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nurseofren · 3 years

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Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 27 (NSFW)

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Read Chapter twenty-six

Title: There is No Redemption

Words: 7.4K

Summary: Happy trail worship? Happy trail worship.

ST Rambles: Hello readers, I hope you enjoy this part. I am in my final semester for my ADN and cannot promise even monthly updates at this time. Please, please, please comment your thoughts because I don't want to produce content that is not enjoyable. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER / @elmidol

Stress enveloped your skull in throbbing pain, Karmen’s six-hour rundown stinging your senses and drawing you inward. Halfway through, you had already begun to feel the excess of information take its toll; Zag’s voice – unpleasant in small doses – grated into you, each word coming too fast and leaving too soon. Thankfully, no doubt to cover herself, she had left you with a thumb drive; it summarized everything she’d mentioned.

After the ordeal, when she left by the sharp click of her heels, you understood why it was recommended to arrive two days prior to the initial hearing: you were utterly and dreadfully exhausted. After unpacking – ensuring easy access to your favorite socks and keeping Snoke’s letter tucked into the back drawer of a desk – you had sat in bed for an hour trying to refresh with the thumb drive’s contents; you’d were determined to be prepared for tomorrow’s shift at Canto Bight’s recovery wing. If nothing else, you would not make a fool of yourself during your practice here. This you swore to yourself.

At some point you had drifted to sleep, waking to find your cheek stuck to the datapad that’d been propped up before you. The sunset woke you with a searing ray of light, screaming fuchsias and hazy purples warming your outstretched arm as they cast through open curtains. The breeze rolled off of the bay and tickled loose hair over your nape, a deep breath stretching your lungs awake before you unfurled from yourself.

The radar at your wrist indicated Kylo Ren was near but not in his quarters, probably not inside the building. It was a confusing feeling – the unsteadiness you felt when revisiting your earlier interaction, the vagueness of his words contradicted by the certainty in which they’d been delivered, but simultaneously this calm in your chest since you had left him. Although you had no idea what he’d gone on about, or what in time meant, his mere presence – the fact that he was near and would continue to be – allowed you these glimmers of peace.

Not since Starkiller. Not since Snoke. Not Mason and his baseless confidence, no matter how much you wished to latch onto it; not Talia, who had helped you back from your darkest moment. The only things that stilled you were the known proximity of your master, and the nature of the words he’d earlier spoken. You’d felt it that recent night on the Finalizer, how it lingered in your muscles just before you’d dozed off, how it seemed his presence had scared your nightmares away.

However ridiculous and backwards, Kylo Ren – the one whose pain is printed on your skin, who led a slaughter just strides away from you – had become a constant. It was never what you had expected, but when you thought of the trial now, what eased your nerves was nothing less than the raven-haired warrior whose face was slashed with midnight hues of pain.

Much like you, you’d come to realize, he had survived Starkiller, and the event changed him. Though you could not know for sure, you began to wonder if what had gone on had not only left him with the wounds that’d wet your skin, but perhaps ones that were deeper – ones that were not so visible. Something happened before that explosion, something more than whatever fight had earned him that scar.

You shook your head; this was too much to think on right now. With a throw draped over your back, you trudged through the room and out into the chill of your side-balcony. This sky held more beauty than any you’d ever seen; you watched the sun descend, spying a domed, octagonal pavilion at the far left of the side gardens. It dripped with violet-petaled ropes and emerald ivies, was supported by scalloped columns entwined with twinkling blooms welded from gold, the whole stage centered around a sunken fire pit.

Considering for a moment, you saw it would have a better view of the sunset, and you’d been cooped up since arriving. It was a quick decision, catching view of a spiral of stairs that led to the grounds, but only after noting the pair of doors a few paces left of your room’s. They were closed, and the inner curtains seemed to be shut, the room behind them dark. Empty.

No, Kylo Ren was not here, but – a thumb over your radar – he was not far. Somewhere off on his own business. Training, maybe. At least, that’s what you supposed kept you from traveling with him, the thought frustrating. Maybe – no, undoubtedly – he would never admit to it, never show it, but he was still recovering.

Ten days ago he was in a medically induced coma talking about someone named Ben and how he’s dead. Bacta works wonders, but it means nothing if a patient is noncompliant with post-operative restrictions, like swinging around a plasma sword for hours on end, or doing trial runs with the Force – which, although you knew little about, one could easily assume it put strain on the body.

Maybe you were wrong and your master was completely fine, maybe the Force aided in healing. No matter, you worried; for him, mostly, never forgetting how he appeared in that medbay, but also for yourself. It was clear that you cared for him – for fuck’s sake, when you thought you’d never see him again you wanted to tell him you loved him – and you knew his pursuits could very likely be the death of him. Stubborn as you might be to acknowledge it, so long as he was okay and not recklessly shredding through healed wounds, so long as he returned to you, you could rest somewhat soundly.

Hugging your blanket, tighter when the wind blew, you wandered down to the courtyard’s trim lawn, along the overflowing flowerbeds that brimmed with brilliant colors, until you met the few steps that led to the pavilion’s stage. Flames shocked you when you stepped onto the eight-sided base, your presence triggering a hidden system. The rectangular pit exploded into a rainbow of fire, thin veils of flames ascending elegantly into an ordered myriad. The pit was massive, consuming the base but for a few paces from each support.

Much like everything else, the pavilion was grand in size and decoration; the hearth’s hues danced along the draped flora, at least ten paces separating each gold-threaded pillar. Everything here was explicitly luxurious, so big and gorgeous. You wanted to settle into it, but it was temporary, and you would not know how fatal that fact was until it was too late.

Farther out, flames rippled over the bay; the sinking heat of the sun endeared your skin, the warmth at your back growing in distance as you gave in to the silent call of the scorching sky. First tracing the tip of one of the gold leaves woven to a pillar, admiring the detailed stems and ridges, you curled up against the column’s wide base. Head caressed by the smooth, cool stone, knees curled close to your chest, you were glamored by the water’s rhythmic sway, wondering if you would ever have the chance to feel it on your skin.

It took little effort to keep Karmen’s lecture from your thoughts, too lost to the burgundy of dusk that bloomed as the sun wilted toward the bay. A stillness surrounded you, and then you tuned into the chirping whispers of bugs that remained hidden with the fall of night. It did not bother you in the slightest, their distant songs a reminder of your life before the academy. A passing thought, fond amusement lazily humming in your chest – there are no crickets in space.

You remained folded against the pillar for some time, watching night creep over the city, more grateful for the heat on your back as warmth waned, the moon climbing higher with each lulling minute. The stone iced into your cheek. You went to leave, but your commlink buzzed at your waist, and you knew it would be wiser to keep this particular conversation outside.

Elbows to your knees, you ruffled a hand through your hair, closed your eyes, and answered Mason’s call. “How’s your day, McCarty?” There was no use in starting an argument if he had moved on from earlier.

“Probably better than yours, if I had to guess.” He sounded chipper. It was a relief.

“Well, what went on? Where’d you go? Who’d you see? What’d you eat?”

“I’ve really just been hanging out at the house since getting here. Caught a nap, which was nice. Soto sent me a transmission detailing updates on a few patients.”

He wasn’t hostile at all. Hopefully it meant he was done being weird. “I also got a nap. Which, agreed, is definitely nice. Especially after being kept in a room with Zag for six hours and trying to keep my head from exploding.”

“Six hours? With Zag? Are they trying to get you convicted of murder?”

You shared a laugh, scooting along the stone floor and peering up to the ceiling. It was tiled with mosaics, the fire’s vibrant colors reflecting off of it and shifting along the intricate designs. The view of the city was wider from this position, distant lights shimmering in windows that peered into whatever parties were undoubtedly happening.

“She isn’t that bad. It’s just her voice. And I barely have a handle on anything other than the fact that I have my first shift tomorrow, and then two days after that is the initial hearing. And I don’t even want to think about that to begin with, so…”

“Well,” he sighed your name, “I’ll be there. Bright and early, just like you. Wearing my second-best attire, saving the very best for the official trial, of course.”

“Jeez, that’s another thing, right? They fly us out here, put me up in some military-grade villa, but they give me nothing to wear, are aware that my residence just exploded on Starkiller, and then still say I can’t wear my uniform. I just find that a bit unfair. But that’s what I think, which we both know has not mattered since the very beginning of all this. I don’t even know why I expected anything different. I’ll just have to request transport to the shops or something. And then make credits appear out of thin air to pay for it.”

With notably increased enthusiasm Mason said, “Actually, I, uh, I was going through the house earlier and there’s actually a lot left over from my family’s recent trip. You’re free to come over and take some stuff back to your embassy if you want.”

“Alright, first – not my embassy, and if we’re calling it anything, I vote palace. Seriously—” you stared at a trellis that overflowed with wild blooms of every shade of red, the dead, fallen petals mocking you in the familiar way they pooled beneath. “—this place is too beautiful for any of the old businessmen who stay here. It’s actually ridiculous.”

“So it’s not homey, after all?”

A bellowing laugh came from the center of your chest, echoing up to the domed roof and into the growing dark. “No. No. Not homey. Not quaint. None of that. Just giant and spectacular.”

“Well, whatever it is, do you want to come over and grab some clothes?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. That’s a lot better than spending credits I don’t have. Although maybe I’m worrying for nothing? Don’t they forgive your debt when you die, anyway?”

Mason did not laugh, did not even speak, and your amusement fell into alarm. An edge menaced along each pointed word when he spoke; “Maybe they’ll forgive your debt, but I won’t forgive you for dying.” He grunted in rejection. “You’re not dying, so I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”

Silence swallowed you both, and for a moment you could hear him trembling, hear the shakiness of his breath. A sharp exhale startled your hand from your ear. And then it was quiet again. He cleared his throat, and you noticed how thick it had become. Was he crying?

“Mason, you need to tell me what’s going on. And don’t say-,”

“Nothing is going on. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Funny, because when you say that, when you tell me we’re fine when I didn’t ask, it makes me think the exact opposite.”

He sighed, but at this point there was a good chance it was more exasperation or fuming than anything else. “I’m not having this conversation when I can’t see you.”

“Well, I’ll just turn my transmission on and we can-,”

“No.” Clipped, barked. Final.

It concaved your chest. Mason had never spoken to you like this. Your teeth scraped at your bottom lip. “Should I be worried?”

He paused. “No,” as it gritted through his teeth, your name was contoured with wisps of ire. An ounce less of restraint and whatever he was holding back would crack this hardened, taut façade.

The worst came to mind. All you could manage was a terrified whisper, “Are you revoking your seat to testify? Is that what this is about? Am I about – fuck – am I about to- I can’t lose you. I can’t-,”

“I told you. I told you I will be there.” Frosted fury swept through his following pause. His flat tone was laced with quiet hurt when he next said, “Do you really think I could do that to you? Leave you in the dust like that?”

“No. I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he thought aloud, a long drag of breath crackling into your ear. “I’m glad that you’re settled in, and… good luck during your shift tomorrow. You don’t need it, I know, but nonetheless.”

He was dismissing you. You hated it. “I’m not hanging up until I know we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said simply, too fast. Mason cleared his throat. “Request transport for the morning after your shift. You can shop around the closets and after, we can order lunch and… and we can talk. About things. Everything.”

It was apparent he would not give anything more away, but you knew from his flat tone that whatever it was, was detrimental to him. Or you. Or both.

“Yeah. I’ll put in the request after shift tomorrow.”

Another long, aching silence. You listened to his breath, trying and failing at ignoring the knives in it. The line remained silent, the hanging static a backdrop to the hidden, harmless creatures humming in the night.

“I love you, Mason,” you prompted, teeth catching your trembling lips, time choking you with every halved second that trudged along.

It killed you, every inhale adding to the weight in your chest, every empty, wordless moment he spent cutting into you with a silent blade.

Another second and you turned back to the heightening tide of the bay, the clear night sky dying it a deep navy. Even as you tried to focus on the waves that foamed along the distant shore, there was no sound louder than Mason’s nonresponse.

“Goodnight,” Mason said, small, far enough away that it splintered through your heart like ice wedged through rock.

“Good-,” the line went dead, the static dying, a night-kissed wave crashing in your periphery, “-night.”

The iridescent veils of hearth rippled before you now, turning away from the seemingly infinite expanse of water. Even so, you shivered, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the weather. Tucking your commlink into your waist pocket, loosing a long-kept breath, you stood from the stone and clasped your blanket over your shoulders. With a final glance, chin to your shoulder, you appreciated the beauty of your first night here.

Whatever awaited you tomorrow, the next day, and in the weeks to come? It would remain. For now, just this one moment alone, you could pretend that everything was okay. Just for a moment.

A soft touch brushed your shoulder, but when you turned to meet whoever it belonged to, you found there was no one around. But a light caught your eye, one that had not been there before. Maybe that interruption to the dark captured your attention, but not at all was it what kept your gaze above the gardens.

Through the clear night, a breeze danced through the flora, glittering scarlet petals into the shadows. Above those dwindling rubies, leaning over the balcony’s curve, was Kylo Ren. Behind him, the golden light of his quarters caressed his back, small fragments draping over the sharp, toned muscles of his shoulders. He was staring down to you, his gaze laving along your figure, eyes those of a predator aware their prey was no match for them. The ever-heightening moon was all that lit his front, but it was enough. No, so much more than enough. Entrancing. Captivating. Beguiling.

Light cascaded along the taut strength of Kylo’s abdomen, his broad, thick chest emanating with the smooth white of the dusk’s sun. Once more, like it always did, the scar skating through his features kept your attention. From a distance it was less intrusive, but its presence sank your heart like the sun had wandered into the sea.

A whip of night air pushed his hair back to tease his ears, his head slightly cocking to the side when you found his eyes again. There was no color to them, none that you could see so far away, but you felt their heat slink along your lips, then your neck, over your chest, and lower still. When they claimed yours once more, they were sculpted with steadfast steel, strong and slithering, ordering your compliance to the smoking promises beyond.

Without noticing, that chill from earlier had left you, and you gathered the blanket so it hung from your forearm. Kylo held you with his eyes, the fire’s warmth falling away when you stepped off the platform and wandered, in leisure, down the steps and into the plush lawn. A dew was readying to form on the grass beneath your bare feet, the coolness welcome under his blazing attention. One step, two, another, and a final; small, shuffling, like you were hypnotized – truthfully, you could have been, but there was none but your own intent in the steps that carried you closer to him.

Only when he straightened to his full height, standing away from the balcony’s edge, did you halt your advance. He paused there, watching you, so gracefully still you were unsure of his breathing. From his new position you could no longer see his hands, but – you could feel them. A pressure along your cheek, your heart stammering at how its span so completely matched his own, and then around your throat, dizzying when it teased your carotids. Breath shivered from your slack mouth, catching when that – his – ghosted touch skimmed down your sternum and pushed into your rib cage.

Kylo made no sound, but when the night’s quiet scattered around your faint, gasped moan – feeling the whispered hands smooth over your hips, around the front of your thighs – you saw his jaw flutter, darkness and moonlight tangling when he gave you one final glance. The phantom touch left, a feline smirk flickered along his lips, and when his brows descended and veiled those deep, deep eyes, Kylo turned and sauntered out of sight.

But you understood his message, the silent one that only his body spoke, and you knew that his leaving was not goodnight, but an invitation. One you fully intended on accepting.

The trees swayed above you, the beds of perfectly spaced flowers blowing with the gentle breeze and combining with the sea behind to fill your head with the salty, fresh aroma of a Canto Bight night. Each step you took along the patterned grass shimmered anticipation through your veins, heady, wanton thoughts brimming in your mind.

The cold stone that marked the ground level’s patio shocked through you, wet crimson petals that had pooled below the trellis now clinging to the soles of your feet. You did not have time, or at least were desperate to not waste any, to pluck them off, allowing them to travel with you as you led them up the curved staircase. As you climbed the steps, you stole a fleeting glimpse of the bay; from this height the city’s nightlife sheened along the shore, a few private ships zooming above the skyline and carrying their passengers to events unknown to you.

Events that you could not have cared less about, not when you arrived to the second-level balcony, not when you saw the swaying curtain beyond Kylo Ren’s open, waiting door. No, those events meant nil, exceedingly so when you found the beginnings of a trail leading into his room, the first crumb that of pooled, discarded athletic pants.

Instant, overwhelming chills clamored about your skull, the blanket draped over your arm joining the black bottoms when your limbs went wobbly. Through the wind-swept gossamer you spied the second addition – one long, impossibly large, black sock – and when you came closer, the cool of night waning as you met the threshold, your heart thrummed louder at the nearing shaft of light that fled the refresher’s entrance.

Heated tiles warmed your first steps into Kylo’s room, the coquettish curtain kissing the tip of your nose before the door at your back locked shut in near silence. You brushed past the veil of fabric and took in your surroundings, quite different from what they were earlier. The golden rays of morning had since been overridden by soft panes of night, only the moon reflecting onto the light tile, not a single star to join it. The bed’s canopy remained shut, its thin sheets cascading around the bed so there was ample space to walk within its soft confines. And from that canopy, from the circular track above, bloomed delicate, mild light; it melted midway down the canopy, fading to nothing before it breeched the polished ivory below.

Another step and you noticed the trail of scarlet, dew-drop-covered petals you were leaving in your wake. On the step up from the bed’s level lay a second sock, so you padded to it, and tuned into the sound of heavy, rushing water that became louder as you delved further into the dimly lit room. This level was dark save for the glow of the open refresher; you followed that light like a lost vessel in space, hands trembling as you passed through the sitting area with soundless strides. Finally, as you’d calculated at the earlier bareness of his chest, you found the piece of clothing that signaled your final destination lying at your feet.

Atop the refresher’s threshold lay a pair of black boxer-briefs – unfolded, just as they’d appear fresh off the heated, muscled body from which they’d come. A smile played at your lips, remembering how the pair he’d so generously provided you the morning after you’d first slept next to him had hugged your hips with subtle compression. Those, unfortunately, were undoubtedly obliterated with everything else that had exploded with Starkiller.

Kylo Ren was nowhere within view, but running water tucked behind a corner to your left, and when steam swirled around an inlet that bordered a sleek, unbroken wall of ash-grey tile, your lungs lit with need, with want, your thoughts only focused on the body and man that waited for you just beyond view, just out of reach. Suddenly you became aware of how overdressed you were, so you turned to your right and found a mirror that ruled its own wall and plucked open the top button of your uniform.

The fogged silver expanse provided a blurred, softened outline of your near-bare body, scalding goosebumps scraping up your neck at the thought of Kylo’s slicked, dripping body. Hands hooked behind your back, you loosed your bra and smoothed the straps down the sides of your arms. And then all that covered you were the lack-luster panties the Finalizer had provided all those months ago, but they soon joined the small pile at your feet, leaving you naked and anticipatory and adamant.

Plopping your watch onto your clothes, you squared your shoulders, fixed your posture, and approached the heat of the hidden shower. Its warm embrace evoked such a calm through you, first loosening your shoulders, then steadying your breath.

Beyond the smoke hued barrier was a chamber of luxury, the water cascading from above like it came from an invisible storm cloud; its volume suggested a harsh pressure, but, stepping beneath the jets that seemed to span the entire stall, your skin was graced with the pleasant fall of a spring shower. Looking up, blinking through the misted warmth, you found the navy night sky peering down at you through the clear glass ceiling.

All light but that of the moon left the stall, and when your attention shifted down, you saw him through the sheets of water that kept you apart. The air was thick with fog and mist and night, but he remained the most devastatingly gorgeous person you’d ever seen, ever known. You needed him to be closer, you needed to be closer to him. No matter if you’d been with him those few nights ago, and though you’d spoken just hours ago, there was a tautness that tightened as your steps brought you to him.

Arms at his sides, stance strong and confident, Kylo Ren was a stride away from you, and you stopped. Inky black hair dripped down his neck, and his mouth was set in a flat, unreadable line, but all you could think of was how it felt you were seeing him for the first time all over again. He was different now, body scarred and worn from the passing of time. You did not stare at the red and black that had only been there for such a short time now. You appreciated it.

Kylo observed you, and a measure after your gaze followed the ebony ribbon rested in his countenance, you lifted a hand to it. He tensed and you caught his eyes, giving him a small nod before the very tip of your fourth finger kissed the start of his scar. You watched him, vaguely aware of your hand slipping along the marked path through his brow and down his cheek. Breath pushed from him in eased waves, his eyes danced between yours, and when you reached the line of his jaw and tapped your finger to the raised, pinking skin there, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes so you could press an aching kiss to it.

That tenseness that’d clanged into him at your touch was instantly gone, the heated streams above not a match to the stifling relief that fogged from his nares. So near to him, a second hand pushing through wetted, onyx locks, you remembered how he’d stared up at you on the Command Shuttle, how unreadable his expression was when his new scars had still been fresh wounds.

Your touch found the tail end of his healing flesh, and you swallowed down a thick, betraying sob. “Why did you believe me?” you whispered, not looking up to him. “When I told you I hated you and I wanted to quit. When I said,” you winced, “when I called you a bastard and said I wished I could forget you. Why didn’t you fight it longer?”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, body still but not reluctant to the steady meandering of your fingers. Something haunted him when he said, “Irredeemable bastard, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” your throat bobbed, “I haven’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. Any, any part of it.” Looking up at him, you smoothed your hand over the scar settled into his shoulder. “After that morning, after everything, why did you believe me?”

“You were saying goodbye,” he murmured, like he’d mulled over that day time and time again and never considered the possibility. “Before Takodana. You knew. He’d gotten to you by then.” A note of betrayal sharpened his tongue, a snarl lighting when he referred to Snoke.

The hand that wasn’t tracing circles along his scarred muscles now toyed with his ear, the tip of your index finger molding to the curved pinnae. “Kylo,” just a breath, nearly drowned by the water ricocheting at your feet, “answer me. Please.”

Smooth, low, he began, “Because who could-,” he swallowed, considering you before starting over, “Because I’ve never known anyone who didn’t hate me. And I’ve always been a bastard. So when you said those things, after that morning, after you’d ran through Starkiller to tell me and kept saying them…”

Memories fluttered behind his eyes, and as their burning brown centered glittered against the navy night, you lifted your hand so you could hold his face, hold it like a parent would caress their child’s tear-sodden cheek. Kylo blinked back to you and you comforted the purpled skin beneath his eye.

He did not want to voice the answers you sought, but you watched as, piece by piece, you dented one of those walls he’d erected in that time-stained interrogation room. Perhaps it was a hopeful thought, but you swore you felt him ease into your hand.

“I stopped fighting because only a fool counters the truth of his life.” Kylo’s throat bobbed, his deep, shadowed gaze swallowing you whole. He caught your hand and led it flat along his broad chest, and then to the panes of his abdomen, placing it over the bruised, raised flesh of the scar you’d yet to explore. “I believed you because there was no reason to doubt you.”

The showering heat from above shielded that which was blurring your vision. He believed you because he believed those things of himself. After seeing him wear so many masks, physical or phantom, you saw it in his eyes that he still thought those things and had for his entire life.

And then it made sense, and the realization dragged jagged, thorn-wrapped talons through your heart. You whispered through the water, wondering if you were speaking only for yourself when you said, “That’s why you didn’t look inside my head. You didn’t think it would show you anything different. You didn’t think I could ever feel differently.”

You ran your thumb along the uneven ridge of the scar forming over his side and tucked your other arm around his waist. With the force that kept moons anchored to their planets, you pulled him in and nestled into the notch of his breastbone.

Through your teeth, “You are not a bastard. Or irredeemable,” your fingers dipped to the center of the healing tissue, “I’ve learned that we make the choices we think are best, and if that’s true, if I believe it? What do either of us have to be redeemed for?”

Kylo said your name, clear as the night that loomed overhead, and a patient finger tipped your chin up. “Nothing. Because there is no redemption for those who do not want it.”

Intensity hardened his face, and once more you felt that sense of equality between him and you. Long fingers smoothed into your drenched hair, and you found a prompt in his brow. Sighing, lungs stuttering, you asked, “What, then, if not redemption?”

The hand that he’d set over yours shifted to your hip, thick fingers prodding at your flesh. Kylo’s touch left your chin and the pad of his thumb rolled over the faint scar that cut into your hairline, a twinge of pain lighting at the memory of its origin; it had healed days ago, but you would never forget the sound of it cracking open when Robbie knocked your skull against the durasteel door.

Kylo stopped musing when he heard you wince, his eyes meeting yours in a stark, unwavering gaze. He smoothed over the blight a final time and proceeded to skate his fingers along your jaw, his thumb coming to rest over your bottom lip. Similar to this morning, yet colder and with a quiet fury breathing beyond his eyes, he looked at you with solidarity.

Calm, sure, adamant, Kylo said, “Retribution.”

A moment to process was spent in his gaze, studying how unbreakable it was, swimming in the shadowed hazel that poured into you. Kylo’s eyes flicked to your lips, and before he could look away, you leaned up so you could reach his own. The swirled hair at his nape slithered through your fingers when you swept you hand from his abdomen and up his torso. Massive, enveloping hands trailed praise along your body until they were mirrored under your breasts.

Exploring his skin, your fingers took residence over the small of his back, digging red trails along the slick surface. You moaned into Kylo’s mouth when a capable hand claimed your supple chest and kneaded into you. He growled in response, a predatory sound that rippled through your nerves and tightened deep, deep in your belly. The pliant pads of his thumbs circled your nipples, the very tips of his nails flicking upward before he added his forefingers and pinched the sensitive peaks to his will.

Kylo mouthed the hinge of your jaw, the bridge of his nose slipping along the bone until you surrendered your neck to him. He hummed against your artery, sucking away the beaded moisture that’d collected for the past few minutes – or had it been hours? Time evaded you further when the schemes of his tongue at your throat delved deeper, revealed themselves further when he laved at your clavicle, shifting between kissing and biting and marking as he made his way to your breastbone.

His muscled back flexed as your fingers routed to his front, dipping low until you found the haze of soft, wet hair that grew from his pelvis. Kylo continued his endeavors and pulled you in by the curve of your back so he could bare your chest to him and run his nose under the base of your breast. His need for your body was evident in the way he bent you to his will, cradling your back so he could have you, but also permitting a sense of safety in the relentless strength that flowed from his forearms through to your marrow.

Near limp in his hold, you tread your fingers down his pelvis and savored the feel of that patch of hair, feeling his pulse beat beneath it, reveling how water collected and fled in such a slow, teasing manner. His chest was to yours, so you felt, rather than heard, the pleasure vibrate from him, deepening when you grazed the very foundations of his hardening shaft. He breathed into your skin, mouthing at your breast and sucking painful paths as he went. The heat of his mouth melded around your nipple, and he bit, and even when you winced and writhed with satisfied hurt, Kylo kept on; not until you were sure he’d drawn blood did his teeth – their unique ridges now throbbing into your breast – leave you, replaced by the salve of his plush, scorching lips. The body of his tongue was structured with adamant, laving over your pebbled peak until poems of pleasure groaned from the depths of your chest.

He leaned you back up and shifted his attention to the remaining half of your body, but you needed him just as much, and you wanted to litter his body with the same pleasure he’d given yours. So, snaking your hands to his jaw, you kissed the hinge opposite to his scar and pecked harder and longer, sucking at his skin like the blood that bruised would grant you eternal life. Falling to your knees in a steady, unrushed descent, you kissed every inch of his abdomen, every bump and ripple of skin that was present around the mending injury. With eyes peering up, hands cherishing the fronts of his thighs, you tongued the scarred tissue and watched him shutter with ecstasy, eyes half-lolling, mouth slackening for a second before he swallowed down whatever satisfaction would have left him.

You teethed at the soft, raised skin, watching him, content when a guiding hand pet down your slick hair. Shifting to his middle, you hummed from one hip bone to the next, feeling the tickle of hair that fled from his naval and dispersed in an even, thick layer of black atop his pubis. Hunger ravaged your throat and you nuzzled into the soft bed of obsidian hair. A kiss to it, then a nip, and then the tip of your nose swirled around the dark patch, his cock twitching at the side of your face.

Anchoring your eyes to his yet again, you dragged the flat of your tongue through the maintained, drenched hair and pushed both your hands along his inner thighs. The muscles beneath your touch sang, streamed just as fluidly as the droplets that were trickling down your spine. Pulling away from him, you faced his cock and observed how it bobbed with your eyes on it, watched it strain for friction when your hands teased both sides of his base, sifting through the dark curls beneath.

The moonlight painted his shaft with subtle, breathtaking contours – a shadow cast under the spongey ridge of his head, light glinting off the misted moisture that’d caught on his flushed shaft. Each prominent vein cast a winding whisper of darkness just a measure from the next. It hypnotized you, the way they overlapped and crossed at points, bulging out from his cock and shifting with each throbbing pulse of blood that clamored through him.

Curious fingers flitted along the heavy, hot column of flesh, tapping it and listening to the thickening breath from the man watching you through ravenous eyes. A smirk curved your mouth, and you peppered a light, whispered kiss to his slit, pushing his cockhead just so it met your teeth, and leading your lips away so the teasing burned through him. You pulled a hand away from his leg and sat back on your calves, taking a breast into it and kneading as he had before, plucking your nipple through each space between your fingers.

“A teasing little whore tonight,” he purred, voice thick.

You hummed, pleased you were getting to him. “I’m your little nurse, remember?” The tip of your tongue teased circles into his frenulum. “And you are my master. Isn’t that right? Master Ren?” Fuck, the title even got to you, cunt fluttering with the hope to be overflowing with him.

“Good girl, teasing whore, nasty slut? Little nurse? You have so many names now.”

“And all of them belong to you.”

You teased his tip and finally laved a flat tongue on the underside of his shaft, flicking it side to side and gripping into his structured, rippling thighs. Something animal, completely primal, roared in his throat, and sooner than you knew, Kylo Ren had joined you on your knees, the weight of his cock slicking down your middle and slapping up to your slit when inertia bounced through it.

A masterful tongue slipped into your mouth and licked your hard pallet, next dropping down and pushing against the side of your own tongue. A muffled moan – one that you were unsure was his or yours or both – clouded through the shower’s downfall. But then a throat-thick huff, aggressive and impatient, gnarled through the air and you were spun on your knees so your back was flush with his chest.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “they do all belong to me.” A possessive hand pushed you into him with might, taking residence in the valley of your breasts. “Your names, your body. Everything.” His hips canted, and the tip of his cock knocked against your clit, fire billowing in your belly, quicker and deeper now.

“Everything,” you echoed, finding his free hand and guiding it so it lay over the permanence etched into your thigh. “I’m- everything. It’s yours. I am yours.”

Unrelenting digits bruised more marks around the one he’d made prior, and when you felt his cock fall in line with your entrance, you thrust into him as he did the same, and you took all of him, at once, in one, fluid, aching motion. An unabashed cry echoed euphoria throughout the moonlit stall. Before you could fully recover from the first thrust, his hand – the free hand that didn’t remain under your own, clutched to your thigh – dipped into your folds and that blooming fire from earlier mushroomed at the graze of his thick digits against the buzzing nerves.

Thrust after thrust after thrust, fucking into you and filling you to the brim and then some each time, knocking the air from your lungs and burgeoning those sweet spots within with each paced, violent pass. All of that pressure combined with the winding circles and strokes he racked your clit with, you felt the breath of climax rise first in your chest, and then upward into your throat.

Kylo was panting by your ear, sucking the skin behind, clutching you to him so it became uncertain where his body ended and yours began. You hooked your arm above your head and clutched at his drenched tresses, flailing for a better grip and settling on clasping your hand onto the back of his neck.

“I feel you,” he groaned.

“Feel me,” you huffed.

“I know you.”

“know me.”

“You’re mine,” your name was laden with yearning claim, lilting from his tongue so it caressed your mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop.

“Yours,” you heaved, “all, yours.”

You came. Simple. Body swimming in the schemes his fingers and cock and tongue and voice forced into you until it became too much. A few thrusts more and his pace faltered, cum spurting against your walls and dripping out of you as more and more left him. Full lips pressed fleeting, lulling praise into your nape, your shoulder, until he angled your head to his and branded his lips to yours.

Spent, emotionally and physically, you fell into him and enjoyed the image of his legs framing your own. But then your eyes lolled shut and you simply breathed, settling into this moment as best you could, and tried to memorize the tide of his chest slicking against your back.

Barely aware in the vague, misty stall, you only realized that Kylo had begun cleaning you when he guided you back to your feet to rinse you free of soap. Even then you just leaned into his chest and let the jets spray silken streams down your skin. And then you were wrapped in a heated towel and cradled in his arms, leaving the steamy refresher and coming into the gentle atmosphere within the golden gossamer canopy.

With less than a word, maybe a breath, the light from above waned to nothingness, and the room was black save for the glinting eyes that studied your own. The towel discarded to the floor, you now lay beneath the thick comforter and linen sheets of Kylo Ren’s bed. Both naked, you huddled together in the center of the expansive mattress, legs wrapped together in an impossible knot, each breathing in the other’s warmth.

Ease trickled into your muscles, and you shifted so your forehead could rest in the heat of his chest.

“What changed? From the other night?” you yawned. “What convinced you? About Snoke.”

He was tired, too, you knew, the hand tucking you into him tracing lazy, distracting circles into your back to keep him from sleep. “Perspective, really. Seeing things clearly for the first time in… Seeing things clearly.”

For now, fatigue caressing you, that was an answer you could accept. He’d given you more of his mind tonight than ever before, and you did not care to mar that fact with a half-wit interrogation. Perhaps you would listen to him this time, given how little you potentially had left, and do as he’d said this morning.

Trust me first.

It was sound advice, and not worth questioning on the eve of your first shift on Canto Bight. So you nuzzled into him and giggled when the tip of your nose nudged that black healing ribbon over his collar bone.

“I like your scars,” you hummed.

You could not be certain, sleep plunging you into its riptide, but just before it pulled you under, you swore you heard the fatigued rumble of Kylo Ren’s voice whisper, “I like yours too.”

#keeping your promise #st kyp #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren smut #angst #fluff #ao3 #wattpad

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joannevixxon · 4 years

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Love Comes At A Cost

An Elsamaren fanfic by JoanneVixxon on AO3

Summary:

The Fifth Spirit is one of many myths that came to life. And, not all myths are meant to be saviours in times of woe.

Just as Arendelle welcomes Queen Anna into her reign, the Northuldra wade through their newfound freedom under Elsa’s protection. Unbeknownst to them, lurking behind shadows awaits a monster whose anger finds peace in the demise of innocent lives.

[Chapter 1: Anna’s Astute Mind]

Preview: “How ever cold a fortitude of silence Elsa bore, it melted, came undone at the seams, shed its mask of immaculate armour, once Elsa leaned forwards to rest her elbows languidly against the railing, as if to ask for back rubs instead. Like a steed to its master, the Queen of Ice and Snow bowed her head ever so slightly to her Northuldra companion.”

[Chapter 2: This Warmth Has A Name]

Preview: “This warmth. It has a name. Proclaimed at times most opportune. Sometimes it teeters at the edge of one’s lips— nothing more daunting than to have its existence brought center stage. It had always been there in Elsa’s life. Lurking behind curtains when Anna met her closed doors. Burning bright in her mother’s lullabies. It was Elsa’s oldest companion. The hot to her cold. The light to her dark. The quencher of her fears.”

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Chapter 2: This Warmth Has A Name

It all started three weeks before, when Elsa had just turned twenty-six.

Along with Honeymaren, Ryder, Yelena and the others, Elsa celebrated her “sorta-quarter- of-a-century birthday”— as Anna proclaimed it at every seizable opportunity— in Arendelle. A full week and a half whizzed through before anyone could fully revel in Christmas celebrations and solstice festivals. For the first time in forever, Arendelle stood hand in hand with the Northuldra, to ring in the winter season with a Yule Bell that sat atop the castle’s facade.

It flourished into a jubilant eleven days, complete with every variant of chocolate-drenched dessert imaginable— fruits with chocolate fondue, chocolate mousse, chocolate tiered cake, chocolate parfait, you could go on forever. The doors to the Great Hall were kept open for the citizens of Arendelle to dance, savour the taste of scrumptious treats and seek refuge from the crisp winter air. As per Queen Anna’s request, the castle kitchen stocked a hefty supply of lutefisk to keep Elsa’s cravings at bay for another week or two.

Elsa honestly couldn’t have dreamt of a more perfect occasion for which she could spend time with her family and friends, Arendellian and Northuldra alike.

She returned to the Enchanted Forest at night, welcomed at last by the quiet noise of forest critters and sea breeze. Though her body was tangibly there, kissed by the smoke wafting from campfires, Elsa’s mind had remained to saunter through the hustle and bustle of Arendelle’s winter parties. That was, until she realised how pensive Honeymaren had been throughout their journey to Northuldra.

The two had yet to reach the level of intimacy that Elsa and Anna shared. Despite the stark contrast in their characters, the two sisters could detect each other’s disquietude in as much time as it did a whiff of chocolate from the kitchens— in other words, immediately. Aside from a chilly draft whisking into the room, Elsa had the habit of pressing into her palm where her gloves used to cause an itch, arching shoulders, vacillating around any space you’d call a window or a balcony. Anna usually stammered her way into a blabber, biting her bottom lip, flailing her hands and pacing in a spot altogether.

But what about Honeymaren?

Elsa dawdled her way to Honeymaren, who sat quietly on one vacant bought at their usual spot around the campfire, petting the nape of a baby reindeer.

“Is this seat taken?” asked Elsa out of courtesy.

Honeymaren lips curved into a weary smile as she shook her head. Hesitantly, Elsa plopped down beside her.

“Honeymaren,” said Elsa, trying not to sound like an overly concerned parent. She settled with a tone of affability, with just a hint of nonchalance. “Are you okay? You’ve been a bit quiet,”

Honeymaren paused to survey their camp. Young brothers and sisters were plagued with a fit of giggles as they chased one another down on winter-crusted soil. In the large, oddly extravagant shed of ice— courtesy of none other than Elsa— reindeer herders could be seen sharpening their spears and daggers. Nourishing the camp with youthful music were the elders, who were either blowing into fadno flutes or plucking zithers. The night was as lively as it was serene.

“I’m okay. Just tired,” said Honeymaren. “Thanks for asking, Elsa. I appreciate it,”

Elsa tensed at the curt response, as she gently petted the baby reindeer’s hind. Somewhere amidst the reindeer’s soft coos of bliss, she hoped to find a balm to her fluttering heart. “Was Arendelle... a bit too much?” asked Elsa, though her question aimed furtively to the droopy-eyed calf. “I understand if it’s too noisy and colourful and overwhelming—”

“What? N-No, no at all, Elsa,” stuttered Honeymaren. Quickly peering into Elsa’s eyes, she placed a hand on Elsa’s back. “I love coming to Arendelle. The things you do with lingonberries! Who knew they could be tastier than they already are? And those boxes that magically tell you the time—?”

“Clocks...?”

“Clocks! They’re amazing!” Honeymaren let out a chuckle.

Every tendril of muscle in Elsa’s body melted as Honeymaren rubbed her back. Any average citizen of Arendelle wouldn’t dare to come three feet into Elsa’s space, let alone rest a finger upon her cool skin. But, the Northuldra saw physical contact as a means of sharing one’s innermost sentiments, relaying passions upon the slightest brush of one’s shoulder, speaking louder than words, unvarnished and raw.

“I’d go there everyday if I could...” said Honeymaren wistfully before looking away. There it was again. The look of apprehension shot to the ground, as if the hook of a piercing gaze could fish a fickle dream out from the barren soil. “I want to know everything there is about Arendelle... And the world beyond...”

This restless demeanor was anything but foreign to Elsa. She’d seen it countless times in the eyes of a young blonde, trapped on the other side of her mirror. The Forest to Honeymaren was perhaps what queendom was to Elsa in its dying months. A cage with its doors left ajar. A set of chains with its keys jangling by one’s feet. A trap, tattered, loose and unhinged.

The prospect of breaking free from a prison that was once home, was becoming less and less an elaborate fantasy to Honeymaren and more an optional reality.

And it terrified her.

The unknown.

“I should bring you over more often,” said Elsa, before realising what had tumbled out of her lips. “I-I should introduce you to everyone. Give you a tour around the whole kingdom. See my favourite views, my favourite hiking trails...”

“Really?” Honeymaren’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Of course,” said Elsa in a daze. “Anywhere you want to go in Arendelle. I’m more than happy to bring you around,”

Honeymaren’s smile stretched from ear to ear. Just as Elsa opened her mouth to ask what had truly ruffled Honeymaren’s feathers, the brunette cradled the baby reindeer in her arms and rose to her feet, never leaving Elsa’s eyes unattended. “I want to show you something,” She cocked her head to the side and extended a hand.

Elsa stood, her hand fastening in Honeymaren’s. For someone who could triumph over her brawn of a brother in a spar, who could hang from a tree upside down, who could hold a baby reindeer then in the crook of one arm, Elsa never found Honeymaren’s hands any less delicate in her clasps. Elsa caressed her thumb over Honeymaren’s, making sure to come off as habitual than deliberate. Sure enough, her skin was just as soft as her touch.

“What is it?” asked Elsa, curiously.

Honeymaren bumped shoulders with Elsa and winked. “You’ll see,”

Fingers intertwined, Elsa let Honeymaren lead her to whatever it was she wanted Elsa to see, stealing glances to the back just in case her snowflakes had stalked them from above.

Elsa was in control. For now.

Into a small clearing, they entered, greeted by the soft amber light of a solitary campfire, on top of which perched a steaming pot of burbling stew. Several wooden shafts neatly lined the outskirts of the area, adjoined by several twines knotted in perfect bows.

Had Yelena decided to bring a semblance of Arendelle’s lamp posts into the forest as decor?

Once Honeymaren drew Elsa to the campfire, she jogged back to the tents to deposit the slumbering baby reindeer. It suddenly struck Elsa that Honeymaren had brought the reindeer along as an excuse to leave Elsa for a moment.

Something was about to happen. Something special. Elsa sensed it. Hoped for it. Wished upon a thousand stars.

Out from the thick blanket of looming shadows, Honeymaren reappeared, with what seemed to be everyone else from the camp. Elsa fidgeted with loose strands of hair as the area flooded with family after family— little boys and girls, mothers and fathers, and elders. All eyes locked on her. With Elsa’s tension palpable from miles away, Honeymaren hastily returned by Elsa’s side with a reassuring smile, clasping one of Elsa’s hands with both of her own. For the first time since fleeing from her coronation ball, Elsa’s heart yearned to burst free from her rib cage.

Could everyone see her tremble? Was she freezing the floor? Was that her snow?

Yelena finally stepped out, wearing the widest grin Elsa had seen from her. She took Elsa’s other hand, as did everyone else with each other’s shoulders, forming a human spiral.

“Elsa,” said Yelena, her deep voice stoic yet tender. “You and your sister have granted our people a freedom we have long abandoned in our prayers. For all the despair that has consumed us for the worst part of thirty-four dark years, you have kindled a flame of hope within our hearts, motivating our people to take steps in mending old wounds, to discover what lies beyond this sacred forest, to unite and thrive together as a community, and to live to our fullest potential. For your undying love to our families, we dedicate a vuelie to you, as a symbol of eternal gratitude,”

In an instant, the camp broke into song— into a vuelie that Elsa hadn’t heard before.

Yet, its lilt was as foreign as it was familiar. Elsa’s magic pulsed through her veins to a rhythm not so different. Its cadence reverberated through Elsa’s bones, lulling her storm of thoughts to the peaceful voice she heard ringing in her ears.

Her mother. Her siren. Her call.

This was a vuelie, specially made for Elsa.

Elsa opened her eyes, to see the forest painted in a blue haze, by the ocean of fireflies buzzing behind barren trees, by the moonlit sky splashed a river of stars, by Bruni’s fire which blazed along the posts and their ropes.

Elsa felt her entire body shrouded in warmth. This warmth. It has a name. Proclaimed at times most opportune. Sometimes it teeters at the edge of one’s lips— nothing more daunting than to have its existence brought center stage. It had always been there in Elsa’s life. Lurking behind curtains when Anna met her closed doors. Burning bright in her mother’s lullabies. It was Elsa’s oldest companion. The hot to her cold. The light to her dark. The quencher of her fears.

Breathing life in as far as it echoed, the vuelie hushed too soon after it began and so did the soft buzz of forest critters. Elsa blinked into space, floating into reverie.

Yelena shot Honeymaren a glance, before turning to look at Elsa again. “Also,” continued Yelena with a smile. “Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, and have a Happy New Year, Elsa,”

This warmth. It was Love. It swaddled her, as if to celebrate her own being— once Princess of Arendelle, once Queen, now Fifth Spirit, now Elsa in her truest element. Elsa felt loved. For all her beauty and flaws, she was loved.

Years of preserving queenly composure crumbled as tears rolled down Elsa’s cheeks. The entire camp stood dumbfounded in silence.

Yelena seemed like she contemplated a gesture of consolation— a squeeze on Elsa’s shoulder, perhaps. In the end, she simply coughed into a fist. “It was Honeymaren’s idea,”

“H-Hey—” stuttered Honeymaren, panicking as Elsa’s weeps turned to sobs. “Elsa, are you—”

Elsa pulled Honeymaren into a tight embrace, knocking the wind out of Honeymaren’s lungs as their chests collided. They had never been this close, whimpers seeping into Honeymaren’s ears, shoulders trembling against Honeymaren’s chin.

Worrying others for her personal turmoil was a peeve of Elsa’s that stood the test of time. And yet, she prayed for all that she felt bellowing within the confines of her tightening chest to find its way to Honeymaren’s heart. To have the burden of inexplicable pain be carried in companionship, than in solitude. To be taken care of. To be shared. To be understood.

Careful arms wrapped around Elsa. First hesitant, then resolute, Honeymaren rubbed Elsa’s back in a way she knew best— with fondness. Slowly, Elsa’s hug grew limpid. Her sobs lulled to heavy breaths. The weight of her arms rested on Honeymaren’s shoulders.

She felt at ease.

If Decadence made itself the crux of one’s love, it would’ve taken the form of a human being named Honeymaren. She was as sweet as her name suggests. As soothing a balm as honey.

“Thank you, Honey,” mumbled Elsa into Honeymaren’s collar. “ I love… I loved it,”

Yelena snickered, ambling away from the two. “Told you,” she said to another elder in a loud whisper. “If it’s Elsa, ‘Maren’ is never going to be her nickname,”

Elsa pulled away an inch, blushing. “Honeymaren,”

“Yes?” replied Honeymaren, eyes widening.

“I-I meant to say ‘Honeymaren’,” Elsa looked furtively to the crowd around them, voice still cracking. “I don’t know why I said ‘Honey’. Well, I-I mean I do know. I just thought about how sweet you— t-this— was. You can be sweet. You are sweet. Goodness gracious. I didn’t mean—”

“Elsa,” said Honeymaren softly, wiping the tears off of Elsa’s pink cheeks. “You can call me Honey,”

“Oh... Oh, okay,” Sniffling, Elsa threaded her fingers through her blonde hair. “Only... if you want me to...”

“I’d like that very much, Elsa,” Honeymaren stroked Elsa’s knuckles with a thumb, blotting out any certainty Elsa had in the furtiveness of her caresses just moments before. Honeymaren hugged Elsa again. This time tighter. Warmer. “I love… I’d love that very much,”

__________________

Turns out that pot at the centre of the camp had bidos simmering away. It was a Northuldra stew that Elsa took delight in but had mixed feelings for— what with the carrots, potatoes… and reindeer meat. The thought of eating Sven, or the dozens of baby reindeer she coddled every morning with warm hugs and icy fractals, had always hovered above her head when she ate bidos, too nebulous to be tucked away, too vile to be hidden and ignored.

Herding reindeer for sustenance was just something that irked Elsa. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t reindeer herding, but the sad reality that furry creatures live in as both epitomes of cuteness and victims of slaughter. Would she feel the same way about whitefishes used for lutefisk or chickens used for roasts, had she lived this close to her food?

“Onto your second helping?” teased Honeymaren, sitting beside Elsa. She pretended to thoroughly inspect Elsa’s bowl of bidos. “How unlike you,”

Elsa daintily covered her mouth with her fingertips as she swallowed, snapping out of her ponderance. “I like it,” said Elsa with a simper. “I want to… relish in this moment,”

“Oh?” said Honeymaren, intrigued. “And what kind of moment is this for you?”

Elsa’s eyes fluttered closed as she attempted to immerse herself in her five senses. The past year of meditation practices had proved this to be second nature. “I can see everyone having fun, dancing in the moonlight, chatting around the campfire… I can hear the echoes of my vuelie ringing in my ears.... The waft of embers tickling my nose…”

Honeymaren rested her chin on Elsa’s shoulder at this point. Maybe it was sisterly instinct, or better yet, a jolt of courage bestowed by the gods of sympathy themselves. Either way, Elsa found herself stroking Honeymaren’s head.

Elsa figured that fatigue had washed over the brunette, being the mastermind of Elsa’s surprise. Elsa herself had a hand in planning a surprise for Anna’s 19th birthday and that culminated with a snowgie-infested cold.

Surprises were no easy feat.

Elsa felt grateful but guilty, indebted to Honeymaren’s acts of kindness, compelled to repay her with the same sweet type of affection. A strong compulsion then surged into her conscience, coaxing her to try something that she’d seen Anna do to Kristoff time and time again. Gulping, Elsa threaded her fingers through Honeymaren’s thick black hair, and slowly, gently, casually, massaged her scalp.

Honeymaren was pleasantly warm to the touch, like blankets that had been soaked overnight in body heat, or carpet tassels lazed before hearths. As if Honeymaren’s own body had betrayed her adamancy to not respond— not through the weakest of whimpers or the softest of sighs— she grew warmer and languid as Elsa’s fingers leisurely ventured their way from her crown to the spot behind her ear, before finally adding pressure right where her head met her nape.

Her silence was stifling to Elsa. Perhaps, there would’ve been no harm in continuing with a description of this moment. Which human sense was this? Touch? Once a taboo to Elsa. Now, an unspoken language of Elsa’s deepest desires. “The feeling of… your hair… in my hand,”

Honeymaren chose that moment to flinch away, staring intensely at the crowd, whose backs were all that could be seen from their seats. Elsa figured her caresses had truly gone unnoticed this time. Did Honeymaren hate head massages? Did Elsa cross a line? She should’ve asked. She wasn’t thinking through…

“I-I’m sorry,” stammered Elsa, hoping to squeeze some wisdom out of her thick skull as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I shouldn’t have— Not everyone— I’m sorry,”

Something tickled Elsa’s wrist. Looking between her fingers, Elsa found Honeymaren trying to clasp her hand. Her soft grip seemed to say “look at me” and “look away”, all at once.

“Sounds like four senses,” whispered Honeymaren, her hot breath tickling Elsa’s ear. “That leaves taste,”

Elsa’s shoulders arched. “O-Oh… Well... I can taste bidos... lingering on my tongue,”

Honeymaren peered downwards, paying no heed to Elsa’s awkwardness. “I haven’t had the chance to... have a taste,”

Elsa took a deep breath.

One thing she’d learned from Anna and Kristoff was that couples spoke in code, like a cypher of romance. Just that, she didn’t know if Honeymaren had actually meant to use it.

They were merely friends after all.

So, was Honeymaren flirting? Or… Was she asking for a bowl of bidos? Was Elsa supposed to lean forwards and kiss her? Or stand up… and… grab Honeymaren a bowl of bidos?

Should she ask what Honeymaren meant?

That would’ve been pathetic.

An embarrassment.

Time stood still, arms crossed, as Elsa listened to the cacophony of her thousand bickering thoughts. Her silence reeked the scent of docility. It was tempting. Magnetising.

As if their proximity wasn’t all too indicative, Honeymaren inched closer.

Not before long, a strong gust of wind suddenly meandered its way through the crowd, taunting them with a sweep of dust and leaves.

“Mama!”

“Be careful of the fire, sweetheart!”

“What the...?”

“Is that—?”

“It’s winter! The last thing we need is wind!”

“Hush! Do not anger the spirits!”

In a heartbeat, the gust of wind halted before Elsa and Honeymaren, circling in a spot by their feet. Everyone spun around to trail the beast of a breeze, as Elsa and Honeymaren shifted away from each other, putting enough room to fit a reindeer between themselves.

Honeymaren dipped her face into her palms.

“G-Gale?” called Elsa, acutely aware of everyone’s curious stare. The change in mood hit her like a whiplash. “Is that you?”

Gale swivelled around Elsa’s wrist, yanking her by the arm. Stumbling forwards, Elsa found herself falling on all fours, palms digging into dirt.

“Gale? What’s wrong? What happened?” asked Elsa, flicking dirt away from her hands. She could tell how frightened the Wind Spirit was by its frantic whiffs.

The breezy spiral around her arm brought with it some dark liquid. As the embers of the campfire flickered across the soil, Elsa caught sight of a red tinge.

It was blood.

“Water has memory…”

Holding her breath, Elsa blasted a small stream of ice, letting Gale reconstruct a scene they had witnessed. Building layers upon layers, the snow congealed into ice, and the ice crystallised into a sculpture of intricate detail.

The crowd broke into murmurs of fright and confusion.

The sculpture took the form of a Nothuldra man with his back against a boulder. A dagger was unsheathed, perched atop unclenched fists. There was only so much that could be deciphered. But, that figure was as lifeless as it could have been for an ice sculpture.

His hair was unkempt, nose wide, brows thick and chiseled.

Everyone made no mistake in thinking that it was Ryder.

Elsa didn’t dare turn to face Honeymaren.

She shut her eyes and grimaced, bracing for a shriek, a swooning body, a clambering towards the sculpture, as she had done with Anna’s frozen form years ago. Instead, she found Honeymaren seemingly turned into a statue herself, speechless and riveted to the ground.

Elsa felt as if her body was dunked into the depths of Ahtohallan.

“Honeymaren,” called Yelena, squeezing her way out from the crowd. She trotted to the two young women. “Honeymaren. What’s Ryder—“

“The reindeer,” stuttered Honeymaren, her voice suddenly small. “The herd… was missing one or two reindeer. He went to look for them where they were last grazing on lichen,”

Jumping to her feet, Elsa strode to a stream trickling down close by. “Nokk!” called Elsa, voice laced with panic. “Nokk, we have to go! Gale, lead the way,”

Amidst the yelps of awe and shock from the crowd, a vehement neigh echoed throughout the forest and a ferocious water horse emerged with a splash. Gale circling beneath her soles, Elsa mounted Nokk without an inkling of hesitation.

Elsa was about to click her heel when Honeymaren ran towards them with a staff in hand. “Lemme come with you,” said Honeymaren, as a statement rather than a request.

“Honey,” replied Elsa, her heart aching. “It might be dangerous. I—“

“No! Stop!” Honeymaren tugged Elsa by her knee. “He’s the only family I have left! If anything happened to him, I need to see it with my own two eyes. Please.”

Elsa paused as those very eyes filled with hot tears. She’d do the same for Anna. How obtuse must Elsa be to deny Honeymaren this right?

“Okay,” said Elsa, extending a hand. Time was of the essence. “We do this together,”

#frozen 2 #elsamaren #honeyelsa #elsa #honeymaren #frozen 2 fanfic #post-frozen 2 #frozen #disney frozen #frozen fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #my fanfic

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trouvelle · 5 years

Text

Emogust 22.08 — First Time

A/N: DCMK Emogust 2019 — First Time! Here’s some MakoSono as part of the ATLA!AU. Makoto is a true fullblooded Earthbender and no one can convince me otherwise lmao. @mintchocolateleaves @sup-poki !!

The sweltering sun stood high in the sky when Makoto walked along the shore of the Northern Water Tribe, such was the scene of his current mission. Everything was white and blue as far as he could see, and only some parts where the sunlight touched was shining a pale yellow. The Palace stood way above the coast, glistening like an enormous chunk of diamond hidden in the midst of all the ice in the region. The city itself was protected by huge ice cliffs which formed all around it as its walls. It had worked, Makoto knew; the Northern Water Tribe had remained standing without ever suffering any seizes from the other nations.

Its position surrounded by all those icebergs had more than its fair share of advantages. Under the cover of darkness the night before, Makoto had arrived in a bay a little sideways from ice gate which functioned as the only entrance into the city. He’d hidden his dinghy, folding the sail carefully and covering the whole boat with anything he could find to keep it out of plain sight. He had left his Earth Kingdom tunic behind, too.

Now he’s sauntering around the village in a grayish blue Water Tribe robe, not attempting to find his target just yet, but opting to take in the layout of the town and the people that live in it. The water flowed smoothly in the canals, slithering here and there, connecting the whole city like a giant blue snake. Makoto supposed he shouldn’t be surprised to see the ambienceband tranquility of the whole city, considering its peaceful history and close proximity to the hidden gateway to the Spirit world. It’s almost like the war never reached this place at all, with how calm it seemed. Makoto knew he would be willing to stay here if he had the option to. Then again, war made people do strange things. He averted his eyes and kept walking up the main road in the middle of the city.

As he climbed his way up the tier to the courtyard, the entrance to the Northern Royal Palace came into view. It’s a stately place on the highest tier of the city, built in a true Water Tribe structure with ice paneling and statues, and a large, open staircase in the middle of it. He walked past some younger students, all of whom looked no older than twelve, practicing waterbending in the courtyard. He made his way around the palace. He knew precisely where to go and let his feet take him away. Although, if he must say, he felt really strange in these boots he’s wearing. The ice beneath his feet felt fragile and a little too smooth for his liking.

He reached another yard, this one not as open nor as wide as the main one in front of the palace. Another thing that was also missing here—the crowd. There was not a single person there. This one had multiple small fountains with pillars bordering the area, and he knew this was probably a private yard only accessible to the Elders, Council members or the royal family of the chiefdom. Makoto kept walking, until he can see around the to the very back part of the—

On one of the fountains near the east corner of the yard, sat a girl in an elaborate lavender kimono-like tunic over a light purple dress, with short and light brown hair. Instinctively, Makoto knew who she’s looking at. It’s Suzuki Sonoko, daughter of Chief Suzuki Shiro, ruler of the Northern Water Tribe. She was talking and laughing with another girl who looked the same age, but this one had a long hair that reached her waist. In order not to draw any attention to himself, Makoto kept walking until he found himself a bigger fountain to hide behind. He was careful to keep in the shadows that allow him to observe the Chief’s younger daughter without giving himself away.

Nothing much happened. The so-called princess kept talking, cracking big laughters as she conversed with the other girl, her short hair tickling her cheeks. Makoto watched with interest as the two of them chatted animatedly as if nothing that’s wrong in the world could ever reach them. The air is rife with rumors of the Air Temples dissipation, Makoto knew it’s all part of an elaborate conspiracy. The Fire Nation had been at the height of its power and the world’s peace was starting to be shaken.

Sonoko was still sitting in the same spot, still talking with her friend who occasionally guided some water to and away from the fountain, probably trying some new waterbending tricks. The sun was starting to set now, creeping lower and lower towards the horizon with every passing minute. It’s almost time. Soon enough, the long-haired girl stood up and waved her goodbye, running to the direction of the main courtyard. The chief’s daughter, now all by herself, slowly walked back into the Palace.

Now’s the time. He checked his surroundings one last time, heaved a deep breath and made his way forward. There were guards stationed outside the front entrance and no doubt within the palace as well. Makoto disregarded them; chances were they’d grown slow in the illusion of peace that this entire city seemed to have fallen under.

Eventually, Makoto found himself perched on a balcony that gave him a prime view of the chief’s daughter’s bedroom, where she was brushing her hair in front of a mirror. After deeming her hair acceptable, she made way to the balcony. There was no one around and no one with her. Twilight had descended by now and the moonlight softly framed her figure. After a long moment of consideration, Makoto decided to abandon what he had come here to do. With the rising moon that gives the whole city its power, Makoto turned around and got ready to jump down.

“Show yourself,” he froze in action when he heard her say.

Was he not as silent as he thought?

Makoto swung himself over the railing of the balcony in one swift jump, landing in front of Sonoko. To her credit, she didn’t look too shocked, though she immediately sprang backwards many steps, hands held in front of her body defensively. “Who are you?” Her voice is squeaky and raspy, but she sounded more confused than scared.

“You are Sonoko,” Makoto said as she approached Sonoko slowly. “Second daughter of Chief Suzuki Shiro.”

“Yes,” Sonoko said, stepping backwards with each step Makoto took. “But wait, please. I’m sure we can talk this out.” At Makoto’s confused look, she continued. “You don’t have to kill me. You don’t have to kidnap me. You can have whatever you’re after. Money, food, coins, all you have to do is tell me and I will ask my father for it, please.”

“Those mean nothing to me,” Makoto murmured, never once taking her eyes off the girl. “I’m here for you. And there’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. Especially if it concerns a mission I have to accomplish in the future.” Sonoko’s gaze slid from him to his hands. They were big, rough and calloused. They look nothing like the hands of someone who grew up in a Water Tribe environment, let alone be a waterbender.

“Ah,” she said. “So that’s what this is.” He must be sent from another nation to kidnap her and ask her father to give up their land in exchange for her life. Or, to kill her to reduce the chances of their hereditary chiefdom continuation down the generation.

“Then, let me ask you something,” Sonoko continued. “Tell me, what have I done to you, or your people? Did I steal something from you? Did I hurt you in some way? Why do you have to kill me?” She looked at him intently.

“I never wanted intended to,” Makoto responded, his voice silent instead of strong now, quelled by the resilience he saw in the blue eyes of the girl. “And I’m not here to kill you, or whatever you’re thinking.”

Sonoko knew she shouldn’t trust anything coming from a stranger, especially one who had been spying on her in her room, but she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. “Okay. Then why are you here? If you think you can get any information out of me, then I swear on the Spirits of the Ocean and Moon, that I know absolutely nothing.”

Sonoko looked hopeful and beautiful at once, and she’s not at all like what Makoto had pictured, apparently. He had heard that the younger of the Chief’s daughters was the one most spoiled, a good-for-nothing lady who couldn’t even be a trophy daughter simply for the fact that she wasn’t born with the ability to waterbend. It’s also been said that she had a shallow and brash attitude. But this girl in front of her seemed nothing like that: to him she appeared trusting, and optimistic.

“I am Makoto from the Kyogoku family in Ba Sing Se, Capital of Earth Kingdom.” Makoto suddenly continued, and he thought about what he had to say next, after telling her who he really was. “Please forgive my intrusion. And I apologize for the disturbance and unease that I have caused you, My Lady.”

He watched as her soft blue eyes widened in realization as she too, was probably recounting the last time she’d heard his name. “You’re… Are you the man I’m supposed to marry?”

“It appears so.” Makoto looked away shyly, and his right hand rubbed at his nape in an act of nervousness. Coming from a pretty influential family in Earth Kingdom’s capital city and equipped with years of battle experiences at a young age, he was deemed an excellent choice to be wed into a family member of the Water Tribe chiefdom. He was initially against the idea, but politics are politics, and there wasn’t much he could do except hope that the other side would reject the idea. Because normally, offsprings of a chief had to marry within the tribe to ensure the continuation of the chiefdom’s power. So, he’s surprised when the Water Tribe Chief agreed on it too himself. Makoto thought that the Chief probably had his city’s interest at heart. The marriage would ensure a small, albeit steady alliance between the two cities. And at the brim of a war like this, who wouldn’t want that?

After a brief silence, Makoto dared to sneak a glance at the girl. Soft blue eyes found his again, as she said, “I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until next month, on the agreed date of our engagement.”

“Yes,” he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, “that’s right.” If only he was patient enough, he wouldn’t have to waste his time and energy to come all the way from Ba Sing Se. “I just had to see what kind of person I am going to be married to.”

To be honest, Sonoko wasn’t looking forward to the day of her marriage either. It’s approaching unbelievably fast, and with every day, she’s getting more and more worried about having to marry someone she’s never even met. She sighed deeply and had accepted her fate.

This rugged man, however, was handsome and mysterious; she’s intrigued.

So was he. The young Lady stood in front of him with pride, although her eyes were full of uncertainty. She was probably just as nervous as he was. They barely knew each other and in a month, they’d have to be living together already. The thought of it sent him to a frenzy and he turned around, ready to leave the Palace, once and for all. “I suppose I have to leave now.” He murmured incoherently.

A cool hand touched his shoulder and Makoto was returned to his current situation, the tension in his shoulders dissipating at the contact. He looked down into Sonoko’s kind eyes, and for some reason it did make him feel better. Makoto decided not to think about it too deeply. Not yet.

“Actually,” Sonoko started, softly, “I’d rather get to know you more first, rather than at our engagement reception. I’m sure you think so too, or else you wouldn’t have come all the way here.”

He silently shook his head and Sonoko smiled in delight, tentatively. The hand on his shoulder squeezed in a gesture of comfort. “Then stay! I’m pretty sure we’re not so different, you and I!” She helped Makoto down even though she knew he was capable of doing so himself.

Her hand lingered around his arm as she pulled him through the corridors of the Palace, expertly weaving around the pillars whenever any guards came into view. Before he knew it, they were at the open space at the very top, overlooking the entire Northern Water Tribe City and the broad Northern Seas. They stared at the night sky, where the stars were splattered liek random dots on a dark blue canvas, surrounding the moon that looked bigger than he’d ever seen before.

“So, future husband,” Sonoko said teasingly, deciding to start off easy. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Makoto’s eyes left the familiar constellations and took in the childish expression on Sonoko’s face. For the first time that day, he smiled.

I ✥ II

#DCMKEmogust2019 #Detective Conan #Suzuki Sonoko #Makoto Kyogoku #MakoSono #Sonoko x Makoto #bender au #atla au #it's makosono's first time meeting each other #Earthbender Makoto #and Sonoko as a Water Tribe princess #they cute aaa

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