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thedummysdummy · 2 years

Note

I got a new idea would you pls write another wonderful fanfic that something happens and victor will figures this out that his evol is able reverses a happens in body ( for example someone being shot , victor with his evol could make that bullet to leave the body or a scar that was maintained with poison , with his reversing time evol could heal them the way the were ) but it is a risky evol cause it will damage himself so it should be used just for a certain someone 😉 🤣🌚💗 tnx I luv you

This was a bit of a hard one for me, but! I hope this is somewhat along the lines of what you were hoping for. :)

Breaking the Rules

The usual silence of the Space Time Bureau hallways broke with the sound of Victor’s shoes tapping the white marble tile. Back and forth he paced with his hands held loosely at his sides and his eyes staring unfocused ahead of him. His black suit clung to his frame which had gone from thin to gaunt. Not a word had passed his lips in an expanse of time; partially because he had nothing to say, and partially because he had no one he wanted to speak to.

It had been seven thousand years. Seven thousand years since he had first set foot in these sterile white hallways. Seven thousand years since he had held in his arms the only person who gave him any reason to fight for his own life. The thought of the girl pulled his lips downward and his eyes to grow dimmer. What was she doing right now? Was she missing him? He itched to go to that particular sphere and hold it in his hand, to check in on her. To ensure she was still waiting for him.

But the amount of pain which accompanied each instance of such behavior gave him pause. And so he continued to pace. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Pause. Turn. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Pause. Repeat. These cycles grew slower and slower as if the weight of his sorrow drew the strength from his already worn body at an alarming rate.

Victor’s solitary vigil was interrupted abruptly by a sudden burst of sound from the next room over. His head popped up and he passed through a door to join a crowd of other bureau dwellers. They had gathered in a small huddle, their bodies obscuring the object of their interest. Victor strode forward and parted the crowd to find a familiar form writhing on the ground. “What has happened?” he demanded, his voice surprisingly strong for having gone unused for so long. The others simply shrugged and backed away, their faces shaded with concern and confusion. “Someone fetch Zero.”

The soft yet firm order immediately set the others into action, sending them scattering through the bureau to locate the mysterious Time Observer. However, it seemed their efforts were unnecessary; only moments later, Zero swept into the room and dropped to one knee next to the languishing man. Victor’s sharp eyes remained focused on the pair, awaiting an answer to his original question. Zero seemingly knew this without being asked; he laid one hand on the man’s forehead as his throws slowed and his body somehow grew increasingly transparent. “He broke the rules,” Zero spoke simply.

“Which one?” Victor crossed his arms and straightened his spine, watching the man until his form completely disappeared. Zero lowered his head, his hand falling to the floor with a soft smack. There he remained for a long moment of silent reverence for a life lost before rising with a sigh.

“He chose to attempt to change fate. He used his time abilities to undo a grievous wound and withdraw a bullet, thus saving a life that should not be saved. I am sure you, more than anyone, understand why such activity cannot be allowed by nature. That world has been sent out of balance, and we must now go right the wrong.” Zero frowned and snapped, summoning a pair of other Time Observers. “You know what to do,” he murmured and the pair nodded, disappearing without fanfare.

Victor, on the other hand, rolled the answer around in his mind. Using the time Evol to cause only a small portion of someone to go back and undo an injury? The pain in the man’s eyes burned into Victor’s mind, sending a shudder down his spine. This usage of his Evol could be incredibly useful…but perhaps not worth it. Surely a healing Evol would be more effective? Yet he tucked this information into the back of his mind and went back to his familiar hallway domain.

~~~

The warmth within his arms soaked into Victor’s body as the girl’s chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm. Despite the sun beginning to peek through the curtains, no desire to leave the comforting haven of the sheets attempted to stir him. The girl only stirred enough to press herself tighter into the shape of Victor’s body. Like two adjacent puzzle pieces, their bodies melded perfectly in comfortable heat.

Victor smiled and tightened his grip, feeling a rush of affection burning in his chest. The pressure pulled the girl from her slumber and she yawned widely, stretching her legs and extending her toes as far as they would go. She shifted and rolled to face Victor, placing her hands on his chest and burying her face in his neck. He again tightened his embrace and the girl smiled. “Good morning,” she murmured, lifting her chin to press her lips to his jawbone.

“Good morning indeed.” Victor’s breath was warm as it fluttered the girl’s hair. She closed her eyes and pulled his arms tighter around her midriff with a happy sigh. “Are we not getting out of bed today?”

The girl giggled and shook her head. “Nope! I am perfectly happy right here, thank you very much. Mr. Busy Boyfriend surely has enough time to relax with me for just one day? Besides, this is the one place I can be positive you are safe. Right here in my arms.” She hugged his arms and kissed his palms, sending shafts of heat directly into his heart.

“You’re going to get a little more than you bargained for if you keep up that behavior,” Victor grunted, tightening his grip and biting the girl’s ear. She squeaked and squirmed, causing Victor to laugh and drape his leg over her hip. “Come on, don’t pretend you aren’t a tease!” The girl stopped struggling and gave in to desire, turning around to face him and press their chests tightly against each other. “That’s right, come here, my little dummy. I have plans for you. I’ll get you out of bed one way or another.”

With no real plans for the day, the pair took their sweet time exploring each other before eventually heading for the shower. The girl stood with the hot water cascading down her shoulders and steaming body, shivering slightly as the heat soaked into her core and dispelled any chill that had escaped Victor’s heat. It wasn’t until the water began to cool that she sighed and turned the handle, shivering slightly as she reached for the towel.

The sweet scent of cinnamon and caramel drifted through the crack between the door and the frame as the girl toweled her hair and slipped one of Victor’s baggy shirts over her head. Her stomach rumbled, complaining about the couple’s schedule interfering with meal time. She drifted down the hallway with bare feet and into the kitchen where Victor was piling french toast onto a plate, the tendrils of spiced steam drifting upward tantalizingly. “It’s about time you made it down here,” Victor murmured without looking up. The girl stuck out her tongue at him and lifted herself up into one of the stools, kicking her toes as she watched him cook. “Where are your slippers? You’re going to catch cold if you wander around the house with bare feet.”

“You worry too much. I’ll be just fine! It’s not like I’m made of tissue paper or something. I’ll put them on after breakfast.” The girl grinned cheekily and stuck out her tongue at Victor, who replied by sliding a plate of toast with caramel sauce and sliced strawberries in front of the girl.

“Hush now and eat. Besides, who was the one who said she didn’t want to get out of bed because ‘I’m safest in her arms,’ hm?” An equally cheeky smile flashed across Victor’s face and he slid into the seat next to the girl, slowly enjoying his breakfast and his girlfriend’s company. “I was thinking that we could go out tonight. You’ve worked very hard this week and I think you deserve a reward.”

The girl looked over at Victor with a thoughtful expression and nodded. “I suppose it has been a while since we’ve gone anywhere together just for fun. Did you have anything in mind?” When Victor shook his head, she knew he was waiting for her to suggest what she’d like to do. She squinted as if putting in considerable thought, though mostly she wanted to tease Victor a little. He sighed in exasperation and she giggled, finishing her last bite of afternoon breakfast before kissing Victor on the cheek. “Why don’t we go to a film and enjoy a walk in the park? The cherry blossoms are just about perfect right now.”

Victor nodded and reached for his phone to bring up the list of shows playing, handed it to the girl, and picked up their dishes. “You pick something while I clean up the kitchen. And put on your slippers!” He squeezed her bare thigh and walked around the counter to do the dishes. The girl blushed and scrolled through the list, doing her best not to let Victor see her embarrassment.

~~~

They soon stood outside the movie theater buying tickets. “Promise you aren’t going to fall asleep halfway through again?” the girl teased, running her thumb across the back of Victor’s hand which she clutched tightly.

“I make no such promise,” Victor replied in that dry tone he reserved specifically for teasing her. He handed her one of the tickets and they found their seats, settling in with a small container of popcorn and a shared soda. To nobody’s surprise Victor’s head soon rested on the girl’s shoulder with closed eyes. She glanced over fondly and pulled his hand into her lap, holding it between hers until the movie ended.

Should have known that Victor would fall asleep if I put him in a dimly lit room and expected him to hold still for more than five minutes, the girl mused as she stroked his cheek to wake him gently. His eyes drifted open, immediately seeking out the girl’s face. “Did you have a nice nap?” she teased.

Victor grunted and kissed her on the cheek before straightening his spine with a cacophony of pops and crackles. “It would have been better if a certain dummy wasn’t so squirmy. How was the movie?”

“Would have been better if a certain dummy hadn’t fallen asleep,” she teased back, squeezing his hand and happily following him back into the light of the lobby. The sun was drifting down behind the hills as they strolled out into the fading light, turned toward the park, and slowly ambled down the petal-strewn sidewalks. A soft breeze tickled the looser petals from their beds in the treetops and gravity gently pulled them toward the ground, some landing on the couple as they enjoyed the scenery.

Victor led the girl to a quiet bench near the back of the park, a fountain in front and the forest behind. He sat and patted the bench beside him, sliding herself beneath his arm to cuddle into his side. “It’s nice to be able to just spend an entire lazy day with you. It’s too bad we can’t do this more often.” The girl looked up at him with those big, almond eyes and Victor couldn’t help but melt. He opened his mouth to reply but paused, a rustling sound from the trees behind them catching his attention. He turned his head quickly to scan the area, and seeing nothing, he shrugged and stood up.

“Come on, why don’t we go down the street a little and have supper at Delicioso? I’m sure that always-empty stomach of yours isn’t content with just breakfast and popcorn.” Victor extended his hand and hoisted the girl up from the bench, finding great joy in the sour look on her face. He chuckled and led her back toward the front of the park, walking through the circles of light cast onto the sidewalk by the lamp posts that were just flickering to life.

But the girl could tell Victor’s guard was up. He held her hand tightly and her body close to his in that way he did when he was feeling protective. For a moment she considered asking what was wrong, but decided it would be better to pretend she hadn’t noticed anything. That is, until a dark figure stepped out from the bushes and into the circle of light in front of them. He raised his arm and a metal object glinted in the yellow light. Victor stepped in front of the girl and rose to his full height, staring down the man. “What do you want?” he spat, his voice full of venom.

“What do you think I want?” the man replied, his lips curled up into a snarl. Victor rolled his eyes and the world around them came to a halt. His stomach lurched when the hammer on the gun still cocked despite his active Evol. Victor growled and stepped toward the man, who didn’t seem to be nearly as intimidated as Victor had hoped. Rather than wasting energy and attention on his Evol, Victor allowed time to restart and took one more step.

“Just put the gun down and find something better to do with your evening than mugging innocent people in the park.” Victor crossed his arms but the man still didn’t back down. Instead, he shifted the aim of the gun to train the barrel on the girl, immediately changing the scenario. A growl escaped Victor’s lips, but he pulled his wallet from his pocket and tossed it in the direction of the man. “Take your prize and get out of here.”

However, rather than leaning down to pick up the wallet, the man sprung into action. He stepped to the left and let loose a shot before scooping up the wallet and disappearing into the bushes. Victor didn’t see the exit, however; his attention was completely wrapped up in the small squeak of pain and thud from behind him. The mugger’s aim had been true; blood was pouring from the right side of the girl’s chest. Victor cursed for allowing himself to lose focus of protecting the girl and dropped to a knee next to her. Her eyes were barely open and her breathing gurgled as blood poured both onto the sidewalk and into her lung. “No, no, not this again,” Victor grumbled as he pulled his phone from his pocket to dial emergency services.

“No, not fast enough,” he murmured, pressing his hand firmly against the girl’s chest in an attempt to stem the bleeding. Hot liquid bubbled up between his fingers and fear rumbled in his gut. Her breathing grew shallower and shallower with each breath, heralding the coming darkness.

“V…Victor?” The girl’s voice was weak, but Victor leaned close. He was intent that he wouldn’t miss a word she said as he fumbled with his phone. She coughed, a wet cough that left flecks of red on her lips. “Perhaps…I’m more made of tissue paper than I thought.” She drew one more breath before going limp, and it was in that moment that Victor’s mind flashed back to Zero’s words those thousands of years ago in the Space Time Bureau. He knew what he had to do, consequences be damned. With a grunt Victor activated his Evol in possibly the most controlled and limited fashion to date.

The bullet withdrew and the skin around the injury knitted back together, the pain transferring through Victor’s hand into his own chest. With a sharp intake of breath, the girl’s eyes flew open and she jolted up, knocking Victor off balance. He fell backwards into a darkness deeper than the surrounding night, which swallowed him up and left the girl staring and terrified. Her clothes and the sidewalk were still coated in blood as she knelt just outside the circle of light, confused and terrified.

~~~

Victor awoke lying on the marble floor of the STB, a thin layer of cold sweat coating his entire body. All around him were the amazed faces of the Time Observers, with Zero at their center. “How do you always manage to survive breaking every single rule?” Zero grumbled, offering a hand to Victor. He reached out weakly and accepted the help in sitting up, his breathing still coming in ragged gasps as if he had just finished a marathon. For really…he had. “How have you managed to transfer that girl’s death to yourself…but managed not to die? Are you absolutely positive that you aren’t willing to join us? Imagine what we could do with your power!”

“Absolutely not,” Victor grumbled, painfully scooting himself back just enough to lean against the stone wall. “As soon as I’ve done my time, again, I’ll be going right back to her side. I promised I would always return, and I don’t break my promises. Just tell me how long I have to be here and I’ll prepare mentally.”

Zero sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I wish I knew, Victor. No one has managed to accomplish this feat and survive, so I have no idea how long it will take your body and Evol to recover enough to return to that world. But I guess we’ll find out, and one way or another you’ll help us with our studies when we do.”

The exhausted Victor’s head dropped to his chest and the rest of the Time Observers scattered, leaving him alone again in those all-too-familiar surroundings. And yet, as much as he hated seeing the marble floor that he hated so much…at least he knew the girl was safe. I’ll be back. Just wait for me, okay?

#more angst coming in hot #request #ask #your wish is my command #how many times will I kill this boy?#the answer is always at least one more time #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc victor #mlqc #love and producer li zeyan #evol x love #love and producer victor #mlqc fanfic #love and producer #mlqc victor fanfic #mr love queen's choice

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darthhope999 · 1 year

Text

“I’ve Lost The Teacher!”

Summary: Eric Crowther is on the prowl for something very important. Something so important he is willing to risk his career and friend’s lives. But, as they will soon find out, they really aren’t his friends anymore.

Characters: Iain Atonal, James Fires, Eric Crowther, Bink

@whumpril day five: Defiance / Dragged / Stifled scream

Ao3 link

Rest of the series

TW: Threats, guns, knives, and violence.

Iain sat, hands propping his chin up, staring absentmindedly out the building window. He was in his classroom supposed to be grading papers, instead he was watching the birds peck at the trees.

He hadn’t been able to think straight since last night. Leo had refused to tell him who had gone and choked him in the middle of the street.

He’d ended up just letting his class talk over him, giving up at the very beginning of the day. He was too tired and distracted to deal with that.

“Iain!” Professor Crawther walked up to the classroom door and knocked on the door frame, a bright smile on his face.

Iain looked up, brushing the hair out of his eyes, “Eric,” he smiled, getting up from his chair and walking over to him.

Eric Crowther was one of the first friends he and Leo had made upon taking the job. He was a great guy, highly regarded by his students and peers.

“What’s up?” Iain saw the smile waver for a moment.

“Do you have any idea where Leo is?” He asked, a frown flickering over his bright smile.

“Oh, he’s ill, called in this morning,” Iain said, deciding he better not share the choking incident.

A deeper frown appeared over Eric’s face.

“Why? What’s the matter?” Iain asked, starting to get worried.

Eric shook his head, “Come see for yourself,” He gestured for Iain to follow him, turning around and walking towards the exit of the building.

Iain froze, fear starting to form all kinds of scenarios in his mind. Had a student gotten injured? Gone missing? He hurried to follow Eric, blinking in the harsh sunlight.

“What’s happened?” He demented again, trying to turn to face Eric but he just kept walking.

“Just hurry,” He said, breaking into a stride.

Now he was freaking out. Iain started running after him, only to be stopped when Eric spun around and pulled a gun from within his coat.

Iain barely had time to register the fact he had a gun to his head before the block of metal crashed into his temple.

His vision swam with darkness and he felt his legs collapse beneath him, sending him tumbling to the ground. The cold concrete was there to meet him.

He didn’t know what was going on anymore, everything was fuzzy. Iain tried to force himself to his feet but didn’t even come close to succeeding.

Eric’s hand wrapped around his shoulder and dragged him to his feet, shoving him against the brick of the wall. He pushed his mouth right against Iain’s ear, overly enunciating each syllable.

“Where. Is. He?” Eric whispered, and Iain felt the cold muzzle of the gun press against the side of his neck.

Iain swallowed, trying to clear the pounding pain obscuring his thoughts.

“I-I don’t know,” He slurred, barely managing to keep his eyes open.

Eric shook him roughly, “Yes you do!” He shouted, mouth still too close to Iain’s ear.

He tried to bring his hands up to his face, trying to block out the sound and light. He just wanted to melt into darkness, he couldn’t even figure out what Eric was talking about.

Eric grabbed his arm, pushing against the wall and forcing Iain to look at him.

“Tell me where Leon Fires is,” He snarled each sentence, a blazing fury alight in his eyes.

Iain shook his head, the world was spinning, even with Eric’s specification he could barely force his thoughts to who the heck he was talking about.

Eric scoffed, “Fine, you just come with me,” With that, he crashed the gun into the side of Iain’s head once again. This time, he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

. . .

James sat silently, staring out the window, eyes focusing on every little detail that passed by.

Ben sighed, he had been talking to the other man for what was probably hours before realizing that he was no longer listening.

“Just gonna ignore me for the cars?” He asked.

When James didn’t answer, he scoffed and got down out of his chair, going to the small kitchen to get something to eat.

“You want a sandwich?” he called to the living room.

Predictably, James didn’t answer.

“Cool.”

Ben turned his focus to the jar of peanut butter laying open on the microwave counter. He sighed.

“James, why is there an open bottle of peanut butter on the microwave?” he called, not even bothering to look over his shoulder, he didn’t expect an answer.

Which is why he was surprised when James spoke out behind him, “Jar.”

Ben spun around to see him leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets and correcting Ben’s grammar.

He rolled his eyes, “Right, yeah, why’s it there?”

James shrugged and nodded to the corner, “Bink was hungry last night, I suspect he got his own food.”

Ben glanced to the corner and, sure enough, the rascal cat himself was sitting there, licking his paws and looking smugly up at his humans.

Ben sighed and rubbed his head, “By now I think he owns us.”

James didn’t respond to his quip, instead walking over to the refrigerator, opening it, and throwing a fresh jar of peanut butter in Ben’s general direction. He had to dive to catch it, just barely grabbing it before it crashed against the wall.

“Dude, calm down!” Ben cried, setting the jar on the counter and turning to look at an unfazed James. “You want some?” He sighed, letting his arms fall to his side in submission.

James shook his head, “You’re the one who insists on eating every five hours,” With that, he turned on his heel and walked right out of the kitchen, quickly followed by Bink.

The orange cat looked greedily at the spilled peanut butter from last night, giving Ben a look that made him think that he was about to fight him for it. Instead, he merely followed his young human out the door, leaping up onto the couch beside him.

Ben shook his head, cats.

He started to scoop the butter off the microwave with a plastic knife, shoveling it back into the jar. Nothing needed to go to waste, they were broke enough already.

The knife slipped multiple times and nearly took out a chunk of his hand along with the peanut butter. Curse that cat!

When Ben was finished he finally got to making his sandwich, piling peanut butter onto it, followed by just a small amount of jelly. James was always disgusted by this way of making sandwiches, always insisting that it should have the same jelly to peanut butter ratio. Ben really didn’t care though, the guy was always insisting on one thing or another.

He marched out of the kitchen, improperly filled sandwich in hand, and plopped down in his chair. Ben glanced over to see James frowning at the door, looking almost as alert as Bink did.

“What’s up?” He asked, setting his sandwich on the napkin he had brought over.

James sprang up, rushing over to the window. “Someone’s here,” He said blankly.

Ben’s head snapped up, as an outlaw they always had to worry when they had some unexpected visitors. “Is it cops?”

James shook his head, “Bright yellow car, not inconspicuous enough for cops,” He rushed to the door, throwing the lock off.

Ben leapt up, “Woah! What are you doing?” He cried running over just as James opened the door to a very confused looking man.

“Who are you?” James demanded, gray eyes sizing him up as if he were a lion and the man a piece of prey.

He staggered back, “My bad, my bad, I meant to knock!” He cried.

Ben knew he didn’t recognize him. With the collar of his black coat turned up and the shadow of a large brimmed hat obscuring most of his face it was impossible. He knew what James would say though, “Do at least try to process what your eyes see. Otherwise, your brain is working for nothing.”

“James Fires, correct?” The man asked, his voice clearly dropping from kindly to cold.

“Yes, what does that mean to you?”

Ben glanced at him in shock, just giving people their names now it seemed.

“You have a brother, correct?”

Ben saw emotions chase each other across James’s face before it settled in a scowl.

“I do.”

“Good, good, I was hoping I hadn’t kidnapped the wrong person.”

James’s hand went to his pocket and he grabbed the knife he always kept there. He lunged forward, pinning the man against the wall and ripping his hat off. James shoved the knife against his throat and snarled, “Where is he?”

“James!” Ben didn’t know what else to say, he slowly advanced on the two, wishing he hadn’t left his gun on his bedside table.

“First, you will give me something,” The man said carefully, trying to move his head away from the knife that was getting dangerously close.

“What do you want?” James snarled.

“The knife.”

He froze, eyes locking onto the man’s. Then he scoffed and jerked his hands free of his coat.

“Yeah right. I warned him,” James turned on his heel and marched back into the house calling behind him, “You’ll have to buy your own Crowther.”

Ben didn’t know what to think, he just stood there blinking, the words of the conversation streaming through his mind and being turned into a jumbled mess. Why were they always so cryptic?

Crowther turned to Ben, “You may want to consider convincing your friend that his brother really is in danger. Tell him to meet me alone at midnight. He knows where,” Crowther then turned away, coat swirling dramatically behind him and walked swiftly away.

Ben heard Bink’s purrs and peered inside the open door to see James had reclaimed his seat on the armrest and was absentmindedly stroking the cat.

He rubbed his head, he felt like he was surrounded by people much smarter than he was. Which, honestly, was likely true.

“James, what was that man on about?” He demanded, walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

James didn’t answer.

“Oh no you don’t,” Ben snarled.

He walked forward and grabbed Bink, dragging the cat, who instantly started hissing and trashing, away from him. James leapt to his feet, hand poised with his knife before he realized it was Ben.

He stared at him for a few seconds before falling back into the couch and glancing pointedly at Bink.

“Right, I let Bink go, you tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine.”

Ben let Bink onto the ground, the cat immediately ran for Ben’s chair, leaping up onto it and placing his paw on his sandwich. He sighed, that cat was vengeful.

James didn’t say anything for a second, then, “I have a brother, you’ve heard of him, Leo?”

Ben nodded, coming to sit on the opposite side of the couch.

“We hadn’t spoken in years but I overheard someone talking about harming him. One of his colleagues, Eric Crowther. I approached him to find out more, all I found out is that he’s a psychopath,” James turned to stare at Ben, his normal “alright, my part’s done, what idiotic question are you going to ask now?”

Ben nodded, “Kay, so why does Crowther want your knife?”

“He’s a collector,” James said simply.

Ben nodded again, “Alright, I still barely get it.”

James sighed, “Then you don’t need to know,” He got up and scooped Bink off of Ben’s chair, tossing him to the ground.

“Toss the sandwich,” He suggested.

“No way. In case you can’t tell, we’re kinda broke,” He said.

James just rolled his eyes, “I have to go find Leo.”

“Yeah, I’m coming, hold on,” Ben grabbed his sandwich.

James shook his head, “Meet me at the end of the block.”

Ben sighed, “Sure.”

. . .

Iain raised his head, swallowing painfully and trying to blink the blurriness out of his eyes. It felt as if he had just slept for a year. He groaned softly, trying to bring his hand up to his eyes. Failing as he realized that they were tied down.

“Iain Atonal, highly regarded teacher at the university. Though some students say you’re a little too enthusiastic,” Eric’s mocking voice rang out, the older man walked into Iain’s blurry eyesight.

With a groan, he tried to force himself to look at him, wincing as the extra light only worsened his headache.

Eric smiled warmly before crouching right in front of him, “I checked Leo’s house, he’s not there. I checked your house, he’s not there. Tell me where he is, Iain.”

He shook his head, “I-I don’t know,” He stammered.

Eric lurched forward, grabbing Iain’s head and forcing him to look up at him. “Well then, you just don’t have any use to me.”

He pulled a gun from beneath his coat, pressing it against Iain’s temple for the second time that day.

“Gonna hit me again?” He asked through clenched teeth.

Eric scoffed, “Oh, no, I’m not going to do that,” With a click, he cocked the gun, “I’ll just shoot you.”

Iain wished he could stop his body from shaking. But he couldn’t, he was cold and could barely even see what was right in front of his face. In fact, without his glasses, trying to focus on the figure in front of him was agony.

He tried to pull his head away, inadvertently trying to use his tied up hands.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Eric tutted, “Go on, tell me.”

Iain licked his lips, “No thanks,” He rasped.

Eric pressed the gun harder, “Want to think again?”

Iain gritted his teeth, trying as hard as he could not to cry out, “No, I’d rather not.”

Eric scoffed and jerked the gun away, standing with a swish of his coat and spinning to face away from Iain. “Well, let’s see if we can get something out of you, huh?” A sadistic grin was marring his face. “You ever seen the scars a whip can give?”

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introwalktheline · 2 years

Text

caught ya!

↳ genre: enemies to lovers ig? idk

↳ summary: you and sunghoon hated each other’s guts, or so it seemed. until you got caught by an unwelcomed guest

↳ word count: around 1230

↳ warnings: again, bad/basic english and possible grammar mistakes; swearing; heated scene (it's not completely nsfw but please do not approach if uncomfortable anyways)

you and sunghoon hated each other’s guts. blood would boil in your veins whenever he’d start to speak; your remarks were as venomous as a wild snake attacking its prey.

as cliché as it may sound, while you were the typical diligent student, always topping your classes and working hard, he would often slack off, prioritizing the ice-skating rink and hanging out with his friends, not even once bothering to focus on school, homework and tests. you two were as different as day and night, as the sun and the moon; yet, it seemed quite the exact motive of your attraction towards the raven-haired boy. of course, you’d never admit it to anyone, not even to yourself, your pride obscuring your reason. little did you know, sunghoon felt the exact same way, too proud to voice his feelings, just like you.

it was quite ordinary to watch the two of you quarrel over the stupidest things in the hall of your school. being extremely short-tempered, even though rational enough to notice and control yourself most of the time, you’d somehow fall for his teasing remarks. and he secretly loved watching you get all worked up. you were so adorable: your face often turned red from turmoil, and your brows formed a cute frown. he just couldn’t stop.

you and sunghoon hated each other’s guts. the problem? you two shared the same group of friends. things would normally go rather smoothly; you both loved your friends way too much to cause unwelcomed troubles. hence, you tried your best to stay away from him when you guys hung out together.

finally happy to be free from homework and to spend the evening with your friends, you decided to watch a movie with them. while getting in line for the tickets, a smug comment from the person you were the least - or so you kept telling literally anyone all the time - interested in made you halt right away. you tried to remain calm, you truly did, as you didn’t want to ruin the night out.

“so you’re telling me they make movies out of classics? like…these little women? how boring would that be? are there actually people who enjoy those kinds of movies? that’s bullshit”

see, those sentences, as if out of deliberate malice, were not simply put out there for everyone else to hear. he wanted YOU to hear them. he knew how much you were fond of period dramas, and how you would easily walk into the trap; it was so easy to exasperate you at this point. the poor guy had become addicted to teasing you.

compressing your mouth, holding a silent combat with yourself, you simply could not manage to control yourself anymore. they say the eyes are the mirror of our soul; well, at that moment, your unflinching, ferocious stare was quite eloquent. it goes without saying, you haughtily answered him.

“why, don’t tell me you’re the type of person who actually enjoys watching…i don’t know, horror movies? please…the plot is stupid, it’s literally all about weird scenes and jumpscares. and i bet you even shit yourself while watching them.”

that's it. he didn’t see that coming. you were basically calling him a coward? hell no, he couldn't back down so easily.

“well, princess” sunghoon said while hovering way too close to your figure, “why don’t we put this to the test? we’ll watch a horror movie together, and see who’ll be the one shitting their own pants. you decide where and when. what do you think, love?”

if you said you weren’t turned on, you’d be a liar. you would never give in though; you quickly focused again on the matter, and accepted the challenge.

sunghoon joined you in your house the day after your little dispute. your parents were never really at home, and that night too, for they had an important business dinner to attend. at times, it felt lonely, being an only child. however, it was the perfect time to end it all with the guy, not having to answer unwanted questions nor wanting to give false hopes to your mother, who would shriek at the thought of you finally getting a boyfriend.

as was anticipated, the movie he picked was quite boring, not to mention the fact that you’ve never really been a scaredy cat. an hour into the movie, you snort loudly; of course this didn’t go unnoticed to your companion.

“what now”, asked sunghoon bitterly.

“how can you enjoy this kind of movie? seriously. they’re just plain, and boring, and don’t make any sense, and-”

“can you shut up? i don't care whether you like them or not, just keep quiet till the end. unless you’re too scared to keep watching it?” retorted the boy complacently.

and that you did, for a while. you kept quiet. nonetheless, sensing how vexed he had become, and being bored to death, you couldn’t lose the opportunity to make him even more exasperated.

“that’s literally trash. why would a kid enter that weird ass, dark door, it’s not what would normally happ-”

now. that you would’ve never seen it coming. sunghoon had roughly placed his lips on yours, his body acting quicker than his own mind.

you and sunghoon hated each other’s guts. if so, then why was that kiss so intoxicating? why did it feel so right? after a few seconds of disbelief, you reciprocated the kiss, allowing yourself to deepen it. at that moment, you didn’t care about the possible teasing that would’ve resulted from it. at that moment, the tension between you two vanished into the air, growing stiffer as the two of you transformed a simple kiss into a heated make-out session. hungry for sunghoon lips, you wrapped your hands around his neck, not letting go. his moans were pure music to your ears, and made something click into your brain. you interrupted your ministrations only to straddle on his lap; his hands reaching your hips, keeping you secure and in place. even in the unlit room, you could clearly see his hooded, dark, hungry eyes staring deeply into your soul, and that’s where it hit you: you and sunghoon didn’t actually hate each other’s guts.

you two were so different from one another, yet you’d just become one in a warm embrace.

too caught up in your actions, the arrival of sunoo, your best friend, whom of course you’d given the spare key to, was unnoticed. well, only for a few seconds.

“oh my god, i totally knew it! i knew you two would be making out, i’m so telling the others” a smug settled in his visage. you hated to see that face, it meant trouble. this time wasn’t an exception.

“for god's sake sunoo, when did you come here? you scared the shit out of me” you answered, your cheeks getting redder and redder.

“well, well, well… i guess he won the bet then, didn’t he? you didn’t finish the movie”, continued the younger one, indicating the tv, still on.

“anyways, please don’t go further, we don’t want to babysit another child, we already have niki and it’s like having ten children".

“GET THE HELL OUT” you screamed at a satisfied sunoo, already on his way to tell everyone what he had just seen. you and sunghoon expected a long, embarrassing conversation with the others.

author's note: i wanted to thank everyone who read this, it means a lot to me! i'm not sure about what i'm doing, especially since i've never really used tumblr to post my writings,,, also if you have any requests i'm always here :((

#enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen drabbles #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #enha sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x reader

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wannabe-fic-writer · 3 years

Text

WandaNat x Reader : Inhale pt. 2

Summary: She never ceases to surprise you.

Warning: Smoking, Cursing, One Suggestive Joke

Word Count: 1,998

Part 1

* * * * * *

The white paint stares back at you as you lay on your bed. Your view of the ceiling is obscured by the red ball you toss up into the air. It gets slightly smaller as it moves away from you, then larger as it falls back down.

Your hand catches it and throws it back up into the air, repeating the same process as the tv plays on monotonously from the corner of the room.

Boredom has been washed over you for the past few days. Your girlfriends went on a mission last week. You were able to pass the time during the first week, keeping yourself distracted by hanging around the team, training with Steve, going for a run every time your fingers twitched towards the cigarettes you had hidden in your closet. All of that was failing to work right now.

It seems, though, that you don’t have to suffer through it much longer. F.R.I.D.A.Y chimes up after hours of quiet with an alert that Natasha and Wanda were back and heading to the room.

You instantly perk up, pushing yourself to a sitting position on the bed and glancing at the door frequently, ready for your girls to walk in. Except they don’t.

The gleeful, happy to be home, response you were expecting is replaced by their clearly upset demeanors. A frown sits on Wanda’s face like you’ve never seen and Natasha’s expression remains neutral.

They don’t acknowledge you save for a glance in your direction. Both of them go into the closet and quickly change into more comfortable clothes. In an instant afterwards they’re leaving out. And you’re left beyond confused.

With the possible reasons for their behavior and clear attitudes in your head, you don’t take offense to it. You give them some time to cool off, going back to tossing your ball in the air and catching it as you watch tv.

Around an hour or two later you decide they’re fine now, or at least fine enough to talk to. So you get up, heading first to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water and then to the general training room.

The sound of familiar huffs and the pounding of fists against a leather bag let’s you know your assumption was right. Your redheaded love is off to the fair side of the gym, headphones in her ears as she beats on the punching bag.

You smirk at the sight of her. Not only do her yoga pants and sports bra look great on her, you always find her focused and slightly aggressive expression kind of hot. She glances at you as you approach and you know she can hear you despite her headphones.

Stopping behind the bag, you lean on it, showing off your smirk to the woman.“ If you really want to work off your frustrations I can think of a good way to do so.” Natasha grunts, rolling her eyes and focusing on punching the bag.

With a sigh, you move to her side, gently taking her taped up hands and moving in front of her. Forest green eyes look into yours and you give her your best encouraging smile. She knows what your silent question is and sighs.

“The mission went south. We suffered a civilian casualty and others got hurt.” Her expression and tone remain neutral but obviously she’s upset about this. It isn’t her first time dealing with this kind of thing from a mission but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t hate every bit of it.

“I’m sorry to hear that baby.” You raise your hands to her arms and gently rub them, squeezing a little in between.

Natasha’s heart warms at your soft comforts.“ I’ll be okay. Wan is more torn up than I am. She-” The woman shakes her head,“ she blames herself.”

You frown, prepared to ask for more details. Then you figure you can ask the girlfriend who’s more deeply affected by it.

“I’ll go talk to her.” Natasha nods at your words.“ You gonna be okay?” A teasing smile forms on your lips.“ I know you’re my super tough ex-assassin but I’m here if you want to talk.”

Her lips tug up in the corner at your teasing words, but it quickly becomes a sincere smile when you offer your ear. Slowly reaching up, she runs the pad of her thumb along the apple of your cheek.“ I’m okay detka. I’ll let you know if I need to talk. Or your other services.”

You chuckle softly and nod. Leaning forward, you press a soft, quick kiss to her lips and part, heading off to find your other girlfriend. The not so tough witchy one you love just as much.

Finding the woman proved to be a little harder than you thought it would be. She wasn’t in any of the places you thought she would be in: the library, the theater, the common room. You wrack your brain for ideas as to where she is and when the last place pops into mind, you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it first.

It’s a quick jog to the elevator and an even shorter ride up to the top floor. From there you take the stairs up to the roof.

She’d stolen this spot from you a few months after you started dating. She and Natasha found you up there smoking once and through the year and a half she would find you up here, sometimes sneaking a smoke when you shouldn’t be.

Her long brown tresses fall down her back freely, the rest of her beauty hidden as she faces away from you. Though you still find her insanely cute that she’s in your hoodie and some stretch pants.

The long slow straightening of her form clues you in on her deep breath, her body relaxing as she lets it go. You only get a little confused when she pauses and does it again. A thought that you’re unsure of, but the physical cues make you curious. The familiar movement of her arm, the deep breath, the pause.

“Wan?” You call with an indescribable look on your face.

Your brunette girlfriend’s shoulders drop and she turns to you. Immediately your eyes focus on the small cylinder in between her fingers, watching as it rises and rests between her lips.

She takes a quick pull, pauses, let’s a little smoke go, then it all comes out in a straight shot that disperses in the air. It’s such a smooth combination of actions that leaves you wondering if she’d done this before.

Deciding to hold your comment on that until after she’s completely calm, you take a different route. Approaching her still pacing form, you cross your arms and ask,“ was it that bad?”

A snort leaves her lips and she takes another drag.“ Worse.”

“Tell me.” Your hand reaches for her free one and you pull her towards you as you sit on the ledge of the roof.

Her hand squeezes yours. Your eyes drop from her green ones to her lips as they wrap around the cylinder again, cheeks caving a little, then her lips puckering slightly as she pushes the smoke out.

“I heard Natasha get hurt,” she starts, fingers once again tightening around yours,“ I looked away for a split second and he got away. We caught him but not until after he shot the tires out on a car. It flipped and crashed into another one.” Her jaw clenches, eyes glossing with tears.“ He hurt a man and his son and- and killed a woman.”

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you stand, pulling her a little closer to your form. You’d been down this road a number of times. Being on the Avengers team since the beginning almost, you know exactly what it’s like to make a mistake and have others pay for it. It was a deep hole that never ceased to make you hate yourself. But you didn’t want Wanda feeling that way.

“Hey,” you reach a hand up to cup her cheek, looking into her eyes,“ I know that it hurts. And it’s easy to blame yourself. But it’s not your fault. He made the choices that resulted in that woman losing her life, not you.”

“But I’m supposed to be the hero. I’m supposed to save people. And I didn’t.” Her accent thickens as she gets choked up, eyes glossing over.

You sigh, taking the cigarette from her hand and putting it out on the ledge, then pull her into your arms. Her head rests on your shoulder and her hands slip up to your shoulder blades.“ You are a hero. A great hero. However, you’re not a perfect one. None of us are. It sucks in situations like this but you can’t save everyone no matter how much we want to. It doesn’t make you a bad person or any less of a hero.”

From the flicker of emotions in her eyes, you can tell it’s still going to take some time for her to cope with this. Still though you see a glimpse of that soft look and you can also see that she believes you to a certain extent.

Raising your hand, you gently push the corner of her lips up. She whines and turns her head away, noncommittally pushing at your side. It makes you laugh and she presses her forehead against your chest.

“Wanna tell me where you got that cigarette from?” You ask.

She pulls away, producing a pack of cigarettes. Brows furrowing, you flip the top up and count the cigarettes inside. There were four missing.

“Did you smoke four whole cigarettes before I got up here?” An incredulous tone laces your words, disbelief flooding your system.

Has your habit rubbed off on her? You know she and Nat found it attractive but did that lead Wanda to try it? It’s a terribly unhealthy habit, which is why your girlfriends wanted you to stop, and you certainly didn’t want Wanda getting into it.

“No, I didn’t smoke four. I got these from your boot in the closet,” she tells you.“ Which means you smoked them.”

“I-” you try to think of what to say.“ That was over the course of a few weeks. I haven’t had one in months though.” You know you didn’t need to give her an explanation but you wanted her to know you were still doing well.

Wanda and Natasha were very well aware of your progression towards quitting. They could even tell the difference in your behavior. Both women were incredibly proud and admittedly you were proud of yourself as well. You had confidence you would be able to completely quit in the fairly near future.

The younger woman smiles softly at you,“ I know you haven’t. And you don’t have to worry about me starting. It’s actually very nasty and I didn’t feel it did anything for my stress.”

“Good. I don’t want you forming an addiction and I don’t want to die if Nat found out you’d started by smoking my cigarettes.”

“She knows now.”

Nearly jumping a foot in the air, you turn around to see your other girlfriend smirking a little at you. A nervous chuckle leaves your lips and you scratch the back of your neck.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha steps to the side to stand beside you and Wanda. Her hand slipping into yours, the other held up towards Wanda.

Wanda sighs and places the pack of cigarettes in Natasha’s hand. The redhead pockets them then takes the younger woman’s hand.“ Neither of you smoke again.” She states plainly.

Looking at Wanda, you both nod.“ Never again Miss Romanoff.” You and Wanda say simultaneously, bright smiles shown to Natasha.

It’d be harder than that for you but not impossible. Especially not with the support and encouragement of the two women you loved and needed the most.

* * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @ecruzsalaz

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat #wandanat fic #wandanat x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #reader insert

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alicee1 · 3 years

Text

Loyalty rewards

God! Technoblade x Warrior! GN! reader

Warnings: blood, sacrifices, violence, mentions of death

Word count: 2.0K

Synopsis: In the Blood God’s temple every other week the strongest warriors battle one another to satiate the blood lust of their God. You have defended your position as winner for the past three months, gaining the interest of the Blood God himself.

Requested: no

A/n: The Roman Empire has always been my favorite part of history, and when this (kind of) Roman based idea formed in my head i just couldn’t ignore it. I don’t have any regrets.

Rules, Masterlist

You stood atop of the cold stone platform, crowds of people staring at you as the fight continued from the safety of their seats. The arena like temple surrounded you, safe for the sky where the sun shone brightly down on you.

Today was the day of the sacrifice for the Blood God, so he may be satisfied and heed the city of any attacks and wars. For if he would be deprived of the sight of blood too long he would come and take it himself.

The strongest warriors fought against one another in these temples. A simple, weak, sacrifice would not suffice for the Blood God.

It had led you here, armour brightly reflecting the sun and a sharp sword clenched in your hand as chants echoed through the stadium.

By now you had drowned their chants out, focusing your mind to the battle to avoid the fate of becoming a sacrifice once more.

For the past 3 months you had stood in this temple, every other week battling for the sake of your life.

Perched over the tunnel you had come out of at the start of the fight loomed the statue of the God, his beastly form with dangerous tusks and clawed hands holding a large blade, eyes made from the largest ruby stones harvested. It towered to the top of the stadium, large and impressive.

Across from that statue stood another, displaying the God in his more human like form, his mask obscured by a large skull but with the same blade in its more human like hands.

To the sides however stood smaller statues, both the exact same as they depicted a man with loose fitting robes and large black wings behind him to match. He was the God of death.

Despite having more than enough of his own temples, there was always at least a small place to commemorate him within the Blood God's temple, for he followed in the trail of destruction the other left behind. Dark and silent as the night he took the broken souls left behind by the ruthless God.

The sound of metal clashing against one another didn't make it over the loud chanting of the crowd, the words 'blood for the Blood God' echoing through the temple.

You managed to hit your opponent with the black metal sword you held in their side, not able to slice through the thick layer of armour but it did enough damage to distract them.

Slowly but steadily you had chipped away at them, you were faster, more agile, in your movements which had proved to be your saviour throughout nearly every fight.

When you managed to land the finishing hit, the side of your sword knocked hard against their helmet.

Under normal circumstances the helmet they wore would've prevented them from collapsing, only causing light headedness and dizziness.

Now however, where the circumstances where everything but normal, the blood loss, exhaustion and adrenaline that had slowly started to thin out, took their toll and with that last hit it was enough to knock them out.

This didn't mean you had come out unscathed either however, ragged breaths lefts your lungs as the warm liquid dripped down your arms and under your armour.

Technoblade watched from his palace, his realm, which was large, luxurious and worthy to house a God. The chanting of the voices within his head deafening as they demanded blood.

It was a common reoccurrence during offerings, as there was usually at least some sort of sacrificial ritual going on somewhere. Despite that, the more chants, the louder they grew within his mind.

With a city as large as yours, one that housed many strong fighters and had proven themselves as a form of entertainment, the chants in his head were deafening as he watched the sacrificial fight take place.

Normally the winner would die of their wounds after the battle, allowing for two new contenders the next week. Those who didn't often stood still heavily wounded in the temple for their next fight to defend their place. It had always been an easy battle to win.

However for the past months he had noticed that time and time again the same fighter stood on the battle field, wielding the same black sword despite the more common weapon, an axe.

He watched you curiously win the battle once more, tapping the throne decorated with swords, regular skulls and the legendary wither skulls with one hand as he watched.

You had pulled the helmet of your opponent, holding their limp body up by the hair on their head like you had done time and time again for the past weeks.

Presenting the broken warrior to the sky to allow the God to pass judgement, forcing the warrior to put their faith into the hands of their God one last time and see if he would answer.

The crowd roared. You had grown to be crowd favourite, your speed and agility entertaining as you put up a show during the fight, entertaining the public as much as you did the God.

Your blade was still drawn, although it wasn't uncommon for a sacrifice to die during the battle, the true purpose was to keep them alive and give the Blood God a chance to spare their life and add it to his army of hounds or allow them to die.

As a warrior, the Blood God was one of the most important to serve and to please, and during the sacrificial ritual you would put the life of the soul in the hands of the God one final time. It was a tradition passed down over centuries as the empire grew, your city being the capital.

Throughout history it had happened occasionally where the God would send down a pig like creature, clad in glowing black armour, wielding a golden axe, to come collect the defeated warrior's body and soul to take with them.

Legends told that they were part of the hound army the God had, past souls that had once been sacrificed as well and been collected as well.

Myths spoke of the God and his hound army, the souls of the warriors reincarnated in the pig like or wolf like beasts that came to collect the still alive souls of those worthy before they were handed over to the angel of death and send to the underworld.

Only those who had left a lasting impression were remembered by the God by their name, forming the strongest and most important part of his army.

The hounds joined the God to the battle field when he craved blood but was deprived of it by a city or empire, slaughtering everyone in sight to satiate the hunger.

You waited as seconds passed, the chants only growing louder as moments passed. As usual, no beast appeared to collect the broken warrior before he would serve his last purpose as sacrifice, stilling the God's hunger for blood until the next ceremony.

The sharp blade you held in your hand was still pressed against your opponents throat, waiting for seconds more before finishing the deed.

The body collapsed into itself at your feet as the hair slipped from your fingers, a dull thud sounding so much louder than it should have in the arena.

A small, but satisfied smile formed on the God's face at the sight, you stood covered in blood on the stone with the body at your feet. The smile on your face matched his, although it was a little more tired in comparison.

He may have been unsure during the last sacrificial ceremony, but he was sure now. Why wait for you to lose a fight and arrive broken to his realm, his palace, when he could take you right then and there.

It had been a while since he had come down to one of his temples directly, but as he stood up it didn't take long for him to appear within the tunnel that led to the battlefield.

The crowd silenced at the figure that walked from the tunnel, as there was only one being that could do that. He didn't look like one of the beastly monsters that had been described in stories of old.

A skull hid his face from view but the ruby glint of his eyes reflected the sun, the pink locks that peeked from under the mask, left only one deity who it could possibly be.

Sinking to your knees at the sight of him, the temple grew quieter than it had ever been. The crowd questioned if you had killed your opponent too soon and now you would pay the price with your own life to compensate.

Your gaze was pointed to the ground where you could see his figure inch closer as it reflected in the deep red liquid that had pooled around you.

The Blood God stood in front of you now, peering down at your definitely smaller figure. He was still a God and it showed in his proportions, tall, muscularly built, with a blood red cloak hanging from his shoulders.

His voice held a power to it as was expected from a God, although monotone, it held a subtle undertone of amusement as he spoke up.

"You have defended the first place for the longest period in a long time," he noted, eyes piercing as he looked at you, bowed down before him.

A small nod came from your head as you carefully looked up at the God as he towered over you.

"You have been one of the strongest and most loyal follower I have seen in a long time," he allowed you to look up at him fully now, an amused smile tugging at his lips, barely visible from underneath the pig skull,

"The freedom you have seen so far has been an illusion created by those above you. I can grant you true freedom if you return to my realm with me."

He stretched out his hand to you, thick and worn gloves covering his hand as you could see the burn marks from wielding a weapon for years on end. It took you barely a moment to think as you placed your hand in his, feeling the friction between your two gloves as he pulled you to your feet.

Your blade was still clenched in your dominant hand as you sheathed it, looking around the arena like temple once more as the crowd stood in awe, their eyes glued to the scene in front of them.

A sight they would behold in their lives only once, and tell generations to come.

As time would pass it became a story, faded into a myth as the sacrifices continued. A never forgotten ceremony to quiet the insatiable lust for blood that the God held.

In the temple however, soon a new statue stood, smaller but unmissable beside the massive statue of the God. One of a warrior with glowing eyes made from the purest jewels the empire held, a pitch black sword held in their hand as they stood confidently beside their God.

The reality didn't differ much from the stories that spoke of your new life in his realm, it was luxurious and free, befitting a divine creature like the Blood God and now you.

Sometimes, when villages or cities left the sacred ceremonies to please their Gods in the dust, you ventured out. Beside the powerful figure that controlled the army of hounds now stood a second figure, cloaked in glowing armour identical to the God's as you rained down the attacks on the unfortunate settlement.

From that one day in the temple forward, you stood right beside the Blood God himself.

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vrishchikawrites · 3 years

Note

Hello, this is the prompt I wanted to send you.

WangXian fic set during the sunshot compaign after one of their famous fights. They stumble upon an array that shows the future and It activated when WWX touched it. The array started showing glimpses of married and in love WX going on dates (yunmeng date), night hunting together, kissing, pillowtalks and aftercare, adopting children, teaching at the CR... YLLZ! WWX feeling jealous and bitter and not understanding why. The reveal that LWJ's husband is WWX, his falling out with the Jiang sect and JC's role in his death. Basically a fic where YLLZ! WWX finds out that after all these hardships he is finally going to be happy, have his own family and be with the love of his life where he is loved, cared for, respected and appreciated. And longing to have that future with LWj.

It can be a fix it fic with a happy ending please.

Posted on Ao3 here

Alternating POV - Wei Wuxian - Lan Wangji - Wangxian - A bit angsty with happy ending - Mature. Betaed by Moonyju.

I hear your heart beating in your chest

Wei Wuxian isn't the one to dwell on the past or look towards the future. He lives every day as it comes and faces every challenge without carrying burdens forward.

He has never planned for his future, not really. Some vague dreams here and there, but nothing real. Wei Wuxian learned at the tender age of four that the future is unpredictable. One day you wake up to your mother's warm smile and your father's gentle words. The next day, you have lost those things forever. Life has proven this to him repeatedly.

Future is uncertain, present is the only certainty Wei Wuxian believes in.

So, when he and the illustrious Second Jade of Lan stumble into an array while rescuing a few civilians. An illusion of sorts surrounds him, obscuring the real world outside the array. He doesn’t pay much attention to what it reveals. Instead, he focuses his attention on the array itself, carefully examining its intricacies. A single glance is enough to tell it is some sort of temporal array, a shade of what cultivators use for preservation purposes. But it also seems to have some form of an illusionary element to it. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down to study it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, almost in warning but Wei Wuxian is content to ignore him for once. Lan Zhan has always drawn too much of his attention and it rankles now more than ever.

Another quarrel, another needless argument about Wei Wuxian not understanding the depth and implications of his actions. Sometimes he wonders if Lan Zhan intends to sound as dismissive or haughty as he does when he confronts him about Mo Dao. He likes to believe Lan Wangji is above such petty things, but the man’s dogged refusal to accept Wei Wuxian’s path and his relentless quest to fix something that can’t be fixed is getting on his last nerve.

“Wei Ying,” He looks up at the sharp tone, meeting a pair of golden eyes in question only to be arrested by something akin to embarrassment tinting Lan Zhan’s stoic features. He glances towards the illusion and stills, somewhat stunned by the scene before him.

It is Lan Zhan. Or a version of him. He’s broader, with more mature features and a much sharper gaze. But that’s not the most astonishing thing, no.

Lan Zhan is… kissing someone.

It is someone shorter than him, with long hair tied up and away from a fairly pretty face. Wei Wuxian eyes the way Lan Zhan cradles the face and guides it towards his kisses, gentle and full of affection.

It entrances him for a moment. He can’t help but stare at the scene, taking in how Lan Zhan seems to lean in again and again, to press closer like he can’t get enough. His heart races and he doesn’t really understand why it is suddenly so…

“Wei Ying!” He drags his eyes away from the illusion and looks at his Lan Zhan, who seems increasingly flustered despite the relatively calm expression on his face. His ears are bright red and he’s pointedly not looking in the illusion’s direction.

He smiles teasingly, “Aiya, Lan Zhan, it looks like the older version of you is more relaxed.”

“It is a trick.” Lan Zhan protests immediately but Wei Ying dips his eyes down to scan the array again and shakes his head. There are several clues that highlight the array’s purpose clearly. Lan Zhan is no less knowledgeable than he is so he must see it too.

The denial is already fading from the Second Jade’s features and Wei Wuxian stands up, brushing his knees absently. He glances at the illusion and feels something strange pool in his stomach, something like dread, when he sees the pair again. Lan Zhan is pressing the strange person to the tree behind them, pinning her- no-

He peers closer, swallowing when Lan Zhan’s hand disappears into the person’s robes. Lan Zhan’s… companion is clearly not a woman, that much was apparent at first glance. But it is even more apparent when those robes fall open under Lan Zhan’s questing fingers.

Somehow, that feels worse.

He struggles to maintain his composure and fixes a grin on his face, “Well-” The scene shifts abruptly and Wei Wuxian barely withholds a gasp, his eyes immediately drawn to the older Lan Zhan’s peaceful face. He’s sleeping, his arms wrapped loosely around the same companion from before. The room around them seems like it is in Cloud Recesses, perhaps Lan Wangji’s home?

His eyes turn back towards Lan Wangji and he takes a careful breath, heart aching for some reason. He pointedly doesn’t look at the man’s companion and silently turns to look at the array again. The time element is solid, undisturbed and clean. More than a simple illusion, a clear glimpse of the future.

But…

He looks up and the scene has changed again. Lan Wangji is with that man again. They stand side by side and the man is leaning against the Second Jade brazenly but Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to mind. He has his hand low on the man’s back, a gesture that reads distinctly possessive. The scene wouldn’t be out of place in any family. There’s a husband, there’s a wife, there’s a child clinging to the wife’s robes, and there’s a young man standing before them with a smile that speaks of affection.

The array seeks to show people a glimpse of their future. Lan Zhan is seeing his life as a settled man of a good family.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t exist.

He takes a careful breath as that thought settles in his mind. He has always known his path is treacherous but something in him burns to see life move on so peacefully without him.

The world has never had much space for him. When he was a child, no one had space to let him rest. As a youth, his place at the Lotus Pier was small, surrounded by thorns. The space keeps shrinking and shrinking ever since he stepped out of the Burial Mounds. He imagines at some point it will vanish altogether and Wei Wuxian will be forced to vanish with it.

Melancholy doesn’t suit him but the ache of it strikes him powerfully now.

The sight of Lan Zhan moving on – they’re not even friends, what does he need to move on from? – shatters something in him.

He can’t summon a smile.

Wei Wuxian locks his jaw and ignores his racing heart as the scene goes on. The young boy saying something to Lan Wangji’s partner and the partner grinning in response.

Lan Wangji’s expression is soaked in affection, despite how stoic it appears. The corners of his mouth are softer and there’s a fond light in those golden eyes. Wei Wuxian has never seen something so beautiful.

He watches as the young man leans down and plucks the child off the ground and carries him away, both of them waving to Lan Wangji and his partner until they’re out of sight.

Wei Wuxian’s heart shudders when Lan Wangji discreetly pulls his partner closer and buries his nose in his hair, expression content.

Suddenly, it is unbearable.

He brings his thumb to his mouth, ready to tear into his flesh and disrupt the seal with his blood. It would take very little to get them out of here safely. Lan Zhan has seen enough good things about his life, there’s no need to linger.

No need for him to find out that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t exist during this peaceful time. He knows the man cares about him enough to be upset if he is lost.

Just as he’s about to bite into his thumb, fingers wrap around his wrist tightly.

Wei Wuxian looks up to see Lan Zhan gazing at him with wide, stunned eyes.

```

Wangji accepts what is happening almost immediately after Wei Ying shakes his head. He has always had a more intuitive understanding of spells and talismans. It is rare for Wei Ying to be mistaken in such matters.

So, this is his future. A glimpse of things that will happen a few decades down the line. Wangji is uncertain what to make of it. His ears feel warm as he witnesses the intimacy between partners. There’s enough affection written on his older self’s face to know the relationship is real.

He looks at his… companion. He doesn’t lack beauty. A delicate countenance, inky black hair, and a pleasing form. He looks almost alarmingly similar to Wei Ying, with only small differences. There’s an echo of Wei Ying in his smile and even the way he tosses his head back and laughs reminds Wangji strongly of the man beside him.

Only Wei Ying has never looked at him like that. This man’s face is flushed with passion, lips bitten red by his partner’s kisses. There’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes that makes his breath still in his chest for a moment. It reminds him of the expression Wei Ying wore all those years ago when they ran across the rooftops in Cloud Recesses.

How… is it possible for this man to be so similar?

He glances down at the array, trying to decipher what it seeks to accomplish. Wangji has never seen anything like it but there are enough familiar elements in it to deduce its purpose. It is clearly designed to show them their future, to create a sort of mirror that reflects images of their future life into the past.

Wangji tears his eyes away and turns to Wei Ying, a few questions already forming in his mind.

Wei Ying’s expression arrests him.

Wangji stills, unable to move his gaze away from Wei Ying’s face. There’s something bitter about his grimace and flinty in his eyes. He watches the scene with an almost animal expression, lips pursed in displeasure – furious – Wangji realizes with an indrawn breath.

For a short, heartbreaking moment, he fears it is disapproval, disgust for a cutsleeve relationship.

That impression doesn’t last.

Wei Ying’s hand goes briefly to his chest and something very much like open, raw pain crosses his face, wiping away the anger. The expression… is nothing close to disgust.

It is a short, unguarded moment and it ensnares Wangji completely. His heart races in his chest as several realizations happen in an instant.

Wei Ying is an ever-smiling sprite, mischievous as they come. He rarely shows any true sorrow and Wangji has only seen him show true anger three times over their acquaintance. It is easy to become convinced that nothing can touch the formidable Wei Wuxian. But standing there, looking at Wangji’s future with a bitter expression, Wei Ying seems shattered.

The expression is devastatingly open. In that instant, Wangji has no problem understanding Wei Ying better than he has ever before.

Wei Ying’s expression twists before every inch of vulnerability is gone from his face. It is wiped clean and almost cold, colder than he has ever seen Wei Ying be. He locks his jaw and brings his hand to his mouth, his movements stiff and sharp.

Wangji shoots forward, wrapping his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist. He feels the pulse hammering under his fingers and his own heart races in an echo of it. Wei Ying’s eyes are sharp and defensive, hiding the pain that Wangji had glimpsed clearly before.

In contrast, Wangji feels almost breathless with elation, “Don’t,” he says, pulling Wei Ying’s hand away from his mouth. His hand doesn’t shake but he feels shaken. Wei Ying scowls at him, which is also something he has never done, “Don’t.”

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Ying says curtly, “This isn’t for me to see and we have seen enough. Let go.”

Wangji tightens his fingers, unwilling to let go. He studies Wei Ying’s face carefully, finding it unreadable once again. In fact, Wei Ying is uncharacteristically quiet, not teasing him about his future partner, not commenting on the cutsleeve relationship, not even mentioning his older self’s appearance.

The silence speaks loudly.

'Don't nurture foolish hope,' Wangji thinks to himself but it grows in him anyways. It is strange that a single glimpse of an unguarded emotion is enough to alter Wangji’s perspective so much, but it does and now he isn’t inclined to let the matter go.

“Don’t destroy the array,” He requests, “Something isn’t right.” Wei Ying should be present. The array shouldn’t focus on Wangji’s future only. He doesn’t know who the strange man is but he can’t imagine being with anyone but Wei Ying.

Is his heart so fickle? Can it stray from Wei Ying that easily?

It is unsettling to consider it.

“We can figure it out once we’re away from this illusion,” Wei Ying says, making a visible effort to muster his usual nonchallance but Wangji sees they way his eyes flicker away, looking at the couple in the illusion briefly before glancing down at the array like he can’t stand the sight of it.

“Wei Ying-”

“Aiya, er-gege, what are you doing to your poor Wei Ying?”

Wangji glances sharply at the illusion as Wei Ying stills, his arm going tense in his grasp.

The pair in the illusion are now closer and somehow their conversation is audible. The voice is strange but the cadence and rhythm is entirely Wei Ying, teasing, playful, pleasant.

Wangji’s grip tightens as he sees his future self pull his companion onto his lap, a spare Lan forehead ribbon in his grasp. It has the clan markings, it belongs to a clan member but Wangji’s ribbon is already on his forehead.

He swallows and feels the pulse beating against his fingers speed up as his future self wraps the ribbon around his partner’s forehead.

“Wei Ying must wear it for today’s ceremony,” His older self says and his Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath, his hand going lax in surprise, “Xiongzhang has requested it.”

“Well, if Xichen-ge has requested it, this one must obey,” Wei Ying sounds… happy. And it is Wei Ying. The face is different but the smile, full of mischief and life, is the same.

“What… is this?” His Wei Ying asks, baffled. He looks down to study the array more keenly, trying to determine why the illusion looks different.

Wangji is hearted to see the stiffness of his features melt into curiosity, “Lan Zhan, why would the array alter my appearance and not yours?” He asks, no longer attempting to pull away from Wangji.

The illusion is still playing in the background, showing what will happen several years down the line. But Wangji isn’t curious now. The present is so much more interesting.

Wei Ying is looking at the array, the conversation in the background is cheerful, full of intimacy and affection, the pulse against his fingers is still beating rapidly.

There’s a flush crawling up Wei Ying’s neck.

Wangji observes. He sees the blush crawl further and settle on Wei Ying’s cheeks. He sees teeth digging into soft lips, anxious. He sees eyes flicker towards him, towards the illusion, before moving away.

‘How can I bear it,’ He asks himself and gives in. He pulls the hand in his grasp to his mouth, pressing his lips against the center of Wei Ying’s palm and closing his eyes.

---

Wei Ying fears his heart will fail if this continues. The lively chatter of a couple in love surrounds them and his Lan Zhan is pressing his precious face against Wei Ying’s hand, cool but utterly content. The feel of his petal-soft lips against the rough skin of his palm is enough to drive him to distraction.

He doesn’t know how to react or what to say. He doesn’t want to pull his hand away but there’s a strange, almost unsettling sensation low in his stomach, not unpleasant, but very unfamiliar. Wei Ying has flirted with people before but he has never felt any true attraction towards them.

But the longer he remains inside this array, the more he learns about himself.

Lan Zhan moves, taking a step closer, dipping his lips lower to brush against Wei Ying’s exposed wrist.

His breath trembles as he gasps. The sensation is almost sharp, knife-like. He feels his entire body change and respond to it. He feels his fingers curl, his hair stand on end, and his body lean forward.

There’s a flash of teeth.

“Lan Zhan,” His voice is shamefully raw, everything he feels is written in the tone of it. Lan Zhan reacts immediately and Wei Ying goes, helpless against him. Lips slide over his and a warm, strong body presses close. The kiss is harsh, full of tongue and teeth. Desperate like Lan Zhan has been holding himself back and has finally been granted permission.

Wei Ying sways in place, lightheaded as a tongue slides over his and licks the roof of his mouth. ‘What is this,’ he wonders dazedly. There are strong fingers around his wrist and neck, showing no indication of every letting go. There’s a slight popping sound in his ears and he absently notes that the illusion has dispersed but Lan Zhan doesn’t give him time to think.

He yelps when Lan Zhan moves a hand down his back and grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up in a smooth movement. Next thing he knows, he’s pressed against a rough surface and his lips are captive again. His skin burns wherever Lan Zhan has touched it. His mouth feels raw and hot when they pull apart.

He stares when bright golden eyes look at him, edged with heat that he didn’t think Lan Zhan was capable of feeling.

It takes a moment for him to collect his thoughts under that direct gaze but he manages, his bruised lips curling into a teasing smile, “Er-gege, how shocking!” He leans forward, confident that Lan Zhan won’t drop him, “Look at what you’ve done to your poor Wei Ying!” He lifts the hand Lan Zhan had kept captive, showing off the redness he can feel around his wrist.

Lan Zhan glances at it but there’s no remorse in his expression, not even a hint of apology.

Wei Ying feels a delighted laughter bubble in his chest at this new revelation. The reserved and taciturn Hangjuang-jun is capable of such passion! “My, my, who would have thought you’d take advantage of me like this?” He drapes his hands around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing his lips close to a flushed red ear, “You didn’t even ask, just held me tight and took what you wanted. How bold! How shameless!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice is lined with warning but Wei Ying doesn’t care. He feels utterly safe, utterly content, for the first time in years. What can touch him when he is in Lan Wangji’s arms?

“Is it always going to be like this?” He teases, “Now that you know I am to be yours, probably your husband or will it be wife? Will you kiss me… maybe even fuck me, whenever you wish?”

“Be silent.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, how can I be silent now? You have awakened my curio-” Another fierce, biting kiss interrupts him and Wei Ying laughs, delighting in Lan Zhan’s eagerness. Everything fades, all serious and practical considerations hold no meaning. Later, when he is alone in his tent, he will think about how unreachable this dream is, but now he is happy to submit to Lan Zhan.

---

War progresses as it must. Wei Ying continues to remain on his cultivation path but his touch is a bit gentler now. He isn’t as ruthless as he used to be.

It takes effort and patience. It takes many bitten back reprimands and angry words. It takes months and months of careful questioning before Lan Wangji understands the incredible, breathtaking sacrifices his beloved has made. Not even Wei Ying can stop him from seeking out Wen Qing and asking for her assistance. Not even his brother can stop him from offering shelter to her family in exchange. Not even Jiang Wanyin’s bitterness can stop Wangji from protecting Wei Ying.

He does what he must because he understands. That Wei Wuxian, the one from the array, had endured terrible strife. More strife than Wangji can ever allow his Wei Ying to suffer.

Wei Ying will survive and thrive.

Wangji will make sure of it.

#short prompts #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #canon divergance #fix-it

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hanatiny · 3 years

Text

Bow To Your King

gif made by @/wooyoungs~

a/n: so uhh, I don’t know how to a) keep a schedule and b) contain myself... but I happened to be inspired by @galaxteez, so enjoy :)))

pairing: demon king!Hongjoong x f!reader

genre: smut

word count: 1952

warnings: sir kink, choking, marking/biting, exhibitionism, oral (m receiving), corruption kink, hair pulling, a lil bit of thigh riding, (vaguely?) implied breeding kink, implied minor oral fixation, strongly implied voyeurism, lots of praise and pet names, but also Joong is rough 😳

-----

If the you from a year ago knew what you were up to now, she’d laugh at you - and she’d have every right to. After all, somehow getting mixed up in underworld business and ending up as the demon king’s “prized possession” was certainly neither on your list of things to do in life, nor particularly believable.

No matter the circumstance he did love you to bits though, and he made sure you knew by whatever means he had.

But alas, here you were.

Kneeling on the ice-cold stone floor in front of Hongjoong’s throne, not obscured by anything in any way as you held his throbbing hard length in your warm mouth.

He gazed down at you, his eyes shining a bright red with desire while his hand tangled in your hair and you moved your head at a steady rhythm.

Neither of you paid any mind to your surroundings, lost in your mutual delight of each other as he let out soft moans of praise and your mind grew hazy.

"Ahh, you're taking me so well in your wet mouth baby...~ I'm gonna-"

He cut himself off and paused the bucking of his hips suddenly, forcibly stilling you with a tight grip on your hair as you whined in both confusion and frustration around his twitching cock.

Frustrated from having been denied the feeling of his hot cum sliding down your throat, confused because you missed the sound of the large door to the throne room creaking open just moments ago, so you didn’t understand why he stopped so abruptly.

You glanced up at your lover with teary eyes, his own furious ones focused on whoever seemed to have so rudely disrupted your moment of intimacy.

"I-I apologize for intruding sire, I didn't know... I just wanted to ask if-"

"If what, Seonghwa? If Y/n would sleep with you too, huh? Is that it?" Hongjoong interrupted the man in question with a snarl, glowering at him as his cheeks flushed crimson in response and he nodded sheepishly.

Hongjoong clicked his tongue loudly, "Fool! I suspect the other court members feel the same?" He left Seonghwa no time to collect his thoughts, already aware of the truth, "Bring them here, I want all of you to see how a king treats his princess."

You squirmed at his feet from the commanding yet eerily calm tone of his voice and the lack of hesitation in it, seeing no reason whatsoever to object while he carefully pulled you back up to your feet and onto his lap to straddle him, a sharp contrast to his previous treatment of Seonghwa, the poor guy nearly stumbling over his own two feet as he hurried to find the other six men as requested.

Despite his dark and rough exterior Hongjoong was mostly a soft and tender lover, to your initial surprise.

Only this time around, you had a feeling he wasn't going to be gentle.

Yet you didn’t mind in the slightest - on the contrary, you secretly loved whenever he treated you with a sense of possessive, inhumane ownership in bed. Everytime he did, you felt a little bit of your innocence slipping away, arousal already growing within you at the thought.

Hongjoong cooed quietly, breaking you out of your reverie, silently asking you if you were truly okay with what he was planning to do as he tenderly carressed your cheek. You nodded immediately, a smile growing on your face and your heart skipping a beat at his thoughtfulness while you leaned into his touch.

It was one of the many things you loved about him, you mused, how he'd sometimes show his care through the little things. You didn’t know you needed that in a person until you met him.

"You look like you're daydreaming again, darling. Are you sure you're alright~?"

You blushed as Hongjoong teased you, choosing to grasp his dark messy tresses in your hands and press your lips against his heatedly, prompting the immediate reaction of a pleased hum sounding in his throat and his hands gripping your waist tightly before he eventually broke off the contact.

Your pupils were blown wide with lust as you panted softly and blinked at him, seeing the way he was licking his lips before they shifted into a wicked predatory smirk, "Getting eager, hm? Really wanna show off how good you are for me, don't you princess~?"

His eyes flashed red again, darkness simultaneously coloring them as he gave you the simple command of "Strip," and left you speechless in the process while you scrambled to climb off of his lap obediently and do as told, the promise of your lover's rough treatment fueling your actions.

Hongjoong watched you with satisfaction and amusement both glimmering in his dark gaze as he thought back to how he had to convince you to let him kiss you just a few months ago, and by now you stripped at a mere snap of his fingers.

He had you putty in his hands and he positively adored this level of control he had over you when it came to the sexual aspects of your relationship.

You observed Hongjoong as he curled his finger in a 'come hither' motion, shocked by how casual he appeared as he did so - if you didn't know any better, you'd be saying he was about to meet with his advisors - and you climbed back onto him.

Your already dripping heat pressed against his thigh while you gasped and grinded against him briefly before he made you still as he flexed it beneath you, "Sir, w-what are you doing..?"

"What does it feel like hm~? I'm just making sure my beautiful princess is ready for what's to come~" He purred seductively, forcing your core to rub against his thigh more with his hands on your hips as his cock twitched slightly at how visible your enjoyment was.

"And I believe that you are~" In a swift and skilled motion, almost as if practiced, Hongjoong turned you around to face the wide throne room instead of himself and promptly impaled you on his dick.

A loud and whiny moan left you while he nipped lightly on your earlobe, "As much as I love seeing your beautiful angelic face contort in pleasure whenever I take you, I believe I should indulge them too... just this once~"

His tone was sultry and, combined with him stretching you so deliciously, instinctively made you screw your eyes shut upon realizing you once again, in your dazed state of mind, hadn't heard the door opening for the seven men now staring at the scene before them with their eyes wide and mouths agape, a few of them even sporting noticeable bulges in their pants already.

"Princess... Sir thought his instructions were clear." Hongjoong growled lowly near your ear, a hand wrapping around and applying pressure to your throat, coaxing a strained cry to fall from your lips while your eyes flew open again.

"I-I'm sorry, you were more than crystal clear..." You choked out in a mewl, refusing to meet anyone's gaze directly as his hips remained unmoving and the thumb of his free hand traced featherlight circles on your thigh.

You shuddered slightly on top of him as he gave an experimental thrusts upwards into you, his hand squeezing your throat with precisely the right amount of force behind the action when you moaned quietly. "Good girl...~ Why don't you let them hear how good you are too, hm?"

"Y-yes sir..~ ah!" You squealed in surprise as you felt Hongjoong's lips suddenly latching onto the soft skin of your neck, locating your sweet spot almost immediately.

Highly pleased, he hummed and made a point of locking eyes with each present member of his court, his own orbs continuing to flicker a passionate red, while he sank his teeth into the sensitive spot near your collarbone.

It felt different, more intense than the normal hickeys he had given you plenty of before now. It throbbed lightly when he lathed his tongue over the newly formed bruise that practically burned itself into your skin, and you realized it'd be permanent.

He smirked against your skin when you cried out in both pain and pleasure and the other men's eyes went wide in surprise.

He was giving you the demon mark.

Your walls clenched involuntarily around his length as you whined from the sensation on your neck.

You were his queen in all but official title now.

Hongjoong pulled away with a low hiss, pulling your body back and flush against his with the hand still wrapped tightly around your throat while careful to not cut your airflow off entirely, "Shit... seems like you really enjoy that huh? Sir is all too happy to oblige, babygirl~"

It was when he started roughly snapping his hips into you that you reached your breaking point, eyes rolling back into your head as it lolled forward from the amount of pleasure flooding your system while you whimpered pitifully loudly.

"Feels good when sir uses you, doesn't it? You're so beautifully snug around me, looking all fucked out already...~ But I believe I didn't allow this, doll." Your lover whispered threateningly, his free hand snaking up your bare back before grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking on it harshly, causing you to throw your head back with the most erotic moan yet while he showed no signs of letting go.

You mindlessly babbled out a breathy apology as he twitched within you and proceeded to decorate your neck with heated kisses and small love bites, "Ah, I'm-I'm sorry sir, princess just feels so good thanks t-to you~!"

"Queen," he corrected softly, only for you to hear before he grins sadistically with a strained groan, "if you keep tightening around me like that I'll have no choice but to cum already... Though you'll be good and take all of sir's load as you always do, I'm sure~"

You keened at the thought, body arching and presenting itself to your 'guests' when Hongjoong's hand around your throat let up in favor of dipping downwards to pinch and rub circles on your clit in time with his harsh thrusts.

"I knew it, you're just my precious, good little girl...~" He cooed while you gasped for air as he pressed his tip harder into the bundle of nerves that formed your sweet spot.

You finally couldn't take it any longer, your body convulsing above that of the demon sitting beneath you as he continued to fuck into you roughly before he stilled and released deep inside of you before wrapping his arms around your still shaking form to help you come down from your high, “Shh... I’ve got you, babydoll.”

You gave a soft hum filled with adoration in response as your lover’s attention switched over to the seven other men in the room, who you had admittedly almost forgotten were there, and your gaze followed his.

Although, now that you were a little more level-headed and not as deep in the throes of bliss as you had been before you could clearly see the stunned silence in their faces and the effect your impromptu show had on them in both their eyes and the tents in their pants, which they desperately tried to hide by means of their large coats - a futile endeavor.

A satisfied and proud grin spread across your features when Hongjoong addressed his court, a flicker of amusement visible in his eyes.

"Now, before you all leave... Bow to your king and queen. As weak in the knees as you are, that shouldn't pose much of a challenge~"

------

Taglist:

@nightqueennyx @truebluejoong @yunhoes-twancings-nsfw @yunhoiseyecandy

#ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong smut #hanatiny writes

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sor-vette · 3 years

Text

Chapter Ten | Through the Great Expanse

At the turn of a new leaf, you find yourself dancing along the knife’s edge. To keep yourself from falling over, you must ask three questions: what do they have, what do they hold dear and how far will they go to make you stay with them?

▶ w/c: 5.0k

▶ warnings: mention of dying, injury and armed conflict, description of a corpse and mutilation, self-harming behaviour

▶ this series’ masterlist

▶ other works

The windshield wipers rhythmically bounce from one corner of the window to another, straining against the unexpected onslaught of the heavy rainfall. It is 5:30 in the morning. Still dark outside. Many cars have passed by but as you stray further away from the city, their count becomes smaller and smaller until the only thing running on the long road is Jane’s old sedan.

It is quiet in the salon. Save for a few “turn here” or “turn there” Jane had not spoken a word. Instead, she peers outside the window, fingers ever so often stopping at her throat. You don’t ask anymore and don’t think what were they doing right now - you put all your focus on the road, mile by intrepid mile, you follow its run.

In the befallen silence, the sudden radio noise is only more startling. It turns on by itself, stations changing rapidly, together creating a jumpy, frightening cadence. Through it comes a garbled but unmistakable voice. Yoongi’s voice.

“Come back,” it says, interrupted by the static.

“Come,” static, “back”. Static.

“We can explain.”

Neither you nor Jane dare to speak a word. You focus on the road ahead, fearing that if you stop they would simply appear. You push your foot into the gas pedal. Unsatisfied with the lack of response, the tone drops and the piercing shriek of the rapidly changing stations becomes so unbearable, Jane has to cover her ears.

“We’re coming to get you,” it says calmly. Not a threat. Not a promise. A fact. You reach for the emergency hammer that Jane had tossed as a weapon in the backseat. Unceremoniously you smash it into the radio. Again and again. And then again.

The car is silent once more.

Bo - Young stood frozen on the spot, in front of them. Their faces were largely obscured by the darkness but she was not spared of the frightful awareness of their glares for their amber eyes glinted scornfully in the dark, pinning her down with contempt.

“You, somehow, somehow, managed to miss an entire person sneaking in and out of this house? Out of her room, Bo - Young?” Hoseok spoke, voice impassive. Cold sweat broke out on Bo - Young’s forehead but she let it drip down, unable to move.

“I’m so sorry, I failed you,” she repeated meekly.

“Hobi, there’s no use, clearly she knows nothing,” Jimin argued, also calm but his enunciation on the last word served to underline her uselessness not the kindness of his interference.

“Bo - Young, do you know what’s good for you?” asked Taehyung, sneering at her shivering form.

“I will check every CCTV, every phone call, every bank statement and I’ll report to you with utmost urgency, should I find anything.” Bo - Young uttered, dropping into a deep bow.

“Well, at least you know that.”

Even after they left, she did not straighten, her shoulders still shaking.

Hours had already passed and Yoongi had grown increasingly restless along with them. He stared into the darkened parking station and focused on the only person there, his fingers thumbing at the stereo station. The old lady, in charge of the security, jumped in fright when the soft flow of her melancholic ballad was interrupted by sharp static and Yoongi’s voice came through. Briefly, he thought of how pathetic he must look, pleading with air like this, but he didn’t care. He wanted you back and was willing to go to lengths he himself found questionable. Had he not been in such torment, he would perhaps find some small amusement in how the old lady yelled:

“Hell no!” and proceeded to kick the radio off her desk, before swiftly taking off, declaring she wouldn’t be dealing with ghosts not today, not tomorrow, thank you very much.

“Wise,” Yoongi thought.

Taehyung opened the doors to the backseat, throwing towards Yoongi heavy pouches full of powder and crystal. Hoseok climbed into the driver’s seat, jaw clenched and in his lap there sat a myriad of herbs, the majority of which - dried mugwort. Flinching in disgust, Hoseok threw it in his mouth, chewing and repeatedly hitting the steering wheel to somehow cope with the bitter taste.

“Mugwort, really?” asked Yoongi blandly, absently wondering where did the old lady go.

“They didn’t have anise seeds. Here, burn this,” Taehyung poked at a small, purple pouch. Out of it poured a fragrant aroma - the blasted Cretan dittany.

“The whole car will smell.”

No one was graceful enough to reply.

“Aren’t you going to take something?” Hobi asked, grimacing and sniffling at the flavour, outstretching a piece of mugwort in Taehyung’s direction. He only scoffed in response.

“And do what? Manipulate the earth? I’m useless at these kinds of things,” he then crossed his arms and sulked, looking away from the front lines.

“Are you sure you remember the spell correctly?” Yoongi questioned, trying not to gag as dittany began to mix with sandalwood, spouting heavy smoke in all directions.

“Of course not! Need I remind you that Namjoon is the expert, but who knows what he is thinking or doing right now,” he spoke with some heat before trailing off into melancholy, “what any of us is thinking right now…”

“I think that this is as good as we can do,” Jane says, stepping back and observing the hidden car. You had driven into a bush and for the last fifteen minutes diligently coated it with branches and leaves. The grey rear of it was still poking through the wilted greenery but it was not noticeable until closer inspection.

You take a look around. A no man’s land. Everywhere your eye goes it is nothing but plains of shaggy yellow grasslands, void of houses and life. Although the road underneath your feet is paved, it had been more than three hours when you saw the last car whiz past, in the opposite direction. Soon, if Jane was right, you’d be swerving ever more away, into the plains, then across patched forests before climbing up into the mountains. It would be no less than six days of solid walking but Jane insisted there was no other way. Her new Coven was hidden deep in rural, uninhibited mountains and the only way to them is a gruelling, long hike.

In her hands, Jane holds Namjoon’s blue pen, scowling and frowning at it, as if it’s a rotten cat carcass. This was, as you understood, your protection. The driving gear of the shielding spell that she cast already one step into the car. She holds it some distance away and after reaching into her oversized jacket pocket, throws some dark ash at it. There’s no glimmer, explosion or sign of any kind. She just stares at it with narrowed eyes before nodding to herself and moving, satisfied, away. You sigh heavily, looking up at the grey cloud skies. They reveal nothing so you trudge along.

The feeling is claustrophobic. In the city, it is narrow - narrow side streets, narrow paths in between the rustling crowd of the morning workforce, but your eyes always looked up, to the skyscrapers that stretched so high, to the passing planes, wondering where people went, what sights they saw looking back down on the world. Out here in the wilderness, there was nothing but yourself and Jane. The landmass - vast and seeming unending, repeating the same pattern and colour palette over and over again. In time you can’t recall whether this mound was a new one, a new checkmark, or the same one that you supposedly passed hours ago. The skies press down on you, the clouds so low that it feels as if you only had to stretch, just a little bit and you’d feel the moist raindrops on the tips of your fingers. The sun never shows its face so you are unable to tell when morning turned to day, day to afternoon or that into an early evening. It’s just the never-ending mute walking, accompanied by wind running through the grass and the cedar box rattling ever so slightly in the confines of your backpack.

Your very own Golgotha.

Namjoon closed the red book and put it back into its place, staring fearfully at the empty safe. Empty. Gone. Gone with you. Into obscurity.

No way you would know that much to guess what it was. And if you did what would you do?

His fear was briefly interrupted by loud screaming in the background where Jungkook and Jimin had been fighting already for half an hour. Namjoon looked back at the empty cabinet and felt the sharp, clammy touch of fear seize his heart into an iron grip. He reached out his fingers as if to grasp at what was no longer there, to protect it from fraudulent, malicious hands but when he realized what he was doing, he let it go. To Namjoon, more and more it seemed like some other forces were at work. It was not Jane who had the capability to do all of this, she was too young and too experienced. You were now swimming against the current but Namjoon dreaded that it might be because someone had thrown a hook in your lip and was fishing you towards an unknown end. Might be fishing them all in.

He took another glance at the open backdoor and with a click of his tongue, closed the wall of the cabinet, sealing away the emptiness. There was a rather large possibility that they wouldn’t see you for quite a while and such your fate would ultimately rest entirely in your own hands. And while he was immensely worried, so worried Namjoon thought he could only be capable of crumbling underneath the dark mountain of debilitating terror, he found in himself a side so uncharacteristic of what he knew before, it was almost entirely foreign.

Faith.

Maybe, the best thing one could do sometimes for their lovers was to give the benefit of the doubt.

Jin knocked twice on the open door, on his shoulders, there was a backpack and he was dressed for long travel. He was smiling softly.

“Why are you happy?” asked Namjoon incredulously. Jin shrugged in response.

“I’m an optimist sweetie and an optimist doesn’t wait on facts. They deal with prospects.”

“Fitzgerald?”

“Pinterest. Top 10 motivational quotes on how to be the best businesswoman you can possibly be.”

Namjoon cracked a small smile and Jin only glowed brighter.

“There, you see! One part of my goal is already achieved,” saying so he lightly poked Namjoon’s dimple.

“Well, who wouldn’t smile at such a handsome face like yours.”

It is beginning to dusk, you surmise, observing now much dimmer surroundings. Jane was still dawdling along, quite a bit away, running around with her compass and what couldn’t be described as anything else than a thin wooden rod. At times she would run up on a nearby hill, then run down and back, then spin 360 and then stop entirely. You had no doubts left at all - she hadn’t the slightest clue where you were going. You sigh heavily and then freeze. Goosebumps. Sharp fear trickles throughout you, curling your body into ice. You are being watched. It is only when you open your mouth to yell that you register the quick footsteps, dashing through the grass. Running. Towards you. You yell some indescribable scream of warning and see Jane turn around, gasping in shock. As you turn around you feel a hard smack on the top of your head.

“What do you mean “no”?” echoed Jimin, stunned still in pure disbelief.

“Do you want me to say it in other languages? Nein, 아니요, нет,” Jungkook threw tersely across his shoulder, where Jimin was trying to catch up to him.

“Yes, we all speak different languages, asshole. What does it mean you won’t look for her?”

“It means what it means,” Jungkook declared, grasping at the doorknob of his bedroom door, it waned underneath his pressure. “If she wants to be so independent, she can independently get herself killed.” As he slammed it shut, he saw Jimin’s frozen, stupidly horrified expression.

“Jungkook, you’re going to regret this,” he heard through the door.

“These motherfuckers are far too cheerful,” you grumble to yourself, squirming and fighting against the restraints. When you came to it, you had a mouthful of wet, muddy leaves sitting on your tongue and the smell of dirt permanently imprinted in your nostrils. They laugh among themselves and in between their joyful, annoying fucking giggles, a fire cosily cracks on the wood.

“They might be awake,” a voice calls. The voice of a happy, smiling woman. You tense up as you hear someone approach, yanking you up, with some care, you begrudgingly have to admit and takes the blindfold off your eyes. So you do the most logical, peacekeeping and thoughtful thing one could do in a situation like this - you bite the hand.

The man screams and begins to slap at your head, so as to get to release him but you cling tight, wondering if you’d keep your teeth in there any longer, would the flesh break? Would you actually bite a chunk of his palm?

“Friend,” he squeals, “We are friends! We’re not trying to hurt you!”

Warily and because you realize how disgusting it would be to have someone’s torn flesh in your mouth, you release him. The stranger stumbles backwards, nearly putting his whole ass into flame, jumping up and down in pain. You have to verbally promise ten times not to bite anymore before they move closer to untie your roped hands. The man you’d bitten glares and murmurs something about giving a blood oath.

“Your audacious guide is still asleep, I’m afraid,” the woman laughs and points at Jane’s unconscious figure. You make a whole ruckus about her being untied and removed from the soggy forest floor and they oblige. Anything to get you to shut up.

You look them over. They don’t look dangerous. A bit unusual, but not dangerous. They are wearing free-flowing floral prints, with brown leather jewellery and largely long braided hair. The woman who addressed you earlier, has red-tinted circular glasses, her curls flowing like a halo around her head. Amidst the darkness of the forest, she seems so happy that you wonder how she is not shimmering yet. Their small club seems to naturally gravitate towards her, as one did towards their leader.

You straighten your back, approaching the fire.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Gabriella, that is Monique, that is Isabel, Marsha and Raul and the one you bit is Ken,” the man still nursing his hand waves at you. They all do, some friendlier, some more on guard. Marsha leans towards you, nearly setting her scarf on fire had Raul not pulled her away.

“Say, you look a lot less intimidating than I thought you would be,” she whistles.

You throw a stray glance around their campsite. In the fire there sits a pot, a pot of some stew you imagine. Jane now slept in the beige van and around their neat campsite you see an array of glinting stones. As you turn around you notice how they all create a circle.

“What do you want of us?” you ask, straining your voice to be both respectful and demanding, something that you’ll have to train for if you want to somehow convince the Coven’s army to not go guns out on your boys. Thinking of them carves a blistering pain in your chest, but you ignore it.

“Oh, I don’t want anything of you!” Gabriella smiles again, but the more you look, the more you can’t decide whether it’s amused or patronizing.

“We were just driving by and saw you two wandering around. Quite foolish to be on an open field with Rhogyerya coming after you.”

You freeze at the guttural sound, it was so rough sounding and so out of the usual flow of the language that momentarily it stuns you. Until you remember what it means. You let out a high pitched, nervous laugh.

“What the fuck.”

Jungkook sat in silence. The only one left in the house as everyone else parted their various ways in search of you. Even Bo - Young was doing...something. He never knew exactly what she was doing but it was...something. His eyes were closed as he rhythmically smacked the back of his head against the wooden door. Suddenly a picture of your dead body, eyes wide unseeing, mouth open and full of dirt, popped into his mind. Jungkook smacked his head against the door so hard his vision grew dark but the picture of you did not disappear.

“You’re going to regret this,” rang in his ears as he folded his knees up, hiding. Grasping at his hair crudely so that the pain overshadows his mind.

“You’re going to regret this.”

The image became so clear that it almost felt like it was right in front of him. Your face was scarred, a thin line, like a sword gash stretching your features into a grimace. The veins of your hands split open and your throat cut. You had choked on your own blood. Dead. Alone. Abandoned.

He began to rock back and forth, hysteric sobs escaping his mouth.

“Stop crying,” he pushed the flats of his palms against his eyes, “ju- just stop - stop crying.”

The picture of you was replaced by his real memory. As you stood, shielding Jane and asking with eyes full of emotion he could not discern, would he be the bad guy. The bad monster that would lock you up, the dragon that would guard your tower so you couldn’t escape. Yes, he would. And he felt so wretched for it. Like some sort of an ugly thing, crawling and begging for love. But he couldn’t understand, try as he might, he couldn’t understand why you continuously refused them. They feared it was only Taehyung’s brief use of his powers that lulled you into staying for so long. During which he and everyone else, day after day promised you the world. They would gift you the entire sky, they would give you everything you could possibly want if only you stayed and they at long last would be the intended whole.

When it was his time, so long ago and yet not as long as the rest of them, he was dying. Dying and breathing his last, on a muddy battlefield, a meaningless casualty on the frontlines of a brewing war. Everywhere around there was only guts and horror and he thought the world had come to its appalling end. When a god or a saint had climbed from the sky and shushed him and relieved his pain he thought he was spared. Was granted some divine hand of mercy to take him into the afterlife. Only he didn't die, he lived and then he lived longer than he thought it was possible.

His saint was introduced as Taehyung, next to him stood their leader - Namjoon. And ever since then Jungkook had not let a single spark in his eyes dim at their sight. He had fallen headfirst, without shame, for all of them and had not regretted it for a moment. Even as he had to leave his family behind, watch his line grow old and in the end die out as his remaining aunt passed on and had no children. He buried them all with respect and grief but lived on, his heavy burden softened by the presence of his soulmates. For it was what they all were.

And the witches called them monsters, but he scoffed at their words. They were saints. They didn’t strike without need, only when threatened and they took little of the world, considering how much they could. He never felt bad about what he did, until yesterday when you looked at him and asked whether he was capable of being a monster.

Was that what they were?

He couldn’t find it in his heart to hate you, but he did hate your words. All the same, when he thought of you, he only saw your slightly annoyed, indulging smile as he vyed for your attention. Your hands gently stroking his hair and the distant, thinking eyes that already seemed much older.

They worried and they all suspected that you had somehow managed to gain your own resemblance of power, through the small exposure of Hoseok’s blood. While rare it was not unheard of. Taehyung had shown signs of persuasion long before they met, or so he insisted. Jungkook recalled his mother calling him lucky all his life and only now he understood it was not luck at all. He could project tactile illusions, yes, an ability he was fond of and eagerly trained for but his greatest skill lay in foresight. Extrasensory perception Namjoon called it. They had supposed that you were slowly coming into a similar sort. But Jungkook feared it was too slow, and you were walking unknowingly right into death.

He clenched his fists and stood up, clawing angrily at his reddened, wet eyes. He had the whole eternity to be mad at you, to prove to you he was not a monster and if he was then you were one as well, but he couldn’t do that if you were gone. Then he would have to cut his eternity short and go with you into the lands that no one, not even Namjoon, knew of.

He packed his bags quickly and reared his car with a loud echoing noise in the dead of the night.

When Jane climbs out of the van, her face is engraved with sleep lines, hair mushed and eyes uncertain. You make eye contact with her as she takes in the surroundings. An evergreen forest and a circle of strangers, swapping stories and joyously chatting among themselves in front of a crackling fire. She looks at you and you grimace as if to say “yeah, I don’t know”.

“Oh, hello, newbie,” Gabriella calls out and Jane jumps nearly twenty feet into the air from the fright.

“Was it your bright idea to go through the grassland?” Jane muttered, yes, it had been and they all snicker, mostly in good nature.

“Sit down, we mean you no harm.”

As Jane sits down, clinging to your side, you explain everything that you managed to navigate through with these people.

They were part of a Coven, not even remotely connected to Jane’s. Having heard of the Rhogyerya’s arrival to this country, they were restless, when they heard rumours of the seven finding the eighth they were fearful and now when, in their own words Rhogyerya had been raising hell, they were leaving this corner of the world.

“So, you guys are not part of the...army?” You had asked and Gabriella had pinned you down with those indecipherable, brown eyes.

“No,” she replied lightly, “do we look like the fighting sort? We are peaceful people and are not interested in yet another stupid measuring contest.” It was then that you found out that witches were not actually some single-minded hive of community. Having heard Jane’s story you had naively presumed that it was a sort of “one vs all” type of conflict. But it wasn’t. Some witches did not even know of their existence, the majority knew and didn’t care. They kept to their path, Rhogyerya kept to their own and there was no need for useless bloodshed. It was only just a small portion, a handful really as Raul insisted, that foolishly picked a fight. You let their words soothe your anxiety for just a little bit. Apparently, the so-called army was less of that and more of a dozen disgruntled waywards.

“Where are we?” Jane asks, glancing fretfully at the swaying evergreen trees, that seemed darker in the light of the fire.

“40 miles westward,” Isabella replies, who was the only one to sit quiet for the entire evening, “in the forest near the valley that leads to the Red Point.”

Red Point is where you both were heading and was the unofficial name of the brewing opposition camp.

“40 MILES?” Jane shouts, rising up to her feet from the shock. You quickly tug her down.

“THAT IS WHOLE TWO DAYS MORE TO WALK!”

Isabelle shrugs to indicate that this is not her problem. Jane huffs and puffs but after eating the generously offered bowls of stew she grows lenient and listens vigorously as Marsha in particular explains what kind of witchcraft they were practising. You lean back, eating little so as to not offend these people even more. Through the flame, as you glance up you meet Gabriella’s gaze. She looks up and down as if sizing you and after a brief examination nods to herself. She doesn’t reveal her findings and you decide not to ask.

Rather, you scroll through the news on Ken’s satellite phone. Weird disturbances were on the rise. You watch a broadcast of an elderly woman, who explains how she heard voices through her radio while covering the night shift at a parking station lookout. This is corroborated by countless stores, that had to shut down the mall speakers because every couple of hours they would have static and disembodied whispers scaring the living daylights out of customers. Podcasts had skyrocketed and every single ghost hunter and conspiracy theorist were banking their golden tickets at the show. You violently shiver when in the broadcast you can hear Yoongi’s voice through the speakers.

“Come back. Stop being stupid,” he says.

In another small family store, he’d lost his temper completely, harshly exclaiming:

“You stupid woman, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

The speakers then exploded and the store owner was now a devout believer of the Lord.

The newspaper articles don’t cease. A mysterious attack on a car that left five injured, one dead and one severely traumatized, muttering frantically about a black-clad man with long, curly hair laying wreck on the damn thing in search of something. A peculiar break-in at a local mystics shop. They had been technically robbed though the thief left the money for the taken goods, even extra, along with a strange note.

“So sorry for the break-in! I was running low and you were not open at the time. I didn’t take anything else! Promise. P.S. I fed your cat. She is very cute ♡”

You couldn’t help but chortle fondly at the antics, reading about a city mayor coming home only to find not his mistress in the bed but two broad-shouldered men.

As was his statement, those men had tied him to a chair and gagged him, and strangely apologized. After they were done sleeping and eating a hearty breakfast, they paid him handsomely, stuffing large amounts of greenback in his front pocket. While he was still gagged, of course.

“He complained about my towels!” The Mayor yells into a camera, eyes bugging out, as his secretary tries to desperately get the balding man off the stage.

“My towels! He said he acknowledged that some people were not wealthy but surely this was no excuse for such cheap material. He insisted I pay him for possibly damaging his beautiful face! What kind of criminal does this?”

You laugh quietly along but it’s interrupted by an unearthly sound.

Piercing and menacing it travels through the air, putting a sudden stop to all conversation around the campfire. As the group freezes, gazing in horror at the darkness of surrounding fields, you see the rings on Gabriella’s hands' flicker as she reaches for something in her pocket. A long drawn out wail carried swiftly by the wind circles all around, like a terrifying cry of some lonely, heartbroken creature. It rises and falls in volume and you just begin to take in a breath when it is answered. Clear and so near to the side that Jane scrambles on top of you in fright. Its chilling wail ends on a pronounced, grating note and then there is only silence.

“Was - w-was that a - a Shriek?” she asks, stuttering and shaking like a leaf. Gabriella is no longer smiling and wherever you look, grim faces look back.

“Yes,” she answers solemnly, one hand still in the pocket though she doesn’t take whatever she’s grasping out. “That’s how we knew you two were who you were. They have been wandering these paths for two days now.”

“What is a Shriek?” you inquire quietly, still trying to see through the dense forest. To no avail. Jane grips your forearm and you, echoing her movement, begin to shiver too.

“A Shriek is a poltergeist, said to be a detached apparition of a soul,” she explains in a whisper.

“Yeah, they're looking for something,” Marsha mumbles, poking at the crumbling wood. It is nearly all turned to ash and you find that the campsite has grown much darker and much more sombre. No one has the idea to laugh again.

“Three guesses as to who,” Raul adds, casting a stern gaze down your way. You keep your face blank, not denying but also not apologizing.

After a while, Gabriella speaks up.

“You should go to sleep now. We will move out at sunrise.”

She pulls out her hand from the pocket but her eyes are once again upon you, this time, without doubt, with some shade of judgment.

“At night avoid sleeping on the ground. Without a protection ring, it’ll be easier for Shrieks to find you. That’s of course," she narrows you down, "if you don’t want to be found.”

previous ↔ next

Trivia:

Mugwort - Burned together with sandalwood or wormwood, is often used during scrying rituals [from Cunningham's Encylopedia of Magical Herbs]

Cretan Dittany - Dittany, when burned, is an excellent base for manifestations of spirits; the wraiths appear in the smoke rising from the censer [same place]

The event that Jungkook is remembering is the Battle of Ganghwa - an attack on the Joseon dynasty by the United States in 1871

A rundown of the powers mentioned throughout:

Yoongi - fire summoning, heightened sense of smell and sound manipulation

Taehyung - will bending/persuasion (the object unknowingly does as what he wants them to do)

Jimin - manipulation (can make people themselves want to do something)

Hoseok - light manipulation and emission, life force manipulation (together with Yoongi they create Shrieks, he provides its 'spirit' and Yoongi - the scream)

Namjoon - eldritch magic

Jungkook - tactile projection casting and extrasensory foresight

Reader - n/a

Jin - n/a

Tag list:

@mayla548; @singukieee; @themasterbob; @ot7nem; @ilsan-seoul; @ithtefani; @meowsimpson; @littlrmills14-blog; @gingerspicetalks; @fixation-or-psychosis; @needyomnivore; @chimincubus

So how do you all feel about this update? Do you like the world-building in this fic? What do you think the boys will do? Is there something that seems unclear or poorly explained? Let me know!

Happy reading!

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 years

Text

Alt S4 - Lena & Red Daughter

Red Daughter has no strength to fight as they press her into Alex's- no... Lex's machine. When the strap tightens around her chest, pinning her in place, she wishes it would continue to squeeze, compressing her ribs and lungs until there was nothing left of her.

Lex deceived her.

Lex... despised her.

All she knew is no longer real, and without her nation, her Alex, her purpose... she has no reason to exist.

She is not the antithesis to Supergirl's facetious hero.

She is not the true hero to save America from its own folly.

She is nothing.

Soon, that much will be true.

Through her tears she hears a door slam, and sees the blurry shape of Otis Graves approaching with a body slung across his shoulders. He slips the boneless figure to the concrete floor without ceremony, rolling his shoulders in ignorance of the moan pulled from his roughly handled cargo.

"You really did a number on her, boss," Otis remarks, nudging his prisoner with the toe of his boot. "Your own sister, too."

Lena?

Red Daughter blinks, and the cloud of her despair parts long enough for her to recognize the limp form below her, bruised features and all.

"Lena," she breathes. Her gaze snaps to Lex. "You can't!"

"The tin soldier has a heart after all," her mentor delivers coldly. "How quaint."

"Do what you want with me! You may hate Kryptonians, but Lena is your family--!"

"Family who laid in wait to kill me! Would have worked too, if not for your... gifts." He clenches his fist, and his veins pulse faintly purple through his skin.

A faint moan issues from Lena, fighting to return to consciousness. Before she can so much as pry open her heavy eyelids, Lex snaps his fingers and gestures sharply to the empty canister beside Red Daughter.

"Load her in."

Otis grabs Lena by the throat and drags her towards the machine. For the first time, Red Daughter starts to struggle.

"Let her go! Alex, please--!"

"My name. Is not. ALEX!!" His fist slams into the console, denting the steel panel with the force of it.

He turns towards her, and the hatred in his gaze saps what little strength Red Daughter has reclaimed.

"We are not family, kryptonian. You're not even a person. You're an echo who has outlived her purpose. My sister," he says, glancing to where Otis is latching the constrictive strap across Lena's chest, "she was family."

"Has she outlived her purpose too?"

Lex's gaze cools into something almost akin to affection.

"No," he says calmly. "But I won't risk her fulfilling hers."

What that means, he doesn't deign to explain to his false daughter. He turns back to his work, and Otis retreats to linger behind him, now idle and bored.

Red Daughter turns her attention to Lena, and finds the object of so many weeks' fascination studying her with eyes just shy of focused.

"Sup'rgirl?"

The name slurs on Lena's lips, but jolts Red Daughter to the core. She hesitates, and in the moment of silence that follows Lena's brain fills in the pieces.

"Oh," comes the sigh, strained by bruised ribs. "You're her."

Red Daughter hears accusation in the words, though Lena's brow furrows only in confusion. "Can't you just... vwoosh?"

The childlike sound would almost bring tears to Red Daughter's eyes, but she is empty of those too.

"I do not have my powers."

"Solar flare," Lena murmurs, blinking into greater clarity. Her gaze focuses on Red Daughter anew, and something new sparks in a chest thought empty. "It's okay. We just have to hold out."

"Hold out...?" Hold out what? Their hands are trapped, and Red Daughter is certain that Lex would sooner chop their hands off rather than give them something they asked for.

"Until Supergirl gets here."

"I'm afraid you'll be dead long before that happens, sis," Lex declares, striding towards Lena's berth with a smirk on his lips. Red Daughter can hardly believe his features were ever so soft as she glimpses in her memories.

But Lena seems familiar with this version of Lex, and doesn't quail under the dark intent he regards her with.

"Then my only regret will be that I wasn't able to watch her hand your ass to you on a Kryptonian platter."

The crack of Lex's hand against her cheek wrenches her head to the side. Red Daughter lunges forward, only to be caught against the strap pinning her in place. Lena flinches when Lex's hand lifts again, but this time it caresses reddening skin with a touch gentler than...

In that moment, Red Daughter realizes that for all his smiles, all his gentle features, Lex has never touched her.

Not once.

"For what it's worth," Lex tells his sister, "I will think of you fondly."

"And the world will only ever think of you as a madman."

"Good bye, ace."

At a press of a button, the top of Lena's chamber starts to lower, slowly moving to seal her within. Lex senses Red Daughter's stare, and turns a new smirk on her.

"Don't worry," he says in a mockery of comfort, "you won't have to live without her for very long."

He presses a second button, commanding the lid to descend over her own chamber as well. When the process is complete and Red Daughter is sealed alone within the darkness, it feels familiar, somehow.

Somewhere, muffled as though from far away, machinery comes to life with a deceptively pleasant hum.

At least, she considers silently to herself as the memory of her chamber in Kasnia flashes through her mind, with its images of Lena's smiles, Lena's happiness, plastered to the walls-- at least she is not alone.

Then the screaming starts.

---

Red Daughter expects the pain to come to her first, but the hum of machinery comes not from her canister, but Lena's.

The sound of her agony returns what Red Daughter's anguish stole: her powers.

In an instant she tears free from her restraints and through the metal facing of her prison. Faster than anyone can blink, Otis is dead, Lex is unconscious, and Red Daughter's fist punches through the console Lex had used to to activate the machine.

The screams die with the machine, but the silence is even more chilling.

She wrenches her fist free from the sparking console and rips Lena's coffin apart, and the next thing Red Daughter knows, Lena isn't confined to a picture or partially obscured through a crowd. Lena is in her arms and she is dying.

Tears of blood course down Lena's cheeks, and oozes from her nose and ears. When Lena coughs, blood bubbles to her lips, freckling Red Daughter's chin with every choking breath.

Lena would not be the first person Red Daughter has lost, but she is the one that reveals the truth: for all Lex has called her a hero, she has never learned how to save a life.

---

Lena saves her own life. Or rather, a man named Jack Spheer does, even from beyond the grave. It is his nanobots who support Lena's internal organs until they can heal from the cellular damage done by Lex's machine.

Red Daughter knows surrendering Lena to the DEO means surrendering herself, but she doesn't hesitate. When she delivered Lena to the organization that sought to kill Red Daughter, she was fully prepared to meet her temporarily thwarted fate-- so long as Lena survives.

But Lena's hand remains locked around Red Daughter's, and so Alex-- the real Alex, real and tangible and breathtaking-- belays the arrest in favor of treating Lena. And though an armed guard stands outside the door, she is permitted to stay with Lena after the nanobots are administered and a coma induced to speed their work.

And so Red Daughter sits, her world narrowed to a single bed and a single occupant, until her mirror image enters the room on quiet feet.

"Thank you," comes the ready gratitude, relieved and warm and all the things Red Daughter doesn't deserve. "For saving her."

Red Daughter doesn't respond.

How can she, when she is no longer certain who has done the saving?

#this was going to be a prompt fill #but it went a little sideways and didn't actually fill the prompt anymore #so here-- have it anyways #might do a follow up #might not #does this count as supercorp?#it's meant to be supercorp #pre-reveal #read more #let me know what you think #feedback gives me life

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amiedala · 3 years

Text

SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 4: An Open Wound

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

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

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

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

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

Mandalore isn’t a ghost town.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bo-Katan—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, no one moves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bo-Katan—”

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

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