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azsazz · 10 months

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Between the Shadow and the Soul

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: No thoughts just death god Azriel and goddess of life reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, graphic depictions of violence, a tiny bit of smut.

Word Count: 2,712

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The first time Death meets Life, she’s dying.

Deep within the dense forest now blooming as your power escapes you, he looms.

Azriel knows that something isn’t right. There’s a war raging before him, his favorite scent of death brought to him in plumes, screams of agony ringing deliciously in his ears. He licks his lips, tasting it as he scans the battlefield. His heart vibrates with pleasure in his chest at the sights of bodies being flayed open and falling to the ground.

But the thicket of trees he’s just trailed through are no longer fraying from his dark touch, leaves brittle and bark peeling away from thick trunk like flesh tearing from muscle and bone. It’s flourishing in rich colors, deep greens in the peak of summer, their limbs strong with new growth and reaching towards the sun in prayer.

He frowns, pulling his hood over his head. The fabric is thick, black like the shadows swirling around his feet. The scent of freshly turned earth drowns out that of slaughter, stinging his nostrils, nose scrunching and lip curling away from perfect teeth in disgust.

From the veil of shadows he goes, trailing through the battle as if it’s nothing more than wading through the long grass growing rapidly at his feet. It’s stained crimson, still warm as it traces hair thin lines across his marred palms when he touches it. The twin blades sheathed at his back sing with praise as he releases them, and he twists them around with the skill of a thousand men. They keen, begging to be used, their gleaming metal bathed in gore.

Blood spatters across his face as he cuts down a man atop a horse. The dark hood hiding his identity does little to keep the ichor from splattering on his tanned skin. His eyes glow and he licks his lips, the metallic taste of a life ending sweet on his tongue.

He can kill a man with a single look if he wanted to, but Azriel found himself enjoying a more hands-on approach to killing. It is natural, afterall. There is something different to be found in wielding a death blow himself, the beast encapsulated in his soul growls with pleasure as he watches souls leave bodies, falling to the ground already sodden crimson. An offer to the Mother, returning from the earth they’d been born of.

Azriel cuts his way across the battlefield with ease. More fae charge his way, unleashing their powers, but none make sweat bead Death’s brow. He’s having his fun, but is focused on the task at hand, gliding through the grass towards the forest beaming with new growth like a beacon calling him home.

His blades vibrate in his hands as he swings, slicing through adolescent branches. He wishes he were cutting through skulls and bones, and his weapons do too, screeching as sap sticks to the thin metal, mixing with the red that already stains their surfaces.

Shadows straying ahead, they search for him even though he can feel the pull of death and smell it on the breeze. A glance to the forest floor reveals moss growing where the path has been trodden down to dirt, the plush greenery climbing up trunks of trees whose leaves are growing in so thickly that the light of day grows dark.

The tether of fraying life pulls tighter and tighter the closer he gets. Crowds of trees open into a small clearing, booming with aliveness. The sun shines down into the center of the field where the branches and leaves don’t extend, warm rays shining down on your glowing skin, power leaking from you so thickly it nearly makes him choke.

But what does have Azriel’s breath catching is you. The bright linens of your dress are wet with blood, crimson soaking into the fine fabric from hem to collar. Your chest heaves, breath labored so you lie, eyes shut as you bathe in the sun like you’re not balancing on the cusp of death.

Azriel strides forward. You pry your eyes open at the sound of knives sliding back into sheaths, and glaring through the light in your eyes, you smile softly at the figure approaching. He’s cloaked in rich, dark robes, hood pulled up, revealing only those harrowing eyes. You’ve never met Death, but with the throbbing ache in your chest, you recognize him immediately. You’d heard rumors that if you looked straight into those hollow eyes of his you’d die on the spot, and it warms your quickly freezing body to find that the rumor is false.

The man kneels by your side and you want to laugh at the way that he assesses you, eyes trailing across your body, gaze as serious as the injury to your chest.

Azriel gently moves your hands from where they’re trying to keep the wound closed. He doesn’t need to put much force behind the action at all, your limbs weak from blood loss. He grimaces at the sight, the usual excitement that clings to his very soul upon seeing such a gruesome picture is not there, instead, it feels like claws of ice blooming from his chest, painful and angry.

He can feel the power emanating off of you. The way it surges and buries beneath his own skin, heart picking up in pace. Your eyes are dazed, and the smile you give him has him both wanting to lean further into you and tuck his hood more securely around himself. Life, dying right before his very eyes.

And he can see it in the way your skin shimmers. The grassy knoll beneath you is overcome with life, thick, green grass soft beneath your body as if the earth itself is making you a comfortable spot to rest. A flick of his gaze has Azriel noting the animals peering from the brush, the lively rattle of mice and the uncomfortable stares of deer watching the both of you.

“Have you come to claim me, Death?” you rasp, looking up into his eyes. They’re surprisingly bright, golden like the sun that cradles you, alive with shadows and souls. He hides himself well, you decide, clutching the soft ground as his eyes trail the open wound ripped wide down your sternum as you search his eyes for any sign of himself. But you don’t sound alarmed, if anything being in his presence feels as peaceful as life itself.

“Not yet,” Azriel murmurs, icy fingers brushing down your cheek. He wipes away the speck of red there. When you dare return to where you’ve come from he doesn’t want you catching sight of it in the mirror, noticing how close you’d been to finally being his.

The clash of swords grows louder, shrill cries of bloodshed on the battlefield still ringing in his ears. Many have joined him today, and you should not be out here. Should not be in the middle of a war trying to save fallen soldiers, let alone the winged bastards who’ve done this to you.

He doesn’t remove his hood, doesn’t let you see his face. Something rumbles in his chest, so much like a death rattle but a sweet song all the same. His treacherous heart kicks up a beat, spurring panic in his veins like the vines twisting through the forest floor. Resilient, just like Life.

“Are you scared?” He asks, letting you clutch his hand with both of your own as his fingers slide down your throat to touch the top of your wound, careful not to harm. So small, he notes, so perfect.

“Do you want me to be?” You respond through labored breaths. You watch the way his wings scratch over you, blocking the sun from your eyes. If he’s going to do this, he’ll need the dark.

“No,” Azriel finds himself saying. He doesn’t want Life to fear Death.

His grip is strong, sure, just as death is. You want to watch him as he works but your eyelids are too heavy, and you’re not sure if it’s his shadows creeping into the sides of your vision or if you’re about to pass out from the state you’re in.

Azriel summons his powers, placing both of your tangled hands across your wound. You suck in a sharp breath as a wave of agony drags you from the dark, eyes flaring open only to catch on his again. He whispers something you’re unable to make out, but you feel the icy coldness of his powers seeping into your skin as he draws on them.

They kickstart your own, warm and comforting as they wrap around each other like the shadows and rays of golden light filling the field. The sounds of battle are deafened by whatever he’s doing and your breath catches in your throat. It feels as though you’re burning on the inside, his darkness freezing your soul and your own powers lash out in response.

“Come on,” he urges softly, noting that the wound on your chest is beginning to close. The feeling of your powers mixing with his feels strange. He’s never once felt alive, but now, as waves of warmth burn through his blood, he finds himself wanting to bathe in it.

You gasp as the wound closes fully, eyes shuttering shut as your spine arches off of the ground and your vision explodes with black. The entire clearing goes dark with Death’s shadows before your light bursts out of you in an awakening you’ve never experienced before.

Sitting up in a rush, your head spins. When the light of your powers has died down, you find yourself alone in the forest, Death a whisper in the wind.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Humming an all familiar tune, you stride through the sparse trees to the lively river, a mother and her ducklings trailing happily behind you. You’d found them on your morning walk, feeling the caress of lives tugging on your soul as you went, smile stretching wider and wider as you strolled to find them.

They’d been a little lost, the mother quacking happily as you appeared with a soft demeanor and outstretched hands. You could feel her worry, as she rounded the ducklings up, keeping them close. You giggled as they’d started climbing all over you, scooping up the fluffy beings and cuddling them close to your chest.

The river is alive with life. Fish swimming in the soft current, finally thawed from the harsh winters. The perfect watering ground for many of the animals in the forest, and a nice place to stop on a hot summer's day for the fae of this realm, the perfect setting for the duckling family to rest.

But what you’ve failed to notice is the fox sneaking through the shadows of the trees on silent paws, licking its maw at the sight of its next meal, and Death following closely behind.

He watches with intrigue, though he’s seen the way that this plays out more times than he can count. He doesn’t even need to be around for a death as simple as this; the smallest duckling lagging behind as it trips over an upturned root will be the one to go, and its mother will not even notice until they get where they’re going and her little one is gone.

It’s all a part of life though, and you can’t save them all. He notes the way you hold yourself, the skip in your step and the smile on your lips as you murmur softly to the animals like they can understand you. Your powers unconsciously slip from you, flowers blooming where your feet land as you lead the flock towards the rushing blue waters of the river.

You pause, looking around as if you’ve felt a shift in the air, like the piece of him that you carry in the faint scar across your chest has alerted you to his presence, and Death finds himself ducking behind a tree. But you’ve already caught sight of his dark robes slipping between shadows.

Crouching in a hurry, you collect the ducklings near to you as the fox pounces from its hiding spot. You scowl at the animal, black fur and bright eyes halting at your look. It bows its head sorrowfully, whining softly.

“Trying to play tricks on me, Death?” you raise an eyebrow, heart softening as you shoo the ducklings towards the river in favor of scratching behind the fox’s ears. It keens, leaning into your palm as your warmth consumes it, flipping onto its belly for more of your loving touch.

“Death is no trick, Life.” Azriel responds seriously, untucking himself from the shadows creeping around him. His golden gaze flicks to the animal and where your fingers are buried in its fur and he’s brought back to all of those months ago when it had been his fingers yours were clinging to and keeping warm.

“Life is no ruse either,” you respond, too amused for his liking. You're too cheery, bright eyes burning holes through his skin, scaring off of his shadows. Death is not afraid, and Death is not falling. He’s been seeking you out, secretly, watching you with a keen eye the way you brighten the world little by little, while all he does is sweep darkness in his wake.

He shrugs, as if your statement means nothing to him. Of course it wouldn’t, he is Death. The tree he’s leaning against is proof enough, its leaves shrinking, crumbling as life is sucked out of them, fluttering to the ground like snow.

It doesn’t irk you like it should. No, it’s actually breathtaking, the way that he draws life to him is intoxicating, and you can feel your powers reaching out to him. You’ve never felt such things before, have been thinking about Death more than you’d like to admit, the way he’d made you feel when he saved you.

“Would you like to come by for some tea?” You blurt, cheeks pinking up when his features don’t so much as twitch. The fox nips playfully at your stilled fingers and it skitters away at the disapproving glare Death sends it.

He nods once, hood bobbing with the motion, and you lead him to your home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Finish me,” you breathe, and it makes Death nearly cum.

It’s not the way that you mean it. You’re not sacrificing yourself, asking him to take your soul, but with the way that he’s buried deep inside of you, you feel as though you’d give anything to him at this moment.

Death likes that.

The words have him groaning, teeth nipping at your shoulder as he jerks into you, cock hot and heavy with arousal. He’d followed you to your home only for the both of you to end up like this: you flat on your back in your soft bed with him driving into you, shadows writhing around his shaking wings.

The vines that hang off of your ceiling pass between life and death as you fuck, blooming with new growth and snaking down the walls when you cum with a shout. You feel like you’re dying, gasping for breath as blackness fields your vision until stars shine beneath squeezed eyelids.

Death is close behind you, pulling you to him and rolling you over, holding you tightly as he pistons his hips up into your writhing body, seeing you through your orgasm. He slips his tongue into your mouth, desperate for a taste of Life as he releases. The plants that line your home droop and fray as he sucks the essence from them.

He feels like he’s finally alive, chest expanding with a first full breath, life pulsating through his body as you cling to him as tightly as he is to you.

It’s utter bliss, the way you two stay tangled up in each other for days, not worrying about the life or death that’s happening outside your quaint cottage. It’s two souls reuniting, the missing parts of each other, finding the balance they’ve so desperately been craving since the cosmos tethered them to this plane of existence.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Death is not a lover.

He’d never let himself love anything.

But this time, when Death sees Life, she’s bringing another into the world.

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #life/death #azsazz #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel

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vioxis · 7 months

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Consume 1/?

Masterlist's | Tiktok | AO3

Word Count: 677

Pairing: Stalker!König x F!Reader

Summary: The story follows König and his obsession, You. The object of his desire, the constant temptation before him. Do you know what you do to him? You feign innocence, but worry not Shatz… He'll find that out on his own.

TW: NSFW! MDNI +18. Very obsessive and possessive behavior, Stalker!König,

Will update with more tags along the way! Part 1/?

König had never truly comprehended his own feelings until he met you. Once a humble medic conducting routine physical examinations for the soldiers in his unit, your interactions were always welcomed in his eyes. The way you'd smile while complimenting his physique and provide insightful analyses on how he could better prepare for battle had always left an indelible mark on him.

Yet, it wasn't until a pivotal moment that he realized you were the one. It happened when he removed his sniper hood, revealing his face. It wasn’t marred or scared, per se, he has never fully looked at himself in the mirror. All he saw was a bloody monster, but your reaction was different. Your expression remained unchanged, unmarred by disgust or fear of his face.

You’ve seen almost all that he has to offer aside from his cock and his ass. You’ve looked into his eyes as you’ve caressed his neck, his traps, and his shoulders. You’ve even gripped his thighs and his calves. You were free to touch him in every medical way you could but he had no logical reason to do the same.

Every examination, his piercing blue eyes would gaze into yours. To intimidate you? Maybe. But his main goal was to analyze your reactions, to see past your eyes and into your soul. You scream innocence but his mind tells him otherwise.

You were a vision of perfection. Your hair, soft as silk, framed your blemish-free face. There were no scars of torture or war, just a continued aura of innocence that drew him in. Every time your eyes met his during those examinations, there was an unspoken connection that left both of you on edge.

Your body, oh, it was a temptation he could hardly resist. It curved in all the right places, tantalizingly inviting his touch. Greedily projecting with just his gaze that he would grab and devour you to his heart's content if you let him.

But something held him back – what is that you may ask? You had a life outside the base, you had to go home. You had no ties to the base other than the money that lines your pockets every week. A place where you saw him only three times a week: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

You were not just perfect but also deliciously gullible. No one dares to go into your office when you weren’t there, so you’ve always left your office unlocked. Your office was a treasure trove for his clandestine visits. Pens, papers, and small trinkets vanished, even your beloved golden pit bull statue. You remained oblivious, as your office held no traces of your life or passions; it was merely a place to work.

The base was not your home. There is nothing there for him to keep that fully reminded him of you. One Friday evening, after your work was done, König concealed himself in the shadows of a black Humvee, only twenty feet away from your prestigious car. Even the subtle sway of your hips as you placed your bag in the passenger seat ignited his desire. His gaze was tantalizing as he groaned, cupping his cock through his pants.

He watches you open the door, bending forward to put your bag in the passenger seat. He leans closer to the steering wheel, rubbing harder as he imagines pushing you into the car, swiftly undressing you, and claiming what he believed was rightfully his. He pictured you mewling and writhing in ecstasy on the perfect leather seats, a mix of shock and lust in your eyes as you drool and destroy your own perfection.

You stood back up, glancing around the dark parking lot. König's heart raced as he hissed. Hiding himself behind the wheel, struggling to contain his desire. You always had a keen sense for a gullible woman. He knew he had to be patient. For now, his cock could wait; you were headed somewhere far more important than his needs.

"Obsession… Shatz, is a heaven forged in the fires of hell."

#cod x reader #call of duty #konig cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod smut #konig x you #konig call of duty #konig x y/n #konig smut #vioxi_writes #konig fanfiction #konig mw2 #konig modern warfare

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ailendolin · 5 months

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Wounded - a Capvers fic (5/5)

Title: Wounded [AO3]

Characters: The Captain/Havers

Warnings: Spoilers for Series 5

Summary: 3 ways the Captain didn’t find out about Havers’s wound, 1 way he did, and 1 way he might have if life had been a little kinder to them both.

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

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Wounded

Chapter 5: The Kiss

“Sir?”

The Captain banged his head on the window he was in the process of climbing through. He would know that voice anywhere, had imagined hearing it again for five long years. And yet it felt like a dream to him now.

With his heart racing, he slowly slid back to the ground and turned around.

“Lieutenant– No,” he corrected himself and cleared his throat. “Major Havers. Sir.”

Havers smiled at him, a little painfully. “Please, don’t. I know I’m above you in rank now but – you’ll always be my captain, sir.”

Warmth bloomed in the Captain’s chest and spread to down to his very fingertips and toes, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

“How about we forego ranks, then?” the Captain suggested. Bravely, he stepped forward and held out his hand. It was trembling slightly. “The war is over, after all. I’m James.”

He was relieved when Havers closed the gap between them and shook his hand.

“Anthony,” Havers said, his smile more genuine now.

For a moment, neither of them let go.

“It’s good to see you again,” the Captain said softly.

Havers’s eyes flickered over to the window behind him. “Is that why you were breaking into the house? Because you wanted to see me?”

“Well,” the Captain mumbled, a little embarrassed. “You didn’t reply to my last letter so when I heard about the celebrations here, I decided to take a chance.”

“I never got a letter,” Havers said softly. He looked down at his feet. “I told myself you probably didn’t want to stay in contact now that the war is over.”

Now that nothing connects us.

He turned his head away so the scar on the left side of his face was hidden from view.

Now that I look like this.

The Captain stepped closer to him. “Nothing could be further from the truth, Anthony.”

He allowed his eyes to roam over Havers’s face, allowed himself to take in the surprise in those gentle brown eyes he had missed so much and the scar marring that once perfect skin. The urge to reach out and trail his fingers over it in reverence was so strong that he was already raising his hand before he even knew what he was doing.

He stopped himself just in time.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly, his hand hovering in the air between them.

Havers swallowed hard. “Sometimes.”

Their eyes met and when Havers nodded, silently giving permission, the Captain finally breached the gap between and let his fingertips ghost over the scarred skin. It felt smooth to the touch; almost terrifyingly vulnerable. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Havers whispered before he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. The Captain’s heart sped up. “It wasn’t life-threatening. Just … disfiguring. Disgusting.”

“No,” the Captain said softly, shaking his head. He waited until Havers had opened his eyes again before he said, very quietly, “Don’t say that. You were hurt – you’re still hurting. I can see it.”

They both knew he wasn’t talking about physical pain.

“I’m not the man who left in 1940,” Havers confessed, almost desperately – as if he was just as afraid of this delicate thing that had been blossoming between them since 1940 as the Captain was, and just as terrified of disappointment.

It gave the Captain the courage to say, “I never expected you to be. But if you’re worried about this–“ He cupped the left side of Havers’s face, gently, lovingly. “Then I can assure you that it doesn’t change anything. You are still as handsome as you ever were.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say for Havers let out a small, wounded sound and clutched at his hand like a man drowning at sea. He pressed it close to his ruined skin with a desperation the Captain felt in his very bones. “I never dared to dream–“

“I know,” the Captain whispered, leaning closer. “God, Anthony, I know.”

They looked at each other for a very long moment, hovering on the threshold of something neither of them dared to put into words just yet. Then Havers brought their foreheads together and everything around them fell silent. There were no birds singing their familiar songs, no breeze blowing across the lawn, no people talking behind the walls. There was just the feeling of coming home, of the war finally being over and peace returning to the world at last.

It was glorious.

“May I?” Havers asked shakily, glancing down at his lips.

Breathless, the Captain could only nod. When he felt the faintest, briefest, most delicate touch of lips upon his own, his heart began to beat so frantically in his chest he feared his ribs might not be able to contain it. Instinctively, he followed that wondrous touch when Havers pulled back, and their lips met again in the softest, truest declaration of love there could possibly be.

“James,” Havers breathed, full of wonder.

The shy smile that lit up his face was the most beautiful thing the Captain had ever seen.

#the captain #lieutenant havers #capvers #caphavers #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts spoilers #my fic #bbc ghosts fanfic

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radioactivepeasant · 9 months

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Snippets: Free Day Thursday

One of the earliest parts of Meddling Mar that I wrote, albeit a moment at least two chapters away from happening in the current setup of the story. For context: after seeing his shooting skills, Damas arranged for Jak to "job shadow" some of the wall sentries to see whether that would be a good fit for him. His fourth day up there, Jak witnessed Marauders ambushing a scout returning to the city. Jak being Jak, he instinctively staged a very violent intervention without stopping to find out if anyone else was already planning a rescue. And promptly panicked because he'd just used the Dark Jak form in front of witnesses. (TW: blood mention)

"You have sage training."

How had he missed it before? How quickly his body absorbed the healing eco, how unerring his shots were-

The boy had been trained.

"No. I don't." Jak kept walking, jaw tight and shoulders tense.

As he passed Rune and Chayne at the garages, he faltered and seemed to curl inward as if avoiding their eyes. He didn't see the gratitude in Rune's face, or the admiration in Chayne's.

Damas caught up in only two strides, catching the boy by one blood-soaked wrist.

"I'm not stupid, Jak. I know what I saw. Why didn't you mention this before? Who trained you?"

"Nobody!"

Jak whipped around, blood-slick skin slipping easily from Damas’s grasp. The same fury that had decimated the party of Marauders danced in his eyes, tangled with pain.

"Nobody "trained" me; I didn't ask for this! I was chained to a table while the Baron injected dark eco into my veins, three days a week, FOR TWO YEARS!"

The second the shout left him, Jak flinched back. Damas didn't think he'd meant to say anything at all -- or at least, anything about what had been done to him.

Damas recoiled as, all at once, the needle scars made sense. Nausea rocked his stomach as he pictured Jak -- he must have been no more than thirteen or fourteen at the time -- screaming while Aldrik Praxis watched pitilessly.

He would've been a child then. Just a child.

No wonder he'd been so hesitant to discuss Haven in front of his little brother.

Damas clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself to remain calm, to keep from drawing more attention to the distraught teenager.

"I'm going to murder Praxis."

"Can't. The metalheads got him first."

So flat and matter-of-fact was Jak’s answer that it startled a blank, almost amused, stare out of Damas.

"That is...shockingly appropriate." He huffed. "I hope the body was left for carrion. It's more than he deserves, but at least he would've finally been of some use to the ecosystem. It is...disturbing to hear that he forced that transformation on you, while my spies didn't even know something like that was taking place. I will need to review their last communiques."

Damas shook his head and hoped Jak wouldn't misinterpret the disgust on his face.

"If you ever see anyone else who was involved in what happened to you -- even if you aren't fully certain it's them -- you get me immediately, understand? It will be dealt with."

He wondered if Jak could hear the promise of vengeance hiding under his words.

As if suddenly very aware of Damas’s gaze, Jak dropped his eyes and seemed almost to shrink.

"They...they didn't mutate me," he muttered darkly. Shame colored his confession, not quite well enough to cover the bitterness. "I did it. I channeled it myself. It was that or let the overdose kill me."

Damas’s startled wheeze took him by surprise. Jak looked up sharply to find Damas closer than he'd been a moment ago, staring incredulously at him.

"You- hold on," Damas ran a hand over his head. Some of the Marauders' blood from Jak's wrist smeared across his scalp and he grimaced. "You're telling me you self-taught yourself one of the lost war sage transformations?!"

One of? Lost?!

Jak furrowed his brow.

"Why'd you say that like it's been done before?"

That couldn't be right. He was a freak of nature. An aberration. Nobody would do this on purpose.

But Damas nodded.

"Because it has. Not since the first two generations of the city of Haven, when eco was plentiful enough to allow for that kind of study. But there is absolutely a precedent for war sages. Just...never this young."

And never created against their will in such cruelty- such evil-

For some reason, this didn't seem to calm Jak. There was a desperation building up over the remnants of anger in his eyes -- a sense of suffocating pressure Damas recognized only too well. He reached out again to place a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Look at me; hey, look at me. You don’t have to do it again," he soothed, "I won't make you act as a sage, I promise, Jak, I promise. But I do need to know your capabilities -- and what you need to avoid to keep you safe, mentally and physically."

"Why?" Jak croaked, "What's it matter to you as long as I can pull my weight?"

"What's it mat-?" Damas stared, then made an aggravated sigh. "Because you're one of my people, Jak! I take care of my own. Would you let Seek run around with a thorn in his foot?"

Suitably distracted by the seeming non sequitur, the boy screwed up his face in confusion. "No?? What does that have to do with-"

Damas’s fingers dug into his shoulder. He stared into Jak's eyes and did not flinch away from whatever he saw there.

"Just because your "thorn" isn't something most people can see on the surface," he said patiently, "doesn't mean I'm going to let you run around on it and drive it in deeper."

Now Jak looked uncertain, even a little lost. It was as if he had no reckoning for being treated as if his pain mattered. As if he mattered. Faced with someone who actually seemed to want to understand, what could he do? If he let any more of the poison out of the wound, would Damas still understand, or would he turn away like everyone else?

"Haven doesn't know it's a...sage thing..." Jak swallowed hard and rubbed his fingers together, trying to scrape off the blood. "They just call it a...an abomination. A monster."

The king curled his lip. "That's rich, coming from Haven."

He let go of Jak's shoulder to casually loop his arm around him.

"That city is a den of vipers, boy. If they tell you the sky is blue, they're lying."

For an instant, Jak stiffened at the unexpected -- and somewhat unorthodox -- embrace. But after a moment the touch -- and the words -- began to feel familiar.

"My friend Sig says that, too."

Unexpectedly, Damas chuckled. "Ah! I knew I recognized that style of gunning."

Jak's head whipped up. "You know Sig?"

He supposed it made sense. Sig was a Wastelander, after all.

"Know him?" Damas smirked at him. "I'm the one who sent him undercover in Haven!"

The thought wheeled through Jak's mind several times, circling closer each time. In a weird, roundabout sort of a way, that meant Damas had saved him twice. If not for Sig taking Jak under his wing, teaching him to fight and shoot, Jak strongly doubted that he would have lived long enough to fight Kor. Sig was the one making sure Jak actually ate, or slept at least an hour or two, when the Underground didn't give him a chance to rest between jobs. Sig never judged him for his transformations, always telling him "if Praxis wants to steal fire from the gods, he doesn't get to complain when you steal it right back". He didn't even know the true reason behind the dark form, but he'd guessed Praxis was at least tangentially involved.

"Sig...he um, he said he was going to train Dax and me. Teach us to be Wastelanders," Jak admitted. "But then I got a- arrested."

The word tripped him up, too filled with memories of horror and dark places.

"He doesn't do that for just anyone, you know," Damas remarked. He sounded pleased. "You two must've impressed him."

With a light pressure on Jak’s shoulders, he guided him away from the garages and towards the public baths in the North Market.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up before your brother gets out of school, hm?"

Jak still didn't really like the public baths -- even if everyone else was as scarred as he was, he hated seeing his own scars -- but it was faster than going all the way to the cove to wash. Mind still whirling, he allowed Damas to lead him to the building, all the while wondering how long this unusual streak of kind fortune would last.

Before the man could go ahead of him to the baths, Jak caught his arm and grimaced at the sticky, bloody fingerprints he left. "Don't- don't let anyone tell Ma- my brother. Please."

Damas’s eyes softened, and he nodded.

"Not a word," he agreed, trying to ignore the slip. "It isn't our story to tell."

*Mar. You almost said Mar, didn't you? I know it's him, I know my son's eyes. But. But I know your eyes, too. And I will find out why.*

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #meddling mar au #Dadmas #king damas #tw blood #dark jak #jak and daxter au #Jak doesn't realize yet that most of Spargus sees his battle form and is like 'carry on'#half of them think it's just how channelers experience puberty and they're like 'that's clearly none of my business'#Damas knows deep down that Mar is the son he lost. He just won't let himself believe it without proof because he's afraid to be wrong #Jak meanwhile has no idea Damas even lost a kid because he's been busy wrangling his brother #free day thursday #jak and daxter thursday

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bcdrawsandwrites · 1 year

Photo

[ID: A Psychonauts fanfic cover. Fred Bonaparte is in the center of the cover and directly facing the viewer, looking as he first appears in the game, though missing his sandals. His right sock has the heel worn off, and the left sock is only on half of his foot, and his heels are exposed and bleeding. He's being dragged backward down a darkened, impossibly-warped hallway in Thorney Towers by two shadowed figures, each of them looping one of their arms around his arms to drag him. Fred has a terrified expression on his face, and his heels are leaving bloody trails on the asylum floor. /end ID]

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: T

Genre: Angst

Characters: Fred Bonaparte and the-real-imaginary Napoleon Bonaparte

Warnings: Blood, isolation, electroshock therapy, psychological and physical abuse

Description: The asylum is falling into shambles around him, but no one seems to notice. They're treating him like a patient, but he's not a patient. He's the chief orderly, and he needs to treat the patients here, direct the orderlies, and follow the orders of the nurses and doctors.He just wants to help people. That's what he's always done... isn't it?

Beta Readers: @jaywings and @of-science-and-stars

Notes: For @wulverarctos for the Midnight at Whispering Rock ( @midnightwhisperingrock ) gift exchange! Doing research for this was... definitely a thing. @__@ Writing Fred was cool though!!

---~~~---

The hallways are so long.

He's been dragged for forever, their arms looped around his bound elbows, his ankles rubbing raw against the dirty floors. They were supposed to be clean. Where are the janitors? The floors aren't clean. Why aren't the floors—

ZE ARMY MARCHES ONWARD! IT HAS NO TIME FOR MENIAL TASKS!

No, don't say that out loud. Had he said that out loud? He wasn't supposed to. Please, please be quiet, he's sorry, he has such a hard time staying quiet—are they listening?

An exposed piece of metal on the leg of a stretcher strikes against his heel as they haul him past it, and he yelps. The stretchers weren't supposed to be just left sitting in the hallway, that was a safety hazard, why was it left out? Please, someone has to fix this, this isn't—

ZEES IS NOT ZE JOB FOR A GENERAL! WE ARE IN ZE MIDDLE OF A WAR!

No, no, please, he knows there's no war right now but the other one doesn't—please, they have to listen!

He strains to turn his head, but he can't see their faces. They drag him onward down the never-ending hallways, so long and winding that he swears they're starting to spiral before his eyes. He shakes his head and looks around as he's dragged, trying to spot any other nurses or orderlies he can look to for help. But none of his coworkers look back at him, only the faces of the inmates. He's being dragged so fast he can't recognize each one, aside from the distinct characteristics of some, such as the massive, muscular form of the painter who cringes away from him as he's hauled past, or the glowing eyes of the dentist which seem to bore into his own. They shouldn't be afraid of him, though. He wants to help them, but he can't right now—no one will listen, please, someone has to listen, someone has to help—

I AM AN ESTEEMED GENERAL, AND I COMMAND YOU TO RELEASE ME!

No, no, that's not going to help! He does need to be released though, there's so many things that need taken care of, please—

Before he can speak another word he's no longer in the hallway, but instead thrown against the soft floor of a padded cell, the sound of the door slamming behind him practically an explosion for how loud it is in the quietness. The room is too bright, with rips in the padding visible like open wounds, disgusting stains marring other parts of it. Why hasn't it been cleaned? The room needs to be maintained. No one can possibly recover in this filth! He tries to pull himself away from a darkened saliva stain, only to spy a vibrant crimson spot inches from his feet. Frantically he pulls his legs away, and the blood smears with it, trailing from his bleeding ankles. No, no, he has to get the wounds bound and find a janitor to get this place clean, but he can't, he can't move his arms—who would put anyone in a place like this? Why was he—

WE SHALL WEAR OUR WOUNDS PROUDLY! THEY ARE ZE MARKS OF A WARRIOR!

Shut up, shut up, you're not supposed to say those things, why can't you behave? You have to pull yourself together and do your job, you're the chief orderly, you can't be an inmate, you have to help run the asylum, you have to—

When did it get so cold?

The hinges creak as the window shutters clatter from the force of the icy wind, so much more pronounced than normal. He tries to curl up, but his legs won't move. Looking down, he finds the cause being a blanket—no, multiple blankets, sopping wet with freezing water, wrapped around him as tightly as possible. It's so much colder than it ever looked, the water soaking through his clothing and chilling him to the core, his body trembling to the point that he can feel his very bones shaking, his teeth chattering so badly he fears they might break. But it was therapy, the nurses had told him. It's supposed to help, somehow. But he doesn't feel helped at all, especially not lying alone on muddy, broken tiles in an empty room, his body cocooned in icy numbness. It must've been done wrong. It shouldn't feel like this. This isn't helping—it's only miserable. Who would put someone through this...?

YOU C-C-CANNOT KEEP US HERE F-F-FOREVER! WE SHALL N-NEVER GIVE UP, AND W-W-WE SHALL REIGN VICTORIOUS!

He's too cold and too exhausted to berate him this time. It's hard to think past the inescapable chill, but in the back of his mind he can only wonder when he's going to be out of this, when they'll let him help so things can get better here. Because they're not—it feels like no one has taken his place, and things are being left to fall apart, to rot...

DO Y-YOU HEAR US?! WE SH-SHALL CONQUER ZEES LAND ONCE M-M-MORE!

Not conquer, he doesn't want to take over. He just wants to help. That was what he did. He always tries to help people, and direct the other orderlies, and help the nurses and doctors. Follow their orders. He always helped, always, always...

UNHAND ME AND FIGHT LIKE A MAN!

He's not sure when they moved him, but he's in the hallway now, being dragged once again. Who is doing this? He's an orderly, he shouldn't be treated like this—the patients really shouldn't either, but there's so many of them and they're always getting more and they're doing the best they can—they need to let him go!

YES, RELEASE ME, COWARDS! WE SHALL FIGHT TO THE DEATH!

No, no, he doesn't want to kill anyone—don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he's talking about! He's perfectly fine and he's not going to hurt anybody and—wait, wait, no, this isn't right. He remembers these halls. This isn't the way to the padded cells or the wards. This is...

Panic bolts through his body and he kicks out with his legs and twists and turns. No, it's not the best way to behave if he wants them to let him go, but they can't take him there, they can't, he's not depressed or catatonic, he doesn't need this, he's fine! He's fine!

YOU CANNOT MAKE ME TALK! I WILL YIELD TO NO TORTURE!

No, no, it's not torture, it's treatment, but he doesn't need it! He's fine! They can't do this to him, they can't—

The doors creak open, and he doesn't need to see the label on them to know what room this is. But he doesn't need to be here, he really doesn't—

Without a word they throw him onto the rickety bed—it's more uncomfortable than he'd ever thought, but that's not the part that makes his heart pound against his rib cage like a prisoner trying to break free. Multiple sets of hands hold him back as more strap him down, pinning his arms and legs, and he opens his mouth to scream—

NO TORTURE SHALL BREAK ME! DO YOUR WORST!

NO, DON'T!

His hat is removed—he couldn't even remember where he'd gotten that stupid hat—and they begin placing the electrodes on his head, even as he pleads for them to remove them. He doesn't need this, it's not necessary, he's not a patient! Why are they doing this?! Why—

Something is shoved into his mouth, muffling any further screams. But he tries anyway—he has to get through to someone, someone has to tell him why they're doing this. Who is doing this? Who is the one responsible for this?!

"I-I'm sorry," a voice whispers just to his side.

His head jerks, and then—

He sees himself in his orderly robes, crouching down toward his face, looking at him with a pained expression. "I'm so sorry. We have to do this."

And he sees himself straighten, towering over him but looking away as the nurses prepare the machine behind him. Even he has fallen silent as he stares up at himself—his eyes shut tight, his mouth pulled into a grimace as the device behind them whirs to life, louder and louder and—

His body seizes, his vision goes white, but even above the erratic buzzing in his brain and the muffled screams in his throat, he can still hear—

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...!"

---~~~---

Fred woke up with a jolt, bashing the back of his head against the brick wall he'd been using as a pillow.

It took only seconds for Napoleon to take advantage of his dazed state: "I will not have you sleeping on ze battlefield any longer, simpleton! Wake up! That is an order!"

Order...

While normally Fred would stumble to his feet at Napoleon's insistence, he found himself staring down at the floor of the ruined courtyard and seeing instead the blood-streaked padded cell, the sopping wet blankets, the straps holding him against the bed...

...and his own face staring down at him as he was put through all of it.

"O-orders," he stammered, his body trembling. The floor blurred beneath him, but the visions from the nightmare remained clear.

"Yes, orders! Are you not listening to me?"

Something splashed in front of him, and another tear rolled down his nose. "I-I was... I was f-following orders..."

For once Napoleon was rendered silent, and Fred curled up on himself, burying his face into his knees.

"I'm so sorry..."

#fred bonaparte #psychonauts #midnight at whispering rock #fanfic #my art #my writing #tw blood

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noxspost · 7 months

Text

Look Who’s Inside Again

Mars was sitting in front of the mirror the twisted floor length mirror it was a cursed thing it showed all his worst flaws today and reminded him that he is such a monster he saw some of his features twisting disgustingly into more monstrous proportions.

he saw his smile which was cocky proud full of some form of warmth now twisted and something built to tail flesh off limbs and bodies he closed his mouth trying to hide the teeth, but it looked as if the teeth themselves were poking out similar to a crocodile or a gator.

And when you looked at himself past his neck, he saw twistedness his limbs were too thin but also too long he looked ugly he was in wonder how Venus ever loved him.

he was a monster he didn't look like it as normal, so he looked at himself disgusted and horrified he looked terrible he deserved the insults that his family used to throw at him he shakes himself as he hugged aside trying to hide the extra flops of skin.

he hated this so much he just wanted to cry only if you quiet tears ran down his face his hair was no longer the long on one side completely shaved and bare on the other side no it was bare on both sides and just on top a flap of hair it was an unwelcoming black color just like the Neptune's.

And when he touched his hair and looked up he saw the white he saw how it was glowing growing longer now back to what he used to have it as and when he looked at his face closer he saw the eye color of his father Jupiter or his most people knew him nowadays Zeus.

made him sick there was no red in black eyes no just gold and white eyes that blended themselves into the white stripe which was starting to flake off it couldn't flake off but it looked like it was a flake off like as if he had snakeskin he hugged his arms tighter now as he swore he broke skin from how he hissed in pain.

when his wings were out as he willed them to be they looked more like bat wings not the vulture wings they used to be he looked disgusted he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his heart he couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his gut it wouldn't go away he was trapped forced to look at himself in the mirror and at his body without the help of the mirror he couldn't get up he was trapped in a loop over and over and over he wanted to hide he wanted to cry he wanted to eat something he smelled the food that dio was cooking.

then he blinks and soon he was back to that place.

he started to run rightfully so he become more panicked but then he saw something flashed before him a person a nymph looking tall and grotesque their skin tightly wrapped around their bones there was no meat on those bones,

they looked nasty there was black on their limbs from frost and they had grotesque teeth stuck out fangs that were serrated like meat knives and then behind them was a field of soldiers that had their bodies ripped and mauled to death barely looking like human bodies they were barely anything identifying them as human.

his chest started to compress so you just squeeze out the air in him he packed more and more he started to run out of that forest as fast as his legs can carry him and he kept seeing flashes of battle scenes in the in the second titan war and the fur is Titan War.

horror depictions of the wars he felt as if he wanted to throw up, but he kept pushing on until he got into the camp, he had to move he had to find her office he couldn't do this but then he saw a woman staring at him holding a thread and spooling needle and she said, "repair it fix it!" her voice was aggressive.

he had to get to Vesta but his legs were soon to give out, but he saw the sky bleeding blood and the clouds turned into eyeballs and they were crying sudden blood was sickening.

As he tried to hurry to the office to go get her, he kept feeling more and more sick the haunting feelings.

haunting cries a fallen soldiers and warriors he saw Roman kids dying in the second titan war he saw Greek kids who were too young to fight fighting some of them as young as nine.

soon he was near the house but then the screaming words of many voices "YOU BREAK AND TEAR YOU RIP AND NEVER SOW!"

he wanted this madness to end then as he enter he saw the forms of Vesta, Bacchus and Mercury. he was about to speak, and he remembers the board which kept track of how many days it has been since he had causes problems.

then he sees Clarisse and frank's bodies mangle and torn most of their bones were so broken that he barely thought that was them. The cries of children and then he saw the same woman but her voice was louder "fix it fix the rips and tears you have made!"

He blinks and sees the others who weren't dead and he cried out "the sky is bleeding and you are going to die!" Vesta looked at him and went to his side "what do you mean?!"

"I- I went to check- check when... blood from tree and woman with needle and spool!" Bacchus and Mercury were watching panicked as they see Octavian just breakdown and since he was now mumbling about a teddy bear and they sighs realizing that he must being experiencing a vision.

mercury realized that this must be bad if the snake that is Mars is losing it like this then Bacchus asked Mars "why?"

Then Mars cried as he clutched his head in his hands as he looked at Jason and then yelled "the monster is coming please don't die!!" He was now speaking nonsense.

mercury asked his own voice laced with worry "so this can happen with his power?" Bacchus nodded as Vesta got a weighted blanket and draped it over Mars. "It okay Mars you are safe this isn't a war zone."

Slowly he was calming but then he spoke "the clouds and sky are bleeding." Then he looks like he is going to throw up and he cover his mouth and Bacchus quickly gave him one of the trash cans which wasn't wired but like a kitchen trash bin. Mars then empties his stomach into the trash.

Vesta wanted to drill into Mars for being dumb but then she realizes that this was his power mixing with his memories of war. "It is okay Bacchus..." she said as he was crying and throwing up.

then Mars was brought back to the mirror, and he speaks "Lucky are they, who lives unaware Who doesn't get bothered by those who don't care. Lucky are they, who lives unaware. Unlucky me, who knows way too much. Who fights to make changes and music and such."

he was giggles at and then "Unlucky me, aware of the pain All cause I happen to have some brain." then he heard the door opening and it was Frank and Clarisse "hey dad uncle just made some void stew and some rolls for you."

He looked over finally being able to break from the mirror's curse and he said thanks how about you guys come here I don't want to be alone right now so Frank looked over behind where he was standing from the door frame murmured something to another person who swiftly was followed by footsteps down the stairs and soon both kids joined him in the room.

as Clarisse placed down the dish next to one of the nightstands and made sure that the lid of the stew that was on the bowl was properly fastened in order to make sure it wouldn't spill or make too much of a mess.

"so dad what is wrong today?" asked Frank as he had his own plate of rolls and then Mars sighs "oh just dealing with my mental health and can you hand me a roll Clarisse."

she gives him a roll and then she looks how Sleep deprived mars looked she then asked "have you been taking your sleep medication dad?" this causes him to break into a little bit of a giggle which sounded too pained to be generally happy now I've been awake for 5 days and I'm tired and I don't like waking up to nightmares so I'm just kind of late stay asleep deprived." he was now eating his food.

frank sits on the other side of his father and he was looking at him with a Sad expressing and he asked this stuns Mars into being quiet as he nibbled on his turtle roll.

Clarisse looked at her father with concern and he talks "well when you're a god of my domain everyone does easier as a monster and there really is much to fight about if the warrior the bloodshed you're the dirtiness you're a monster you live for the rush of battle there's just no other way to it."

he spoke as if he was tearing himself up from the inside out.

Well Frank looked slightly annoyed at his father and said in a huffed tone "that is not what you said does you said that we're not monsters we're not mindless bloodthirsty freaks then why do you say that to yourself?"

Clarisse just snapped a little bit on the rice bunny she snagged on the way up here very worried about the situation. well she spoke next "but you said us father you said that we're not blood craving monsters we are not. you're not one you're a protector you're a strong brave warrior who has little in faults as well you're closer and mortal like than the rest of your family and I'm not afraid to admit it you bring the bravery and the courage not all the people that fight in wars are part of the army itself medics see just as much horror as the Warriors do not all everyone in wars fight for the hell of it most are protecting what they hold dear some of them are coerced into it by propaganda or fear sure but they just want to make their families proud you're not just war your courage strength your bravery you protect us you protect your family you care stop putting yourself down."

Mars looks at them and he sniffs and then smiles "at least you have some form of healthily support systems that don't have strings attached to it and I'm sorry that you had your childhoods ruined and I was sorry that I was a crap father during the first two wars that you guys over faced Clarisse."

he was crying and Frank was hugging his father which causes him to freeze and hug back. both were crying and Clarisse pats him on the shoulder and hands him the stew.

#pjo Mars #ares pjo #pjo hoo toa #angst #fluff #depressing shit

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queen18xo · 3 years

Text

I Brought The God Of War To His Knees (With The Back Of My Hand Wiped The Blood From My Cheek) - Geralt & Jaskier

Geralt breezes into the Lettenhove estate, Roach, his mare trotting happily alongside him as they make their way across the pretentious stone courtyard the ample, open space surrounding the sizeable estate. Lining the dreary grey stone pathway is a trail of vibrant flowers bedded in healthy mounds of grass. The wide array of colourful flowers adding a much-needed boost of life to the otherwise severe-looking estate.

Geralt winces as the loud screech of the large doors leading into the estate swing open, a stocky man hurrying out of the doors, his arms stretched wide in a welcoming gesture. "White Wolf, we are honoured and humbled by your presence here at the Lettenhove estate", the man greets loudly, his sharp, overly polite voice grating on Geralts thin patience. "Please allow our stable boy to tend to your horse while we relocate to the meeting room", the count drones on, his eyes darting sharply to a raggedly dressed boy, shifting nervously beside them.

"Yes, master witcher, it would be an honour to tend to your mare", the boy voices shakily, his eyes downcast as he carefully approaches. Geralt bites back a wince, the sour scent of the boys fear assaulting his nose as he roughly extends Roach's reins to the stable boy, parting ways with a sharp grunt of thanks.

Geralt idly trails behind the count, his observant eyes drinking in his surroundings as he's led down twisted, barren halls, the estate appearing lifeless and cold as the stocky man steers him towards the meeting room.

The count pushes into a room, its doors tucked into a small alcove that veers off from the corridor; he settles himself comfortably against the edge of the desk, his arms folded over his chest as he waits for Geralt to enter the room. "If you could shut the doors, please, I'd prefer it if we weren't overheard", the count urges cordially. Geralt bites back an amused chuckle as he pushes the doors closed, his golden gaze catching on a striking pair of curious cornflower blue eyes as the small gap closes.

Geralt turns to face the count, leaning back against the far wall, his corded arms folding across his impressive chest as he raises an expectant brow. "I assume you know why I'm here?" Geralt grunts, his voice a deep threatening rumble as he addresses the count, purposefully skipping the pleasantries.

Geralts eyes flicker to the doors, his heightened hearing easily catching the stuttered heartbeat muffled behind the large doors. The count squares his shoulders, the subtle movement recapturing Geralts attention as the wolf refocuses on the count with a stern glare. "I do not have your payment witcher, but I do have something far better to offer", the count gloats, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. Geralt sighs inwardly, fighting the urge to rub his temples in frustration as dread settles heavily in his gut.

The dread curling in his stomach intensifies as a soft rap of knuckles against the door echos through the room, the quiet sound drawing the gaze of both men. "You may enter, Julian", the count snaps harshly, barely concealed disgust marring his features as he urges the guest to enter.

The doors clatter open loudly, the sharp sound earning a wince from Geralt as a lanky brunette stumbles clumsily into the room, the boy wincing sympathetically as he hurries to the count's side, briefly casting a curious glance to where Geralts perched menacingly against the wall.

"You called for me, father," the boy rushes out, panting heavily as he bows his head politely in greeting. A delicate flush colours his cheeks as his downcast eyes flicker to meet Geralts before he inclines his head courteously, acknowledging the witchers presence.

"Do not address me that way, boy", the count reprimands harshly, his face twisted into an ugly grimace. The boy flinches violently, instinctively curling away from the man as he raises his hand to strike the boy.

Geralt growls lowly, the dangerous sound rumbling from his chest, drawing the angry count's attention away from the cowering boy and back to himself. A pair of wet cornflower blue eyes blink up at him, the boy's soft pink lips curling up into a faint, grateful smile as Geralts gaze briefly flickers to him. Geralt quickly directs his attention back to the count, the boy's soft expression causing an unwelcome warmth to unfurl in his chest.

"I do not have the means to pay you witcher, but you may take the boy", the count offers, gesturing lazily to the boy cowering at his side. The urge to deny the counts offer and claim his territory as payment on the tip of his tongue, but a glimpse of the boy's trembling frame has the response dying on his tongue.

"Fuck", Geralt curses quietly, his lips curling into a menacing scowl as his eyes rove over the boy's slender frame before snapping to the counts, meeting his smut gaze with a furious glare. Geralt releases a resigned sigh as he pushes himself from the wall. "I will take the boy", Geralt grumbles unhappily.

"No - you wouldn't-" Julian stutters out in frantic protest, his pleading blue eyes snapping to his father, the count blatantly ignoring the boys desperate pleading as he keeps his gaze resolutely trained on Geralt.

"Enough-" the count snaps impatiently, effectively silencing the boys shaky protests. "You'll go with the witcher, and ill hear no more of it-" the count seethes, his fat fingers twisting roughly into the boy's hair as he pushes him forward, the boy's delicate features twisting into a pained grimace as he's shoved towards Geralt.

"But mother-" Julian tries, his eyes shining wetly as they flick between his father's stocky build and Geralts imposing frame before dropping to the ground as he fights against the tears burning his eyes.

"Your mother is gone, Julian!" The count screeches his chest, heaving angrily. "Get out of my sight, you pathetic child", the count snarls, the stinging slap of his palm connecting harshly with the boys soft cheek echoing loudly in Geralts sensitive ears.

The boy's small hands snap up to shakily cup the angry red welt forming across his pale cheek, the delicate flesh throbbing violently, his bright blue eyes shining with shame as he bows his head apologetically to the witcher. "May I get my things?" Julian breathes out tentatively, his voice barely more than a whisper as he cautiously addresses Geralt.

"You may", Geralt permits gruffly, his golden eyes following the boy as he rushes from the room, the salty tang of tears permeating the air; the boys chocked breaths loud in Geralts ears as he flees. "I will take the boy in place of your payment this time", Geralts confirms angrily, towering menacingly over the stocky count, his golden eyes glinting dangerously. "Pull something like this again, and you'll be cut down where you're stood", Geralt threatens, his sharp teeth bared dangerously.

"Sorry", Julian apologises as he stumbles back into the room, carefully observing the tension riddled confrontation between Geralt and the count before averting his gaze and bowing his head submissively. Geralts eyes drop to the bag slung over the boy's shoulder, the bag near bursting where it rests. The witcher quirks a brow expecting the lithe boy to struggle with the weight, but he holds the undoubtedly heavy bag with no complaints.

"Does he have a horse?" Geralt voices questioningly, his assessing gaze flicking over the boy's delicate appearance.

"I can answer for myself," Julian huffs impatiently, his heart stuttering beneath his ribs, a bright flush colouring his cheeks as the witchers heavy gaze falls to him, causing him to shift nervously.

Geralt gives the boy a short nod, the hint of a smile curling at his lips, impressed with the boy's courage and distinct lack of fear. "Well, answer then," Geralt prompts roughly, eyeing the boy curiously, his eyes briefly catching on the angry welt marring his delicate cheek.

"Right - yes", the boy stutters out apologetically, his cheeks flushing as his bright eyes drop from Geralts as he stumbles over his words, his flush darkening as the count huffs impatiently behind him. Geralt quirks a brow at the boy, his golden iris' alight with amusement. "I do - have a horse that is, Pegasus, a truly beautiful mare", Julian elaborates, words spilling from his lips unbidden, his eyes widening at his own nervous spiel.

Geralt offers the boy a short nod, a faint smile on his lips. "We'll be leaving then", Geralt rumbles, sparing the count a brief nod as he stalks out of the room; the distinct lack of footfalls behind him has him turning back, casting a glance behind himself, catching the sight of Julian frozen in front of his father.

Geralt watches curiously as the boys face shutters, a dark gleam clouding his bright eyes as his bag drops from his shoulder with a dull thumb; Geralt takes a cautious step forward, careful not to crowd the pair. "You're a vile old man, and I hope you rot", Julian spits, his venomous tone catching the witcher by surprise as he stands protectively behind the boy. Geralts eyes widen, his brows arching into his hairline as Julian's arm coils back before connecting with the counts jaw roughly, a sickening crack briefly breaking the tense silence.

A low growl forms in Geralts chest as the count readies to retaliate; Geralt strides across the room, capturing the mans curled fist before it can connect. "I wouldn't if I were you", Geralt warns darkly; he drops his gaze to Julian, the boy's awe-filled eyes blinking up at him from beneath a thick fan of lashes. "Go ready your horse", Geralt demands, watching as the boy reluctantly retreats, continuously glancing back as he disappears from the room.

The count breathes out harshly as Geralt's large hand tightens around his balled fist, the small bones groaning in protest, before the witcher ducks down, collecting Julian's bag and swiftly leaving, a mean smile curling at his lips as he hears the count hissing in pain behind him.

Geralt bursts out of the estate, a furious gleam burning in his golden eyes as he approaches the stable. His ire easing slightly as he approaches Julian, his slender frame bracketed by his mare and Roach, the boy softly murmuring to the two as he cards dainty hands through their manes.

"Ready?" Geralt rumbles impatiently, barely waiting for the boy's stilted nod of agreement before his large hands curl around the boy's slim waist drawing a shocked gasp from Julian's lips. Geralts grip tightens instinctively, his eyes falling to meet Julian's wide-eyed gaze as he easily hefts him into the saddle before securing his overstuffed bag to the mare.

"Thank you", Julian voices quietly, his bright eyes shining with gratitude as he thanks the witcher, earning a grunt of acknowledgement in response as Geralt hoists himself into Roach's saddle.

"Keep up", Geralt grunts, sparing the boy a brief glance before setting Roach off at a fast-paced trot, Pegasus quickly falling in line behind the older mare as Julian expertly guides her. The wolf releases a sigh of relief as they escape through the gates, distancing themselves from the estate's oppressive clutches.

Not long into their journey, Geralts observant eyes spot an ideal clearing to set up camp, the spot hidden from view by thick foliage. He pulls Roach to a sudden stop, eyeing Julian with an impressed gleam in his eyes as the boy swiftly pulls his own mare to an effortless stop beside Roach.

He casts a curious glance over to Geralt as he softly cards agile fingers through Pegasus' man. "We'll stop here for the night; it'll be dark soon", Geralt rumbles in explanation as he moves to stand beside Julian. He reaches out, his strong hands gripping the boy's hips, Julian's dainty fingers instinctively curling over his broad shoulders as the wolf carefully lifts him from the saddle and places him on the floor.

Julian blinks up at him through a dark fan of lashes, his erratic heartbeat loud in Geralts ears as the boy looks up at him, but his scent is clear of the sharp tang of fear or anxiety. Geralt looks down at him questioningly as a dark flush colours the boy's cheeks, his golden gaze briefly catching on the angry outline of the count's palm. The wolf reaches out instinctively, the rough pad of his thumb grazing the angry welt, the action pulling a sharp hiss from the boy's lips. Geralts eyes darken with guilt as he takes a hurried step away from Julian, the movement borderline clumsy as he retreats.

"Put your stuff over there - I'll go collect firewood", Geralt rumbles, gesturing vaguely towards the large clearing behind himself before he's turning on his heel and disappearing into the thick forest bordering the clearing.

Julian sighs dejectedly before leading the two mares towards the clearing and allowing them to graze as he gets to work on removing their saddles and tending to them. He methodically works his way through a mental checklist; he starts by detaching their saddlebags, placing Geralts against a tree as he fights the pressing urge to root through the witchers belongings.

He moves onto Pegasus, leaving his solitary bag leant haphazardly beside Geralt's belongings; he unzips a small compartment in his bag, pulling from it Pegaus' favoured brush, and breezes past Pegasus, earning himself an unimpressed nicker from the mare. "Sorry girl, I'll brush you next, okay - promise," he murmurs quietly to the mare before making his way over to Roach, where the horse is grazing happily.

"Hello girl, unfortunately, the witcher didn't tell me your name", Julian huffs, earning a soft nicker from the mare as he gently cards his fingers through her mane, untangling a few stubborn knots from the deep caramel hairs.

"Her names Roach" Geralt voices as he breaks through the trees, his eyes dropping to Julian's dainty hands as they work the knots from Roach's mane with well-practised ease.

"don't do that", Julian exclaims, his hand flying to his chest as he startles, the brush slipping from his grip with a barely audible thud. "I'm only twenty. That is far too young for a heart attack, dear witcher", Julain huffs fondly, rolling his eyes as he collects the brush.

"I didn't intend to startle you", Geralt voices awkwardly, his eyes flicking to where his belongings are carefully perched against a tree. "You didn't have to do that", Geralt mumbles, his eyes flickering between his belongings and Roach before settling on Julian, the boy gazing up at him with a fond smile.

"No, I suppose I didn't", Julian hums, smiling softly before returning to his previous task. Geralt starts working on a fire, darkness slowly beginning to creep in as Julian idly tends to the mares, his gaze occasionally falling to the witcher as the man prepares dinner.

Julian sighs tiredly before perching across from Geralt, the blazing fire roaring between them as Geralt idly fiddles with a well-crafted dagger, his eyes briefly flickering to meet Julians before falling to their meal slowly roasting over the fire.

Geralt handles the blade with ease, expertly flicking the dagger from hand to hand, his heavy gaze falling to Julian. He watches as the boy's eyes follow every subtle twitch of his hands as the dagger glides between them.

Geralt hums consideringly, propelling the dagger towards Julian, the sound punctuated by the deadly hiss of the blade as it slices through the air. Julian's sharp eyes widen, his dainty hand easily curling around the hilt as he expertly snatches the blade from the air. He holds the flesh warmed hilt in his hand, his wide eyes flicking between Geralt and the dagger nestled in his palm.

"Impressive", Geralt hums, a faint smile curling at his lips ", who taught you that trick, little prince" Geralt teases softly, a smirk forming on his lips as the boy scoffs indignantly, his iris' darkening with challenge.

"I'm a viscount-"

"Not anymore, you're not", Geralt rumbles, swiftly cutting the boy off.

"Yes, I suppose you're right", Julian sighs dejectedly, his gaze falling from Geralts as he idly twists the dagger's hilt in his hold, his eyes tracing the beautiful detailing adorning to rich leather.

Regret curls in Geralt gut as the delicate boys features form a frown, his fingertips carefully dancing across the blades sharpened edge.

"If you can use it, you can keep it", Geralt rumbles, his deep voice loud in the heavy silence settled between them. Julian's wide-eyed gaze snaps to Geralt, eyeing the man curiously as he mulls his words over thoughtfully.

"You wish for me to fight you?" Julian questions hesitantly, his nervous blue eyes flicking searchingly between Geralts golden iris' as the blade carefully held in his palm.

Geralt stands from the floor, moving himself a safe distance from the fire, idly dusting himself off as the boy nervously pulls himself to his feet. "I won't hurt you", Geralt assures the boy noticing his hesitancy.

"And if I hurt you, witcher?" Julian asks as he moves to stand before the man, quirking a questing brow.

Geralt scoffs, an amused smile dancing across his usually impassive features as he regards the boy's slight frame. "You couldn't", Geralt chuckles, his golden eyes filled with warmth as they meet Julians.

"Do not underestimate me, wolf", Julian warns, his voice holding a dangerous edge to it. Geralt tilts his head questioningly, his steady gaze locked with Julians, "Your medallion" Julian responds to the man's non-verbal question, his sharp eyes darting to the silver medallion hanging from his neck, the bright silver standing out starkly against the witcher's black armour.

"Geralt", He huffs out, a faint frown tugging at his lips as he waits for the boy's expression to darken, the connotations attached to his name far from pleasant.

"Not just any wolf witcher then", Julian murmurs but remains non plussed by the confession, as Geralt eyes him sceptically. "You wish to spar then, white wolf?" Julian questions, his eyes glinting dangerously, his heart thumping heavily behind his ribs as he carefully advances on the wolf.

Geralt smirks, rolling his eyes fondly as he retrieves a hidden dagger from a sheath that clings to the corded muscle of his thigh; Julian's gaze follows the movement, his eyes darkening as they catch on the thick muscle. Geralt's golden eyes darken in response as the boys heavy gaze meets his, the heady scent of Julian's lust thick in the air between them as they lazily circle each other.

Julian's tongue darts out, swiping across his chapped lips, a flush colouring his cheeks as he holds Geralt's knowing gaze. "As you wish-" Julian pauses, sucking in a deep, steadying breath. "Geralt", he breathes out a subtle shake to his melodic voice as the man's name falls from his lips.

Geralt releases a sharp exhale, his name on Julian's lips sounding unreasonably sinful. "You attack, I'll block", Geralt instructs, his voice dropping an octave as the dagger dances expertly in his hand as he adjusts to its light weight in his large, sword calloused palm.

Julian sucks in a shaky breath as he lowers his stance for better balance, his pants constricting tightly around his supple thighs, the material stretching to allow him more mobility than his formal wear typically would. Julian strikes out with fluid motion; his dagger brandished as an extension of himself, the speed and elegance of his strike momentarily startling Geralt.

The witcher easily deflects, the sharp clang of their clashing blades ringing out loudly in the small clearing as dusk settles around them. "Not bad", Geralt praises roughly, slowly circling the boy, his sharp eyes tracking Julian's sleek movements, his body moving with a fluidity the witcher hadn't expected from the boy.

Julian spins on his heels, lunging towards the witcher, his blade thrust forward towards the man's sternum. Geralt catches his forearm swiftly, effortlessly twirling the boy, tugging his slender frame flush to his chest roughly. "Your footing could use some work", Geralt teases, his voice a deep rumble that vibrates through Julian's frame, his breath hot against the shell of Julian's ear, eliciting a shiver from the dainty boy.

"Is that so witcher" Julian growls lowly, his ankle sweeping out to curl around Geralts calf as his elbow swiftly connects with the man's muscular stomach causing him to stumble back a step. Geralts dagger falls from his slick grip, clattering to the floor in his momentary surprise; Julian drops his blade alongside the witchers, the two laying side by side like a matching pair. Julian advances on the witcher with sure steps, the wolf's lips curling into a slow smirk as the boy approaches.

Julian strikes with a tightly curled fist; the witcher easily deflects the boys surprisingly powerful strike with his muscular forearm, the boys face furrowed in concentration. Julian brings a knee up, Geralt swiftly knocking it aside with a corded thigh, his pants clinging to the bulging muscle as it tenses. He curls a strong arm around Julian's dainty waist as the boy stumbles, losing his balance; Geralt carefully tumbles them to the ground. The witcher easily twisting their bodies, so Julian's slender frame lands atop his, Geralts muscular form protecting him from the harsh ground.

Julian lands against Geralt's powerful frame with a heavy thud, his chest heaving as he pants heavily against the man, his breaths puffing hotly against Geralts cheek as he catches his breath.

Julian pushes himself up, bracing himself on his forearms as he hovers above the witcher, his bright eyes blinking down at the man laid beneath. He slowly presses closer, his dainty frame flush against Geralts, the wolf's warm breaths ghosting across his lips as he tentatively closes the distance between them. Julian's heart thunders in his chest as his blue eyes flicker between Geralts golden gaze and his full lips.

The witcher stiffens beneath him as he reluctantly turns his head away from the boy. "You don't want to do that, kid", Geralt mumbles warningly, screwing his eyes shut to avoid Julians searching gaze.

"I'm old enough to decide what I want for myself", Julian voices quietly, his voice shaking as he responds.

"Julian-"

"No stop- I may not be some ancient, all-knowing witcher, but I am old enough to make my own damn decisions." Julian snaps defensively, his dainty hands pressing firmly to Geralts muscular chest, holding the man against the floor as he glares down at the witcher.

"I am 80 years your senior kid; trust me, you don't want this", Geralt grumbles. He turns to face the boy, his gaze falling to the soft pout of Julian's plump lips unbidden, his fingers itching with the desire to engulf his hips and draw his delicate frame closer.

"Yet you still want me", Julian whispers, his voice loud in the charged air swirling between them. Julian's lips curl up into a sinful smirk as he pushes into Geralts space, his eyes dropping to Geralts parted lips, as the witcher gazes up at him slack-jawed, sharp huffs of breath tumbling from his parted lips.

"This isn't right", Geralt argues; he pushes the boy away carefully before quickly scrambling away from the tempting boy, easily pushing himself onto his feet. Julian sits blinking up at him dazedly from his ungainly sprawl on the grassy floor.

Julian follows in Geralts steed, clumsily pushing himself to stand, brushing the dirt from his drab attire, his blue iris' burning bright with frustration as he levels the witcher with a cold glare. "Why? Why isn't it?" Julian barks, his shaking hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

"You're a child! You don't know what you want, and it sure as hell wouldn't be a-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Geralt", Julian warns, exhaling a sharp breath as he screws his eyes shut. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before his eyelids flutter open, his fiery blue eyes connecting with Geralts.

"Why can't handle the truth, little prince?" Geralt taunts meanly, his lips curling up into a dangerous snarl, his sharp teeth glinting in the soft glow of firelight. "I'm a monster, a mutant, a warlord", Geralt seethes, pushing into Julian space abruptly.

Julan reaches out instinctively, his palm tenderly curling around the man's cheek. "You don't believe that", Julian gasps out brokenly, his delicate features twisted with sadness. Geralt screws his eyes shut against the barrage of emotions as he gently nuzzles into the boy's palm relishing in the warm comfort. "Please, Geralt - please tell me you don't believe that", Julian chokes out, his soft voice cracking with emotion.

Geralts golden eyes flutter open, his gaze meeting Julains bright eyes, his blue eyes shining wetly as he holds the witchers gaze. "I'm not a good man Julian, I'm barely a man at all", Geralt confesses quietly, reluctantly pulling himself from Julians hold, his thumb tenderly brushing along the boy's soft cheek before he turns away.

Julian growls lowly as he reaches out, tangling his agile fingers in Geralt's long white hair, tugging the strands roughly as he urges the man to face him, the action drawing a strangled groan from the witcher. "You are more of a man than most dear wolf", Julian confesses softly, a haunted look flickering in his bright eyes.

Julian presses closer, his tantalising scent almost suffocating as he crowds into Geralt's space, his striking blue eyes peering up at Geralt through a thick fan of dark lashes. "I want you witcher", Julian admits quietly.

"Hmm - that's a dangerous thing to say", Geralt growls, his fingertips pressing firmly to the delicate curve of Julian waist. He presses the boy back, his slim frame colliding roughly with the firm bark of a tree, Geralts large frame pressing flush against him. "Are you really that stupid?" Geralt questions lowly, his fingertips pressing bruises into the soft flesh of Julian's hips, pulling a broken whine from the boy's plump lips.

"I guess I am" Julian smiles softly, his doe eyes blinking up at Geralt, his lashes fluttering shut lazily as he tips his head back against the tree, baring the tempting expanse of his pale throat to the wolf in a submissive gesture.

"Don't-" Geralt chokes out on a ragged breath, tearing himself away from the boy, ripping his hungry gaze from the exposed flesh of his throat to the vibrant grass glimmering under the soft moonlight illuminating the clearing. Geralt sucks in a sharp breath, regaining his tenuous grip on his fraying control, the fire dancing in his golden eyes as he meets Julian's gaze.

Julian leans back against the tree, his chest heaving as he pants heavily, the picture of debauchery, his pink lips parted around ragged breaths, his cheeks flushed, and eyes dazed as he meets the witchers intense gaze. "We'll be leaving at dawn - eat something and get some rest", Geralt instructs firmly. He reluctantly turns away from the tempting sight as he places a careful distance between them, turning his back to the boy as he settles beside the fire and begins the arduous task of sharpening his swords.

He hears the stilted shuffling of material as Julian slips into his bedroll, the boys heavy gaze hot against his back. "Goodnight, Geralt", Julian breathes out quietly.

"Goodnight, Julian", Geralt sighs softly, his head bowed over his swords. He hears Julian's heart audibly stuttering his chest, causing the witcher to instinctively turn to face the boy curled in his bedroll, meeting a pair of heavy-lidded blue eyes.

"Jaskier", Julian mumbles, "I prefer Jaskier", he confesses sheepishly, his tired eyes fluttering shut.

"Goodnight, Jaskier", Geralt breathes out, his chest constricting uncomfortably as he watches the boys features slacken with sleep. His heart racing in an unfamiliar way as he familiarises himself with the boy's soft features.

#geraskier fanfiction #geraskier #warlord geralt #bamf jaskier

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yuyupowers · 3 years

Text

aristocrat!seonghwa

aristocrat!seonghwa x fem!reader

genre: fluff

trigger warning(s): patriarchal society mostly. let me know if there’s anything else!

author’s note: none of the pictures are mine!!

for reference, i’m using british peerage (hierarchy). there are five ranks: baron, viscount, earl (count), marquess, and duke - the highest being duke, and the lowest, baron.

second son of a duke

i imagine seonghwa to be someone who values tradition

unlike hongjoong who finds who finds the numerous aristocratic mannerisms pointless, hwa believes upholding these (rather stringent) rules is a sign of respect

perfect gentleman pt.1

excellent in swordsmanship, horse-back riding, and hunting

well versed in poetry, literature, art, and finance

(can maintain a conversation about politics but honestly it kinda goes over his head)

a bit on the shyer side, but a decent conversationalist

good at keeping the flow and mediating in case anyone becomes a little too heated about their opinions

definitely cares about his and his family’s image

naturally caring and tends to dote on those close to him

(translates into excellent manners)

holds the door open, offers his hand when stepping out of carriages, makes sure to walk on the side closest to traffic, diverts conversation when things are too “distressing,” wouldn’t be caught dead alone with a woman that wasn’t related to him or his fiancée/wife

and surprise, surprise !!

this is where you come in

you’re the second oldest daughter, fourth child out of six; born to an earl

hwa’s family had the highest title bestowed upon aristocracy

whereas your family accumulated more wealth and land than the park family

and since both you and hwa were prime marrying age™, your parents decided upon a mutually beneficial marriage

the first time you met seonghwa was under the watchful eye of both your parents, when the park’s invited your family for dinner

tbh, you were pretty relieved when you met him

“prime marrying age” was different for men, so you were just glad he wasn’t some old geezer

and he seemed like a decent person !!

a well put together gentleman, and his image was only consolidated throughout dinner

all in all, you didn’t have much to complain about from the initial impression

though it was kinda annoying when your little sister would not shut up about how he was the handsome man she’s ever met

even if you agreed

and didn’t she say that when she met woo?

anyways

after the first meeting with the park’s, both your parents set up multiple occasions for you two to meet

whether that be evening walks, picnics in the park, etc,,,

you learned a great deal about seonghwa

how his favourite is black, how he loved the stars and that his favourite planet was mars

how he loved kids and doted on your youngest siblings (much to your sister’s glee)

how he enjoyed spending a quiet afternoon with you reading dickens, discussing afterwards the contrast between carton and darnay

how he was always considerate of your feelings and opinions

you liked to think you were a decent judge of character and thought overall that seonghwa was a kind and caring person

but you also noticed a few characteristics that-

you wouldn’t say it was off-putting or anything but,,,

it might bother you in the future

see, you were pretty good friends with hongjoong

and while you weren’t as extreme,

(you didn’t sneak out weekly to hang out with a bar maiden that you definitely did not have a crush on)

you certainly agreed with him on certain points

like hwa, you thought that abiding by certain mannerisms = display of respect

but unlike him, you didn’t care all that much about your image

okay, that was a lie.

you couldn’t say you didn’t care about your image

(social ostracization isn’t exactly fun ya feel)

but you thought it was,,,exhausting

it’s one thing to be respectful, but it’s another thing to say things you don’t mean

to fake humility

to undermine people that are supposed to be your “friends” or “one of you”

to be perfect, when “perfect” was such a subjective term anyways

it just felt so fake and that left a bitter taste in your mouth

even now, you could see all the efforts seonghwa made to constantly keep his image of a “perfect gentleman”

with perfect mannerisms and perfect answers and perfect-

yeah, it kinda frustrated you

not to mention how obedient he was?

of course you didn’t fault him for being a dutiful and filial son, but his loyalty blinded him

and it wasn’t like his parents were bad people !!

no, you’d say they were much kinder than the average noble family

especially considering their status

but when they made important decisions for their son without consulting him,

(because they were more experienced, because they knew better, etc,,,)

and he accepted whatever decision they handed to him?

well,,,

nevertheless, despite being his fiancée, you, by this point, had realistically had known seonghwa for a couple months

and you didn’t feel like it was your place

(at least not yet)

to point this out

so the two of you continued your cordial but emotionally distant meetings

that is until “the incident” (as hwa fondly likes to call it)

okay, so-

one day you paid hwa a visit and the two of you decided to take a walk in his family’s garden

chattering about this and that

a lovely time !!

it was a bit overcast, but it didn’t look too threatening

so the two of you ignored the clouds looming in the horizon and wandered deep into the garden

big mistake

the weather took a turn for the worst, and soon it was pouring

by this point seonghwa was a little panicked

he knew that for women, getting ready could be excessively long and tenuous task

(courtesy of his little sister’s complaints)

and now !! you were getting rained on !! because he didn’t bring an umbrella !! just in case !!

!!!!

he turns to you, ready to shield you with his jacket and lead you back to the manor

but he’s at a loss by what he sees

he had expected you to be upset, to huddle closer to him, to,,,idk, maybe reprimand him for this thoughtlessness??

but instead, he finds you staring up at the dark sky, eyes shimmering with barely contained glee with the biggest smile he’s ever seen from you adorning your lips

he likes your smile

and if he was already confused (he was), he was about to become even more so

because the next thing he knows, you’re hiking your dress in one hand and grabbing his in the other, running through puddles of water and mud and everything in between, laughter falling from you like the rain

up until this point, you had been acting like the perfect (you hate that word) lady

polite, demure, charming-

in public settings, you only spoke when spoken to, with a voice that was purposely soft and soothing

you chatted with his mother and sisters about traditionally feminine things over tea with impeccable manners

whenever you two met, you were always prim and proper; never a strand of hair out of place

but here you were, getting not only yours but his clothes soggy and muddy, laughing without a care about how pleasant it sounded or how loud it was

seonghwa liked to think he wasn’t a judgemental person-

he wasn’t repulsed or anything by your sudden change in demeanor

just.

really confused

and when you looked back, you could tell,if his expression was anything to go by

but your grin only grew wider, because you could work with this

he wasn’t enjoying himself per say; a bit too confused and bit too stiff to do so

but he wasn’t horrified or disgusted

okay maybe he was a little grossed out; he liked to be clean thank you very much

you could work with this.

and so over the next few months, you showed him things he never dreamed of doing

some of which he liked, some of which he didn’t

some he was willing to try, some, less

like sneaking into the restricted section of the library (he’s never been so scandalized in his life)

or visiting the kitchen in the middle of the night so you could teach him how to make some basic recipes (which he surprisingly enjoyed)

or meeting hongjoong

(“of COURSE it matters if they got the colour wrong?! lord help me you’re the most insufferable person i’ve ever met-”)

and the more the two of you explored, the more he,,,real he became.

and vice versa.

gradually, the mask of perfection he worked so on hard to maintain was slipping before you

don’t get me wrong, he’s still kind and caring and a gentleman

but sometimes he would whine and complain when you encouraged him to do something he was less than enthusiastic about (usually something that involved getting him messy)

or he made The Face™ (the disgusted one) to you and when he didn’t like something or someone

or he would be stupidly stubborn about some random fact that you KNEW was wrong but he just WOULDN’T admit if even when you showed him proof

(“seonghwa for the last time toads don’t give you war-” “LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU” “eye-”)

once, he even playfully stole the strawberry from your cake

(big mistake. he’s never doing that again. he never knew a woman could move so fast or be so scary.)

it made you so, so happy because the two of you were finally getting to know each other

actually know each other

then one day, while the two of you were reading underneath a tree at the park

“,,,hey love?” (hwa)

“yes?”

“why are we doing this?”

“what do you mean, dear?”

“i mean,,,i’m not complaining, but i guess,,,why did you decide to show me this part of you? the part that runs around in the rain?” hwa

you don’t reply right away

instead, you shut your book and idly stared at the willow swaying over the pond, wind running its fingers through its drooping leaves

after a few moments of silence

“,,,i wanted to know you and what you believed in. actually believed in.”

seonghwa tilts his head slightly to the side

“love, i hardly think my convictions have changed”

“but do you know what your convictions are?”

and you know when you hear something that resonates with you?

something that strikes deep in your core and makes you rethink everything you’ve know?

yeah,,,this is one of those moments

now it was seonghwa’s turn to set his book aside, falling deep in thought

after an unnaturally long stretch of silence, you began to panic a little

because ?? maybe you misread the situation and got a little too comfortable-

cause i mean you were questioning his core values, which is something he takes very seriously

o god you messed up didn’t you o crap you need to apolog-

“will you help me figure it out?”

“,,,huh??”

“will you help me figure out my convictions?” he asked

and you swear, you’ve never seen such a smile from seonghwa

one that conveyed a plethora of emotions, ranging from honesty and vulnerability, to confusion and loss, to lightness and warmth

it filled you with an unnameable feeling

like something sliding into place, fitting perfectly; like it was always meant to be there, filling you with comfort

shyly intertwining your hands for the first time, you looked up to meet his gaze with a pattering heart and a smile matching his own

“,,,of course.”

129 notes · View notes

sugako · 3 years

Text

cold, cold, cold

pairing: timeskip!tsukki x gn!reader summary: there’s a little too much tension between you and your annoying co-worker at the museum after hours warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, semi-public (no one sees), light degradation (very soft imo), quickie a/n: psa do not fuck in a museum.. as someone who has worked in multiple museums i feel need to say this,, also yes, ‘sherd’ is a word

Tsukishima was always around. Not that it was difficult working at a relatively small place. Something about him bothered you, but you couldn’t really figure it out. Maybe it was how he always seemed to sneer at you, or how he commented on your taste in music any time he stuck his head in your office, or how he never seemed to be in a truly pleasant mood.

At first, you had even thought he was kind of cute albeit a bit awkward. Then you realized he was just selective and a bit haughty. You couldn’t help but think it had to be a front. He was never outright mean to you, although he certainly didn’t stop himself from criticizing you. Much to your dismay, his criticism were generally valid.

You tried to ignore your own mixed emotions and confusion as you sat in the back of the frigid storage room gently dry brushing a sherd of Hagi ware from some long forgotten collection that had been neglected.

“Oh, you’re still here.” His deadpan voice struck some fiery chord in your heart, but you simply glanced up. “Everyone else left.”

“Yeah, I got caught up cleaning these.” You groan as you stretch back in your seat, bones creaking from having been hunched over for so long. “Why are you still here?”

He rolled his eyes as he adjusted the stack of papers and bag in his hands and sauntered toward you.

“An interesting song choice. You shouldn’t listen to music while you work, you know.”

You groaned quietly at his condescending attitude as you began shuffling the small piece back into its bag with its museum tag and a little info-note you had written for reference. He set his bag and papers on the table with a small thud.

“I’m allowed to listen to music. Besides, you do it all the time.”

“You’re allowed, but you shouldn’t listen to such bad music.” He chuckled, snatching your phone of the edge of the work table before you could react. As fast as you could, you jogged over to the sink to give your dust stained hands a quick rinse. With an overly contented sigh, he pressed the pause button. “Isn’t that better?”

You expectantly held out your hand. “Tsukishima.” You said sharply.

He cocked an eyebrow, but your angry expression only seemed to egg him on. With a wicked grin he held the phone up beside his head.

“What?” He asked innocently.

“Tsukishima,” you urged, “we’re not playing this game.” This was embarrassing, but you couldn’t figure out for you or him. “We’re not ten, just give me it back.”

“If you agree to listen to better music.”

You wanted so badly to wipe the stupid smirk off his face, but deep inside you felt there was something a little alluring about it. Even if this situation was laughable at best. Sighing dramatically, you reached up for your phone. “Depends on what you think is ‘better’ music.” Standing up and straining your arm, you didn’t even notice how close you had gotten or how close your foot was too a loose power cord on the ground.

He hadn’t been entirely steady in his stance, so when you came crashing into him, he went down hard into the cool concrete floor taking you with him. His hand that wasn’t clutching your sleeve was still miraculously clutching your phone. You wrapped your legs under his to trap him and clawed for your phone.

“Stop, this is ridiculous!” You whined, tugging against his iron grip.

“You pushed me over. You never look where you’re going.” He quipped back.

“I only ran into you that one time because you’re so freakishly tall!”

“You ran into me twice! Apparently you can’t count either.”

“Who cares?!”

“The curator should. If you can’t count to two, how can you count artifacts?”

“What are you even... just shut up, you’re always so-!”

The grip his fingers had slipped up a little and your ass flew back into his hips. Hard. When you shifted a little in an attempt to free your limbs from him, you felt it. His long cocking pressing sharply into your thigh.

You gasp and flinch just enough that he notices. His eyes widen and his mouth gapes open as he goes to apologize, desperately trying to get out from under you.

“This is what does it for you?” Your whisper is half full of wonder and half full of disgust. And he loves it.

“N-no, you were just moving around so much. That doesn’t mean...” A deep blush lit up his cheeks as he attempted to sputter out some coherent set of words.

You held back a chuckle as you sat back and stood. When you stuck out a hand for him to lift himself, he graciously took it, not meeting your eyes.

“I’m just messing with you.” He doesn’t trust the smile on your face though. “But if you wanted to fuck me you should’ve just asked instead of acting like an insolent child.”

Your hand tightened around his, keeping him locked close to you.

“I was not acting like an insolent child.” He mumbled, though he made no attempt to move back from you. The look splayed across your face was far from joking.

You didn’t know what you were doing. The phone thing had been annoying and embarrassing, but when you felt him harden up under you just from a little struggling and mean words it was like a switch flipped. You finally realized why you were so frustrated with him.

“That sounds like something an insolent child would say.” You breathe, maneuvering your fingers around so they were intertwined with his. His soft, shocked expression morphed as he made up his own mind about the situation.

“You want to fuck me so bad.” He chuckled, an overpowering look gracing his features.

You set your phone on the counter behind you and rolled your eyes.

“You can’t stand to not be in charge, can you?” You took his other, very pliant, hand into your own.

“I don’t care about being in charge when I know I’m right.” He said lowly, leaning into you.

“Mhmm,” you humored him, leaning in as well.

Before you could blink, a sloppy clacking of teeth and tongues knocked you back. Tsukishima grabbed your cheeks roughly. You clutched around his slender waist and pulled him into you. His hard cock strained against your front.

Normally so put together, his actions were so hurriedly messy now that he had you in his arms. Despite the fact that you didn't seem to get his humor or appreciate his critiques, he had found himself drawn to you from the day he saw you.

You brushed your fingers up his figure and into his light curls. The rugged tugs on his scalp make him moan into your mouth. His vibrations filled you with a sweet warmth, making you press even closer to him.

Finally, you tore him away by the back of his head. Panting unevenly, you struggled to get the words out. "Want you to fuck me." You breathed hotly into his ear.

"Here?" His condescending tone was marred by his shaking breath. "What a slutty thing to beg for."

"I-I'm not begging for anything." You growled, palming him roughly through his pants.

"So you don't want my cock, then?" His hands grabbed your ass and pushed you back just a few centimeters. "Is that why you look so desperate?"

"You're pretty cocky for someone who got hard over a little tug-of-war." You didn't move your eyes away from his as you unhooked his belt and unbuttoned his pants.

"I wish you would talk less." He groaned and tore himself away from you.

"Excuse me?" You were slumped against the empty counter behind you, incredulous as he rooted through his bag.

"Shut up," his eye roll was almost audible when he stood back and up and turned to you again. He held a little foil package in one hand, smirking. "Turn around and bend over."

The small urge you had to argue was strong, but the sight of his long cock weeping through his powder blue briefs was enough to make you easily comply. Swallowing the thick lump in your throat you clutched onto the edge of the freezing counter.

"Good." He hummed as he came up behind you. His fingers worked around your front to unbutton and rip your pants down. You craned your neck over your shoulder as he carefully opened the condom package and eased it over his long cock.

Shuddering, you relaxed toward the counter. His foot kicked between yours, spreading your legs wider. He watched with pure bliss as your hungry little hole clenched around nothing.

"Just fuck me already." You whined. Not being able to see him or what he was doing was creating a delightful mix of nervousness and excitement in the pit of your stomach.

"Well, I can't say no when you beg like that." He cooed into your ear. As you jumped back in surprise, he quickly slipped his thick cock head just past your entrance. You yelped at the sudden intrusion and tried your best to relax. "Sure you can take me?" He said lowly as he massaged your sides.

You scoffed. "Don't be so full of yourself."

"Alright then..."

In one smooth movement he bottomed out inside of you. As you screamed in both pleasure and dull pain, he clamped a hand over your mouth.

"You take me pretty well and I haven't even really touched you."

You muttered some agreement into his palm. Moving his hand away, he soothingly kneaded his fingers into your lower back, urging you to relax around him.

"Tell me when you can really take me."

"Please," you whined quietly, "move, please..."

He wanted to tell you to speak up, fluster you more than you already were, tease you until you couldn't form a sentence. But here and now wasn't the time or place. So instead, he started moving just as you had pleaded.

You cried out, desperately trying to quiet yourself although there was no one else there except the two of you, as he plunged in and out of your pulsing hole. Even though his strokes were fast and hard you could feel every inch, every vein and ridge. His little moans and gasps drew you closer and closer to the edge, but it wasn't enough.

With your hands trapped between your chest and the counter, you couldn't even move them to relieve yourself. Lost in your own pleasure, you barely noticed how your hips pushed back to meet his as he pounded into you.

"You're so good, please, fuck..." You babbled on.

Your little praises sent him over the edge. With your sweet encouraging, he sloppily thrusted into you, fingers digging deep bruises into your hips as he finally emptied himself into you. The syrupy pitched moan that left his throat made you shiver under him.

He slumped over you for a minute, holding you close. Finally, he pulled away, carefully pulling the condom off and neatly tying it up before tossing it into a nearby trash bin. With unsteady legs you pulled yourself and your pants up. By the time you turned around he already looked completely put back together as if he hadn't been mercilessly pounding into you a minute ago.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you didn't quite meet his eyes. "I didn't-"

"Come home with me."

"What?"

"I know you didn't cum, so if you want to you can come home with me and we can finish."

You couldn't help but smile at the blush that graced his cheeks. Trying your best to walk confidently on unsteady feet, you strode up to him and gave him a small kiss on the side of his lips.

"Let's go then."

#tsukishima x reader #tsukki x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #tsukki smut

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tiens-letters · 3 years

Text

butterflies flutter even in the most bloodstained of battlefields

Xiao (angst)

....

It was one of those nights again.

Where all was serene, creatures alike basking in the tranquility of the world once the moon above floats over the existence of everything. To where wars stopped for rest and yet one soul amongst many had no time to do so.

"Alatus." what a familiar name he thinks as he floats around in the void, the darkness to which seemed not consume him just like before and then he wondered where he is right now is the place of all endings. It was pure nothingness and it seemed more comforting than the land he was supposed to protect, riddled with war and the ever evolving generations of humanity.

If this was the end then so be it, he wouldnt ask for more. He could finally rest his weary head and think and replay all the good days while awaiting reincarnation and he prayed. He hoped for a better rebirth and into a place of peace.

"Alatus." there was it again, the name he's forgot during the spoils of war. A name he thought he'd never hear again or even spoken by someone's lips.

"Wake up please." but his eyes were fully open, his body aware and yet he felt alienated, out of place. He realizes that his skin never felt a thing and only the harrowing reality that this place was a farce.

As if it were the clue to the puzzle, the darkness broke and fell apart into a field, marred with bodies piled atop each other, the red sun above blessing those under it the horrors of a never ending terror that scorched their skin and drove them towards the brink of madness. His polearm, sullied with grime and blood. It felt heavy, like the burden he carries upon his shoulders. A little bit more and he would have lost himself too. He stood above it all and looked at the vast battlefield before him, the very nightmare he's always experienced. Just he himself standing, alone and cold, the suffocating air heavy with the stench of tarnished blood.

There were no grassy fields with a clear sky nor the old and ancient land of liyue that he grew up in and fought for.

A lone butterfly dances in the midst of it all, his body weightless as he followed it. Wondering why it called out to him in a silent way yet its presence itself made him feel at ease. Perhaps this was his salvation from being damned to this world, a small glowing butterfly. He wanted to touch it but he felt undeserving to for such an action, he might curse it as well. His eyes was set alone on its fluttering feat, not noticing the bodies he walked past nor the souls that called out to him.

And then it burst into a million, pieces of light, engulfing him in its warmth.

He welcomed it.

"Xiao!" he gasps, like his very first breath into existence and then he could feel everything there is and there was.

That's right, there was still you, beautiful eyes fully blown into worry, that face of your torn into agony at the thought of him never waking up next to you. Not feeling his skin upon your and his lips gracing your immortal soul.

You embraced him with relief, clutching his body that was filled with nightmare tremors.

"Thank you." he whispers against your neck, the sweat from his forehead sticking to you skin and you didnt care. Even if you both were covered in dirt or grime, even if both of you were tarnished by blood, nothing mattered except that you both are breathing and feeling.

"I thought Ive lost you in that wasteland, Alatus."

He kisses you with all he has, all the pent up emotions he could never say, all the love he feels for you was conveyed into actions, those hands that held a weapon of war now cupping your cheeks and all you could ever feel was his deeply rooted affection towards you. it was as if to remind him that you were still there, the sole reminder of a better world. a better life.

You who he's dedicated his heart to and not anyone else. the first of everything. sure it was a bumpy ride in the beginning as he was like a newborn babe to the emotions such as love and joy but as time took every step, the road seemed to smoothen by its grace and it became easier to approach these newfound feelings. you were glad to be blessed by the geo archon to have a long life so that you can offer your all to the land you helped protect and build and now to the man before you. Your dearly torn Alatus.

"Rest well my dear."

...

It was truly the end of the line.

Everywhere was in utter chaos, modern Liyue now fraught to ruin as an ancient God had been awakened, one you thought had been sealed away and the demons you guardians once kept away came bounding back tenfold and hungry for blood and destruction. The city that has been built from the ground crumbled , as you fought once again, just like all those years ago side by side with your comrades. People were dying as you strived to protect every single soul with your hands and just like before, several others dropped to your feet, lifeless and tossed apart like a rag doll.

You were tiring, sharp movements turned sluggish as you tore down anything evil that you came across, you prayed to whichever good god was still alive that the people had run to safety so that you could unleash your last card. A trick you've vowed to never use again as long as you are alive and the situation permits it so and yet you've run out of time. if you didnt do this now then everything would really turn to ash and nothing would bloom ever again.

Standing in the middle of the onslaught of monsters that never seemed to end, gnashing teeth nipped at your barrier only to be repelled back by a force that seemed to lose its energy. You sighed, the last ever peace you'll get to feel as the karma pushed you over the edge.

"Xiao." and as soon his name poured out your lips did he appear, an urgent look in his eyes as he slashed down any monster that came near.

"Its time." his mouth hung open, unable to find the right words to counter you, how could he? when duty was above everything, especially in the relationship you both had that bloomed from the most ancient of days. Liyue came first above all else, that was what you swore as Morax blessed you on the day of your early death. You were thankful to him that he's allowed you to live even with the price of servitude.

"Thirty seconds." was all he could muster up to say from all the torrential words that swarmed his head. just thirty seconds of peace with you was all he wanted before you walk the remaining steps towards the end.

"Alright." there was peace as you allowed it, nothing from outside was heard only the ragged breathes that came from both of your lungs. There were no monsters only two immortal beings that longed for peace, and in those weary eyes was hope for a tomorrow.

"I love you." he whispers pulling you close, those thirty seconds slowed as he held you tightly, his skin engraving the memory of you deep within. "I love you. Dont forget that."

"Even if I pass on, you will always be in my heart. Even if time goes on, your name remains on my lips. Even if everything crumbles, you in your own self will always be with me as I am with you. So my dear, my dear sweet Alatus, dont you ever cry when you wake up tomorrow to an empty bed, dont look for me when all Ive ever been is right beside you. Instead, rejoice for there is another day you get to experience for the both of us and if time allows us once again, which I am confident it will. I will find you just as you've found me."

this was your parting vow.

your peaceful barrier broke and once again you were back in the cruel reality you faced and will face till your death. Your lips find his and for the last time in this life, you poured every ounce of you in it. Your eyes had no tears and only hope and acceptance as you broke away.

"I love you." and then that was the end of your own book.

Billions upon billions of butterflies burst from you, touching every dirty, disgusting thing, purging it off this world once and for all. Your duty was fulfilled, your contract has ended and now you are free. There was nothing to worry about except to wait for the right time to find you way back to him.

Now, everything was at peace again.

Xiao, the man you've left behind for the time being stood alone once again with a single butterfly perched atop his forehead.

.....................................................................

i will get to the requests after a few days. Please bear with my low creativity juice and dwindling will to can.

#genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #xiao #xiao genshin impact #xiao x reader #alatus #xiao angst #xiao imagine #xiao one shot

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fruitquake · 3 years

Text

The Notebook

Remus had been in such a rush to get to class, he didn’t notice he had grabbed the wrong bag. In fact, in his absentminded state, he didn’t realize before he opened the bag to find Sirius’ things inside: Pieces of crumbled up parchment, a couple of chocolate frogs, a bottle of ink, and his notebook.

Remus remembered buying that notebook with him, in a bookshop in muggle London. Sirius had immediately fallen in love with the notebooks that had silly “inspirational” quotes written on the cover. The one he had bought said “Shoot for the moon; even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars”, which didn’t even make sense. Of course, Sirius didn’t care if it made sense or not.

“Alright, now, students, you will be taking notes today, so get your quills and parchment out,” said Professor McGonnagal as she entered the classroom.

Fuck. Remus didn’t have his own bag, and therefore didn’t have anything to take notes with. He turned in his seat to try and catch Sirius’ attention, but to no avail.

He would have to borrow Sirius’ notebook then, just for this lesson. He could give it back to him afterwards.

But as he opened it, something written on the first page caught this eye:

This notebook belongs to Sirius Black Lupin.

Remus felt his heart rate speed up as he flicked through the pages. On some of them, Sirius had written things like “S+R”, usually with a heart neatly drawn around the letters, as well as “Sirius Lupin” over and over again. A larger block of text caught his eye:

“Why do I feel this way? I know it’s wrong, but no matter how hard I try to make the feeling go away, it’s still there; making me weak in my knees every time I look at him.

He doesn’t realize the effect he has on me. Every damn time he smiles, or ruffles his hair, or bites his lip when he’s concentrating… Someday, one of these things will be the bloody death of me and he doesn’t even realize.

If he found out how I feel, he would surely hate me. He can’t know I’m hopelessly in love with him. No one can ever know.”

Remus stared blankly at the page. Surely, this couldn’t be about himself? Sirius wasn’t in love with him… Was he?

He quickly closed the notebook before anyone around him could see what was written in it, and turned around to look at Sirius. He was staring at his desk, though he didn’t appear to be taking notes, or doing anything, really. Remus couldn’t help but wonder if Sirius had seen him reading the notebook and if so, what was going through his head?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Sirius’ ears were ringing, his whole brain in panic mode. It was like an alarm inside his head, frantically ringing out:

He knows, he knows, he hates you now, everything is ruined.

He thought of all the possible ways out of this: Fakng his own death and moving to France and live under a new name. Or faking his own death and move to the other side of the world. Or perhaps even better, faking his own death and going into outer space, making a life for himself on Mars. In fact, he didn’t really have any idea that didn’t involve faking his own death.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus turn in his seat to look at him.

Alright, Sirius, he said to himself. Keep your eyes down, don’t make eye contact. As soon as Transfiguration is over you can make a run for it.

By the end of the day, he would be Pierre The Frenchman, living on a cozy wineyard in France. Or an astronaut on his way to Mars.

But as the lesson ended and students hurried out, he started to realize he couldn’t leave. Even if Remus now hated him, he still loved Remus, and a life without him, even if he got to meet some cool aliens instead, wouldn’t be worth living.

He stood up, finding himself face to face with Remus. “Hey,” he said, praying his voice wouldn’t betray his nerves. “I think you have my, uh-”

“Notebook?” Remus interrupted in a strangely high-pitched voice. “Haha. What notebook? I didn’t read it. I didn’t even notice it was there. Here’s your bag! Goodbye!” He tossed the bag onto Sirius’ desk, before practically running out of the door, leaving Sirius behind in the nearly empty classroom.

“What on earth was that about?”

Sirius jumped. He’d completely forgotten that James was there too. He turned around to face him, making a desperate attempt at a nonchalant expression. “No idea,” he lied.

James didn’t seem so convinced. “Why was he being so weird about a notebook? And what notebook was he even talking about, anyway?” He reached into Sirius’ bag, but Sirius was quick to snatch it out of his hands.

“It’s private!” he said.

But James had managed to grab the notebook, and had already opened it. “Oh.” he said, realization dawning on his face. “Oh!”

“James, give that back!” Sirius pleaded, no longer able to keep the panic out of his voice.

James looked up at him. “You’re in love with Remus,” he almost whispered. “Shit, mate. Everything makes so much more sense now.”

Sirius looked down, shame mixing with the panic. “You weren’t supposed to have read that.”

But James ignored this. “Sirius, you have to go after him! He clearly feels the same way!”

“No he doesn’t!”

“Yes, he does,” James insisted. “Did you not see him running out of here all red in the face. And how weirdly he acted before… Pads, that is not the behavior of someone who just learned his friend is in love with him and doesn’t return those feelings.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. “You don’t know that,” he mumbled.

“Yes, I do! Listen to me, dimwit,” James said, grabbing a hold of both Sirius’ shoulders, forcing him to look at him. “If he didn’t have feelings for you too, he wouldn’t have acted that way. There would have been an awkward conversation where he tried to let you down gently. ‘I really like you as a friend, Sirius, but I would like to stay just that.” Something like that, you know? He definitely wouldn’t have acted like that!”

Could James really be right? Sirius fiddled nervously with his shirt collar. “So… you think I should find him and talk to him, don’t you?”

“Exactly!” James responded. “Come on, no time to waste!”

Sirius sighed. “Alright,” he muttered, taking hesitant steps towards the door.

“Actually, wait.” James said, grabbing his arm. “Look, Pads, I know I shouldn’t have meddled in this. That notebook was private. And, well… I imagine this isn’t how you planned on me finding out that you like blokes but, uh… I want you to know that I love you just the same. You’ll always be my brother.”

Sirius didn’t have the words to explain what a relief it was to hear that from James. All of the sleepless nights he had spent, after realizing he was gay, picturing James’ reaction. In his imagination, it was usually the end of their friendship. James looked disgusted, angry, betrayed. But as he looked into his eyes, a deep, gentle brown, there was none of that. No hatred, no disgust. “Thank you, Prongs,” he said with a small smile.

James returned the smile, pulling him into a brief hug. “No problem, mate. Now go talk to Moony, for Merlin’s sake!”

Remus had gone to the place he always went when seeking comfort or a place to clear his mind: the Hogwarts library. Surrounded by books, with no people around, except maybe for the librarian, he felt strangely at peace. Today, however, there was no peace. His mind was running at a dangerous speed, way too fast for himself to keep up.

Sirius liked him… maybe. It could’ve been a prank. Could Sirius have meant for Remus to find it? Was he trying to humiliate Remus by tricking him into confessing his own feelings? Or it could all have been something Remus’ own brain, desperate for love, had made up. Either way, he was going to do what he always did in uncomfortable or scary situations: ignore it until it hopefully went away.

“Remus.”

Fuck. It was going to be hard to ignore the problem, when the problem was standing a few feet away from him, nervously fiddling with the strap on his bag.

Sirius shuffled awkwardly next to Remus’ table, eyeing a chair as though he was debating whether or not to sit down. “I thought I might find you here,” he said.

Remus got up, grabbing a random book off the nearest shelf. “Congrats, Sherlock,” he said snarkily, sitting back down again. He opened the book, pretending to read. It was better than having to face Sirius.

“Moony, I- I know you looked in my notebook,” Sirius said, pulling out the chair opposite Remus and sitting down.

Remus kept his eyes on the book, without catching any of what was written in it. Sirius continued:

“I don’t know how much you actually read, but… Well, I’m pretty sure you saw enough to know the truth.”

“No, I swear, I have no idea what you’re…” Remus trailed off. What good would lying do? He had known Sirius since they were both eleven. There was no one more stubborn or persistent. If Sirius wanted to talk about this, that would happen whether Remus wanted to or not. “Yeah, I did,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“I need to know the truth as well,” Sirius said. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I’ll… I’ll get over it, I won’t make it awkward or uncomfortable, I promise. But if you do feel the same…”

Remus opened his mouth, but no sound left him. He didn’t know what to say. This didn’t feel real. It was too good to be true. A prank, for sure. James was probably hiding somewhere, ready to jump out and laugh at him with Sirius if he confessed.

Silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity, while an internal war wreaked havoc inside of Remus. Should he tell Sirius the truth, or stay silent?

But before either side could win, Sirius had already drawn conclusions from his silence.

“Right,” he said, his voice choked-up and distant. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed there was even a chance you liked me back.” He got up, before Remus could say anything. “Just forget about it, okay?”

Fuck. Remus looked up. Sirius was walking away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. Remus stood up, knocking the chair over in his hurry. “Sirius, wait!”

He had caught up with him in a few long strides. Sirius turned around, his expression hardened like he didn’t dare let himself hope again.

This time, Remus didn’t waste any time worrying about the consequences. He cupped Sirius’ face with his hands, leaning in to kiss him, and oh Merlin, was it the best decision he had ever made.

The kiss was returned almost immediately, like it was all Sirius had been wanting to do for years. And maybe it was… Remus thought that was the case for himself, even if he had only recently realized it.

Both of them lost in the other’s lips, they accidentally backed into a bookcase, sending a few books falling onto the floor.

“Who’s there?” Called the angry voice of Madam Pince.

Sirius and Remus looked at each other, both trying to suppress their laughter. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Sirius whispered.

Remus nodded, letting Sirius take his hand as they both ran from the library. He grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline and euphoria take over his mind. They hid in an unused classroom, both of them laughing and panting.

“That was close, huh?” Sirius said. “Imagine if Madam Pince had seen us. She would’ve lost her damn mind.”

“Definitely.” Remus’ cheeks hurt from smiling. “So,” he said. “Sirius Lupin, huh?”

Sirius groaned. “Shut up,” he said, his face turning red.

Remus laughed. “No,” he said. “Never. It’s embarrassing for you.”

“It is,” Sirius agreed. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Remus’ lips. “Will kissing shut you up?”

“Mmh.” Remus stroked his chin with mock thoughtfulness. “You know, it just might. Why don’t keep kissing me to find out?”

#me? writing something????? unbelievable!#remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #james potter #marauders #marauders era #fanfic #fanfiction #wolfstar fanfic #marauders fanfiction

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

Tracinya - Rogue, Chapter 23 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: Nothing will stop you from rescuing Din. Anyone who stands in your way is merely an obstacle to be removed. But will you be merciful... or listen to that dark call?

Warnings: Injury detail, blood, guns(of the space variety), knives, fighting, swearing, death, watch me make things up about the Force again.

Word Count: 13k+ (I got carried away?)

AN: Well. This ended up a lot longer than I expected it to be. I got rather carried away it seems ((oh well)) Also, I have checked this ((twice)) but its over 13k words and there is going to be something I missed.

Introduction

Rogue| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f) Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @kenoobiwan @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless @rosiefridayrogersunday @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly @welcometothepedroverse @xgoldenjenny @mamacitapascal @heyitsjaybird @amyk-37 @greatcircle79

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal

Mando’a Translation: Tracinya - Flame

There was no part of his body that wasn’t screaming in pain.

His right leg was broken, possibly in two places, and his left ankle was fractured.

He had taken the fall on his right side, meaning the impact had dislocated his shoulder and shattered his collarbone, resulted in searing agony whenever he moved his head.

Not only that, but every breath felt like glass and fire, a pain he was familiar enough with to know he also had at least three broken ribs.

Of course, there were bruises – his entire body was probably littered with purple and black smudges – and cuts.

Din didn’t remember hitting the floor. Only remembered saying goodbye and then… nothing. He supposed he should be grateful, because from the state his body was in, the feeling of impact would have been horrendous, his body crushed under the very armour that was made to keep him safe.

He’d been convinced that was it, the lights were turned off and the Maker would come to greet him.

And yet, after an indeterminable amount of darkness… there was suddenly light.

Harsh, blinding light and hands moving over his body, checking for injury and –

They were going to remove his armour.

The thought and realisation sent shockwaves of terror through him, and despite the agony that had threatened to suck him under, survival instinct kicked in and he lashed out. Taking down anyone who came near him, the medics, the guards, Troopers – anyone who threatened to touch his armour. He was like a caged animal, defending his last dying breath even as his head spun and his knees gave way.

He fought for consciousness, long enough to see a pair of immaculate boots walk in, the edge of a long, ebony cloak embroidered with gold.

Through the roaring in his head, he heard a silken voice ordering everyone to stand down, that if anyone removed the amour, they would be removed of their head.

And then he had been sucked back into a fitful abyss

Din wasn’t sure how long ago that had been.

The room – cell – they had put him in contained no windows, no clocks, nothing to give him indication to what time it was. Only a few artificial lights placed on each wall – which he was grateful for, because the dim lighting was a minimal balm to his pulsating head.

Only a thin cot for him to sleep on, pushed into the corner of the room and a tiny area in the corner where he could relieve himself. The ceiling rose far above him, giving the impression of being at the bottom of a very small, very dark pit.

There was no regular pattern to when they pushed a tray of food and water through a tiny hatch in the door either, so he couldn’t even use that.

Not that he could have concentrated anyway, with the agony waging war on his body.

He’d had countless injuries before and danced the line of death so many times he was surprised he kept getting away with it.

And yet this… this was bad.

His vision kept fading in and out, blurriness making his sight hazy before it cleared again, but not without leaving fuzzy auras that floated in his peripheral.

Concussion too then… a bad one.

He just prayed there was no permanent damage.

He could still talk, though his voice was hoarse and ragged when he whispered to himself the names of his loved ones – he could still remember them, thankfully.

The ability to move remained intact – though heavily compromised. He could only manage tiny movements, embarrassingly slow as he tried not to move his neck or shoulder… or head… or back.

An escape probably wasn’t going to be possible for a while.

Din sighed, laying in an awkward position on his cot, one that gave the least pain.

Again, his thoughts returned to his haven.

You.

You were going to kill him when he got out.

Either for being a hypocrite, or for the worry he was causing you.

The worry, no… the heart-wrenching terror he had heard in your voice mere moments before he fell. That cruel fear of the consequences as you laid into him, tried to keep that anger contained but he knew you too well. Knew that this would be tearing you to pieces.

He had felt the exact same way when you were taken – when she died.

You were a rather dysfunctional pair, weren’t you.

That thought had him chuckling – and then groaning as the small movement sent shockwaves from his broken ribs.

Maker, he was battered.

He didn’t even know how it had all gone so wrong.

One minute he was flitting through the sky, dodging blaster fire and the next there was a loud pop and smoke began billowing from his back, from the jet pack.

A very carefully aimed shot, with precision and intent – not to blow him up by shooting at the fuel lines… but perfectly lined up to knock out the thrusters and sent him tumbling to Earth.

There was only one person he knew that could make a shot like that.

Someone he should have foreseen, if he was honest with himself.

Looking back, the townspeople letting slip the information about the base… that had clearly been a trap.

A false trail to lead them right to the doorstep of the very people trying to chase them down.

Din hadn’t just led himself to his death… but his friends too. He had no idea where they were, if they’d escaped – if they were even alive.

He was disgusted with himself, the way he had so easily and thoughtlessly allowed his friends to be brought to such danger. He should have just gone in alone but… he hadn’t been thinking straight.

When he’d heard that there was a whole base dedicated to finding his sweetheart… a whole legion of Stormtroopers trained, and no doubt given weapons specifically made to defend and attack Force users, he’d lost it.

How could he walk away knowing all of that? Knowing they were going to come after you?

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

And now look where he was.

Movement outside his door suddenly broke him from his reverie, a shadow moving past the gap in the food hatch.

Something beeped outside the cell, multiple locks sliding and scraping through the door and then it was pushed open.

Din blinked against the sudden harsh light flooding his cell, his helmet damaged so his visor didn’t adjust to the brightness the way it should have done.

As his eyes cleared, he saw a figure lean and tall, wearing a long cloak – with golden embroidery.

Oh, joy.

Anger sizzled through his reluctant body as Haran prowled into his cell, filling the small room with that unearthly presence. The shadows of the room seemed to cling to him, perhaps recognising that their master had arrived.

Din grunted, ignoring the screaming agony that flooded his senses as he dragged his body to sit up, leaning heavily against where the two walls joined near his bed. If this was his end, he didn’t want to be laying down.

If it was a friendly little chat… well, he could at least give himself a better position to punch the bastard in that overly pretty face.

Haran stopped in the centre of the room, lifting gloved hands to his hood and he pushed it back.

He looked the same as always.

Sharp cheekbones accentuated his face, which was neither old nor young – timeless, for no one knew how long this man had truly been alive.

Amber eyes that dominated his appearance, simmering like molten gold and only highlighting the fact that he wasn’t quite human.

The twin scars across his mouth and eye did nothing to mar the beauty of him – and Din supposed that was all part of the act. A beautiful face, a silken voice and a laugh that could bring entire villages to their knees to worship this fallen dark prince.

Before he slaughtered them all.

Din hated him.

Those golden eyes simmered with amusement as he beheld Din, as if knowing the thoughts going through the Mandalorian’s head… which he probably did.

He cocked his head, a smile lifting his full lips, “Well, fancy seeing you so soon, Lori.”

Din growled, his hands tightening into fists and he wished his blazing glaze would melt through his beskar helmet and sear straight into those lion’s eyes.

That damn lovers laugh rippled through the tiny room, setting Din’s teeth on edge, “Oh, Mando, no need to be so defensive. You had to know what would happen when you decided to infiltrate a base dedicated to hunting your little Jedi.”

“You won’t find her.” Din spat the words, wishing his body wasn’t so battered, wishing his had his strength so he could tear this creature apart.

Haran’s smile widened, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, his scar tugging ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth – a predators grin, “That’s not entirely true, considering I found her so easily last time. But I won’t need to find her.” He examined his cloak, brushing a speck of invisible dust from it.

Dread coiled in Din’s gut, “She doesn’t know where I am. She won’t be able to find me, so you can’t lure her here like a piece of bait. She’s smarter than that.” With every word, he had the sinking feeling that he was saying exactly what the King of Shadows and Death expected him to.

“You see, I would believe you, if not for one tiny little detail.” Now Haran inspected his gloves, tugging the buckles that tightened them around his wrists, a picture of cool, arrogant confidence.

It was an effort for Din to keep his voice steady, “And what is that?”

Please no, please…

Haran looked up at him again, a dark curl falling over his forehead, “I hacked into your comms system, right as you hit the deck. You really should get some better tech, Mando.” He clasped his hands behind his back, “I sent a distress signal to your pretty Jedi, telling her your exact coordinates and even how to get in.”

Din simply made a noise of horror, knowing that nothing in the world would stop you from finding him. You were stubborn, headstrong and determined… all combined with a fierce desire to save the ones you loved.

He just prayed Ahsoka would make you see sense. You would be smart about this… right?

Haran shrugged lightly, “I don’t think even Tano will be able to hold her back.”

Sick bastard, reading his thoughts.

“I guess we’ll see who’s right soon enough, won’t we?” With that, he turned, walking back to the door, where he knocked twice.

The beep and locks sounded again, and Haran looked over his shoulder at Din, who was still struck dumb with dread, “Why, I bet she’s already on her way right now.” He laughed low, and then he was gone with a sweep of his cloak.

~~~

You were beside yourself with panic and terror in the first few hours after the call cut off.

Your scream had woken Ahsoka and the kids, who made it to your tree in time to see you half fall from the branches, stumbling around looking for something, anything to help.

You could barely hear Ahsoka calling your name, until she grabbed you, forcing you to look at her and calm down. You’d told her what happened, before yanking out her grasp and running to the camp.

Nothing was computing in your brain, nothing except a primal instinct to go and save Din right now.

Again, you hadn’t heard her calling your name, mumbling over and over that you needed to go, you needed to get out of here, Din needed you.

Except there was just one problem…

“Slow down. How are we going to get off of the planet? We don’t have a ship…” Ahsoka spoke calmly, but firmly. She was watching you tear through the camp, emotions a wreck and noting you were moments away from a panic attack.

You had turned to her, clutching your belongings in your arms, your breathing coming in sharp pants, “Then - then we’ll just… Um...” Casting your eyes about helplessly, you had felt your throat close up, your heart race and your palms start sweating.

A sob had been about to break from your lips but then – you both heard it.

The tell-tale sound of a twig breaking, of hushed voices.

The pair of you whipped your heads in unison, toward the sound and your panic attack vanished, being replaced with the cool ice of battle. The things in your arms had been placed on the floor and then Ahsoka’s voice had been in your head, “You go left, I’ll go right. We’ll meet in the middle.”

You nodded, reaching for your blade but then Ahsoka had held out a hand to stop you, instead… holding out one of her sabers.

Oh.

Yes, you’d trained with it but… now she was letting you use it for real, in actual combat?

Lifting your eyes to hers, she had seen what you were thinking and simply smiled encouragingly.

That said enough, so you curled your fingers around it and then the pair of you had separated, footsteps lighter than air as you both forged a protective Force field around the kids.

Moving through the trees, marking the intruders... it had all soothed you, soothed the ache and terror in your chest for the time being.

Your power let you know they were close, and you hovered in the darkness for a moment, watching the two cloaked figures and sensing Ahsoka opposite you. Something flowed through the air, like a confirmation and you activated the lightsaber, springing from your hiding space with a burst of glowing late.

“Wait!!! Wait, it’s us!!!” The two cloaked figures turned around, dropping their hoods so their faces would be revealed in the glow from both your sabers.

Cara, and another man you didn’t recognise – bald, with a numerous harness and straps that no doubt held weapons under his cloak.

You made a nose, lowering the saber, “Cara?! I thought… I thought you were with Lori – what are you doing here?” Despite the situation, the anonymous nickname for him came out instantly – protecting his identify even here.��

Cara looked from you to Tano, who was still standing in a somewhat defensive position with her saber held out. “We were… We’d split up to take down more of the Troopers. Mando took to the sky to draw fire so we could sweep through them. When we saw him get taken down, we had a choice. Either get captured ourselves, or go and get help.”

You blinked, a frown forming on your face, “Hang on, let me get this right.” Something stirred in your chest, something smouldering, “You saw Din get taken down, saw him fall from the sky, into the clutches of Stormtroopers who are no doubt reporting to Moff Gideon… and you ran away?” The last two words come out in an incredulous tone, your face showing confusion as you looked between Cara and the other man.

He raised his hands, shaking his head, “Hey, I wouldn’t go as far as to call it running away. We didn’t know he’d contacted you; we didn’t know how anyone would find us. If we got captured too, there was no way we could get out. Only Boba and Fennec knew where we were, they wouldn’t have been enough.”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows, stepping closer – never lowering her lightsaber, “So, he’s there alone? Or wherever else they’ve taken him?”

The man blinked as he looked at her, “Do you mind lowering that thing, lady? I don’t see how we’re the enemies here.”

You snarled at him, mimicking Ahsoka in the closer advance, “I’m not calling you enemies, I’m stunned that you just abandoned him there!!”

Cara held out a hand, trying to diffuse the situation, “Mayfeld, shut up.” She looked at you, “Look, Mando isn’t incapable of taking care of himself. He’s been in situations like this before, he’ll be fine.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, your head spinning, “He’ll be fine?! He could be anywhere, Cara! Who knows where they’ve dragged him, what they’re doing to him! I’m not doubting for a second that he’s been captured before – but not by an army of Troopers, alone, after falling hundreds of feet from the fucking sky! How about I push you out of the open air in a metal tomb and you tell me if you’re up to fighting your way out of an Imperial army.”

Mayfeld squared up to you, tensions running high, “You know, you might want to be a little more understanding. I’m sure if the situation was reversed, Mando would have - ”

Suddenly, you had pulled free your knife and it was held to his throat, “If you dare say he would have done the same, I’ll cut your throat.” You didn’t care that these were Din’s friends. Didn’t care that they were obviously here to help.

You were furious, feeling helpless and well… you had never been the greatest at controlling your temper.

Ahsoka disabled her lightsaber, running forward and gently pushing you all apart. You felt a phantom brush over your skin and realised she had weaved threads of the Force between everyone, “Hey, hey, let’s all just take a moment to breathe, okay? We’re all worried and wound up… Yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything.”

Mayfeld muttered something you didn’t hear, though you did hear the thump as Cara elbowed him in the ribs. “Enough.”

You powered down the saber and dropped your head into your hands.

The world had flipped on its head, completely and utterly shifted and turned into something unrecognisable. Maybe this wasn’t really happening, maybe you were having some kind of fever dream.

You sighed long and deep, rubbing at your eyes before looking at Mayfeld and Cara, “I’m sorry, for what I said. You did the right thing… We wouldn’t know anything if you hadn’t come back.” You shifted your gaze solely to Mayfeld now, “And I’m sorry for holding a knife to your throat.”

To your surprise, he just chuckled, shaking his head, “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse from your Mandalorian, this was nothing.” He held out a hand, “Migs Mayfeld.”

You found yourself smiling back, sliding your hand into his and shaking it as you told him your name.

Cara looked around, “As much as I’m glad we’re not threatening to kill each other anymore, does anyone want to tell me how we’re going to find Mando?”

As if by coincidence, the comms device on your wrist started to emit a high-pitched beep.

All four of you jumped, then looked at the device which had begun to flash red.

You held it up between you all, and the screen lit up, displaying a string of co-ordinates with that same persistent beep.

It dawned on you instantly, “It’s a distress signal. Lori sent us the co-ordinates of where he is.”

Cara was eyeing it thoughtfully, “Do we want to ask why that suddenly came up, just as I asked where he was? And what if he isn’t there by the time we get there?”

You were already moving back toward the camp to gather your things, “I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s a trap, or if he’s a whole parsec over. It’s the best thing we have, so we’re using it. Get your things.”

That had been a couple of nights ago. You were now travelling on Boba Fett’s ship, a tight squeeze but you didn’t care. Nothing else mattered apart from finding Din.

Boba Fett was an interesting man. He was a clone of the infamous Jango Fett, the Mandalorian of whom you’d grown up hearing about. His armour was older, less sleek than Din’s but still as ruggedly beautiful and had belonged to Jango himself. He was shadowed by another woman, Fennec Shand – an assassin of whom you’d also heard of on your ‘travels’.

He was a straightforward, direct man, greeting you and praising you on the stories he had heard – then asking how everything was going to go ahead. Straight to business.

Two hours later, a plan had already been created.

The distress signal coordinates you had given Boba would take you to the general area you needed to be. Then, once you located the Cruiser, Boba would get you as close as he could, slipping into a disused landing bay.

He would remain with the ship and kids, waiting to get out – and to lead a distraction if it came to it.

The rest of you would infiltrate the Cruiser, splitting up to cover more ground and find Din – Cara and Fennec in one pair, you, Mayfeld and Ahsoka in the other.

You sat a little way away from the others – as far as you could in the ship, letting the sound of their planning wash over you. They were determined the best way to get in and out without being seen, whether it was best to go in all guns blazing – literally – or try and be as discreet as possible with minimal causalities.

You were glad you had excused yourself… because that dark assassin within you was stirring, sensing the oncoming fight – readying a thirst for blood.

Sure, some of the Troopers may have had no choice… but they certainly hadn’t done anything to change their fate. They still chosen to continue following Gideon and Haran – for you knew now it was him that shot down Din, but you had kept that nugget of information to yourself, only telling Ahsoka.

The others didn’t need the added stress of knowing a terrifying legend had truly come to life.

If they wanted to try and preserve life – fine. You certainly didn’t have to agree with them. You didn’t answer rot anyone but yourself.

And you supposed that mindset should worry you, making you concerned that you were slipping back to that cold killer but… you didn’t care. If you had to become her to save Din and get everyone out safely… so be it. You would deal with the consequences later.

Ahsoka crossed your field of vision, and then came to sit down opposite you, her back against the wall and her legs stretched out next to yours. She said nothing, merely watching you with an unreadable expression for a few moments.

You sighed, “If you’ve come to tell me not to go where my thoughts are leading me-“

She shook her head, cutting you off gently, “I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. I’m just going to ask you… Are you prepared for the consequences of what you do, either way? If you choose to go down the path of tearing down anyone in your way… How will you feel afterward?”

How would you feel afterward?

“I don’t know how I would feel… I know what it’s like to be pushed into a life but… There’s always a choice at some point. However small…” You looked up at her, truly valuing her opinions and advice – she was already a trusted friend, one you could speak your mind to.

Of course, you had Din. But to have something sperate from him… it felt good. Healthy. You both had your separate friendships away from each other… for moments like this perhaps.

“I can’t think of anything but saving him. And it’s easy to sit here and ask myself what I’ll do, before we’re even there… but when I’m in there, when I’m walking through that Cruiser to find him...” You shrugged slightly, “I don’t know what I’ll do. And I might not have the time to make that decision when I’m there.”

Ahsoka nodded slowly, listening to what you have to say, “Then whatever happens… We’ll deal with it afterward. Whatever you choose to do... I believe you are strong enough to take it. And if not… then we’ll deal with that too.”

Gratitude warmed the cold feeling in your chest, spreading through you and you looked at her with new appreciation, “Thank you…” Those two words were heartfelt, all the emotion and thankfulness pumped into there. “For this, helping me… and for everything you’ve done.”

She inclined her head slightly, bumping her foot against your thigh, “You needn’t thank me… It’s been an honour, to help you and train you. After everything that’s happened in my life, the mistrust I had for those I once believed in… I never thought I could get over that hole. But you’ve shown me that it’s not all the way I believed. Things are changing… I’m learning that now. So… thank you.”

You were about to answer, but Boba’s deep, gravelly voice came from the cockpit, “Time to gear up guys. We’re about to hit the same co-ordinates from the distress signal.”

~~~~

“Sir?”

Moff Gideon walked over to the young man who had just called for him, seating in front of a holo-screen like the others dotted about the room, “Yes? What is it?”

The man brought up a radar screen, a pulsing red dot just coming into the edge of it, “They’re getting closer. They followed the Hunter’s trap.”

Gideon smiled slowly, watching that little red dot slowly creep closer to the centre of the radar, toward his Cruiser, “Excellent. Tell the troops to be ready. Just because we want them here, doesn’t mean we’ll make this easy for them.”

~~~

Boba Fett’s ship glided through the atmosphere, all of you peering out of the windows for any sign, any hint as to where Din might be.

You’d been in the general location for about twenty-five minutes, travelling right to the edge of each grid square on Fett’s radar.

“I think… we might have missed him.” Cara spoke the words that you had all been reluctant to acknowledge, her voice quiet.

You shook your head fiercely, moving to the other side of the ship, “No. You’re wrong. He’s here. I know he is. I just… know.”

Grogu cooed from behind you, his ears floppy like they had been since you lost contact with Din.

You turned to look at him, heart breaking at the utter sadness in his glossy eyes, “Oh, Gu… I know.” You scooped him up, cradling the little body to your chest and you pressed a kiss between his ears, “We’ll find him… I promise you; we’ll find him.” You pressed your face to his little head, whispering, “Even if we have to do it on our own.”

His little arms reached up to your shoulders, and you took a few moments just to hug him, giving him comfort but also receiving it in return.

You felt his hands tugging at your collar and wondered if he was trying to reach for your hair… but then he grasped something and pulled – your necklace.

The mythosaur necklace that Din had given you.

You looked down at him, watching as he cradled the symbol in his tiny little hands, gurgling at it but for once, you weren’t sure what he was saying. It itched at you, like you could almost understand him.

It turns out, Ahsoka did. She gasped a little, looking at Grogu suddenly and blinking in surprise, “Oh, you’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that…” She looked at you with wide eyes, “You can find him.”

You blinked at her, raising an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” You felt Grogu’s eyes on you too, and he tugged gently at the mythosaur charm, “The necklace?”

Ahsoka nodded, “Kind of… You have such a strong connection with him, such intense care for each other that if you use your power… you might be able to sense him, where he is.” She walked closer, “It’s hard to explain… it’s an old Jedi trick. They used to use it to track others or find people in hiding. It’s difficult to do, and not all Jedi could do it but… You know him. Better than any of us.” She took Grogu from you gently, “Close your eyes and focus your mind the way we practiced.”

You nodded, not questioning it. There was no time.

You shut your eyes, following the breathing exercises she had taught you and dropping everything away from your mind. The ship, the murmuring of the others – the panic.

All of it fell away until you felt the power flowing through your blood, felt it brush up against every living thing in your vicinity.

Ahsoka’s voice slipped through your mind, “Now, think of him. The memories, the way he makes you feel, the happiness you feel with him. Think about what makes him your Mandalorian.”

Your power flowed through you, out of you, wrapping around the ship and you were already deep in your mind by the time it started shifting the direction you were facing.

What makes him your Mandalorian…

You let that question move through you, thinking of his touch, his voice… the way he softened the harsh edges of your mind and eased your chest.

The way you had truly come alive after meeting him, how you saw the galaxy as you had before – something beautiful and wild and begging to be explored.

You breathed in and out slowly, musing on the way you felt you had also brought light to Din’s life. Not just from the way he told you... but the way he seemed to have mellowed even more since first knowing you.

He laughed more, let himself go a little… His moments of uptight, rigid restraint had melted into something far softer and… goofier.

Ahsoka’s gentle praise whispered through the thoughts and memories, encouraging you. For however long, you didn’t know.

And then you felt it.

Your power brushed over something… someone.

Din.

His essence, his soul, burning like a bright star in your longest night. A sense of comfort, fierce loyalty and determination, all encased in a glittering shell of honour.

Your eyes snapped up, the ship slowing to a stop and then – there it was.

Moff Gideon’s cruiser.

And speeding toward you… about thirty Stormtroopers, ready to attack.

Mayfeld grinned from behind you as Duru leapt from the control panel, “Time to make an entrance.”

~~~

When Din got out of here, he was going to tear Haran into little pieces.

Well.

He would help you tear him into little pieces.

You had probably more rights than anyone to do so, but he had some things that the cocky shit needed to pay for.

Hey, maybe you could tag team.

Din kept thinking of creative ways to take Haran apart, to see if he was as strong inside as the power he oozed on the outside. It would be a fascinating project.

Maybe when you cut him open, he would be a hollow shell, or maybe there would be some kind of malevolent demon inside him.

He supposed these thoughts were rather twisted and dark, and that Haran had undoubtedly been through some awful things in his life… but so had you, and you were worlds apart from each other.

Besides, it was all he could do. Think of Haran’s death and try to avoid thinking of the alternative thing that was screaming at him like a siren.

That you may very well be on your way to rescuing him.

Din could tell himself for hours that you wouldn’t heed it, that you’d know it was a trap but… it just wasn’t you.

You were one of the smartest people he knew, but if anyone you loved was in danger, caution tended to get thrown out the window.

Sometimes, you were both more alike than you realised.

Din sighed, curling his fingers into fists and then releasing them again. A few hours ago – or maybe days? – he’d lost feeling in his arm. He couldn’t pop the dislocated shoulder back into place without removing his armour, so it was stuck there, swollen and pressing against the beskar. It had started with pins and needles, and then a cold feeling like ice in his veins.

It made him feel unsteady, lopsided – though that may have been the broken right leg and twisted left ankle.

Not only that, but every movement of his head made his stomach roil dangerously, and his breathing seemed to be coming laboured… more like sharp pants rather than deep breaths.

You were never going to let him live this down.

He huffed again, but the faintest smile rose to his lips as he imagined you both somewhere safe.

You’d wait long enough for Din to be suitably healed before tearing into him… and no doubt it would creep up for months afterwards. He could almost hear the cocky tone as you bickered about something and you’d whip that out, “Oh, well, I suppose I could always go an attack an Imp base and get shot of the sky. Stars above, can you imagine doing that? What fun.”

The thought made him chuckle, just a bit even though it irritated his ribs again.

Of course, that soft sound seemed like a siren call and seconds later, the door to his cell swung open and the King of Shadows and Death appeared – more like King of Arrogance and a limited wardrobe.

Didn’t he have anything else to wear besides that cloak?

Or was Din just jealous? His own cape was a bit tattered, and he’d always envied the way you wore your own hooded cloak, blending into the darkness and sweeping around corners like some kind of phantom.

Maker, his concussion must be getting worse.

Pushing that thought from his spiralling mind, Din tilted his head back to look up at Haran, “Are you lonely? Is that why you keep coming to see me?” He tilted his head, ignoring the feeling like boulders crashing against the inside of his skull and the bits of light dancing across his vision, “Or are you looking for a bit of nightly entertainment? Because I have to say, I’m hardly in the shape to do so.”

His tongue felt so heavy his mouth.

Haran rolled those unsettling eyes as the door closed behind him and he walked over, leaning against the wall opposite, “Yes, Mando. My days are just so meaningless without your shiny head to light the way.” He put a gloved hand to his chest, gasping, “Why, if we weren’t on an Imperial Cruiser, I might just drop to one knee and beg for your hand in marriage, right now.”

Prick.

Din turned his head away, breathing shallow as his stomach flipped again, “What do you want? If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a rather busy man.”

Haran chose to ignore him, snapping his fingers together and pulling a face like he just remembered something, “Oh, wait. I can’t marry you, can I?” He looked up at Mando, golden eyes burning through the side of his helmet, “Because you already have plans to do that to someone else, don’t you?

Din willed himself not to rise to the challenge, not to take the bait. He instead tried counting his breaths, focusing on anything but Haran’s silken words.

They flowed like water around the small cell, almost irresistible, “Does she know? Does your little princess know that you’ve been carrying that ring around for months now?” He crossed one ankle over the other, “I have to admit, it is a stunner. How much did you have to save for a rock like that?”

Anger hissed through him, but Din closed his eyes.

Many jobs. He had saved the credits from… more jobs than he could remember.

He would bring home most of the credits but would siphon off just a little from the top to add it to the tiny stash he had going. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get a ring with a huge stone like others he’d seen but… he had a feeling that you would love it regardless – at least he hoped. The ring had sat nestled in an inner pocket of his tight underlayer of clothing for a while now, and he could still feel it’s hard press into his skin. Thankfully it hadn’t been crushed in the fall.

It was new to him. Not just the fact he had reached this point in his life, but the fact he was looking for an engagement ring.

Mandalorian’s traditionally gave weapons instead but… you weren’t a Mandalorian. And the pair of you… this was different. And he wanted to do it right.

You had taken on board so much of his traditions and rules… he wanted to do this for you. Do something in a way that you would be familiar with.

Of course, there was one other major thing that was different –

“Have you even revealed your face? How do you know she’ll want to marry you? I mean, she loves you now but… What if you take off your helmet and she can’t stand you?” Haran examined his gloves, his words low and almost childlike but that was the point.

Din gritted his teeth, keeping his body loose – as much as it could be with the pain – “Seriously, are you here for a reason?”

Boom!

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the entire ship.

It echoed down the hall, but Din could calculate it was far away, deep in the belly of the cruiser so most likely a cargo hold.

Red lights began flashing outside of his cell, the sound of many thumping footsteps racing past.

No… no-

Haran’s eyes unfocused and a cold, dark power brushed against Din. Even through the armour, he could feel it. The way it leeched the warmth from him, swallowed what little light was in the room. It had a pull to it, like the silken caress of his voice given life.

Din shuddered, but Haran hadn’t noticed, instead feeling for something… someone…

His pupils dilated, black swallowing the gold and then he grinned, a cruel, delighted grin and his eyes came back into focus. He stood up, laughing, “Oh, Mando. I’m afraid your luck has run out. Your precious princess has just made her entrance.”

Bile rose up in Din’s throat and he shook his head, “No, you’re lying.”

Din knew he wasn’t. Knew it because he felt you. Every cell in his body was crying out to leave the room, to be reunited with you. Hell, he could almost smell your achingly familiar scent.

Haran advanced on him, crouching down and he took off his gloves, revealing a pair of slender hands – absolutely mauled with twisted, marbled scars.

Din couldn’t stop staring at them, at the evidence of some awful injury – fire, by the looks of it, “What are you doing?” He couldn’t move away, the pain too great and the room spinning. Horror flooded his senses – horror and relief.

He felt sick at the relief, because the last thing he wanted was you near any of these people, but at the same time… you were coming to rescue him.

He wasn’t going to die in here –

That power brushed against him again, slipping through the cracks in his armour and seeking out the injuries as Haran said softly, “The game is beginning.”

~~~

So, your idea to enter the ship discreetly… maybe hadn’t gone entirely to plan.

In all honesty though, it wasn’t your fault that you’d been attacked.

And it wasn’t your fault that the only evasive maneuverer that they wouldn’t be expecting was to lead them on a wild goose chase around the ship and then…. Crash into the cargo hold.

Okay, so Boba had been going for a gentle landing, but the situation had required some fast thinking and strategy and so… there you were.

Maybe it hadn’t been what you’d decided upon but… you had to admit, the explosion provided excellent cover for your teams to slip in.

Amongst the chaos, you weaved around the edges of the cargo ship and you were through into a service passageway, watching Cara and Fennec disappear down a hallway opposite.

The cruiser was like a maze.

You had no idea how long you had been navigating the halls, but you knew it was long enough.

Already, you had encountered a few Troopers, but they were silenced before they could raise the alarm – and stuffed into nearby rooms so they would be delayed when they awoke.

Mayfeld kept pace easily with you and Ahsoka, as you sent out waves of power to sweep the area, “They most likely have him in the cells. But if they know we’re coming… They would have moved him.

Somewhere more central, where we have no choice but to be in the open and vulnerable to attack. So, we should head toward the front of the ship, maybe.” He kept his voice hushed and his blaster aimed.

Ahsoka peered over her shoulder at him, raising her eyebrows, “Tell me again where you came from?” She had her other saber in her hand, held in her trademark grip as she moved like a shadow.

Mayfeld chuckled low, “Impressed?”

Seriously?

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, looking ahead again, “Please, don’t flatter yourself.” She shook her head, pausing and raising a hand for you all to stop too.

You pushed your power around the corner as well, combining with hers and you felt it.

A cluster of Stormtroopers gathered near a service room. They were standing between you and the next hallway and would need to be removed.

Focusing, you did a rough tally, “Nine of them. All armed.” You worked it through in your mind. You could take them – but there was still enough time for them to raise the alarm. Especially if they were near service rooms, they’d be able to signal to others and you would soon be ambushed.

Even without power, Mayfeld appeared to have done the same, “We need to draw them away, get them somewhere quiet.” He looked back the way you came, then to the right where there was a dead end.

Ahsoka sighed, shaking her head, “How? Any noise will alert the others. We need to - ” She broke off, having just seen what you were doing. “Where are you going?”

You had moved away from the safety of the wall, drawing the hood of your cloak up over your face. “You and Mayfeld get ahead, see if you can find a map or something in one of those rooms.”

Something dark thrummed in your blood, your palms itching with an intense need to… to make someone hurt.

Mayfeld rose an eyebrow, facing you as he kept his back against the wall, “Are you crazy? They want you as much as you want Mando! You can’t just walk out there like a party gift.”

A party gift that’ll explode in their faces.

Stars above, the very thought almost made you laugh with an unnaturally shadowed delight.

You indeed chuckled, rolling your eyes, “Exactly. What Stormtrooper grunt would pass up the opportunity to deliver Moff Gideon the very thing he’s doing all of this for? They’ll take me straight to him or throw me somewhere to wait. Either way, it gets them away from you.”

Ahsoka was watching you, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She didn’t agree with this anymore than Mayfield, but she too knew there was no other way. “Okay.” She ignored Mayfeld’s noise of protest, “Be careful. Try not to draw too much attention if you can help it. We’ll find anything we can and if you’re not back out here, then circle back to find you.” She was still watching you with that strange look – like she could sense something off.

You gave her a playful salute before pulling out another knife from your boot, rolling your shoulders and strutting around the corner.

Instantly, the group of Troopers turned around, guns raising as they beheld your cloaked appearance, and the shining lightsaber in your hand, “Hey! Stand down!”

You dropped the hood, grinning wickedly as you purred, “Hello, boys.”

You moved like a flame, tearing through the group of Stormtroopers and spreading your embers of death, ready to turn into a blaze.

The whir of the lightsaber was the conductor of your dance, providing a beat as your separated limb from limb. The deadly energy whipped through the air, severing one of the Troopers hands from his wrist and he went down screaming, clutching at the stub at the end of his arm which was smouldering. You didn’t hesitate, whirling and flinging a sharp, deadly knife from your hand.

There was a muffled, wet noise impact as it lodged itself in his throat, buried in the gap between the chest plates and helmet.

You didn’t know if Ahsoka and Mayfield were close, if they’d found a map – you didn’t care.

These men, these followers were standing between you and Din. Maybe they had been forced into it, but as you had said before. They made the choice to stay.

A yell sounded from behind you and a sharp blow to the middle of your back had you stumbling, the air knocked from your lungs.

You sucked in a sharp breath but before you could turn, the back of a blaster smashed your skull and you tumbled to the floor, fighting through the wave of nausea and the stars in your vision. The lightsaber was flung from your grip, skittering across the floor.

A somewhat altered voice hissed against your ears, a knee pressing to your spine, “You think you can waltz in here and take us all down? I don’t care what the boss says.” The muzzle of his blaster now jammed against the back of your skull, forcing your forehead to press against the icy, metallic floor and you bit your lip with the impact, “You are vermin. A monster. People like you shouldn’t exist.”

The dark creature within you snarled, and you spread your fingers of your free hand, the other caught up underneath you, “Didn’t your boss tell you?”

You heard him cock his head, “Tell me, what?” He dug his blaster in harder, right against the base of your skull.

A wicked grin spread your lips, causing them to split further but quite frankly, you didn’t care. The pain only aided in the focus, the hot blood nothing as it ran down your chin, “Watch the hands.” You lifted it from the floor, wrapping the Force around his throat and you gave him only a second to realise what was happening, before curling your hand into a fist and crushing his windpipe.

He choked, hands flying up to his throat but then he was instantly gone, slumping forward over you in a heavy tangle of limbs.

You groaned, shifting his body off of you, “Get off of me.” You muttered it uselessly, scrambling up and you scooped up the lightsaber, before turning to survey the hallway.

Footsteps resounded from both ends of the hallway, and you lowered into a battle stance, adrenaline still humming through your veins and numbing everything else, everything but the fight and the goal – Din. Along with the cool ice of battle… something heavy and alluring whispered to you, as black as night and hungry for more death.

White armour burst into your left peripheral and you whirled toward it, flinging a hand forward and then back.

The Stormtrooper was dragged off his feet, again trapped with the invisible pressure around his throat as he ground to a halt, legs swinging forward with the remaining force of him flying at you.

He snarled, scrambling at his throat, “You can’t do this. You won’t beat him, no matter what you believe.”

You rolled your eyes, letting your head fall back with a groan, “When they make you, do they implant some kind of need for all the dramatic bullshit? Honestly, whoever the first one of you was, he must have been an incredible bore.”

The Trooper thrashed about uselessly, his weapon falling to the floor and you sensed the glare through the black visor, “At least we have hearts. And maybe we’re all the same, but we’re more human than you are.”

Monster.

Ah, back to this, yet again.

Always back to this.

Your smile was angelic, your appearance anything but.

Long cloak hanging from your shoulders, battle suit fitted and black as coal. Your boots were stained red, the blood looking like ink on the dark leather.

As for your face, you sported a wicked bruise to your cheekbone, a long cut across your forehead and with the blood dripping down your chin, the wild fury in your eyes… You probably looked every bit the monster they said you were.

And you couldn’t care.

“You think I haven’t heard this one before? How I have no humanity, no soul… I’m an abomination that shouldn’t deserve to live, blah blah blah.” You shook your head, something deadly and shadowed twisting through your blood, humming in dark delight at what you were doing, the devastation you were feeding it.

There was a name for it.

You knew what it was, the siren call to step over the line that you were only too pleased to answer.

You’d deal with that later.

The Stormtrooper choked as you tightened the hold on him, obviously about to speak but then his head jerked, focusing over your shoulder.

The other footsteps – a pair. One heavy, one light and nimble.

Mayfeld, and Ahsoka.

You didn’t bother turning around as you heard them skid to a stop, Mayfeld sucking in a breath at the sight around you.

The fallen bodies of the Troopers, broken about and still smouldering, the blood coating the walls and the floor, the edge of your cloak trailing in it. The stench of death and the smell of molten plastic.

Mayfeld whistled low, “Fucking hell…”

You ignored them, focused on your prey, tightening that leash bit by bit.

It was like the very air around you was alive, more frantic than normal. Your power flared, tasting the death in the atmosphere, slipping through the ship like a poison and marking where each target was. Every single obstacle between you and your love.

You could feel their living souls, see them in your mind like glowing stars in the sky. You knew that if you went for them, you could close your eyes and still take them down as quickly and skilfully as if your eyes were open.

Is this how Haran was so good at killing? So skilled at finding people?

Without the distraction of sight and sound, you needn’t worry about the expressions on people’s faces, the noises they made as they died.

With your eyes shut, using this glittering map in your mind… they were merely lights to snuff out.

“If you follow this path… No one will be able to help you. You will have to make the choice whether to stay on it, or to fight your way out.” Ahsoka’s voice was a soft breeze in the night of your mind, softly lit in the same white as her sabers, of which one you held in your hand.

A symbol of strength… which you had used to destroy lives.

Your eyes opened slowly, gazing up at the Stormtrooper ahead of you.

A choice.

Seconds ticked by, seconds you knew were slipping away on the clock of Din’s life as you made up your mind.

The Trooper fell to the bloody floor and your voice was demanding, no room for argument, “Take us to your little master. I except he’ll be waiting.”

~~~

Booted footsteps rang out on the cold metal hallways.

The King of Shadows and Death could move like a whisper on the wind, as if the air itself parted around him and kept him silent.

But this time, he wanted to be heard.

He wanted the Mandalorian to know that his hope had been in vain.

He merely looked at the guards standing either side of the door and they nodded, one scanning the chip that would trigger the heavy locks in the door.

It swung open and Haran crossed the threshold, gazing down at the broken Mandalorian, slumped on his cot. He grinned, cocking his head, “Time’s up, Mando. Your saviour has come to rescue you from the enemy walls. Looks like you don’t know her as well as you thought.”

The Mandalorian growled, dried blood like rust on his beskar, “If you think you’ll walk out of this unharmed, you obviously don’t know her like you think you do.”

The last time Haran came to see him, he had healed his injuries just enough that Mando wasn’t permanently dancing the line between being awake and being unconscious. He did nothing to remove the pain, or the severity of them, but he had prevented infection. He’d also healed his legs to the point where he could walk – barely.

What good was a knight who fell before the Queen could finish the game?

Haran walked over to him, hauling him to his feet. The Mandalorian was the same height as him, so he gauged he was looking right into Mando’s eyes when he whispered, “I think I know her a lot better than you think. I can tell you that she would not have come here peacefully. And she would not have let go the people that stood in her path.”

Mando shook his head, trying to pull away from him but he was unsteady on his feet, the blood rushing from his head, “No. You’re wrong. She won’t listen to that call, to the... Dark Side or whatever it is. She’s walked that line before, and she’ll make the right decision again.”

Haran chuckled low, half dragging the beskar-clad knight out of the door, “Oh, I don’t doubt that she’ll make the right decision. But whether or not it’s right depends on which side you’re standing on.”

The Mandalorian groaned, hating that he couldn’t pull away from Haran, hated the weakness of his body, the unsteady, lurching footsteps of his still fractured legs and the armour that weighed down on his broken bones. “Why are you doing this? Why are you so obsessed with corrupting her? You’ve been living your sick little life for… however long it is now. Surely there’s some other person to terrorize?”

Haran scoffed, rolling his amber eyes, “You really need to get it through that thick skull of yours – I’m not corrupting her. I’m merely bringing back someone she’s tried to bury.” He looked over at Mando, raising his eyebrows, “Has she told you? About the time she had no code of honour, of mercy?”

The man beside him snarled, his leg giving way for a moment as agony rippled up his hip, his bones screaming, “What the fuck are you talking about now?”

It was easy to hold him up, despite the weight of his beskar and they walked down the imposing hallways, three Stormtroopers flanking them – whether it was to stop Mando trying something, or stop Haran having his fun, he didn’t know. Or care.

“There was a time, little hunter, where your precious princess slaughtered anyone who dared stand in her way. She was broken, hungry for vengeance and only to eager to have her fill.”

Mando was quiet for a moment, the heavy scuff-drag of his boots the only sound to be heard – one he probably hated as he moved nearly as silently as Haran did.

Something like triumph flickered over Haran’s face at his silence, “You truly didn’t know? Oh dear… There’s a lot she hasn’t told you, Lori. Things I’ve seen in her head that I doubt even she remembers she did.” He guided them around toward the corner, to where it would all come to a head.

And to where his power was tugging him, whispering to him of the state the next hallway had been left in.

The Mandalorian pushed away from him, summoning some kind of inner reserve of strength. He stopped, the guards pausing behind him and shifting their weapons as a warning. He looked at Haran, the harsh lighting bouncing off his beskar, revealing nothing of the man beneath and Haran wondered if he had revealed his face yet.

“You seem to think telling me these things will bother me or make me look at her differently. Whatever she’s done, whatever terrible things she’s committed… it doesn’t change the fact that I love her.” He stepped forward, ignoring the guards as they moved too, “I’ll tell you something, Shadow man. There is a light that burns within her, a fire that could rival the very stars up there.” He pointed to the ceiling, “And no ounce of darkness, be it her own past or your own twisted powers, will ever snuff it out.”

He moved that finger to jab Haran’s chest. “You tried to dump her at the bottom of a lake, and she came out burning brighter than before. So carry on, tell me all these horror stories to try and scare me away.” He shrugged, the rough baritone of his voice steady, ringing with loyalty and truth – and threat, “All you’re doing is making me love her even more.”

Golden eyes flicked between the visor, assessing. Plotting.

Then Haran smiled, a sinister, deadly smile as he inclined his head, “I don’t doubt for a second everything you said is true.” He brought his hands together behind his back, resuming the walk and he used his power to push the Mandalorian along. “I believe that you’re willing to throw down the gauntlet to protect her honour every single time someone threatens it. But I wonder… All you’ve heard is stories.”

He walked around the corner and stopped yet again, his dark power dragging Mando to his side. “What will you do when faced with the truth first-hand?”

The hallway was carnage.

A bloody battlefield.

Multiple bodies littered the stark floors, bright red blood sprayed all along the walls – even the ceiling. The once white armour of the Troopers was stained with the stuff, their bodies bent at unnatural angles, as if a strong power had taken hold of their limbs and yanked them in all the wrong directions until bones shattered and muscles tore.

The Mandalorian looked upon the scene, the blood coating the tips of his boots.

A dismembered hand lay just a few feet away and the severed wrist, the tendons hanging out of it... all singed. As if cleaved from the body by something white-hot and burning.

A lightsaber.

Which would explain why the hard shell-like armour of the fallen Troopers were marked with black holes and marks, the stench of melting plastic mingling with the reek of burnt bodies and blood.

This was the work of someone with deadly skill, usually so precise… pushed to the edge, to this.

Oh, it wasn’t mindless, not by any means.

It was clearly thought out… maybe even savoured.

Haran breathed in the smell like he was standing in a field of flowers, “Well. I have to say, I’m impressed. This looks like something I’d leave behind.” He walked through the mess of shredded bodies, a phantom wind lifting the edge of his cloak so it didn’t drag in the blood, “These poor soldiers never had the chance.” He crouched down, pushing the helmet of one Trooper – resulting in the head rolling a few inches away from his body.

He looked at the Mandalorian, raising an eyebrow as the fluorescent lighting brought out his scars, “Still singing her praises?”

The Mandalorian was silent, hands clenched at his sides but then he moved, not away from the scene, but toward it.

Through it.

Through the blood and flesh until he was standing right in front of Haran, feet splashing to a stop in the scarlet river, “Always.”

~~~

Moff Gideon was waiting for you as you were escorted into a large, open chamber.

He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, with a young girl at his side – presumably his second in command. There was a sick expression of glee on his face, dark eyes glittering with what he presumed was triumph.

Next to him, stood Haran, clad in black as always, with that embroidered cloak holding –

Din.

Oh, the sight of your Mandalorian threatened to bring you to your knees as you were stopped a few metres away.

You couldn’t see his body – obviously – but you knew simply from the way he held himself, that he was terrible injured.

He seemed to be bearing his weight to one side, slumped over even as he stood, and you could hear is laboured breathing from here.

Oh Din, what happened to you…

You had to admit, a small part of you wondered if there would be anything left of him when you arrived. Not from the possibility of torture, but simply from that terrible fall.

The thought of tumbling all that way down to the ground, encased in a rock-solid metal shell… You couldn’t even fathom it.

And yet, there Din was, still alive after something that should have killed him.

Clearly, the Maker had plans for him.

Gideon cleared his throat, watching the Trooper grunt retreat to the edge of the room, “Well, well. After all my time spent hunting you… Here you are.” He cocked his head, “I thought you’d be taller.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing, “Oh stars above, please tell me this isn’t another villain speech. I hate those.”

Haran’s lips twitched perhaps remembering this exact same conversation from his bunker.

You flickered your eyes to him, before looking back at Moff Gideon, who was looking at you with… a rather bored expression already.

“I was told you were insolent and arrogant, and I can see my sources were correct. They were also correct about how to summon you here.”

He looked over at Haran, “Though it took many years for someone’s ideas to actually bear fruit. Well done.”

Haran bristled slightly, as if taking praise from a mere human man irritated him.

You supposed it did.

Gideon was nothing compared to Haran, power or not.

“Well, I would hate to disappoint you, of course.” You shot him a sweet smile, venom in your eyes, “If you wouldn’t mind, do you think you could tell me what it is you want before I take my Mandalorian here and leave this dump.” You held up your comms watch, “I have a party in Coruscant I’m due to be at and it won’t look very good if I’m late.”

You thought you may have heard muffled chuckles from the line of Stormtroopers assembled behind him, but you paid it no heed.

Gideon bared his teeth at you, eyes blazing, and he brought a hand in front of him to point at Din, “Do you not realise, we have your precious bounty hunter captive? Do you not realise who is holding him?”

You looked over at Haran, shrugging lightly, “A guy who has interesting taste in fashion?”

Did Gideon not know about the bunker or the lake? Had Haran neglected to tell him you’d met before?

Haran revealed nothing in his expression, but there was something in his eyes… something ancient… some of betrayal? Of lies?

Moff Gideon snarled at you, “Insolent creature. You are here because we allowed you to be. In fact, the only reason that happened, is because of the failures of the people I sent after you. Had they done their job, you would have been broken long ago. That disgusting affliction of yours burnt out of you.”

Heat licked down your spine, and the atmosphere in the room shifted as the three Force wielders within it straightened at is words, the ugly discrimination in his words.

Dangerous game to play, Gideon.

You kept your breathing even, feeling the shadows prowl beneath your skin, teeth and claws still dripping with blood from the hallways, wanting more, “Have you ever wondered why you’re stuck here, chasing down women and babies?” You took a step forward, anger and pride for yourself, for Ahsoka, every Force Sensitive person both dead and alive making your voice carry strong over the empty air – even pride for Haran, in some way.

Gideon rose an eyebrow, “Do tell.”

“You’re stuck in the past. You believe that people like us,” You motioned to yourself, “You believe we are abominations. Freaks of nature. The Force is nature. It’s the very thing that binds us all together. There is no fear in it, no monstrosity. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you people to understand.”

The Officer sighed, shaking his head and moving a step closer as well, “Oh, I understand that. I wasn’t referring to the others in this room. I was referring to you. You, my dear, have been sick and twisted from the very moment you were born.”

Din pulled against Haran’s grip, growling in anger, “I’d advise you to stop speaking.”

Haran yanked him hard, “Stay quiet.” He spat the words at Din, but you didn’t fail to notice the murderous look he shot Gideon over Din’s head, his golden eyes livid.

A shaking had taken over your hands, so you clenched them tighter around your weapons, years of abuse playing in your mind.

But you pushed back against it, for you were stronger now. Stronger because of it, not in spite of it.

Gideon continued, looking upon you in disgust but there was a sick fascination here too, “You have been marked for death long before you showed your powers. You think it was coincidence that the hunter was stalking you in your miserable little village? She was there on orders.” He looked over you, “A child responsible for the deaths of her parents. You might as well have pushed the blade in your mothers flesh yourself.”

A roaring took over your head, filling your ears with the sounds of screaming, the stench of blood and the way the light sapped from your life as your parents died.

But… the world was different now.

It was bright again.

Because of Din, your friends… That’s why you were here.

You glared at Gideon, wanting so desperately to tear out his throat with your power, your hands, or even your teeth – but now wasn’t the time. You shook your head, “You don’t win this time, Gideon. I’m afraid your sad little life will be ruled by chasing me for just a little longer.” With that, you flung your hands wide, making your power explode through the room with a battering impact.

You felt another wave at the same time as yours, fuelling it – Ahsoka’s.

You only just managed to keep it free from Din, though Haran had thrown up a hand milliseconds before you, as if sensing what you were going to do – and evidently creating a shield.

Gideon and the Troopers weren’t quite so lucky.

The Force flung him through the air, causing his head to smash harshly against a metal beam and he crumpled to the ground, limp.

Haran spun to look at him, and it occurred to you – he should have protected him too. He was working for Gideon. Or… at least pretending to be.

Who was really calling the shots here?

No time for that now.

You used Haran’s distraction to throw yourself at him, activating the lightsaber and unleashing yourself on him with a strangled cry of rage.

He startled, just a few seconds too late and he pushed Din at you in an attempt to slow you down.

Perfect.

Just as you planned.

You were never really going to engage in battle with him, had never intended to attack him.

But you knew he would use Din as a shield, thinking you were too blidned in your rage – but you proved him wrong.

Din careened into you, stumbling against your body and you both nearly tumbled to the floor, but then Cara was there, helping you support his body as he wrapped an arm around you, “You came…” His voice was hoarse, weak with pain and exhaustion.

The relief and love in his voice nearly brought you to the ground, “Of course I came for you, Din. I will always come for you.” You gave him a watery smile, walking toward the others, keeping one eye behind you as Haran watched.

Why wasn’t he moving… Why wasn’t he attacking?

“I saw what you did.” Haran’s silken voice called out from behind you, making you pause in your retreat. “I know you feel it. The call to the Dark Side. And I know that you answered it.”

That would be why.

You slowed to a stop, forcing Din and Cara to slow too. “How do you know I answered it?” You looked straight ahead, still not turning around.

Haran sounded as though he took a step forward, “I felt it. I felt it when you allowed the Dark to show you how to get here. You saw the lives as glowing lights, a map to saving your Mandalorian. And the mess you left in that hallway…” He trailed off meaningfully, “You needn’t fear it, darling. It’s not evil. It’s merely… a different perspective.” His voice had melted into the same one that had coaxed you into swallowing the poison, into stepping off the edge.

Here you were, yet again. Only you weren’t standing on the precipice of a raging torrent… You were standing on the edge of the Dark Side.

And his words had instantly awoken it, set it pining for a life to be unleashed, untamed.

Slowly, you turned around, cringing when Din’s broken feet tumbled over each other too, so you slowly let go “A different perspective…?” You cocked your head, voice starting to sound unsure as his seductive baritone filtered through your mind, weaving around it.

He smiled, that gorgeous, disarming smile that instantly made you lock focus on him, “Yes. Others may tell you that the dark side is evil… But it isn’t. It’s simply using that power in a different way. Using it to get the things that you deserve.”

You swallowed, feet hanging over that metaphorical edge, “You – You promise? I can’t go back to that place. I can’t be a… monster again.” Your voice trembled over the word; eyes locked on his amber ones.

Din shook his head fiercely from your left, fighting against Cara’s hold as she pulled him away, but he was too weak, “No. Sweetheart, no. Stop listening to him, please… He’s lying to you. You don’t need this. You don’t need that darkness, princess. You’re so good, so strong… please don’t do this.”

And then you made a decision.

You ignored Din.

And walked toward Haran.

Stepping off of that edge.

Haran extended a gloved hand to you, “That’s it, darling. That’s it… Coming here doesn’t make you a monster, it just means you are claiming your birth right. This is where you belong.”

As you reached his presence, a feeling wrapped over you, muffling Din’s voice, the sounds of the others around you. You slid your hand through his, gasping a little as you felt your shadowy beast respond to his own, felt them twine around each other, greet each other.

“I don’t…” Uncertainty still clouded your expression, and you lingered a little, worrying you were making a fatal mistake.

He saw this, gently drawing you closer and into the circle of his arms, “No one will die. Your Mandalorian, your friends… We will help them leave safely and then… Then we can begin.” He guided your head to his neck.

Din’s voice, though muffled, was desperate, clawing at you, “No! Cyar'ika, you can’t. Please, I’m begging you. You don’t need to go to him, you don’t need to do this. I love you. I love you for who you are, for every single thing. I’m not afraid of you, of any single part of you.” He sobbed.

Din sobbed, reaching for you, “Please don’t leave me alone.”

You were glad your head was pressed to Haran’s neck, because the backs of your eyes burned, shame and guilt threatening to choke you.

You had to do this.

You had to do it now before you shattered completely.

You were quiet, and then just… went pliant in his arms. You raised your own to his back, winding around his lean frame and lifted your face from Haran’s neck, nuzzling your nose along his neck, “I believe you.”

“NO!!” Din fell to his knees beside Cara, shaking his head in disbelief. “Sweetheart, please don’t do this. Please-” The way his voice broke tore through your heart, and you nearly backed out right then and there.

But you didn’t because Din… He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why you had to do this…

Haran’s arms tightened around you, one coming up to cradle the back of your head, “Good girl. I always knew you would see the light.” A deliberate, ironic choice of words form the King of Shadows and Death.

Din’s sobs speared though you, each devasted noise threatening the tears building in your own throat.

Raising on tiptoe slightly, you ran a hand down his back, the other splaying wide, ready.

You brushed your lips along the smooth line of his skin, breathing in the smell of wind and midnight, “There’s just… There’s one little thing…”

Haran nodded, his cheek resting against your hair, “Anything. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

His words muffled the soft sound of an object flying into your hand as you let out a breath against the shell of his ear, whispering, “I will never be your Queen.”

The sound of a lightsaber activating, not through air… but through flesh.

Haran’s choke of surprise – and agony.

You held his sagging body to yours, snarling, “That’s for the lake, you twisted asshole.” You stepped back, letting him fall to his knees, yanking free the lightsaber and savouring the gritted howl of agony as you tore back through more flesh and tendon.

Those amber eyes of his blazed like molten gold, deadly and furious, “You don’t know the mistake you’re making. You’re throwing away your life with these fools.”

You bared your teeth at him, raising the saber threateningly to his throat, letting it make the faintest contact, “Come after me again, and I will end you. I don’t care if you’re hundreds of yours old, or the King of Death or whatever else you call yourself. I’m not afraid of you. And I will destroy you before you can do the same to anyone else.”

With that, you quickly turned, bolting toward your family and friends, “Now!!”

Ahsoka flung her hands wide at the same time as you, creating a wide bubble of Force energy that blew through the space.

Every Stormtrooper in the area was knocked flat on their back, instantly out like lights as you threw your arm around Din’s shoulders, trying to get him up as he stared at you.

“What… I don’t…” His voice was bewildered, dazed with pain and he was heavy in your arms.

You whimpered just slightly, desperation and anxiety creeping forward, the edge of battle slowly fading, “I’ll explain everything later, we have to go now, Lori. Please.”

Mayfeld was suddenly there, supporting his other side and then you were all running for the cargo hold, leaving the destruction behind you.

Even as you ran, Cara and Fennec scouting ahead, Ahsoka behind you aiding with the energy bubble and Mayfeld helping you carry Din… You couldn’t quite figure out how you had pulled this off.

You’d done it.

~~~

Haran watched her leave, supporting the Mandalorian and hurrying away with her friends, her power combined with Tano’s to create an impenetrable shield around them all.

Well… He would have gotten through with half a thought – perhaps a whole one – but any of the other fools in this place wouldn’t stand a chance.

Many footsteps rushed into the room and then he felt hands on him, pushing away his own, trying to get to his wound.

He looked down, saw a medic with their pack open by his side, flitting and fiddling.

“Leave it.” His silken voice was hard ice, enough of a bite there to inform the medic what would happen if they didn’t leave.

Despite the medics healing instincts, they knew the tone well, and moments later the kit was packed up and Haran was already turning away from the retreating figure.

Strong.

She had grown stronger far quicker than even he had expected. He knew it was within her, but he had thought the trauma ran deeper, its claws embedded into her very soul and creating a barrier every time she would try to tap into the power.

Tano must have taught her how to master her fear, or how to get past it.

Useful, it saved him a job… but also irritating. If she was already harnessing that trauma, it would mean he could no longer use that aspect.

Haran walked the path she had taken, out to the cargo load, the harsh wind roaring across the space as the tech’s struggled to gain control of the ship again, to remove whatever bug the girl and her friends had slipped in.

No matter. It didn’t upturn his plans… just meant he had to work with a new angle.

And fortunately, he had one, courtesy of the would-be Queen herself.

Haran had come across the bodies in the hallway on his way in here, saw the way they were dumped on the ground with their limbs at unnatural angles, their armour shattered from the inside out.

And if the still smoking scorch marks all over their bodies weren’t indication enough, a sweep of his power had revealed massive internal devastation.

Haran stood with a gloved hand pressed to the bleeding wound as he watched the steadily shrinking shape of a ship. A mere thought had the hole stitching back together as he extended his fingers out slowly.

No one on the clean side of the Force would wreak havoc like that of the hallway, regardless of their love having been kidnapped and beaten.

And that meant simply one thing. And one thing only.

She was being called to the Dark Side.

And she’d heeded that call.

Maybe only temporary, but the Dark Side was like Haran himself. Once you let it in, once you got that first taste… it never truly left. She could deny it all she wanted, trick him with it, think it was merely a reaction from the stress of saving the Mandalorian, but it had already rooted within her.

He could feel it.

Haran tipped his head back and laughed, his ebony curls dancing across his forehead as the wind tugged and pushed at his tall, lean frame. A lone pillar of darkness, hovering at the edge of the world.

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#well this was a journey #the mandalorian x reader #edited because I realised I spelt Mayfeld wrong #the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #rogue #pedro pascal

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buckysgoldenheart · 4 years

Text

Protect You

August Walker x Reader

Summary: You discover August is working with Lane and it crushes your heart, but he’s not about to let you go any time soon. He’ll do what he must to prove that you are more important to him than what he wanted before he had you.

Warnings/Notes: Fluff, some smut, cursing, maybe slight angst if you squint (like super hard), Sort of breeding kink (kinda hard to say (it’s like one sentence)).

The details of this story, with Lane and August and their plan/how their relationship worked, are not 100% accurate. There are slight changes, but I just did it for the sake of plot. And dear lord, there are questionable writing choices, but after writing and rewriting this idk how many times, I can’t tell what’s good and what isn’t. So, sorry in advance :’]

Words: 4k…Way too many (my bad).

You ran as fast as you could through streets and back alleys, your steps disturbing the settled water puddles on the cobblestone. Escaping where August had tied you up proved to be much simpler than you were sure he imagined, and he unintentionally gave you enough of a hint to know exactly where he was going.

God, you felt so stupid. He deceived you, fooled you, bound your wrists around a bedpost and gagged you, leaving you behind like trash while he went after your friends; your team.

You shoved through the side door of a parking garage and sped down the stairs. You paused before the last door that opened to the basement floor, inhaled deeply then peeked through the small window. Your vision went red at the sight of your team, their hands raised and weapons scattered at their feet.

“Take them--” August began, his voice devoid of all emotion as you ran in.

“Stop!” You shouted, only slowing your pace once your body was a small barrier between your friends and the crowd of armed men with August at their side. One of many masked men in vests immediately turned his gun your way, ready to pierce a bullet through your heart without a thought, but you didn’t care, your heart was already broken anyway.

“No!” August snapped, his face twisting at the sight of you. He was instantly pissed, you could see it in his body, in the way he now stood. No one else would be able to tell, but you weren’t just anyone else. You knew what every stance, every lip quirk, every flash of emotion in his eyes meant.

He looked away from you for a moment, then shook his head with a curse on his lips. “Not her.”

Masks or not, you knew the men seconds away from killing you had surprised looks plastered on their faces. “Sir?”

“Bring her,” August looked at you. “Inform Lane you have these three,” He said, and you darted your eyes to the panicked faces of Ilsa, Benji, and Luther. “And find Hunt.”

Another man grabbed you around the waist at his order. You kicked at legs and clawed at the arms around you as Benji shouted your name, his voice falling farther and farther away with every step you were dragged from them.

August walked ahead of you, not daring a look back.

“August…” You growled, ready to tear into him, but a needle was shoved into the side of your neck and your vision was quickly blurring the form of his body.

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

Your head jerked up and your eyes burst open. You tried to rub the haze from them but couldn’t.

Tied up again…wonderful. This was not something you enjoyed getting used to, at least not in this way.

As your vision cleared, you saw him sitting across from you, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees, and hands clasped as he stared at the floor. You had no idea how long you’d been out or how long he’d been watching over you, but by the look of him, he hadn’t slept much in the time since you last saw his face.

“August!” You wiggled in your chair, trying anything to loosen your binds.

August’s head shot up. He looked relieved despite the furious way you hissed his name, but his annoyingly handsome face quickly succumbed to irritation. “I told you to stay put,” He said, a certain grit to his voice. “Why couldn’t you just listen?”

“You tied me up and left me in a room so you could kill my family, you asshole. What did you expect, huh? An obedient little girl? I figured by now you’d have learned I’m far from that.”

“Y/N—”

“How could you do this to them, to…me?” Your voice broke, and god, if your hands were free you would’ve slapped yourself silly. Letting him see a crack in your rage was not a power you needed to give him.

“It’s not what you think. At least, not anymore.” August stood from his chair and crossed his arms. “I didn’t betray you. It’s just complicated and, believe me, you are the last person I wanted to get caught in the crossfire,” He said. “I wish I didn’t anymore, but I have a vital role in Lane’s plan. I don’t just get to back out because I met you. I can’t say ‘sorry, I don’t want to work with you anymore because I have a thing for the girl on the other team.’”

“That’s pathetic,” You spit out. “You’re pathetic, and your loyalty to him is disgusting.”

He hummed, seemingly unaffected by your outrage. “Loyalty is not something I have the luxury to hand out like little candies, sweetheart. It goes to whoever I benefit most from.” He paused. “I get something from Lane believing in my loyalty, but it’s not real, baby.” He leaned down and cupped your jaw. “Every last scrap of devotion I have in me truly goes to you.”

You hated the thought of you and him. You grew more nauseous with each memory you replayed in your head. They were lies. Every move you made while he infiltrated your team he’d observed with a sharp eye. Every kiss you gave him he dissected to discover exactly what to do to make you melt in his arms. The way you spoke, what it took to make you smile, what he needed to say to get you into bed; all of it he must’ve stored in the back of his mind to use against you later. It was all fake; every loving gesture he made, a complete ruse. It had to be.

“What do you mean it’s not real?”

“Lane doesn’t know how I really feel about you,” August said simply. “He thinks I’ve been manipulating you for information.”

A scoff left your throat that you couldn’t help to hold back. As far as you were concerned, he was.

“And he needs to keep believing that, because if I suddenly decide not to finish this,” He continued. “Lane will find a way to make me regret it. And I fear if he gives it too much thought, he will realize the truth; that the only way to break me is to hurt you. So, I tried to separate you from it. I tied you up and I told you to stay there!” His words grew harsher with each one that passed his lips, and by the end of his rant his frustration was more than palpable.

“And what, August, starve to death?”

“I was going to come back for you!”

“Why should I believe you?” Tugging at your ropes again, you groaned. Clearly, he tied this knot better than the last. You looked at him again. “My friends could be dead because you handed them off to Lane, so spew all the pretty words you want but nothing will change that. I may never see them again because of you. You might as well have shot them yourself!”

August was in front of you in an instant, his large hands gripping the arms of the chair you were bound to as he leaned down to look you in the eyes. You glared back at him.

“I don’t give a fuck about them! I give a fuck about you! I don’t care who dies as long as you don’t!” He yelled, scolding you like a child. Then he straightened up. He was so tall, hovering above you. “When this is over…when Lane gets his revenge on Hunt, then I’m done. I will have held up my end of the deal, and that is all he cares about. He has no interest in how I choose to spend the rest of my life, a life with you, as long as he gets what he wants. If the bombs go off and Ethan goes down, you and I can--”

‘A life with you.’ Those words made the steady pounding of your heart stumble, but you shook it off. “I won’t help you find Ethan. I won’t help you pin a massive bombing, the loss of so many lives, on him.”

“No, you won’t,” He agreed. “Because you won’t be doing anything. You are going to stay here, out of harms way, while I make sure everything else goes to plan. I killed one of Lane’s men, the one I told to bring you, so we could get away, and that is all the complication I can afford right now.”

Get away to where, you wondered and looked around. You hadn’t taken to time to process where you were, but as you scanned the room, it was not what you expected. It was something of a small apartment. One common area; A small kitchen that was really just a stove and a fridge, and a couch that pulled out into a very uncomfortable looking bed; A single window carved into the wall to your right allowed just enough light seeping through to tell the time of day. “Where are we?”

“My place…temporarily, anyway.” He mumbled. “But, Y/N, I have to go back. I have to play the part until Lane wins this.”

He’d been playing a part, alright, but you weren’t so sure who he was trying to manipulate anymore. You or Lane. Lane or you. The training in you told you it was you, it was always you. His goal, the reason he planted himself in your team, involved taking you down and you had no reason to believe otherwise. But if there was a chance he wasn’t lying, if he really wanted you to be his, you weren’t sure you’d have the willpower to turn him away no matter what horrible things he may have done. He had that unforgiving power over you, unfortunately.

“Don’t do this, August.” You said. “Lane is a villain, he—”

“I know what he is.” He shut you up.

“If you know what he is, then why would you ally yourself with him?”

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Tell me the truth,” You pressed. “You want me to believe you? Then be honest with me. You owe me that much.”

He paced once, an agitated look marring his beautiful features. At war with himself. You’d seen that look before when you laid in bed together. Now you knew why. “You don’t understand what I’ve been through, and one day I will explain it to you, but I was angry, and working with Lane presented me an opportunity to change things in my own way. To create a better world.”

“Then why give it up? Why bother dropping that fucked up dream of yours? What, have you suddenly seen the error of your ways, August?”

August’s eyes softened as he took a breath. He studied your face in a way that made the last ounce of your tenacity shred to bits. “I’m giving it up because if I don’t, you won’t want me anymore, and I can’t have that.”

“If you still plan to help Lane then it doesn’t make a difference…and I don’t want you.” You lied. Two big, fat liars. Perfect for one another.

“You did a couple days ago.”

Yes…a couple days ago you were kissing him in the early morning before joining the team, musing over the idea of that life together. The idea of being with him, being happy, you craved like nothing else before. He made promises he said he intended to keep. ‘No matter what happens,’ He’d said. ‘One day, you and I will have everything we want.’

He continued. “Y/N, you are all that I care for. I’d give up anything you asked me to. But I’ll also do whatever I have to in order to get us a chance to be together. If that means working with Lane a little longer, then that is what I’ll do.”

“So, to avoid raising suspicion you just had to give my friends over to him, is that right?”

He grabbed the chair he was sitting in earlier and placed it in front of you before taking a seat. “Look, baby, I don’t care about your friends or if Lane kills them, but I know you do, so after I put you in the car, I created a tiny diversion, an advantage over Lane’s men.”

He brushed a few stray hairs behind your ear. You savored that touch, brief as it was.

“Getting you away from there was my main priority, and I didn’t stick around to see the outcome, so I make no promises as to their fate. But…I wanted to do this for you.”

Your eyelids fluttered as you pushed yourself to focus more on his words than the feel of his fingers on your cheek. “So, Lane doesn’t—I mean…they could be fine?” The thought that August spared your friends, or at the very least, gave them the opportunity to escape, made your chest swell. That was the man you had fallen for.

“As long as they took advantage of my generosity, then they could be alive, yes, and might remain so if they don’t run headfirst into the war zone.”

“You know they will.”

“That is not my problem.”

“And Ethan…”

August shook his head. “I won’t give you hope when it comes to Hunt,” He said. “To get what I want with you something must be sacrificed.”

Something? Someone; Anyone, you realized. August clearly didn’t care who. “Then help us take down Lane before he kills all those people. Ethan could get him, and we could escape before Lane even realizes that you aren’t on his side any longer.”

“What?” He rose an eyebrow. If it was anyone’s idea rather than your own, you knew he would have dismissed it without a thought. Assisting Lane was the path of least resistance.

“If all you want is to be with me, for Lane to not cause us any trouble, then why does it matter who you ally with? If something must be sacrificed, why not him?”

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

Four Months Later -- Scotland

“Goddamn, baby,” August growled around your nipple in his mouth. He lightly bit down, and you yelped, the sting of it only adding to your desire.

Roughly thrusting into you once more, he pulled out and crawled off your body to stand at the base of the mattress. You whimpered at the loss of contact. Without him on top of you, your internal temperature dropped to unsafe levels.

With his arms under your thighs, he yanked you to the edge of the bed. He kneeled and placed his warm mouth on your cunt, licking and sucking until you were writhing around, clutching the sheets for dear life. God, you loved what he did to you. You loved the feel of him. You loved the way his beard scratched your inner thighs until angry red marks remained long after he left you sated.

He had grown out his facial hair; kept it neat and manageable to avoid the homeless, mountain-man look, but it was no longer close shaven like it was when you were first together. Warm water didn’t exactly make it to shabby, man-made shacks on the abandoned, cliffside beaches of Scotland, and if August didn’t have warm water, he wasn’t shaving. Without a proper hot water system, the hard and frigid ocean was your only source. You only ever bathed together; your combined body heat the one thing that saved you both from freezing to death.

You came with his name tearing from your throat. You could feel his smirk as he lapped at you two more times before kissing his way back up your body to your swollen lips. He placed his mouth on your own, forcing you to taste yourself, then slid himself in you again, thrusting deep until he filled you with his cum.

You knew you were being stupid; that choosing to have sex without protection while hiding from a man that could kill you at any moment was one of the worst choices you could make. But with each day that passed, you cared a little less. The thought of carrying August’s baby turned you both on like nothing else.

He collapsed next to you then tucked you into his side and sighed.

You looked up at him and he smiled back at you. “I fucking love you,” He said.

“I fucking love you, too,” You chuckled as August ran a hand up and down your arm.

He hugged you to him one last time, kissed the top of your head, then untangled his limbs from yours and hopped up from the bed.

You stared at his ass with a grin on your face as he strutted to the kitchen.

“What do you want for breakfast, babe? Oatmeal or…oatmeal?”

“Both,” You called back, sitting up and stretching.

You followed him to the kitchen a moment later, snickering at the small apron he’d tied around his naked waist as he started up the portable camping stove. They weren’t meant to be used indoors, and the breeze from the open windows for airflow chilled your skin.

“Don’t laugh at me, Darlin’. We can’t have sex again if my dick gets burned off.”

Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you placed a feather light kiss between his shoulder blades and said, “Well, I can always find someone else to fuck.”

August tensed on spot and spun around in your arms with a scowl. “That’s not allowed,” He growled.

“The having sex with someone else, or the mentioning of having sex with someone else?”

“Both!” He snapped but all you gave in return was an innocent grin. “Though, secluded, misty beaches are hardly tourist spots. I don’t know who you think you could find to fuck you around here.”

He suddenly made a face as if a bitter flavor coated his tongue.

Your eyebrows rose. “What’s wrong?”

“Having ‘fuck’ and ‘you’ in a sentence without the words ‘I’m going to’ in front of them just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“You’re a dork.” You slapped his chest and pulled away from him, then nudged your head toward the water starting to boil in the pot. “Now pay attention or you’ll burn the water.” You winked.

Just as August was turning back around, his secure phone on the table flashed red and began to buzz. Both sets of eyes darted to it then you looked at one another. Your breaths hung in the air. August quickly took the pot off the burner and tossed it in the sink.

“Get dressed. Get your stuff,” He said sternly, and you jumped into action as he untied the apron and hurried behind you. You both threw clothes on your bodies, then you went to grab the emergency bags from under the bed while August punched some numbers into the small gun safe. Who the fuck knew you were here? You prayed it wasn’t who you thought it was. You knew Lane hadn’t succeeded in his original plan, but that didn’t mean he had been caught. He was resourceful. Regardless, the alarm was tripped so you needed to get the fuck out of dodge. You’d only have minutes.

“Passports.”

“Got them,” You said, running into the bathroom to grab a couple things.

“The cash.”

“Yes.”

“What about—"

Your eyebrows scrunched together at his pause and you dipped your head around the corner. All of the blood drained from your face.

“Drop the gun,” Ilsa’s deep, feminine voice demanded as she held her own gun to the side of August’s head. His lips thinned but he did as she asked. A loud thump sounded through the room that matched the beat in your chest. “And do not move,” She snarled.

With a smirk, August casually put up his hands. “Don’t worry.”

“Where. Is. She?”

You rushed into the room. “Ilsa!”

She looked at you, her confusion evident, then pushed the gun harder into your boyfriend’s temple as if she thought the image of you in front of her was an illusion meant to catch her off-guard. She didn’t trust August, and you couldn’t blame her.

“Ilsa, please. Just put the gun down.”

Her eyes narrowed as they grazed you up and down. You knew she was wondering how it was that you had not a scratch on you, how you had all of your limbs still attached after months of being held captive by the man she considered an enemy.

“Benji, she’s here,” She spoke into her earpiece.

August stared at you, unconcerned despite how close he could be to death. Your fingers twitched. You wanted to run up and yank him away from Ilsa. You wanted to lock him in the bathroom, out of harms way so you could talk your friend down.

Benji came crashing through the front door not a minute later and all tension in his body visibly released at the sight of you. “Oh, thank God.”

“Guys—” Your trembling voice began.

“You’re alright.” Benji blew out a breath. “I gotta tell you, we weren’t sure we would find you there for a second. This asshole is clever,” He said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder in August’s direction. “We have a chopper a couple miles south, so let’s go. Ilsa can deal with--”

“Guys! Stop.”

Ilsa’s lips parted. “Y/N…”

August chuckled at their obliviousness and you glared at him. “We should’ve moved last week,” He said.

You rolled your eyes. “They clearly aren’t Lane, August.”

“I don’t like them any better.” He crossed his arms in defiance, ignoring the gun at the ready to blow his brains out.

“Y/N!” Both Ilsa and Benji shouted at once, drawing your attention to their bugged-out eyes.

“Look,” You made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “There’s a long story and I will explain but put the gun away. You don’t need it.”

Dubiously, Ilsa lowered her weapon, and with every inch it traveled further away from your boyfriend, the easier it became to breathe.

You reached your hand out and August tried you walk your way, but Ilsa put her arm up, blocking his path. He halted though he could easily snap that arm like a twig.

“Someone needs to speak…now,” She said.

“Where are Ethan and Luther?” You asked.

“Reykjavik,” She replied. “We had two potential leads of your whereabouts.”

It had been easier to track you than you hoped. You’d just left Iceland a few weeks prior.

August looked at you smugly, but his eyes held their usual hint of love that no expression could erase. You knew what he was thinking. ‘I love you, babe, but you should’ve listened to me. If we kept moving, we could be having sex right now.’ He was right. You’d been moving every couple of weeks to throw anyone who might be tracking you off your trail. If you stayed in place, Lane had a better chance of finding you, but you were tired and you liked Scotland. August, soft as was with you, hesitantly agreed to one more week before packing your bags again.

You didn’t notice Benji’s eyes examining the two of you like a hawk honing in on his next prey until it was too late. “Holy shit,” He said, almost stumbling back. “He actually loves you.”

Your head snapped to the left. “Benji—”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! He took you because he loves you! All this time, we thought this asshole was torturing you, maybe even killed you, but he took you because he wasn’t lying about being in love with you?”

You only nodded. He summed it up so eloquently there was little left for you to say.

“Oh, Ethan is going to lose it. This might actually be the thing that does him in.”

You opened your mouth to speak but Benji continued his rambling, now looking to August.

“So, was that the only part of your undercover bullshit that was real, or were you secretly planning to save the rest of us as well?”

“No, I didn’t care if you got killed. Still don’t, actually.” August retorted with a sarcastic smile. “But she does.”

“So, you weren’t with Lane or…?” “Ilsa asked.

“I was, but not since I left with Y/N.” August nudged his head in your direction.

Your friends turned to you. “You should’ve told us,” Benji said.

“I know. I’m sorry, but once we tipped you off about Lane, we had to hide. If he found out it was us before you guys could get to him, then he would’ve killed us both. We didn’t want to take that chance.”

“You tipped us off?” Ilsa’s eyebrow quirked and you could tell her mind was shuffling her thoughts.

“Yes.” August had given you all information he had on Lane and you hoped, after anonymously sending all of it to your team, they’d find a way to take him down. You considered seeing them once more and explaining everything in person, but August wanted to leave immediately and demanded there be no paper trail with your name on it.

Benji sighed. “Well, it worked.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lane is dead,” Ilsa said. “Last month.”

“What?”

Lane...

…dead?

Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

He was gone.

No one was coming after you.

You could go home, wherever you and August would decide that be. You could live the life you promised one another without a threat at any wrong turn.

August rose an eyebrow at you, and when you let out a breathy laugh of relief, he shoved his way past Ilsa.

“Come here, baby,” He whispered only for you, then pulled you to him and kissed you hard.

Benji roughly rubbed his fingers along his forehead, creating wrinkles that were sure to last. “This is so not how I thought this day was going to go.”

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in-slytherin-we-trust · 4 years

Text

Another Time, Another Life (Draco Malfoy x Reader) Part 2/4

-> You can read the first part through here

Harry did it.

He defeated Voldemort.

They’ve won the war.

Now it’s time for them to make peace with whatever demon’s haunting them, that is if it would ever go away or maybe it‘d just get easier with time. All they can do now is go on.

Some chose to go back to Hogwarts and redo their seventh year like Hermione, but most of them decided to leave the castle behind. No matter how crafty the hands and the spells that has rebuilt the walls and grounds back up again, they can still see the ghosts of those who had passed away.

Y/N is a part of the latter, about two and a half months after the war ended she received a letter from the Ministry of Magic announcing that there is an empty seat for her in the Department of International Magical Cooperation should she choose to take it. And she did. Along with Harry who had decided to take the job offer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, they both became ministry officials. Ron decided that office job is not for him and work under George instead in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Three months after the war, the trials for the accused and convicted Death Eaters start to take place in the dungeons of the lower levels. Keeping in mind that the amount of followers that Voldemort managed to rally are substantial, trials went on regardless of day or night.

Y/N’s job never took her down below and she remained in Level Five everyday, on her department’s floor. That is until one day, she was called in for her testimony on a certain trial along with some of her fellow Hogwarts school mates.

———————————————————————

She arrived 15 minutes before court will be in session, finding Harry Potter already sitting on one of the benches with an empty seat beside him, his hand taps on it once his eyes found hers, beckoning her to take it.

“Thanks for saving me one.” Y/N said gratefully.

“Don’t mention it, Y/N.” Harry replied, shooting her a smile.

“Did they tell you whose trial is this?” She asked him, a quizzical look marring her face.

“It’s—“ Before he could finish the sentence, the door located on the chamber below opened and the room fall silent.

The prisoner is flanked by two Aurors on both sides as he is ushered towards the chair in the centre of the room. Then he was magically bound before presented to the audience as the Aurors step behind.

“—Draco Malfoy’s” Y/N finished for him as she stares at the silver haired man. He looks so different than the boy she went to school with, he no longer oozes cockiness, a shadow has fallen over his face. He looks frail and thinner too, his cheekbones jutting out, dark circles prominent under those grey eyes.

Harry managed a nod, seeming to be at lost for words to say too and instead he draped a hand behind her shoulders for comfort.

The prosecutor in charge of the trial stood, Freya Ollerton, if Y/N’s not mistaken. She spoke in a voice that is enhanced with the sonorus spell.

“Court hearing of the twenty-second of August, into offences committed under the Decree for the Crimes Against Fellow Wizards & Witches and for Breaches of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy by Draco Lucius Malfoy, resident at Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England.”

Draco Malfoy sat quietly, eyes never straying from Freya Ollerton’s figure, not a single emotion on display.

“You are Draco Lucius Malfoy, correct?” She begins.

“Yes ma’am, I am.” He answered in a clipped tone.

Freya nodded, “The charges against the accused shall now be read into the record: That the accused did with deliberation and fore-knowledge of his nefarious actions, conspired for the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore by bringing Death Eaters into Hogwarts through a pair of vanishing cabinets that he manned himself. Furthermore let it be known that Mr. Draco Malfoy accepted to bear the Dark Mark, became a part of Voldermort’s followers, and fought for his side at the Second Wizarding War.”

Y/N felt Harry stiffened at the mention of Dumbledore’s name, despite more than a year has passed since his death but the wounds that it left remains raw and gaping. She reached out her right hand and intertwined it with his, giving him a gentle squeeze, what she hoped pass as a comforting motion. Harry’s still frowning but he managed to smile at her gratefully and squeezed her hand back.

“How do you plead, Draco Lucius Malfoy?” Freya asked and everyone seem to be on the edge of their seats, peering to have a better look at the younger Malfoy below.

“I plead guilty, Your Honor.” Draco answered firmly, his voice never wavering.

Hushed whispers reverberated around the vast chamber, almost everyone in the audience have either a look of outrage or disgust plastered on their faces. Some of the press that are allowed to witness the trial jotted down some notes furiously. Only members of the Wizengamot remain expressionless.

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy but first I would like to call in some testimonies from witnesses that we have taken the liberty to gather to have a better grasp for the suitable punishment for your crimes.” Freya continued as she look towards the preceeding judge for his approval, after he gave a brisk nod, a member of Wizengamot stood up carrying a vial in her hand.

“The witnesses present here today are Mr. Harry Potter, Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Mr. Neville Longbottom, Miss Luna Lovegood, Mr. Blaise Zabini, and Miss Pansy Parkinson. They are Mr. Draco Malfoy’s former school mates back in Hogwarts. In order for their testimonies to be truthful and credible, we must request their willingness to take three sips of the Veritaserum that we have provided.” She said as she looked to the part of the stand where Y/N, Harry and the others are seated. No one expressed their refusal.

A member of the Wizengamot walked towards them and passed down the vial as they took their sips one by one. Y/N felt the potion starting to take effects by the tingling feeling in her throat.

Blaise Zabini was the first person they called to take the stand followed by Pansy Parkinson since they’re his closest friends. Not surprisingly they pleaded for a lighter punishment in his favor. Not that Y/N could blame them, she probably would’ve done the same had it been any of her friends that’s on trial.

Then it’s time for Neville to make his statement, his were not so forgiving since he was there on the courtyard when Draco walked away from the rest of them and reunite with his parents instead. He believes that Draco Malfoy should get a taste of Azkaban even if it’s just for a few years. As for Luna’s, her statement holds a significant sway since she was once held prisoner at the dungeon of Malfoy Manor alongside Griphook and Ollivander. She was under no torture there and decided to give him a chance for redemption. She even recounted the story about how Draco Malfoy secretly snuck the prisoners some food late at night to help shed some light on him.

Finally came the time for Y/N to give her statement, she gulped despite her parched throat. Feeling anxious for some reason that she couldn’t even decipher why.

She stands and give a nod to Freya, a sign that she is ready.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N), you first encountered Mr. Malfoy back in Hogwarts albeit you were in different house, correct?” She asked, focusing all her attention on her.

“That is correct, Your Honor. I was in Gryffindor while Malfoy was in Slytherin.” Y/N replied, struggling to remain still in her seat but the potion in her veins makes her words flow without a hitch.

“Miss (Y/L/N), I was under the impression that you were linked to Mr. Malfoy at some point... that the two of you were in a secret relationship. What do you have to say about the matter?”

Freya’s second question took her by surprise, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Every heads in the room turned her way. “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but I must deny that claim. I was never in any way involved with Draco Malfoy. If anything we constantly fought and had an unhealthy rivalry.”

Freya glanced towards the Wizengamot member that ministered the Veritaserum, “She is indeed telling the truth, Your Honor.” She confirmed.

Freya nodded again, “Thank you for your candor, Miss (Y/L/N). And can you give us your thoughts on the appropriate measure that we should give to Mr. Malfoy for all his misdeeds? You are after all a member of the International Magical Office of Law.”

For the first time she let her eyes strayed from the prosecutor towards the man sitting below, finding that he is in fact looking straight at her too. Something tugged and stirred in her chest as their eyes meet. She holds his gaze, searching into the depths of those glacial grey orbs and saw a flash of hurt... and something else that she couldn’t put a finger to.

“Draco Malfoy might be guilty for being a conspirator or even the main plotter for the events leading up to the murder of Professor Dumbledore but have you ever considered the fact that he was merely an instrument or a puppet if you want to put it harshly? Yes he was conceited, pompous, and brash but he is no evil mastermind or even more so a murderer. I believe that Draco Malfoy is a victim of his father’s crookedness and all the wrong choices that he was forced to make were never from his own conviction.”

Y/N saw Malfoy’s mouth falls open from her peripheral vision. The preceeding judge seemed to weigh her words in, his stern face looking at her with such respect as he nodded a few times. A reporter was soo flabbergasted that she dropped both her notes and quil, it made a clattering noise on the marble floor.

“Thank you for the insight, Miss (Y/L/N). We would take that into account before we determine the verdict.” Freya finally replied. After that Y/N once again took her seat.

Harry grinned at her and leaned in to whisper, “You know if you consider a career in the muggle world, you’d make a bloody good lawyer.”

Y/N grinned back, “Thanks buddy, I’ll keep that in mind if I ever got tired of being around here.”

Harry was the last to be called and he too decided to not punish him too harshly because it was his mother that had saved him back in the Forbidden Forest by lying to Voldemort.

After all the witnesses were called, the trial took a 30 minutes break for the Wizengamot to discuss amongst themselves. The fate of Draco Malfoy’s life hangs solely on their decision.

Before she knew it the trial is in session again and she founds herself holding her breath before the verdict was read out loud. Luck seems to be in his side because Draco Malfoy received a full pardon although he was also given an injunction and must do a hefty amount of community service.

After he was freed from his chains, Draco Malfoy is swallowed by mobs of reporters, shoving recorders and cameras on his face, trying to get something worthy of a front page.

Harry steered her clear of the commotions and they head to the lift, pushing the buttons for Level Two and Level Five, their respective department’s floor.

Y/N tried to pay attention to the small talk that Harry’s attempting to make but inside she’s lost in her own thoughts. She finally realized that back when she made her stand, Draco Malfoy was looking at her wistfully. A look of pure regretful longing. And what bothers her most is the fact that she doesn’t know why. There’s something that she’s not seeing.... but what could it possibly be?

———————————————————————

Some months passed again and life is as normal as it could be, boring even but Y/N welcome its slow and almost static pace with open arms. Nothing exciting happened except for some fleeting gossips that she overheard while in the office, one of it being Lucius Malfoy successfully reduced his 15 years in Azkaban sentence to house arrest. What strings had he even pulled to achieve that? How crafty of him despite the fact that the Malfoy name has lost its standing in wizarding society’s eyes.

She shuddered at the thought, Lucius Malfoy always gives her the creeps. He’s far too astute for his own good, bordering Machiavellian even. Y/N forced herself to refocus her attention to the stacks of indentures that she must sign, but her moment of peace didn’t last long. A tap sounded on her cubicle walls and she looked up to see her co-worker who’s in charge of handing and delivering documents.

“Hey, Luke. Got some more paperwork for me?” She asked, eyeing the trolley.

“Nahh, I’ve delivered all your work for today, but there is a letter addressed to you though and that’s what i’m here for.” Luke replied, hands rummaging through one of the piles. “Aha!” He shouted in victory.

On his hand is a very elegant looking emerald green envelope, Y/N raised an eyebrow his way, “You’re absolutely sure that’s for me? It looks way too fancy.”

“Deadly sure, Y/N. Your name is embossed on the front, in what looked to be a gold ink if I may add.” Luke said as he shrugged. “Go ahead and have a look yourself.”

Y/N took the letter from Luke’s hand and true to his words, her name is indeed beautifully written in cursive on the cover. She traced the gold ink, the materials felt as expensive as it look.

“Well this is unexpected, thanks Luke.” Y/N said as she smiled at him.

“No problem, I’ll see you around.” He said, tipping his head before he wheeled his trolley again away from her cubicle.

Y/N turned the letter and observe the black wax seal, a family crest stamped on it. The letter “M” prominent front and center with images of several serpentine creatures surrounding it. Dread gnawed at her as she has a hunch on who the sender is.

She grabbed her letter opener and carefully cut through the seal.... it is an invitation.

To a ball at Malfoy Manor.

Is this some sort of joke? She thought to herself. Why would they even invite her there?

A million thoughts ran through her mind and she had to take a moment to recollect herself, but still she can’t shake away the feeling that she’s about to burst. Harry.... she needs to go and find Harry and figure out what in the bloody hell is going on.

Y/N abruptly stand from her chair and made a beeline for the door that leads to the corridor outside. The sound of her heels frantically clicking on the marble floor with her quickening pace. When she’s halfway through, the lift at the end of the corridor opens and revealed none other than the person that she’s looking for.

Harry Potter stands inside, holding an identical emerald green envelope in his hand. Y/N’s jaw dropped to the floor, frozen in her steps. Harry looked at her bewilderedly, taking in her expression before his eyes flickered towards her hand then his eyes widened like a saucers.

“Bollocks..” The both of them said in unison.

Harry step out of the lift and gave her a pained smile as he approach, “Soo I guess we’re doing this thing, huh?”

Y/N let out an exasperated groan, “Do we have to? can’t we just ignore it?”

“Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to do just that but the head of my department was already notified of this event and they appointed me to be their representative of sort.” Harry replied. “If we go together hopefully it’ll be a tad bit more bearable.”

“Fine... I’m in but just for a few hours, okay? I don’t want to spend more time than necessary there.” Y/N gave in, seeing that this is indeed an official event which her own head of department would sooner or later force her to attend too when she hears the news.

“Brilliant! I’m very much with you on that, Malfoy Manor is not exactly on my favorite places to go to list. Godric knows how dreary it is.” He said with a shudder.

Harry linked his arm with hers, tugging Y/N along towards the lift, “How about we go and grab some lunch? I’m famished and we surely deserve some comfort food after this turn of events.”

Y/N managed to chuckle, “Lead the way, Lightning Boy.”

———————————————————————

A/N : I DECIDED TO TURN THIS INTO A 3 PARTS THING 😂 but anyways what do you think about it so far my darlings? and as for the last part would you prefer a happy ending or do you want me to just obliterate your hearts? FEEDBACKS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED ♥️♥️

Taglist : @chaoticgirl04 @idekxdolan @randomsingingkoala @ivarlothbroks

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