin could have literally jumped off your back as you scramble to your feet. The voice had come from behind you and as you turned around, there he was, leaning against the tree with his arms crossed, his face half hidden this time behind a red handkerchief covering from his nose down.

“You,” you breathe out. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

He looks around the place as if looking for something. “As far as I remember, I don’t need a reason to be at a public park. The question is, what are you doing here? Your platoon is busy firing at an empty building right now. Shouldn’t you be with them?”

You gawk at him, unsure of what to even say. A wanted man is telling you he has every right to be here but asking you why you’re not helping the same people who put a bounty on his head? “I came from the infirmary,” you offer lamely. “I’m not on duty.”

He nods as if it all makes sense. “So why are you here?”

You don’t answer, literally lost for words. He’s so blase about everything. Is he for real? You end up shrugging your shoulders. “It’s a public park, you said.”

Again, he nods. “I guess murderers need to unwind, too, huh.”

Anger flashes red hot for you. “Murderers?! I’ve never killed anyone in my life! You’re the one that’s going around killing people and stealing stuff that’s not yours. Stuff that could’ve helped others who need them!”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not the one with tanks bombing houses full of people. I’m not the one with the automatic rifles opening fire in public. And I’m not the one stocking up on bare essentials that should have been offered to the public freely without restrictions.”

“If it’s offered freely then there won’t be enough for all,” you snap back, your hands balled into fists. “It’s rationed so everyone can have a portion.”

He lets out a soft laugh, the kind where adults do when little kids say something they don’t know about. Not once did he move from his spot against the tree, eyeing you curiously instead of warily, probably because you stupidly don’t have your weapon with you. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

When you don’t answer, he pushes off from the tree and walks slowly towards you, step by step. You move in the opposite way, reversing with every step he takes. He speaks again. “What if I tell you that those resources don't need to be rationed? What if I told you that even without the government allocation, people can get more than just a portion? What if I told you that the rationing helps no one except the higher ups, that they’re living lavishly enough they don’t have to worry about those who are affected by the rations? What if I told you that The Order has more blood on their hands than on ours? That they are the reason people are dying? That people, families are going missing?”

He moves closer and closer.

“All those warehouses they have all over the city, have you seen them?”

You nod. “Of course I have.”

“But have you seen the inside?”

You remain quiet.

“They’re chock full of food and barrels of water and medication and everything the city would need to not just survive, but to live. Each and every one of them. Not to mention the underground ones. Do you know about those?” You’re backed against the fountain now, the edge of the pool digging into the back of your thighs yet he’s still advancing. “Either you’re all being fooled or you choose to remain ignorant.”

He takes one final step and now he’s toe to toe with you, looming over you tall and menacing, no, confident. He emits this aura that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, whether in his vigilante shit or here with you. He bends down and whispers into your ears. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? You’re not like them. So why do you choose to remain in the dark? Is being a sheep easier?”

You can feel yourself shaking, can feel your lips trembling, lowering your gaze to look at the ground, at how the tip of his boots are flushed against yours. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it beating against your chest in this close proximity. The only thing is, you’re not sure if you’re trembling in fear or anticipation of what he might do to you. On the one hand, he’s known to be the most dangerous man, his fighting skills unrivalled by any on the force. On the other, there’s something in his words that made you listen.

A slender finger reaches out and tips your chin up so you have no choice but to look him in the eye. “You believe me, don’t you?” he whispers. “I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

You try to pull away but he holds your chin in place. Something in his eyes tells you that he’s thinking, calculating something in his mind. His forehead has a slight crease and you wish you know what he’s thinking. “Who are you?” you ask in a hush tone, the only thing that comes out of your mouth.

“You know who I am,” he answers in the same low voice.

Something about the moment, probably the fact that you’re this close and there’s not an ounce of animosity from him, made you reach out, gingerly, with a shaky hand. You hold the end of the handkerchief around his face between two fingers and he doesn’t move, doesn’t put up a fight. Slowly and almost like you are scared to face the truth, you pull the cloth down, revealing his face. He’s right; you do know him. You just had to be sure.

“Min Yoongi,” you say breathlessly. “It’s really you.”

He nods once and his grip on your chin relaxes as he cups your cheek. “It’s really me.”

“But…how?” your throat feels tight and your vision is blurring with tears. “I saw you…in the fire. I saw you- how? After all these years and you never- I don’t understand.” You pull away from him, wrenching your face from his hold. The tears flow freely. “I thought you were dead,” you gasp. “I believed you were dead.”

“I know,” he says. “To be honest, I was. For a while.”

A radio buzz and a voice, garbled and hardly comprehensive, comes through. He reaches to the band of his pants and pulls it out. He remains looking at you as if you might suddenly run away or disappear in front of his eyes. “If you believe in anything that I say today, meet me back here tomorrow after dark. Make sure no one follows you. And wear normal clothes.”

You open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off. “I’ll explain everything then. I promise. I have to go now.”

He pulls back, regarding you with a serious look, like he’s reluctant to leave you. Then, taking you by surprise, he leans in and presses a long, hard kiss on the middle of your forehead, the kind of kiss that makes you squeeze your eyes shut because it invokes such strong emotions, both turmoil and relief. When he pulls away, his thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the tears. And then he’s stepping back, jogging lightly before he finally turns around, talking to the radio in his hand. He disappears the moment he enters the tree line back towards the city.

– – –

The next day, it all seems quiet in the city. There was less activity and barely any gunshot sounds echoing into the sky. It almost seems peaceful. Was it coincidence or planned by the mastermind himself?

Sneaking out of the barracks is not that hard.

The hard part was to convince Daiki that you prefer to sleep alone tonight with the others in your own bunk bed rather than in his private quarter, a privilege given to those of higher ranks. But after much coaxing, one that involves a quick fuck against his metal desk as it rattles against the wall for his neighbour to hear, he finally relents. But instead of going back to your dorm room, you head out.

Now, the gate patrol is a whole different thing but everyone knows you’re the ‘Lieutenant’s girl’ so a quick lie was easy to make up. A solo stakeout to make up for the hours you lost today for being in the infirmary, you said and it was accepted pretty easily. No one wants to deal with the lieutenant should they accuse you of lying. Once you’re confident you’re out of sight, you take off the red band from your upper arm and stuff it into your back pocket. You readjust the rifle on your back and make a run for the park.

You arrive breathless with worn out legs just after 7PM, well after the sun had set. The park looks different at night than it does during the daytime, the trees looking more terrifying and every little noise startling you. None of the streetlights work and you think that it’s for the best. You’re not sure where to wait so you opt to remain under the same tree as yesterday, sitting down so as to not be seen.

“Good, you’re here.”

You jump to your feet, surprised. “You need to quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

But one look at his face, this time unmasked and the maroon jacket nowhere to be seen, you shake your head dismissively. “Never mind,” you mutter. It’s still new to you, to see him again after all these years. Everything feels familiar and foreign at the same time, like you know him but don’t. He looks the same, talks the same, walks the same, even fucking smells the same, yet he’s not the same man you thought you lost. You have so many questions.

“Not here,” he says as if reading your mind. “Come.”

You follow him heading the opposite side of the park. “Where are we going?”

“No talking,” he orders. “Stay quiet and stay close.”

In your confusion, you barely register that he has taken your hand and led you towards a place beyond the city limit that no one has ever ventured to, not since decades ago after the fall of the monarchy and right before The Order came about. You were not more than babies then, blissful in your ignorance of the world collapsing only to be left smack in the middle to fight the battles started by your ancestors. It’s twisted and unfair.

If the city itself is run down, this area is even more bare. Buildings that long crumbled stand like rotten teeth jutting from the earth, barred up windows of abandoned shops and houses, cars left behind like whoever had driven them had just stopped and jumped out. The one thing that flourished is the wilderness, the ground plush with long grass and snaking vines.

As you walk alongside Yoongi, you can see shadows flitting just beyond your periphery and birds cawing eerily up above but not once did his steps falter. He seems awfully familiar with the place. Again, you wanted to ask but you keep your mouth shut and walk on for more than an hour it seems, the city getting smaller and smaller behind you until it completely disappears from view.

Just as you’re about to break the silence, a familiar building looms ahead and your jaw drops. It’s the old government building, the Blue House. Most of its structures remain but creeping plants cover most of the front part and trees grow wildly, surrounding it in a sort of natural enclosure. As you get closer, you notice that one of the rooms upstairs is lit, not brightly but with what looks like a single candle. The front doors are still intact and as you cross the threshold and Yoongi closes the door behind you, you turn to see The Jackal’s flag erected on the side of the once lavish cascading stairs; the silhouetted head of the namesake animal on a white background.

You know exactly what this place is: the base camp that The Order had spent years searching for. You turn to look at him, wide-eyed. Why would he bring you here? Only then do you notice your hand in his and you pull away under the guise of removing your weapon to prop it against the bannister.

You follow him up the stairs to the left and down a long hallway until he stops at a room. He enters and you follow suit. A single candle is left lit on a desk in the middle of the room but the place is almost bare. There are books stacked on the floor and what looks like a few sleeping bags in a corner but that is it.

Yoongi takes you through a connecting door and this one has a single mattress in the middle of the room. No pillows, no blankets. On one wall, a large map of the country is stuck to it with multiple stickers and Xs and circles. Random articles are pinned up next to it, mostly in regards to The Order from years back, some on the Jackals and a single, small and worn newspaper clipping of an article pertaining to a fire at the big school in the middle of the city exactly nine years ago. The title reads, ‘SOPA up in flames, 139 dead’.

“It wasn’t an accident,” he says from right behind you. “But you knew that, didn't you?”

You don’t answer, the memories of that day coming back in blurry crashing waves. No one really knew how the fire started, only that students and staff had been bending over coughing and hacking by the time anybody knew what was even happening. The smoke had been thick and suffocating and crawling on the floor had not done much good. The first two floors were already engulfed. There was a smell of burnt meat in the air, acidic in your throat.

You remember the fear of dying a gruesome death, the panic of being trapped with no way out. But most of all, you remember the sickening twist of your stomach as you had this clear knowledge that Yoongi’s class had been on the second floor. Music, the subject he loved most. When the firefighters came, most of those who survived, a total of twenty-five including two teachers, waited in dread. When it was clear that no rescue mission could be done, that no more victims could be pulled out, you had fallen to your knees, not crying but just sitting there in complete silence.

It took the whole day for the fire to be put out and another day to recover pretty much everybody. It wasn’t hard; since it was a sudden fire, most of the school had been trapped where they were. You didn’t see the body, only the aftermath picture of the music room: only charred remains left, soot and ash. On the memorial day was only when you finally broke down, inconsolable, shattered into pieces no matter how many hands held you together that night. The love of your life was gone, his name a number on a list, not even a body to bury.

Days later, rumours flew. They said that the fire was started because there had been some information that the Jackals had been using the school storage basement as a base and the fire had been started by them to cover their tracks. One person said he knew the friend of a friend who knew someone who admitted that the fire was actually started by hired goons, hired by The Order, actually. But rumours were rumours, nothing much of it could be made heads or tails of but the first version spread far and wide, intentionally so.

“Where were you all these years?” you manage to say through the lump in your throat, your voice heavy and raw. You turn to look at him, really look at him. His hair is long, stray pieces falling over his face and instead of the young boy you remember, the face is that of a man who has seen and done things he wished he didn’t have to. There’s a hardness in his expression that restricts him from showing his true feelings, a subtle wariness in his eyes from not being able to trust everything he sees. He is a boy that grew up too fast in a hard place.

Yoongi returns my gaze. “Here and there,” he answers. “Everywhere. Places you don’t even know existed.”

Tears prick your eyes, threatening to fall but you press your palms against them, drying them immediately. “Tell me everything.”

He regards you for a moment and it stings to think that he’s thinking if he can trust you. But then you realise it’s not trust he’s having problems with. There’s worry in his eyes, a sort of hesitance that comes from not wanting to burden you with things unnecessary. It’s not like it would change anything. The past is the past, talking about it would only be painful for him, but mostly for you.

But Yoongi can’t ignore the pleading look in your eyes. All this time he wonders how it would be like if he meets you again, if he would feel the same after almost a decade. He was sure that everything of that time had been flushed out of his system. The only times you crossed his mind was when he closed his eyes at night, alone in the dark, that’s when he misses you. He had a war to fight, he told himself, and if push comes to shove, he would need to be able to do what has to be done without his heart getting in the way. His Saem had drilled it into his head, didn’t he? To forget everything, leave behind the life he led and dedicate every fibre of his being to the Jackals in order to fight for the people.

Yoongi convinced himself that if he found you on the enemy's side, he wouldn’t hesitate to do what he must. He spent years telling himself that he was prepared. The more active he became, the more job he took over from his Saem, the more of a fortress he had built around himself and his heart. But looking at you now, your eyes glassy, your cheeks pink, and the lips that you’re chewing on to keep steady, all the emotions that he’s been suppressing surges back up to the forefront. It’s like he’s seventeen again standing in front of you, just a boy looking at the girl he thought he would someday marry, a dream long-time dead.

He takes your face in his hands. His palms are calloused, hardened skin from the life of an avenger, but his touch is gentle like a whispering feather. You place your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the pulse beating beneath his wrist. He’s alive, living and breathing. And he’s here, right in front of you. All this time he lives with you in haunted memories, a ghost of the love you’ve lost so young. Yet here he is now, a grown man yet you can still see that same boy, slowly resurfacing.

You step closer to him, placing your hands over his chest, feeling the strong heart beating underneath your fingers. You grab fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer. There’s a lot of feelings at once and anger is one of them, growing stronger with each eb and flow of your emotions. He was alive all this time and not once did he try to contact you. He was alive all these years and not once did he try to let you know. He was alive and breathing while you spent years mourning his death. He was alive and running around the city right under your nose when you were convinced your heart died with you the day of the fire.

So you start punching him and punching him, pounding his chest with your fists, your teeth gritted together. “You left me,” you mumble. “You left me.” Your voice grows stronger as the tears flow heavy. “You left me, you left me, you left me! You left me alone, Yoongi! How could you?! I thought you died! I mourned you! A part of me died with you! You left me!” By the end of it, you’re wailing, both in action and in your words, screaming through the pain, wanting nothing but to make him hurt the same way you’re hurting.

Yoongi stands there almost motionless, letting you hit him over and over again. Your fists barely cause him any pain but seeing you so vulnerable hurts him more. He captures your wrists in one hand but you struggle, twisting and turning this way and that, trying to release yourself. You’re screaming at him. “Let go of me! Let go! I want to go home! Let go of me!”

Using his other arm, he wraps it around your shoulders, encircling you easily enough and pulling you in with one rough tug. All the fight left you, burying your face into his shirt, your tears wetting it down to his skin. You both crash to the floor in a heap, and he repositions his legs so you sit in between them, halfway on his lap as he cradles you. It’s not until your crying is reduced to hiccuping did you realise that he’s gasping for air, too. You look up just in time as his tears fall on your face, wetting your forehead and cheeks.

He looks down at you, his cheeks and nose red, his eyes puffy. After a moment, he finally croaks out the one thing you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.”

You sit up, kneeling in front of him, your cheeks wet from your own tears starting up again. It’s your turn to offer comfort, gently tucking his loose hair behind his ears and brushing away his tears with your fingers that are already wet with your own. He cries as you cup his cheeks with both hands, leaning into your touch, and like steel to a magnet, your lips are drawn to his.

Yoongi falls quiet, eyes squeezed shut. It’s like the breath had been knocked out of him and all his brain activity shuts down for a second. His shoulders feel a thousand times lighter and he can’t remember the last time he felt this way. Something in him releases, like a rubber band that finally snaps apart and his hand reaches to caress your face. The kiss deepens, both your lips moulding against each other like the perfect jigsaw puzzles falling into place and he leans more into you.

You feel his hand squeeze your waist, hard enough to make you gasp. His tongue prods in between your teeth, licking, finding yours in a duel of which of you will dominate the other. You climb into his lap, your legs on either side of him, your hands in his hair. His hands slip under your shirt, his palms hot and searing on your skin, his fingers splayed out on your back. Yoongi sucks on your tongue and you moan into his mouth, your brain going stupid. All you can think about is, it’s him, he’s here, he’s back, he’s home.

When you finally break apart, both of your lips are swollen and bruised. You can still taste him on your tongue as you rest your forehead against his. Yoongi closes his eyes, breathing in deep to calm himself. When he opens them again, they are clearer than before, almost brighter, like a cloud had finally moved out of the way of the sun.

Once your fluttering heart is still again, you lean back to look at him. He raises his eyes and you can see his guard is down. The hardness on his face is gone. “Tell me everything,” you say again and this time he nods.

“It’s a long story,” he says as you move off him to sit next to him instead, your hand firmly in his. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

Nine years ago

Happy. He’s feeling happy.

With every movement of his skilled fingers over the black and white keys, with every note he produced as he closely followed the spread sheets in front of him, he felt happier and happier, his mood growing lighter, his fingers moving faster, almost automatically without having to refer to the music sheet wrinkled with overuse. The choir across from him started up and he led them through the piece with ease and a flourish that only Min Yoongi could. In these moments, the choirs were like surfers and him the waves beneath their board.

The music teacher, who was also the conductor, beamed happily his way but the boy was too lost in the music to even notice. When the song finished and Yoongi had ended the last note with a satisfying nod of his head, the music teacher broke into a tearful clap. Shy Yoongi couldn’t take compliments well so he excused himself to the restroom, walking out of the class with his head down.

There in the boys toilet of the second floor, he leaned over the sink to wash his face. The silver chain around his neck slipped out of shirt and he took a moment to look at it, a fond smile playing on his lips. The obsidian stone warmed in his hand before he placed it back safely into his shirt. That was when he smelled the smoke, coming in from the small vent on the wall near the floor. He crouched down low, sniffing to confirm his own senses.

A fire? From where?

The vents snaked throughout the whole school building, connecting each and every floor. Smoke rose upwards so it could be coming from downstairs. He rushed out and stood in the stairwell, listening for any movements, any noise or urgency but none came. Odd. He took the stairs three at a time and the heavy door that led to the basement was ajar. A voice in his head screamed for him to pull the emergency bell but curiosity took the better of him as he tiptoed down the stairs beyond the door.

The basement was hardly used, storing all the broken school facilities as well as extra ones; from broken chairs and desks and rolling whiteboards and old TV sets to broken music instruments and sports equipment and festivals ornaments and decorations. Most of these things were collecting dust, home to insects and spiders. Even the lights weren’t working. Yoongi was close to going back upstairs when a noise in the distance caught his attention. He walked in further to investigate.

He should have walked away then. He should’ve gone back up and informed a teacher, another student, anybody. He should have listened to his gut screaming at him to run, go back upstairs and pull on the fire alarm. Things might have been different if he had done either of those things. His fate was sealed from here onward.

The smell of smoke is thicker but he had yet to see it. It could have been the semi-darkness, it could have been his stubborn interest blinding everything else. It didn’t take him long to finally see the flicker of light somewhere in the middle of the pile of random items. A fire is starting and only growing stronger and wilder, now visibly jumping from desk to desk, licking everything from wall to wall. Something, no, someone, rushed past him in the dark, barrelling into his shoulder, knocking him backwards. Before he could find his feet again, the fire was big enough to make his eyes sting as he struggled to his feet and bolted for the door.

Unfortunately for him, the person had closed it behind him, locking it from the outside. He bangs on it but the heavy, wooden door made only a muffled sound and the first floor was mostly administrative offices, usually empty during classes. He started to scream, kicking and punching the door to no avail and bloody knuckles. Behind him, the fire raged strong and big enough for him to feel the heat on his back.

He pressed his back to the door, looking around in panic. There was no way out. He was trapped. Two things would happen, he thought. One, he will die first, in here, all alone. Two, the fire will spread throughout the whole school and bring everything down on top of him. Where were you? Maths class, third floor. You should have enough time to escape, right? Fuck. He laughed darkly to himself, wiping the tears away from the corner of his eyes. He wouldn’t even get to say goodbye.

Then someone is standing in front of him, a cloth wrapped around the bottom half of his face. “What the hell are you doing, boy? We need to go!”

Yoongi stared at the stranger. The man rushed forward and grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him up. “Do you want to die?!”

Yoongi shook his head.

“Then let’s go.”

The man led him around the fire, sticking close to the walls. The heat was so strong Yoongi was sure some parts of him were melting off. His eyes stung so bad and his chest hurt from breathing in all the smoke no matter how hard he buried his nose in the crook of his elbow. Panic rose once again because where the hell was the stranger taking him? Going to the back of the storage is suicidal, there was only one way out!

He wanted to resist but the man had a hard grip on his wrist and everytime he twisted, it only pained him even more. He couldn’t ask, couldn’t speak unless he wanted to eat smoke. The man stopped in front of a wall covered with a huge school festival banner from twelve years ago. With one tug with both hands, he ripped the banner down to reveal a hole in the wall big enough for a man to crawl through. He pointed to it. “Get in.”

Yoongi hesitated but the man pulled at his arm and shoved him towards the hole. “Get moving or stay here and die.”

Yoongi took one last look behind him, at the fire that roared so loud his ears could barely hear anything else. The ends of his hair were singed but he wouldn’t notice it until later. Desperate and confused, Yoongi knelt on his knees and entered the crawlspace, crying the whole way through the very long tunnel with the man right behind him. When he finally emerged through the other side, a group of people were already waiting. One of them stepped forward, salt and pepper hair peeking from under the worn out beanie he had on his head.

Yoongi staggered to his feet and looked around, his breath wheezing. The man with the beanie and a black cloth around his nose and mouth clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to The Jackals, son.”

Present time

“...and I’ve been with them ever since.”

You’re lost for words, looking at the side of his face as he’s turned away. Everything that you knew of the fire unravelled. There’s relief in knowing that he didn’t suffer as you had thought but then there’s a sense of betrayal that you were made to think so all this time. He walked away unscathed from the incident that robbed you of every chance of happiness and traumatised you so badly from survivor’s guilt.

Yoongi, unaware of your internal struggle, continues to talk. “They took me under their wings. I was homeschooled and,” he scoffs, “my education wasn’t what you will learn in school. I learned how to fight, how to strategize, how to lead. I learned a lot. Saem, the leader and my teacher, took particular interest in me. Maybe he saw potential, maybe he saw himself, I’m not sure. But I was modelled and shaped to take his place. You see, he was sick. Cancer and he didn’t have long. He died three years ago and…well, I’m in charge now.”

Three years ago was when The Jackals seemed to ramp up even more, fighting back at every chance. The number of government warehouses that were raided tripled in number and that was when they started recruiting more patrol officers, luring with the same privileges that The Jackals was fighting for. It was the same reason why your uncle made you join.

Your conflicting thoughts and emotions are hindering you from making any sound judgement of how you should move forward. Do you accept him into his arms like you had always wished you could? Or do you turn away from him for causing the chain reaction of everything that happened in your life?

“What was his name? Your Saem?” you ask the one question that didn’t feel too complicated to talk about.

“Jack,” Yoongi answers with a scoff. “That’s why it’s named The Jackals.”

Yoongi finally turns around to face you, eyes shrouded in so much uncertainty it’s hard to think that he’s the Robin Hood everyone seems to always count on and the one the government wants gone. You return his gaze, unsure of what else to do because, honestly, you’re so confused.

“Do you hate me?” he asks in a voice not of a vigilante. He sounds like Min Yoongi from nine years ago, small and shy but would spend hours alone at the piano writing songs only you’ve had the pleasure to listen to, songs he secretly wrote for you but never voiced out. But you knew, you always knew because you would catch him watching you in the corner of your eyes, silently enjoying your every reaction.

And just like you knew then, you know now, too. No, you don’t hate him, not even close. Angry, yes. Disappointed, yes. Hurt, yes. But never hate. You spent too long on your knees begging for him to be returned and then the same amount of time begging for the pain to hurt less, so why would you turn away from him now? You might have been young then, but he has always been it; the one, the light of your life, the calm to your storm, the missing piece coming home.

Without a word, you lean over and place a kiss on the side of his head, caressing his cheek. You shake your head. “I’ve missed you.” You choke on a sob and Yoongi pulls you tight, burying his face into your neck.

A single tear creeps down Yoongi’s cheek as he holds on to you. “I’m home now.”

***

Yoongi returns from scouring the whole building for what could be used as pillows and blankets. He carries back in a couple of sofa cushions and one sofa throw big enough for two people, looking sheepishly as you look at the items in his hands.

“Where do you usually sleep?” you ask, taking the cushions and inspecting it for weird stains. Yoongi had taken care to shake them off of any dust collecting but you still eye it warily.

He looks confused, looking around the room. “Here?”

You look at him in surprise. “Here? On this mattress?”

He nods, scratching the back of his neck.

“But…” you look at the lumpy thin mattress, “there’s literally nothing here. How do you even sleep?”

Yoongi looks away as he mumbles, “I don’t.” He situates himself next to you, fidgeting with the throw blanket and spreading it over both of you. He’s doing his hardest to not look at you, pretending not to notice your staring.

He honestly can’t remember the last time he slept. Closing his eyes and resting for a couple of hours a night is all he’s been doing. It was the price he paid for living life as a wanted man but up until now, it never really bothered him much. It had been enough. Any extra time he had had been put into planning and strategising with his men, sleep was irrelevant, just something his body needed to recharge. Besides, sleep is when his brain is at leisure to think about things he wants to forget because remembering is painful; things like you.

“Sleep,” he says, lying down directly on the mattress. “You have a few hours before we have to go back.”

“Go back?” you sit up on your elbow.

He looks at you. “If you don’t go back ,they’ll be looking for you.”

“No,” you object. “If you think I’ll go back there after tonight you’re dead wrong.”

After his recount of his version of the school fire, Yoongi had talked at length about everything else; what The Order was actually hiding, the amount of supplies there actually are, the depth of corruption, the crimes done in the dark, the number of missing people who are actually dead, what The Order is up to and their end game. He talked about what The Jackals is all about, that they don’t actually have any inconsequential weapons, that they don’t in fact have that many secret hideouts and meeting spots, and definitely not producing any bioweapons of any sorts. The Jackals had only one goal: to bring the truth to light. In order to do that, the government must fall.

Yoongi gives you a hard stare, eyebrows furrowing. “What about friends? Families?”

You laugh sarcastically. “I don’t have any.”

He nods slowly. Then, looking up at you through hooded eyes, he asks, “Boyfriend? Partner?”

Ridiculously, your heart does a tiny flutter and you stifle the smile on your lips. You shake your head. “No one that mattered.” Then, on a serious note, you add, “I’m staying here. With you.”

His eyes light up but his face is still wrought with worry. “But it’s dangerous. Tomorrow is never a guarantee and there’ll be days I won’t be here as I’ll be out there. I don’t want you to wait for me wor-”

“Who says about staying here waiting for you?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows and crossing your arms. “I’m not going to sit on my ass and wait around for you.”

Yoongi looks confused.

“I’m going with you,” you say, determined. “I want to fight, too. And don’t you dare tell me I can’t or it’s too dangerous or any other bullshit. I’m sticking with you even if it means I have to stitch us together.”

Yoongi chuckles. “But you said you had always been scared of being on the frontline, that being with the Patrol wasn’t something you wanted?”

“I was,” you nod. “But I’m not with the Patrol anymore.” You link your fingers with his. “I’m with you.”

There’s a shadow of a smile on his face and he scoots closer. “But it’ll be dangerous.”

“I know.”

He leans closer. “It’ll be life-threatening.”

“I know.”

He rests a hand on your thigh, big and heavy. “People will be shooting at you. Tanks bombing at you.”

“I know,” you breathe out, your breath hitching as you feel his hand creep under your shirt to rest on your waist.

Yoongi tilts his head, lips inches from yours. “You might end up wanted by the government, a bounty on your head.”

“As long as it’s as high as yours,” you whisper, leaning in, wanting nothing than to connect your lips but he’s pulling back.

He snorts. “Doubt it.”

He brushes his lips against yours, not a kiss but just enough to make you let out a whine. He laughs quietly. “I don’t remember you being this needy, baby girl.”

“You left me waiting long enough, Yoongi,” you grumble, pulling him close by the shirt. “It’s just cruel to make me wait any longer.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, rubbing your earlobe absentmindedly. “You’re right. I’m not a cruel person.”

“Prove it then.” You glance up at him through your lashes, a cocky smirk on your lips. Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice, eyes flashing as he tilts you down by the back of the neck, making you gasp involuntarily as he covers your mouth with his. The first kiss you shared earlier was intimate, passionate; it was a love rekindled. This is different. This feels like someone started a bonfire in the pit of your stomach, the hotness travelling to every inch of you and down to your core. This is hunger, a desperate, ravenous need to have him, consume him.

Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, on his neck, on his face, on his chest and then on his back. As he lays you down, one arm remains under your neck while the other holds your face as if to make sure you never break the kiss. You wouldn’t anyway, can’t, so hungry for him your tongue probes his mouth, teeth gnashing, lips moulding together in a way that keeps you wanting more. And the fire in your stomach burns hotter.

You tug at his shirt and he only takes a second to break away and pull it off over his head before reconnecting again. “I want you,” he grunts out in between kisses. “Please.”

“I want you, too,” you moan as he trails wet, hot kisses down your chin to your neck, sucking on sensitive spots that makes your heart race and the place between your legs wet. “Yoongi, please,” you plead, guiding his hand to your chest.

He feels blindly for the bra clasp and undo it with careless fingers. When the bra comes off, he leans back for a moment, eyes wide in pleasant surprise as he takes in your figure. The last time you had been together, you were only teens. Now, both of you are well into your adulthood and for a moment, he is hit with the realisation that you are no longer an innocent girl. He looks up, cheeks burning from staring but is more stunned when he sees your swollen lips and pretty eyes looking back at him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he exhales.

You let out a shy giggle. “Took you long enough to realise.”

“Fuck,” he says again. “I’m so fucking stupid.” He dives, burying his face back in your neck, kissing, licking, biting on every inch he can get. He continues down, ignoring how your t-shirt is still on before pressing his face in between your breasts, licking a strip up your sternum. You call out his name, one hand in his hair. He takes that as cue and attaches his lips around your nipple. You moan out through closed lips and all he wants right now is to hear you, really hear you without any hindrance.

Using his tongue, he flicks at your nipple while drawing circles with the pad of his finger on the other one, feeling it growing erect. The tent in his pants is growing uncomfortable to the point of pain but he’s savouring every moment, making up for lost time. He wants to worship you as a form of asking forgiveness, focusing on your breasts as if this is on the list of important things he needs to do. He kneads and squeezes them with his hands, all the time his mouth and tongue work your other nipple, making you writhe and moan under him.

He leaves saliva trails from one nipple to the other, alternating between both. He squeezes both boobs together, taking both nipples in his mouth and suckling. It stings but it only excites you more, feeling his hardness pressing against your thigh. Like you, he, too, has grown from boyhood to man. Judging from the rock hard rod hiding in his pants, it’s nothing like what it was nine years ago. Then again, Yoongi is no longer the thin, scrawny kid he was nine years ago either. He’s a fighter, a warrior now.

“Yoongi,” you mewled as he peppers kisses down your stomach. He comes to the button of your dark jeans and rips it open with one tug, glancing up at you. To show consent, you lift your butt up as he shimmies the jeans down your legs and pass your ankles, chucking it aside. His dragon eyes zone in on the wet patch on your cotton underwear. He hooks his fingers around the band. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, annoyed that he had to even ask. But that question was just out of courtesy; the underwear is off before you even blink. You hear him let out a curse under his breath and for a moment, you’re feeling shy again, the same way you felt the first time you lay with him. Your unclothed pussy glistens with your want and Yoongi lowers himself, hooking one arm under one of your knees and pushing that leg up, spreading you wide open. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he mumbles, hot breath falling on your core. “So beautiful.”

He sticks his tongue out and places it at your entrance and licks upward all the way to your clit, letting the flat of his tongue explore your folds. You let out a moan. “Oh, Yoongi. Oh, that feels so good.”

Yoongi hums in response, placing a kiss on your pubic bone, working his way up with kisses on your belly-button, on your diaphragm, your sternum, your collarbone. He kisses his way up your chin and back to your mouth, open-mouthed and sloppy, making sure you taste yourself. You’re almost panting, the places where his lips landed hot and cool at the same time. You run your hands down his chest, feeling the muscles there and then his hard abs, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his pants.

He pulls away to look at you, eyebrows lightly knitting together. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you reply, your voice just above a whisper. “I’ve spent the past nine years only having you in dreams and fantasies, wondering what my life would have been like if you were still around. I’ve spent long nights nursing an aching heart, wishing you’d appear so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I spent every morning ashamed that I’m awake, getting older when the love of my life is forever frozen in time. So, don’t ask if I’m sure that this is what I want when it feels like every wish and prayer in the past nine years are collected into this moment. I’ve been waiting so long. Don’t make me wait any more, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes are a revolving door of emotions, flitting from sadness to anger to regret and then want. His eyes burn with the lust growing in the pit of his stomach, growing dark as his pupils dilate. There’s something wild about it, a feral animal just straining against its chains, wanting to break free and you tug the button of his pants off, provoking the beast. Yoongi leans back as he shimmies his pants off just below his ass, resting his hands on your thighs, massaging them lightly.

You reach out your hands, wanting to hold on to him and he leans back over you with one hand next to your head while the other guides himself to your entrance. You feel his tip nudge your hole, sliding up and down your warmth, collecting moisture before he pushes in, slow and steady. You wince against the strain, your walls stretching open to accommodate his size, his shape, his length, inch by inch, welcoming him home. You bite down your lips to not make a sound and Yoongi runs his hand through your hair, doing his best to make it hurt less. He’s hurt you enough.

When Yoongi bottoms out, you let out the breath you’ve been holding. You both stay like that for what seems like minutes, staring into each other’s eyes. Yoongi caresses your cheek and you bury your hands on the back of his head, the bun in his hair unravelling. His long hair frames his face, dark and unruly, matching the look in his eyes. Yoongi breathes in deep, steadying breaths, trying to distract himself from the tightness wrapping around his cock because, fuck, he doesn’t think he can last long like this.

You smooth the lines on his forehead with a finger, giving him a small nod, telling him that you’re ready. He moves, pulling out just as slow and stopping halfway before sinking back in. You hum at the sensation, loosening your legs from around him to give him more space. Yoongi goes to work, leaning on both his elbows as he rocks into you in a slow, consistent rhythm, watching as your eyelids flutter close and your mouth falls open. You’re breathing hard, your pussy so wet Yoongi has to focus extra hard to not let this reunion be short-lived. He can hear the loud, squelching sound in between your legs and the faster Yoongi moves, the more moans are spilling out of your lips.

“Oh, Yoongi. Yoongi,” you call out, nails digging into his back. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Yoongi. I’ve missed you so much.”

There’s tears in the corners of your scrunched up eyes and Yoongi picks up his pace. He can feel your walls flutter around him every time his tip kisses your cervix. He goes in deep, expelling any hints of any man you’ve been with since he ‘died’, training your cunt to mould into his shape and only his. If you had a man back home, he no longer belongs. If you had a lover back at the barracks where you ran away from, Yoongi wants to make sure that they know you belong to him, the vigilante they’ve been hunting down. It’s time to take back his place. Mine, he thinks. Always have been.

The vast room is filled with sounds from the two of you; your moans and calls of his name, his grunts and panting, skin slapping against skin. The others won’t be back until a few hours later and Yoongi intends to use that time well.

“Please, Yoongi,” you beg through your moans. “Please, I want to come. I want you to fill me up.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened at your request, looking up at you but his movements didn't cease. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips at the look on his face. “Check my arm,” you tell him and against his better judgements, he does, feeling with his fingers and finding the birth control implant easily enough. You giggle and Yoongi blushes. You tighten your legs around him. “I want you, Min Yoongi. I want your mark all over me, deep inside me. Please.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. His new goal in life is to give you everything that you want, even if it kills him. He repositions himself in a way that his cock hits that sensitive spot of yours, that place that makes you arch your back involuntarily, that place that makes your brain go to jelly and your voice echoes off the walls in a mix of his name and incomprehensible words. Hit hits the spot with practised accuracy, watching you unravel underneath him, feeling the burn of your nails carving down his arms, gritting his teeth at how wet and tight you are around him. He can’t hold back any longer.

You sense it from the way his pace quickens, almost losing any rhythm but oh, did it still feel good. You realise it’s not just the act itself that’s bringing you to this high; it’s the knowing that it’s him, that it’s your beloved Min Yoongi, back from the dead, rowing into you like his life depended on it, his face scrunching up, little grunts and moans escaping his tight lips. Sweat drips from his hairline and his jaws are clenched, eyes half-closed.

You cup his cheeks. “Yoongi, my love,” you call out, making him look at you. And then he’s taking you there, ascending with you by his side. He crashes his lips into yours and you clench around him, moans spilling into his mouth, legs locking around his hips. Feeling your walls milking him, he releases. “Baby, I’m coming,” he groans out just as hot, milky liquid spills into you, making you gasp one more time. You can feel yourself squeezing him, feel every curve and ridge of his cock buried in you and you cling onto him as his face is in your neck.

You both lay there panting, him on top of you, his weight like a comforting blanket, skin sticky with sweat sticking to each other. He raises up on one hand to look at your flushed face, tucking your hair back. “I’m home,” he says for the second time that night.

You smile, pulling him in for a kiss, hands tangling back up into his hair. It’s going to take more than once for the both of you to get reacquainted, bodies and souls, and you have all night long.

***

Through the window, the sun is breaking over the horizon.

Yoongi is awake, not that he was ever asleep to begin with. He had spent the last few hours in the dark watching your face as you slept soundly in his arms. In your slumber, he spies the chain around your neck and curiously fishes it out. During the lovemaking earlier, you never fully undressed and he hadn’t noticed the necklace until now. He rolls the little moonstone in between two fingers, bittersweet memories flooding in his mind. It hits him how long it really had been since he left and the tears that creep down his cheek are silent.

You stir, pressing yourself against his chest, searching for warmth now that the early morning cold is coming in from the broken windows. With a small click, your moonstone connects with his obsidian, completing the heart-shaped locket. Your eyes slowly open.

“Good morning,” you rasp and Yoongi leans down to capture your lips with his. “Good morning,” he replies in an equally throaty voice.

You look down to see your connected necklaces and your mouth falls open. You gingerly touch the black and white heart in between your chest and his. “You still have it.”

Yoongi nods. “It never left my neck. It was the only thing I have of you. Of us.” But then, he gets up, disconnecting the lockets. “We should get dressed. The others will be back soon.”

“Others?” you sit up, pulling the blanket to cover your chest as Yoongi stands up to pull on his pants. He can’t help but sneak glances at your collarbones, at the mark he had left last night.

“Yes,” he says with a smirk. “The others.”

You hurry to put on your clothes, hopping on one foot as you ask, “And what are you going to tell them about me?”

Yoongi pauses with his shirt halfway over his arms. “We get new recruits all the time. It’s not rare.”

You laugh. “Is sleeping with them part of their initiation?”

Yoongi flashes you a look. “No,” he says, almost defensively. He takes your arm and twirls you around into his embrace. “This is a special occasion,” he adds, his voice low.

You can hear movements from outside and Yoongi releases you to peek out the window. “They’re here.”

You join him, looking down at the small group of men and women, the white bands around their arms stark in the semi-darkness as they walk through the shade. One person looks up and waves and Yoongi nods.

“Come on,” he says, pulling you by the hand.

The group barely bats an eye your way. They take one look at your hand in his and understanding seems to dawn on them. The man from earlier steps forward, eyes on you. “Never thought I’d see another Patrol officer in our ranks.”

“Another?”

You turn to Yoongi but the man answers. “You probably don’t know me.” He extends a hand. “Lieutenant Kim. No more a lieutenant but they insisted.” He nods towards the group behind him.

Your eyes widen. Lieutenant Kim Taepyung, the infamous lieutenant that left the force but not before trying to rectify it. He was announced dead a day before he was supposed to leave for good. Suicide, the higher ups reported, blew his own brains out so badly they refused to release his body to his family. It was fishy but no one was going to question it. Now it makes sense why; he was never dead. Are the Jackals full of undead people? Your head is starting to ache.

“Yoongi, I need to speak with you,” he says seriously.

The two retreat into the other room while the others disperse to rest or talk amongst themselves. You linger around the door until it becomes too awkward to stay, walking down the hallway, exploring the Blue House room by room. Nothing much of the old world is left, nothing of value at least. Sofas and carpets that used to be expensive and luxurious hold no worth anymore. Elegant decors and wallpapers touched by time and mould are left to decay and rot.

You make it back to the others and Yoongi and the ex-lieutenant are back outside, talking to the others in low whispers. You stand by the doorway long enough for one of the people to look up, alerting Yoongi to your presence. He turns around and beckons you over the desk they are standing around. There’s a hand-drawn map in the middle that you can’t quite make out.

“We’re moving our base here,” explains Yoongi, pointing at a rectangle on the paper.

You tilt your head this way and that, trying to figure out the location. The layout looks somewhat familiar and it takes you another second to realise it, looking up at Yoongi. “Isn’t this the building I met you at yesterday?”

Yoongi smirks. “The same one.”

“Why are you going back there?”

“Because,” the ex-lieutenant answers, “the best place to hide is in plain sight. They won’t look there twice.”

“The basement down there is connected to multiple underground tunnels,” says Yoongi, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’ll be the best place for us to hole up, move around the city undetected.”

“But they got all those tunnels down there blocked,” you say. “You won’t be able to use them much. Most of the patrols are down there, too, at certain points.” You notice that both Yoongi and the ex-lieutenant are looking pointedly at you. You look from Yoongi to the other man and then back. “What?”

“You think you can map out all the sentry points?” Yoongi asks.

You smile, almost smugly. “I can. But on one condition.”

The ex Patrol lieutenant doesn’t look happy but Yoongi is amused. A small smile tugs on his lips. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You step forward, toe to toe with Yoongi, your chin jutting out, a serious look on your face. “You won’t ever leave my side ever again. I’m with you through everything; every fight, every mission, every stupid, risky move you plan to make.”

Ex-Lieutenant Kim stifles a laugh, looking away. Yoongi glances at him and shoots him a dirty look before looking back at you, sighing. “Fine,” he says in a mock-resigned tone. “Whatever you wish for.”

“Seems like our captain isn’t much of our captain anymore,” one of the women teases and Yoongi pouts. The group laughs and the ex-lieutenant pats you on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Jackals.”

Under the table, unbeknownst to any of the others, Yoongi reaches out for your hand, gripping it tightly as everyone leans over the crudely-made map, listening intently as you mark out all sentry spots in the city, above and underground, and tells them the usual Patrol schedules. All those long months being ‘Lieutenant Daiki’s girl’ is coming to fruition because sleeping in his private quarters let you have information no one else does. That man is also a talker; he shared everything with you, unfiltered.

Yoongi watches you talk but not really listening. He’s looking at the way your eyelashes flutter above your cheeks, at how animated you are. He listens to the sound of your voice the same way he used to listen to every note of the piano he was playing all those years ago, noting things that no one else can hear. Your eyes shine every time you glance up at him and all he wants is to whisk you away into a private room so he can bury his face in your hair and in your neck.

He had always known why he fights for the people, why he dedicated his life to the cause. But now, looking at you, it’s clear to him that he has much more to fight for. Strength flows into him through your connected hands and he’s never felt so invincible.

“Are you listening?” you ask, pausing and frowning up at him.

Yoongi nods, flustered. “Yes. Please continue.”

In that moment, a feeling that is foreign to you, something you haven’t felt in a long time, spreads over you like warmth from a fireplace. You continue to talk but all the while your brain tries to process. It takes a while for you to place that feeling, unknown to you at first, but remembering the name when Yoongi gives your hand a light squeeze.

It’s home, the feeling of belonging. And for the first time in a long, long time, the future of the world doesn’t feel so bleak, not when Min Yoongi’s strong capable hands are in yours. The Jackals just grew twice as strong and the war has only just begun.

a/n2: I honestly wanted this to be more bad ass-ish but...lmk what you think of this one shot in the comment or ask. Like and reblog will be much appreciated :)

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

#bts suga #bts yoongi #min suga #min yoongi #yoongi x you #bts suga x you #bts dystopian #bts one shot #yoongi one shot #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts vigilante #fiction #fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts myg

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