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stormhearty · 4 months

Text

Pairings: Eris x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Triggers: pining, reader being shot by arrows, mentions of bloodshed and killing

Summary: Eris watched as your body lay still in the large bed, healing from the poisonous arrows that had penetrated your body. The Autumn Heir is reminded that, no matter how much he loves you, you will always be in danger if you stay around him. Now he has to make a choice… whether to keep you in his arms and protect you with his fire or to unlock the cage and let you go free.

Note: Based on this request! Thank you @strangelygreat for your request! I love this so much. I realized that I never really listened to this song in its entirety. The Broadway version, “If I Can’t Love Her” has a similar feel — it has the same longing and distress. But I listened to <Evermore> and of course, I am in love. <Evermore>, Josh Groban’s version more specifically, has such a beautiful pining feeling; I listened to it while brainstorming and writing this song. This is also based on a scene from the manhwa “Secret Lady”, one which echoes this feeling of pining with angst. I loved this scene in this manhwa, and I highly suggest reading it! This will mostly be under Eris’ POV since the song is from the Beast’s POV as well.

I would suggest listening to the song either before reading this story or during, and please do tell me if I could portray the song correctly!! Or was able to portray a similar feeling to it.

Closing the door behind him with a silent click, Eris stepped into the dimly lit room, his steps leading to a familiar bed, one that held a familiar body underneath its sheets. A hand reached out to grab the back of a chair, dragging it across wooden floors, the echo of scraping wood resonating throughout the quiet room. Placing the chair next to the bed, he gracefully sat down, hands gripping the arms of the chair as amber hues stared at the rise and fall of your back.

The room had grown silent after that, the pitter-patter of rainfall against the large windows and your even breathing occupied the room. It rarely rained in Autumn Court, but lately, Eris felt like the weather matched his mood — bleak, dull, and sober. His gaze moved from your peaceful features to the bandages on your back, the blackened blood that seeped through the white cloth.

It had been a month.

A month since the day you had stepped in front of those poisonous arrows, ones covered with ash — ones that were marked towards him — and almost had your life taken away in front of his very eyes.

He watched as your eyes looked up at him, a smile tugging at your lips, the words that slipped from your lips haunting him to this day: “You're okay…”

Eris felt himself stiffen in the chair, hearing the echo of your words through his body. He felt the wood creak underneath his fingertips, his claws splinting the wood underneath them.

He could still see it — how your body slumped against his, that arrow penetrated your skin; how the blood seeped from that wound through your ball gown. He could still smell it — that blood that tricked from the edge of your mouth and onto his pristine clothes. He could still feel it — how your body slowly started to become cold in his warm hands, how your pulse slowed underneath his palm.

The scene was still vivid in his mind — a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in Autumn Court; on the dangers that followed him. On how every single moment that you lay in this bed, barely hanging into the thread of life — was another reminder to the Autumn Heir that he had started to become selfish — especially when it came to you.

For the longest time, he had restrained himself, his feelings, his obsession when it came to you. You were a fleeting moment — he constantly told himself — one that was not meant to be caged, especially not by him. Not in the political battlefield such as Autumn Court. Not where his brothers waited in the shadows to strike him down every waking second. Not where his father was looking for any weakness to use against him as punishment.

You weren't meant to stay by him, he had concluded.

Eris knew that — from the moment he laid eyes on you, all those years ago.

How you were a breath of fresh air in his suffocating world. You were his haven… an escape from the constant pressures of his Court. He wouldn’t have minded if the world had faded away — all that mattered was you. And Eris knew, oh how he knew, and that very thought was intoxicating and dangerous. All he had wanted to do was to keep you within arm-length, to be able to whisk you away when need be.

But he couldn’t.

“(Y/N)…” Eris murmured your name in the darkness, like a lover whispering sweet nothings.

“I can tell you now…”

Amber hues stared at your sleeping form, unaware of the truth that he was about to spill. Eris knew that the walls listened, his own home against him. But he needed to get it off his chest, to let the world know.

“You were my Goddess for the longest time…”

He shifted slightly to pull pieces of porcelain from his pocket — a broken miniature statue, one that Eris had held onto for all these years. He glanced at the pieces before shifting his hand, to allow them to fall to the wooden floor, the sound barely reaching his ears.

“You were something that I could admire from far away, keeping you at arms distance. Something that I could look at and never touch, never hold. I wasn’t afraid to think of you back then… to wish and yearn for you… To miss you. I never wanted to know who you were, never wanted to know more about you. I was content with just looking.

“But, when I saw you that day… During my coming-of-age ceremony, all those centuries ago, could you imagine — - no… you could never understand how I felt that day.”

You were radiant. A bright light in his dim world. Even in a crowded room, he could spot you from a mile away. You radiated warmth, kindness… purity. Something absent in his world of hatred and betrayal.

A shaky sigh escaped his lips, a hand coming up to run through his copper locks before running down his face, pressing against his eyes to prevent the burn of tears.

“It was the first time in my entire life… I wanted nothing more to do than run.

“You were gorgeous. And for the life of me, I couldn’t look at you without having my heart beat frantically in my chest. I felt like my heart would jump out, for the world to see how much you had affected me.

“Was this love? Was this devotion? Did this shift of emotion mean that I could never be able to seek you out again? That I could never be able to think freely of you? I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to.

“I thought that I would be able to manipulate myself into not loving you. How could I? I didn’t know you… all I had loved was what I could see on the outside. I thought I could manipulate myself into thinking to not fall in love with someone I did not know.

“I had thought it would be easy. I rarely saw you, except on passing occasions… Superficial words of greetings in loud halls. It was fine, for centuries, for me to just silently yearn for you. To allow myself not to hold you tight…”

A broken laugh paused his monologue, his hand dropping back onto the arms of the chair as he looked at you. He shifted out of the chair and moved to sit at the edge of the bed close to your form. Eris reached over, wanting nothing more than to feel your skin underneath his hand — to ensure you were still there… alive. He hesitated, his hand hovering over your back, only to move to gently grasp a piece of your hair. He leaned down and pressed a kiss on that one lock of hair.

“But that night, all those months ago, when you sought me out in the forest, knocking frantically on that small cabin door. You had sacrificed your safety to forewarn me of the assassination attempt by my brother. I knew I had to push you away, I had to keep you hidden from the prying eyes of my father and brothers. For they would know, if I had been a moment too late, pulling you in and hiding you within that closet, they would have known how much you had affected me.

“I knew that I should have let you go that night. I shouldn’t have held your hand and pulled you into that cabin. I should have let you run away from this cage I call my home.

“But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t let you go, not when you were the one who sought me out. For the first time in centuries, you were the one who looked for me.”

Fingers dropped that lock of hair, as he settled his elbows onto his knees, hands, once again, pressing against his face as the tears finally broke… cascading down his cheeks in a never-ending river. He cried in silence, afraid that any sob or cry of grief would wake you up from your slumber.

You were finally within arms grasp.

Eris could reach out and hold you in his arms, to press his lips against yours. To love you as he had wanted.

“I couldn’t lie to myself anymore, (Y/N)… I wanted more. I wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms, kiss you in the dead of night, make you moan my name as we made love… I wanted to drink up everything that you had given me. I wanted your eyes to shine only for me.

“And I regretted it so much.”

Eris felt every regret seep into his body — he regretted letting you into his life, into his world of fire.

“You mustn’t let her lay on her back—-” the priestess hummed out, as the glow from her hands faded away, fixing the bandage to cover the wound.

Eris watched, dull amber eyes staring at your face for any indications of pain. He held you in his arms, your head resting against his shoulder as the priestess healed the wound on your back.

“—-For it may fester with the moisture that can build up. You must lay her on her stomach, to let the wound breathe…” The gentle hands of the priestess ran over the wound, and Eris felt you shift in his arms, your face scrunching in pain. He felt himself growl at the priestess, amber eyes lighting in anger.

The priestess bowed in apology, “—- Her feeling pain is better than feeling nothing, my Lord.” With one last bow, the priestess swept away, passing the Lady of Autumn as the doors closed.

Eris didn’t pay attention to his mother, not when you were shivering in his arms. He sighed softly, bringing you closer to his warmth, letting the fire that breathed under his skin warm you. Fingers ran through your tangled hair, trying to undo the knots that came upon you while you were asleep.

“Why did you let (Y/N) into the Forest House?” Lady of Autumn asked her son, finally breaking up the silence of that room.

It had been a day after the incident — a day after you had taken the arrow that should have taken his life. A day since the priestess worked their magic to try to save you from the brink of death.

Eris had been nothing but a statue, forgoing his duties as the Heir of Autumn Court to just sit in that very room, watching you breathe — as if afraid that if he turned away from your body, you would disappear.

He glanced up at his mother for a moment before he leaned down to bury his head into the crook of your shoulder, the feeling and sound of your breathing calming him, reassuring him that you were still alive in his arms.

“Why did you have to —-”

“Mother…” he breathed out, interrupting her question.

Lady Autumn raised a brow, lips pressing as she allowed her son to explain.

“Imagine there is someone you wanted to protect, would do anything to protect. And you realize… that the person you wanted nothing more to protect was in danger because of you. What would you do?”

Eris shifted so he could lay you back on the bed, gently laying you down on your stomach as the priestess told him to do. He sat at the edge of the bed, tugging the bedsheet to cover your lower half, allowing your back to breathe in the cooling air.

“I would do whatever in my power… to ensure their safety…” she answered him.

Eris ran his hand down your back gently once more before he stood up, his feet dragging him over to the window as amber hues stared out into his Court.

“And that’s what I did, Mother… That night, after I had killed Tharetiur, his blood splattered on the wood of that cabin. After (Y/N) had fallen asleep in my bed, I stepped out into the night, wondering what I could do to ensure she was safe. I couldn’t let her go home, not after running for god knows how long to warn me of Tharetiur’s assassination attempt.

“… I had turned to Drucand —-” Eris’s right hand, one of the few people in Autumn Court he could trust with his life, “—-I asked him, ‘Where is the safest place in all of Prythian?’ I watched as Drucan stared at me for a moment, as if I asked a stupid question, before reaching for the holster of his sword…”

Eris remembered how Drucand pulled that holster from his waist and proceeded to hand him his sword.

“’ Heir of Autumn Court, the first son of Beron and Lady Autumn. The Heir whose blood runs with flames. The safest place… would be in your arms, with your fire and sword in hand.’”

A laugh broke out of Eris, his head shaking at the thought.

“I wanted to send her off, wanted to keep the distance between myself and her… But, I couldn’t. And I started to selfishly think that keeping her by my side, with that sword in my hand, might be the most reasonable solution to ensure her safety. I thought… that no danger would touch a hair on her head, not when I would protect her as my hounds do for me…

“But I failed… I failed, Mother…”

Eris turned around and faced his mother, tears finally breaking through his composure. His voice shook at every confession and every truth he thought knew.

“…It seemed that the Gods and the Mother above had led me to her. Fated us to be together… and yet ripped us apart the moment they thought we had gotten too close. That I had gotten too close to her. It seemed that they used her… her kindness, her warmth, her love… as punishment for me and my discretions…”

Eris believed with his whole being that you were his eternal punishment — for forgetting his promise to forget you, to punish him for yearning for you. Your kiss with death… was his punishment for falling in love with you.

The Heir watched as his mother let out a light sob before rushing towards him, holding him in her arms as he broke — as he finally broke. Eris sobbed, his body collapsing onto the ground in the arms of his mother, his hands wrapping around her as he grasped her shoulders, his body shuddering and breaking.

All because he had failed to protect you.

Amber eyes focused on your body once more, as he slipped out of the memory, the tears drying on his cheeks, determination in the depths of his eyes.

“(Y/N)… I had brought you into my life out of a momentary desire. A want, a selfish want, rather than a need. You were no longer the Goddess that I could bask in your light and warmth. You became a person — a living, breathing person — someone who cried and smiled… someone who showed your heart on your sleeve despite living in a Court that could use that against you.

“You showed me that you were like me, alive. I got to know you, your little habits — how you would bite your nails in concentration, how you would fiddle with the ends of your hair when you were nervous. You were an open book — one that I read so easily and greedily.”

How could he resist falling in love with you?

He couldn’t.

Not when you had accepted his flaws, accepted the darkest side of him — and in the end never turned your back on him. You had stuck next to him, in the horrors of his own Court, sticking out your neck for him every second.

How could he not fall in love with you and declare to let you leave?

How could he just have let you go like that? Not when you weaved your soul into his heart and stole it for yourself.

He couldn’t live without your hand in his, your body next to his own in the dead of the night. He couldn’t live without you.

But yet, there he was, he had been so close to losing you. To the terrors of his brother.

He didn’t regret it.

He didn’t regret the bloodshed that night after Drucand had taken your body from his arms.

All he saw was red, and he had no hesitance in taking Drucand’s sword, using his powers to wrap it in flames, and slaughtering his brothers in front of his father and mother.

There had been no ounce of regret in his blood at the sight of their bodies on those marble floors, blood pooling around them. He stared at his father with a glare, before handing Drucand the blood-covered sword back and taking your wounded body into his arms and striding out.

Eris would kill for you, again and again, if he had to. He would cover himself in blood… a sword in his hands, all for you. He would burn Prythian in flames… all so that he would never lose you again.

It was such a dangerous thought.

You were a dangerous addiction to him.

“(Y/N)… What if…”

There was only one way for him to fulfill his promise — his promise to the Gods, to the Mother.

He leaned over your body, his hand gently running down your leg, over your calf, and grasping your foot.

“What if I would carve my heart out, severing my feelings for you… Would that be enough to protect you and keep you alive from the dangers of my life?”

Eris pressed a kiss against the top of your foot, a notion of devotion from the Heir of Autumn Court.

“If that would be the case… then I would gladly take my sword, and hand you my bleeding heart. To show my eternal devotion and my love for you…”

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #eris x reader #eris angst #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar fandom #eris vanserra x reader #( .inbox request: notions of devotion )#( .inbox request )

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noroi1000 · 1 year

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can i request a reader x gojo royal au where gojo is the famous crown prince of an extremely powerful empire and reader is the famous yet infamous commander of the imperial knight who's known for their great looks and beauty and being unbeatable and ruthlessly powerful monster because they've never lost a battle no matter his powerful and/or big opponent is. for some person preferences abt the reader is that they're tall ( as gojo or nearly as him ) and 2-3 years older than him and because gojo n reader are like known as the strongest n deadliest duo , this also causes reader x gojo to be "shipped" which is one of the many reasons ppl think reader will be the future empress and gojo loves the reader a lot n reader does too , it's just they love him "lesser"(?) .

also if u write this and might add nsfw which is preferable as well but also ok if u don't. but if u write i'd prefer the reader to be the more dominant one.

Commander

Paring: prince Gojo Satoru x commander Fem reader (royal AU)

Cw: 3.1k

Tw:, violence, smut (overstimulation, blowjob, dom! reader, sub!Gojo, he is a good boy)

"Everyone at attention! Your commander is coming!"

All the people who served for the imperial army were terrified.

The word "commander is coming" is something the rookies especially didn't want to hear. They don't know the commander. They don't know what kind of person he will be.

Often the commander is a person with great experience in battles. "He" perfectly knows strategies and can manage all people. "He" must also be able to fight, and be at the highest level. Like the mightiest warrior among others who can fight.

Power cannot be attributed to the kingdom. Power, wealth, power. Respect of others. And also that the people adore the ruler, as well as the heir to the throne. In this kingdom, the best is for people. There are no cruel conditions. And all this invites travelers and merchants to come. They then make the kingdom richer.

And the more money there is that can be spent on defending and improving conditions, the better it is for people.

There can only be one mightiest warrior.

According to everyone, it can be.

The most powerful duo. It couldn't be.

According to other kingdoms, as well as the elders living within the borders themselves, the heir to the throne is the most powerful.

A person who intimidates an enemy with just a glance. Someone who, being on the battlefield when needed, has never been hurt. For example, when there is a chance that the opponent will surrender peacefully and peace should be made under conditions.

The reason for the lack of battle wounds and scars is how trained this man is to fight. And also that the person to be called the strongest is also the commander who does not leave the side of his ruler.

Someone considered a monster. A man who can single-handedly defeat a group of intimidating opponents. Including the most armed, largest and heaviest. Like a walking and killing lump of iron.

Anyone who heard about the stories must have been scared.

The new men who joined the troops were afraid of meeting the general.

They were often surprised.

There was one thing that happened every time the others were surprised. A few always had to resist. And then they humbly put their faces on the ground. Until the rest realized that the commander is no joke.

"Attention! nits! Don't embarrass me in front of the great commander!" shouted the commander of this detachment.

Hearing soft noises and footsteps, many people wanted to turn around and look.

Curiosity was the death of fools. It was doom. Even being in a place with people who are on the same side.

Even the curiosity about the commander and the look could become something that will determine the future.

You are placed above other squad leaders.

Many have not dared to look at the "monster" who commands them. For as long as they had the chance. They didn't look. They followed orders without hesitation. They all knew that dying at the hands of the enemy would be easier than pissing off the general and making their lives worse than dying.

As always, something happened that others can warn against. Not showing respect.

You steered your legs the way you always did. Forward without looking back. Paying no attention to the people who bowed to you and showed you respect.

You wanted one person to give you attention. Nobody from here. Someone you see every day, but it's still not enough.

You love how the crown prince holds you in his arms. Or you love how you can hold it.

You are the great commander. And also the commander of the squad that is supposed to guard his majesty.

No. You are a general, but you only appear on the battlefield. You command an elite protecting the most important people. You are not very famous as a person. You're famous for fighting. You have no say in political matters. Why? Because you're not a man…

You are a strategist for the prince and the emperor. You are so powerful that the kingdom's elite soldiers are nothing.

You rule troops and other commanders. However, you cannot show yourself to the elders because they will not recognize you as a true fighting leader.

You're tall, you can fight. But you have feminine shapes. And also beauty.

Everyone is afraid of you as a "monster" that destroys the enemy.

You are infamous as you. But everyone has heard of a monster that defeats opponents twice as large.

You are recognized as the commander of the Emperor's Guard. They have great respect for you. But as more than that, you can't say that.

Even though they know your strength, to most men in the entire military, you're just a woman. And they won't let you order them around.

Your beloved is called famous but infamous. There's nothing unpleasant about that.

That's why most don't know you as you. Everyone tells stories about an invincible person who has survived so many fights that it is impossible to count them. That this person is someone very powerful and terrible. They think that when you look at the commander, you can die.

You can do a lot. And you're not going to react to how others think of you. Let them think what they want. Those who don't know you will live in fear of you. Those who get to know you will either accept it or not. They may die in combat. Or learn a lesson from you if they piss you off too much.

You sighed as you walked forward.

"Toru… You don't know how much I wish I was with you right now and not here…" You groaned as you looked up at the sky that reminded you so much of his eyes.

You saw a group of people standing at attention.

You were supposed to go to them… Why exactly you… Anyone else could have given the squad commander a place to guard the boundaries…

You were supposed to go to the throne room today. To your Satoru. You've known each other almost since you were little.

From the beginning of your acquaintance, they say that you will be the future empress.

That's what Satoru says, just like his father. And also everyone around.

Ignoring the slightly bowing people to your left, you gave the squad leader a message about where to go.

Everything was supposed to be so easy. As soon. If only one person didn't answer.

"What the hell is that?! This is supposed to be the strongest commander? That famous commander? I will not serve under a woman!"

"Begins…" you thought and rolled your eyes.

"You have no right to undermine the position of someone above you!" shouted the commander next to you.

Out of many other commanders, he is the one who has the most respect for you. A middle-aged man, he may be getting old, but you have nothing against him. A man trained as a samurai is someone you could show respect to. However, you are on friendly terms.

If everything ended now, you'd be with Satoru in half an hour.

But apparently you need to deal with the asshole. Because he just pisses you off. There's nothing else you can do. You like your position. And also that you can see how people like them must be lower than you. That you can be next to Satoru and they have to bow down.

You turned to look at everyone. Most of them didn't meet your eyes. Not even on you.

"Whoever said that, step down!" you said loudly, waiting for him to appear in front of you.

The squad leader ordered everyone else to move away. Because he knew what was about to happen.

As one man stood in the middle, you adjusted your hair as well as loose clothing.

You never wear armor. If you put something on, it's only on your forearms and knees.

Same now.

Plus, Satoru made you wear something he likes on you. And armor is not his dream sight.

And since you are his guard, he chose the clothes for you. The imperial guard stands out from

You jumped off the platform and stood three meters in front of him.

"Give him a weapon. A sword, a spear. Whatever." you said resting your wrist on the katana by your side.

You can't walk around unarmed.

"If you win against me, you will take my place as commander of the Emperor's guard." You said dismissively.

The commander behind you was already grabbing his head, thinking about preparing a stretcher to take a man who could soon be dead.

You thought the one standing in front of you was disgusting in his own way. About your height, which is tall. A head with unwashed black hair, a neglected face with stubble on it.

You don't know if you're the only one in this group who thinks he's disgusting.

Honestly, you wouldn't want to touch someone that dirty.

You have nothing against dirt and blood. However, sweat and dirt sticking to it repel you. You feel like you're about to cringe just thinking about the smell.

Satoru never smells like that. He's quite different from this man.

Would you let someone like that stand by Satoru's side?

You closed the distance between you.

"Draw your sword. Whoever makes the deadly move first wins. Cutting off the opponent's limbs also wins." You said calmly.

Next to you, the commander stopped counting, and suddenly gave a shout to start.

Swinging in your direction, the guy didn't feel his hands drop the sword through the pain, and there was a blade at his neck.

You only used the blunt part of the sword to disarm him. You didn't think it would be this easy.

Another shout of the older man next to him signaled the end of the "duel".

"That's why you have no right to challenge my position. You're a piece of shit that can't hold a sword long enough." You turned around and started walking towards the path leading to the emperor's mansion. To the palace where you can finally meet your Satoru.

You heard some screams behind you. You turned sideways to notice the light reflecting off the metal sword as the blade got closer and closer to your face.

You ducked away. You hit the blunt part of your sword against the front of his knees.

You straightened up and sheathed your sword.

The guy behind you fell on his face crying in pain.

"His bones fell out of joints. Adjust it and it will be better." you said ignoring his crying.

Standing in front of the sliding door, you waited for them to let you in.

"Gojo-sama. Commander of the imperial troops , (y/n) (l/n), came." You heard them inform him.

Hold back a smile just hearing his voice.

"(y/n)? Let her in quickly." he said.

You walked inside, watching him as he sat on the soft mat.

"Everyone leave right now." he waved his hand, throwing everyone out of the room.

As the door closed behind you, you smiled at him.

He extended his hand to you, inviting you closer.

You quickly walked over to him and jumped into his lap, cuddling up to his arm.

"Bunch of idiots… Satoru… I don't want to waste my time like this anymore…"

"So you will stay with me all the time. What do you think?" he asked wrapping his arms around you.

"What about my job?"

"You still work but next to me. It's the same." He chuckled.

"You're right."

"Do you know… My father said he wanted to give you a different, more enjoyable job."

"What?" You asked, holding onto his clothes as he maneuvered your thighs so you could hug him tighter.

"Be my empress."

"…That again…" you groaned. You don't know if you're ready for this. But that would really be the best.

"What? You're so strong and beautiful."

A slight blush appeared on your cheeks.

"And you're so cute when you blush." He grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

There's something else you love about this filtering, handsome prince…

His face when he submits to you in everything. And also that he allows you to be the one who dominates him.

"You're cute too, Satoru." You said smiling.

You suddenly wrapped your thighs around his waist and squeezed tight.

Also settling more firmly on his crotch.

He grunted blushing.

"(y/n)…"

You felt his muscles tense. He grabbed your hips and started to get up.

"Do you think I can't get up like this?" he asked, smiling smugly.

"Try it if you really want to."

You gripped his arms tighter.

You're not that small. You are high. Higher than anyone could have expected.

The prince is very tall. Over 190 centimeters. And you're less than 10 centimeters shorter than him. There's not much of a height difference between you two.

Anyone these days would say that a woman must be beautiful to her husband and submit to him.

But nobody told you that Satoru is so cute when he moans for you. And you weren't told that the crown prince is such a sweet boy when he does what you tell him to do.

"You're so strong…" you murmured, whispering in his ear.

He walked a few meters to his feet and laid you down on the bed.

"To you I am strong. As are you to me. My little commander."

You smiled as he ran his fingers lightly down your thighs.

"Be a good boy and lie down next to me, okay?" You patted the spot on the bed.

"I am your prince. Shouldn't I be ordering you around?" He smiled and his body pulled at you

"oh yeah. You're my prince, but you're cute when you do what I tell you. And you also know that my orders are good for you. Also, remember I'm older." You showed him the spot on the bed again.

"Two years isn't much, you know that, right?"

He moved closer and suddenly laid down next to you.

"But you listened to me. You like it. Now lie down. I'll work on you a bit."

You sat on his lap, already rocking your hips.

You can already tell it's getting hard. After all, he really liked it when you called him a good boy.

You know he's big. Sometimes that's an exaggeration. But you're doing great. You can even destroy it. You know the ways to make him moan and cry for you. He looks so sweet then.

You noticed him staring at your chest.

"Do you want to get it off of me?" You asked looking into his eyes.

He smiled and nodded.

"I'll let you if you promise to show me how good you are."

He stared at you for a moment before nodding his head blushing. He knew what you meant.

You stopped moving your hips, helping him get your clothes off well.

You promised him something, so even the fact that he groaned sadly when he lost the friction didn't stop him from having fun.

You promised him that whatever was pleasant for you would also be pleasant for him.

By the time you sat completely naked on his hips again, he was completely hard.

"You're perverted. What are you imagining?"

"How you ride me. How you moan. How you come."

"We'll see who comes."

You grabbed all the layers of his clothes and pushed them away until you had perfect access to his throbbing cock.

You got off of him, settling between his legs. You touched the inside of his thigh, signaling him to spread his legs more.

Then you wrapped one hand around its base, lazily dragging your fingers higher and higher.

His chest began to rise faster and faster as you placed your fingers on either side of his cock, already under the head. You lightly squeezed and massaged.

Holding it that way, you leaned in, licking the base of it and placing a kiss on his testicles. Hearing his moan made you feel a pleasant shiver down your legs.

You ran your tongue along the vein running by the side of his penis, all the way to the tip where you sucked mercilessly, causing him to moan further.

You pulled away seeing a drop of pre-sperm appear on the tip of it, slowly dripping down its tip.

You put your thumb on his cleft.

Without looking at his contorted face in a grimace, you only listened to his moans.

Especially when you started petting him quickly, adding kisses on his head.

"(y-y/n)… I… I'm going to cum…" he groaned breathlessly. His hips twitched, pushing his length into your hands.

As his breathing quickened even more, you pulled away from him. Almost seeing him cry as his orgasm left him.

"Just a moment. Be patient for a while." You said reassuringly.

You got up to kneel over him.

You swung one leg over his hips and used two fingers to align his cock with your entry.

When you were sure he wouldn't come the moment he entered you, you plopped down on top of him quickly, keeping him inside without moving.

Letting your pussy squeeze and suck him in.

You've also gotten used to stretching. It's not over today.

You rolled your hips a few times, and the moment he threw his head back and gasped, you lifted your hips, leaving him without touch. Again.

Before he could say anything, you placed his length over his stomach and pressed your bottom lips against his circumference, driving your hips back and forth.

His soft grunts and moans didn't escape so your ears couldn't hear them. You heard everything and lived his pleasure.

"I'm–"

Before he could finish, you took his cock and rubbed the head against your clit.

"Cum." you ordered.

His cock twitched and white semen flowed out of the slit, hitting your clit. You let him go, watching him shoot at his stomach and even his chest.

He put his hand over his eyes as he breathed to calm himself down and get off the high.

When he was done, you grabbed his softening cock and gave him a few push-ups, making sure he was done.

You rubbed the wet tip a few times, hearing your prince hiss from overstimulation.

Unfortunately, this is just the beginning.

You guided him to your entrance with both hands, stopping his softening. He was going to harden now.

He moaned loudly as your pussy stretched over him, grabbing him and pulling him deeper inside.

He grabbed your thighs, showing his completely red face.

"Give me a moment…" he moaned, holding you still.

You moved your hips slightly, testing him. He tilted his head back.

You ran your fingers over his chest muscles, collecting white droplets before putting your fingers in your mouth.

"This time we'll come together. Hands above your head. Let me work on you. The more you obey, the less you will wait for rest."

610 notes · View notes

cherrsnut · 4 months

Text

Hostage - Chapter 4

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 8.1 k

Previous // Next

Chapter 4

Breathe. Just breathe. Just like what Edna said.

The palms of your hands kept your face hidden. You were completely still, were it not for the trembles running along your spinal chord. Just remember what Edna taught you.

Almost as if your late mentor were in her flesh and bones standing in front of you, with her usual critical frown looking down at you, you tried to breathe. Mouth agape, you sucked in air, so much so, the oxygen filled your lungs.

It shoudn’t have surprised you in the least when the air particles felt heavier than normal, not with the countless times you were in this very position.

So hopeless, and so hurt. It was especially that, a thundering spark hit you straight in the chest and it felt like your heart had collapsed in surrender. You hiccuped more breaths, the unbearable pain swirling and expanding throughout your body as the air squeezed itself in the inflamed throat, a throat abused by what felt like multiples splinters penetrating the back of your tongue.

Oh, Edna, how much you missed her. She was everything you had. She was your warm home after a freezing storm, she was your teacher and caregiver, and she was your saviour sent for you to have another chance in life. That last thought hurt more, how much she struggled to raise you in such an unforgiving world, only for her efforts to be spent in vain. All the efforts she put into the woman you were now, all your knowledge, all your ideals, all your empathy; none of it mattered now when you would die out into the battlefield.

The Capitol were stripping away all of Edna's perseverance throughout her life. First it was the Peacekeepers trying to take down and dismantle Edna’s and your’s name, and now they were trying to kill all knowledge Edna curated through the only living and breathing version of her, you. Now, you were going to be gone soon. And when you’d be buried under the hard stones, so did everything Edna did to contribute to the world.

You gulped down a whine. Edna’s death was still submerged in your mind, like a hungry shark after smelling the most endearing blood drops scattered aorund in the ample sea. You still missed her, you longed for her heartily touch, for the cruel words that deep down you knew came from a place of love, for her warm presence against her cold facade, and you absolutely missed the way she looked at you, those blue greyish eyes that whispered doting poems about you in her head, never to be revealed and to be otherwise kept hidden hidden within her soul even in her deathbed.

You were squinting your eyes, just as another tear threatened to spill all over your burning face. “Oh, fuck” you cursed between slow breaths. You went to grab the only thing that gave you comfort in that moment, alcohol. The wine was resting by your feet, camouflaged by your dark room.

It was dimly lit, only to be illuminated by a red lamp sitting by your night stand, whose light bulb also stemmed from the same crimson colour.

It was then you remembered the stories Edna used to tell you when it was past your bed time, and you supposed even in the surviving light of the already dark room, it would still salvage you from the night terrors.

You took a sip from the mouth of the bottle, and let the fresh liquid relieving your burning ache. The bottle was around halfway through, and you supposed you had a good resistance to it. That or your helpless body felt too overpowered by the grieving memories you still wanted to cling to.

Another gulp, you didn’t want to think of her, but how coudn’t you? Everything you built yourself up to be, every dream or moment of motivation was because of her.

You still wanted to live. That was what caused you most pain. Your pathetic mental state still whispered to keep going, to never give up in the face of danger. You still wanted to cure people, you liked that, right?

That was your role in the town, to heal anyone who needed it. The whole point of your little existence was to help anyone who neded some healing, no matter how insignificant it may be. And for what? Where did empathic heart of yours take you? Straight to your umbearable pain you’d have to endure in the arena, like a trident piercing straight to your unnerving heart.

You were nothing but a puppet to play with, and the more gruesome your death, the better. You coudn’t help your thought to follow that tormenting path. How would you die? Would it be just like what you had seen on the screen? A rusty knife to your neck? An arrow to your head? Or would you decapitated? You’d seen this when you were younger. You’d been barely ten then, and that’s the first and only time you had been able to see any scene from the Hunger Games.

Two more corners and to the right, that was the direction you had to take to get to the Herbal Shop, which meant you’d pass by the town’s plaza. You could only remember bits and pieces of the leading up, afterall your brain dictated that to be insignificant, but you fairly recalled that you were filled with newly cut supplies of essential herbs. Edna was by your side, she always was when she went out to collect her ingredients to make up new medicinal oils; maybe she always tagged you along with her to teach you, or just simply because she never fully trusted you to do the job by yourself correctly.

Walking by the familial streets, you would have ignored the otherwise lively plaza, often switching on any type of distracting sounds, and passing it by simple white noise. But this time, a foreign sound you hadn’t internalized took you out immediately, stopping in your tracks and following your head to see the unexpected commotion you never remembered seeing.

It was a loud shriek, the one only a mother could do while witnessing the torture of their own child.

She was many feet away, and you coudn’t quite see her face. All you had taken in was the how her lone sobs echoed in every corner and alleyway, just like a telltale from a ghost roaming the streets of your town in a hurry to find their already dead son.

It was in that moment you looked up, a big screen showing the livestreaming of the Hunger Games. You hadn’t seen the fight play out, and by the time your eyes took in the glimpse of what was performing, the Executioner’s act was done. There were two males, one whose hand held the axe of what sealed the fate of the deceased one on the floor, its head ditached from the rest of his body. You didn’t know from which District they were both, and you could only assume the decapitated one represented District 4. The other male, released his grip of his weapon and fell down behind him, retorting his facial expression in self-disgust, as he had sunked in the sin he just committed, just as the eyes of the one he killed, slowly faded into nothing but a vacant lot.

Edna pulled you by the sleeves of your soiled shirt, and muttered a “Let’s go” before the both of you left the mourning mother to be handled by a few passerbyers who seeked to give her comfort.

You nodded to your mentor, but your eyes still stayed on the mother crying out in pain, begging for whatever holy spirit to bring back her child in one piece.

That memory was connected to another one. It had been months since your first time ever seeing the cruelty of the games, and the memory was very much still in your mind, even more when you closed your eyes and tried to sleep. The first month was the worst, having to wake up from very real bloody images from nightmares and scared to even fall back as sleep in the terror you’d find them once again.

But after months you slowly got back to your usual self, one that mixed very well your constant exhaustion and your love to sleep as many hours as you could, without any type of night monster to invade your dreams.

So one day you came back to the Herbal Shop after being ordered to go and buy ingredients that were going to fill your bellies for the week. You asked Edna something that the older Carriers said in passing.

“If I were to be decapitated, would I live for a few seconds more before I died?” that was your question. “Sometimes” was what she answered. “In some scenarios, you could take up at thirty seconds whilst still being alive, even without having your head” she developed further her previous answer.

Did that mean that was a possibility for you? For you to still having to feel that uberable pain of a stranger sawing yout head off, in those slow and excruciatingly painful thirty seconds? You hated thinking about this.

And there went your third gulp of the wine, all so you’d drown yourself in misery. You appreciated the sparkling of the wine, popping bubbled bursts against your blocked off despairing throat.

You thought of her again. You stopped your movements, not even the beverage was keeping you from thinking about your dead mentor. You set it down back to its previous place, next to your feet. Your fingers traced up every cell of your face, and stopped to rest you palms on your forehead. Your fingers snaked to to find a comfortable place just by the front of your hairline. And you cried, you couldn't do anything but cry out in pain.

“Edna” you whined so high pitched you didn’t recognize your own voice. Your cries and breaths stayed in that unnatural tone you had imposed yourself. Breathing hesistantely and desperately, while trying to taking in as many puffs of air as possible, and yet it was never sufficient for you. Your humid lashes found themselves completely wet, as waves of tears swam across your hot cheeckbones.

Your eyes we tired, but at the same time, not tired enough for your depressed form, and definetely not tired enough for your cries to bounce from every sharp corner of your room.

A hand clasped around your shoulder. You were so deep into your own wretched form, you hadn’t noticed someone just came in. A thorn of embarrassment prickled your skin at the thought of someone seeing you cry as uncontrollable as you. And even if that thorn hurt you, there were still a million more stuck in the pores of your back from each and every mistake, regret and mourn from your years lived in your short life, it was easy for your to quickly ignore that one.

You had been told that the walls were soundproof, that no one would be able to hear a peep coming from inside. And after Scarlett’s big talk about the trust she had in the technology of the Capitol, about just how “Top notch” the privacy was. You willingly gave into her prideful mouth, without considering the little fact that the door may be easy to acces in. Naturally, you felt ripped off, privacy my ass.

Mags’s fingers snaked her way up your face, like a snake in the name of retribution, and changing their biting nature into something calming and sweet. She moved your face to hers, and the sweetest smile decorated her pretty wrinkled lips.

“I’m fine” a hoarse breath left your mouth. Those words you kept repeating again and again, today. A lie that didn’t even convince your stammering mind, which was soon to be lost in the gray anyway.

“Really…” you tried to persuade Mags, although the undertone was still directed in reassuring yourself. Because you were the only one who could keep you in check, you were the only one that was able to comfort yourself.

The elder simply looked at you for many seconds, an intense glare slowly finding the cracked pieces of your irises you had worked so hard to hide them to the rest of the world. And this truth, only hurt Mags more.

You realized the woman sitting beside you wasn’t just a person of a few words, but rather she never said anything. And even as silence prevailed your saddening room, she very much felt present in there. Her comforting stace eased the nauseating pain you were enduring all by yourself.

Her fingertips drew a ticklish circle around your cheek, and pushed back a string of hair behind your ear. The action itself whispered sweet nothings, affectionate acts in the form of unspoken words, all because of her empathy towards you.

She always was persistent with herself, if she were to be mentor of many fallen Tributes, she would still lift her head high and carry on her duty as effectively as she could. Especially considering Finnick returned from the arena, it was then, she was sure she wanted to learn about the people from her District, and wanted to see them grow as adults, no matter how slim their chances of their survival actually were.

A wider smile. The wrinkles that stayed in her face, the lines of a visual representation of her old an frail body, and yet still peaceful and optimistic in the face of the cruel fate of this world.

Another glint of hope came across her eyes as her hands moved down to your back, while the other stayed at the side of your face. The exhaustion from your long day finally crashing down, and you felt the weight of your head leaning against her smooth palm.

“Edna… She was my teacher…” You explained to Mags. It wasn’t like she had asked you personally, but you felt like you had to get it off your chest. Maybe it was from your tiredness, or perhaps you simply just moved another stage of vulnerability with Mags, but your fuzzy mind gave up on the idea of trying to switch topics, and for the first time, you had found yourself someone who was more stubborn than you.

The elder was in a way familiar with the way she tried to comfort everyone she deemed necessary for her reassuring eyes, but she was nothing like Edna. Both of them were total polar opposites, but even being so different from each other, you found a piece of Edna inside of her, the sweet motherly care of helping the younger folks, to be present in their good, bad, and their dirt. Even being so different, they still fell under the same identical box, they showed them this delicate and vulnerable side, even to the people outside their family, to total strangers that were goners.

You coudn’t stop once you started. Mags never gave a hint or indication she had asked for the identity of your passed mentor, or what it had meant for you for so many years. But a little voice whispered your brain to keep going, and let our your innermost feelings run wild instead of keeping it hidden for so many years like you had.

“She found me when I was four. And she took me in” you cracked your voice. The spilling tears were dampening Mags palm, squeezing themselves between her fingers and flowing to her wrist and down her arm. God, this was painful. You felt absolutely naked right then, so see-through to her, so vulnerable you could be stomped in any minute. Like a little lost kitten scared of the wide world. You didn’t like that, it was foreign and it felt very much out of your own control. But the demanding sensation only kept resisting against your opposing thoughts.

“She didn’t have to, but she did. And for that, I’ll be in forever debt with her.” you sobbed harder, trying to hide back a cough from your raging salty tears streaming to the corner of your mouth, following further into your inflamed throat.

Mags only looked at you, a sad smile hanging from the rest of her melancholic expression. You scanned her features more, from her sypmtathetic eyes to her nose and mouth, tracing her face with your very red and traveling eyes.

You looked back up at her eyes, just as if they were calling for yours. Begging you to look up at her calming ones. You almost skipped a beat, feeling like something with heavy weight crashed down your heart. Her eyes were filled so many different things that would drive you to the edge of a cliff, to submerge further into the depths of the salty foam you were growing used to. She showed a vulnerable side of her, or perhaps they were telling you, you were safe in her arms and gaze.

But the thing that startled you most, was her dearing gaze to you, filled with the honey-love you grew distant since Edna’s death. Something you thought you forgot, and you never imagined Mags would be the next person to give that to you. It shocked you for a second, all because you had confused her for Edna for a moment.

“Oh, Mags” you cried lowly. You swung yourself to you new mentor, wrapping around your arms around her frail and much smaller body. You found stability by the back of her neck, leaning deeper into her touch. You didn’t want her seeing you so broken down and depressed. You didn’t want to have see her roaming eyes promising you a new home you could stay the night. You hated it, because everything Mags did, reminded you of Edna, and the hurt that came from her returning image clasped in your tumultuous mind.

Mags just grabbed your scalp and drew lovely circles around it, keeping you closer to her. The helpless you, coudn’t help but sob harder against her shoulder, screaming out the pain you kept hidden and locked away from everyone else to see.

Maybe tonight you’d stay by Mags warm house. In a way, it made you feel closer to Edna, or at least the presence she left on earth. The ghostly finger touches you had oh so missed trailed up your back, and it turned your hair on end by the vertical column, just as if the spirit of Edna was standing beside you, wanting to give you the touches she missed giving you. Yeah, you’d stay by Mag’s tonight.

Mags was resurfacing nostalgic memories of Edna, the ones you missed the most about the time you had spent with your mentor together. And maybe for tonight, you’d stay by Mag’s to feel closer to the ghost of the person you loved the most. But only for tonight, because you knew too well it was not worth getting used to someone’s love too much, not when your days alive were numbered.

Your senses were completely numbed, aside from that disgusting taste in your tongue. You coughed up some more, while your eyes swelled up with tiny prickly tears. They didn’t come from sadness, but from an overexertion of your body. You felt like your face was stomped by giant feet, just as you tried to squeeze your throat to purge the remaining acidic vomit.

And once your started, you coudn’t stop the little squirts exerting out your tongue. You coughed again, your hand gripping tight onto the toilet cover that was leaning up. Its not like it was dark, the automatic lights had found your clumsy movements the very moment you had walked into the bathroom, and in the sheer brightness of the room, the was lamp neatly placed on the middle of the ceiling.

The shining light was betraying your vision by the sheer brightness in the middle of the dark night, and you thanked that your head was covering the main source, otherwise the lamp would burned right behind your pupils. And while you were only able to squint just slightly your eyes, you could very much take in the piece of art of your vomit right in front of you.

An escaped grunt hoarsed through every vocal chord you could muster, the sight of the shortcakes you had to expulse from your belly, as a means to get rid off the alcohol in your system. You lamented then, having to see the mushy lumps of a pale yellow colour that left you as equally revolting in both your mouth and sight.

You closed your eyes in exhaustion. You were in a horrible state. A line of saliva, slightly pigmented of that horrible color, travelled down to join what used to be the delicate food of the Capitol. You spat down into the toilet a few times more, desperately trying to take away the acidic taste that seemed to only grow stronger by the second.

Your hand traveled wobbly to get toilet paper. It clanged and banged everywhere before achieving the simple task of getting something to clean yourself up. You gripped onto the piece of paper and fastly brought it up to your mouth.

The claustrophobia from the tiny compact space you locked yourself in was starting to eat your soul away, and you let another blasphemial word as another of the many waves of nausea hit you point blank.

A flashing light filled your sight for barely a second, knocking yourself to the side of the toilet. You recomposed yourself, at least tried to by using the wall to lean your back with. And all because of the rapid movement of snatching away the toilet paper so your fingers wouldn't get lost in the way back. You were in a horrible state.

Your fingertips brushed past your lips against the thin layered paper, in hopes it would take away remains of the vomit scattered around the corners of your mouth, your mind was too fuzzy to even deal with the possibility that your clothes may be stained by the disgusting substance. All the while, cursing at yourself for the moment you had the genius idea to drink as a means to ease your depressive state.

Another spit joined the purged covered inside of the toilet bowl. More tired breaths ragged around in the air of the bathroom. Anyone would assume you had run away from an angry bear with the determination filled in her mind of protecting her cubs. And while you were trying to escape her grasp, the mother bear saw the opportunity for their next meal in you; of course, this would have been an interesting anecdote, if it weren't for the fact that you never came across a bear in your life, with the addition that you were in a slightly different situation, a story that had to do with decorating with putrid the inside of the toilet.

You threw away the stained paper, and flushed it. Earning a mentally pat on your back, no matter how silly, you were proud you were able to do that much.

Next step, you needed to leave the bathroom. You managed to get on your feet by gripping your hand onto the sink. Somehow, by using your whole force of your nonexistat tricep muscles, you got up in a stamering manner. Moaning after noticing your legs were trembling

Your feet had a big gap in between, and you once again cursed, this time outwardly at the sudden realization, your drunken legs refused to move accordingly. Just as if they had a brain on their own, and claiming they were to tired to do the task, and completely shut off. You coudn’t feel your knees, and that was good indicator, that your legs were going to be really difficult to handle for your mission, which consisted of making your way to your room.

You coudn’t believe your head was the most sober of all the your body parts, and now you had to manage your disoriented legs that didn’t seem to know from left to right.

Another flash of nausea slapped you across the face, leaving your head hunged low. You were glad your hands were still holding onto dear life to the sink. Otherwise you were sure you would have fallen face down to the pretty white tiles of the floor. And you would have lost some teeth for sure, you drunkenly thought.

This was a bad idea. You moved your head to see your own reflection, but you coudn’t. Everything was just jumbles of your eyes and mouth disorderly moved against each other. Even when you concentrated your glare to see yourself in the real you, what reflected back seemed the picture drawn by a small infant with no sense of direction or scale. You were absolutely wasted.

You groaned at your clumsy eyesight, and the more you seemed to curse at yourself, it became more nervous, and the moving images became more agitated. You blinked slowly in the low hopes it would help your vision to become more stable.

“Fuck…” you hoarsed out. The alcohol was still burning you in your veins. You had gotten to the bathroom to take out the uncontrollable depressant. But even when vomiting it out, you soon realized you had gotten worse, and you groaned at the idea that maybe pure alcohol filled your senses now that your only source of food was gone.

“Shit, fuck” you continued on, you didn’t know what else to say but curse at everything, and especially at yourself. You just needed to get to your room, it would take twenty steps at most. You gulped down hard readying yourself to do what seemed the most difficult task known to mankind.

“Just twenty steps” your words jumbled around in the thin air, the nonsense of what came out of your vocal chords were soon lost anyway. You sighed, and your eyes locked onto the door handle, or at least the best it could with your drunk eyes. With a mental slap on the back to fill you up in determination, you found your target for your next move.

You counted to three and jumped to your target to find stability from your lazy legs that didn't want to work. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, which was probably from the nausea disturbing all your six senses. A despairing emotion run along with the intoxicated drug in your veins; just as you brushed past the shining metal handle, so close you could feel the cold emanating from it, someone opened it before you could even touch it. And that was enough for your body to try and convince your stubborn mind to simply give up.

You fell down, just by the feet of a person you coudn’t help but feel nothing but resentment. Your head was out the doorway, in full view of the dimly lit salon car.

Your already migraine got worse from the impact, and now you had to deal with not only the internal pain from your head, but the external one as well when your forehead took the blow to the floor. And for once you thanked you were so out of your own control. Your banged forehead’s pain was already fading away, and you knew if you were completely conscient that would hurt like a rock throw straight to your body.

But in good, there’s bad, and so another complication filled you up. Your head was spiraling and seeing a million stars that were already confusing your already messed up head.

You simply stayed still, just as you mentally wove a white flag to give up on this impossible mission.There was no way you’d make it to your room in your condition, especially not when your body remained on the floor of the bathroom. Your body ceased all the strength your brain kept ordering, and even when pressuring them to do their job as your limbs, they were on a strike and refused to even want to move an inch by the nauseating exhaustion.

You heard a low chuckle, and you felt it was within your right to feel at the very least annoyed by whoever that was. Your brain was multitasking at this point, and was ready to retort something sarcastic back, but you coudn’t. You body was starting to get comfortable in the position it had taken in your fall, and to your head’s dismay, ready to slumber for the night.

So you closed your eyes to rest, the thought of another person present already erased by your tiredness. Just as you drifted to sleep, the repeated words you wrote in your mind over and over again, as a means to make sure your remembered your lesson would cling to you. Never. Again.

That person though, didn’t mind your new sleeping bed, and got down to your eye level. A shit-eating grin among his pretty features. God he was so gorgeous even when you coudn’t see his face straight, all in crazy hazy motions swirling around your vision, you could only but daydream about his outstanding beauty.

“You alright there, love?” his raspy voice came in contact with your ears. He was like a beautiful god, one that anyone upon seeing him could agree was the definition of a sculptural piece of art, the type of god that could ask anyone to join him in his darkest desires and anyone would accept without hesitation.

He was any girl’s daydream man, but in that very moment his, awoken and overly energetic presence, frustrated your sleep deprived muscles. You groaned at him in response, too out of reality to even care. The mix of your drunk noises and the blocked sounds through the tiles of the floor, because you were still face down, only amused Finnick further. “What was that? Couldn’t quite understand you” he teased next to your limp form.

“Wha do chu think?” you spit back at him with slow syllables. “If chu could felp, thad be gret” you struggled to say the words. And you were sure they sounded worse in the ears of a sober person who wasn’t going through a hell hole like you were.

You tried to move your head on the side, all to give him the privilege of letting the man in front of you, hear you better.

He could only chuckle more at that. Even in your drunken state you could still see the lines of his smile, and for a moment you thought you were in a some sort of dream. There was no way someone that beautiful could exist, and it became stranger to you when he was simpy talking to you normally. Another drunk thought passed by your mind, and you were sure if he wanted to, that smile could be the tide to end all catalystic world wars. You were in a trace, and rightfully so, it was impossible for anyone not to fantasize by a guy like him.

You wanted to touch his face, but your fingertips stubbornly stuck themselves to the floor. Then it dawned on you on a mortyfying fact, you were in the bathroom floor, face down after just vomiting, and very much ready to sleep in there, until morning shined bright throught the windows.

Well, that was embarrassing. And you had to slap yourself again within the depths of your consciousness.

“Here. Let me-” he cut himself, and you felt his creeping fingers walking over you waist, so light and ticklish, that even after being so numb you could feel this featherly touches. His built body may be seen to be hard, which probably was, but you found yourself learning he also could be as soft as the dry falling leaves of fall.

His hand gripped onto he corner of your waist, and after placing your closest hand over his neck and hook it around the arch of his shoulder by the side of his face. Letting out a shaky breath, he helped you up after exercising his muscles with the weight of your corpse.

But even so, you were fascinated just how he was able to lift you up in your silly body. This was most girls deepest desire, and you had to suppress a giggle from forming in your heart. All the while he was holding you in that hypnotic state. It was hard for your mind not to linger anywhere other than him.

Your feet touched ground and you were extremely thankful to find the contact of the tiles at the flat of your feet. Your heavy head hunged low. You made a move to look up at him, and he was still holding onto your waist, untrustworthy of your senseless state.

You were sure he squeezed at your side playfully several times. It felt oddly affectionate, but for your hazy brain, it translated that and got even sleepier by those light tuches.

“There you go” he whispered at the side of your face. Unknowing to him that he left a burning mark right on your flustered ears. An inflaming sensation traveled along your every bloody vein, making it a more vibrant red, more colourful than what’s supposed to be. The living corpse of your body felt very much ligher against his ticklish fingers, like a flowing feather through the wind. Both of your irises met his, and his close proximity left you in the silence of your shyness.

He let out a husky giggle out at your expression. “Don’t look at me like that. Might start thinking there’s something deeper you want to tell me” he mumbled with a cheeky grin along his lips. His teeth were out in the wild, white and as strong as his unfiltered words.

Oh, how it irritated you his smuggish intention; but how much you loved seeing his lovely face complexion just the same. You coudn’t deny it, and he wasn’t blind either, he knows just how everyone looks at him, Finnick was built like an ancient Greek god.

You tilted your head to the side, this time careful not dragging yourself yet another nauseating impact from the sudden movement. You spoke some drunken mutter that was difficult to understand, so much you had confused yourself as well.

“You’re so pretty” you repeated those words that were incomprehensible for the English language. But Finnick had understood you the first time, and so when you confirmed for a second time, he was slightly taken aback from the boldness of you words.

Your constant thought pattern whenever you thought of the man just beside you, never came from a place of infatuation, and he could feel it in the way the sclera of your eyes shone, and the way you mustered those words, it was from utter fascination, not so much from than seductive desire.

A laughing huff escaped though his lips just as a giggle rang through his vocal chords in amusing disbelief.

You eyes pierced his soul. The intention of his words came rather late to your consciousness, and you blamed the alcoholic drink for the slow pace of your current thought process. And you made yet another mental note, never listen to Scarlett’s recommendation of especially alcoholic drinks, in the off chance that the concentrated drink’s percentage would be through the roof. Really, never again.

An annoyed puff forced out of your mouth. His mocking laugh felt unnecessary to your ears, especially in this vulnerable position you just got in. You moved your legs, and you were glad they had properly woken from the sleepy illusion from a minute ago. You moved forward, at least tried to, and away from his presence.

You reprimanded the alcoholic you. The drunk you seemed to more jumpy, and let off harmless confessions. It was obvious the wine riled your sensitive senses up, especially when they learned from your little secret of your physical attraction of the the one and only, Finnick Odair.

The drunken you had declared your concient mind’s sole enemy; as sneaky as a scorpion, camouflaging itself as to get unnoticed, only to strike you when you were in your most vulnerable, which meant targeting the very much good looking man close to you. Yeah, you were convinced the drunk you had something agasint the concient you.

“Anyway. Tanks, an Goodnight-” You spoke best you could, and made your way ahead of you.

You tried to walk away, before yet another disastrous fall. The drunk you had definitely had something against you. Your legs seemed to twist themselves into a senseless knot from your numb knees and before you could even recognize the problem, your vision fell apart instantly. Again another wave of nausea punched you straight in the jaw. Luckily your quick hand grabbed onto the wall next to you, refusing on having to deal the earlier’s ordeal.

You cursed out again, followed by a groan in pain. Your hand crept to the side of your head to try and keep your vision still in vain. God, you absolutely hated this.

Another low chuckle from the man behind you was present in the air both of you breathed in. And you turned around, a disapproving glare threatening him to keep going on his laughing spree, which only made him find you all the more amusing.

You sighed defeated. A pointed migraine was swirling in the sea of you mind, which in turn only made the grip of your hand stronger in your face. You scrunched up your nose in pain, crumpling your features.

Just as you were losing yourself from the pain of your headache, you body got completely readjusted. Your burning head very much still present and screaming for your attention, and if it that wasn’t hard enough to deal that alone, your mind got once again disoriented. After tonight you knew, you would definitely quit alcohol altogether.

All your blood crashed down to your head, leaving you with a pressured face, and it was starting to feel painful. God, your brain was suffering from all stages of Hell all at the same time. The pain was overtaking your body, and you ceased all your movement. In that very moment you welcomed the idea of dying if it meant stopping your outstanding headache.

With your head low and you arms flying over them, or better said below them as gravity did its work , you noticed the pointy bulk of muscle was just below your breast, and you figured Finnick had to be securing you with his arm over the back of your knees.

Finnick seemed to have the brilliant idea to throw you over his shoulder like a big heavy sack of dead fish ready to be sold off to the market.

Your hands fell to whatever thing you could find, which happened to be his shirt. You had figured he had manhandled to be in that position, because of the way your nose and forehead kept making contact to a broad smooth surface, one that emanated sweet warmth, and you could drown in his natural thick scent.

It had been barely half a minute, although for you it felt almost like an eternity from the succumbed curse of the ugly pain in your head, whoose fault was none other but the man holding you tight over him. It’s not like you put up a fight anyway, already too weak and defeated to even flinch at the scorching hurt.

So you welcemed the sea of covers and pillows when you were plopped down all of a sudden. Your before hurting eyes that you could barely manage to even open them, felt confident enough to redo the task they weren’t able to do a few seconds ago, and you looked up at the ceiling.

You were safe now, you were safer in here. Even in the amidst of your spiraling mind, you could that much, feel relaxed enough to ready yourself to soon sleep. You didn’t need to dance in utter misery of your drunken state like before, like a blind duck that also happened to have twisted his ankle.

The new room also brought short nostalgic memories, which evaporated the little optimism you would have gathered before you died, and who knows, maybe it would be the last time you’d feel truly at peace. The new ambience still had that heavy sour mood from when you had talked to Mags, from when she had to comforted you. The suffocating air was still like a toxic gas, and you regretted that you still let the melancholy poison you.

Finnick sat down beside you. A smirk creeping his beautiful facade just as he looked at your form, still in his playful mood after having you found on the floor almost passed out. It was amusing in a way, it had to do more about the way you responded to him that entertained him to go further in his banter.

He quickly took notice of your sudden somber expression, and with that the bits and cracks that you body spoke. The energy from before was all but gone now. Maybe you were emotional because you were drunk, but in that moment you were ready to cry off yourself to sleep in self pity, right then and there with or without Finnick.

You curled your arms around yourself, trying to imitate the warm hug that Mags had given you earlier, but to no avail. It was impossible for you to even recreate a feeling that felt soul crashing from such a simple act. Because afterall, it was something that had left you taken apart so easily.

You bent your knees slightly up. You were lying on your side, and Finnick could feel the mournful look without the need to see your eyes. But when he did, he heard the breaking crack of his heart. That hurt had haunted him since the day the Reaping when it took him two years ago.

“Thank you” you muttered with the ringing of you vocal chords. And he answered in courtesy, his raspy tone still vabirating each words. “No problem”

Both of you let the spoken words be slowly evaporated through the air, with nothing else to add in. Finnick took the courage to look at you once again, and you had taken in his concerned expression feeling in every nerve cell. You also realized the presence of his scanning eyes watching over your still form like a creeper of the night. But you were too comfortable in your position, too tired and depressed to mind it, so you let him be.

The silent particles the both of you shared swirlied around through the air like a little gust of wind between your breathing forms. You wanted to cry again, but you lost the capability to even do that, and as another amusing thought came across your senses, was still fully loaded with grief’s emptiness. I cried so much, I don’t have any more tears to spare.

Finnick felt impotent there, unlike you, he had volunteered to be in Games. He considered that to be his greatest mistake, all because he thought it would be just fun and games, being brainwashed that it was more light hearted than what the actual suffocating reality really was, and oh boy did reality run him over. Just like a deer, and the unchanging decision of willingly walk in the arena a unmercyful fast truck.

He got up whilst you were still submerged under powerlessness; like the little dry kisses brushing against your back, whispering in the most seductive way, a despairing and exhasuting prediction, one that had you convinced, you were simply just a dead girl walking.

His head turned around to look at you once again, and it confused you as to why he was apologizing within the depths of his sea eyes. So he went and opened his mouth to say something, to ask you if you were alright. But he closed his lips momentarily after, knowing fully well that you weren’t.

He had and internal debate between mixing opinions. Your ominous stance was begging him to ask about your own welfare, and maybe that was a signal he should stay for a while longer until he could hear the breaths of your sleeping form. But then again, he wasn’t sure your empty eyes longed for sympathetic eyes, the ones from a total stranger that as far as he knew, you probably thought of him as a calculated murderer, and maybe then his presence was nothing but a burden in your heavy shoulders.

“Hey, Finnick?” your weak voice alerted his attention. He turned his head, he was grateful that you’d taken him out of his own thoughts. He locked his eyes on your very irises, studying them as a means to try and understand the question before you’d even formulated it. “You think I’m going to die?”

He looked away. Although in normal circumstances your drunken accent might have been a delight to his ears, and he would be ready to tease you further with that. But right now, the drunken syllables that came out of your mouth were deafening, only wanting to take in and alaysze the question itself.

You knew what you had asked him went straight to him like an unexpected bullet, and to his dismay, he wasn’t wearing any bulletproof gear to save him from you. He opened his mouth, and even in your swirling vision you could see the ugly truth hidden somwehere within him, and opting to say sweet lie with a cherry pop on top. “Please, be honest with me” you added in.

The past victor let out a stilled breath before speaking. “Yeah…” Finnick finally said.The words you didn’t want to hear, broke your jaw like an incoming brick to your face. And yet, although he was speaking his truth, he seemed conflicted with what he said.

You knew this would be his answer, so why did it hurt you so much? Perhaps it was his confirmation from the bitter words from your inner monsters, and finally you felt your reality crumbling down. And even in that emotional turmoil, you had to agree with Finnick, because deep down you knew that your betraying mind was right all along “I thought so too”.

Something gripped onto your throat again, a grieving pain of the knowledge you were most likely going to die. Your expression started to wrinkle in on itself, just as you felt like something had caught onto you leg and pulled you deeper in to the poisonous sea, making sure you’d drown yourself in further agony. Finnick was just standing there, and he felt your sea whirlwind like he was there with you, joining you in the mercifuless sea currents that started to leak from your room with dark muggy water.

Finnick could only but feel your agonizing stare, and within his empathy, he wanted to say something to you. Because your dreadful pupils struck him all over his body like thin needles.

“But something I learned through the Games is that, its supposed to be planned to be irregular. Even if you aren’t as strong as others, you could still have a chance to survive” he added to reassure you. Finnick hoped that would set you mind at ease, at least before you’d hit the arena. He wanted to drift away the consternation from your scraping mind, and let it become more level headed.

Soon all of you would arrive at the Capitol, and for a chance for either Vito or you to survive, you’d need to be put away the insanity that was slowly licking your body, and to focus on a plan. To scheme up ways into getting sponsors, to anylyse the rest of the player coldy, but the most difficult one was to gather up ideas whilst in the fighting arena while pressuring your mind to stay sane throughout all of it. “Its intention is for anyone to be able to win this. Its not a competition, just pure entertainment”.

You stayed silent, taking in everything your mentor was telling you. In a way it helped you thinking of him that way. He may be just a year older than you, but he was still your mentor, and he was supposed to help you survive this afterall.

“Thank you,” you were slowly surrendering yourself to the cage of sleep, one where you wished for your night terrors to leave for another night. A sleep deprived voice was all Finnick could hear, the raspy weak tones from your smnolent voice made Finnick content enough to set his mind at ease for the night. “For everything”

The energy you wasted in the last day was too much for your body to handle, and you felt optimistic enough to finally go to sleep without any negative energy swimming across your mind.

Finnick chuckled, he repeated himself again. “No problem, Dove” he grinned at you. He found you so endearing, especially with the image of you closed eyes, and your mouth half opened, in a way so peaceful, like nothing lurking between the shadows could attack you.

“Good night” you lastly said slowly crawling to your sleeping chamber in the depths of you soul.

Finnick grinned further and said a “Good night” back to you.

The last images before you went to sleep were of him. The drawing of his face in your imaginary world, and you wished you could dream of him that night. The world made him almost untouchable, but it was surreal to you about his caring slip ups you had discovered that night; his soft face, feathery gentle hands, and his warm whispering voice brushing your ear like the slight breeze of the forest.

Yeah, you wanted to sleep with that in mind, with the ilusion of him.

Previous // Next

NOW, this was a way longer chapter than I had intended, so you'll hopefully enjoy it cuz DAMN!

TagList: @marvelescvpe @meri-soni-meri-tamanna

#finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #the hunger games #thg finnick #thg x reader #thg #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games finnick #finnick odair fanfiction #finnick fanfiction

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toastyrobos · 6 months

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All of you (Echo x female reader one shot)

Warning: since it’s Echo: mentions of missing limbs and lack of self esteem, body image issues, etc. plus a bit suggestive towards end.

Word count: 2989

((Reader was a ex Jedi before order 66 and was in love with Echo. She was too afraid to tell him and missed her opportunity. Regretting it every day since the Citadel accident. Now she’s been hiding out, buying her time until things settle down. The last thing she expected to find on Ord Mantell is Echo. Alive. Overcome with grief and fear she’s reluctant to trust him or the team he’s with. And what will he do when he sees the person who has been at the forefront of his mind again after all this?))

Keeping your head down was easy. Staying focused was another story entirely. As a former 'safe keeper' as they once were called was difficult. Especially when you saw innocent people being tossed and shoved around by the troopers you once called friends.

It was a hard pill to swallow at first. Seeing the men you worked so closely with for years, had gotten together with at the 79..turn on their generals so easily. Like it was nothing. It was like a switch had been flipped. And that's exactly what it was.

According to Rex. After he located you and told you everything it was a devastating blow. Not only had the clones had their humanity stripped from them, but they had also had their minds violated. It was so cruel and too horrible to wrap your head around the very notion. But you did.

Eventually you had to move on. Jumping from planet to planet seemed like the most logical option. Staying in one place for too long tended to draw unwanted attention.

The long stretches of silence were the worst parts. Most of the time your thoughts drifted to him.

Echo.

The ex arc trooper.

His face was always present in your mind. His warm brown eyes, the rough patches of his freshly shaven chin, his smile. You missed him too much it hurt.

Even if you were a Jedi..ex before. Ex now. And attachments were forbidden, you still harbored feelings for him. It was difficult not to. He made you smile, laugh, and just had a wonder about him. He and Fives always managed to make you laugh. But it was Echo that held your heart.

It helped too, that out on the battlefield you two worked well together. To the point where you were able to read each other with a simple glance. You always did have the best time on missions with him. He would shower you with story after story about battles he witnessed. You loved his enthusiasm. You had loved being around him. You had just loved him.

But you never got the chance to tell him. The Citadel was his last mission, during which he was killed. He saved so many that day, but he wasn't able to safe himself.

You were never the same after that. It was like you were a shell of your former self. You felt nearly hollowed. You pushed through it until it was too much and you abandoned the order not long after. It was a hard decision to make, but your mind wasn't in a good place.

Not long after, order 66 happened and you had to take on a new identity. You had no choice. To the Empire you were still alive. You needed to lay low. Your black long hair had to go. Replaced with a short blonde cut. And you needed a job. One that couldn't be tracked.

That's how you ended up on Ord Mantell, working for Cid. An old contact of yours said she'd hire you no questions asked. It was worth a shot. She wasn't that bad. She paid decent and gave you a room in the back. It wasn't much, but you didn't mind. Your regal days as a Jedi we're long over anyway.

~~~

Sweat dripped down your brow as you made your day back to Cid's parlor. You had no problem going off world for a mission, but you had hoped she would be more forthcoming with what certain missions entailed. Specifically if you needed to dress lighter for a task that involved stepping foot on a lava planet. It was times like this you were glad that you had cut your hair.

Sometimes you missed it, but today was not one of those times.

"Next time Cid let me know if—" your voice died in your throat when your eyes saw them. Your breath hitched and you froze for a moment before rapidly whipping out your blasters and aiming it at the bunch of familiar clones. Fear and panic took hold of you while you stared them down. The young girl with them peaked her head out to see what was going to happen.

But your attention was fixed on the thought to be dead now very much alive ex arc trooper. Your hands trembled as your weapons stared them down.

It was not possible. You clutched your blasters tighter.

Your mind must have been playing a trick on you.

You must be hallucinating him.

Echo was dead. You read the reports.

But you...you knew his face. Knew his kind wonder filled eyes.

The very same eyes that stared starstruck back at you.

You were in disbelief over the nature that he was standing before you, very much alive. But you were also trembling. A fear so prominent in your eyes at the notion that they would hurt you. All clones could and would. It had quickly become a constant in your on the run life.

Still trying to find your voice you spoke again. "Stay back!" You ordered the group. You were not taking any chances. Not anymore. You had learned that mistake all too quickly.

"We're not going to hurt you". Hunter said, easing his hands up as to say we're not going to harm you. You shook your head, tears started to pool in your eyes.

Yes they were.

Echo was speechless. Drinking in your appearance after so long, relief flooded his lungs at seeing that you were still alive. It had been so long. But concern also made itself known. No doubt the blasters pointed at them, meant that you had heard rumors about the inhibiter chips. How could you have not? But you were not in any danger. No.

Both of you were too frozen to talk so it was up to the young blonde girl beside him to shatter the silence.

"Do you know her, Echo?"

That seemed to snap him out of his trance. "Y-yeah I do".

You nearly broke at hearing his voice. One of your blasters fell to the floor. The hand once holding it, shot up to cover your mouth. Your body was trembling. His voice....It still held patches of that warmth, that could sweep you up. But something about it seemed...off. No doubt from what he went through as your eyes took in his pale appearance.

He could feel your eyes roaming his figure. The cyber enhancements. His pale sunken in face. The dark circles under his eyes. And it made him avert his gaze. That saddened you.

"I'm Omega". The young girl introduced herself trying to ease the tension. Feeling a dampness on your cheeks, you hastily swiped your tears away. Then you kneeled down to her height, a nervous smile broke out on your face.

Not a single threatening thought or intention reflecting back at you as you met her eyes. Nor were there any in the others as you scanned them over. You slowly lowered your other weapon. Your body still in shock. They weren't going to hurt you. You could sense it. Feel it. He wasn't going to hurt you. He never could. Never did.

Knowing that he wasn't under the chips control anymore you nearly burst into tears.

He was okay

He was alive.

"It-it's nice to meet you, Omega". You managed to choke out, still in shock and in disbelief that Echo was alive.

"Mega, let's give them a moment". Hunter said ushering Omega back to them. It was clear to him that these two needed to talk. He had heard the stories from Echo about you. Had met you on several occasions and found you to be a skilled Jedi and someone that Echo cared for deeply. He already felt like he knew you in some way.

The others followed behind him into the back. Leaving just you and Echo standing completely still at the bar. The only sounds coming from the humming slot machines and buzzing lights. You stood up from the ground.

Your eyes fell once again on the ex arc trooper. He looked so different, appearance wise, but his aura was still the same. Brave, loyal, kind, warm...he was still the Echo you had known. Even beneath his now pale, near white skin and sunken cheeks he was still the Echo you loved.

You wanted to ask what happened, but judging by the uncomfortable expression across his face and the missing limbs you weren't sure if you should have. You didn't want to push him to remember it.

"It's okay". His sudden soft voice startled you.

You hesitated, but eventually you asked and he told you everything. Every gruesome, awful and horrible detail of his capture. It broke your heart to hear what the man you loved went through. What he had to endure for so long. What he lost. And what that had cost him.

The next time you saw Rex you would be sure to thank him a million times. Telling him how grateful you were that he pushed so hard to get Echo back. And when you saw clone force 99 again, you would let them know just how much them going in blindly to rescue Echo meant to you.

You didn't realize you had been crying until Echo's only hand reached out and wiped your tears away with his thumb. The gentle carcasses of his textured glove sent sparks down your spine. Before he realized what he was doing and tried to pull away, you gripped his hand between yours, dragging your fingers over his knuckles. The gesture causing his cheeks to dust a light shade of pink.

"I-I just can't believe your alive". Your voice crumbled as you spoke. "When the others came back and told me what happened I-I was so broken. It was so hard to believe that you were gone. And now..." There were no words to express the happiness you felt that he was here.

He sighed. "I know".

Seeing what his death did to the women he loved pained him greatly. If only he had told her. Confessed that he loved her before he went to the Citadel. Maybe that would have changed things. Or maybe not.

The outcome would have been the same. He was a solider and it was his duty to fight for the Republic. Sacrifice himself if need be. After all clones were replaceable.

He would only ever be that. And now he was a broken one. More machine then man, as Tech had informed him. He was a shell of a man. Not even half of a man. There was no way you'd love him now. Not when he couldn't give you a normal relationship. Not when he couldn't hold you in his arms with both of them.

It did not go unnoticed by you at how he flinched when you attempted to reach for his other arm. His body just reached. A somber expression overshadowed your face. He was intentionally avoiding meeting your eyes now.

"Echo". Your voice was as gentle as a whisper. It hit his heart with such a blow. Oh how he missed your angel like voice. How he missed you!

"Echo". There it was again. Softer. "Look at me".

He couldn't.

"Please". You were pleading with him now. You just wanted to see him. See his new yet familiar face up close. You missed it so much.

He sighed deeply. "I-I can't".

"Why not?". You wanted to know why.

He was sacred to tell you. Scared that you wouldn't feel the same way about him, especially with the way he looked now. How could anyone as beautiful as you want someone like him?! But he needed to get it off his chest. Let it be there out in the open. Even if it ended with his heart shattered.

"Because it's too hard".

That confused you. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "It's too hard to look at you knowing that I can't have you. Knowing that I can't give you everything that you want or deserve". He was starting to tremble. "It's too hard knowing that I'll never be able to wrap both of my arms tight around you. I can't—I can't give you that".

If your heart broke before at hearing his story, it now shattered like glass at hearing him feel so ashamed of himself for how he looked.

You quickly cupped his face between your hands, forcing him to face you. Tears fully sliding down your face as you regarded him.

"I love you Echo".

His eyes widened while his breath hitched deep within. He must have misheard you. There was no way you could have....

"I love you". He had heard it right. "And it breaks my heart to know this is how you think of yourself, Echo. It doesn't matter how you look. I fell in love with you because of who you are on the inside".

He blinked. "Y-you love me..?" He stuttered as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. You nodded your head.

"So much".

His features turned grim. He shook his head. Knocking himself out of the dream, that he so desperately wanted.

How could someone as perfectly Stunning and breathtaking as you, want someone imperfect and broken like him? You deserved better!

"How can you say that when I look like this?! How can you say that knowing what I am?! I can't give you a normal relationship!". He questioned you with a raised tone, gesturing to his mutilated body held together by wires and mechanical parts.

You hated how he was belittling himself. Hated that he thought so little of himself. Hated that he felt so much shame and guilt. When to you he was your world. He always had been. Your heart ached because of it.

"Echo, your handsome. You always have been. A few cyber enhancements or pale skin isn't going to change how I feel about you. You shouldn't be ashamed by them".

"It should". He muttered under his breath. But in the silence of the parlor you could hear him as if he was speaking in his normal tone.

Needing to knock some sense back into him, you did the only thing you could think of. And boy was it a bolder move then you usually had in you. But you had to get through to him that you saw all of him and wanted everything.

You crashed your mouth down onto his. Your plump lips on his startled him. That was definitely not what he thought you were going to do. The last thing he expected. But he liked it. Oh maker did he like it.

So naturally, he leaned, pushing himself against you. Allowing his hand to cup your cheek and bring you closer to him. You brought your hand up to cover his and then you reached down to touch his cybernetic one. Feeling your human skin brush up against his metal replacement he tensed up and tried to pull away. But you stopped him.

"Are you sure?"

He searched your eyes for any doubt, but he found none. There was no disgust. Not a single hint of it. Nor were you repulsed by them. In fact there were no negative feelings. All that stared back at him was...love. Happiness. And contentment. This is what you really wanted. His breathing turned unsteady.

You really really wanted him.

All of him.

You loved him....

You loved him.

Then there was nothing left to do. Wasting no more time he made his own confession known.

"I love you". Your eyes welled up at those three powerful words you had waited so long to hear. "By the maker I love you so much. I wasted so much time not telling you. Afraid that you wouldn't want to be with a clone". He chuckled lightly, his own tears beginning to build at the corners of his eyes.

"Fives was right though". His thumb swiped away your own tears. You pressed your cheek into his palm, wanting to take in his long awaited touch.

Before, mentioning Fives name would bring up too many heartbreaking feelings. Now it only held wonderful memories.

You smiled so brightly. "About what?"

"That you'd feel the same way about me that I do about you".

It was your time to chuckle while more tears streamed down your face. This time though, they were ones of joy.

“He always did know more then us".

Echo looked longingly into your eyes. Still in awe that you had chosen him, but was elated that you had.

“Yeah. He did".

Your brought his lips back to yours and he had no complaints about it. He leaned into your touch and pulled you into his lap. Wanting to feel your body near his, feel your skin as his hand roamed along your back. It wouldn't be long before his brothers made their way back into the parlor and found the two of you in a compromising position, but neither of you cared.

You tasted so sweet to him, like a nectar filled cocktail and he wouldn't let anything or anyone stop him from consuming you. Maybe not here, in the open. But oh he would have you. He had waited long enough.

Especially when you had chosen him. Made it clear that you wanted to be with him no matter what he looked like. No matter the cyber enhancements. You saw past that. It didn't digest you or make you think twice about being with him.

The emotions you exuded out of him made him feel whole again. You made him feel like a man again. And he would spend ever single waking minute, for how ever long you wanted to be with him, showing you just how much that meant to him.

#star wars #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #i love the bad batch so much #star wars the clone wars #echo bad batch #bad batch echo #the bad batch echo #echo x reader #bad batch fanfic #megabeewrites

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thecoffeelorian · 1 day

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Chapter Title: The Bet

Word Count: 1,542 words.

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest). Just when you're one step away from getting onto the ship bound for Naboo...some unseen force of nature finally intervenes, and you then have to make the biggest decision of your life.

AO3: Link Here

Extra Notes: My Clone Trooper OC, Commander Miles, has his first speaking cameo in this story! Hope you all come to love him as much as I do!

Chapter Masterlist: Link Here

The No-Pressure Tag List: @skellymom @masterjedilenawrites @littlefeatherr @ceejay3636 @red-plaidedandcladed

@knightprincess @carlixz @zaryashame @amazonian-bae @badbatchjedi

@weirdest-lights @crosshair-lover @clxnewxrs @offspringsdaughter @liliskywalker

@sunshinefanfictioninsp @sunshinesdaydream @nerfpuncher @burningfieldof-clover @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main

@techhasmjolnir and anybody else who might want some more Howzer x Reader stories in their lives.

There's a cold chill growing upon the back of your neck as you step out of the line, your focus now trained solely upon this Trooper. Judging from the shape and placement of his pauldron, he's some kind of high command official, like a Captain or a Commander...and as of this moment, he just might be a few steps away from bringing you in for questioning.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Especially if, should your fears prove to be correct, your own father has found a way to keep you from leaving.

“Are you the eldest daughter of Julian Minola?” Which, apparently, he seems to have figured out right as you arrived at this spaceport.

“I...am an eldest daughter, Sir. Why do you ask?” In response, his right hand begins to move toward his left wrist, a sure sign that you just might be one comm away from the lecture of your life. “Well, ma’am, I may have just received a message from your father—” “—It’s because of my father that I'm getting on board that ship, Captain...?” “Miles, ma’am. Commander Miles.” You're not about to give up so easily, though. Not when you're standing just a few steps away from literal freedom. “May I ask if you’re, ah...dealing with any trouble at home?” In fact, if you can speak well enough to the Trooper before you...would it perhaps, be a possibility that you end up convincing him to let you go?

“...Of a sort, Commander.”

“And that is?”

“Simple. I’m not staying in a place where I’ll be sold off to the highest bidder.”

At first, you see this Commander’s entire stance go rigid, and for a moment, you can almost swear he’s about to call your father to this very spot himself. Perhaps you might even deserve such a response as well, considering you were literally one sentence away from broaching a very uncomfortable topic of discussion.

There go your hopes of getting away blame-free. On the other hand...even though your supposed ‘place’ is within a gilded cage and his was once within the line of fire, just how different are the two of you at the end of the day? Isn’t it an odd coincidence that the both of you were raised for one purpose and one purpose only, whether or not you try to fight it in the end?

Furthermore, isn’t it a cold hard fact of life that women can die in the delivery room just as easily as men do on the battlefield, especially when the wrong people are left in charge? It certainly appears to be that way sometimes, what with the few but frightening tales about such things that you’ve read on the holonet late at night. Things that could easily happen to you or someone else you know, even if you all do your best to take the necessary precautions first.

Sure, you and your sister didn't come off of some genetic assembly line with countless other girls both ahead and behind you, but in the eyes of Chandrilan society, you’re not the first daughter to be married off and, chances are, you won't be the last for some time yet.

Not as long as there are more people around that cling to the old ways rather than changing or rejecting them.

It’s not that uncommon, either, for younger men on this planet to remarry within a few years of losing their first wives, if indeed ‘the worst’ should happen to them. According to a few old family stories, that was exactly how your father came to exist in the first place, as your paternal grandfather had once been married long before meeting your grandmother. Is it really too much to assume, then, that the both of you are replaceable?

“...Hm... and what about Captain Howzer?” Your line of thought is brought to a halt the moment this good commander chooses his next approach, and an unexpected one at that. “Who...?” ‘Howzer’? Who or what is that, some kind of obscure Trooper code word? “Captain Howzer, ma’am. The one who spoke to you earlier?” —Oh. Oh-h-h. So that was the interesting Trooper you just happened to meet in the middle of your escape. The one who didn’t look at you strangely or start asking you questions about where you were going, but just interacted with you instead like—like you weren’t something to be judged, or bothered by, and for that, you had started having—feelings. Awkward, yes...but still feelings.

You might have once thought that any and all of those awkward feelings had gone the moment that the two of you had gone your separate ways. Indeed, if the two of you were truly meant to never meet again, both you and that Captain might have eventually or gotten your first meeting, and so moved on with your lives. Now that you might, in fact end up speaking to him a second time, though...you feel that old heat rising in your cheeks all over again. “You...know each other?” “We’ve spoken before, all right.” A heat that could either excite you or embarrass you utterly, if it’s not dealt with in the correct manner. “So, then...what did he say about me?” But then again, there’s still your flight. Your one chance to trade Chandrila for Naboo, and it’s evident in the second pinging that you receive from your Comm. Can you really throw it all away now, just for somebody who might lose interest in you soon enough, if not also leave you behind instead? “Only that you were the kindest, sweetest lady he ever had the luck of meeting, and that he hopes you might yet return.” “ ‘Return’...?!” Can you really also run the future risk of some kind of complication when, or even if, whatever's waiting for you back home leads to the next generation of Minolas? “And how, Commander, do I end up explaining a change of heart to the Naboo University faculty? How do I explain it to the Queen?!” Oh, but your voice is getting shrill now, and perhaps also your bad temper right along with it. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end for you. This day wasn't supposed to be so jumbled, so confusing, as to send your mind into a tailspin. What, if anything, are you supposed to do with yourself now...? “Let me put it this way...” As though to answer you, the Commander touches a hand to his helmeted forehead, a single gesture might be a secret sign to remind you to calm down and think. “He’s eager to see you, that much is a given—but at the same time you’re eager to leave. I get that. I'm not going to make your decisions for you, ma’am, and you don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to—but what if you were able to do both?” “ ‘Both’?” “Yep.” “How do I do both?” “Simple. You go back and listen to what he has to say, try whatever he offers for about a month...then, if it doesn’t work out for you, can go back to your original plan and leave for Naboo at your earliest convenience.” “What...you mean, like a bet?" “More of a trial run, really. That is, unless you’re willing to treat it like one?” “Hmm…” You absentmindedly finger the pouch full of credits hidden beneath your poncho, remembering the amount you'd saved up in secret before your escape. Would it be so wise to toss your money away upon a simple gamble, never mind a man who you don’t exactly know that well?

On the other hand, though...what if he did have a point here after all, and you ended up owing him instead? “...And what if I offered you five hundred credits as a reward, should I decide to stay?” The Commander becomes just a little bit flustered after hearing this, as he demonstrates the same nervous head-rubbing gesture that you’ve seen a handful of other Troopers do whenever they were stressed out or troubled. Clearly, you’ve given him a lot to think about in a short amount of time, if he hasn’t also done the same for you. “Well, I ah...I guess I would have to find a banker willing enough to open an account for me!” Nevertheless, if the possibility exists that Captain isn’t the only Trooper looking for a fresh restart in life, and as long as you yourself dislike the idea of an entire army getting left by the wayside— “Then I think you and I just might have a deal, Commander.” —Then let it be five hundred credits to start Commander Miles upon his way if he’s victorious, and if not, the longed-for flight to Naboo for you. “We may indeed, Miss Minola. Time to make it official.” Either way, the two of you seal the deal with a handshake, the sign of business in action...and then, just as the last of your three notifications comes, the commander finally motions to the pilot that she has full clearance to take off. Well, that's the end, perhaps, but only for now. For better or for worse, your one journey may be postponed, all right...but another journey seems to be just beginning, even if you can't exactly be too sure of the outcome just yet.

Maybe this time, though, if you keep a full heart and an open mind...you’ll be better prepared to see it through.

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #captain howzer #tbb howzer #howzer tbb #howzer x reader #howzer x fem reader #howzer x you #clone trooper howzer #bad batch howzer #chandrila #brush up your shakespeare #howzer fanfiction #captain baja blast #ct 7569 #morehowzerfics

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i-bring-crack · 9 months

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So back to chapter 42 when I was first reading this I thought the whole "you must face big challenges ahead" was quite dumb because from that point on he gets way too overpowered (still is, im not gonna invalidate that) and at no point is there a moment where he looses something true of value because he gets it back with the rewind.

But at the same time... its true? like all he said was true, just on a smaller scale than what we expected. Reading it first time or just reading it at that point you expect that Jinwoo is going to loose his friends, his family, and seek for path of revenge that will ultimatly make him stronger than before. But thats not the case of what H-goon (and maybe Dubu?) intended to show here.

"You will have to kill a lot more people" Refers to him having to kill Kim Chul and Hwang Dong Soo, especially Kim Chul, so that he can have stronger shadows.

"Make sacrifices... and even abandon your friends and family." Refers to Jinwoo leaving his family for 27 years in order to fight the Monarchs.

This is also technically true but executed poorly, cuz again, I needed to watch this for the nth to finally click with me, so this is likely to fade withing the minds of most viewers-- but Jinwoo trying to fight the monarchs thinking he could beat them all up, and mainly seeking out revenge against the Frost Monarch, was what got him killed. What was expected of him though is to stay dead, or for him to face up against death seeing as he was looking to take his authority considering his necromancer class.

Of course we instead got a peaceful resolution to it all. The people he killed came back and Jinwoo never got to suffer any guilt about it. The people he loved that died came back, Jinah even got magically cured of her ptsd despite it being a big hold on him at the time. his mother and father are together, happy and not worried about their son at all. He abandoned his parents but only temporarely, but then came back and kept staying with them until the events of SL:R. And he did die, but he doesnt stay dead, he didnt even have to fight death. Ashborn just quickly gave him a choice, showed some lore and bam, now this man can never die!

In the end those words were true, we just had too much high expectations for it (and thats justified, Season 1, especially up to the red gate arc, had given a lot of expectations in the first place.)

But i think this line here is also an indicator of what will go down too. In the story Jinwoo gets giften a lot of freaking luck, and has to deal with it in the end yes, (fight the monarchs and the outer gods, loose humanity etc.) but it is still way too much luck, until the end he is the most powerful being in the universe and nothing can top him for it.

He gets away with whatever he wants, and thats... not how life works? or at least not the storytelling we were seeing in the first few chapters because he was fighting tooth and nail to gather all of that, he was almost loosing his life fighting rasaka, cerberus, the lizards and that spider. He needed help from Juhee winning against Taeshik (a manhwa addition), or help from the system's status recovery (again manhwa only) and help to win against baruka in the red gate arc.

Then we see he becomes so strong he doesnt even need himself in the battlefield at times, his shadows can take over the work, but he is still the strongest one out there, as seen in the double dungeon or against Thomas or even with Antares.

He gets so lucky(plot armor geee) that all the struggles we thought we were going to see just fade away and now we know he will always win.

Had the sacrifices been large, or heck at least permanent, had we seen Jinwoo struggle against loosing his humanity or seeing him in pain after having to leave his family, the result would have felt a bit more profound. Had his sacrifices been more severe or had Jinwoo decided on becoming even stronger than before for the sake of rewinding time then... I mean the quality of the writting wouldnt have been peak but it would certainly make us feel more attached to the characters and the story as a whole. Then again time-traveling always feels like a bad knot even among the most extraordinary stories because it just means that whatever world the reader was invested in was worthless. Ther can be ways to get hooked int oa time traveling story but, thaths mostly when time traveling plays a huge role inside the story and isnt revealed at the very freaking end.

Solo Leveling Ragnarok thankfully doesn't just discard it away either, unlike the ending of SL where it tries to keep the status quo of keeping the earth the same way it was before the gates, Suho does none of that and instead actively tries to tell everyone about the past as much as he can. His ideology isnt about "ignorance is a bliss" but rather that a persons feats must be shared, their kindness must be known even when they themselves didn't want it or care about being known.

Ps, im not saying the sequel is better also, but its definetly improving upon whats already being built while at the same time feeling like something you can read without knowing about the first SL. Its got its pros and cons but its also doing a good job keeping the audience of SL engaged considering... well considering its Solo Leveling, a show whose height exploted due to the artwork and not the story itself.

#I will have to read dungeon reset then wont I?#solo leveling #manhwa #sung jin woo #SL rando thoughts #Solo leveling ragnarok #and minor spoilers??#sung suho #sung su ho

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jynrso · 10 months

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some of it remains (but your love is unmoved)

hey all! this is the fic that i've been working hard on over the past few weeks. it's the first fresh piece i've written in over a year – the oneshot i posted a few weeks ago ("not without me / not without you") had a rough draft and outline so i had a bit to go off. this was a completely new story and i didn't intend for it to be this long. . .13.5 and 6k words later, here we are! jyn's experiences are based on my own. i got a concussion about 3.5 years ago and i still get icepick headaches to this day (that i never got before). while i don't get migraines, they are pretty bad. when i was thinking to myself about jyn's role as a brawler, i figured she'd get hit in the head pretty often –– and from that, this fic was born. title from "as it was" by hozier read it on ao3!

Jyn Erso has always had a remarkably thick skull.

Not in the sense that she isn’t intelligent. Rather, ever since she’d learned how to fight, she’d quickly found that she could bounce back from blows to the head quicker than her comrades. Hits that would render other Partisans unconscious usually only dazed her; if she got knocked down, she pushed herself back up in seconds, returning to the fight with her brutal efficiency hindered only slightly by slight dizziness and a burgeoning headache.

As a brawler, with the reach of her truncheons keeping her in close contact with her targets, she’s more exposed than a long-distance soldier. Though her armor absorbs many of the hits she takes, by favoring hand-to-hand combat, it’s not uncommon for her skin to be littered with various bruises and abrasions from hits she’s doled out and ones she’s taken in return. Even with her gloves, her hands often take the brunt of the damage; out of every place on her body, her hands are the most heavily scarred.

But despite her fighting prowess and experience on the battlefield, she’s had her fair share of close calls. Even she isn’t completely unaffected by someone slamming the butt of their blaster against her skull. The scar snaking up from the top of her forehead into her hairline speaks to that; a few years ago, she’d been hit so hard by a stormtrooper that it had not only knocked her out but also needed stitches –– ones she had to do herself without the credits for proper medical care. It had never healed right, the scar angry and raised to this day, but she’d escaped with her life . . . and only a few consequences.

The chronic headaches –– the bad ones –– had begun during her stint in an underground fighting ring, just after Saw abandoned her on Tamsye Prime. In an attempt to earn enough credits to survive, she’d played her strengths to her advantage and fought numerous other sentients for money. Though she’d won more fights than lost, her opponents usually got in a hit or two; and, with the lack of protective gear, the blows she’d taken had often been more debilitating, especially in the aftermath.

But in the middle of a war, a headache here or there is hardly her biggest problem.

It’s not like she’s bleeding out or has any open wounds. A stim shot usually takes care of the worst of the symptoms and dims them to a more manageable level. And when that doesn’t work, in the years after Saw, she’d hole up somewhere dark and quiet and ride it out for a few days by herself. With her high pain tolerance, she can push through just about anything, even if it means spending a few hours incapacitated.

Her last . . . episode had been right after Scarif. She doesn’t remember much of what’d happened after Bodhi had picked her and Cassian up from the beach but she recalls moments of blinding pain. The agony from her burns from the blast had only just been overshadowed by the splitting in her skull, feeling as if someone had taken an axe and cleaved her in two.

Ever since, however, she’s managed to keep her headaches under control and everyone else in the dark. But with the recent destruction of Alderaan and the move from Yavin IV to Hoth, it’s only a matter of time. With the amount of pressure and stress slowly building up on her shoulders, she just hopes that she’s alone when the inevitable happens, and strong enough to ride out the pain when it comes.

When Jyn wakes, unusually bleary-eyed and out of it, Cassian’s no longer in bed next to her.

The sheets on his side have long gone cold. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she remembers him leaving earlier that morning; before his departure, he’d briefly woken her up with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered urge to go back to sleep. Not recalling much more than that, she assumes that she’d fallen back asleep and pushes herself up into a sitting position.

As soon as she moves, a slow, heavy ache makes itself known in her left eye, radiating back toward her skull. She curses softly, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand, hoping that the pressure will help ease the oncoming pain, but to no avail. Even when she presses harder, digs her fingers into her hairline, the steady throbbing beats in time with her heartbeat.

A pit sinks in her stomach. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, the pain of it a distraction. Even though her head doesn’t pound badly now, she knows from experience it’ll only get worse as the day goes on. And if this is one of those headaches. . .

Fuck, and she actually has shit to do today. She and Cassian are flying out in the afternoon for a surveillance and scouting operation at the abandoned rebel base on Dantooine. Bodhi’s swinging by later –– shit, maybe sooner than she thinks, glancing at the chrono and seeing what time it is –– to help her get the ship ready while Cassian takes care of the pre-flight briefing with Draven.

Okay. Okay. She exhales, throwing her arm over her eyes as she lays on her back in the messy remnants of their bunk. It’s not the ideal situation but it could be worse –– she just has to get out of bed and get ready while her pain is still manageable. Then she just has to meet Bodhi, get to the ship, and take off for Dantooine without indicating something is wrong, then find somewhere hidden and quiet to ride it out by herself.

(There’s no way in hell Cassian is going to let her get away with that, a small voice in the back of her mind reminds her but she pushes that thought away for now. Once they get into the air, she can figure out an excuse. She just has to get there first. )

Groaning, Jyn hauls herself out of bed, wincing when the simple movement jars her already tender head. Without bothering to flip on the lip, she fumbles around in the dark, picking up random pieces of clothing they’d scattered across the ground the night before.

In the bathroom, biting back a curse as the cold finally begins to hit her, the warmth of sleep finally wearing off, she quickly gets ready in the relative silence and dimness of the ‘fresher.

There’s a basic medkit under the sink, equipped with bandages, a few bacta patches, and hyposprays. It’s meant for the occasions when either of them has minor injuries but doesn’t want to go to the medbay. Though it’s here for this purpose –– and she knows she should grab something –– she still hesitates. It’s not that bad (yet) and she’s pushed through worse. And there’ll be times in the future when they have a greater need for these supplies. . .

With her thoughts feeling like static, it’s difficult to concentrate enough to make a proper decision. Before she can, someone knocks on the door and shakes her from her daze. She flinches at the sound, wiping a shaky hand down her face as her head protests the sudden loud noise.

“Fuck,” she mutters, rocking forward on her heels and leaning forward against the sink, so far that her forehead nearly touches the smudged mirror. The medkit looms in her peripherals but she ignores it, convincing herself that she’ll be fine. (She’s always fine –– she has to be ).

In a burst of strength, she pushes up and away out of the bathroom, heading toward the door.

“Jyn!” Bodhi brightens when it opens, then almost immediately falls when he looks at her properly. “You –– you look like shit!”

“Thanks, Bo,” she mutters, leaning against the doorframe as she pulls on her boots. “Good morning to you, too.”

Frowning, he rubs the back of his neck as he peers in closer, head dipping down and wide eyes scrutinizing her disheveled appearance. “Well, it’s actually closer to afternoon, now, but –– ”

“Still morning,” she grunts, straightening. The edge of her vision goes fuzzy for a few seconds, threatening to white out completely; she steadies herself on the wall once again and exhales heavily, then forces herself upright.

“Do you –– do you need to go to the –– ”

“No,” she bites out forcefully. Her voice harsher is than she intends but the pain makes her feel brittle, fragile even, and she can’t help but overcompensate. “Just –– I just had a bit too much to drink last night. That’s all.”

Both of them are keenly aware of just how well she holds her liquor and Bodhi is much more observant than people give him credit for, especially around the people he cares about. He frowns, eyebrows tugging together, and while his expression tells her exactly what he’s thinking, he’s also picking up on the hidden details in her own.

But for whatever reason, either her voice or the stubborn look in her eyes, he doesn’t comment on her flimsy excuse and nods instead, perhaps not wanting to put up a fight when it’s clear she’s looking for one.

She doesn’t miss the concerned look in his eye when she walks out of the room a little slower than usual. He stays close to her as if expecting to catch her if she falls, arms nearly brushing as he keeps her pace.

His intense attention makes her uncomfortable, her ears reddening from the unfamiliar notion of having someone care about her. She’s fine. A headache isn’t anything to make a fuss over, and really, he’s making a big deal out of nothing.

“I checked out the ship you’re taking this morning,” he says, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as they navigate through the halls of Echo Base. She only half-listens, occasionally offering up hums of agreement as he speaks, but it’s growing more difficult to keep her focus solely on him. “There isn’t too much to do but . . .”

After a few minutes, they reach their destination. When the noise and brightness of the hangar bay hall hit her full force, Jyn sways on her feet, eyes closing as nausea swells low in her stomach. Bodhi grabs her elbow to keep her steady but she just barely feels the touch, the hammering in her head overshadowing every other sensation.

“ ––yn! Are you okay?”

Bodhi’s voice grows louder and more nervous with each passing second she fails to reply. Jyn barely manages to clamp down on her flinch, forcing her eyes open and gritting her teeth as her head protests.

“Fine,” she rasps, then licks her dry lips. Just one more hour, at most, and she can lie down; she just has to get to the ship first. “I’m fine. Where –– where’s the shuttle?”

He pauses, scrutinizing her once again. “Listen, if you’re not feeling well, we can––”

“I said I’m fine!” she reasserts, a bit harsher than she intends. Her head throbs at the raised tone of her voice. She sighs. “Look, can we just –– ”

It’s clear he doesn’t entirely believe her. With all the time they’ve spent together since Scarif, he knows what her normal behavior looks like –– and this isn’t it. “Jyn, you really should –– ”

Her eyes flash in irritation. She doesn’t need to be coddled. “If you want to stay here, be my guest. But I’m going to finish up packing the ship.”

Once again, he must see something in her face that ends any possible argument. For him, this is a losing battle. Sighing, his shoulders slump in the face of her stubbornness. “All right. Come on.”

Leading her to a ship in the back of the hangar, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and pushing down the pain as best she can. No matter how lightly she steps, the impact of her boots against the ground sends electricity radiating up from her legs to her head, a dull thumping that seems to grow the longer she spends in the hangar bay.

She blinks and then they’re there. Almost robotically, she nods as Bodhi’s mouth opens and he begins to talk, only catching the tail end of whatever he says. He gestures toward the remaining crates of supplies that need to be loaded onto the shuttle and Jyn doesn’t bother to respond, turning toward them and setting her shoulders in preparation.

(With her back turned, she misses how his mouth thins, how he reaches out for her but drops his arm after a few seconds. She misses the determined set of his eyes, the way he seemingly comes to a decision before setting to work himself.)

It’s easy to lose herself in the repetitiveness of the task. With only the pain in her head to keep her company, she tunes out the rest of the hangar bay and loads up the ship. At least in there, the lights aren’t so bright and the noises around her are muffled some by the thick durasteel walls.

A blink and it’s done. It’s been –– how long has she been doing this, so lost in her head?

For a few seconds, she stands in the cargo bay and looks down at the crates without really seeing them. Her hands flex at her sides, fingers still primed to hold a box. But then a particularly painful jolt of pain goes through her eye and she hisses, pressing the palm of her hand against the socket. When it eases, her brain recircuits and she remembers her purpose, rocking back on her heels.

She turns to look for Bodhi, not finding him in the cockpit as expected. Instead, when she heads down the loading ramp to look for him, she sees him a few feet away, looking in her direction and talking in hushed voices with Cassian.

Jyn scowls in irritation, hands curling into fists at her side and marching over to them. She has a good idea of what Bodhi’s telling him –– that she’s been acting weird, that there’s something wrong with her, that she isn’t capable enough to go on the mission. All those thoughts jumble in her head at the same, overlapping and intensifying what’s already there.

“I’m fine!” she barks when she makes it over to them, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her chin up in defiance. Her jaw tightens, the muscles in her body bunching up and tensing. “I don’t know what he’s telling you but –– ”

Cassian holds up his hands and Bodhi takes a step back when faced with her sudden burst of rage. “We’re just going over take-off protocol since Bodhi isn’t coming with us on this one,” he explains gently.

Her anger deflates from her as quickly as it’d arrived and she closes her eyes briefly as her skull throbs in protest. Embarrassment at her outburst curls low in her gut but she refuses to let it show.

“Great,” she mutters, shoving her hands deep in her pockets and turning away from them. Her cheeks redden, ears burning beneath her hat. “I’ll be on the ship if you need me.”

If her behavior hadn’t been a cause for concern before, it certainly is now. She hunches in her coat, keeping her head down as she stalks to the shuttle, the snarl on her lips acting as armor to repel any stares from overly curious recruits that she gets on the way back.

Cassian isn’t far behind. She’s only been on the ship for a few beats before he joins her, standing close enough that there are only a few inches between them. When she looks back into the hangar bay, Bodhi’s still there, his body language anxious and worried in the distance.

She scowls, feeling betrayed and like they’re ganging up on her. She’s clearly fine –– she’d gotten everything on the ship quickly and efficiently. What complaints could they even have? When she turns away, she determinedly keeps her gaze focused on her datapad and makes a point not to look at Cassian, even when his presence

Finally, he breaks the stalemate, not bothering to pretend he doesn’t know something is wrong. “Bodhi says you’ve been off all morning.”

“Did he,” she says flatly, her eye twitching. Her mouth twists and she resolutely stares down at the datapad but not truly seeing the words on the screen.

“I’m not going to push you,” he replies steadily, his voice not changing despite the derision in hers. There’s no judgment, nothing but concern despite her growing frustration. ( Stars, she doesn’t deserve him. ) “But if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

If he hasn’t picked up on it, then she must be successfully hiding the worst of her pain. When she turns to face him, she lets a little bit of her raggedness show, exhaustion written on her features. It’s not a lie, not truly, but a misdirection instead. Let him think this is the root of the issue. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

One of his eyebrows ticks up, likely remembering how she’d barely moved when he’d left their bed that morning. He doesn’t believe her, not entirely. But whatever he must see in her face must be enough to convince him that she’s all right for now.

He nods slowly, brows tugging together as he considers her words, but doesn’t drop the matter entirely. “You can sleep once we make it to hyperspace.”

It feels like an order rather than a request but she knows the decision is ultimately up to her. Too exhausted to disagree, the throbbing pain on one side of her head sapping all of the fight out of her body.

Cassian hesitates, giving her a chance to pull away, then reaches out to cup her cheek. She closes her eyes when his thumb brushes against her cheekbone rhythmically; it doesn’t relieve any pain but his touch soothes her, comforts her in a way that only he can do.

“Let’s finish getting the ship ready,” he says softly, and, eyes still closed, she nods once again.

It doesn’t take long for them to finish; apparently, Bodhi had gotten more done than she’d realized while she’d lugged crates of supplies back and forth. Feeling almost as if in a trance with only a dull throbbing pain to keep her company, before she even realizes it, they’ve completed everything else and prepped the shuttle for take-off.

(Dangerous, Saw’s voice barks in her head when she blinks in confusion, her body acting on auto-pilot as she buckles herself in and mechanically pulls on a pair of headphones. Just because you’re with someone you trust doesn’t mean you’re safe. Focus, my child.)

With one last wave to Bodhi, she closes the cargo bay door without another word and joins Cassian in the cockpit. Her limbs feel heavy, eyes squinting against the bright lights flashing on the dashboard. It takes her more than one try to get her seatbelt buckled in.

Numbly, she forces her awareness out of the cave in her mind and does her best to pay attention when Cassian completes the pre-flight checks. It only takes a few minutes –– she thinks, her thoughts feeling as if they’re moving through sludge –– before they’re up in the air.

“Calculating jump to hyperspace,” he says. She clenches her jaw, nods, and prepares herself.

The jump to hyperspace is worse than she’d expected. She presses the back of her head into her seat in an attempt to keep it steady and her white-knuckled hand gripping the armrests so tight she shakes. Against the roar of the engine, she inhales and exhales short puffs of air, eyes squeezed tight. It feels as if her brain is rattling against her skull, sharp pinpricks of pain hitting her through the eye in full force.

One particularly bad pulse through her head has her biting down so hard on her tongue that she draws blood. The sharp sting at least provides a distraction, the coppery, metallic taste now filling her mouth becoming something to latch on to other than pain.

But it’s getting more and more difficult to keep herself together. The combination of the lights, the noise, and the jerky movements of the shuttle around her have flayed her control almost entirely. She can’t do this, she can’t do this, but she has to, she has to keep it together for just a few more secon––

The ship stills.

The only sound in the cockpit is her sharp, rapid breathing that she struggles to quiet and the hum of the engine underneath her feet. Though she can’t see him, she’s acutely aware of Cassian at her side. She hears him take off his headset and set it down on its hook above the dashboard, then hears the creak of his seat as he turns, presumably to face her properly.

Hears the low, comforting sound of his voice when he tentatively asks, “Jyn? Are you okay?”

“`m’fine,” she mumbles after a beat, her brain taking longer than usual to comprehend his words properly. Even though it’s very clear that she’s not, she can’t quite abandon the ruse just yet, still hanging onto rapidly disappearing threads of composure. “Just. . .”

She trails off, swallowing down a wave of nausea. In the silence that follows, her stomach churns, due both to anxiety and her migraine; if she moves, even slightly, she’s going to throw up all over the floor. To tamp down on that, she focuses on her breathing: ragged inhales that catch before they make it to her lungs.

Cautiously, she cracks her eyes open, just a slit, to see Cassian leaning forward in his seat, gaze tight with worry. His fists are curled against his knees, his body tense with the effort of not reaching out to her. She imagines he wants to check her over himself and see what’s causing her pain but not without her permission.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. She can hear the desperation in his voice, likely compounded by the fact that he hadn’t pushed her to tell him what’d been wrong earlier. “Jyn, please. Did someone hurt you? Are you––”

“Fine,” she cuts him off weakly, ignoring his growl of frustration at her protests. He’d reluctantly taken her by her word earlier but that’s not going to work anymore. The ruse is up; it’s so incredibly clear that she isn’t fine, the jump to hyperspace having rattled something loose in her brain. “It’s. . .”

She pauses, licks her lips, then decides –– what the hell. She can’t physically keep her walls up much longer. Her eyes flutter close, the pressure in her head abating only slightly with the lack of light. Finally, she says, “My head.”

“Did you fall? Jyn, let me check––”

“No,” she swallows, fumbling with her words. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, her thoughts slow and sluggish. “It’s –– it’s a migraine. I think. I, um, get them. Occasionally.”

When Cassian doesn’t reply, she opens her eyes to see what he’s doing, feeling nervous and exposed. She watches as he gingerly stands and reaches over her, flicking off the lights in the cockpit and dimming the space as much as possible. While it isn’t completely dark, with switches on the dashboard still blinking, it’s a marked difference from how bright it’d been before. Her breath leaves her in a stuttered exhale as her shoulders relax slightly.

His voice is quiet when he asks, “Better?”

“Yeah,” she rasps. It is. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence passes between them before he tilts his head to the side, in the direction of the back of the ship. Though it isn’t large and not meant for long-term travel, there’s a small bunk room and galley just behind the crew’s quarters. Though he doesn’t say anything, Jyn knows what he’s asking.

“No,” she grits out. She keeps her head still but follows him with her gaze. It’s a struggle to get the words out. “I don’t . . . need to rest.”

“Jyn. . .”

“No.” It feels like her last line of defense. It’s a stupid hill to die on but she can’t seem to let it go, barely clinging to what little she has left. Even though she knows that Cassian would never treat her differently –– and he never has when she’s come to him injured or in the aftermath of a nightmare –– she’s not unlike a feral animal when hurting, flinching away and attacking the hand that tries to help.

He’s seen her at her worst, has held her through it, has seen more of her than anyone in this galaxy ever has. But used to a lifetime of sharing a bunk and never truly being alone, she’s learned to keep her pain quiet, to remain small and unobtrusive in moments of true vulnerability. Cassian and the rest of Rogue One have slowly broken down some of her walls but there are some things she doubts she’ll ever be able to shake fully.

But then Cassian whips out his trump card.

“Please, Jyn? For me?” And if his saying please hadn’t been enough, he adds softly, “My back has been sore all morning. Lay down with me?”

“Just for an hour,” she relents –– barely. “And you have to actually lay next to me.”

His eyes soften. “`course. Come on.”

She stands slowly to try and offset the dizziness that she knows will come, but it doesn’t work. She bites the inside of her cheeks and closes her eyes when it washes over her, her head throbbing in time with her heartbeat. For a few seconds, she worries once again she might throw up all over the ground but swallows it down. Fuck, it hurts so badly.

There’s this urgent, wild urge in the back of her mind to cry out for her mother –– she feels like a child again, scared and in pain, and wanting nothing more than Lyra’s comfort.

Finally, when it passes, she opens her eyes again, breathing heavily. Cassian stands a few feet away, one arm outstretched in case he needs to steady her. He’s not even trying to hide his worry anymore; she’d reassure him in any other situation but she’s just so tired.

Slowly, she makes her way to the bunkroom with Cassian close behind. It’s not far, and soon, she’s perched on the edge of the small cot, shoulders hunched forward.

He reaches out and touches her arm gently. That one small gesture eases a knot of tension in her body and she sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “I’m going to grab you some water. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable, she doesn’t like the idea of him leaving her sight right now. But at the thought of water, she swallows, her throat dry. Slowly, she nods, her head heavy and protesting the jerky movement.

She keeps quiet and doesn’t move until he returns with a glass of water in hand. Despite the position likely being hell on his back, he crouches next to the bed, offering it to her.

Silently, she reaches for it with a shaky arm, just barely managing to take a few sips without spilling before handing it back to him. He takes it, but not without a small sigh and a look of concern.

“You need to stay hydrated.” As quiet as it is, his voice is still too loud.

Not having eaten anything all day, she’s keenly aware of the hunger and thirst steadily growing in her stomach. But it’s no match for the pain in her head and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to keep anything more than water down if she tries. “No,” she manages. But then, to appease him, she adds, “Later.”

“All right,” he says finally, setting the glass on the small desk a few paces away. A pause. He shifts on his feet, and she’s just about to order him to move from his uncomfortable position when he speaks again, “I grabbed a hypospray. It’s yours if you want it.”

There’s a protest on her lips that dies when he interrupts, anticipating what she’d planned on saying, “We have more than enough supplies. It won’t be missed.”

Jyn licks her lips, then dips her chin in a slow nod.

Cassian’s jaw works briefly, clenching and unclenching before his expression finally smoothes. He knows her better than she knows herself, she thinks –– and they both know how stubborn she can get about soldiering through her pain until the last possible moment. For her to give in now without too much complaint tells him exactly how bad her pain is, what she’d been trying to hide from him all day.

Without a word, he waits until he catches her half-squinted gaze before slowly bringing the hypospray to her neck. She tilts her chin to the side slightly and closes her eyes; her breath stutters in her lungs when his warm hands brush against her skin, looking for the artery.

“Dispensing now,” he murmurs and she doesn’t have the energy to hide her flinch when the cold medicine enters her bloodstream.

The small, barely there movements of her body send shockwaves of pain through one side of her skull. Her whole body tenses, muscles rigid. She keeps her eyes squeezed to better ride out the wave washing over her, ebbing and throbbing; even as she feels the hypospray beginning to take effect, it isn’t immediate.

Now that she’s sitting, with no more tasks left to complete, she properly takes stock of her pain, it feels as if someone is repeatedly taking an ice pick to her head, stabbing her eye socket with each throbbing beat of her pulse. Before she can stop it, a small whimper leaves her mouth before she presses her lips tightly together so no other sounds can escape.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says softly. She feels him brush her cheek with his fingers lightly, then moves some of her hair off of her face. “You don’t have to hide from me, Jyn. What do you need?”

She doesn’t have to do much to convey it. Without speaking and moving as little as possible, she finds his arm in the dark and pulls him toward her. Gingerly, Cassian stands –– she can hear his joints popping as he does so –– and maneuvers himself over her and onto the cot.

He settles stiffly next to her with his back to the wall; at first, he doesn’t move, likely not wanting to cause her any more pain. But as soon as she feels him at her side, she reaches for him immediately. He is, as always, a lifeline for her, an anchor in the middle of the storm. She turns onto her side, curling into him, desperate for some sort of comfort, a distraction from the pain, if only for a few seconds. And even though it must be hell on his back for him to curl over her like this, he does so, anyway, his body a shield between her and the outside world.

Forehead pressed against his neck, her fists gripping his shirt with a white-knuckled grip, he quietly murmurs nonsense into her ear. All she can do is cling to him in a moment of uncharacteristic weakness strength and breathes.

Hours later, Jyn opens her eyes, slowly waking up. She doesn’t remember falling asleep but the combination of Cassian’s presence and the hypospray’s effect eventually lulled her to unconsciousness. She blinks once, twice, feeling a hundred times lighter than she had earlier; the pain in her head has abated to a manageable ache –– still there but not as debilitating.

She tilts her head upward, the tip of her nose brushing against Cassian’s face. He’s in the same position as he’d been in before, curled around her protectively. Still asleep, his face is relaxed, his breathing slow and even.

As much as he needs the sleep, she’s unable to resist her next impulse; she tilts her chin slightly, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. It’s short and sweet, lasting only a few seconds; and even though it’s a selfish want, her heart skips a beat in her chest when his eyes open, warm and brown, blinking down at her.

It’s a testament to how much he trusts her that he doesn’t tense upon awakening. Rather, his expression warms, mouth tugging into an indulgent smile. “Hi,” he murmurs, voice rasping.

“Hi,” she repeats, her smile a mirror of his. When he moves to brush his lips against hers again, she meets him eagerly, basking in the afterglow of the morning and the relaxed feeling that only sleep can bring.

“How are you feeling?”

She hums. “Better.”

“Good.” His arms tighten around her, firm but loose enough that she can pull away. She doesn’t. “You scared me, you know.”

She stays silent as he continues. “When Bodhi told me he didn’t think you were feeling well, I didn’t think it was that bad, not when you marched over to us a minute later. But then, after we jumped. . .” he closes his eyes briefly, licking his chapped lips. She wants to smooth the wrinkle between his brows with her thumb. “I thought you would have told me that it was that bad.”

Is that disappointment in his voice? Shame curls in her gut. Had their positions been flipped, she would have felt just as helpless. “I know. I should have.”

“Why didn’t you?” An open question. If he’s judging her for it, he keeps that out of his voice.

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “It’s. . .It’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do, but. . .” she shrugs with a shoulder as best she can while lying on her side. “Just habit, I guess.”

A habit formed after years of being alone, exacerbated due to Saw’s abandonment and how quickly her ties to the Partisans –– her foundation of self, her family –– had been ripped out from underneath her. It had been necessary to hide the vulnerable sides of herself for survival, instincts that she hasn’t quite shaken now that she once again has a team she can rely on.

He licks his chapped lips. “Have you . . . seen someone about this? A medic?”

“Once.” After her symptoms had lingered long after a particularly bad head injury, Saw had forced her (not that she had much choice with how sick she’d been) to see one of the Partisan’s medics. “With how many concussions I get, this sort of thing. . .happens, they said.”

Cassian hums. “Will you see one of the Alliance’s medics when we get back?”

“I don’t think there’s anything they can do,” she argues. She can handle it –– not to mention that, with how many injuries those doctors have to deal with on a daily basis, she’d just be wasting their time.

He stays silent but the look in his eyes tells her he doesn’t like her answer. “There might be medicine that could help.”

“The hypospray worked well enough,” she retorts grouchily, cuddling closer to him so she no longer has to meet his gaze. His heartbeat beats a steady tempo against her cheek.

He brushes her bangs back behind her ears, his hand lingering on the side of her face. Perhaps reassuring himself that she’s still in one piece, that she’s no longer in as much pain as before. “To prevent this sort of thing from happening so often.”

She scowls. “It doesn’t happen that often.”

“Jyn. . .” he sighs. “What happens if we’re out on a mission and you’re like this? If –– if something happened to you, I couldn’t. . .” His jaw clenches, eyes flashing at the thought of the hypothetical.

Knowing he’s right –– it has happened out in the field but never to this degree –– she stays silent.

“Let’s make a deal, all right?” She remains quiet, listening. He continues, “You go to the medbay when we get back, see what they can do. I’ll come with you. And then, in return, when my back is bothering me, I’ll go. But we tell each other, all right? When we’re hurting. Trust goes both ways, remember?”

“Trust goes both ways,” she echoes softly, tipping her head back from his chest and onto the pillow so she can better look at his face. Her headache has been subdued to a dull throbbing, a far cry from the agony she’d felt earlier. “You promise you’ll go?”

“If you do, I will,” Cassian says. “And you’ll tell me next time your head hurts, yes?”

“Fine,” she concedes with a grumble, though her displeasure fades when he gathers her back up in his arms and kisses her forehead gently. Her breath hitches at the feeling of his lips against her skin.

“We have a few more hours before we reach Dantooine,” he tells her softly. “We should get up, grab some food. When’s the last time you ate?”

Even though she hasn’t eaten anything all day, the remnants of nausea still remain in her system. She makes a face, wrinkling her nose at the thought of leaving the bed and Cassian’s embrace.

“You said your back was sore,” she says instead. Regardless if it had only been a ploy to get her to bed, his back bothers him more often than not. It won’t hurt to rest a little more, especially not when they’ll be in hyperspace for a while still. “Lay here with me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles down at her. It’s the type of true smile she so very rarely sees outside of when they’re alone together, the one that never fails to make her heart swell in her chest with a type of love she’d never thought she’d ever feel. “Always.”

#rebelcaptain #jyn erso/cassian andor #rebelcaptain fic #rebelcaptain fanfic #rogue one fic #therebelcaptainnetwork #rebelcaptaindaily #dailyrebelcaptain #my writing

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statustemporary · 5 days

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running home to your sweet nothings, chapter 2

STORY SUMMARY: His informality is refreshing; like water in a desert, Emma is parched and desperate for more.

“Take note, Princess, that I take no pleasure in pointing out the susceptibilities of your security or skills. It is my loyalty to you that wants you to remain safe.” There’s an earnestness to his voice and Emma feels her cheeks heat. His breath fans against her face in soft puffs as he speaks and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile.

“What have I done to earn such loyalty other than wear a crown?” she asks in an equally quiet voice. She’s breathless as she speaks but she yearns for his unfiltered response.

// or the four gifts of killian jones

RATING: M for Mature Audience (Implied sexual conduct, violence)

WORD COUNT: 9,002 words

TAGS: Alternative Universe, Enchanted Forest AU, Blacksmith!Killian, Violence, Implied Sexual Conduct

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: had over 5k of this chapter sitting on my computer for well over a year. and have had 8k of chapter 3 for even longer than that (but who knows what of that will be kept).

anyway the first part of this chapter and the last part are my favorites, especially the first. the last part has been in my mind since i expanded this story beyond the prompt of gifts from killian lol. so yay for finally writing it! <3

having a lot of trouble staying inspired for ouat, especially over the last few months as i fundamentally disagree with some cast members stances. sorry not sorry for my inability to separate art from the artist. just trying to empty out my WIPs folder on my folder so i can fully move on. current WIPs will be finished. at some point.

anyway (x2) enjoy! sorry its been a year and a half lol

***

two and a half centuries ago.

late summer.

ella.

Her fingertips feel like fire.

Water crashes against the steep cliffs of Segovia and the freezing sea jumps up and nips at her exposed ankles. She pays no attention to the chill that travels her body or the way her sandy blonde hair whips in her face from the harsh winds. Instead, she keeps her eyes closed and hands held out in front of her.

Her magic gets weaker each time she uses it.

Magic had been thought to be extinct for years in Misthaven, the inhabitants losing it centuries back. The fairies retained their magic but even with their resources, could find no reasoning behind the loss for Misthaven’s people. Some of those in Misthaven believed that the Dark One was draining the land and its people of their magic for a dark curse but none had been cast. Others felt the magic was limited and once it was gone, there was no replenishing it.

And then Ella had been born as a product of True Love, and the first glance at pure magic in nearly three centuries. Her magic was respected by most and feared by others. When the Second Ogre War started a year ago, it became an expectation that she’d use her magic to help Misthaven succeed.

So she did. Her mother always told her to have courage and be kind, and what better way to live that to the fullest than doing all she could to protect the other citizens of Misthaven from a hostile takeover by the ogres?

Except… her magic is waning.

Like a wet cloth being hung to dry, she feels herself slowly losing her magic until there is close to none left. It is proving to be a problem on the battlefield as she doesn’t have the energy or the magic anymore to keep Misthaven from sending in soldiers.

Without her magic, she has no way to protect Kit.

She feels a momentary surge of energy flow through her body as her magic weaves through the dirt and pebbles on the cliffside, feels it singing as it circles a collection of ferrum.

There’s not much left, she thinks to herself of both the rocks and her magic.

Her work is hasty and not as clean as she wishes it could be but she knows that time is against her now.

Ella pulls the ferrum rocks from their place in an alcove on the cliff and piles them on a flat area. The sea water is getting rougher and wets her hair, her dress beyond repair from how the elements have thrashed it about. She quiets her mind and focuses on her Kit, letting her magic flow through her for one of the last times.

Black hair with a curl to it she loved to run her fingers through. A big heart guarded behind a charming smile. Those piercing blue eyes that could keep her rooted to the spot. He had her heart from the moment they met on horseback and she never looked back.

Her hands are burning as she opens her eyes. The rocks have transformed from separate entities into pieces of armor. Lining the edges of each piece is a design born from their love.

Stags to symbolize their first meeting. Shoes to symbolize how they found one another. A vine to connect to the three symbols together, representing their partnership and bond.

The last of her magic flares under her fingertips and Ella picks up the chest plate, lifting it to her face.

“Please take care of my love,” she whispers, sealing her plea with a soft kiss and a spark.

A feeling of emptiness envelops her in an embrace and she fights to wrap her arms around herself to keep out the cold it brings. She doesn’t have time to wallow in the loss of something so intricate to who she is. To stand there and focus on the ache in her heart or the hollow feeling in her chest is precious time wasted when she could be helping.

Ella takes a deep breath and marches past the longing in her fingertips for something just out of reach and instead gathers the armor she’s crafted. She cannot afford to let her emotions take control at this moment. That can wait for her lonely bedchambers late in the night when no one can hear her cry. For now, she needs to see her Kit off.

five and twenty.

early winter.

somewhere in the enchanted forest.

emma.

The flying simians attack on their fifth day.

Leaving Misthaven comes with an ease that unsettles Emma. The tension coiling around her shoulders refuses to alleviate as the castle walls become mere specks when she looks behind herself. Her posture remains rigid, her fitted armor, a gift from Killian, digs into her forearms from how restricted she keeps her movements.

Horse riding has never been a favorite activity of Emma’s. Being taught to sit astride a giant beast in the few moments of freedom she had growing up always felt more uncomfortable than liberating. Forever the black sheep of her family, her parents and their friends would guide their horses with ease while her confidence remained shaky.

Years have passed since her first riding lessons and yet unease still sits in the pit of her stomach. However, this time she can’t tell if it’s from the animal being squeezed between her boney knees or the mission she’s assigned herself.

She knows Killian believes her actions to be dumb, reckless, and completely unnecessary, but this is for her people. She has to protect them.

Besides, she will not let him throw himself on a sword just to spare her the slight inconvenience and possible danger. He’s much too important to her for her to let him volunteer himself like he tried. And he should give her more credit – he did teach her how to defend herself after all.

Emma ducks her head when a branch gets in her path and nearly falls off of her horse when she tries to sit up again.

A roaring laugh escapes a knight from behind her and she knows immediately that it belongs to Will Scarlet.

The knights that are with her trot through the forest without a worry as they move through Misthaven’s trees. This is just another day for them, another assignment, another potential battle. They have seen the worst of the worst and it has not scared them away yet.

Her bravado has been a front and she’s sure at least some of the most experienced of the group could read through it. But her people need her and if she must fake the confidence of a seasoned general, then she will do so, no matter how inadequate she feels.

The last and only time she’d gone to battle had been against Regina. The Evil Queen had caught them all off-guard, able to sneak into Misthaven by piggybacking on the magic of a fairy, they learned months after the fact, and Emma was unprepared, her magic unruly and uncontrollable.

“She must have been weak,” Emma tried to reason as Blue stood by her bed, her parents sitting at the foot.

“You have powerful magic, Princess,” Blue explained. “Magic belonging to True Love. Most magic users access their power through intellect. For them, it is a learned skill. You are rare, Princess Emma. You were born with it and you access your magic through your emotions. Emotions have the ability to create incredible magic, especially light magic, the likes of which the realm has never seen before.” She watched the fairy’s eyes slide over to her parents. Never before had she felt like such a fraud.

“The magic I used wasn’t light. I was angry. I wanted her gone,” Emma choked out.

Blue shook her head. “Anger is easy. It is the most natural emotion there is. The magic you used was made from love, Princess Emma. Love is the most powerful magic of all.”

She pulled her blankets tighter around her body, dragged her knees to her chest.

It certainly didn’t feel like love. How can ending someone’s life come from love? How can allowing them to suffer and not feeling remorse for it come from love?

Emma felt empty. She mentally reached towards her magic to feel it straining to return her call. What had always been an overabundance in her life – a threat to herself and those she loved – was barely there.

“What happened to it?” she asked, eyes full of tears and her hand shaking as she held it out of the blanket. “My magic,” she continued, voice cracking. “It – it isn’t all there. What happened to it?”

She missed the looks of sympathies shared between the three adults in the room before they broke the news to her.

Too much magic. Exhausted it. Body needed to recover. Might not come back.

She wept.

At least now, as she rides towards an unknown foe, she finds comfort in the fact that she’s not unprepared.

The sword Killian made for her bounces against her upper thigh as the horse below her trots down the dirt pathways. Its’ comforting weight at her side keeps the lessons he taught her in her mind. Their sparing sessions have made her almost as good of a swordsman as he is and holding a sword no longer feels awkward. His work has made her feel like the sword is an extension of her hand.

It also, unsurprisingly, feels like home.

Because with every remembrance of their sparing sessions, she recalls the feel of his lips against her mouth and his skin on hers. The way his raised eyebrow and smirk could make her heart race and how his presence made her feel like her magic was sparking back to life.

Her fingertips tingle and Emma glances down and imagines a faint glow surrounding them before the neigh of a horse breaks her reprieve.

Robin rides to her left while Will rides to her right, Lancelot and Little John scouting ahead with Dorothy following up behind. It is an odd group of knights that gathered at the barn to follow her along enemy lines but she trusts their abilities.

Robin, Lancelot, and Dorothy are the veterans of the group. The years of their training together totaling just shy of twice Emma’s age. Little John prefers to stay back, his tall stature a hindrance more often than not, but his abilities with a bow and arrow are lethal. Will is the youngest of the group, energetic like some of the pups on nearby farmlands and eager to prove himself worthy, though there’s an edge to his attitude that gives way to the wisdom learned on the streets he dragged himself from.

His sometimes-skittish behavior reminds her of what Killian must have been like as a boy before he and his brother happened upon Misthaven’s shores.

The trees are quiet for most of their ride. Branches and leaves sway in the wind, a soft rustling filling the silent air. Robin quickly established a system amongst the group – silence in the forest, ears searching for any sign of the enemy, and chatter allowed in the villages they pass. As they continue their journey, the villages become farther and farther between, silence becoming their most often companion.

The green of the forest brings a sense of comfort to Emma. They remind her of the color of her mother’s eyes and if she closes her own hard enough, she can imagine herself back at the castle, debating in the war room about next steps once Emma has news for her.

Her mother sends birds often. She realizes quickly that she must have her own system for ensuring one reaches her every few hours during the first two days. As much as this is her first big journey away from the castle, one her parents tried to talk her out of, this is also their first time being away from her. So she welcomes the birds and sends her own short messages back, confirming her safety and decreeing no news.

Longing burrows in her chest as by the third day, the birds only come twice. When the sun rises on the fourth, her mother’s accompanying note breaks the news she would only be able to send one bird a day.

Loneliness fights to take hold.

“There was once a family in Arendelle who had a tutor staying in their home,” Will starts as they near the outskirts of a village. Their travel companions groan and Emma bites back a smile. Propriety is hard to drop, even for this ragtag group, but Will sheds it fastest and most often. The earlier chastising from Robin fell on deaf ears as, to all of their mortification, Will told the dirtiest joke to ever grace Emma’s ears.

The snorting laugh he earned from his princess seemed to only spur the knight on further, as every village they arrived at brought forth another joke.

It eases her burdens, lessens the stress on her shoulders, and lets her forget the danger ahead, even if just for a moment.

“The tutor came so often that he felt himself at home and even had a turn with the housemaid, the nurse, and the mistress herself.” Emma’s gasp only brings a wolfish grin to Will’s face and she spots from the corner of her eye the death glare that Robin is sending his way. “When the master of the house discovered this, he summoned the young man to his private chamber and said, ‘I find it unmannerly of you, sir, that in taking your please of my entire household, you have made an exception of me.’”

Her roaring laugh echoes in the quiet village and she notices that even Lancelot, propriety in the flesh, cracks a grin.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” she wonders.

“The gutter, undoubtedly,” Dorothy pipes up.

“I don’t visit you that often,” Will shoots back, his grin widening at the hard stare and white-knuckled grip of his comrade. “I learned meself such a grand knowledge like any growing lad did – eavesdropping at the tavern.”

Robin’s horse trots forward just slightly as the man leans over to catch a proper look at Will. “All of that eavesdropping and not a single manner picked up?”

“You give him too much credit!” Little John calls from the front.

“Oi! Just because I’m ordered not to kill you doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“Get a new line already, Scarlett!”

“Settle down, boys,” Dorothy says. “We’re getting close to the village center.”

Lancelot immediately adds, “Eyes out. Something’s not right.”

She registers the smell a few moments later and recoils in disgust.

Smoke. Wood. Flesh.

The distinct smell of burning flesh haunts her nightmares, lingers in the back of her throat as an aftertaste when her thoughts go astray. A quick succession of deep breaths keeps the urge to retch at bay. Still, she cannot will her horse to move.

“Princess Emma,” Robin calls softly, spotting and turning back to her. He lets the others go before them and she watches as they cover their noses and mouths with a cloth. It would be wise to do the same but her muscles won’t move. “Princess Emma,” Robin tries again. “Are you alright?”

“I – I’m fine,” she insists. He only nods and eyes her for a moment.

“Best cover up. You don’t want to be breathing in things like this.” He hands her a spare cloth and she ties it behind her head, mimicking Robin’s own movements. When she completes it, he gives her a nod and a smile, from what she can tell by his crinkling eyes. He gestures her forward but it takes a minute for her body to listen to her commands.

Their ride towards the nearby village settles a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Images of Regina flash in her head no matter how hard she tries.

She spends the walk reliving Regina’s death. The way her skin melted under her gaze. The lack of guilt for what she’d done.

It terrifies her how clear everything still is for her.

Keeping her mind in the present is the hardest part so Emma tries to listen for any noises from around them.

The village is still a half hour away yet the entire forest is as if all signs of life have disappeared. No birds chirping – not even the ones that her mother has been sending after her to keep in touch. No crickets making music, no bees buzzing, not even the rustling of the tree branches.

Silence has never terrified her as much as this.

Ten minutes from the center of the village and they see another person for the first time. They struggle to walk and burns cover most of their body. Like in a trance, they ignore every offer of help coming from Emma and her companions. She moves to get off her horse when the person throws up, blood decorating the forest floor, before collapsing into the pool of their own fluids. The sight takes her breath away and she has to blink away the tears.

“Stay close,” Lancelot warns as they reach the settlement.

Stragglers stumble their way down the streets of the village. Their clothing disheveled and singed in spots, thatched roofs gone from most of the buildings and some still burn as they enter. It looks as if a storm of wind and fire rolled through and the village has yet to recover.

Something large sails overhead, a bird looking much different than she’d ever seen before. Its cawing sounds are unlike anything she’s heard before and it sends a chill down her spine. Four days on the road and an unsettling feeling returns to the center of her chest. She works hard to calm her panicking heart and instead places her trust in the guards around her.

“Let’s find a place to settle for the night,” Robin says, eyes darting to the sky.

They discuss quickly and quietly where the best place would be and settle on an abandoned stable nearby. A river runs behind it and even that doesn’t make a sound.

The stable doesn’t seem to have been damaged by storms like so many homes have been in the village, meaning something else drove the family away. Her only guess is the nearby enemy encampments, but this feels like something more.

Almost like there’s magic waiting for her across the river but what little there is in her can’t reach far enough to grab it and understand what is happening.

Instead, they pair up and ensure that everyone has someone looking out for them. Emma’s never felt so vulnerable until she had to empty her bladder as Dorothy remained vigilant on all that surrounds them. Someone could come up behind them at any moment and her sword was lying on the ground at her feet, swallowed by her riding trousers.

She quickly finds comfort in pulling her dagger from her boot and holding it in her hand as she goes.

Most of the villagers don’t even spare them a second glance as they move about. There’s a haunted look in their eyes that makes Emma roll her shoulders in an attempt to ease the brewing tension. Odd shapes keep flying between the treetops casting unfamiliar shadows on the ground. The animals never come close enough to identify but Emma still feels their eyes glaring into the back of her head.

The group finishes the necessary tasks quickly before retreating back to the stables come nightfall.

The horses stomp restlessly as they settle in during the late evening. The hair on the back of her neck stands up at their unease and the feeling spreads throughout their group. Wailing – the heart-wrenching, sore throat, dry heaving kind – echoes from different corners of the village and grief hangs heavy in the air.

“We won’t stay for more than a night,” Lancelot says. “One guard at all times. No one leaves this stable tonight. Is that understood?” A round of nods comes from the group and the knight assigns shifts.

“What about me?” Emma asks.

“With all due respect, Princess, I cannot afford to have you on guard. Rest. Your work is tomorrow.”

His decision is hard to swallow but Emma nods anyway. It wouldn’t do good to throw a tantrum among the people whose job is to protect her. She will let it slide for tonight, her stomach twisting in uncomfortably fast motions. But tomorrow she will take part.

It takes a great effort to not stomp and grumble on her way to her sleeping spot but apparently it still isn’t good enough as it gets a laugh from Robin. He lounges against one of the closed stable doors, a picture of ease with his legs stretched in front of him and his ankles crossed.

She halfheartedly glares at the man before she attempts to fluff the hay. It’s certainly a far cry from a palace pillow but it’ll have to do.

“Is everything alright, Princess Emma?” he asks. They are the only two at their end of the stables, the others working over a strategy near the entrance.

“I had hoped for better accommodations,” she answers after a moment, teasing smile on her lips. He grins quick even as her attention drifts to the huddle once again.

“Apologies, Your Highness. Next time we will find the stable with silk sheets and a feathered bed.”

Instead of continuing in a light banter, she keeps her focus on Lancelot. “You know I am capable with a sword,” she says, her tone questioning.

“Of course, Princess,” Robin answers. His lips quirk up as if entertained.

“Then I should be on watch as well. You all need as much rest as possible for us to continue our journey tomorrow.”

“While I have no doubts in your abilities, it is best for you to rest tonight.”

“I am not that tired.”

Almost immediately after the words leave her mouth, she fights back a yawn and fails. Robin grins at the attempt. He watches her for a moment before a somber expression graces his features. “You are not underestimated, please know that,” he starts. “But we have no clue what attacked the village. Your safety is our top priority and it will make all of our lives easier if you accept that as well.”

His words serve as a necessary reminder that everyone with her is risking their own lives for her mission. They are trailing the edges of enemy territory, an enemy that gets more terrifying the more they discover, and are hoping to sneak to the site for materials unnoticed. It’s a monumental task, one with no guarantee of return, and she bites hard on her tongue to repress the urge wanting to say she can do it on her own.

She’s felt like she’s been on her own for so long, trapped in her golden cage dressed as a palace. Forced to be her own friend and entertain herself, teach herself things her parents were too scared of, coping with her situation all alone.

She was on her own against Regina, her parents powerless to stop her. She was alone when she woke up in the infirmary months later and without an idea of what happened.

Always so alone, always so lonely.

Then Killian inserted himself into her life for one night and flipped everything on its head. Immediately they fell into the role of partners with a common task, working together silently, clicking right away. For the first time in her life, loneliness was not her only companion.

The time after he disappeared allowed that numbing loneliness to creep its way back into her life only to be banished once again at his return.

She loves her people and would do anything for them but in truth… He is who she is doing all of this for. He is who she will return home to.

Robin’s face holds a far-off look and Emma’s heart clenches at the familiarity of it.

“Do you have anyone you’d like to write a message to? I can have one of my mother’s birds deliver it…” she offers, hesitant and uncomfortable. As much as they have found a banter within the group over their days of travel, Emma still doesn’t know the knights guarding her on her mission. They are familiar faces, ones she’s seen throughout the palace over the years, but Killian is the natural extrovert, learning about everyone he meets. She barely remembers any of their last names but she’s sure he could recall every story they’ve ever told him.

He'd make a wonderful leader. His courage, strength, bravery, sense of justice… Killian is everything a people should hope their leader to be and yet he still deems himself unworthy for some reason. Despite that, they cannot deny themselves the connection that stretches between them. She closes her eyes and hears his voice in her ear about how they make quite the team. It becomes all she can focus on and she feels a warmth fill her body, the outside world sounding softer, more far away. The sensations stay with her when she opens her eyes again and even when she manages to let a yawn slip.

Robin has a soft look on his face as their eyes meet. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll scribe something in the morning so you’ll have it ready.”

She nods her head and settles in, back against the bale of hay. The armor, a gift from Killian a few years ago, digs into her arms and waist. She shifts unable to find a comfortable lounging position and stifles another yawn to Robin’s amusement.

“What?” she huffs.

“Nothing, nothing…” he trails off with an amused smile. “You just remind me of my son. Roland.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, he’s also quite stubborn to sleep.” He pauses. “He’s five.”

A roll of her eyes earns another chuckle from his direction but Emma concedes and lays her head down.

Sleep finds her in a light sort of way, dangling on the edge of consciousness and never letting her slip deep enough to dream. It is the sleep of someone on alert.

The creaking of the stable door is quiet for the most part but the sound still dances in Emma’s ears. She awakens, eyes blinking slowly as she tries to adjust to the darkness of the stable. Little John’s tall figure fills the only light coming into the stables from the gap in the door and Emma barely realizes, based on the shift rotation, that it’s the middle of the night.

“Whatsthematter?” Her words slur together as sleep circles the borders of her consciousness. A soft rain patters against the wood roof and she can hear the soft stomps of footsteps in mud.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Little John says in a quiet urgence. He keeps turning his head to look out the door and Emma struggles to sit up with her armor on.

“I’ll help,” she manages to say but before she can get up, Little John is outside, the stable door slamming shut behind him. The sound reverberates around the enclosed structure, immediately waking the other knights. They rush to a standing position and bombard her with questions that she doesn’t have answers to. Her mind runs blank and she only relays the short sentences they exchanged.

Robin picks up his crossbow from beside his sleeping area and slings it over his shoulder.

“You are not going after him,” Lancelot says, stepping into Robin’s path.

“Little John is like a brother to me! I’m not leaving him alone out there!”

“And going out after him, in this weather and in a town as dangerous as this, will weaken all of us.” Lancelot breathes out heavily, glancing at the stoic expression on Dorothy’s face and the crestfallen look on Will’s. “We will search at dawn. We will be able to track his footprints in the mud then. For now, rest.”

Robin stands still in a stare-off with Lancelot. Though neither one moves, their eyes dart around, a silent conversation amongst comrades, until Robin steps back in defeat and practically throws his crossbow to the ground. Will moves forward in a quick motion and brings Robin to a far corner of the stables, whispering quiet reassurances to the older gentleman.

“We’re going to find him, alright?” Will says in a whisper that just barely makes Emma’s ear.

“Come on,” Dorothy says from her other side and Emma jumps. “Get back to sleep.”

“But –”

“No buts. Sleep is the best thing you can do right now. Got it?”

Emma nods, sighing heavily. Her eyes watch the different knights amongst her. The ability to read lips is not one that she possesses but she still tries, to no avail. Her questions go unanswered as they talk to each other and not her, and exhaustion tugs at the back of her mind again.

So she lays her head on a bale of hay and clutches her dagger under the folds of her riding outfit with one ear out for the slightest noise.

The next morning, the group sets out to look for Little John. A search that very quickly becomes useless. Little John’s tracks stop five feet from the stable with no indication of where else he could have gone.

Dorothy growls in frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense. There’s nowhere he could’ve gone. His tracks stop right here. Nothing more.”

Robin mumbles to himself while he alternates his glare between Lancelot and the ground. Emma’s heart feels for the Black knight. Leadership means making the tough decisions and she knows from the look of apprehension on his face that his next plan will not be a popular one.

Expectedly, there is a fight about pausing their search to continue forward with the mission. Lancelot stands his ground though and within a few hours, they’re back on their trek, horses trotting through the forest grounds. Everyone does double duty with their eyes scanning the ground for any clues of Little John’s whereabouts with no success.

Will slows his horse to come beside Emma by the late afternoon. “How are you holding up?” he asks.

Her mind has been elsewhere the entire ride. Killian occupies most of her thoughts, a centering focus that keeps her from losing herself in despair. The way he raises a single eyebrow at her to tease, taunt, and flirt. The feeling of his arms around her waist. How he loves to use the rough skin of his stump to tickle her side. His eyes, bluer than any ocean she’d seen with depths of untold stories he’s yet to share with her.

She focuses on what will happen when she gets home. He’ll no doubt want to reprimand her for kissing a commoner in front of the guards, regardless of the fact the commoner was him, and she’ll try to ignore his pushes to talk.

But then Emma remembers how one of those guards is now missing and her “when she gets home” turns into an “if she gets home”.

If she still had her magic, she could’ve found Little John by now. She could have magicked herself to the cliffs of Segovia and home within a day. No one would have disappeared. Her kingdom wouldn’t be closing in on a nearly six-decade war with more losses than stars in the sky and already stretched incredibly thin. Killian wouldn’t have been inspired to sign up and he’d still have his hand.

Anger races through her blood and she feels her body grow warm, cheeks get hot under her fury. It all leads back to Regina. Living off of revenge against a child who was manipulated when she thought she was helping… the pain of her refusal to see the truth – see that Regina’s mother was to blame and not young Snow – led to more death and destruction than any of them thought possible. The Ogre Wars hadn’t harmed them this deeply. It’s all Regina’s fault.

Her thoughts stop in a sudden beat as Emma gasps, dropping the reins of her horse. Her hands feel hot to the touch, almost like they’re burned. Flexing her fingers does little to ease the pain and she ignores the way her hands start to shake.

She must have been subconsciously wringing the reins too hard to cause such a sensation.

Will rushes to grab the fallen reins. “Princess?” he pushes. “Are you okay?”

She clears her throat and clenches one hand in a fist while the other takes back the leather straps.

Is she okay? Absolutely not. The weight of her mission is starting to bear down on her shoulders. Little John’s disappearance has thrown her off and she already feels herself slipping away from reality. But she won’t tell Will that. Instead, she pivots the conversation and meets his eyes in a firm stare.

“I promise that I will get you all home safe. Got it?”

He hisses in disappointment. “That’s not an answer to my question.”

Emma huffs. “How are you doing?”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re not serious…”

“Deadly,” he deadpans only to wince and Emma’s sure his mind has gone to the same place as hers – Little John.

So she whispers, fiercely and filled with determination, “I promise.”

They stop in the middle of the forest in the late afternoon. Tension fills the air with every moment of silence until it becomes suffocating but no one does anything to break it for a long time. Little John’s disappearance weighs heavily on them all but their mission is, as much as Emma hates to say it, more important. If Killian is right and the minerals have been replenished since its last harvest a few hundred years ago, it could save hundreds if not thousands of their people. It could put this senseless war to an end once and for all.

They just needed to survive until then.

Lancelot sets his orders that this will be their camp for the night with two guards on the lookout at all times. The risk of riding in the dark after what happened to Little John has them on edge. They wanted to look their enemy in the eyes as they extinguished the life behind it.

Everyone in their group has killed before. It was a cruel casualty of war. But Emma could never relish in the suffering to come from such a death. Regina’s last minutes play on a constant repeat behind her eyelids and she cannot imagine adding anyone else to that scene.

Hunting occupies half of the group’s late afternoon hours while the other half sets up their tents. It is a tricky endeavor, as Lancelot’s orders are to establish one large makeshift tent for everyone. Safety, he had reassured her earlier.

By the time Will and Dorothy return with a number of small game hanging between each of them, a fire is being stoked in the middle of the tent and sleep schedules have been arranged. Dinner is a quiet affair with a heavy tension hanging over their heads like a storm cloud. An empty space sits between Robin and Will where Little John would have sat.

Their silent meal is broken when Robin clears his throat.

“I would like to still scribe that letter, if it’s alright,” he directs to Emma, his gaze leaving the burning fire only after he has finished speaking.

“Of course,” she answers softly. Swallowing, she looks around the group. “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to write home?” For a moment, she feels as if she’s requesting their departing words to be left for family. For what other reason would they need to write home only days after leaving?

“I reckon I have a few things I need to receive an update on,” Will says. He leans forward on the log beside her and spreads his legs apart so his knee can nudge hers in a gentle show of support. “I have a few bets I need to collect on.”

Dorothy rises to the bait even if her words sound the slightest forced. “I think you mean debts to pay.”

“I beg your pardon,” he huffs. “I am an excellent gambler.”

“Is that why your bets have paid for Ruby’s new wardrobe?” Dorothy smirks and continues, raising her sword in front of her as she examines it in the firelight. “I believe this came from a wager settled last month.”

“Oi! Ruby is a cheat and you know it!”

“I’ll be sure to mention that in my letter to her.”

The group gains volume as their teasing returns slowly. Emma’s eyes dart across the bonfire to Robin and she sends a nod of thanks. Little John’s fate still hangs heavy in the air but for a moment, they have a reprieve.

Before the fire dies down, the group settles near to write their letters.

“Who will you be writing to?” Dorothy asks Emma as she grabs her own parchment.

Lancelot grins and looks up for a moment. “Killian, of course.” Her mouth drops open in surprise at the normally quiet leader speaking up with such a taunting line. Mind focused on her own words, she half listens as Dorothy details what she plans to say to Ruby and how Lancelot is best dictating his letter to Guinevere.

Will smirks as he looks to Emma from the corner of his eye. “I’m writing to my Anastasia,” he says proudly, though his voice is low. Dorothy and Lancelot handed her their letters before taking the first watch and Will doesn’t want to disturb Robin’s heavy concentration. “I’m going to marry her when I get back.”

“You’re engaged?!”

“Oi! Don’t sound so surprised! I’m quite the catch, ya know.” Will’s grin only widens.

“Not surprised, just offended I was not invited to the wedding.”

“Well,” her companion drags out. He scratches behind his ear in a nervous tick, a movement that has her heart yearning for Killian. “We’re not engaged yet. I still have to ask her.” He clears his throat and straightens his back. “But I will, the moment we return. Well, after I ask her father.”

Emma smiles softly as she watches Will’s lovesick expression. “You truly love her,” she says, more to herself than to him. Still, Will gives her a small smile and a nod.

She feels a rush of warmth in her stomach as she listens to Will’s words of love for Anastasia, her mind wandering to Killian once again. She misses him terribly and wishes he could be beside her but she knows the best place for him is back home, preparing for their return.

Well, some of their returns.

When the scratch of Will’s quill comes to an end, Emma chances a glance at Robin before asking quietly. “Little John… did he have anyone back home?”

A sharp inhale. “Little John kept personal things to himself, mostly,” Will says regretfully. His gaze casts a burden across the fire. “I’m not the best person to ask.”

Robin keeps to himself as he starts, scratches out, and then restarts his letter to Roland. Emma wonders how close they were to the missing knight. Did they grow up together? Are their families close? Emma bids goodnight to Will before she stands from her log and walks around the fire to Robin.

“Are you telling him to be asleep by sunset?” she asks with a small lift of her lips.

Robin huffs, glancing up briefly. “If only that were enough to get him to bed on time.”

“You should tell him it is by orders of the princess.” The grin their share is fleeting but it offers a momentary reprieve from the day’s events.

“You may sit if you’d like, Princess Emma.”

Sitting presents a challenge each time she attempts it due to the soreness of her muscles. Horse riding and trekking like they have been is far from her usual activities. She leans awkwardly to the side before nearly tipping over completely as her bottom situates itself on the log. Her eyes gaze into the dwindling flames before her while Robin scrawls his name and folds the letter.

He holds the parchment out to her with a sad smile. “Little John was married once,” he says. Her fingers gingerly take the letter from his and she feels the weight of his words, her shoulders dropping beneath it. “She was a beautiful woman. Long dark hair and a smile that spelled trouble. She bewitched him from the first moment.” Robin laughs. “They had a son as well.”

Her companion’s smile drops and at that, so does Emma’s stomach. For she sees the turn of events before her eyes in the pause Robin takes. She sees the grief coloring his face and the regret that fills his eyes.

“Little John was helping me save my wife Marian when his village was attacked. He returned to an empty home.” Robin turns his gaze towards the fire and she witnesses the way his frame shrinks in on itself. “He lost his family while helping me save mine. Never once did he blame me. By all accounts, he should have. Instead, he stayed at my side and helped me raise Roland after I lost Marian.”

His breath shudders as he shakes his shoulders, a quiet sniffle as tears become harder to keep at bay. “We are the only family he has left, Princess Emma. And I will find him.”

His eyes meet hers in steely determination and Emma nearly promises him the same as she did Will. But the darkness of the night is creeping in on her fear and she worries this will be a promise she cannot keep. So she nods and sits and thinks. For the first time in a long time, she prays to any gods that are listening, to the same gods that saved Killian and brought him to her life.

“Three and twenty and not a suitor to show for it,” Emma mimics in a low-pitched voice. She crawls across the bed wearing only Killian’s discarded shirt and plops to a sit beside him.

Killian barely looks up from where he scribbles in his notebook, his back against the headboard and his head tilted low. “Who had said this again?”

“Grumpy.”

She crosses her arms in a huff as Killian doesn’t even attempt to hide his amusement. “Perhaps you do not have any suitors because they do not wish to sit through your terrible impersonations.”

Her next attempt at his own accent makes her tongue feel too big for her mouth and her words to be more garbled than coherent. His laughter has her fighting a smile and she only contains so much self-restraint so instead she leans over and hides her smile with his mouth.

Their lips barely separate when she whispers conspiratorially, “Or perhaps they found out the princess has been kidnapped by a pirate captain who spends his free time ravishing her in his cabin.”

“Arggg,” Killian attempts with a curled lip and narrowed eyes. He lifts his left hand and crooks his finger to look like a hook and Emma giggles wildly.

Being with him makes her feel lighter. He makes her happy.

Emma watches the port every day now that the Jewel and her captain have found a home at these docks. She attends the meetings he has with her parents to give updates on the sea front and they exchange nods as their departing promises. A sturdy rope ladder, a commission by Killian from another port, is frequently pulled from beneath her bed and draped outside her window. Apparently her string of sheets caused him too much worry. She merely rolled her eyes at the admission.

His cabin is warm and welcoming. Blankets litter not only his bed but also the window seat on the back wall facing the ocean. Pillows from their land and far away shores pile on every surface. Some map or another is typically spread across his table while the books on any available flat surface change every few weeks.

The sun streams in as a comforting orange glow each evening and wakes her with the palest yellow light in the early morns. The weight of his arm over her stomach acts as a comforting shield from her fears, both past and present.

White wooden walls of cabin feel more like home than the gray stone of the castle.

Or perhaps it is just simply him.

The reminders of his presence are spread throughout his cabin where they are absent in her lonely bed in the tower. His smell lingers on his pillows and clothes while her room suffocates her in gifted perfumes. The small, lumpy captain’s bed adheres to the curves of her body when she drowns in her large, feathered mattress.

Stresses of their ongoing war melt away when she hides under his bedcovers and has his grin to marvel at. There’s warmth in her chest and a spark at her fingertips when they’re together and she swears sometimes that being with him, loving him, is magic.

They share another kiss, brief but soft and all-consuming, before Killian sighs.

“You’re set to meet with your father at half past,” he says regretfully.

She rolls her eyes with a groan and slides off the bed. “Perhaps I do not actually have to go.”

“Perhaps you should like my head on a stake then?”

The urge to roll her eyes again at his dramatics is strong but she refrains. “My father has no interest in executing his right-hand man.”

“That’s simply because he does not know,” Killian starts. He rises to his knees and inches closer to the side of the bed where she stands. Her shirt half unbuttoned, his fingers finish the job as he presses light kisses trailing from her chest to her stomach. “That my meetings with the princess are of a more personal matter.”

The scruff of his facial hair slides against a particularly ticklish spot on her ribs and she squirms away with a giggle, nearly tripping over her sword and dagger as they clang together in a soft sound.

“I do enjoy these meetings,” she grins wickedly. “I learn so much.”

A shriek leaves her throat as Killian clambers out of bed to grab her but Emma evades his pursuit. She quickly gathers her pile of clothes and weaponry. Another soft ding fills the room.

Laughing, she says, “I really must go.” Sorting her clothes is easy enough, even with the soft dings coming from the pile. She quickly dresses. Hands cover her own as she attaches her sword to her belt, her brow furrowing as sounds continue to emanate from where it’s sheathed.

That’s never happened before.

Lips press against her neck and Emma leans back against Killian, closing her eyes briefly before another sound of metal on metal disrupts the peace of the cabin. Her eyes fly open.

Emma awakes with a gasp in the middle of the night as a swordfight takes place around her.

Fire long gone, the moon serves as the only lighting in the clearing. The metal of her knights’ swords glitter dangerously under the stars and Emma only barely catches glimpses of what they are fighting.

Simians, it seems. Simians that can jump and… hover overhead and away from swipes of a sword.

Flying simians.

She scrambles from her place of rest against a log and reaches for the sword at her side. At full height, she holds her weapon in front of her and examines the scene.

The simians are large beasts. Ugly and with teeth sharp enough to kill, their wings flap overhead, dragging dirt and ash from their resting site into their faces. Their claws swish through the air in severe strikes, attempting to harm or disarm, she cannot tell. She assumes both. For the moment, their group seems to be holding their own.

A screech comes from behind her and Emma ducks just in time for a simian to fly towards her head. She pops up in a flash and her sword strikes true at her attacker, a wing sliced clean off. The simian cries in anger as it tries to control its flight before falling to the ground. From there, it makes its way towards her on its paws and bares its teeth threateningly. Her sword arches through the air only for another simian to come from above and reach for her sword with its claws.

“Get out of the way!” Dorothy yells and blocks the flying simian from Emma’s side. The grounded simian sees the moment of opportunity, hunches back on its legs, and pounces right at Emma.

Instinct takes over and before Emma even realizes it, her sword is in front of her and the simian impales itself.

Her eyes widen in horror. Regina’s skin melting off her face haunted Emma’s dream. The way her dark eyes turned completely black as life left them. The gurgling as blood overflowed her insides and leaked from the corners of her lips.

Emma feels like she is back in the tower as the simian garbles over blood, its wailing fading moment by moment. Red stains its teeth and its wing flaps haphazardly behind it before it stills. She stares for a moment at unseeing eyes before the simian’s head drops forward and its wing slackens.

Nausea threatens to take over her senses and guilt churns low in her gut but a humanly grunt from behind her snaps her back into action. She quickly but gently lowers her sword and shakes the simian off of the blade. She doesn’t even wait for the thump of its body hitting the ground before Emma turns to help.

The world stops momentarily as she realizes she may be too late.

The simian Dorothy directed away from her now easily evades the knight’s strong sword strokes, flying above her before making quick strikes at her head and back. Dorothy yells, one hand reaching for her head as a simian darts back with a wad of her hair in its mouth, skin from her scalp hanging from one end. She isn’t fast enough to defend herself as the simian barely takes a moment before darting back down again, claws poised and sinking quickly into her back, knocking her forward in the same breath its mouth comes down on her neck.

Lancelot struggles against two simians, his armor dented and breaking off of his body with each attack. His sword makes a wide arch in the air, too wide to correct before the simians come down on him, biting each of his arms as their claws dig into his thighs. He throws his head back as he yells, knees buckling under the pain.

Robin clutches his side, blood seeping into his shirt as he swings his sword with his non-dominant hand. It’s awkward and lacking strength and the simian he’s been fighting takes the chance to strike again.

She sees it the moment before she can move and her stomach turns when she realizes she’s not fast enough. Her throat catches in her throat as the simian’s jaw bears down on his shoulder and Robin cries out in agony.

“Get her out of here!” Lancelot manages through gritted teeth.

The world moves in slow motion as her head turns towards him before she feels her arm jerked in a different direction. A loud rush pulses through her ears and black dots her vision. She immediately resists the force on her body and pulls her arm back towards her.

“Move, damn it!” It takes a moment but the pained voice yelling at her voice belongs to Will. She stares at the blood dripping down his temple as he pulls her shocked body away from the scene as quickly and discretely as possible.

A single simian attempts to follow but is thwarted by Will’s swordsmanship. He moves like around the woods like he walks on air, the ease in which he maneuvers reminds of her Killian’s lithe form. The simian dodges strikes and Emma watches helplessly, her sword barely held by her fingertips as she presses her back against a nearby tree. She wishes the simian would be like the one she defeated at camp. She wishes that it would become too confident and turn into a target easy to disarm. If Killian were here, he wouldn’t need her wishing.

Will’s feet dance across the leaves of the forest floor as he eyes the simian. One moment, two moments, then he makes a decisive slice. Will makes quick work of one of its wings before impaling it, exactly as she’d done at camp.

He stares at the simian for a brief moment, eyebrows furrowed in thought, before he turns towards Emma and grabs her bicep to pull her along. “Let’s go.”

“But,” she starts, head turning back towards camp where more simians fly under the moonlight. It’s hard to see anything else in the darkness. “But what about them? We can’t just leave them.”

“You are the priority, Princess,” Will says, high on alert. “You were their priority. Getting you away, safely, will mean they’ve done their job well.”

“I won’t let them die for me,” she protests even as her feet follow his.

Will jerks them to a stop, his eyes red and narrowed in anger. “And what good would their death do if you get yourself killed as well?”

“They might not be dead.”

“We all will be if you return.” Grief blankets her body in a cold embrace and her mouth drops open though no words come out. Will sighs, eyes looking around for danger, before stepping closer. “Don’t let them die in vain. Let’s go.”

Emma follows at his side numbly and, she realizes with a shiver, death follows her.

#my writing #temporarystatus #captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan au #my fics #running home to your sweet nothings

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sakura-samsara · 10 months

Text

Shigehira Main Story: Chapter 13

← Chapter 12

✦ part one

Yasuchika: So it seems Yoshino-san has safely returned to Kamakura!

Yasuchika was holding an audience with one of his subordinates in an elegantly furnished room.

Yasuchika: Those two were lovely test subjects. I’ll have to thank them for giving me such a great research opportunity.

Yasuchika’s Subordinate: If I’m not mistaken, you had the woman exterminate a hallucinatory ayakashi… correct?

Yauchika’s Subordinate: Such ayakashi are rarely seen near human settlements, but they are hardly a serious threat. I am certain that its appearance would not incur suspicion towards you, Yasuchika-sama.

Yasuchika: Oh, I’m not worried about being seen at all! I just wanted to conduct some research for a new technique.

Yasuchika’s Subordinate: O-Of course…

Yasuchika: I’m so happy I got to see Shige-chan get injured, too.

Yasuchika’s Subordinate: …Hm?

Yasuchika: Shige-chan seems like such a disciplined warrior,

Yasuchika: But as soon as the ayakashi turned into a little girl, he immediately hesitated to attack it. How wonderful.

Yasuchika squinted as he stretched with the languor of a cat lounging in the sun.

His gaze, however, was not heavy with sleepiness—it gleamed with a sharp, cold brilliance.

The subordinate stiffened at the chill in the air from Yasuchika’s change in demeanor.

Yasuchika: I suppose the next time I’ll see the two of them will be on the battlefield. I’m really looking forward to it.

Yasuchika’s Subordinate: Yasuchika-sama, isn’t it…

Yasuchika: Hm?

Yasuchika’s Subordinate: Isn’t all of this business with the shogunate and the rebel army rather frightening to you?

Yasuchika: Well, in my opinion, someone who views his work in terms of whether it’s frightening or not wouldn’t be fit to be an onmyōji at all.

Yasuchika: Especially when you work at the palace. You get asked to do all sorts of crazy things, but you can’t exactly turn down the requests, so you just have to get used to it!

Yasuchika’s Subordinate: I understand… Well said, Yasuchika-sama. It is only natural, given your superior skill in onmyōdō.

The subordinate’s polite words hardly concealed his eagerness to curry favor with Yasuchika.

Yasuchika’s Subordinate: I sincerely hope that you will demonstrate the new technique you are developing to us when it is ready…

Yasuchika: You know, I think I will.

Yasuchika nodded, the gesture somehow childlike and elegant at once.

Yasuchika: I’d really like it if lots of people got to see it.

(So this is Kagetoki-san’s mansion…? Somehow I’m starting to feel on edge just by being here.)

Shigehira: This way, Yoshino-san.

Yoshino: Okay!

Shigehira confidently led me towards Kagetoki’s estate, seeming as though he'd taken this route many times before.

Yoshino: Do you visit Kagetoki-san’s place a lot, Shigehira-kun?

Shigehira: I guess I do.

Shigehira: Kagetoki-san mentors me in my studies, so I often borrow books from him.

Shigehira: At some point, he started letting me come and go whenever I wanted.

Yoshino: Really…?

The image of Kagetoki—staring cold, sharp daggers from behind his spectacles—popped into my mind.

Yoshino: It’s a little hard to think of Kagetoki-san being any sort of teacher…

Shigehira: You’d be surprised. He’s a pretty good mentor, since he’s so knowledgeable and logical.

✦ part two

Shigehira: You’d be surprised. He’s a pretty good mentor, since he’s so knowledgeable and logical.

Shigehira: But I doubt he would spare his time to teach just anybody, unless they give him a good reason to.

Yoshino: Then what’s his reason for mentoring you?

Shigehira: I give him koto lessons in return. We're really just exchanging services.

Yoshino: Really?!

Yoshino: I didn’t know you could play the koto too!

Shigehira: I just know the basics, that’s all.

(But he’s such a skilled biwa player… I’m sure he knows more than just the basics of the koto, too.)

I felt a surge of admiration for Shigehira as I looked at him.

I admire you (Romantic +4, Dramatic +2) You’re a prodigy (Romantic +2, Dramatic +4) You must love it (Romantic +4, Dramatic +4)

Yoshino: You must really love playing music.

Shigehira: I’ve always enjoyed it. I try to make time to practice every day, no matter how busy my schedule gets.

Yoshino: That's amazing! I bet Kagetoki-san must be a wonderful koto player if you’re his teacher.

Shigehira: Well… I don’t know about that.

I turned my head towards Shigehira to see an uncharacteristically dodgy expression pop up on his face.

Shigehira: Teaching him never fails to remind me that, uh, everyone has unique talents.

Yoshino: What do you mean?

Shigehira: Um… Anyways, Kagetoki-san should be in here.

Shigehira stopped in front of the door to the main room to call out to Kagetoki.

Shigehira: Kagetoki-san, are you home?

He didn’t wait for a response before opening the sliding door, when…

Woman: …Oh! E-Excuse me!!

Shigehira: …?!

(Huh?)

A woman stumbled out of the room in a panic. I glimpsed a flustered expression on her face as she shot past us.

Then I caught a whiff of a heady, sensual fragrance—there must have been incense burning inside the room.

Kagetoki: You’re too impatient, Shigehira. Did you never learn not to invite yourself into a room?

(O-Oh…)

When I finally looked past the mountainous stacks of books blocking most of the view into the room,

I saw Kagetoki straightening the lapels of his robe, looking uncharacteristically relaxed as he raised his gaze to us.

Shigehira: W-Well, you’re usually too wrapped up in your reading to respond when I knock, so I just assumed—

Kagetoki: I suppose you’re not wrong.

Kagetoki: I did tell my retainers to ask any guests to wait to be received. There must have been a miscommunication for this to have occurred.

Despite our sudden intrusion, Kagetoki hardly seemed bothered.

(Well, now I definitely know what was going on in here before we arrived…)

Yoshino: …I’m so sorry for the intrusion. We wouldn’t have bothered you if we’d known that your lover was visiting you.

(If anything, I’m just a little surprised.)

(Kagetoki-san is quite good-looking, and I’m sure that he wouldn’t have any trouble finding a partner if he wanted one,)

(But he doesn’t seem like he lets people get close to him very easily. I can’t imagine him being interested in romance at all.)

Kagetoki: Lover? She and I have no such relationship.

Yoshino: R-Really?

Kagetoki: She made an offer to me, and I accepted it. It wasn’t as if I had any reason to refuse her.

Kagetoki: Unfortunately, thanks to you two, our rendezvous ended before it could begin.

(...This is so awkward.)

Shigehira: …Disgusting.

I could only stand there speechless, but Shigehira didn’t hesitate to mutter his displeased response under his breath.

Kagetoki: Are you still too young to understand such things, Shigehira?

Shigehira: It doesn’t matter how old I am or how old I get! I will never engage in this debauchery for a single day in the rest of my life!

Kagetoki: What an uncouth thing to say. It’s hardly debauchery.

Kagetoki: If you’re not in the mood for it, you can simply refuse.

Kagetoki: You don’t eat when your stomach is full, do you? In that sense, it’s no different than satiating hunger.

(That sure is an interesting way to think of it.)

Yoshino: Personally, I’m inclined to disagree…

Kagetoki: That’s a rather foolish opinion.

Shigehira: No, I agree with her.

✦ part three

Shigehira: No, I agree with her.

Kagetoki: Is that so?

Kagetoki: I would expect nothing less from a man who receives countless love letters and rejects every single one.

(Love letters, huh…?)

Yoshino: Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t be feasible for him to accept every letter…

Yoshino: Haven’t you considered at least one of the people who’s written to you, though, Shigehira-kun?

Shigehira: No. I don’t have the time to bother with my love life right now.

Yoshino: …Oh. That makes sense.

(He’s trying to reestablish the Heike, after all, and the shadow of the past is still hanging over him.)

(When he’s on a mission that’s so important to him, he probably thinks that pursuing love would just be a distraction.)

I was sure that my guess was correct, and if so, it would be a perfectly rational reason not to be interested in a relationship. But, for some reason, I felt a sharp prick deep within my chest as I thought it over.

Shigehira: It’s a pain to be barraged with letters from people I barely even know…

Shigehira: But it’s not like I can stop them, so I still reply to all the letters.

Kagetoki: If you’re truly not looking to begin a relationship with anyone, then why do you bother with responding to any of the letters you receive?

Shigehira: It’d be rude if I didn’t. Not receiving a response would imply a rejection, so it’s better that I tell them the truth outright.

Kagetoki: I’d think that receiving an implied rejection would be less emotionally damaging than an explicit one.

Shigehira: Do you think so…?

Shigehira: I don’t know. I feel like it would be more stressful to someone if I kept them waiting for a response that they were never going to get.

(He thinks of others so much…)

Kagetoki: That's very earnest of you.

Shigehira: …You’re being surprisingly prudent now, Kagetoki-san. But you’d better be careful not to slip up and say the wrong thing, or else you’ll definitely regret it.

Kagetoki: I would never make such a grave mistake.

Kagetoki nonchalantly pushed a pile of books to the side, gesturing for us to sit in the space he'd cleared off.

(Even beyond the initial surprise, I'm genuinely shocked by how cluttered Kagetoki-san's room is. Everywhere I look, I see books.)

Shigehira: Be careful, Yoshino-san.

Shigehira: If you knock over one of these bookstacks, you’ll set off an avalanche. You might never make it out alive from underneath all the books.

Yoshino: …Got it.

(I think I finally get why Shigehira-kun said that Kagetoki-san’s place was dangerous to visit.)

Yoshino: Um... I don't mean this to be rude, but I don't suppose you're particularly keen on organizing your books?

Kagetoki: My arrangement is organized by my own standards. Your opinion that I am untidy is of no importance to me.

(Huh.)

Shigehira: Alright, fine. Sure. There’s no need to quibble over this.

Shigehira: Your room is even messier than usual today, though...

Kagetoki: War is on the horizon, after all. In times like these, it’s not unreasonable to give a bit less care to the trivialities of daily life.

Shigehira: Just a bit less, huh…?

Kagetoki turned towards me, almost as if he was physically deflecting Shigehira's doubtful look.

Kagetoki: Now, I assume you’ve come to discuss our medicine reserves and the proposed combat medic system?

Yoshino: That’s right.

Kagetoki: Then why are you here, Shigehira? Is Yoshino babysitting you?

Kagetoki: I didn’t know that you were such a pampered child. She’s spoiling you rotten.

A teasing smirk tugged at Kagetoki's lips as he removed some documents from a drawer.

Shigehira: I just wanted to borrow a book from you! That’s the only reason why I came with her!!

Kagetoki: Oh, really?

Shigehira: Can you quit being facetious and actually listen to what I’m saying for once?

Kagetoki: I’ll see what I can do.

✦ part four

Kagetoki: I’ll see what I can do.

His tone did not indicate in the slightest that he intended to stop. Once he had made his way back to us, he handed me the stack documents he'd retrieved.

Yoshino: What’s this?

Kagetoki: They detail our estimated rations, the route for our troops' march, and other such matters.

Kagetoki: The information in them will be used to calculate an estimate of the amount of medicine we will need to stockpile, and the format in which they are written will be used to document it.

Shigehira: ...These must be the documents that Yoritomo-sama asked you to compile last night.

Shigehira: Have you already finished them?

(Does that mean that Kagetoki-san finished all of this paperwork in less than a day?!)

Kagetoki: Of course. I wouldn't accept a woman's invitation just to make her wait until I finished my paperwork.

Shigehira: ...I can't believe this.

Shigehira: You can write all of these documents in one night, but you can't even clean up your own room?

Kagetoki: These documents and the state of my room have nothing to do with each other.

Kagetoki responded curtly before presenting us with another document.

Kagetoki: This here is a summary of the structure of our field medicine system.

Kagetoki: We'll use this as a basis upon which we can develop the details. Shall we begin?

Yoshino: Y-Yes. If I may ask, when did you happen to write this document...?

Kagetoki: I had some spare time while preparing the documents I gave you previously, so I used it to write this one.

Shigehira: Seriously... If you were capable of cleaning up your room, and you stopped treating women the way that you do,

Shigehira: And you stopped teasing me so much, I'd defer to you without a single complaint.

Kagetoki: How cute, Shigehira.

(Shigehira-kun said that he and Kagetoki-san were just exchanging services with each other, but these two must be fairly close if they're speaking to each other like this.)

From then onwards, we began to discuss our medicine reserves and our field nursing system, using Kagetoki's documents as our reference.

Once our work was winding down to an end...

Kagetoki: Our discussion has gone on for quite some time now. I think I’d like to have something to drink.

Shigehira: I’ll call one of the maids to make some tea.

Shigehira quickly rose to his feet.

Kagetoki: Much obliged.

Yoshino: Thanks, Shigehira-kun.

Now, I was alone with Kagetoki...

Kagetoki: It seems like Shigehira has been getting along with you quite well.

Kagetoki: You’re far more persuasive than I expected you to be, Yoshino.

(What?)

Flustered, I felt my gaze dart around the room, landing everywhere but on Kagetoki himself.

Yoshino: That’s not true. I didn’t persuade him into doing anything for me.

Yoshino: It’s really just that Shigehira-kun is a kind person. That’s the only reason that he’s being so nice to me—in his own way, of course.

Kagetoki: Is that what you think?

Kagetoki: You should know that Shigehira only takes such interest in people whom he approves of. Especially when it comes to members of the shogunate.

(I guess I can see what he means… I know Shigehira-kun comes across as quite uptight to a lot of people.)

Yoshino: …Did you know Shigehira-kun before he joined the shogunate, Kagetoki-san?

Kagetoki: In a way, I did. After Shigehira had been taken as a prisoner of war, I was the one who escorted him to Kamakura.

✦ part five

Yoshino: …Did you know Shigehira-kun before he joined the shogunate, Kagetoki-san?

Kagetoki: In a way, I did. After Shigehira had been taken as a prisoner of war, I was the one who escorted him to Kamakura.

(Really?!)

Yoshino: I wonder what Shigehira-kun was like back then.

I couldn't help but let my curiosity win over me.

Kagetoki: He was the same at heart as he is now. He was stubborn, straightlaced, and terribly oblique—yet everything he did was for others' sake.

Yoshino: That certainly sounds like the Shigehira-kun I know.

The sentiment brought a slight smile to my face.

Yoshino: But I bet he must have been especially full of resolve when he was on his way to Kamakura.

Yoshino: …His intention in coming here was to negotiate with Yoritomo-sama, after all.

Kagetoki: Oh? Shigehira has told you about that?

Kagetoki's gaze, usually so cool and unconcerned, seemed to sharpen with interest.

Kagetoki: In any case, you would be correct. Back then, Shigehira was…

—flashback

Yoritomo: Unfortunately, our negotiations are now off.

Shigehira: …I take it the Imperial Court has intervened.

Yoritomo: Do you have any last words, Taira no Shigehira?

Shigehira: None in particular.

Shigehira: I no longer have anything to say for myself now that I am captive.

Shigehira: For one who has lived their life on the battlefield, there is no shame in dying as a prisoner of war. Just behead me quickly.

Yoritomo: ……

—flashback ends

I was silent as Kagetoki quietly recounted the past to me.

Kagetoki: His honor and resolve astonished everyone in the room, myself included.

Kagetoki: Even Yoritomo-sama was moved by it enough to spare Shigehira’s life and offer him a place in the shogunate.

Yoshino: I see…

(Shigehira-kun told me that Yoritomo-sama formed an alliance with him on a mere whim.)

(It seems that Yoritomo-sama’s true reason for proposing the alliance was because of Shigehira-kun himself.)

Kagetoki: Yoshino.

Yoshino: …What is it?

I was caught off guard by Kagetoki’s hushed voice, and my response came out nervous and hesitant.

Kagetoki: I’m sure you’ve realized that Shigehira is a pitifully honest man.

Kagetoki: It would be far too easy for someone to take advantage of his most glaring weakness and hurt him.

Yoshino: …Right.

The memory of Shigehira interacting with the nobles of the Imperial Court, their honeyed words masking poisoned sentiments, came to my mind.

Kagetoki: But Yoritomo-sama approves of him nonetheless…

Kagetoki: …Because Shigehira possesses a special quality.

Yoshino: Special? What do you mean?

Kagetoki: I won’t tell you that.

(Huh?)

Kagetoki: If Shigehira truly cares for you, then you will eventually learn what I mean for yourself.

(Well, that doesn’t answer any of my questions…)

I must have looked exceptionally confused; Kagetoki studied my face for a moment before he smiled.

Kagetoki: Do my words truly puzzle you so much?

Yoshino: W-Well, I just…

Kagetoki: Then allow me to put it this way, Yoshino.

(Uhh...)

Long, deft fingers trailed down my jaw before tilting up my chin.

(What is Kagetoki-san doing??)

His eyes narrowed, and his intense gaze from behind his spectacles focused on me as though he was sizing up prey he’d caught in his clutches.

Kagetoki: I’ll make myself clear to you, if you’re willing to take the place of the woman who was visiting me earlier.

Yoshino: Huh…?

My eyes widened in shock at the sultry timbre in his voice, but at the very next moment—

Shigehira: Wh—What are you doing?!

Chapter 14 →

Notes:

The koto is the national instrument of Japan—a long, many-stringed zither that’s played by striking the strings with one’s fingers or with plectrums.

Shigehira’s “last words” in the flashback are a paraphrase of a quote by the real Taira no Shigehira that was recorded in the Azuma Kagami, which was a historical chronicle written in 1266 that recounted events of the Genpei War and the Kamakura Shogunate. The full quotation was supposedly* spoken by Taira no Shigehira when he was living as a POW, painting him as a warrior of dignified and humble character—even in the face of his impending execution.

IRL Taira no Shigehira was killed shortly after being taken as a POW by the Genji. During the Genpei War, Shigehira served as a Heike commander in the 1180 Siege of Nara, which was part of a revenge campaign against warrior monks from various monasteries who had aided the Genji in a prior battle. Despite being vastly outnumbered by the warrior monks, the Heike won victory by burning down almost every single monastery and temple in the city of Nara, including the powerful Kōfuku-ji and Tōdai-ji temple complexes. However, their methods earned them revile from many (including the Imperial Court) due to the sacrilegious act of destroying temples and the shocking scale of death and destruction that they inflicted on the city—around 3,500 people died during the siege. A great deal of hatred was directed towards Shigehira personally… even though there doesn't seem to be consensus about if he himself ordered the burning of Nara, or if the Heike even intended to cause the level of destruction they did at all. (Setting fires on the battlefield to increase visibility during night time was a common battle tactic of the era, and the weather conditions during the time of the battle may have spread any fires set by the Heike further than they might have intended.) Regardless of the extent of Shigehira’s role in the Siege of Nara, he would eventually pay the ultimate price for it. After he was captured by the Genji at the Battle of Ichi-no-Tani in 1184, he was handed over to the surviving monks of the Tōdai-ji, who executed him in 1185 as revenge for the burning of their monastery.

*Though the Azuma Kagami is considered the most important historical document about the Kamakura shogunate, it’s important to note that it’s not a completely reliable account. It was compiled in the 13th century by the Hōjō clan (which the real Minamoto no Yoritomo married into; after his death, the Hōjō clan took control of the Kamakura shogunate), who were very obviously biased towards their own clan and against the Minamoto clan in their retelling of historical events. Throughout history, the Azuma Kagami has also passed through the hands of many others (most notably including everyone’s favorite shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu) who may have altered it to fit their own agendas. Thus, it’s not certain whether everything that was recorded in the chronicle was completely true to real life, including its account of Taira no Shigehira’s last days.

#ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden translations #ikemen genjiden shigehira #shigehira main story #hey friends! once again long time no tl T_T i took 2 8-week college courses this summer… never again #my classes are starting again soon so i still can't promise consistent updates but! i will try!#this chapter was so fun to work on (and read!) and there’s a LOT in the notes!

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tiamat-zx · 1 year

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If there is a single Season 1 moment from Keyleth in “The Legend of Vox Machina” that will always resonate with me… here it is in one word.

Sunbeam.

It was such a powerful moment, one that even made Matt Mercer cry. Because that’s his wife’s character, and it warms my heart knowing that nowadays she’s very well-loved. I’ve seen plenty of reactions. They cry when she hurts or gets hurt, they smile when she’s happy or being her usual anxious self, they are in awe when she gets her moments to shine.

And no moment did she literally shine brighter that season than in the climactic battle with Sylas and Delilah Briarwood in “Whispers at the Ziggurat”.

When she was gut-punched hard by Sylas and sent flying into a wall… only to also collide with a lower level and finally collapse shortly after in the first leg of the battle, I definitely flinched and panicked. This was a story that I’ve known for many years, but seeing this animated gave it more of an impact.

Everyone’s kept at bay, on the verge of defeat. And she tries her best, dear gods she tries her best to get back up… and yet she falters and collapses again, reeling from her pain.

And then she sees them. The roots of the Sun Tree, still clinging to whatever life it has left.

And so she makes her plea, straining to cling to life herself.

“Sun Tree? I’m Keyleth, of the Air Ashari. I know you’re there. And holy shit do I need your help.”

The Sun Tree answers her plea, and she grabs hold of the roots.

“Please. Help me be the light.”

She manages to finally get back on her feet, supported by the Sun Tree… as she channels its energy to bring the light to the battlefield.

The aura from the light breaks the charm on Vax. It invigorates Pike which leads to a Beam-O-War clash against Delilah… which the cleric slowly begins to overcome.

And most importantly, Sylas goes to cut her down only for Grog to intervene, having gotten his second wind.

Thus leading to not only figuring out how to avoid getting charmed, but unleashing a Reckless Attack that overpowers Sylas.

And so we get to the big moment itself, as Grog holds Sylas in place.

And Keyleth remembers Pike’s words from before, which now hold more weight than ever before:

“You’re their light now. Keep them out of darkness.”

So she does so, drawing from the tree and her own power.

And even with so much at stake, she still shows concern for Grog, who just assures her that he can take what she is about to dish out.

Only the slightest bit of hesitation…

…before unleashing the full might of her inherent druidic power and the life-force of the tree in a single blow.

The Sunbeam that turned the tide decisively in Vox Machina’s favor.

As I said, it’s this moment from Season 1 that will always stay with me.

Especially with the amazing score behind this one, “Turning Tides” and “Blinded by the Light.”

Perfection.

And so far in Season 2, her greatest moment to shine was easily in “Pass Through Fire” where she not only unlocked her fire elemental form, but also closed the rift to the Fire Plane all by herself. And she got a new look out of it to boot, on top of now having the power to use Plane Shift.

Granted, as of this post, there are still six episodes left in the second season. Only time will tell if she manages to outdo this one.

But all the same, I’m so glad that at least once per season, she gets to truly be the force of nature that we know she will become.

The Voice of the Tempest.

This post goes out to @waltwhitmansbeard because I say so ;)

#critical role #the legend of vox machina #tlovm spoilers #Keyleth #Sunbeam #Keyleth Appreciation y’all

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loreholdlesbian · 8 months

Text

Wilds of Eldraine Draft Booster Challenge

Every set I like to make a draft booster pack featuring the themes of the set. (This particular booster has been done for like a month and I just never got around to posting it lol.) The goal of this project is to make cards that you would be unsurprised to open alongside the rest of the set, while innovating on its mechanics. This is a hard balance to strike, especially at common which takes up the majority of the booster. It's based on one of the challenges from GDS3 that i can no longer link because of wotc's shitty ass update to their website that broke access to like half their articles.

Now that the intro and griping are out of the way, let's get into it!

Art links:

Gadwick

Bitter Winds of Winter

Gold-Spinner Faerie

Syr Ginger's Vow (Screenshot from trailer)

Magic Pumpkin

Sword of Noble Destiny

Never Woke Up // Lay Down

Hungering Lich-Knight

Evil Relative

Induce Vengeance

Reign of Vermin

Basket of Baked Goods

Feasting Hedonists

Hunting Prowess

Rare

Gadwick, Wizard of the Wilds 2U Legendary Creature- Human Wizard > Lost Research 1U > Instant- Adventure > Draw a card. (Then exile this spell. You may cast the other half later from exile.) Prowess You may cast creature cards as though they had Lost Research as an Adventure. 2/2

I always like to do something novel in these boosters since, riffing off the GDS3, they’re supposed to be something I’d show to wizards of the coast to impress. Sometimes it’s quite hard to do anything too new at common and uncommon, which means I want to go hogwild at rare. This definitely has the novelty factor. I have no idea if it can be made to work within the rules or if this wording is correct, but I wanted it in here all the same.

Uncommons

Bitter Winds of Winter U Snow Enchantment If you would put one or more stun counters on a permanent an opponent controls, instead put that many plus one stun counters on it. 5U: Tap target creature and put a stun counter on it. (If a creature with a stun counter on it would become untapped, remove a stun counter from it instead.)

I’m a big proponent of the idea that the snow-queen themed cards should have had the snow subtype. I might make a post defending that at some point, but for now just go with it. I went back and forth on whether to make my own card for this theme snow, since it would match less with what the set did, but ultimately I went with this because I decided if I ever do anything with my cards like a custom cube, I’m gonna prefer it to be snow. And I make the rules here. This set has an unusually high number of stun counters and while it isn’t directly tap-matters like most of the cards in this archetype (though it does enable it, if not all that well), it just feels like a cool card to exist and this feels like a good place to do it.

Gold-Spinner Faerie 3B Creature- Faerie Bargain, bargain, bargain (You may sacrifice up to three artifacts, enchantments, and/or tokens as you cast this spell.) Flying When Gold-Spinner Faerie enters the battlefield, create a Treasure token for each time it was bargained. When Gold-Spinner Faerie enters the battlefield, create a Treasure token for each time it was bargained. 3/3

You’ve heard of multikicker, now get ready for multibargain! This feels like design space for the mechanic that wasn’t really explored, so it felt good to touch on in this booster.

Syr Ginger’s Vow 2B Enchantment- Saga (As this Saga enters and after your draw step, add a lore counter. Sacrifice after III.) I | Create two Food tokens II | Sacrifice a Food. If you do, draw a card. III | Destroy up to one target creature or planeswalker.

For a while I had a Saga in the rare slot, but I decided to swap it out for something with a bit more novelty, so I ended up subbing in this card which I think I like better anyway. I love the Syr Ginger stuff, it’s just so silly, and I like doing Sagas that show a plane’s history. I think this captures the steps of her story very well which is nice for anyone who didn’t see the trailer.

Commons

Magic Pumpkin W Artifact- Food Vehicle Celebration — As long as two or more nonland permanents entered the battlefield under your control this turn, Magic Pumpkin is an artifact creature. 2, T, Sacrifice Magic Pumpkin: You gain 3 life. 3/2

I love weird type combinations, and I wanted to make a Food Vehicle or Food Equipment, and that felt like something that needed to be a top down design- luckily, cinderella provided the perfect opportunity. I wanted it in the cinderella story colors therefor, which means it needed to be white. White isn’t *much* of a food color in this particular set but I feel like that’s fine.

Sword of Noble Destiny 2W Artifact- Equipment When Sword of Noble Destiny enters the battlefield, attach it to target creature you control. You may create a Royal Role token and attach it to that creature. (If you control another Role on it, put that one into the graveyard. Enchanted creature gets +1/+1 and has ward 1.) Equipped creature gets +1/+1 and has ward 1. Equip 1

I know this set is mainly focusing on fairy tales and not camelot, I’m really shocked we didn’t get a sword in the stone reference using royal role tokens. It seems like such a hard thing to resist. So I didn’t. I pared it down to its simplest form to get it to work at common; I’m quite happy with the sword bestowing the same bonus as a royal role token, and that you can stack them on the same creature and be happy with that since the bonuses stack. Works out neatly.

Never Woke Up 1U Enchantment- Aura > Lay Down U > Instant- Adventure > Tap target creature. Enchant creature Enchanted creature doesn’t untap during its controller’s untap step.

This set debuted adventures on enchantments but only on a single rare cycle. I wanted to expand on that with a cycle of Auras, and here’s the representative of that cycle.

Hungering Lich-Knight 2B Creature- Zombie Knight Bargain (You may sacrifice an artifact, enchantment, or token as you cast this spell.) Hungering Lich-Knight has lifelink and haste as long as you’ve sacrificed a permanent this turn. 3/1 The Wilds are haunted by the Courts’ past misdeeds.

Here’s a twist I always like to play with alternate cost mechanics; one where the bonus doesn’t specifically require the alternate cost, but if you pay the cost it’s guaranteed. I did something similar with exploit back in VOW. I think it’s just a very fun way to do something a little different with a mechanic.

Evil Relative 1R Creature- Human When Evil Relative enters the battlefield, for each creature you control named Evil Relative, create a Wicked Role token and attach that token to that creature. (If you control another Role on it, put that one into the graveyard. Enchanted creature gets +1/+1. When this Aura is put into a graveyard, each opponent loses 1 life.) 1/1

I wanted a card that really plays with the “You can only have one role on a creature” and Wicked felt like the best way to do that since it has a payoff for that. Since there was no wicked role card connected to the wicked step family, I decided to connect it to that which helped pull the design together in a “have multiple of this card” direction.

Induce Vengeance 2R Instant Target creature you control deals damage equal to its power to any target. Create a Cursed Role token and attach it to that creature. (If you control another Role on it, put that one into the graveyard. Enchanted creature is 1/1.) The coven would not let their sister’s murder go unavenged.

I wanted to try using a cursed role as a sacrifice-lite effect and decided fling was a nice and simple execution of that. I think it’s fun cause with bargain and with other roles, since it’s easier to get your creature back at full power. It was very far from the usual fling flavor though, so I decided to go with someone kills a witch and is then cursed by her sisters in return.

Reign of Vermin 1R Enchantment When Reign of Vermin enters the battlefield, create two 1/1 black Rat creature tokens with “This creature can’t block.” 4R, Sacrifice Reign of Vermin: Attacking Rats you control get +2/+0 until end of turn.

You know I couldn’t resist putting a rat typal card in here. Typal cards at common tend to be be more of the threshold-one variety (that is, only asking that you control one creature of that type, or one other creature) because limited plays better if commons are less demanding on your deck, so they’re more usable in multiple archetypes. But I think this card works fine on its own even if it’s of course better with more Rats to go around so I don’t think that’s too much of a problem. I also like how this design came out as very good bargain fodder, which helps it tie into the set more.

Basket of Baked Goods G Artifact- Food Whenever Basket of Baked Goods enters the battlefield or is put into a graveyard from the battlefield, put a +1/+1 counter on up to one target creature. 2, T, Sacrifice Basket of Baked Goods: You gain 3 life. The werefox couldn’t help but comment on the smell of such a delicious morsel.

Here’s another nontoken food and another fun piece of bargain fodder. I know it’s redundant with some of the cards I have already but I’m really happy with the design and I definitely wanted it in here.

Feasting Hedonists 1G Creature- Elf Ward 2 Whenever an Aura becomes attached to Feasting Hedonists, create a Food token. (It’s an artifact with 2, T, Sacrifice this artifact: You gain 3 life.”) 2/2 A night of song and dance in the woods, a decade of time lost.

And here’s the obligatory enchantment payoff of the set, simplified for common. It has a simple payoff (though one that ties well into set themes and helps you pay bargain costs you probably want in your enchantment deck without having to sacrifice those enchantments you want), and I made it only proc off of aura that become attached to itself so follow the rule of thumb that commons shouldn’t do much when you’re not already looking at them. The ward is so you don’t get punished too hard for putting auras on this thing.

Bonus Sheet Slot

Hunting Prowess 3G Enchantment- Aura [rare] Storm (When you cast this spell, copy it for each spell cast before it this turn. You may choose new targets for the copies. Copies become tokens.) Enchant creature Enchanted creature gets +1/+1 and has “Whenever this creature deals combat damage to a player, draw a card.”

Bonus sheet slots are always weird since they’re explicitly reprints and the point of this project is to make new cards but the solution I’ve settled on is to make a card that wouldn’t feel out of place on the bonus sheet (ties into the overall theme, doesn’t demand things of limited that aren’t present, works flavorfully) but also wouldn’t be a good fit for the main set. The easiest way to meet that second constraint is to use a keyword that wasn’t present. This is a card that would have most likely been in MH2 to be reprinted here, but I think an Aura with storm is just a lot of fun. Combat damage trigger felt like the best way to make it being an Aura, rather than a sorcery distributing counters, worth it in a way that can be spread out or stacked on one creature.

#original post #mtg #custom magic card #wilds of eldraine #eldraine #booster challenge

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november-rayne · 11 months

Text

Chapter Twenty-One: Fond Farewells - Part One

Summary: Sigyn learns of Thor's plans for Loki's bachelor party and wishes to give him a proper send-off.

Word Count: 4000

Rating: Explicit for smut

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Tags: Oral sex (male receiving), mild degradation

Chapter Index

“Three days?! Three whole days!” Sigyn groaned and pushed her plate away.

“I am not thrilled about it either, but Thor has put a lot of effort into planning this event. You should have seen his face when he was telling me about it. I would hate to disappoint him.” Loki took her hands in his and rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs.

The dining hall was loud, with the usual noise of everyone enjoying their dinner and each other’s company. Loki and Sigyn were seated in their usual spot at the end of the table containing Thor and their friends: Sif, Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, and his wife, as well as a handful of others in their age range.

Sigyn glanced at Thor at the center of the table. He was laughing with Volstagg and gesturing wildly with a turkey leg in his hand. Embellishing a story from the battlefield, most likely.

She returned her gaze to Loki, “I do understand. I should not be so greedy with your time. I am being selfish.”

“Oh, my sweet Sigyn.” He rubbed her arms, “We will be married in less than a week. Then you will never be rid of me.”

“Do you promise?”

“I do. I will only leave your side if the King demands my presence. You will be sick of my face before you know it.”

“Never!” She placed her hand on his cheek, “I love your face. It is my favorite thing.” Her eyes dropped to his lips. “I…I am going to miss seeing you. And being close to you.”

“I cherish our precious time together as well.” Loki picked up her hand and kissed it. “You are going to be my wife in a matter of days. Then we will have eons of uninterrupted time together.” He kissed her forehead, “Besides, this will give me a chance to spend more time with the King and your father to soak up all their wisdom on long and happy marriages.”

“True.” Her smile brightened, “Yes, I am glad you will get some male bonding time with your friends. And it was so kind of Thor to invite my father as well. I hope the two of you get a chance to get to know each other better. Although, I am going to worry like crazy. Hunting wild boars? It is so dangerous.” She placed her hand on his cheek.

“Only for the boars,” Loki grinned. He took her hand from his cheek and kissed her palm.

“Not true! I know of men back home who have returned to their wives missing vital organs. Including the one essential for making babies!” She pulled her hands from Loki’s and put them on his upper thigh. Her pinky finger grazed his cock through his trousers.

Loki pulled her hands into his again and rested them on the table, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one noticed. “Trust me, kitten; I know the beast’s viciousness. I will return with all my parts. Especially that one. It is my favorite.”

“You had better.” She licked her lips and leaned closer to his ear, “You should let me give you a proper farewell.” One of her hands made its way back to his thigh.

Loki slid closer to her on the bench. He brushed her hair off her shoulder and followed the column of her neck with his eyes. She was wearing another wide-neck gown this night. This one was a deep burgundy, almost black in the low light. The material was thicker than the wispy dresses she usually wore and was embroidered with delicate leaves in gold thread. Her jewelry was gold, and her hair was half up and half down.

Sigyn had realized that Loki’s eyes became extra hungry when she wore dresses that exposed her neck and the tops of her shoulders. She watched his face as he appreciated her with his eyes.

“What do you think? Can we go somewhere?” She moved her hand higher up his thigh. She circled her thumb over the head of his cock through his trousers. She felt a familiar heat start in her lower belly. She arched her back slightly to try and relieve some of the tension that was building there.

Looking at Loki with hooded eyes, she lowered her voice even further, “You will be gone three long days; leave me with something to get me through those long days. And those lonely nights. All alone in my bed. When I wake from my dreams of you, writhing in a naked sweat, I want to have a memory of you as my hands make their way over my body, trying to relieve the ache of your absence. I want to recall, in those hollow moments, the sweet sounds you make as you come undone by my mouth.”

Loki’s leg jerked so violently that his knee slammed into the bottom of the table, causing the flatware and plates to rattle loudly. Every head at the table turned toward the noise. Sigyn calmly folded her hands atop the table and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Are you all right, Brother?” Thor looked over, concerned.

“Leg cramp. Nothing to worry about. Just trained a little too hard yesterday.” Loki grimaced, “Just need to stretch my legs. Thanks for asking, Brother.” He gave the table a nod. Everyone slowly returned to their conversations.

“Sigyn, would you care to join me for a walk?”

“Can you walk, Your Highness?” She asked him slyly as she took his hand.

“Do not get cheeky, you little minx. I should turn you over my knee and tan your hide for that little stunt.” Loki was leading her swiftly from the table.

“Oooh, if only.”

Loki rounded on her so quickly that her breath caught in her throat. “Listen well, sweetling.” He purred into her ear, “You should be careful what you wish for. I know what you are doing. I will not take the bait.”

Sigyn smirked, “I think you will take what I give you,” she twined her fingers in his, “and then thank me profusely for the honor.”

Loki’s eyes twinkled with mischief, “You are in so much trouble, little kitten.”

“Good.” Her lips curled up at the corners. Loki felt his cock twitch. “Tell me all the ways I have misbehaved while your cock is buried deep in my-”

“Hush, kitten.”

Loki led her to where her father stood, trying to break away from a couple of dignitaries. The men bowed to Loki as he approached.

“Ah, Your Highness! Are you excited for our excursion tomorrow? I know I am. I have not been on a proper hunting trip in ages.” Lord Anderson placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“I am as eager in this moment as ever.” Loki’s smile was broad.

“What a clever idea for a bachelor party. I remember my stag party quite fondly. We-” he stopped himself, remembering he was in his daughter's presence, “Well, I can tell you about it on our journey.”

“I am looking forward to it.”

“Well, I must get to bed. I promised Astrid I would not be much longer, and here I am, right where she left me.”

“My Lord, I hoped you would join us on a walk. I am not ready to say goodnight to Sigyn just yet. Seeing as how I will not be able to see her sweet face for three long days.”

“Yes, well, my beloved is waiting for me to join her. It would be best for me to stay in her good graces. If you bring Sigyn home before midnight, I do not have any issue with the two of you keeping company without me.” He raised one eyebrow at Sigyn, “Have you had any wine with dinner, pumpkin?”

“Just water, Papa.”

“Ah, very good. Okay, return to your friends and your fiancé, and enjoy the rest of your evening.” He hugged her, “We ride early in the morning.”

“I will be awake to see you off.” Sigyn smiled up at her father.

“That’s my girl. Good night, pumpkin.” He kissed her temple.

“Good night, Papa.”

“I will safely return her to your chambers before midnight, sir.”

“Very well,” Lord Anderson clapped him on his shoulder, “I will see you in the morning, Your Highness.” He bowed to Loki again before he made his way for the exit.

Sigyn turned to Loki, “How did you know he would not take you up on your offer to join us?”

“Do you really want to know the truth?”

“Of course I do.”

Loki grinned, “I watched your mother drink three glasses of wine with her dinner. I have a feeling that she is also looking forward to giving your father a proper goodbye. He was eager to return to his bed chamber and less concerned about what you were doing.”

Sigyn’s face scrunched up, “Norns, Loki!”

“You asked,” he laughed as he led her to the back of the hall.

“I am sorry I did.”

They went out of the back exit of the hall, down a corridor, and through a small archway. Loki pushed the door open to a storage room. “Wait here, sweetling. I will just be a moment.”

She did as she was told as Loki disappeared into the dark room. He returned a few minutes later with several dusty bottles of wine in his arms. “I am afraid that you might not enjoy this next part,” he told her as he started handing her the bottles.

“What are you going to do?”

“I need to cast an illusion over you. Until we reach my chambers, you will have to try and walk like you are a big lumbering oaf.” Loki waved his hands over Sigyn’s body. A green light shimmered from the top of her head to her feet as she took on the image of Thor.

Sigyn looked down at her body and could not believe her eyes. “Loki, what the Hel?!” He took a few of the bottles from her. “I cannot pass as the prince! Is this treason? Oh, my Gods, Loki!”

“Shh. Settle down. It is just a visual illusion, not a transformation. Your beautiful body is still intact. Think of it as a costume. Follow me.” Loki started walking swiftly back to the main corridor. “You are doing so well, sweetling. We will be there before you know it. Remember, you are a prince. Just nod to anyone we pass.”

“Okay.”

“Try to take longer strides, darling. And quit swinging your hips.” Loki internally laughed at the image of Thor moving so femininely.

Sigyn’s heart was in her throat. She internally cringed whenever they passed someone. But she followed Loki’s lead.

“Not much longer now.”

Sigyn nodded to the guards as they entered the residential section of the palace. Loki took the stairs two at a time. Unfortunately for Sigyn, she was still wearing a long dress under her illusion. She had to take the stairs a lot more carefully. “Loki, slow down. I need to hold my skirts.”

He waited for her at the landing and took a bottle from her hand. “Sorry, my love. I did not think about that encumbrance.”

“I bet not.”

Sigyn made it to the third floor without tripping. Loki handed her bottle back and reminded her, “Remember, you are my brother. Do not look at me with doe eyes. Smile and nod to the guards. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I can do this.”

“Good girl. You are doing so well. We are almost there.”

They walked down the long hall passing servants and guards as they went. After a left turn, they finally arrived at the front doors of Loki’s chambers.

Loki and Sigyn nodded to the two guards as they entered. He shut and locked the door behind them, set the bottles he was carrying down, and waved his hand in front of the door. A green light shimmered along the wall.

“A soundproofing charm,” he told her. He picked up the wine and motioned for her to follow him.

Sigyn was looking around his apartment with interest. It was large but more modest than she had imagined it would be. The furniture was made from rich buttery leather, and the cushions and throw pillows were not overstuffed but soft. The rugs were not ornate but plush. It looked comfortable and lived in. The dining area looked more formal, with a large table, wine cabinet, sideboard, and buffet.

In the back of the main room, under the windows, sat Loki’s desk next to a wide bookshelf. The area was tidy but contained many scrolls, ledgers, and folders full of parchment. Organized just the way he liked it, no doubt. His desk chair was large and plush. She assumed he spent a lot of time there. The rug under the desk was worn from Loki’s boots.

Sigyn followed Loki to the dining area, where he was offloading his bottles into the wine cabinet.

“Why so many bottles?” she asked as she passed him her bottles one at a time.

“Psychology. People are less likely to stop someone to talk if they are carrying something in their arms.” He smiled at her, “Plus, I needed to restock.”

“Ah, brilliant.”

He looked at her and laughed, “Let us put you back to yourself.”

“Yes, please!”

With a wave of his hand, the illusion disappeared. “There is my naughty girl.”

Sigyn blushed, despite herself. “You love me.”

Loki brushed her lips with his, “Very much.” He held a bottle, “Can I offer you a glass, My Lady?”

“Yes, please. That was stressful. Thank you, My Prince.”

Loki poured two glasses of red and handed one to her. “To covert operations.” He raised his glass to her.

“To not getting caught.” She winked at him as they clinked their glasses.

He sipped his wine as he watched her do the same. “Would you honor me with a dance?” Loki snapped his fingers, and slow, instrumental music started playing softly throughout the room.

Sigyn smiled and took a long, slow drink from her glass. She licked her lips, then answered, “I would love to.”

Loki set their glasses on the table next to the open bottle. He led her to the open space between the dining and sitting rooms. She kissed his cheek as he pulled her into a waltz. They twirled and danced alone in his chamber together for quite some time. They were both silently enjoying each other’s company.

Slowly, the pretense of dancing faded until they simply swayed in each other’s arms, Sigyn’s hands on the back of Loki’s neck. His hands moved from her waist to her hips to her bottom and back again.

Sigyn started placing slow, open mouth kisses down the column of his neck until she reached his collar. She ran her hands down his chest and grabbed the hem of his tunic with both hands. He helped her pull it up and over his head. She tossed it over the back of the sofa and then planted her kisses over his shoulders, on his biceps, and across his chest before returning to his neck.

Loki’s eyes were closed; his hands returned to her hips. She placed a feather-light kiss on his lips and started walking him backward until he felt his favorite leather chair on the back of his knees.

“Sit, Your Highness,” Sigyn commanded.

Loki grinned as he sat. His legs spread wide as he sprawled in his chair.

Sigyn picked up a throw pillow from the sofa and dropped it between his feet. She smirked at him in a way that made his cock twitch as she slowly lowered to her knees in front of him. He was running the side of his index finger back and forth across his lips as he watched her. She pushed up and kissed the side of his neck, ran her hands over his pecs, and kissed down his chest. She gave his nipple a little nip with her teeth, then quickly sucked it between her lips, causing it to peak as she ran tight circles around it with her tongue. She traced the other nipple lightly with her fingertip.

Loki’s breaths were coming quicker. He shifted in his seat, the tightness of his trousers becoming more uncomfortable. His bulge straining the material was impossible not to notice, but Sigyn took her time. This was as much for her as it was for him, so she savored it. She was breathing in the scent of his skin as she kissed his torso, relishing the feel of his body as she touched him, running her fingers through the modicum of hair that decorated his chest. She smiled against his skin when he flinched as she ran her fingers down his side, accidentally tickling him.

Loki was patient, enjoying watching her as she appreciated his body. As much as he wanted to touch her back, he kept his arms on the chair to not disturb her. By the time she had made her way to his belt, her mouth had covered every inch of his neck, chest, and belly.

She pressed her palm over his hard length and raised again so her mouth was close to his ear. “May I suck on your cock now, My Prince?”

Loki growled, and his hips bucked involuntarily. His cock was throbbing, threatening to unload. His fingers twined in Sigyn’s hair, and he pulled her face close to his. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, trying to regain control of himself. He kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting into her mouth roughly before pushing her away.

“The would-be princess is cock starved?”

Sigyn’s mischief came alive in her eyes, “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Remove your Prince’s boots.” She removed each boot obediently and placed them on the side of his chair neatly. “Get off your knees and stand over by the sofa.” She rose slowly, took a few steps, and waited.

Loki stood and slowly, without taking his eyes off Sigyn, unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers. His cock sprang free, and he gave it a couple of slow strokes with his hand.

“Remove your dress.” Her lips curled at the corners as she reached behind her back and unlaced her gown. She slid her arms out of her sleeves and let the dress glide to the floor before stepping out. Loki stared at her, standing there next to the glow of the fireplace in just her black lace panties and a matching strapless brassiere.

“Norns…” Loki whispered, his cock weeping at the tip.

Sigyn raised an eyebrow at him, “Will you honor my request now, Your Highness?”

Loki pretended to ponder for a moment, “I suppose.” He removed his trousers the rest of the way and threw them aside. Sigyn bit her lip as she drank in the sight of him, naked as the day he was born. She quickly closed the distance between them and pushed him forcefully back into his chair.

She sank to her knees on the pillow and circled the base of him with one hand. She used the index finger of her other hand to swipe the pre-come from his tip. She closed her eyes and moaned as she sucked her finger into her mouth, tasting the prince at last. Loki’s breath hitched as he watched her. She locked eyes with him as she slowly withdrew her finger from her mouth. “You are delicious. I think I just found my new favorite snack.”

Loki’s nails dug into the leather of the chair. He was ready to burst. “Enough of your filthy words. Put your mouth to better use.” His voice was gruff.

Sigyn grinned at him, “As you wish, My Prince.” She watched his face as she licked the underside of his cock from base to tip with a wide tongue. His eyes fluttered closed, and his head fell back. As much as he wanted to watch her work, he could not. He was not going to last long as it was.

Sigyn flicked the tip a few times with her tongue before wrapping her lips around the head. She sucked the rest of his pre-come off his tip before relaxing her jaw and gliding down his length.

“Ahh.” Loki peeked one eye open and watched briefly as Sigyn took him into her throat. Her lips almost made it to the base of him, but not quite. “Fuck!” He squeezed his eyes closed and dug his fingers into the leather chair.

Loki gathered her hair up in a ponytail and held it gently in one hand as she continued. His other hand stroked the side of her face, neck, shoulder, and arm. Anywhere he could reach without disrupting her. He lavished praise on her, moaned when she made him feel good, and grunted when she made him feel great.

She sucked his cock and pumped the base of him with one hand. Her other hand traveled from his balls to his thigh to his side until the pressure in her belly became too much to bear. She switched hands at the base of his cock to run her dominant hand down her stomach to her panties. She slipped her hand inside and stroked her swollen bud.

She moaned deeply, sending an electric vibration down Loki’s cock and up his spine. “Ahh, fuck, Sigyn…” He looked down at her. It took him a few seconds to realize what he was watching. His hips bucked upwards, and he could hold out no longer. Watching her pleasure herself while sucking his cock sent him to the edge. “S-S-Sigyn… I’m… coming.”

She did not pull away. She locked eyes with him as he emptied himself in her throat. Loki’s toes curled into the plush rug. The sound that broke from his throat was nothing short of primal. His hips hovered off the chair as his back arched. His orgasm ricocheted through his entire body. Even his scalp was tingling.

Sigyn kept gliding over him as he fell back heavily into his chair. “Damn, woman…” he shuddered, aftershocks radiating through his body again and again.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, “Fuck, darling. Are you trying to kill me?” She licked him clean and gave his head a few more deep sucks before she sat back on her heels.

“Give me a moment. I might have died for a few seconds there at the end.” Loki was breathing heavily, his heart racing and a thin sweat covering his upper body. “Fuck...” He opened his eyes.

Sigyn was running her hands over her hair, trying to tame it. “Did I please My Prince?” she asked sweetly.

She looked every inch a vision. Her lips were plump and swollen, her cheeks were flushed, her hair was wild, and her eyes danced with mischief.

“You,” Loki leaned forward in his chair, “you have just ruined me.” He gently placed his hands on her neck and pulled her towards him. He kissed her sweetly. She put her hands on his thighs and kissed him back.

“I love you, Loki. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful memory to think about while you are away. I will never forget the sounds of your pleasure for as long as I live.”

“I love you, my precious Sigyn. Stand up, sweetling.” She stood, and Loki tossed the pillow back onto the couch. He pulled her into a warm embrace. She ran her hands down his back to his bare ass and squeezed him. Loki chuckled as he scooped her up bridal style.

“Hey! Put me down,” she protested.

“No way in Hel,” he grinned as he walked them over to the dining room table. “Do me a favor and grab the wine.” Sigyn grabbed the bottle by the neck and held it close to her chest.

“What are you doing?”

Loki motioned with his head to the clock on the mantel. “We still have two hours together, and…fair is fair.” He grinned devilishly and started walking them toward his bedroom.

“Oh, my stars…” Sigyn took a few big gulps of wine straight from the bottle before Loki tossed her onto the middle of his bed.

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