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syllvane · 3 years ago

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muscle memory pt. 6- sylvie x reader

a/n: here it is, clocking in at a whopping 2.4k words!! spoilers for the middle and end of episode 3 and for the beginning of episode 4! this is very plot heavy, but i hope you guys enjoy it!

read the previous part read the next part read the series

Your whole body ached and it was only then, laying face down in the purple dirt of Lamentis, did you realize how tired you were.

Well, you supposed that on the side of the train tracks seemed as good as a place as any to take a nap.

“Give me the TemPads,” You heard Sylvie say nearby and what sounded like her pulling out her dagger not long after.

Right.

You groaned slightly as you stood up, regaining your bearings as Sylvie held her dagger to Loki’s throat.

Loki looked over at you.

“Is she always this violent?”

You looked at her, tilting your head slightly, opening your mouth to answer before Sylvie shot you a look. You closed your mouth.

“The TemPads, now,”

Loki held his hands up defensively before opening up a little pocket in space and time to reveal the TemPad smoking, crumbling into nothing as Loki held it.

He opened up a second pocket in space and time to reveal the same thing- wait, when had he taken your TemPad from you?

Sylvie lowered her dagger, her hands shaking slightly and you felt yourself going perfectly still.

Nothing like realizing that you’re going to die to sober you up.

“Oops.”

“You asshole. You killed us!”

For a second, you were worried that Sylvie was going to pull her dagger on him again, though your worries were abated when she walked past him, letting out a pulse of green magic as she screamed.

She sat down on a rock a little bit ahead, all of the fight seeming to leave her body.

You walked past where Loki was standing, patting him on the shoulder gently as you passed him before sitting down next to Sylvie, your knee touching hers.

“I’m sorry,” You told her and she scoffed.

“Everything I’ve done has been in the name of getting you back and making a life for us. Now all of that is gone. We’re going to die on this moon.”

“Not all of it.”

She looked at you.

“What?”

“Not all of it is gone. I’m right here,” You grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone anymore.”

She stared down at your intertwined hands for a couple of seconds before looking back up at you and the way that she looked at you... the way that she looked at you made you feel silly for ever believing that she wouldn’t love you.

“I missed you so much. I’m still angry, don’t get me wrong, I’m just.. I missed you,” She told you and before you could respond, Loki walked over to where the two of you were sitting, standing in front of you both, demanding your attention without saying a word.

“I have an idea.”

“What?” Sylvie asked shortly.

“The Ark- before you say it, I know that it gets destroyed before it makes it off the moon, blah blah blah, but it’s never had us.”

No one spoke for a couple of moments.

“We hijack the Ark and get it off the moon,” Sylvie said and Loki nodded. “It’s better than just sitting here and dying, I’ll give you that.”

Both Sylvie and Loki looked at you expectantly.

Truthfully? You would rather die here than risk going back to the TVA again.

There are worse things than death and you are well-acquainted with them.

And still, there is the smallest glimmer of hope in Sylvie’s eyes and you will not be the one to extinguish it.

“We don’t have much time, we need to move.”

A ghost of a smile flashed on Sylvie’s face as she stood up, helping you stand up as well.

“Wait, really?” Loki asked in disbelief, following the two of you as you started the long trek to Sharoo.

By the time you could see the skyline of the capital city, the lavender sky had deepened in color. Whether that be because night was falling on the moon, or because the planet that it had orbited around for so long was starting to block the star that had given both of them life, you weren’t completely sure.

“What if you enchanted me and walked for the both of us? Or I take a nap in my subconscious and then you could just wake me when we arrive. Yeah?”

Although Loki missed the look that Sylvie gave him, you did not.

“That’s not how enchantment works,” Sylvie said pointedly and you didn’t miss the curious expression that came onto Loki’s face.

“How does it work?”

“It’s not… fine. You want to know how enchantment works. I have to make physical contact with the target and grab hold of their mind.”

“How?”

“It depends on the mind. Most are easy and I can overtake them instantly. Others, the stronger ones, it gets tricky. I’m in control, but they’re there, too. I have to create a fantasy from their memories.”

Loki slowed down, looking at you.

“So you… you’re a Variant.” He said slowly and you nodded.

“Everyone at the TVA is.”

He completely stopped this time, staring at the two of you in shock.

“What?”

Before you could say anything else, an announcement from the Ark stated that there were only ten minutes left before launch.

“We have to hurry up if we’re going to make it,” You said and although the other two didn’t say anything, they matched your pace as you started walking faster towards Sharoo.

From the bits and pieces that you remembered about it, Asgard was one of the most beautiful places in the galaxy.

It was gold and filled with luscious green gardens and after visiting many other places in the galaxy as an agent for the TVA, you still weren’t sure if anything could compare.

Sharoo was beautiful in a completely different way.

Where Asgard was an all natural beauty, Sharoo was neon lights and graffiti and futuristic design. It probably would’ve been even more beautiful if it wasn’t illuminated by orange flames.

“Do we trust each other?” Sylvie asked.

You grabbed her hand, squeezing for a second before letting go, not needing to say anything.

“We do and we can,” Loki responded, looking around the city as well, trying to find the best vantage point to get to the Ark.

“Good. Because this is going to suck.”

Sylvie took your hand again, leading you through the crowd as Loki got onto an overturned stall.

“They’re going to let all of these people die,” You said quietly and Sylvie didn’t say anything, only squeezing your hand in reassurance.

The three of you watched as the gates that were directly in front of the Ark closed, presumably to keep the growing crowd out.

“We have to get on the Ark and make sure it takes off.”

“How?” Loki asked and you looked at your surroundings, trying to figure out the best way to access it.

“We go around,” You said and Loki jumped off his pedestal, his arm instantly around Sylvie and his hand on your shoulder as he led the two of you to an alleyway, saving the both of you from being trampled, and the three of you continued running until you reached an open space.

You all stood still for a moment, assessing the situation before you felt a sickening crack- for a moment, you were sure that you must’ve broken something, but as you looked at Sylvie and Loki, you realized that they had felt it too.

You looked at the sky above you just in time to see the jade-colored planet that had been looming above you all this time split apart- not even split apart, really, crumble was a more accurate word in this situation.

Everyone around you watched silently as the crack rang through the air, paralyzed by fear.

After the first couple of meteors hit, fear turned into panic and screams rang out all around you as people found the ability to move again.

The three of you continued running with a new sense of urgency, though this time instead of running to safety, you run right into one of the falling pieces of the planet.

Compared to this, you almost missed the pain of being thrown off the train- at least you were sure that that pain would stop. At least you knew then that Sylvie was safe.

You stood up, your ears ringing and your head spinning.

Loki was already beginning to stand up as well and you offered a hand out to Sylvie, whose eyes were still closed.

She took it, opening her eyes and letting out a shaky breath before the three of you continued running, this time into the safety of a restaurant.

“You okay?” Loki asked, posing the question to both of you.

“Yeah,” Sylvie said and you nodded as well, more focused on the other two people who had entered the restaurant.

One grabbed Sylvie’s cloak, trying to knock her off balance and she disposed of him with ease.

Loki tossed you one of his daggers and seconds later, you threw it through one of the guard’s helmets.

You walked over to where the body had fallen and grabbed it as Loki disposed of the other guard.

The three of you ran out of the other entrance, missing another meteor strike only by a couple of feet.

You continued running, Loki and Sylvie helping to navigate the collapsing city.

The sound of creaking metal filled the air and for a second, you were worried that the planet was crumbling even more, if such a thing was even possible.

When you looked up, you felt a brief sense of relief as you realized that it was only a building that was falling on you.

“I got this,” Loki said, planting his feet and Sylvie pulled you out of the way, the two of you watching as the God used his magic to suspend the falling building midair before pushing it so that it fell over the other way.

“Come on, we can still make it!” Sylvie yelled over all the noise and Loki sprinted after the two of you, joining in as you and Sylvie fought through the guards before the three of you were finally standing in front of the Ark.

It feels like a nightmare when a piece of the planet slices through the Ark in half.

For a couple of moments, the three of you are unable to do anything but stand there and watch the destruction, watching the last chance that you had of escaping Lamentis-1 go up into flames.

The guards are motionless as well, watching the thing that they had been trying so hard to protect get destroyed- you even see one kneel down on his knees, overcome with the grief of it all.

Maybe they were finally realizing what was going to happen to them.

You put your hand on Loki’s shoulder, watching his chest heave- even if he didn’t say anything, you knew that he blamed himself for the failure to save the Ark and everyone else on it.

You then lifted your hand, walking after Sylvie.

The three of you find yourself outside of the city once again, watching the smaller remnants of the planet crash into the moon. You rest your head on Sylvie’s shoulder- you didn’t want to go back to the TVA, but somehow this feels worse.

The thought of dying in the arms of the woman that you love provides very little solace in the face of imminent death.

“I’m sorry,” Loki said, taking a seat next to you. “I’m sorry that you two will never get the life you wanted.”

You didn’t look up at him, but you offered your hand to him- you both were equally to blame for getting drunk on that train. You both were responsible for the failure of Sylvie’s plan. The least you could do was offer forgiveness to him.

He took your hand hesitantly, as if you might pull away from him as soon as he grasped it.

You didn’t, and he held on.

“Well if I have to die, I’m glad it’s by her side. There’s nowhere I’d rather be at the end of the world,” You said and Sylvie looked at you with indescribable fondness and sadness. “If I can’t have a life with her, then at least I get to die with her.”

“This is how it always ends for us, isn’t it? With the end of everything as we know it,” She remarked bitterly and you shrugged, something that was difficult to do with the way your head was resting on her shoulder.

“This isn’t so bad,” You replied, watching as smaller chunks of the planet continued to impact the moon. “I mean this is awful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not the worst way to go. Surrounded by friends.”

Loki shifted besides you and you wondered to yourself if anyone had ever called him that before- a friend.

It didn’t matter much now- soon the larger chunks of the planet would crash into the moon and the three of you would die, your words and any memory of them gone as well.

Still, they seemed to mean a lot to him and you supposed that was all that would matter, in the end.

“It won’t be long now,” Sylvie said as she rested her head against yours, watching as bigger chunks of the planet creeped closer and closer. “I didn’t say it back before, when you told me on the train. But I love you too. More than anything.”

“More than time itself?” You asked jokingly and although you couldn’t see her, you were sure that she rolled her eyes by the laugh that she let out.

“Especially more than time itself.”

You sat up and let yourself look at Sylvie one last time, wanting her face to be the last thing that you saw before it was all gone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the impact of a large chunk heading for the three of you and with your free hand, you cupped her cheek.

Gods, you were going to miss her.

Before the impact could reach you, you saw two familiar opaque doors appear behind Sylvie and Loki and you felt your heart drop more than it had when the Ark was destroyed.

Your saviors were here, only they were here in the name of the agency that had imprisoned you in the first place.

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hisoknen · 4 years ago

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kinktober day 3: predatory prey pairing: shindou x fem!reader warnings: noncon, vampire au, blood, gore? (you get bitten) wc: 2.1k

a/n: i was imagining of kol from vampire diaries while writing this oop. thank you @tomurasprincess and @10millionyearsdungeon for both beta reading and feeding me your thoughts. i am so fortunate to be in your webs. the running scene was fun and challenging as heck to write i hope you enjoy reading friends!!

You stumble against a bed of rocks at the forests entrance, quickly twisting your neck around to make sure you still have distance between you and your assailant. The crunch of leaves under your feet and shallow breathing is filling the air, hand pressed against the leaking wound spilling out at your neck.

You were out walking, the time had escaped you and the weather was beautiful. The fall air was chilly, and leaves were scattered about. Taking a deep breath, you could smell the earth heavy in the air, the breeze crisp and flooding your senses.

There was a feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach the second you saw the man. His skin was pale and soft, eyes piercing and dark. The smile he gave you as he glided toward you made you feel weightless. His voice was deep and commanding, pulling you into him.

You looked around and noticed that you’d gone too far out this time. There were no houses around you, no people in sight except for him. You were drawn in, and he inhaled softly against your neck, his nose trailing the sensitive flesh, licking a line to your pulse point before biting down.

The searing pain that jolted through your body quickly melted into pleasure, your mind fluttering as you leaned into his touch. The sound of a crow cawing broke you out of your trance, and in your pained confusion, you pushed him away from you and began running.

The blood was steadily dripping down your neck, covering your collarbones and soaking through your shirt. You didn’t believe in a god, but that didn’t stop you from frantically mumbling prayers under your breath in hopes that something, anything would save you. Your lips tremble, and adrenaline spiking through your body as you trip over roots and stumble across the uneven ground.

“You have fast legs, little thing,” his gravelly yet cheerful voice seemed to echo all around you. You stop cold in your tracks, turning your head to search for the direction he was coming from.

Your throat burns and tastes like blood. Heart is pounding against your eardrums, beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest.

Crouching down you try to take breaths, willing yourself to take air into your lungs. Blood seeping through your fingers, dripping everywhere. No matter how much pressure you applied, it just wouldn’t stop. There was a soft dripping against the leaves below you like raindrops lazily falling from the sky.

"Wow, you’re really quick. I might have to take this serious huh," shooting up from your spot, you begin sprinting blindly ahead, scrambling over large rocks and jumping over fallen trees. A branch catches your arm, tearing into it, legs cut from the tall grass and weeds you'd pass. Your clothes are tattered from the falls and catches on sharp edges around you.

The further you go into the forest, the foggier it becomes—your anxiety spikes when you slip on mud. The crows scattering from the trees as if they, too, are trying to escape the presence that is following you. You can no longer feel the sting of the branches hitting your face, only the shaking of your numb limbs desperately trying to stay upright on the uneven landscape.

"It's really too bad that you're leaking blood everywhere," his voice whips around you like the air rushing past your face. Your legs are jelly, only running on adrenaline to push you forward out of harm's way. Your vision was becoming spotty and tilted. Each breath you take threatens to send you to the ground.

“You can’t run forever, little thing. Aren’t you getting tired?” A dark sadistic chuckle encases the space surrounding you. You lurch forward, your foot tangled in a tree root. You’re wheezing as you grab onto a tree to hold yourself up.

Where were you running to? If anything, you were running even further into the forest, where no one would hear your pleas and screams. But what other choice did you have? You had to get away from that thing.

“I do have to say, you’re making this fun.” Your knees buckle below you, chest rising and falling quickly as you try to draw in ragged breaths. You had to take a break before you could keep going, but there wasn’t time.

The moment you relaxed, your head swam with dizziness. You had to get out of here before he found you. The forest was silent, only the crow's sound cawing in the distance with the sun beginning to fall out of sight entirely.

“Hey, there, little thing.” You let out a shrill scream, throwing your body to the side. He was looming over you, crouched down where you once sat. He was right behind you, and you hadn’t even heard him coming.

“You smell amazing, you know that?” His attention is focused on the runny handprint on the tree, his fingers gathering up the blood as he brings it close to his face. He dips his tongue out to pull in his finger, closing his eyes and sighing as he tastes the crimson stain.

“So sweet, leaving a trail behind for me to follow,” the taste of copper begins to crawl up your throat, your hand losing its strength and falling to your side, blood spurting from the wound he left behind. A raged sob escaping from your trembling lips, you try with all your might to scoot away from him.

He stares at you like an eagle watching its prey struggle in vain, studying its movements for the right time to attack. Elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, head cocked to the side. He smiles at you, sharp pointy fangs catching your eyes. There is no longer much in light, only the sun setting behind his form.

“While hide and seek was fun, I think I’m done playing for now,” He reaches out, squeezing your leg and tugging your body toward his. With such little effort, he’d swiftly pulled you away from your safety.

He climbs onto you, grabbing your hands as you try to slam weak fists against his chest. Pushing them over your head, he bends over, running his tongue across your jaw and inhaling deeply.

“Plea-” you sputter out, blood leaking from your lips.

“What’s the matter, little thing?” his hand reaches behind you to tug the shorts down to your knees. Your breath comes and goes in small whimpers as he traces your bundle of nerves through flimsy panties. Wincing when you hear the fabric tear and a cold breeze catch your skin. He stares deep into your eyes, gauging your reactions as he begins to probe your cunt, running his fingers over your slit.

“It looks like you enjoyed the chase too.” He’s not asking you a question as he pulls his soaked fingers up for you to see. Warmth spreads across your belly as he picks up the speed, rubbing and tapping at your clit while you let out garbled gasps. His finger teases your hole, a vibration coursing through his fingertips snaps you out of the lust-driven trance.

“I didn’t,” You try to look at him through tear-filled eyes, chest rising and falling as you wait for his reply.

"No?" You cry out as he thrusts a cold finger into your tight hole, curving his fingers up and rubbing lightly at your gooey insides. There was only gruff moaning above you as he coaxes your insides, searching for the places that will make your head spin.

Your cunt opens wide for him, sucking the digits in. There seems to be something inside of you that pulls you against his fingers in rhythmic pulses like a desperate whore seeking her release.

He retracts his fingers moving down your body. You try to move, but your body is overcome with the chase's exhaustion, not a single muscle moving no matter how much you beg your body. He pulls your numb legs apart, running his fingers along your dribbling cunt absentmindedly. He sinks his fangs into your inner thigh. You let out a silent scream laced with a moan as his tears into your flesh.

The bleeding at your neck has clotted, caked dried heavily against the skin. Each time he bit into you, it felt like your mind was being pumped full of aphrodisiacs. Unwilling to comprehend the fear you were feeling, turning hot and sensitive as he fed on your body. His tongue lapped at the skin in his mouth, sucking in your life force bit by bit while you writhed in pleasure underneath him.

He flips your limp body over with ease, you taste the dirt and leaves mixing with the lingering copper setting in your mouth. He rubs his cock against your glistening hole, gathering your arousal before plunging into you. His cock slowly sliding into your unwilling core, bottoming out impossibly deep.

You try to buck against him to get him off of you, helplessly clawing at the dirt. With each struggle and bite, your energy is sucked away from you. Forcing you to only feel what he’s doing to you.

“You really hate this that much, little thing?” He holds your hips tight, pushing them against the damp ground as he grinds against you. The motion has your head spinning despite your desire to escape. In some twisted way, your body is responding to each of his movements. Bile rising in your throat at how strongly your cunt is tugging him in for more.

“So how about this? If you don’t cum I’ll let you go.” His hips grind against your clit, his tongue trailing across the back of your shoulder. “But If you do cum, I’ll go ahead and kill you since you hate this so much.” He purrs, trailing his fingers across your exposed skin.

“Fair enough?” He ruts against you, his ice-cold skin almost burning against you, a cold chill running up your spine. You were just a toy to him—a thing to play with. You shudder, taking a sharp inhale through your nose to slow your breathing.

He was using you against your will. He was going to kill you either way, yet you couldn’t stop letting out pathetic mewls each time his hips snapped against you, cunt to be drooling onto his balls.

He tugs your hips off the ground forcing an arch in your back. Hands finding yours and pulling them behind your back. He uses them to drag you onto him with each thrust. His cock begins to shake inside of you, rattling against your walls uncontrollably. You bring your thighs together, trying not to focus on the pleasure riddling your veins.

The coil inside of you begins to tighten. If you came from this, he would kill you. Thick tears run down your cheeks as you play his words on repeat in hopes that something in your body would obey you and stop responding. You start to feel cold, your vision spotty from the blood loss, arms numb being tugged relentlessly behind you.

“You were such a good thing to play with,” His voice rings in your ears. “But I don’t think you’re going to last much longer.” He chuckles darkly, tugging on your arms and arching your back against his chest.

You let out a whimper as his cock grazes your cervix. The intensity of the vibrations pick up as he latches onto the other side of your neck, the breath from his nose tickling your skin as he feeds from you.

There is a weight building up inside of you. The small pulses of your cunt on his cock turn into a wave of pulses as you pull him in further. The coil in the hollow of your belly snaps weak, whines rippling past your lips as he stills against you, letting you swallow his cock.

“Fuck little thing,” he slowly thrusts in and out of your sopping pussy, your quivering walls hypersensitive to the veins on his cock. The agonizing pain you felt before begins to fade into numbness, your body growing cold.

This was it. This was how you died. Pathetically wrapped around a stranger's cock, begging him for more while he bled you dry. Your eyes feel heavy as the soft numb overtakes you.

Shindou looks down at your abused body. He pulls up his pants, scooping you into his arms. He pauses, looking down at your closed eyes, and sickly completion. Biting into his wrist he holds it over your mouth. The blood trickling in rapidly, his wound healing almost immediately.

The color starts to return to your face. Your breathing not as shallow. Your bites begin to slowly close, only the crimson stains remaining caked on.

"I think I'll keep you around just a little longer, little thing." He quietly hums to himself as he carries you further into the forest.

—

kinktober masterlist

tags <3 @linestrider @pleasantanathema @idratherliveinbooks @mx-minxx @kenmasmyvibe @leeswritingworld @katsukis-sad-angel @trafalgar-temptress @dabis-kitten @stainedglass-wings @thirsthourdemon @zyrielwolf

#shindou x reader smut #shindo x reader smut #shindo yo x reader smut #shindou yo x reader smut #tw noncon #tw blood #bnha x reader smut #bnha smut

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samstree · 3 years ago

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splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (1/?)

Geraskier, Prince!Jaskier, fairy tale elements but with a twist, fluff and angst, 6.9k, rated T

Read on AO3

Geralt finds himself drawn to the prince despite himself. As he and Jaskier grow closer, war also looms on the horizon. It's the stuff of fairy tales, but can a witcher find his happily ever after in the time of heartbreaks and deaths?

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened next?”

“The farm girl became a princess and married the prince. They lived happily ever after,” she smiled, her eyes so warm in the candlelight.

“But what next?”

“Happily ever after, sweetie. It means there will only be happiness for the rest of their lives.”

She places a kiss on the top of his head and blows out the candle. Her hands are soft and gentle when she tucks him in.

“Ma?”

“Yes?”

“Will we live happily ever after?”

She pauses in the darkness.

“Of course, my darling. Now you need to close your eyes—”

“Like the prince and the girl?”

“Even better.”

“But she married the prince. How can it be better?”

She sighs. The warmth of her palm brushes across his forehead, making his eyelids droop heavily.

“Your future holds much more, my sweet boy. You will find out tomorrow when you wake up.”

Sleep overcomes him. Indeed, he dreams of fairy tales and royal balls, magic spells and grand weddings.

The next morning, he wakes up believing in those happy ever afters.

Sometimes, when stones are thrown and pitchforks raised, Geralt regrets ever doing so.

The crown prince of Aedirn is a beautiful thing.

His pale blue doublet shines under the bright morning sun, the silvery embroidery sparkling in the light. A big smile —that ever-so-friendly smile that Prince Julian is known for— spreads across his face as a man with blond hair riding next to him speaks. Windswept brown hair brushes over his eyes, obscuring his youthful features.

Everything about him screams royalty. Privilege.

Even his horse is the most nicely-groomed white stallion Geralt has ever laid eyes on.

Prince Charming needs the whole get-up. The witcher snorts behind the bush, observing the royal convoy. It’s too small and moving way too slowly. They must have let down their guard because of the proximity to the castle. If Geralt were to assassinate a royal, he would choose to do it here as well.

It doesn’t take long for the first one to approach from the side of the road, hiding behind the shrub just like Geralt. The man in black works silently and quickly, but not as quickly as a witcher.

Geralt strangles him from behind, gripping tightly until the man passes out. A crossbow falls to the ground. The convoy travels ahead, unaware of the witcher disposing of a deadly threat to their prince’s life.

The swoosh of an arrow pierces the air.

“Protect the prince!”

Two dozen assassins in the same black suit appear out of thin air, charging into the royal guards’ formation. In an instant, the heap of pale-blue is tackled to the ground. Swords clash as more men start yelling.

“Fuck.”

Dodging a stray arrow, the witcher rushes into the chaos. The small convoy being overwhelmed by the incoming force, they hardly notice one of the assassins circling around the battle and moving directly to the prince. With a few long strides, Geralt stops the man with a clean strike.

“What—” the prince scrambles back at the sight of blood, looking at the witcher’s towering form with disbelief.

“You need to come with me,” Geralt says, before hauling him up by the collar of his doublet.

He half drags the prince to the hide-out. It’s only a cave where he left Roach earlier, but it should be enough. The young man slumps down against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Why are you—”

“Shh.” The witcher quickly crouches on the ground and presses his palm over the prince’s mouth. Distant footsteps disappear in another direction, before he slowly lets go. “We should be safe for now.”

In the quiet of the cave, he can hear the prince’s pounding heart, his eyes blown wide like a startled deer. Specks of blood smear across his cheeks, making him appear even younger.

“My men?”

“These are hired assassins. They will disperse once you are gone.” Geralt is surprised at how gentle his voice comes out. “Are you all right?”

“I—” the prince swallows, and looks down to his bicep where the flesh is grazed by an arrow. The wound is shallow and slowly seeping blood into the torn fabric. Geralt reckons that it should be fine left alone. “I’m fine. I—I’m…fine, yes. I’m alive.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, both in shock and relief. The prince tries to appear unaffected but the overwhelming panic in his scent betrays his seemingly neutral expression.

“You are lucky it didn’t go through your heart.” The witcher leaves him to check on Roach. Sensing the danger in the air, the mare has stayed quiet this whole time. He pats her mane in thanks. “Didn’t think the prince of Aedirn was this careless.”

“I didn’t think witchers got themselves involved in political squabbles either.” Cornflower blues meet Geralt piercingly, despite his shakiness. “I know who you are,” he chuckles tightly. “The witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt grunts.

“I didn’t get involved.”

The prince only gestures to himself, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve saved your ass. Now you can return to your castle and pretend we’ve never met, your highness.”

“Please, call me Jaskier.” The prince stands, patting the blue silk to get off the dirt and wincing when the movement tugs at his arm. “Aren’t you curious as to how I learned about you? Your fame precedes you, witcher.”

The young man meets his gaze assuredly. There’s no trace of fear in his scent.

People usually learn about Geralt one way—his moniker is not something to be escaped. But the prince doesn’t act like everyone else who meets the Butcher. Or at least, he hides it well.

“Are you not scared for your life, prince?”

“It’s Jaskier. And no, I’m not scared by the Butcher, if that’s what you mean.” There’s a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know you from a… mutual acquaintance, let’s say.”

“Oh?”

“Filavandrel mentioned you.”

“The elf king who hides in the mountains?” Geralt frowns. “I never really knew him. Not for more than a day.”

“No? He spoke of a white-haired witcher who was paid to hunt his people. Only that witcher left his own coin purse to them upon finding out about their circumstances. It showed compassion that no human had ever shown them, witcher. From his description, I thought the elven king and you shared a moment that day, or rather, an understanding.”

“Only of men.” He pauses. “Haven’t you come to the same understanding? Or why else would the prince of Aedirn make a target of himself by providing shelter to elven refugees?”

Geralt remembers his encounter with the elf king vividly, his anger and despair. The path took him back to Lower Posada years after that day. His curiosity drove him back to Dol Blathanna, only to find a much larger settlement and an exploding population of elves and other non-humans. Not only that, everyone there spoke of the kindness of the prince, who gave equal status to all sentient creatures on Aedirn soil.

“I see someone did homework on me.”

“People here sing your praises on the street day and night. It seems half the country has fallen in love with you,” Great admits begrudgingly.

“And the other half dislikes that I’m giving land away. Land that could have been providing for humans. The other half of my country believes I’m crazy just like all the other kings and queens in the north.”

The prince steps into Geralt’s space.

“You see, Geralt of Rivia, I cannot change the war that others deem just. I cannot stop the Lioness of Cintra from slaughtering elves and non-humans alike on the other side of the Yaruga. All I have is a piece of land in the Blue Mountains and, perhaps, I can provide them the means to rebuild. Those settlements are only a start.”

“It sounds like a noble cause, prince, but I’m not sure how much you can achieve.”

“Sometimes,” the prince’s attention shifts to Roach. “I wonder the same thing. The continent won’t change overnight just because one kingdom decides to show them a little bit of decency. The same decency that we humans are treated with all along.”

The young prince falls silent, his hand reaching out to touch Roach’s mane but retreats when she snorts anxiously. Geralt shushes the mare with a carrot from the pack.

“And I think, my friend,” the young prince continues. “Despite your claim of neutrality, you are on my side.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No? But I wish to become yours. After all, you just saved my life so selflessly and gallantly,” he proclaims dramatically. “You should have seen yourself, Geralt. So brave with a sword, like a knight from the stories! If we were in a fairy tale, this is where I offer myself to you in eternal gratitude.”

“Are all princes this cheeky?”

“I don’t know. Are all witchers this heroic and beautiful?” Blue eyes roam up and down the witcher’s body, before meeting his gaze with clear interest.

Geralt grunts, ducking away from direct eye contact with the prince. Suddenly the air in the cave feels too warm. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Are you being shy, Geralt the witcher?”

The teasing comes so naturally for the prince. Gods, is that why all the maidens out there are so enamored with him? With those easy smiles and dreamy blue eyes, as soon as he throws in some flirtatious words, any inexperienced country girl would swoon upon meeting with him.

What fools they all are.

“We are not in a fairy tale,” Geralt says, palming his face. “Don’t expect a happy ending from this, my prince.”

“Jaskier,” the prince repeats insistently. “Although I do like the way you call me ‘my prince’. I’d certainly like it more if we were in a… different situation.”

He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Geralt wonders if he can un-save this ridiculous man’s life.

“Fine then. Jaskier.”

The prince, who insists his name is a flower, smiles smugly for having gotten his way.

“But why?” he then faces Geralt head-on, his voice steady. “Why help me? If you don’t seek the favor of a prince, and the conflict never concerns you?”

Geralt blinks.

He��s not sure what drove him to the decision. The only emotion he had upon hearing about a price on the head of the crown prince was unease. The witcher has seen the war and how all the non-humans were killed with little reason, their corpses a feast for ghouls. The prince of Aedirn made himself an enemy to many realms by taking in all the refugees.

It wouldn’t sit right to let him die.

“I was in Cintra a month ago,” Geralt answers.

Jaskier tilts his head.

“So was I. I went to negotiate the relocation of the defeated elves with Queen Calanthe.” Something dawns on him. “You heard something, didn’t you? Was this assassination ordered by her? The negotiation ended up a complete waste of time, but never have I thought she could resort to such a dishonorable way of killing. No matter how much she must want to get rid of me permanently… Oh, I—I never thought…”

The prince—Jaskier trails off, his face drained of blood.

“I only learned about the bounty on your head,” Geralt explains, confused by the prince’s sudden show of weakness. “Hired swords get quite loose-lipped after a few drinks. As to where the order came from—"

“Wait, I…"

A pained grunt escapes the prince’s throat. He sways on his feet ever so slightly, but steadies himself with a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. They both look down to where the wound is still trickling slowly, soaking his sleeve with a patch of dark crimson.

“Wait, I thought…” Geralt reaches out to hold Jaskier’s arm. His palm comes away covered in blood. “Shit, it shouldn’t be bleeding this much.”

“You followed all the way from Cintra, just to stop them from killing m—" Jaskier breaks off for air as Geralt rummages through his pack for bandages. The prince clenches the fabric over his chest, as if something is hurting him from within. “So much for… n—not getting involved.”

“Shut up, prince.” Geralt’s fingers reach the bandage. “Or Jaskier, or whatever flower you prefer.”

A strained smile contorts into a grimace on the prince’s face, his knees buckling.

“Shit.” The witcher barely manages to catch his limp body before his head hits the ground. Blue eyes become unfocused as his head sags against Geralt’s shoulder. “Jaskier? Prince? Can you hear me?”

Geralt inspects the wound on his arm closely for the first time, and that’s when his witcher senses pick up on the faint trail of bitterness.

“It’s poison,” he mutters and curses under his breath.

Jaskier whimpers weakly upon hearing the words, his eyes filled with full-blown panic. For the first time that day, the witcher senses potent fear in the prince’s scent.

Or is it his own?

Geralt can’t tell.

Roach is almost at her limits. The weight of two grown men puts a lot of tires her way too quickly, but Geralt doesn’t dare to slow down, not until he can see the castle walls.

“Don’t die now,” the witcher murmurs into the prince’s ear, who is slumped against his chest, half-delirious and slurring nonsense. The make-shift tourniquet on his arm is soaked through with specks of blood.

The poison is attacking his heart, Geralt notices. It’s also speeding it up, disrupting its rhythm. It’s the vicious kind, one that is designed to make the victim suffer before they die.

Jaskier’s face is white as a sheet, and his lips are turning a sickening purple. The trembling comes and goes, making it harder to keep him in place. His blue eyes roll back, and for a moment, Geralt thinks he’s lost him.

“We are here, prince. Do you hear me?” The gate opens when the guards realize that their prince is brought back injured. A lot of people are shouting but it’s all a blur when Geralt carries the prince down from the mare’s back. “Just hang on, Jaskier.”

Jaskier clings, his heartbeat fluttering dangerously.

They take Jaskier away with force, his limp hand slipping from Geralt’s grip. Someone kicks the witcher behind the knees, sending him to the ground. Weapons suddenly appear at his throat, stopping him from going any further.

“G’ralt…” Jaskier protests, his hands grabbing blindly.

“He needs a healer!” he shouts at those guards who only seem to be interested in restraining him.

Cornflower blues are fixed on golden yellow. The prince’s skin is covered in sweat, his lips quivering, struggling to form words. It takes a second for the witcher to realize that he’s talking to the guards.

“He saved my life. Don’t… He saved…me,” Jaskier chokes out a breath, and Geralt feels those guards release him.

The witcher is left kneeling as more men surround the prince and rush him inside. They’re either fussing over Jaskier or calling for help. His faint heartbeat gets lost in the commotion.

“Wait, is he going to—"

The gate shuts in his face. The last thing he sees is Jaskier collapsing in someone’s arms.

No word about the prince comes out for months. Not about the assassination. Not about his poisoning.

Rumor says that he was gravely injured during the attack, and that he has been bed-ridden since returning from Cintra. Some even suspect that he’s already dead.

“…I opened the envelope and it was an invitation from the prince!”

“It was magical, wasn’t it? He doesn’t show up for ages and suddenly we are all invited to a ball! In his castle! A royal ball where anyone can attend, no less! I heard he will choose one to marry tonight.”

“Although I heard he’s sick for quite some time…”

Geralt ducks his head while listening in on the two women’s conversation. They are each dressed in a luxurious ball gown, their faces powered and lips painted. Like everyone else in the room, they are trying to impress the prince at his first outing in months.

But that is not why he is here.

Geralt has been lingering in Aedirn since that day, when he sent Jaskier back to the castle with poison coursing through his veins, not knowing what would become of him. Months of dead silence only make his stomach sink further.

A chance presented itself when news came out that the prince will hold a ball to the public.

It only makes sense that he should go and check, just to make sure Jaskier is all right. After all, he doesn’t want to put in all the effort to save someone only to never know if he will end up fine.

He will see for himself that Jaskier is well, and then he will leave.

He will not get involved.

Of course not.

Geralt takes another sip of the wine, surprised at the buzz it gives to his temporarily human body. When the mage sold him the potion that could hide all visible witcher traits, she did not mention it would also slow his metabolism to an ordinary human’s.

“The disguise will expire at midnight, when the bell strikes twelve.” Luckily she didn’t forget about this.

What a cliché.

It seems that no mage can resist a touch of dramatics.

For now, he looks like another random lord with dark hair and brown eyes. She also threw in a spell to turn his clothes into a silky ensemble in a muted black color.

“His royal highness, Prince Julian!” someone announces.

The crowd turns their eyes to the top of the stairs, where the heavy wooden doors open in everyone’s anticipation. One of the two women lets out an audible gasp as the prince steps out.

And there he is, Jaskier.

Those blue eyes are bright as the sky, those cheeks rosy-pink. He’s a picture of health compared to the last time Geralt held him in his arms. The witcher lets out a relieved sigh he never knew he was holding.

A smile spreads across the prince’s face. Suddenly the wine isn’t the only thing making Geralt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The prince descends the stairs with such elegance, his doublet a pristine ivory color under the chandelier’s sparkling light. The clothes sit perfectly on his frame, but with a heavy heart, Geralt realizes that he’s also lost weight.

It’s minuscule, and the puffy sleeves hide it well, but it’s there. Bed-ridden for a long time, they say. The witcher swallows the lump in his throat.

The crowd parts for the prince, retreating to the edge of the dance floor. No one dares to breathe as they await his invitation to the first dance. Once the dancing starts, the music will be too loud and the people too busy, giving the witcher a window to easily disappear into the night. But Jaskier continues to search through the crowd as if he has a specific someone to look for.

Before Geralt can even react, blue eyes have locked with his. The piercing blue makes him instinctively want to hide, but the witcher is frozen to the spot. The prince walks directly towards him, the grin spreading even wider if that is possible.

“May I have the first dance?” Jaskier reaches out, his palm facing up.

Countless eyes fall on Geralt, making his skin prickle, but he pays no mind. All he can focus on is the prince’s expectant look. Even now, without his witcher hearing to know Jaskier’s heartbeat, he can see the tentative hope in the way Jaskier seems to hold his breath.

Geralt takes his hand.

The royal garden is quiet under the night sky. The cool breeze is nice on Geralt’s skin, the faint hum of cicadas a soothing balm to his ear after hours of music and dance.

“Apologies. I was getting a little… uncomfortable in there.” The prince leads the witcher to a bench. His hand rubs at his heart like it’s bothering him.

“Are you well, my prince?” Geralt helps him sit down.

“Please, call me Jaskier.”

Geralt pauses. Does Jaskier tell his preferred name to anyone? Even a stranger he just met at a ball?

“Why Jaskier?”

“It’s the person I dream to be,” he answers wistfully but adds nothing to explain. Geralt wonders why a prince could possibly dream to be another person.

“I see.” He nods. “Are you feeling alright, Jaskier?”

The prince’s eyes soften as he reaches out to tuck a lock of curly brown hair out of Geralt’s face. The movement is so gentle that the witcher can’t help but catch his hand, holding those slender fingers in his palm.

They are way too slender, he thinks. Repressed worry bubbles up in his throat again.

“I’m fine now.” Jaskier squeezes his hand reassuringly. “Although I haven’t been for a few months, as you already know.”

“Uh…yes.” Geralt splutters. This closeness, combined with the touch of skin, seems to be slowing his brain. “There are rumors, from outside the castle. It was an attack, wasn’t it? At least that’s what I heard.”

“It was. They used poison, no less. The healers told me that it weakened my heart, even stopped it for a few seconds.” He chuckles sadly, threading their fingers together and pressing both their hands over his chest. “The pain still comes and goes these days, but I cope.”

The thumping underneath Geralt’s hand is rhythmic. Calming. It feels so fragile, especially now that he knows how little it takes to stop it. To snuff out the light in those cornflower-blue eyes along with it. And yet, this heart keeps beating.

“I’m glad you survived, Jaskier.”

The name comes out reverent, like a prayer.

“So am I, my friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

Moonlight frames Jaskier’s fond expression, giving it a soft glow. Long lashes cast a shadow on his faint blush. A grin spreads across the prince’s face when he answers.

“I hope? Or maybe I can hope for more. After all, this ball is held so I can find my future intended in the crowd.”

The implication makes Geralt’s breath hitch. He blinks.

“You don’t even know my name.”

Jaskier’s eyes darken as he leans in. His hand comes up to cradle Geralt’s chin. “Somehow, I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

The crisp night air is mixed with the fresh smell of grass, but on top of it is a floral scent that reminds him of spring and hope. Geralt lets his senses be overwhelmed by the prince, by his soft breaths ghosting over his skin and those enchanting lips well within reach.

Not getting involved, the back of his mind screams.

Despite himself, Geralt meets Jaskier halfway, their lips a hair’s breadth away when—

The bell strikes. Once, twice…

The noise is the loudest wake-up call, turning Geralt’s blood to ice. What is he doing? Is it midnight already? Fuck… he needs to get out of here before the magic expires.

“I need to go,” Geralt blurts out. “I have to leave right now. Ah… I’m so sorry.”

Jaskier’s brows knit together in confusion. “What is wrong? I thought you—”

“I came here to make sure you are all right, Prince Julian. Nothing more. It was never my intention to let you believe there could be anything else.”

The prince’s face dims at his apology. The dejection on his face tugs at something in Geralt’s chest. It leaves him wanting, but there’s no time. The bell counts down his sentence.

He takes Jaskier’s hand and places a simple kiss there, and turns to leave, only to be halted by the prince’s tightening hold.

“Wait, you don’t have to go."

“You don’t understand,” Geralt’s voice quivers with urgency. “It’s important that I leave.”

Those gentle fingers wrap around Geralt’s steadily, Jaskier’s skin cool against his. The prince continues to ignore his plea. If anything, he steps closer.

“Stay. Please.” Jaskier whispers, and it’s all it takes.

The witcher can break free easily, but for some reason he is unable. For some reason, he feels the weakest he has ever been under the intensity of Jaskier’s pleading gaze.

To his horror, the magic fades. Geralt can feel his hair change and grow longer, his teeth sharpening. The flow of chaos stings his eyes that are certainly turning back to yellow. His face crumbles.

And yet, Jaskier never wavers.

If anything, the adoration in those stormy blues only grows, ever so beautifully, as the swirl of magic circles around Geralt, revealing plain clothes instead of silk.

The bell strikes twelve.

The sound still echoes in the air. Slowly, with the utmost determination, Jaskier’s fingers thread through what is now silver-white hair. Tears glisten in his eyes.

“You told me we were not in a fairy tale, and yet, you try to leave me at midnight. You tried to leave me here under the stars. Alone and heartbroken.” The prince lets out a wet chuckle. “Because you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who saved my life. You think I wouldn’t know the witcher who’s risking everything right now just to see that I am well. I’d know you anywhere, Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier’s feather-light touch continues to trace the shell of Geralt’s ear, the tiny scar under his eye, and then finally, the corner of his mouth. It’s not often, in his long life, that Geralt gets his breath taken away, least of all by a prince.

“How?”

“I suspected,” Jaskier whispers. “Or rather I hoped when I saw you in the ballroom. I prayed. That it’s you.”

“You danced with me because—”

“Because I wanted to thank you properly. We were kind of in a hurry last time.” The prince teases, his palm tilting Geralt’s chin. “May I?”

He nods.

As if in a dream, soft lips press against his, tasting of salt and moonlight. Geralt lets out a tiny gasp as Jaskier opens him up patiently and draws it out like they have all the time in the world. Like he’s something to be treated with gentleness. Something to be treasured.

He pulls away panting, only to realize that tears are rolling down Jaskier’s cheeks freely, so he catches them with the pad of his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Geralt shushes him, but Jaskier sniffles with a smile.

“I’m not upset. Trust me when I say these are tears of joy.” Red-rimmed eyes sparkle like the stars. “But Geralt…”

“Yes?”

“Will I see you again?”

Geralt blinks. He only sneaked into a royal court with one goal. Now that he has achieved it and more, there’s nothing that should bring him back to Jaskier again. His heart twists painfully at the idea, and words tumble out of his mouth. The last of his sanity screams against it, and yet his heart has made the decision.

“I hope, Jaskier. I can only hope to see you again.”

Jaskier beams as he presses another kiss to Geralt’s wrist.

“That is enough for me.”

“Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh…”

Jaskier’s voice echoes hauntingly. In front of him, the elven family sits huddled together, listening intently. The two children are concentrating so hard that they are almost falling off their parents’ laps. Finally, as the soft strumming of the lute comes to an end, they start clapping with passion.

From a distance, Geralt can only see the prince from behind, but somehow he can sense the big smile Jaskier returns to those excited children. The wind in the Blue Mountains ruffles his brown hair. Jaskier continues to take off the strap and carefully hands the lute to the elven woman.

The witcher approaches quietly.

“…thank you so much! It is such a beautiful instrument.” Jaskier’s voice is warm and welcoming. She’s certainly charmed when they keep talking about music and folk songs.

Geralt stands there and lets Jaskier’s presence wash over him. In the end, it’s the other woman who notices him and gestures in his direction.

Jaskier turns his head and beams.

“Geralt! What brings you here?”

With a few long strides, the prince rushes over and slams their bodies into a bear hug. Anyone who’s not a witcher might have been knocked over by the force, but Geralt catches Jaskier steadily.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Jaskier exclaims as he presses a chaste pack to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I haven’t seen you since the manticore hunt.”

“It was still weird that you would want to come with me on hunts.”

“What is life if not to see your favorite witcher in action?” Jaskier waves it off as if a prince getting monster gut all over himself is a common occurrence. He checks Geralt all over. “Anyway, how’s the path treating you, my dear? Any injuries? Exciting stories?”

“The path is fine.” His excitement is too contagious that Geralt feels his lips tug upwards. “And it hasn’t been long. Two months at most.”

“Nonsense. Any amount of time not seeing you feels like ages.”

The parents lead their children away, the girl still humming the song from Jaskier’s private performance.

“I didn’t know the prince could play the lute. Or sing,” he teases.

“Ha! I’m full of surprises, you shall see! Besides, I always thought—” Jaskier cuts himself off, ducks his head before continuing. “I always thought that in another life, I would have been a bard.”

“Would you?”

“Mm-hmm. I would travel the continent, write songs about heroes and adventures. With a lute on my back, I could go to the edge of the world and beyond. Maybe even meet some interesting people, find my muse, or… fall in love.”

He winks at Geralt cheekily when the witcher realizes something.

“So is Jaskier the stage name you picked? For this bard life?”

“Why yes.” Jaskier sounds so surprised. “How do you know? Oh, my dear witcher, you do understand me like no one else! Not even Valdo is a match to you, no matter how well he claims to know me.”

The mention of Valdo Marx’s name sends a pang of bitterness through Geralt, though he has learned long ago that it’s irrational. The prince’s life-long friend, now an important right-hand man, is the most devoted advisor in Jaskier’s council. He’s supported Jaskier in everything throughout his life, having done nothing wrong by the prince, and yet, Geralt can’t bring himself to like the man.

Maybe it’s because of his too-shiny blonde hair. It gives him a headache if he stares at it for too long. Maybe it’s his all-knowing eyes that tend to judge the witcher silently every time they meet. The distrust is too typical for politicians such as him.

Or maybe, it’s because anyone with eyes can see how Valdo is desperately in love with Jaskier, but apparently, it’s not that obvious to the prince himself.

“I know because only you will have a tacky name like Buttercup for your professional career.” The words come out more sour than Geralt expected.

Jaskier squawks with rightful indignation, and Geralt can’t help but snort out a laugh. It’s truly too easy to rile him up.

“It’s just hard to picture.” The witcher continues, while taking Jaskier’s hand. “Someone like you, with soft hands like these. It would take a lot of hard work if you want to make it as a musician. I’m not sure if my prince is up for that job.”

Jaskier slaps him on the arm offendedly. “I’ll have you know, Geralt of Rivia! I am perfectly capable of enduring hardship for the right cause! Now that was truly rude of you to assume that I am spoiled just because I’m a prince! Really, it’s very unbecoming of you!”

“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, amused. “And what is a right cause in your book?”

All jokes dissipate after that question.

The prince looks around to the new camps and make-shift houses, everything illuminated by the setting sun. Bonfires are lit where families are gathered after dinner, laughing and dancing together, despite the hardship that brought them here.

“I want everyone on my land to live happily, no matter how they came to Aedirn. I wish they could all see it as a home,” Jaskier says sadly. “That is the most important cause in my life, Geralt. Although I’m not sure if that’s just a fantasy.”

Geralt squeezes the prince’s hands gently. They are exceedingly soft, and cold to the touch. The witcher used to assume that Jaskier just runs a little colder than the average person. But later, to his dismay, he found out that it’s yet another result of the poisoning.

He never wants to see Jaskier’s chest pain flare up again. He never wants to see Jaskier bend over in agony, his hands turning into blocks of ice from the lack of blood flow, his face skin covered in sweat in an instant. Just witnessing it happen almost gives Geralt phantom pain. What’s worse is that there’s nothing he can do but wait it out, holding Jaskier close and rocking him back and forth slowly.

At least he’s now feeling contrite. Teasing Jaskier about not being strong enough was a low blow, when in fact, the young prince is the furthest from deserving such an accusation.

He doesn’t need swords or muscles to be strong.

Jaskier is strong for his stubbornness and his unwavering faith. The elven settlement around them is the best testament. He carried on despite being hated by all other kingdoms, despite the attempt on his life, one that was nearly fatal. One that still hurts him in the quiet of the night.

“Fantasy or not,” Geralt’s insides melt at the way Jaskier looks at him expectantly. “I’d like to see it through with you, if you allow me to.”

Blue eyes suddenly sparkle with renewed excitement.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Geralt?” Jaskier asks carefully as if he could spook the witcher. “Are you finally saying yes to my proposal?”

“I’m considering it.”

“You’ve been considering it since the first time I asked!”

“You asked on our third ever meeting, Jaskier.” Geralt chuckles in exasperation. “And you’ve been asking every time we see each other.”

“And you’ve been giving me the same response every time.” His pout is too adorable Geralt wants to kiss it away. “One might suggest it’s rude to string a prince along like this.”

Geralt hums while cupping Jaskier’s jaw in his palm, tilting it so their gazes meet.

“One might also suggest that our beloved Prince Julian is too good for a witcher like me.”

Ho only means to joke but the smile on Jaskier’s face falls, hurt immediately replacing the earlier chirpiness.

“Shit, Jask… Forget I said that.” Geralt closes his eyes, regretting having ruined the moment.

“Darling, we talked about this.”

“No, you’re right. Of course…”

Jaskier takes the witcher’s hand and places a kiss in his palm. “I won’t allow terrible things to be said about the man I love, and that includes you, my dear. I’d hate it if you joined those senseless folk who can’t see you for the good man you are.” He bites into his lower lip. “Now, I understand if you have reservations about us. I mean, what I am… or what I do, is a lot. I won’t rush you into a decision anymore. I never meant to pressure you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Jaskier.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “We are from completely different worlds. Anyone who has eyes will tell you we’re not compatible.”

“Did Valdo say something to you again? Or is that truly what you believe?” Jaskier takes a step back. “Do you wish to end things with me? I—I’ll understand if you want to—"

“No, Jask.”

“—I know how much I’m keeping you in Aedirn, and maybe you wish to be free of court rules and politics and—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interjects, and cornflower blues meet him in earnest. He knows too well how the prince could spiral out of control, dredging up all the terrible scenarios hidden in the dark corner of his mind. Jaskier looks so lost right now and all Geralt wants to do is make it better, so he does it with action, as always.

He kisses Jaskier with a bruising force. It’s too rushed, too clumsy compared to the gentle caress they normally share, but it conveys everything Geralt cannot promise yet. Not out loud. Not right now.

Geralt threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, playing with the soft locks. He lets Jaskier lean against his shoulder when they break off the kiss.

“I’m yours, my prince,” he whispers.

“Have I told you how much I love it when you call me that.”

Geralt hides his amusement in soft brown hair.

“Many times, my prince,” he indulges Jaskier. “And yet I cannot help but worry. I fear that things will not work because of our differences. I am a witcher. I am the Butcher of Blaviken, no matter how noble you believe me to be. I will never become someone else. Not like in fairy tales, where a farm girl can transform into a princess and suddenly become worthy of her prince. I fear you’ll make too many compromises because of who I am, bear too many scrutinies, and you will end up resenting me.”

Jaskier shakes his head at those words, his hair ticking Geralt’s ear.

“You speak of my sacrifices, but what about you?” His hand rests between Geralt’s shoulder blades. “You’ve walked the continent for so long. Will you resent me for caging you in a castle because of who I am?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes the name solemnly. “You promised to never trap me in the drudgery of court life. You promised that no matter what we become, I can always return to my path when my heart desires. I trust you on that.”

“And I trust you in return, that you won’t dishonor me. Not in ways that matter.”

They pull away. The sun is hanging just on the horizon, drawing a golden line around Jaskier’s hair.

“I will ask one thing of you, my prince,” Geralt says. “Allow me more time to be sure. Of myself and of our future.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkle at the corners, taking the witcher’s hand and presses it over his heart, where the doublet is left wide open. The warmth of his skin seeps through the thin chemise and into Geralt’s calloused palm.

“Don’t you see, my darling? I’d give you the stars if you asked. What is a little more time?” His chest rises and falls. “Although I need you to promise something as well.”

“What is it?”

The last of the sunlight fades, darkening Jaskier’s eyes like a stormy night.

“Don’t break my heart in the meantime.”

The plea comes out desperate, vulnerable. Under his palm, Geralt feels the soft thumping that he knows to be fragile.

“I won’t,” he breathes the words reverently. “I promise.”

Jaskier’s heart is so full of the world and its sufferings, so full that there’s hardly room left for himself. So full that the witcher should build a shrine for whatever gods out there that it gives him any attention. To think that he has any power over it, that he can hurt it easily, makes his stomach turn.

He’d live out his life fulfilling that promise if allowed.

The witcher walks the path just like he’s done for the past decades. Temeria’s wind is as freezing as ever, and its secrets even more so.

Another dangerous contract is nothing new, and yet, something in him shifts. Somehow, the days ahead are no longer painted with monotonous black and white, but an unpredictable mixture of colors—orange like the setting sun on Jaskier’s long lashes, or rosy-pink like the too-easy blush that dusts over his cheeks when he’s pretending to be unaffected by Geralt’s attention.

More often than not, he sees in his future the blue of Jaskier’s eyes, deep and vast like the sea.

The same blue is what flashes across Geralt’s eyes as the striga’s teeth bury into his neck. With the crypt cold and hard against his back, the witcher would laugh at the irony of it if not for the blood choking in his throat.

Funny how the moment of revelation does not come in a whirlwind of poetry, one that is befitting to Jaskier. The moment Geralt realizes that he is finally ready to take Jaskier’s hand might just be his last moment.

He drifts into bottomless darkness and wakes to cool fingers on his forehead.

And here Jaskier is, sitting by his bedside, his frame so lonely in the Temple of Melitele. A relieved sigh by his lips and tired bruises under his eyes. Gone is his composed regality. Jaskier looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he just rode all the way here with wind still in the tousled mess of his hair.

“Yes,” Geralt croaks.

The prince rushes forward to fuss over his bandages and splints, cooing with the most distressed frown. “What do you need, my dear?”

“Yes.” Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand, caressing those cool fingers. The stitches in his neck tug uncomfortably.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, my prince.”

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @theultimatenerdd

Are the tags working? Anyway feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #prince!jaskier #fairy tale elements #hurt/comfort #i can't believe this became a full story #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #geralt doesn't see himself as a heroic knight #and jaskier is hardly a traditional prince charming #knight and prince dynamic with a twist

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mechanicalcaracal · 3 years ago

Text

May 2 of @themerrywhumpofmay - "Beg To Differ"

Part 1

Part 3

Denial | Confined | Eye Contact

Tags: 2nd person pov, demon whumper, defiant whumpee, near death, pulse feeling, magical sleep inducing healing salve

You wish you had chosen to drown again. You wish you had forced the demon to do it himself. What he did to you was going to die in the next hour, if not sooner. Magic had taken you to some dangerous places, but you had never been this near death. So close that each heartbeat felt like a threat. Your craft had shown you the afterlife, and it wasn’t a place you were ready to go yet.

“I have something I can put on, a salve, please,” you beg. You’re too busy fearing for your life to worry about him perceiving you as pathetic. The smell of your own blood is overpowering. It's splattered on the floor around you, drops of red. Your vision spins, and unconsciousness looms close by, tempting you to give in and go somewhere that you can’t feel this pain. But you can't let yourself, because you don’t think you would come back.

“But do you really think you need it?” the demon asks, circling you like a vulture. He crouches down closer to you and runs his fingers over your broken skin. White hot pain rips through you, and you try to contain your scream, but your body doesn’t comply. Every part of your body is overcome with the pain. The demon lets out a small laugh, and you feel him take his hand away. Fresh blood flows from the lash wounds, running in warm streams down your skin. “It’s just some scratches. I don’t know why you’re acting like you’re going to die. Just because you’re scared doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do,” he says, his voice calm and even. He grabs your chin, his fingers wet with your blood, and forces you to look at him. Somehow, you hate him more than when he was giving you the lashes. “Ten more?”

You hate him for pretending that he’s asking your permission.

“You’ll kill me,” you say. “So sure, go ahead. I can’t survive this anyways, so the faster this is over, the better.”

The demon frowns. “That’s no fun. Are humans really that fragile?” He lets go of you chin, and puts two of his fingers on your neck, like he’s checking your pulse. “Looks like you weren’t lying. You are fading. I’d follow if I could, but my kind can’t reach that plane.”

He lets go of you, and you’re relieved to no longer feel his touch. He was sensing your lifeforce, feeling the thread of your life in his bloodied fingers. And he was annoyed by what he saw. You feel disgusted. Violated.

“I wish I hadn’t pushed you so far. It really is going to be a boring month without you. I’ll have to go look for others, and hope that they’re as much fun as you were.”

If you had more strength, you’d tell him off for talking about you like you’re already gone. You let your eyes close, and the pain begins to feel distant. For a moment, it’s like you’re drifting off to sleep, but instead of dreams, you see cold, gray mist, and sense a place that you know won’t welcome you. You jerk awake again, gasping.

“You’re still here?” the demon asks.

“I don’t have to die,” the words come out painfully slow, and every second counts. “The salve, it’s a healing…thing. Something I made.”

“You delve in healing as well as summoning? Does that not stretch your craft too thin? Human souls are notoriously weak, after all.”

“Please,” you beg, hating yourself for speaking to him like that, that, but not knowing an alternative.

"I have to say, it’s fun to watch you fight death. I think we'll have to go do this again." He stands up "Where is this salve then?” he asks.

“In that desk.” Lifting your hand to point is agony, and your voice strains with the effort. “Second drawer down.”

He empties the contents of the drawer onto the floor. He stands, holding a small amber jar in his hand, inspecting it in the dim light. You had made the salve years ago, back when you still dabbled in healing magic. It was a proof of concept; all of the most powerful ingredients you could source, carefully planned timings, hours spend meditating, filling it with your intent. At the time, you thought that it was overkill. You had never anticipated a situation like this.

Your stomach twists with fear as he opens the jar and puts some of the salve onto his fingers, inspecting it.

“This is incredible. With stuff this powerful, I don’t need to be as careful, and you’ll still get out of here alive, maybe even mostly intact. I’d call that a win/win.”

“Beg to differ.” You can’t even say that you regret giving into your defiance, because pain and death are better than ceding control to him. You brace yourself for his retaliation. Once again, he rakes his sharp fingernails down your raw back, and once again it burns white hot and you can’t stop yourself from screaming, but the intensity is dulled, at least compared to the agony of before.

“You’re healing already,” the demon muses. “And that time it was an accident.” He presses his hand into your back again, and there’s no pain this time. There’s nothing but the numb warmth that you know to be characteristic of mage’s poppy, the ones that you grew yourself two summers before, underneath your window.

You don’t notice how heavy your eyelids are until you force them open again. You remember now that large quantities of the salve caused drowsiness. You had never used such a large dose until today. You can’t let yourself sleep, and leave yourself vulnerable in front of him, but the choice isn’t yours to make.

Next part

#the merry whump of may #Beg to differ #Whump writing #Whump #Original writing #Death mention #whipping mention #You summoned a demon

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paellaplease · 4 years ago

Note

revali x reader 16 (i think?) verklempt please ❤️

16. verklempt - completely and utterly overcome with emotion

19. temerate - to break a bond or promise

pairing: revali x reader summary: falling in love is difficult when neither of you know the end is near.

Night had fallen by the time you mustered the courage to walk up to him. He watched the shining caps of your barely worn boots approach the other side of the campfire, sensing your nervousness as you awkwardly stood for a few beats, weaving and unweaving your fingers.

Either his reputation as the strongest Champion preceded him, or he was completely unapproachable. Throughout the day you would chance a look at him from across the camp, quickly averting your eyes the moment he noticed. You were part of the Princess’ research effort and therefore had some questions— that much he was certain of. Yet you’ve been dancing around him for hours, gathering the will to speak only to have it snuffed out the moment he acknowledged your presence.

Embers lifted from the flames and flickered into the night sky as you finally faced him. Revali held his tongue and gathered his patience, trying to hide the glitter in his eyes at the chance of ‘wowing’ another admirer (nevermind that you were the first).

“Champion, uh sir,” you fumbled with the titles. The question fell from your lips so quickly that his disappointment didn’t register until a second later. “What kind of flower do you favour the most?”

“...”

If the following silence wasn’t damning enough, the Rito was honestly at a loss for how to respond to such an inane question. Seriously? He was better than this. Others have made more important inquiries and had to wait weeks, if not months, for him to clear time in his busy schedule and reply.

Something like this didn’t deserve attention, let alone an answer.

“Swift violets.” He said, before rising from his seat by the fire, dead leaves crunching under the weight of him as he made a beeline straight for his tent.

Parting the canvas, he pretends to miss the earnest wave of goodbye you send his way, ignoring the static in his chest the moment his head hits the pillow. Sleep comes quickly.

A month later you meet again.

The universe seemed to adore playing tricks on him. Crossing the threshold of his home, he catches you investigating the decorative shells hanging by his kitchen window. Amusingly, you were balancing on the tips of your toes, its placement just a tad too high.

There’s something different this time around. You seemed more at ease with your surroundings, no longer jumping at every sound like a stranger in their own skin. The tips of your boots were scuffed with use, and the minute cuts and imperfections in your clothes spoke of days spent in hard work and travel.

Though some things still remain the same. He holds back his smirk when you stumble forward in surprise at the sound of your name, getting straight to business once you were safe from the risk of falling over. “I believe you’re the researcher sent to assess my progress with Vah Medoh?”

“Yes, I am.” You’re quick to snap back into stiff professionalism, he’ll give you that. The bow is low and formal, your back so still that someone could confidently rest a cup and saucer on it. An introduction spills out, followed by an apology when you realise he already knows who you are from the briefing he was given days earlier in Hyrule Castle.

The task was simple really. King Rhoam Bosphoramus wanted a full report on the breadth of Hyrule’s offensive capabilities against Calamity Ganon. From Guardians to Divine Beasts, much had been done in the past year in preparation for their greatest adversary. Now as the whirlwind began to settle, all must be accounted for, down to the last soldier.

Your report was just a drop in what will be an immense ocean of information currently being collated. But it was nevertheless quite vital. He wonders how someone like you was selected for such a task.

“Let’s do our best.” You blurt. Revali could see the millions of thoughts racing behind your eyes when you decide to break away from your military-stiff posture, raising a hand in the traditional Hyrulean greeting between strangers.

The lines of your palm stretch before him like deeply-woven thread. He glances at the wrinkles and grooves in your flesh, remembering that some mystics believe such lines could predict something as unknown as the future. He can’t help but wonder what yours might foretell.

Pressing his wing to your outstretched hand, he declared his agreement. “Of course. You’ll soon see that my ability to pilot Medoh is nothing short of perfect.”

He can’t help it. “And no questions of the botanical sort, understood?”

The sudden playful grin you give him makes all his witty quips screech to a halt, his focus trained solely on the way your face instantly lights up when it isn't held down by strict politeness or pure nervous energy. “I’ll be sure to steer clear from them this time, Champion. You have my word.”

Both of you eventually fall into a comfortable routine. Meals are made together and the chores are done quickly through combined effort. You catch on well, cottoning on to the needs of the day based on the tasks you both decide on the night before.

After breakfast he finds his gear and yours already neatly arranged by the doorway, allowing him additional time with Vah Medoh and you the chance to closely observe. The idea of training with an audience never bothered him, but knowing you followed close behind, notebook at the ready, gave him the extra push to perform just a level better than his previous.

One more arrow, one more extravagant somersault in the air. He even maneuvers Medoh to do a complete 180, reveling in the way your mouth pops open in awe as you walk across what was once the ceiling.

“... .... --- .-- / --- ..-. ..-.” The ancient machine complains, unhappy to be on their back. The Rito pilot pats the metal wall apologetically, watching as you excitedly flit from one end to the other, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Revali dreams of a cliff’s edge.

The precipice looms before him, nothing but fog and the unknown past the point where the ground stops and plummets. Revali looks at you and feels the smooth rock of the sea stone underneath his talons; hears the sound of crashing waves in the distance. Tantalising was the mystery of the void beyond.

The meaning escapes him the moment he wakes up. His pillow was warmed by the glow of the sun, making him realise that he had slept in. Morning was just beginning, and both of you had a full schedule of tasks to get through.

Diverting all his mental energy to the work ahead, he scrubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes away the odd thrill in his feathers. I’m better than this, he thinks.

His tea is still warm when he arrives at the table.

Word of the researcher shadowing him gets around quickly, it’s a small village after all. Some of the Elders glance at you in suspicion, old wounds from disagreements fought with the capital in the past lingering like dye in the water. You don’t seem to mind it, too caught up in the new sights and smells of this vibrant community built in the clouds.

The Rito children are much more enthusiastic about your presence, sharing in your curiosity by matching your questions with their own. Getting comfortable on the wooden slats of the departure deck, you happily play encyclopedia for them.

“Were you this cute back then?” You ask, watching a fledgling hop from one talon to another in imitation of a lizalfos, chasing after their friends who were the heroes in the story, at least for this round of the game.

“I was a model citizen.”

“Not true!” One of them pipes, poking him in the side with the tiniest of wings. “Mama said you were a hennish scallion.”

“You mean a hellish rapscallion,” the eldest of the bunch laughs, screaming when the ‘lizalfos’ tackles them into the ground.

Crossing your arms, you fix him with your best look of authority, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “I apologise but the council has spoken.” He raises a brow at your antics, feeling a little light headed at the adorable way your eyes water whenever you hold back your laughter. “Do you plead guilty for perjury, Mr Champion?”

Champion. The word echoes and reverberates, wrapping tightly around his brain like the blue scarf fitted snugly on his neck. He likes the way you say it, making him wonder about something else.

The words leave his mouth before he can think it through. “Revali will do just fine.”

Mirth drains from your face, replaced instead by surprise. “W-what?”

“I have a name.” He ignores the feeling of his feathers standing at the back of his neck, unclenching his jaw. Relax, he tells himself. “Better for you to call me that than to continuously mess up the titles.”

“Still working on it,” you shrug. Then, you’re gesturing for him to step into your space, leaning forward just the same like you’re about to tell him a secret. You’re close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath against his beak. He freezes, becoming hyper aware of his heart thundering against his ribcage, not daring to move even a muscle in fear of giving his thoughts away.

“Revali then,” you murmur, almost too soft for him to hear.

It was only when one of the children tugged at your sleeve, dragging you away to explain the appearance of another monster you’ve encountered in your travels, that he allows himself to breathe.

His presence had been requested at the Chief’s office, the old, war-weary Rito regretfully informing him that an urgent message had arrived. Multiple reports had noted an increase in the signs of Calamity Ganon’s resurgence. It came as no surprise, with every Blood Moon summoning more monsters from the void, an omen that something big was coming.

Letters from the Princess implied the worst: that she had exhausted nearly all avenues in awakening her sealing power. The Spring of Wisdom would be her last chance, and after that, who knows? The Champions were to meet again in three weeks at the foot of the mountain, to celebrate or to re-strategise depending on the outcome.

He was never the religious sort but by the Grace of Hylia, please let it be the former.

A headache was beginning to form as he made his way home, the idea of knocking out on his hammock for an hour or so sounding extremely appealing. The day was coming to a close, a cold breeze chilling his back as the orange heat of the evening crept its way to night.

You’re the first one to the hut this time, brown scuffed boots positioned neatly at the doorway. Revali stares at them for a second too long, wondering if you knew your time in the village was coming to an end earlier than expected. The information you had diligently collected was finally required, a little last minute if he had to comment but such were the nature of these things.

The mental image of you puffing out your cheeks in frustration, complaining that you would have to organise the data on the way back, was enough to make his mood perk up— just a tiny bit. Picturing you disgruntled and annoyed, just like when the markets ran out of your favourite produce, was easier to stomach than the thought of saying goodbye.

Leaning against the hardwood of the kitchen counter, you don’t notice him enter the room, too engrossed in the list you’re making.

It's a sight he'd seen before. If he forgot about the sobering news he'd just received, then the day would feel like any other.

The open window frames your form, making you appear like a painting come to life. Rays of light streamed from the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the slope of your nose and curve of your mouth.

Instinctively, you tilted your head to the source of warmth, instantly reminding him of the swift violets that would bloom by the Hebra cliffsides, forever seeking the sun.

Oh.

The ground had finally run out, earth and sky crashing together. There was no denying it now. Inwardly, he cursed himself, following the thought past the precipice, plunging himself deeper into the truth he'd avoided acknowledging for months. The universe truly was cruel.

It wasn’t like he didn’t see it coming. The answer was clear as day, right from the beginning of its inception.

It's the golden hour before sunset when Revali realises he’s in love with you.

Wind plays with the jade clasps of his braids as he appraises Medoh’s central control unit. He’d done this maneuver many times before, enough that he could perform it with his eyes closed.

It was your final day on assignment so shouldn’t he attempt an action that was more daring? He tried to ask. But you had rejected the proposal outright, reasoning that it suggested this would be the last time you both would meet at the top of the Divine Beast. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you smile. “I’ll visit once the fight is over.”

“Guess there’s no harm in going back to the basics,” he mused, inputting the commands before taking a step back.

Leaning against one of the columns, you watch with rapt attention as he points the Divine Beast south. The view abruptly shifts from the towering mountains of Hebra, to the grassy Tabantha Frontier, greenery spanning for miles and disappearing into the white, snowy wall of Mystathi’s Shelf.

You tilt your head up, eyes trained on the heavens. There’s a solemn intensity in the way you look at the sky, as if trying to ascertain a greater meaning to your existence in this world between the cover of clouds and the endless sea of blue. It never gives you the acknowledgement that you desperately want, no matter how long you spend asking it, but that doesn’t stop you from searching anyway.

He understands because he’s tried asking well, too many times to count. Eventually the young Rito stopped looking, opting to make an answer for himself instead.

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

Revali’s silent for a moment, mulling over his answer, before he pushes away from the control unit and starts walking towards you. “There’s no spectacle grander, and I can’t recall a time I’ve been without it. As a Rito, it was your first companion, and so long as you looked above, you were never alone.” He shook his head. “Though I guess to love something so vast and beyond our comprehension would be rather imbecilic.”

He’s running his mouth at this point, the hum of Vah Medoh loud in his ears. “... .. .-.. .-.. -.-- / -.-. .... .. .-.. -..” the beast warns, but he continues anyway.

“It’s far too foolish to pine for something that will never be in your grasp. So it would be best for me to realise that there’s no point in fighting it anymore. I mean, I should feel relieved by the concession that at least I’ll be remembered by someone other than myself.”

Your attentions were no longer directed at the sky, the intensity of your eyes piercing into him, seeing right through his poorly hidden deflections. “Are we still talking about the same thing?”

The urge to plunge himself over the edge and fly away by the sheer fuel of his embarrassment was beginning to feel very enticing. Trust his description of the sky to sound like a confession. “No,” he admits.

“Then…”

Revali thinks about telling you— considers allowing himself to become vulnerable just this once.

You’re still here, feet planted firmly on the ground, within his reach at this very moment. There was nothing he wanted more than to take that last step forward, to close the gap that perpetually rests in between you both. He imagines what it would feel like to wrap his wings around you, and believes that it would be nothing less than holding infinity.

Yet, despite this— despite everything, he sighs. “Another time.”

Almost like reading his mind, you simply nod in response, smiling as you reach out to him. He lets you take one of his wings in both your hands, the firm surety of your touch grounding him into the present. There’s no hesitation in your next words, only a promise of a thousand tomorrows lingering on the corner of your lips.

“Tell me when we meet again?”

“I swear it on my life.”

As usual, what was supposed to be a short and sweet answer became a creature of its own, demanding my full attention until it was finished. Writing in Revali’s POV is so fun, but there’s always that small bit of doubt that I can never do his character justice. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy this one.

By the way! Hello to all the new visitors to my blog. Welcome yall. This is the prompt list. I may not answer straight away, but I shall do my best :)

#revali #botw #revali x reader #breath of the wild #writing prompt #paella writes

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themeowsticvigilante · 3 years ago

Text

Orpheum's Tales: Music of the Night

[featuring the Shaymin crew from @shaymincafe ]

A morning breeze sweeps along the quiet forest of Floarama Town, Orpehum's usual abode when he is alone by himself. After all, the town was special to him, a second home. This town is where his constellation appears first every night.

The bard plucked a few strings from his lute, a morning routine he so regularly performed. A good note would be a blessed day but a bad one would be a tragedy … an omen even. Fortunately, the Victini deity would smile upon him as the lute produced a perfect note.

He sighed a breath of fresh air, relief overcoming him as the day would proceed as normal, for him at the least. Donning his trusty bard hat, off he went to meet someone, another Shaymin as he was taking flight towards the rendezvous.

The gentle breeze made the journey quite refreshing, after all … no one would knowingly dwell into turbulent weather, especially a deity like him. As he took flight, he was in the form of a wisp, vibrant green with wings similar to a Yanma for he wouldn't just reveal himself to mortals just like that.

Moments passed before he could finally see the rendezvous from afar, vaguely sensing someone waving towards him. Realizing it was a familiar face, he immediately went in and landed in front of her, giving her a bow as soon as he returned to his Shaymin form.

"Orpheum! Glad you could make it!" A Shaymin in a vibrant pink hue gleefully greeted the bard with a smile.

"Good morning, Rosemary. I too am glad to be here." He nodded to himself, his face a vibrant glee, and looking around the place. "So this is your ... what was the word … Cafè? Sorry, I have been too accustomed to the word tavern."

"Yes, it is! Shaymin Cafè~ not the most subtle name we can think of but it does attract quite the crowd." She giggles and motions for him to follow her. "Come! Let's introduce you to the others"

"Right now, you say?" He looked a bit nervous, his audience usually consisted of only one but to a few 'mon of his kind? He isn't used to that kind of stage but he internally reigned in his thoughts and smiled. "Sure! I am excited."

~~~

The doors to the cafè opened, immediately getting the attention of everyone inside. Rosemary was the one to enter with Orpheum following close behind, his lute perched on his back as an archer would their quiver. There was silence as the rest of the Shaymin staff immediately averted their attention towards Orpheum.

"Everyone, meet Orpheum! Better give him a warm welcome because he is a special Shaymin~" Rosemary broke the silence as she winked at them and gave him an introductory pat on the back.

"Greetings! Greetings!" He gave them a bow and a huge grin trying not to break the otherwise momentum that Rosemary had set. "Orpheum the Blossoming Bard, at your service!"

One of the Shaymin finally took interest, narrowing her eyes as she approached Orpheum. She circled around the bard as if to do a thorough inspection. "A bard, aye? … sing a song for us why don't cha." Shiso, the purple one, commanded as she crossed her arms and looked at him intently.

"A song? Yes yes of course! I actually have a short one I made en route here … it's supposed to be about this cafe." Orpheum's ears perked up, immediately getting his lute and clearing his throat a bit. "I hope all of you enjoy~!"

"Go ahead. We'd love to hear it!" Rosemary smiles, eagerly waiting to play his song as the rest of the staff.

"Okay here goes …" He plucked a few notes and began to slowly gain momentum as he started to sing the piece he created.

Come one, come all!

There is a place for all!

Come one, come all!

Everyone is welcome, big or small!

Smiles, smiles are all abound~!

With happy thoughts all around!

We are always ready to serve you.

For we treat you as family too!

Come one, come all! The cafè is open!

A place to bring family or a friend!

Come one, come all! It's a party!

When you join us at the Shaymin Cafè!

He gave a bow after he sang as he always did with every performance he made. Just before he did, he can already hear applause from the group, one even cheering gleefully.

"Woooh! Great song, dude!" Chicory, the blue one blurted out, eagerly waiting to request an encore.

"Impressive. Looks like you're an a-okay then." Shiso shrugs smirking as she hugged Pumpkin, the orange one next to her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Pumpkin here seems to like it too." She looks over at Pumpkin with a nod of approval.

"Simply wonderful, Orpheum! Bravo!" Rosemary cheered gleefully, enjoying the performance wholeheartedly like the rest of the staff.

"Thanks, everyone! My heart is filled with joy knowing all of you enjoyed my song." He says, visibly blushing at his newfound audience. "It isn't new that I get applause but it always is overwhelming for me."

Rosemary stood up from her seat, looking like she was about to say something important. "Alright, everyone! Cafè is opening in half an hour, be sure to make this ready for the customers like you always do!"

The staff immediately started tidying up the cafè, with Rosemary on her way to put the specials on display outside and putting the open sign but not before she looked back at Orpheum with a reassuring smile.

"Welcome to the Shaymin Cafè"

He smiled for a bit while looking a bit conflicted on something as if pondering upon a certain thought that's been on his mind. He followed Rosemary and called out to her. "Rosemary!"

The pink Shaymin immediately turned to face him, looking confused at his sudden urgency and wanting to know what was up. "Yes, Orpheum? You need anything?"

"I was just thinking if I can take a stroll for a moment? Perhaps, more than a few moments to be precise?"

"Sure but … is everything alright? You maybe need some tea to help calm yourself down?"

"No no, please save it for your patrons. I may need some time for myself, worry not … I'll be back before you know it~" He gave her a reassuring smile as a small gust of wind blew around him.

"Okay if you say so. Guess I'll see you around." With Rosemary's wave, Orpheum immediately turned into a wisp and rode along with the wind, letting it carry him towards someplace else.

~~~

It was now nightfall, as the cafè was still bustling with patrons but no sign of Orpheum anywhere. Admittedly, Rosemary was getting concerned for him but she kept that to herself while she worked the tables and managed the patrons like the rest of her staff.

"Psst hey, Rosemary. Where's that hotshot Shaymin you were talking about?" Vetle was there as always, raising an eyebrow as he asked Rosemary about the supposed 'guest' she was advertising just outside of the shop. "I'm just waiting here."

"He'll be here soon, Vetle. Don't you worry." Her smile was hiding that concern still bubbling inside of her as she silently scanned the room for at least a teal-colored wisp. "Just sit back and rela- huh?"

She felt a gentle breeze going through her fur as she turned around, trying to spot someone from the crowd of patrons in the various tables laid around but there was still no sign of Orpheum. She can only do nothing but hum her worries away only, why does it feel like her hums had a rhythm to them? As if there was something or someone playing?

It seemed like she wasn't the only one that would notice it as a small crowd would soon form as almost everyone was turning their heads toward what seemed like someone plucking the strings of a lute effortlessly. Rosemary went towards the crowd of patrons and staff alike to see what was going and that's when she saw them.

A stranger was there playing a teal-colored lute with black-gloved paws as the crowd watched on in awe, daring not to say anything during the performance. They wore a black Venetian mask that covered the upper part of their face, while their body was adorned in a turquoise long coat laced with lacey green accents along with teal pants and black boots.

The stranger was just sitting by themselves on one of the tables and somehow inconspicuously slipped out of sight and started playing as if to make a dynamic entrance of sorts. Either that or the people were too busy minding their business to notice a well-dressed musician enter the shop and take a seat.

After a while, the stranger seemed to stop playing presumably because they were done with their tune and had a mysterious smile as he got up from his seat and bowed to the newly formed audience.

"Greetings, greetings! I am Favonius, Bard of the Blossoms! I'm sure you have been waiting for more than a moment for me but now … I shall now begin~"

It took a few seconds for Rosemary to realize what she should be doing but she immediately got up to the front of the store and called the attention of the patrons.

"Yes! Please settle down, everyone, and sit tight. Service will still continue while the performance is going on. Hope you all enjoy~"

Immediately as everyone did settle into their seats, all eyes were on Favonius as a mix of expressions gathered within the audience. Most were of course intrigued by his presence after all, if that initial introduction was what's to come what more could he show for a full performance? Favonius smiled as soon as they were now eagerly waiting for him in silence and with a single strum of his lute, he now started to a tune to which he would sing.

Lucete, Lucete Stellae …~

Our hearts flutter each night and day.

Lucete, Lucete Stellae …~

Beckoning to us the hallowed way.

When the night is cold and barren still,

With dark hearts of ill will.

Something within us will start to burn,

Igniting for what we really yearn.

We have triumphed, every one of us,

Our trials never left us in the dust.

Our stories, written in our memory,

As it was always meant to be.

Bless the light, as the torch ignites,

To our journeys and fights.

From within our grasp to far off lands,

Making every victory grand.

Even when fear looms and doubts arise,

Triumph comes at a well-fought price.

Even when we ourselves have faltered,

Sacrifices will be honored.

Lucete, Lucete Stellae …~

May the light bring us the way.

Lucete, Lucete Stellae …~

To brave the night and seize the day.

The room filled with praise from the audience as Favonius made a solemn bow, holding his hat to his side right after strumming the last tune to his song. He definitely felt satisfied knowing he would make everyone's night.

"Thank you, my fabled patrons. Thank you! I hope you all enjoyed the show for tonight but for now, farewell and have a good night."

Favonius immediately exited the stage and disappeared into the cafè exit giving everyone a swift wave and flew off towards somewhere else. A few patrons were able to witness Favonius exit but all they saw outside was a wisp that sort of disappeared into the wind.

~~~

Soon enough it was time for the cafè to close while the patrons were still talking about the performance earlier on their way out the exit. Rosemary and the other Shaymins were just cleaning up after such an eventful night as they too were talking about the performance but more importantly, Favonius themselves.

"Man, that thing earlier was pretty unexpected! Even my boyfriend agreed it felt almost like a dream …" Chicory exclaimed while he was sweeping the floors looking towards Vetle, a teal-colored Shaymin leaning against a wall. "But still, that was pretty cool! How did you even contact them, Rosemary?"

Rosemary was just as confused as Chicory when she was asked that, she was by herself and looking towards the windows when she was snapped out of her pondering. "Huh? Oh … you know, I have some connections." Rosemary smiled nervously knowing that she had no idea where he came from.

"Hmm …? You don't look so sure … was he just a stranger? Because it's not usual for you to just invite someone willy-nilly like that …" Chicory raised his eyebrow, stopping what he was doing as he was really eager to know.

"Umm you see … I …" Just as she was about to say something, a gust of wind blew into the inside of the cafè, the very same gust of wind that alerted them to a familiar presence but no tune was to be heard. This time, there came a knock on the cafè door followed by a greeting.

"Greetings, fellow Shaymins. May I come in? I hope I am not interrupting closing hours …"

"Not at all, Favonius. Please come in!" Rosemary breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to at least ask them about what happened, and crossed her arms. “Take a seat … you have some explaining to do.”

“Ohh … my apologies for the commotion earlier, madam~” He bows his head and removes his mask revealing who was behind it all this time. “I … tend to be nervous in front of a large crowd.”

“O-Orpheum!?! All this time, you were Favonius? Wh-why didn’t you told me …?” Rosemary was utterly shocked at the revelation, so was Chicory and the rest of the Shaymin present. “Wh-why did have to hide like that ...? Explain yourself.”

“W-well you see, I’m not really adept at showing my face to a large audience … and your establishment attracts such a crowd. I’m afraid I must don an outfit to appear mysterious. Otherwise, they will eventually know that I’m a deity…” Orpheum stammered in his words, really hoping that his act wasn’t a grievous fault.

“Wait am I hearing this correct? You’re a god!?!” Chicory was barely listening to Orpheum’s whole explanation and instead focused on the part where he mentioned he was a deity. “Are you kidding me!?!”

Chicory’s excitableness did make Orpheum at least for at least a little bit as he smiled. “Yes, I’m a deity. Perhaps it is time to let all of you know. Rosemary was the only one who knew.” He looked over at Rosemary as she gave him a reassuring okay gesture. “But if I did show my true face to a large crowd, there would be consequences. I hope all of you understand why I did that earlier …”

Rosemary would then put a hand on his shoulder and smile. “Of course it’s fine! Let’s just let be our little secret. Right, guys? Especially you, Vetle. Don’t you go around and spill the beans.”

“Yes! Me and my boyfriend here are 100% in it for this little secret! Right, Vetle?” Chicory piped in as Vetle gave a shrug, presumably as a way of approval. “Yeah yeah, whatever. I won’t tell if it means I get the front row seats.” Vetle added with a smirk on his face.

“Me and my girlfriend also agree. Your secret’s safe with us.” Pumpkin also added to the conversation as Shiso gave a nod. “Don’t you worry a thing.”

“See, Orpheum? You’ll be just fine. After all, Shaymin’s gotta stick together.” Rosemary then smiled, Orpheum shedding a tear and let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, everyone … truly this has been an eventful day. But I am grateful for every one of your understanding. But alas, I must take my leave for now. Have a good night. It has been a pleasure meeting all of you.” With that, the Shaymin bard exited the café but not without giving a wave from his hat and letting the wind carry him back towards the forest.

#pokemon story #fan writing #orpheum the shaymin bard #shaymincafe #hey folks! have some fan writing for now while I finish writing the next story post

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

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tapestry 👑 XV

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The pieces begin to move.

Note: Alright I eked out another chapter so here we go, on 15! already. What the hell y’all? This is wild. I mean come on. Wowee. Anyways, I’m running out of ways to thank you guys so just read the chapter already, lol.

masterlist

There was a bench on the upper floors where you liked to sit and watch the snow fall. Since your isolation, it had become ritual. You and Marge would perch on the wooden seat and stare out into the royal gardens, the hedges barren and coated in white. The sky was a pale shade of grey and the castle wall loomed like a giant sleeping beneath the snow. You found yourself lulled but the rare sense of peace.

Close to peace. It was hard to forget all that had consumed the court with a guard at your back. It was harder to escape the fixation which had overcome all; the two kings in the single castle. Steven and T’Challa met daily and spent many hours together; whether alongside council or otherwise. And when they were apart, you were often in the presence of your king.

It was only a few days since your encounter with T’Challa. The king was well-received within the kingdom by your father’s accounts and despite the underlying scandal, there was a sense of joy left over from the yuletide; albeit, only among those able to indulge it.

Footsteps approached from around the corner and you glanced over at the shadow which appeared before its owner. Your guard turned to watch Lord Barnes as he strode swiftly through the corridor. The dark-haired noble nodded as he approached the sentinel and stopped short to bow to you in kind. He was fidgety and impatient.

“Lord Barnes,” You rose and curtsied to him as the bench separated you. “What has you in such a hurry?”

“Courtly business,” he said brusquely. “Most pressing.”

“Is that it?” You squinted. “You’ve never seemed so bothered by courtly business.”

“When it is such as this, I must be bothered,” He countered. “Why do you linger in the corridor, lady?”

“I haven’t anywhere else to linger,” You replied. “I am without my own business these days.”

“Only the king’s,” His lips curved slightly as his own quip.

“Only the king’s,” You affirmed. “As I’m sure you’ve been occupied. I’ve not seen you quite so often since the yuletide.”

“You never saw me very often before,” He returned. “My apologies if I am curt but I should be upon my way.”

“I should let you on your way if you tell me what calls you so urgently.” You watched his blue eyes as they strayed down the hall.

“I suppose… you will not hear it otherwise,” He sighed. “A warrant has been served upon Ladies Stark and Wilson. They’ve surrendered to custody this morning during their attendance of the queen. They’ve been taken to the Fort.”

“Arrested?” You gasped and looked to Marge. “For what?”

“I cannot speak further on this,” He said. “I must go and you should return to your chambers. News will reach you shortly. Good day.”

He bowed his head and turned on his heel. You blinked and scurried around the bench. “No, no, Lord Barnes,” You called after him as you followed. “I would surmise you do go to the king.”

“You would suppose correct,” He kept his strides long and harried. “And I would be overdue.”

“Then I shall accompany you for I must see him, too,” You insisted as you finally came up next to him. Marge and your guard followed behind.

“You should wait,” He peeked over at you. “He will be engaged already.”

“I tire of waiting on him,” You said. “You may tell him I forced myself upon you, but I will see him.”

“Lord, if it wasn’t for that mailed bastard behind me I’d drag you back to your chambers myself and lock you up,” He grumbled, “And I suppose that’d be the only obstacle to keep you from your intent.”

“It would,” You assured him and raised your chin as you lifted skirts to keep pace with him. “Though perhaps it would be just as amusing to have you fight my guard.”

He grunted but said nothing further. He walked silently at your side, eyes set ahead of him as his impatience radiated around you. When you reached the king’s chambers, the guards greeted you with a pair of nods and one knocked on the large wooden doors. It was opened without delay.

Barnes waited for you to enter first and several men sat already with the king; including your own father. They looked to you and stood as the king did. Confusion marred his face as he glanced between you and Lord Barnes.

“My lady, what are you– I–” He stopped himself and huffed. “My lords, if you would continue onto the council chambers, I do have matters to attend to. Lord Barnes if you would remain.”

The king crossed his arms as he waited for his commands to be obeyed. Your father rose with the five other men and passed you with a pointed look. “Mind yourself, daughter,” He breathed before he slipped through the door. The footsteps shuffled out into the hall until at last the door was closed behind you.

“I asked you to come alone, Buck,” The king said.

“I did not ask her to come, she insisted upon it,” He shook his head. “If it were up to me, I’d have strapped her down but your damned dog does follow at her heels.”

“That damned dog’s bite is keeping her safe,” The king retorted. “It doesn’t matter. She is here…” He paused and looked to you. “Why?”

“Do you think I do not grow frustrated by the oblivion you keep me in, your highness?” You neared slowly and stopped just behind the chairs which faced his large desk. “Would you blame my curiosity that I should know why you’ve have two of the queen’s ladies accosted?”

“It was their husbands who turned them in,” He said. “They came to me and they did say that their wives spoke the most traitorous words. As king, with a poisoning so recent, I cannot let them away.”

“Traitorous words? Whatever could they have said?” You asked as you brought a hand up to grip the back of the chair.

“They’ve merely been taken to be interviewed, my lady,” The king sniffed. “I did not tell you because I did hope to spare you the worry. For a time, at least. You have been so distressed, I would not further your difficulties.”

“To be interviewed? In the Fort?” You crinkled your brow. “My king, I can admit my naivete, but I will not feign stupidity.”

“Can you not guess at what they may be asked? At what they will surely admit?” Steven planted his hands on his desk as he leaned on it. “I do this to keep us safe. To keep you safe.”

“And I do know that, I do,” You clutched your hands together. “But I would not have another hurt for my well-being. And upon what suspicion? Upon what proof?”

“Upon the boy who did die upon your chamber floor,” Steven insisted. “Upon the fear that does claw at my heart constantly. For the love I have for you.”

“Your love is kind, I should hate to see it turn so cruel upon others,” You said. “Would you not have mercy upon my request?”

“Mercy cannot be had anymore,” He looked to his desk, the mess of papers atop it.

“And if they say the words you expect of them, what then?”

“Then we should interview the queen.” He shrugged and avoided your gaze.

“And should she be found to be conspiring, you would…well, what should be here fate?”

“Exile, death?” He looked up at you. “If she commits treason, she should earn whatever fate she receives. A fate that would leave us to be together.”

“And I should claim her spot knowing that is what befell her?”

“You should claim her spot loyally and with grace,” His voice deepened as he pushed himself straight. “You should heed my orders and listen to me for I am your king.”

“I have obeyed you. I have bided you, I have been patient, I–”

“You are still but an earl’s daughter,” He spat and you flinched.

“Your highness,” Lord Barnes intoned gently. You’d forgotten of his presence as he stepped forward. “You must understand her fear. She does not speak maliciously.”

“She speaks too much. I’ve seen her comfortable, I’ve her well, aliv, even,” The king ranted. “And with our union almost in sight, she would persist.”

“She would protect herself. She is young, how is she to understand all this? How is she to fathom that a queen she knew once to be kind and hospitable has turned cruel and maniacal?”

“She needn’t understand any of that, she only need love me as I do her,” Steven hissed. “For she is the only wife I would have.”

“Your highness,” You said quietly, “I did not mean… Lord Barnes is right.” You slowly rounded the desk. Cautious as you feared he would lash out in his anger. His face red with his temper. “I did not mean to rile you, I only meant to understand this all. Your highness…”

You touched his chest and felt your heart hammering. You looked at Barnes from the corner of your eye and he nodded subtly.

“If all this would go wrong, it would all be over.” You soothed as you rubbed the silk of his overcoat. “And that does worry me.”

He searched your face and slowly placed his hand atop yours. He unclenched his jaw and exhaled. “I have told you I shall see you safe, see us together. I meant it. You do not need to worry, my love.”

“I know,” You said softly. “‘But may I ask of you one thing?”

“You shall ask of me anything,” He breathed.

“If it should be that Eleanor does conspire, would you have mercy upon her? For me?”

“It would be not upon my mercy that she is judged,” The king said firmly. “There is a party of cardinals traveling now from the See. They will hold the trial, they will lay their judgement, and issue their own sentence. It is… beyond my control.”

“So… you assume there should be evidence enough for a trial?” You questioned.

“There would be,” He confirmed. “But I did not call the cardinals upon the expectation of a murder trial, merely that of an annulment.”

“Murder?” You frowned.

“The death of a servant is nothing, but intent to kill a king, that is treason,” He said softly. “Even a queen cannot commit such a crime.”

You lowered your head. Stunned. Your lip trembled as your heart stuttered. For it came upon you at that very moment that you could not delay the king forever. That all that he had done could not be reversed. And foremost, it occur red to you, that another should die to break this stalemate.

“My lady, we should rejoice,” The king brought two fingers up under your chin to raise your head. “For one day, I shall call you my wife, I am certain of it now.”

👑

That night, you sat before the hearth and thought. You had supped alone as the king tended to his business. The thought made you shiver; of all that he was orchestrating, of the role you’d played in it. For all your willful ignorance, you were just as guilty as him. Was all this worth something as low as your reputation?

There was a rap at the door as you stared at the burning long. The crust of orange embers along it, the pale smoke that billowed up into the chimney. You waved a hand at Marge as another knock sounded and you rubbed your forehead. Your obstinacy had led to this; your insistence on being above the role of mistress. The want to follow your own will when that had never been a lady’s place.

The creak of the door and Marge’s gasp irked you. You looked to the door as your servant bowed and recited a mousy “your highness.” You stood at once and made to bow.

“Don’t you bother with that,” The queen swept in, her burgundy skirts curled around her legs as she came to a stop before you. “I came to talk not to have you simper to my face.”

“I never simpered,” You protested. “I was only ever honest to you.”

“Yes, the morally unstained lady,” She scowled. “You know what he’s done?”

“I do.” You said evenly.

“And you did not try to stop him? Did I betray you so entirely you would see me thus?”

“Stop him? How should I do that when you never could?” You backed away from her and wrapped your arms around yourself. “I was hurt that you used me but I was never vengeful. If I had a hand in any of this, it was not intentional.”

“Why did you not relent to him?” She asked.

“Why did you banish me? Why did you rig my saddle?” You turned on her. “Why did you hate me for the very affair you instigated?”

“The saddle… was a mistake. I only meant to scare you away. Truly. I did not intend for you to be maimed. or worse, killed. But I did not think in my anger.” Her green eyes were like glass. “I banished you because I was humiliated. I could bear Rose and those other mistresses in my husband’s bed, but I could not bear you taking the place that even I could never reach.”

“I never meant for it and it is too late for me too. In my fear, I reassured him. In my naivety, I gave his desires credence. I am guilty, yes, of enabling him, but it does not mean I condone him,” You shook your head as your eyes stung. “And so we are both backed into a corner and we must play our parts. We must move each square within the rules and hope that neither is victorious, but that we can achieve a draw.”

“You know that will not happen,” She said grimly. “But will you not go to him? Ask him to spare me. My life, at least?”

“I did.” You said plainly. “I tried and he has reminded me of how powerless I truly am. We all are. For if he should do this to a princess born to be queen, what shall he do to me one day?”

“You…”

“I begged him and he would’ve turned on me too if I had not retreated,” You picked at your sleeve as you spoke. “His mind is set, and so too are our fates.”

“You would let him exile me?” She gasped. “Kill me, even?”

“It isn’t my choice,” You withheld the tears as your voice threatened to crack. “You know that.”

She tore her eyes away and looked down at the carpet. She sniffed and nodded as she raised her head. “I know it.” She said. “I only came here because… they’ve all left me. I have no one else.” She turned and her velvet skirts grazed the floor around her feet. “And because I want you to know, while I did tamper with your horse, I did not send you that poison.”

She stopped at the door and glanced back at you. Her eyes were glossy but determined. “I never wanted you dead, I only wanted my pride.”

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly.

“No, I am,” She inhaled and let her breath out heavily. “Goodbye. I do think this will be the last time we should speak, my lady.”

“I hope it is not, your highness.” You returned.

“Cling to that hope for as long as you can,” She bit down and swallowed back her grief. Marge stood at the ready with her hand upon the door handle. “For he will take that from you, too.”

👑

Three days after the ladies were arrested, you broke fast with your father. He was elated. The ladies were under guard in the Fort and the gaolers were about their work. The king was optimistic and so was the council. The cardinals were due in a week with good weather. Two, if poor.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to be hungry. Not your usual fear of poison but for the thought of the women in their cells. Of what they’re revelations may bring upon the queen; upon yourself; upon the entire kingdom. You pushed your food around your plate and bounced your foot nervously beneath your skirts.

Months ago, your father would’ve found any excuse to elude your presence, but now he was all too eager to be near you. You realized, as you watched his fork poke into a bit of yolk, that he only sat upon council by your fortune. That if it were not for the king’s favour for his daughter, he’d still be a lowly in earl in a single chamber.

“Has mother sent word of when she would return to court?” You asked.

“I’ve told you daughter, we must wait for the winter to pass. She is not fit to travel in the cold.” He could not hide his exasperation. “She will come as soon as the roads are clear of ice but she is better for the time with your sister and her grandchild.”

You frowned. You thought to ask if Alice should return as well but that was likely upon Edward’s will. You set your fork aside and wiped your hands with your napkin.

“Perhaps the king would permit me a visit if I were to ask him again.” You ventured. “I feel so very alone, here.”

“You cannot leave.” He scoffed. “You will soon be betrothed to the king. And upon your marriage, well, queen.” He smiled greedily. “A queen cannot hide away with her sister in some country castle.”

“Queen?” You felt ill at the thought. “Oh, father, I should just be away with my virtue and accept any marriage the king would give me.”

“Oh, don’t be foolish!” He snapped. “You’ve not played this game so long to let the crown slip away.”

“It’s not a game to me. It’s my life,” You retorted. “I never wanted to be queen, I never wanted you to be councilor upon my shoulders. And yet that is the only thing I’ve ever done that has garnered your approval; an ounce of care beyond and yet it only goes so deep as to what benefit I can achieve for you, father.”

“You’ve dragged the king this far, you will see it through.” He snarled. “And when you do, our family will be among the highest nobility. We will sit at the king’s table, we will be known across each province.”

“If the day ever comes that I sit the throne, you will not sit at my table.” You sneered. “You can sit in your charlatan’s chair on the council and be happy with that.”

“You are as foolish as you were the day you were born.” He shook his head and slammed his fist on the table. “You don’t even know how close you are.”

“The queen remains. To speak of myself in her place is as good as treason.” You stood and dropped your napkin beside your plate. “Do not count your chickens, father.”

“Oh, but they are hatching,” He said before you could turn away. “The king signed the warrant this morning.” Slowly his face darkened as his mouth curved. You had never seen a beast so hideous. “Eleanor will join her ladies in the Fort.”

#tapesty #Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!fic #dark!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #medieval au #au #fic #series #dark fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #tapestry #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

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rons-hermiones · 3 years ago

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty Five

Before he knows what’s happening, he collapses onto the chair next ti her bed, body overcome with sobs. Hell, he's wailing, blubbering like a sodding baby at the mere sight.

Never in all his life has he ever been overcome with so many emotions. Love, fear, relife, guilt, a fierce need to protect her, and so much heart break he can almost feel his chest ache.

Emotional range of a teaspoon my arse.

It isn’t until he’s calmed considerably Merlin knows how much later that he debates peeling his hands from his eyes. He’s afraid seeing her that she’ll vanish right before him or that he just can’t take it.

After settling from harsh cries into silent tears, Ron leans closer to the bed ridden girl. He’s careful not to touch her, but he’s close enough that he can make out every contour on her face under the cuts and bruises. He’s close enough that if she was awake his breath would surely tickle the edges of her hair, blowing it slightly into her face. And if he was lucky enough she’d scrunch her nose the way he loved whenever her hair got in the way.

Merlin I miss her.

He can feel the twisting of his gut curl further as he thinks of everything he wants, no needs, again. Before he can let it worsen, he wills himself to speak.

“I’m here now love, I’m here darling.” He whispers throatily.

Ron resists the urge to stroke her hair, he can’t. No matter how much he wants to…

So, he continues speaking, “I’m never leaving you again Mione, you hear me?” Of course she doesn’t. “I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again love, never.”

He swears he sees her brow twitch the slightest bit. At this, he goes on.

“And that includes me.” he admits raspily, “I’m so sorry darling for all the times I’ve hurt you. I swear I’ll never do it again. I’m going to try so hard each and every day to make it up to you, to protect you. From Lavender, Cormac, from anyone who crosses you. I’m going to make sure you never see a dark wizard again, okay love? I’ll even-”

“Hermione.” A broken voice floats from behind.

Ron has half the mind to pull his wand, just in case, but soon settles as his eyes meet the looming figures.

“Merlin.” Harry says in the same tone as he saunters forward.

In his eyes is the same look Ron had only moments ago. Heartbroken. Guilty.

Weasley opens his mouth to comfort Harry, but the words die on his lips. He just can’t. No words fit. Nothing he could ever say would be enough to make the painstaking feeling diminish. Nothing but Hermione herself.

“What did I do?” The Boy-Who-Lived cried out.

Now that, Ron wouldn’t take, “No.”

His glassy green eyes snap to blue ones in surprise at how strong Ron’s voice sounded.

He shook his head, “don’t say that Harry, please. It happened and even though I’d give anything to take it back, we can’t. We just can’t. That’s not how things work, so please, don’t make this any harder than it is.” He pleads to his best mate.

The air is silent and tense for a moment. Harry’s gaze never waivers from Hermione’s form, and Ron’s stare never diverges from Potter.

And what Harry says next shocks him like no other, “okay.” He says simply, walking to the other side of the bed.

Harry understands too. He understands that Hermione is all that matters now.

As he plops onto the chair he gently places his finger tips atop the small strip of exposed skin between the cast on her arm and the part of the gown covering her shoulder.

Ron looks away quickly, unable to do what Harry is at this moment. It’s all too familiar. He can’t lose her again.

Needing a distraction, he soon remembers his trail of thoughts from whispering to Hermione. He gulps, preparing to share them with his best mate. “Harry, I need to be honest with you right here, right now. I promise on my last breath that I will kill them. Bellatrix, Greyback, Malfoy, Dolohov, all of them. I’ll do it, or I’ll die trying.” He said with so much conviction, eyes never leaving Hermione’s battered form.

“Ron-“

“Don’t give me that crap. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. You may be the Chosen One mate, but no one, and I mean-“

“Ron,” Harry said harshly, “I was going to say I’m with you.” He finished a little softer, but still with an edge.

“You’re with- what?” He questioned a bit taken aback.

“I said I’m with you.” He repeated steadily.

“You are?” Ron doubted. Normally Harry would adamantly refuse a claim, fearing for Ron’s safety.

He nodded after a moment, “yeah I am. Too many people have suffered because of-“

“Don’t say because of you.” He cut off.

“I wasn’t.” Harry assured, “I was going to say because of all this- him, the war. Something needs to be done, for the future. For Sirius, Cedric, my parents, and especially for Hermione.”

Ron can’t do anything but nod slightly in agreement as he allows himself to rove over Hermione’s stil form again. Everytime feels like a small part of his heart cracking slowly and painfully.

His fingers twitch as he physically longs to reach out for her, but again, he can’t.

Needing a distraction from his own thoughts and from the questioning gaze Harry’s throwing him, he goes on, “They found a wand. Not hers.”

He nodded in response, “Bill said as much. Do you really think she apparated? We haven’t even had lesson yet, even if she did-”

“She’s bloody brilliant, Harry.” Ron insisted, “so much that she’s always five steps ahead. I mean, I wasn’t even quick enough to save her before she went off and did it herself. Useless.” He mumbles the last line.

“Hey,” Harry says sharply, “just like I’m not allowed to blame myself, neither are you, okay? We’ll have all the time in the world to feel sorry for ourselves later once we know she’s gonna be alright.” He finished softer.

And Ron doesn’t have the heart to argue. He’s so mentally drained and he’s so dead set on prioritizing Hermione, that all he can do is nod feebly.

They fall into silence. Both just watching the subtle rise and fall of Hermione’s chest. They’re almost transfixed by the sight, to have her back it’s almost like a dream.

But that’s exactly what Ron’s afraid of.

All while these fears run wild, Harry can see Ron’s hand unconsciously itching to lay atop hers.

“Go on Ron.” He whispers. He knows he doesn’t need his permission, but he can sense his friend needs a nude.

He snaps out of his state at his best mate's voice. The ginger seems to know what Harry means and looks like he’s about to break down all over again, “I-I can’t.”

“Yes you can. You won’t hurt her, we both know that.”

Ron pushed down the urge to fight with him on the topic and spoke, “It’s not that.” He croaked.

Well, not entirely anyway...

“Then what?” Potter questioned.

“I’m so scared Harry. I’m fucking terrifed that if I touch her this will all fade away. It won’t be real. Just another nightmare.” He shakes, tears streaming down his face.

Harry premivley wipes his eyes as he fgeels the moisture build, “It’s not Ron, I promise, please, trust me. It’s real. You found her.”

“No I didn’t-”

“Please.” Harry pleads from across the bed, making a show of taking Hermione’s other bandaged hand gently.

With a shaky breath Ron extends his lanky fingers as they slowly come in contact with the back of her other wrapped hand.

He nearly doubles over when he doesn't phase through.

Her hand is so small in his own. Smaller than it’s ever been before. And it feels almost fragile.

Though sometimes Ron may treat her like she is, never has he associated Hermione with being fragile. She’s tough as anything and the bravest Gryffindor of them all. But now, sitting here, all he can think is how that’s the very thing that they tried to strip away from her.

It makes him sick.

So much so, he feels a bile rise in his throat.

Not wanting to lose his shit anymore than he already has, he gently caresses the back of her hand, using the soft skin to anchor his thoughts.

It’s amazing that even though she was tortured, broken down, and beaten, she still was so soft, so insanely beautiful.

Her cheeks may not have the same flush. Her skin may be paler and dotted with horrible hues of purple and slashed red. Her shape may be disfigured by the protruding bones, but she’s still her. She’s still Hermione and that’s all that matters right now.

The thought alone makes him break down all over again.

This time he allows himself to rest his head on the edge of her bed, right next to her thigh. He cries at the feeling of her hand in his own. At the feeling of his head pressed against her. Because she’s real, she’s here, she’s finally here.

“Son.” A soft voice calls as a gentle hand finds itself atop his shoulder.

Ron looks up through misty eyes to find his father hovering over him. As he surveys the room he realizes Harry is gone.

Merlin, he must’ve been blubeering like a fuvcking baby longer than he thought.

“Dad.” He croaks, wiping at his runny nose with his sleeve, “did you find anything?”

“How is she?” He averts. Ron notices.

“Exactly how she looks, I reckon. I’m sure Mum already told you about what the healer had to say.” He shrugs.

“Yes.” Arthur nods, “yes she did. I just can’t help but wonder-”

“Dad,” Ron cuts off, “Did you find anything?” He repeats surprisingly calm.

Mr.Weasley sighs, his boy has grown more than he cares to admit. It’s almost frightening.

“Yes, I did.” he says sitting on the chair Harry once occupied.

“And?” The younger boy presses.

“And tonight the Department of Magical Transportation did in fact get a notice that an underage witch apparated to Diagon Alley the same time your brothers found Hermione.”

Ron huffefd, they all suspected it, but to hear that Hermione really did it. Well, let’s just say he would be more amazed if she was awake to hear his praise.

“However, while we know for certain it was Hermione, that information didn’t actually show up in the Ministry report.” He informed.

“What? Why?” Ron questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Well since the wand she used was registered to someone of age to perform apparition, it could only notify the service that someone did apparate. If it’s not on an underage or unlicensed WIzard’s wand, it's trickier.” Arthur elaborates.

Ron had no time to focus on the logistics. Only one thing stood out.

“So you know whose wand it is then? Whose?” He prones.

His father eyes him wearily before speaking, “The wand-” he stops, voice scratchy, and clears his throat, “the wand belongs to Narcissa Malfoy.”

Ron blinks a few times in disbelief, mouth falling in an ‘o’, “Wha-how?”

“Only Hermione could tell us that son.”

If she remembers. The words are unspoken, but Ron can see his father fighting the urge to say it. Like they still think they could protect him from everything.

“You have to understand Ron, wands, they’re very sacred things. Especially to old Pureblood families, especially to people like the Black’s and the Malfoy’s. Neither will like the idea that a Muggleborn was able to best them and use one.” Arthur spoke in a hushed voice.

The weight that lifted ever so slightly at the sight of Hermione soon falls back on him. This time ten times heavier than before.

“So what you’re saying, is that you think they’ll come for her?”

Arthur nods sadly.

Ron turns red with anger.

“We’ll do everything we can son. The Order will be around, the wards-”

“The wards?” Ron yells, “The Order? Please! Where did they get Hermione, where did they get her parents?” He boomed.

“Ronnie please-” Mr.Weasley tries as he notches Hermione squirm slightly from over his son's shoulder.

“Everyone needs to do better! Everyone! Do you even-”

A strangled sound makes him halt. “Mmm…”

His wide eyes flick to the bed as Hermione’s face tightens into a painful scowl.

From behind, his father leaves, feeling that he’s intruding. The door squeaks in his wake.

Ron falls to his knees and grasps her hand, “That’s it love, you can do it. Come Mione. Come back Darling.” He pleads through glassy eyes.

“C…” The noise sounds like a hiss.

“That’s it, come on love.” He encourages as he strokes her hand hoping that somewhere inside her brilliant mind she's registering all of this.

“Cissy.” She barely manages through the pain.

Ron’s eyes find his fathers in nothing but confusion. Was it just mummers of nonsense or could it mean something? But what?

Whatever it is, he just hopes she remembers when she wakes.

#Ron Weasley #ron x hermione #Ron and Hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #Hermione Granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

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miswaken · 3 years ago

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excerpts from House of Leaves that I just think are neat + inform my portrayal of Alice

---------------------------------

Of course, [Will] Navidson’s pastoral take on his family’s move hardly reflects the far more complicated and significant impetus behind the project -- namely his foundering relationship with longtime companion Karen Green. While both have been perfectly content not to marry, Navidson’s constant assignments abroad have lead to increased alienation and untold personal difficulties. After nearly eleven years of constant departures and brief returns, Karen has made it clear that Navidson must either give up his professional habits or lose his family. Ultimately unable to make this choice, he compromises by turning reconciliation into a subject for documentation.

None of this, however, is immediately apparent. In fact it requires some willful amnesia of the more compelling sequences ahead, if we are to detect the subtle valences operating between Will and Karen; or as Donna York phrased it, “the way they talk to each other, they way they look after each other, and of course the way they don’t.”

-------------------------------

In the living room, Navidson discovers the echoes emanating from a dark doorless hallway whish has appeared out of nowhere in the west wall. Without hesitating, Navidson plunges in after them. Unfortunately the living room Hi 8 cannot follow him nor for that matter can Karen. She freezes on the threshold, unable to push herself into the darkness towards the faint flicker of light within...

This is the first sign of Karen’s chronic disability. Up until now there has never been even the slightest indication that she suffers from crippling claustrophobia. By the time Navidson and the two children are safe and sound in the living room, Karen is drenched in sweat.

--------------------------------

Navidson was no longer around, except of course Karen still saw him every day and in a way she had never seen him before -- not as a projection of her own insecurities and demons but just as Will Navidson, in flickering light, flung up by a 16mm projector on a paint-white wall.

-----------------------------------

Leslie Stern, M.D.: More importantly Karen, what does it mean to you?

Funny how out of this impressive array of modern day theorists, scientists, writers, and others, it is Karen’s therapist who asks, or rather forces, the most significant question. Thanks to her, Karen goes on to fashion another short piece in which she, surprisingly enough, never mentions the house, let alone any of the comments made by the glitterati.

It is an extraordinary twist. Not once are those multiplying hallways ever addressed. Not once does Karen dwell on their darkness and cold. She produces six minutes of film that has absolutely nothing to do with that place. Instead her eye (and her heart) turn to what matters most to her about Ash Tree Lane; what in her own words... “that wicked place stole from me.”

...Karen gives her piece the somewhat faltering title A Brief History Of Who I Love...

-------------------------------

There are only 8,160 frames in Karen’s film and yet they serve as a perfect counterpoint to that infinite stretch of hallways, rooms and stairs. The house is empty, her piece is full. The house is dark, her film glows. A growl haunts that place, her place is blessed by Charlie Parker. On Ash Tree Lane stands a house of darkness, cold, and emptiness. In 16mm stands a house of light, love, and colour.

By following her heart, Karen made sense of what that place was not. She also discovered what she needed more than anything else. She stopped seeing Fowler, cut off questionable liaisons with other suitors, and while her mother talked of breaking up, selling the house, and settlements, Karen began to prepare herself for reconciliations.

Of course she had no idea what that would entail.

Or how far she would have to go.

-----------------------------

“He’s still alive,” she tells Reston over the phone. “I heard him last night. I couldn’t understand what he said. But I know I heard his voice.”

Reston arrives the next day and stays until midnight, never hearing a thing. He seems more than a little concerned about Karen’s mental health.

“If he is still in there Karen,” Reston says quietly. “He’s been there for over a month. I can’t see how there’s any way he could survive.”

But a few hours after Reston leaves, Karen smiles again, apparently catching somewhere inside her the faint voice of Navidson. This happens over and over again, whether late at night or in the middle of the day. Sometimes Karen calls out to him, sometimes she just wanders from room to room, pushing her ear against walls or floors. Then on the afternoon of May 10th, she finds in the children’s bedroom, born out of nowhere, Navidson’s clothes, remnants of his pack and sleeping bag, and scattered across the floor, from corner to corner, cartridges of film, boxes of 16mm, and easily a dozen video tapes.

She immediately calls Reston and tells him what has happened, asking him to drive over as soon as he can. Then she locates an AC adapter, plugs in a Hi 8 and begins rewinding one of the newly discovered tapes.

The angle from the room mounted camcorder does not provide a view of her Hi 8 screen. Only Karen’s face is visible. Unfortunately, for some reason, she is also slightly out of focus. In fact the only thing in focus is the wall behind her where some of Daisy and Chad’s drawings still hang. The shot lasts an uncomfortable fifteen seconds, until abruptly that immutable surface disappears. In less than a blink, the white wall along with the drawings secured with yellowing scotch tape vanishes into an inky black.

Since Karen faces the opposite direction, she fails to notice the change. Instead her attention remains fixed on the Hi 8 which has just finished rewinding the tape. But even as she pushes play, the yawn of dark does not waver. In fact it almost seems to be waiting for her, for the moment when she will finally divert her attention from the tiny screen and catch sight of the horror looming up behind her, which is of course exactly what she does when she finds out that the video tape shows...

-----------------------------

nothing more now than the mere dark. The tape is blank.

Finally when Karen does turn around to discover the real emptiness waiting behind her, she does not scream. Instead her chest heaves, powerless for a moment to take anything in or expel anything out. Oddly enough as she starts to retreat from the children’s bedroom, it almost looks as if something catchers her attention. A few minutes later, she returns with a halogen flashlight and steps towards the edge.

Hanan Jabara suggests Karen heard something, though there is nothing even remotely like a sound on the Hi 8. Carlos Ellsberg agrees with Jabara: “Karen stops because of something she hears.” Only he qualifies this statement by adding, “the sound is obviously imagined. Another example of how the mind, any mind, consistently seeks to impose itself upon the abyss.”

As everyone knows, Karen stands there on the brink for several minutes, pointing her flashlight into the darkness and calling out for Navidson. When she finally does step inside, she takes no deep breath and makes no announcement. She just steps forward and disappears behind the black curtain. A second later that cold hollow disappears too, replaced by the wall, exactly as it was before, except for one thing: all the children’s drawings are gone.

Karen’s action inspired Paul Auster to conjure up a short internal monologue tracing the directions of her thoughts. Donna Tartt also wrote an inventive portrayal of Karen’s dilemma. Except in Tartt’s version, instead of stepping into darkness, Karen returns to New York and marries a wealthy magazine publisher. Purportedly there even exists an opera based on The Navidson Record, written from Karen’s perspective, with this last step into the void serving as the subject for the final aria.

Whatever ultimately allows Karen to overcome her fears, there is little doubt her love for Navidson is the primary catalyst. Her desire to embrace him as she has never done before defeats the memories of that dark well... In this moment, she displays the restorative power of what Erich Fromm terms the development of “symbiotic relationships” through personal courage.

Critic Guyon Keller argues that the role of vision is integral to Karen’s success:

I believe Karen could never have crossed that line had she not first made those two remarkable cinematic moment: What Some Have Thought and A Brief History Of Who I Love. By relearning to see Navidson, she saw what he wasn’t and consequently began to see herself much more clearly.

Esteemed Italian translator Sophia Blynn takes Keller’s comments a little further:

The most important light Karen carried into that place was the memory of Navidson. And Navidson was no different. Though it’s commonly assumed his last [recorded] word was “care” or the start of “careful,” I would argue differently. I believe this utterance is really just the first syllable of the very name on which his mind and his heart had finally come to rest. His only hope, his only meaning: “Karen.”

Regardless of what finally enabled her to walk across that threshold, forty-nine minutes later a neighbor saw Karen crying on the front lawn, a pink ribbon in her hair, Navidson cradled in her lap.

------------------------------------------

As to what happened after Karen disappeared from view, the only existing account comes from a short interview conducted by a college journalist from William & Mary:

Karen: As soon as I walked in there, I started shivering. It was so cold and dark. I turned around to see where I was but where I’d come from was gone. I started hyperventilating. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die. But somehow I managed to keep moving. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I found him.

Q: You knew he was there?

Karen: No, but that’s what I was thinking. And then he was there, right at my feet, no clothes on and all curled up. His hand was white as ice. [She holds back the tears.] When I saw him like that it didn’t matter anymore where I was. I’d never felt that, well, free before.

[Long pause]

Q: What happened then?

Karen: I held him. He was alive. He made a sound when I cradled his head in my arms. I couldn’t understand what he was saying at first but then I realized the flashlight was hurting his eyes. So I turned it off and held him in the darkness.

[Another long pause]

Q: How did you get him out of the house?

Karen: It just dissolved.

Q: Dissolved? What do you mean?

Karen: Like a ad dream. We were in pitch blackness and then I saw, no... actually my eyes were closed. I felt this warm, sweet air on my face, and then I opened my eyes and I could see trees and grass. I thought to myself, “We’ve died. We’ve died and this is where you go after you die.” But it turned out to be just our front yard.

Q: You’re saying the house dissolved?

Karen: [No response]

Q: How’s that possible? It’s still there, isn’t it?

END OF INTERVIEW

--------------

In Passion for Pity and Other Recipes For Disaster (London: Greenhill Books, 1996) Helmut Muir cried: “They both live. They even get married. It’s a happy ending.”

Which is true. Both Karen and Will Navidson survive their ordeal and they do exchange conjugal vows in Vermont. Of course, is it really possible to look at Navidson’s ravaged face, the patch covering his left eye, the absence of a hand, the crutch wedged under his armpit, and call it a “happy” ending? Even putting aside the physical cost, what about the unseen emotional trauma which Muir so casually dismisses?

The Navidsons may have left the house, they may have even left Virginia, but they will never be able to leave the memory of that place.

#ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ #house of leaves at least partially inspired the game #there's even a neat little promotional arg with a v similar name!#'this house of dreams'#basic summary of one layer of the story: couple with a rocky relationship buy a house and endless dark rooms and hallways start appearing #karen is claustrophobic and hates it -- navidson goes exploring and gets other people involved #he gets obsessed w the house and eventually goes into one of the rooms and doesn't come out #karen goes back to nyc with the kids kinda hating his guts #eventually makes a movie of clips of navidson's film about his life from childhood through their relationship #(v similar to alice's movie from american nightmare!!!)#realize she does actually love this idiot and goes back to the house and faces her fears to get him out :)#give me alice facing her fears :) to get alan back somehow :))) that is all i want #and that is why i want to take inspo from the book lol #anyway this is mostly for my own reference everyone else just look away

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forkanna · 4 years ago

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[AO3] [WATTPAD] [QUOTEV]

NOTES: Some nominal amount of smut ahead, and minor character death. NSFW. And, of course, Elsanna.

A small belated gift for Princess Anna's 194th birthday! Thanks to scuttlepantsworld and Aether_nb for helping to make this possible – or for giving me proper motivation and a prod in the right direction, at least. Commissions are still open at this time!

Yes, I know. It's been a thousand years to the day since chapter four was released. For the longest time, I vacillated between wanting to add to it and insisting the story was over; to be honest, I had never intended to write more than one chapter! But deep down, I knew the work was always unfinished. So the time has come to wrap it up and put it to bed forever. My writing style has changed in the years since, so I can only hope this manages to recapture the magic for those fans who have been waiting. And for the gawkers that just want a laugh… well, stay tuned for the epilogue, I guess.

Min Søsters Kjeder: Anna

Well, that didn't work out so great.

My heart felt like it was crystallising as Kristoff helped me to my feet just in front of the grand ice doors of my sister's palace. So Elsa had rejected me. Again. She cast me out into the cold she created because she didn't think I could handle the "new Elsa" — that she had apparently been suppressing for years and years. Maybe our whole lives. As usual, pathetic little Princess Anna just wasn't worth clueing in on all the fine details. No matter how much headway we make, no matter how many walls and doors I try to knock down, she summons new ones of glittering sub-zero moisture to stand in our way.

"Hey, we should do something about this."

"About what?" I asked distantly, still staring up at the shimmering ice slide that had deposited us where we were currently crouched, breath fogging on the air. "I really don't think she's gonna let me in again. Not anytime soon. She's stubborn like that sometimes." Like I wasn't stubborn.

"Your hair." I looked up into his concerned eyes as he reached up with a gloved hand, batting at the newly-whitened hairs of my fringe. "It's… I can tell what this is, Anna. I've seen it before."

My brow furrowed. "What… Kristoff, what are you talking about, you've seen this? Am I the only one in the dark around here about ice magic?!"

Now he looked a little uncomfortable. And I took full advantage — by storming for the staircase again. Obviously I slipped right back down, but that didn't stop me from grunting and growling, trying to claw my way up the perfectly slick surface.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a weary tone.

"Going… to see… my sister!" I grunted, before falling on my butt.

"Huh," Olaf put in. "Maybe you know something I don't, but that doesn't seem to be working out so great for you."

"OOF! Are you guys gonna help me up there or not?!"

But we never had a chance for them to give me a boost. My new friend and my old snowman — or our old snowman, I suppose — were too busy gasping in horror. It took me a little longer than it should have before I turned to see the towering snow-giant, menacing-yet-soft features glaring down at us.

"Oh. Not… I guess."

~ o ~

My life became a series of rude awakenings after that. They made me miss doors in my face; at least those weren't dangerous and scary.

First, we got thrown out of the palace by my sister's new snow-beast. And that wasn't nice. Then Kristoff had the bright idea that he should take me to see his "love expert" friends — who turned out to be his family. Even worse rude awakening, because I had never met any magical beings that weren't my sister or the semi-frozen creations she seemed to whip up without even thinking about it. TROLLS. Real, live, rocky, mossy trolls! And on top of that, they decided I was about to marry Kristoff, because… I don't actually know! They just decided! Wow, were they eccentric, and a little annoying.

But they were the ones that sent me back to Elsa's palace. See, their king — maybe he was a sage, or a bishop? — explained that because my sister's magic had crept its way into my heart, even though I wasn't sure how or when, that there was nothing he could do. Only an act of true love could thaw a frozen heart.

And there was only one person I loved. Sure, Kristoff was okay, and Hans loved me, and Olaf and Sven were buddies. Nothing wrong with friendship! But there was a queen in my life that I felt such a deep level of love for that no force on Earth could break it, and I knew she felt the same for me. Even if she wasn't always good at showing it. So if I was going to get defrosted from anybody, I was definitely going to go with the prime candidate.

Problem was…

~ o ~

"I can't believe she was gone!"

"These tracks will lead us straight to her," Kristoff reassured me for what was probably the twelfth time as we galloped toward Arendelle. "Don't worry, I'll get you to Queen Elsa!"

"What happened?" I asked weakly, shivering as I curled even tighter against him. "A-all that destruction, all those hoofprints…"

He shook his shaggy blonde mane as he spurred his reindeer faster and faster. My heart was filled with deeper dread the larger the kingdom loomed in my vision. All I wanted was to be home. To curl up by a fire and rest… and see my sister. I wanted that above all else.

Kristoff got me to the gates. The officials didn't want to let him in, and I didn't have the brainpower to argue anymore; my entire focus was on Elsa, on fighting my way to her side. Seeing her dazzling blue eyes and her soft white locks above me, sliding my hands around her trim waist…

"Prince Hans!" Kai called as he and Gerda steered me into the meeting room. I felt lucky that the ice magic's effects were minimal; otherwise, I would have been barely able to walk by now. I saw several dignitaries gathered around Hans, including the Weasel himself. Odin Allfather, didn't that guy have a life at all? Or enough sense to notice nobody wanted him around?

"Anna!" my suitor gasped out, rushing over to embrace me tightly. Oh yeah… I kind of forgot in all the craziness that the last time I talked to him, we were supposed to be getting married. I'd have to straighten that out later.

"Hans! I… I have to find out what happened to my sister!"

He seemed stunned. "What? What do you mean? She left Arendelle, she left us all to deal with this winter."

"But I saw the hoofprints leading back here! From the North Mountain! Where… I know she's here, I can feel it!" And I could, I swear I felt her presence. Maybe it was just me fooling myself… or maybe it was just gas.

Hans opened his mouth to protest, but just then another guard came in, standing ramrod straight and saluting. "Her Majesty has refused any food or drink, Sir. What shall we…" Only then did he notice me there, and he saluted again — harder, if possible. "Princess Anna! You have returned! Then… you were not…?"

"Were not what?" I asked. When the rest of the people in the room began to mutter, I looked around more frantically. "Okay, I'm getting a little tired of the information wagon not wheeling in my direction! What in the fjord is going on?!"

"Listen," Hans breathed with a slight crease in his handsome brow, "I think you all should leave for a moment. Princess Anna is clearly overcome — and she is frozen to the bone. We need to give her some time, I need to take care of her and let her warm herself by the f-"

"NO. You can stay here and talk to these guys if you want; I have a mission." I turned to point at the guard. "You! Fred, or something!"

"Fredek, Your Highness," he said with a stiff bow, still looking a little out of sorts. Everybody did.

"That's what I said. Is my sister here?"

"Y-yes, but she is-"

"Where?" Hesitation. Again. "Hey, am I the princess around here or WHAT?! Take me to Elsa now! Right now!"

~ o ~

Nothing could have prepared me for that trip up into the tower. When we were little, Elsa and I would sometimes go up there to play, pretending one of us was the monster that was holding the other captive. We would imagine our castle was Soria Moria, taking turns playing a princess — since we were always princesses and playing was about escapism — and Halvor, the hero. We usually wound up just squealing and rolling around in fear that the troll with three heads would gobble us up, starting with our toes. That was what our father always told us would happen if we didn't behave.

Father…

Not for the first time, I fretted over what he would think about all this. Had he known? Had Mother? Did they have magic of their own, and just never bothered to reveal it to me? Nah, that would be completely crazy; I would know if my parents had anything magical in their backgrounds. Still, nobody ever told me about Elsa, so it was possible. It would have been easy to let bitterness take over my heart, thinking about how left out I had been my entire life until now.

But wasn't I doing something every bit as depraved as them keeping secrets? By falling head over heels for my own sister?

"I'm sorry, Princess, you cannot pass. I have my orders."

"Skadi can have your stupid orders! That is my sister and I'm going to see her, and… and I'm the princess, and you are not. So there!"

"That has nothing to do with-"

"You're ORDERED to open this door! NOW!" That was starting to work pretty well for me. The man sighed and unlocked the door, pulling it open. "Okay, get out of here."

"Excuse me?"

"I need to speak with my sister in private! And if you're hanging around out here… just-" I shoved at him impatiently. "Go wait at the bottom of the stairwell, or something! I don't care, just don't let us be disturbed or I'm going to…" Sentence him to death? I couldn't even pretend to be that mean. "Or I'll turn you into a stable-boy, and you'll be shovelling horse dritt for the rest of your life!"

Honestly, I've never seen a soldier in full armour sprint down stairs before.

"Who's there?" croaked a weak voice as I crept into the chamber, yanking the door shut behind me. "Is… you have to tell me, have they found Anna?"

"Nope," I said with a smirk. "She's totally still missing. Probably got eaten by a muskox."

The blue-tinted form on the cot shifted and stirred, and a disheveled head of platinum blond hair raised to squint through the darkness at me. Wow, she looked a lot more rough than I expected… because never in my life had I seen her look anything less than perfect. Not even when we were little.

"I…" Once she had seen me with her own eyes, she let out a long, shaky sigh of relief. "We don't… muskoxen aren't even carnivores."

"No?" I grunted as I plopped down on the floor right next to her, not even caring how dirty the dungeon was. Can you have a dungeon in a tower? Is that not the same thing? Maybe there's another word. "Well fine, I got turned into grass by some other magical person, and then the muskox ate me."

"Stop that. I was so worried when Hans told me, and here you are making fun of me for worrying. That isn't nice."

"Uh huh. It's totally nice, because I'm playing with you. Remember how to play?"

Elsa smiled softly to herself, glancing at the tiny window. The sky was definitely awake; I knew that's what she was thinking because it was what I was thinking. Crazy how sometimes, we could be so in sync, and other times…

"I remember," she admitted under her breath. "What do you think I keep thinking about the entire time I've been up here?"

The smile that broke out over my face was bright enough to eclipse the sun. It turned just a little wicked as I stood tall with my fists on my hips and proclaimed, "Hutetu, what a smell of Christian man's blood!"

That made my sister turn to look at me with wide eyes. Which promptly rolled before she mumbled, "Oh Anna, please, anything but that…"

"Come on, you know this!" I hissed. "Just kill the troll, Halvor — cut off all my heads! Then you can sweep the youngest princess-sister off her feet!" For real, this time. In hindsight, maybe it was because we spent so much time pretending to marry each other as kids that led us to the big i-word.

"And how am I supposed to do that?" she asked, raising her hands…

My heart seemed to grow yet colder in my chest as I looked at those gleaming manacles. I'd never seen anything quite like them; they encircled Elsa's hands completely instead of just binding her at the wrists, and chains led from their tips to a metal plate bolted to the middle of the floor. Wasn't that weird? Why would any such thing exist?

Come to think of it… since when had this tower been a dungeon? It was always cold and forbidding, but the iron bars had not been there when we were little, pretending it was Soria Moria. Not that I trusted my memories much anymore after finding out my sister had ice powers and never told me.

Still, I could put two-and-two together. "Elsa, this prison… did you…?"

"Not I alone," she sighed weakly, staring down into her icy lap as she fidgeted on the cold-looking stone cot. "Father had this commissioned."

"Father wouldn't-"

"I insisted. I made him and Mother see that it was for the best, even if… if they did not want to put me in a cage. But sometimes we need cages, Anna — to protect everyone else from what's inside."

"So what, now you just… you're going to sit up here while an eternal winter rages throughout Arendelle? That's so- I can't believe you would neglect your duties to this kingdom. Don't you see we need you?"

Her brow furrowed as she turned away again. "No. Look what I have done so far. Why would anyone need a queen as unstable as me? Who can't even control her own curse?"

"Curse? Do you not remember- didn't you see Olaf? Real and as alive as you and me? You did that! And you built that beautiful castle, and made this dress- really gorgeous, by the way, I didn't get a chance to say it before."

At least I made her chuckle. A tiny bit. It didn't last long before she was brooding again, staring toward the window. "You're too sweet. Maybe… maybe I shouldn't have interfered."

"Interfered in what?"

"You and… what was his name? Hans. Or that large man who helped you find me."

"Kristoff. Wait… are you trying to marry me off to some man I just met? After all that?!"

"Anna, you deserve a chance at happiness with a man who can take care of you. If you keep pining after me, deluding yourself into thinking we can be something more than we are… then I'm afraid you'll never be happy. And that would hurt me more than I can bear, especially knowing it's my fault! All I have ever wanted is to make sure you are taken care of. That you're safe, and whole, and happy."

"Then why did you spend over a decade shutting me out? Huh? Could you really not remember how much I loved you? Didn't you realize how that was going to hurt me, losing my sister — my best friend?" So maybe it wasn't very nice, but I couldn't help it; I lost my temper.

"I…" Her chest was rising and falling more rapidly, eyes narrowing thanks to the force of the furrow in her brow. It almost looked like she was panicking again, like she had at the coronation ball. "It wasn't my decision, but wasn't it for the best? I couldn't hurt you again. And us being together, especially the way we've been recklessly exploring the past couple of days… I can only see that ending one way."

"Elsa…" Knowing I had made a mistake, I approached her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Yes, she tensed up, but when nothing bad happened she relaxed. "I'm sorry. Maybe this has been rough on you, too, but I still don't think staying away from me was the best plan. Why couldn't we have tried to work on this togeth-"

"What part of 'I didn't want to hurt you again' is confusing for you? Why are you always so stubborn, Anna?!"

My temper threatening to rise again in response to hers, I snapped back, "The 'again' part, you jerk! Literally the only thing that ever hurt me was losing you!"

"No, it isn't! You just don't remember because of the trolls-"

Elsa cut off, her expression full of misery as she turned away. Lately, I felt like I was messing up all the time. Pushing too much. I didn't want to, I just… when I see something is wrong, I have this compulsion to fix it. How can anybody do any better if they don't try?

"I've been to the trolls. They said… well, they said if we don't do something soon, this is going to get worse."

"What is?" But this time, when she looked at me — really looked — she noticed. "Oh. Oh, Anna, it's getting worse…"

"How do you know about the trolls?" I asked suspiciously, scooting forward to make sure she couldn't escape my gaze so easily. "Wait — did you always know my hair was going to get more white? The way you said that…"

"No, no, they said they fixed it," she breathed, voice strained as if she were barely keeping her emotions in check. "I can't do this!"

"Elsa, for once I need you to actually listen to me and answer my questions! How do you know about the trolls, and what do you mean, this has happened before? And why don't I ever remember you having ice magic until your coronation? The more I think about it, the crazier it seems I wouldn't have noticed something that insane! Hey, I know I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb!"

Suddenly, my sister's icy irises blazed with anger as she turned to look at me. "Don't you say that, Anna. You are not dumb. I have never mistaken your openness and your vibrance, and the naïvety that your excitement leads to sometimes, for stupidity."

Why did that turn me on? Talk about an inappropriate reaction!

"O-oh. Well… wow, Elsa, thank you. Um, I didn't expect you to say anything like that, I thought you would agree with me. Or something. I don't know." Desperately wishing I could force the blush out of my cheeks was distracting me from being able to string words together.

"Alright." Clearly relieved that I had accepted what she said instead of arguing, she closed her eyes for a moment. A long moment. "As I said, this is not the first time my magic has hurt you, no matter how hard I try to protect you. And there's a reason you-"

"Come on, Elsa! Why haven't you figured out yet that I don't need protection? Not from my best friend!" My body seemed to take on a life of its own, demanding I get closer to my sweet sister, that I show her how true my feelings really were. Otherwise, how would she ever see?

"Anna, wait-"

"I love you," I breathed as she backed into the corner, even though I was keeping pace, my hands pawing at her arms through her dress. The chains pulled taut beneath me and I saw my sister lurch from the unexpected resistance on her arms; I hadn't been paying much attention to them, I was so focused on getting closer to her. But then-

Then I let out the whimper. My sister whispered fearfully, "Anna? Anna, what's wrong?"

"Mmhhh, I didn't… well that's new…" My thighs flexed as I rubbed myself against the steel links that were now firmly between my thighs, vision going blurry briefly from the powerful surge of pleasure.

"What… are-" The gasp made it pretty obvious she had figured it out. "Anna, you stop that right now!"

"Why? It's… I mean, why can't I take a quick little break?" That was a pretty weak defense. Mostly, I was aware of how insane and depraved what I was doing was, but every second I was away from Elsa made my desire triple. At least, it really felt that way to me.

"We have…" Maybe it was the expression on my face, or maybe the sounds I was making, but I could start to see the colour rising in her cheeks. "Anna, we were in the middle of an important conversation. Please, can't your libido wait a minute or two?"

"I can… multitask…" At her glare, I finally brought my greedy pelvis to a stop. "You're right! You're right, I'm really sorry. I just already wanted you so bad, and then those chains hit me just right in- okay, shutting up," I added when I saw her death glare.

"Thank you. Now… I know this isn't going to be easy for you to hear. But I have hurt you before, when we were children. I wish I didn't have to explain it to you, I wish I could let you go on thinking nothing was wrong, but it's clear to me now that you will never stop fighting to get closer to me unless I explain why you can't do that. No matter what we both want, it just isn't meant to be."

"Okay, I… do not like that part. But the rest is good! We should be talking about these things — I mean, how are we ever going to fix things between us if we don't? So…" Oh wow, it was almost impossible to keep still.

"Your hips are moving."

"So what? My hips are here, my hips are th- ooooh, maybe they shouldn't go there. Okay, I stopped. So you hit me with some of your magic when we were kids and it gave me a white streak in my hair, and you guys took me to the trolls and they erased my memory and healed me right up? That pretty accurate?"

I couldn't remember ever seeing my sister look so completely shocked before. Literally had no words. It's too bad she didn't have something like that she could say to me, because I'm the chatterbox who needs to be quieted down sometimes.

"What? I mean, you left me some pretty easy dots to connect, and you just said I'm not as dumb as I look."

"I didn't- you don't look dumb, either! You are a beautiful young woman who could have anyone in the kingdom!"

Grinning, I whispered, "Aww, really?"

"Anna, please, try to pay attention. Don't you see how dangerous this is? Twice now I have gotten too close, let my attention lapse, and twice now I have hurt you. Can't you understand why I need to be kept away from you?"

Of course, I did feel my heart grow a little colder for just a second. But then I shook my head hard and glared at her. "Yeah. Yeah, I can see how you would think that — even how our parents could think that. Because they don't get it at all, and neither do you."

She looked so bone-weary when I started to crawl closer. Was hard not to take that personally. "Anna… what is it that you think you understand that I don't?"

"True love."

"What?"

"The trolls…" I shivered for a moment. It was getting worse, so I had to push ahead. "They said only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart. So don't you see? If you kiss me-"

"NO. Anna, you have to listen to me! Stop this nonsense!" She was breathing hard in panic again now that our faces were only a couple of inches apart. Crystals formed on her eyelashes from the tears she couldn't fully shed. "I can't. Why don't you see I can't be that person for you? I'm a woman — your sister, the queen of the kingdom! No one will allow us to be together!"

Her words stabbed into me roughly like bayonets. Like icicles she was driving into my heart. And I could see fear blossoming in her eyes, could feel the cold creeping along my cheeks. Confirmation wasn't necessary; I knew I was getting worse. The magic was stealing me from the world. And Elsa just couldn't see that she was the only one who had the power to roll back the frozen tide.

"They aren't who counts," I breathed, my teeth beginning to chatter. Then… my hips started moving again.

"Anna, this is not the-"

"I'm going to freeze if I don't move. Don't you want to help me?" When she remained immobile, a little desperation crept into my voice as my brow furrowed. "Elsa…"

"I can't help. All I can do is make it worse," she sobbed brokenly. Even if she couldn't understand, at least she wasn't hiding anything from me anymore. Baby steps are all you get sometimes.

"Can't get worse than this!" I tried to joke. And when she only began to cry harder, I reached up to caress her soft cheek. "Come on… pick your princess, Halvor. You've b-been through so much…"

And she did kiss me. I had really been hoping that would break the curse. It didn't. But I was still going to enjoy this moment to the fullest. Hey, if it's your last one on the mortal plane, heck, why wouldn't you?

The deeper our kiss grew, the stronger my urges rose. It seemed to be helping me fight off the cold, so I renewed my efforts, grinding myself hard against those firm chains through the layers of Oaken's winter wardrobe. And my dear, beautiful sister no longer wasted any breath trying to convince me to stop; she did the one thing I had always wanted her to do, ever since we were little.

She supported me.

"Mmmhhhah!" I gasped when I was getting close. "Elsa! I love you!"

"Anna-"

"Never forget! Do you understand me?" Hazy as my vision was, I could still see the furrow of concern in her brow, how rapidly she was breathing. My poor big sister was terrified on my behalf. Screwed up as that might be, it felt amazing. She actually cared about me! "Don't you ever… forget that I love you, and I never blamed you, and I… all I ever wanted was to be close to you again! And you're giving that to me, and I am so, so happy!"

Tears slipping down her cheeks and shattering on the stone floor, Elsa rasped out, "Anna, you can't go! You're the one that deserves to stay — you have never done anything wrong! It's me! I am the monster, I cursed you, and I should be the one who is slain!"

"So what?! You… didn't do anything wrong, either!" But she didn't believe me. Of course. So I had to give her something different, something that would meet her needs. "A-and I forgive you! For anything, everything, whatever you think you need forgiveness for, you got it, sis!"

We kissed again. I only wished we could have had that conversation when I wasn't riding a couple of lengths of chain; it was definitely a little weird. But the burning between my thighs demanded I keep going, and it also felt like if I stopped, the cold would win. So on I bucked, over and over into that unrelenting metal-

Elsa did a little something for me that finished me off. And I can't even fully explain it, but I had no idea anybody could use their tongue like that.

"HMMNHHH!" was the only noise I could make because our mouths were joined together, but I felt like it was enough for her to understand. The orgasm that stole over my body was both satisfying and unsatisfying, because I was still so far away from the one I loved despite the passion joining our lips. But it would have to do. At least most of the frost had been rolled back from my body so I could function again.

Once the high faded, and the blaze in my crotch was back to being a dull ache again, we finally broke the kiss to look into each other's eyes. And there was understanding. I could see now that Elsa might still try to resist, and would probably always have anxiety about hurting me, but she was no longer deluded that we weren't meant to be together. She got it. Better late than never, I guess.

"Sooooo, your turn, Big Sis? Let me under that ice dress. Gotta show my appreciation."

"Anna!"

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have that fork with you, would you? Maybe in here?"

Elsa only had enough time to chuckle and roll her eyes before the door burst open. My finger instantly jerked back from where it had been inching below her neckline as I whirled to yell at whoever had interrupted us.

But it was Hans. Not just him, but the guard I had sent on an early lunch break. Both had swords drawn, but now they were definitely looking like they didn't know which way was up.

"Princess!" Hans gasped. "Are you alright? We heard you struggling to breathe!"

"I-I'm fine!" I laughed nervously, privately thinking I was really getting tired of people barging in on me right after I came. Maybe I should invest in a Do Not Disturb sign that I could just carry with me wherever I went…

"What have you done to her?" he demanded of Elsa, glowering. She shrank away, instantly on the defensive, so I held out my hands toward both of them.

"Stop! Listen, nobody did anything, everything is fine! We were just talking, and… and trying to figure it all out!"

"Princess, I advise you stay away from her. She nearly killed the guards when they found her on North Mountain!"

When I turned to my sister with a question in my eyes, she winced, shoulders hunching up toward her ears. "I-it was an accident. They were trying to kill me, I was only defending myself!"

"Trying to kill you? They were part of the search party — we only came looking because Princess Anna had disappeared."

"But they attacked! And they weren't even guards from Arend-"

"Please take the princess to safety," Hans instructed the guard. But I wasn't focusing on that for the moment. He had already picked me up and moved me away from the chains before the little seed of thought began to sprout.

"Not from Arendelle?" I had to raise my boot and brace it against the door frame to keep from being shoved out of the tower. "Wait, wait, what did I miss?"

Hans sounded very regretful the moment he started speaking. "Those were Weselton's men. I thought it would be good to have more in our search party, but perhaps I was wrong. They seemed to have their own agenda. But you still had nearly taken their lives when I found you, Queen Elsa. Perhaps if you weren't so aggressive with your sorcery, one of them wouldn't have tried to take you out with the crossbow."

So much of what he said made sense, and I understood the shame and regret in my sister's face. She didn't want to be a killer, she didn't want to hurt anyone. And the more I learned, the more I understood why.

"This is still my fault, Hans," I sighed as the guard finally put me down, seeming to realize he wasn't going to have any more success if he kept at it. Stubborn as a mule. "She was fine until I started pushing her, messing with her ability to… to keep it all in check. So if anybody should be in chains, it's me."

Turning back to me, Hans took up my hands and squeezed tightly. Oh, the pain, the… awkward. Yeah, it's super awkward holding hands with the guy you once told you were ready to marry but suddenly realized you only wanted to tie the knot with a blood-related sibling.

"Anna, you aren't responsible for your sister's decisions. She has still put this entire kingdom in danger. Don't you think she should answer for that crime?"

"Only if I answer for the same crime! Didn't you hear me? I provoked her into it, I was- was being a stinker, she felt trapped!"

"Don't be absurd," he responded a little more firmly, lips pressing flat. "You never forced her to unleash eternal winter! Besides, if both of you are tried for treason, how will you and I rule over Arendelle? There will be no one left to take the throne."

I blinked a few times. "What? You and I- oh, Hans. If only you were the one I love." While he was busy looking more confused than ever, I shrugged helplessly. "My sister was right. I was just caught up in the excitement of having a new friend, someone who would listen, and I didn't stop to realize… there's no way what we had could be true love after only a few hours."

"So… then…" Man, he was really breathing hard now. I felt like a colossal jerk for doing this to him, but I didn't want to live a lie. Not for a single second. That would only make this harder in the long run. "So that's all there is to it? You can't see your way to giving me… a chance? Maybe we were hasty, but that doesn't have to-"

"It does. My heart belongs to another."

You know, it's funny. Even while I was sharing a longing gaze with Elsa, small, knowing smiles on our lips as we felt our hearts warm with the power of love, Hans still didn't realize who I was talking about. Maybe that says something about me, or maybe it says something about men. About people in general. That's a question I can't really answer.

"Who?" was what he asked when he found his voice again.

"It's a secret," I compromised. Again, Elsa rolled her eyes, but I was starting to get used to that. It didn't make me feel belittled anymore.

"I see. That… that is regrettable."

Elsa still held my eyes when I heard the sickly sound of metal sliding through metal. Mostly, I just found it really annoying, but when I turned to figure out what it was and how to stop it…

"NO!" Elsa burst out before I could react.

"Alright," Hans grunted as he dragged the sword out of the guard's back. The blade gleamed red as the man curled his fingers around the spot it had protruded from his chest with the last of his breath, then sagged to the stone floor. "But I do regret having to resort to such unpleasantness."

Skadi. The guard was dead. As much tragedy as my sister and I had been through over the years, I have never seen someone die right in front of me before. Never had to watch the light of life fading from someone's eyes, never had to know his family would mourn him because of something I had witnessed firsthand. It was beyond horrible.

"You… what have you done?" Elsa was muttering in a distant voice, just as disbelieving as I was but somehow still able to speak while I was completely mute.

"Only what I had to do. Oh, it would have been so much simpler and more elegant if you could have been tried for treason and executed, Your Majesty." How could he look so casual, striding over to flick that sword at me — spraying me with some of the blood? What a sadist. "You really are a danger to everyone here, I can see that. But now that I know Anna will never consent to marry me, well… as I said, this change of plans is regrettable, but I seem to have no other choice."

"No," I breathed as he advanced on me, and I felt my heart jumping into my throat, pounding loud as a timpani. "Hans, y- stop! What do you think you're doing, how can you be so, so…"

He shrugged carelessly, as if none of this mattered to him. Maybe it didn't. I would say I knew better, but clearly I didn't know a damn thing about anything. "As the thirteenth in line in my own kingdom, I didn't stand a chance. I knew I would have to marry into the throne somewhere. Being the firstborn heir, Elsa was preferable, of course, but no one was getting anywhere with her."

"Excuse me?" Elsa snapped, clearly a lot more outraged now that he was focused on me while holding a bloody sword. Can't say I blame her; shoe on the other foot, I would be just as riled up. "I am not a prize to be w-"

"But you? Oh, Anna, you were so desperate for attention. Probably weren't getting any at home." Only then did he bother to spare a smirk for Elsa, which shot her fury through with agony — just like he wanted. Now I could see his little calculations playing out behind his beady eyes. How could I have ever thought they were dreamy before?

"Hans, you d-don't know what you're talking about," I chattered, the cold beginning to grow again. As focused as I was on Hans, and the way snowflakes were swirling around our heads because Elsa was mad and scared and stressed, there was no warmth of our sisterly bond to counter the prince's frigid scheme. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"Don't I?" Suddenly that cunning smile changed to a stricken expression. "I… I couldn't believe the queen could do that to the guard, her own sister. There was nothing I could do, I- I had to protect myself when she came at me. But at least Anna and I got to say our marriage vows… before she died in my arms."

Even while he was holding himself tightly, I gave a sarcastic clap and sneered, "Oh wow, what a ham. Nobody's ever going to buy that barrel full of last year's lutefisk."

"Won't they?" His expression turned cold as he raised the sword overhead, aiming to strike true. I was dead and I knew it. After everything we had been through, this was going to be the end. How disappointing. "The evidence will be compelling, if I do say so mysel-!"

But the blow never landed. Even if Elsa's hands were bound, the rest of her wasn't; I'm really not sure why neither of us had quite paid attention to that little detail. Hans certainly wasn't going to forget it anytime soon after she shoulder-charged him, sending him bouncing into the far wall. The crunch would have been sickening if it weren't, well… him.

"Elsa!" I gasped. "Whoa, you really cleaned his clock! Since when were you such a… oh!"

That was as far as I got before I was scrambling back against the wall, watching the cuffs around her hands frost over just before they shattered completely. I had to shield my eyes from the shrapnel, and when I lowered my arms again… for the first time in my life, I felt honestly, truly afraid of my sister — because that look in her fair features was even more vicious than the one Hans had been wearing a moment ago. Bloodthirsty.

Vengeant.

"WHOA!" I barely gasped out as I latched onto her elbows. Mostly to keep her from raising the ice sword she had just conjured out of the air. "Wait, easy, what are- what are you going to do?!"

"Ending his life." At least she wasn't pussyfooting around the subject.

"You can't!"

"Why not?!" she demanded, still struggling against me. And my sister was clearly stronger than I gave her credit for, because she was almost lifting me off the ground with the force of her arms. Again, hotter than it had any right being, especially in the middle of a life-and-death situation. "He was going to end yours! He doesn't deserve to live!"

"Because he's not worth it! Because…" I let go and quickly moved around to put myself between her and Hans. "Because I don't want to see my sister turn into a murderer. Okay? We already got him outnumbered — it's over! You don't have to kill him anymore!"

Her voice was as flinty as her deep blue eyes. "Anna, move."

"No! You can't kill him and still be the woman I love!"

I saw her hesitate. And just being that close to her, staring into her eyes, I felt the love bursting within my heart. Anybody would do anything for her, and… it's me. I'm 'anybody'.

Then she was knocking me to one side with an icy blast. My head bounced off the stone of the tower wall, dazing me slightly, but she hadn't thrown me far or hard enough for it to do any real injury. Mostly, I felt sick that my love wasn't enough to stop her from committing murder. As she brought the sword down, I screamed…

But it only clanged against steel. We had run out of time; Hans had recovered and was about to strike. Even as I watched them struggling against each other, teeth gritted in concentration as they tried to overpower their opponent, it slowly caught up to me: she didn't ignore my pleas. That bastard had been about to make another attempt on my life.

My sister just kept saving me.

"You'll… never take me!" he snarled into her features as he began to back her towards the opposite wall. With his ginger hair disheveled and that deranged expression on his face, he definitely no longer looked like the handsome prince who worked so hard to charm my pants off. Now he just looked like… Weselton. "You might have magic, but underneath that? You're nothing but a scared little girl, trying to fend off a man with true ambition! You are NOTHING!"

"Yes!" she grunted, struggling down onto one knee but still valiantly pressing back his attack, despite the cracks forming in her sword. Then she suddenly smiled fiercely. "But do you… know what's… stronger than a man with ambition?"

"What?!" he demanded with that vicious, taunting smile. "Love?"

Of course, that was all he ever got to say, because that next second I was bringing down the fallen guard's heavy helmet right on the back of his head. I could see the smile turn to a look of shock in the reflection of their swords just before he crumpled to the ground, completely unconscious. I really didn't hold back.

"Sorority, you dope," I snapped down at him, casually dropping the helmet onto his back. "You should know better than to mess with sisters."

"Anna!" Elsa gasped as her sword vanished completely. It didn't take her long to scramble to her feet and throw her arms around me, clutching me so tightly to her body that I actually felt winded. "Oh, Anna…"

"It's okay, Elsa. I'm here, I'm fine."

"Your head- you're sure? I didn't want to throw you but-"

"I get it, I get it," I laughed as she pulled back to pet over the side of my head. "Crazy way to protect someone, but I guess it's better than getting stabbed. Thanks."

"Oh. Your hair…"

"I know," I sighed. "But it's okay, Elsa. We'll figure it out together. Please don't feel guilty anymore; I know you never meant to hurt me, not back then and not now."

"No — Anna…" Eyes sweeping the little tower cell, she came upon the guard's sword. As she unsheathed it, for a wild moment I was afraid she was going to kill Hans while he was unconscious, but instead she held it up in front of my face.

And now I could see what she was talking about. "What's- huh?! Where'd my white streak go — why am I all auburn again?"

"I… I don't know." And I could tell she was legitimately confused. "Do you feel any different? Do you remember feeling anything different?"

"No, I…" But I did.

So many memories came flooding back the second I focused my mind on them. Building Olaf together in the ballroom, not outside during a wintry day. Dragon feet. Cuddling close to our mother as she sang us a lullaby, my eyelids getting heavy… All memories I had before. But they were different now; changed by something that had been hidden that was now in the light.

"Do the magic," I whispered softly, my eyes welling with tears.

"Oh," she breathed, just as misty as I was as she dropped the sword and yanked me into another clinging embrace. "Oh, Anna, I'm so sorry. I never wanted any of this, I just wanted us to be happy! But Pabbie said to keep you safe… I had to learn to control my power. But I can't."

"Oh, I think you can. I know you can." Pressing my fingertips into her back, I whispered softly, "You're my magical sister, and the strongest person I know. You can do anything." When she didn't respond at all, just sobbed gently into my shoulder, I smiled and asked her, "What were you going to say?"

"What?" she blubbered.

"Before I bonked Hans on the noggin. You had been going to say there was something stronger than a man with ambition…? I interrupted, sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry," she laughed wetly. "But… I was going to agree with him. It's love. I would do anything for my family, and I know you would do the same. And a man like him would never understand that."

"Yeah, sheesh. You'd think a guy with thirteen brothers would get it even more! But apparently they were pretty rotten."

Finally, Elsa drew back from the hug to cup my cheek, her expression full of so much adoration that I almost had to pinch myself to see if this was real. "I'm so glad you're safe, and so glad you are finally whole again. Even if I'm not quite sure how."

"Me, either. The trolls told me 'only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart', like I said. But I mean, if they meant getting myself off with your chains, well, that's pretty weird, even for people that grow mushrooms out of their backs!"

Elsa laughed a little — at first, then she grew thoughtful as her fingers combed through my fringe. "Love will thaw, hm? Well… I think… I'm starting to understand."

The room was silent for a few seconds. "So are you going to share with the class, or…?"

"Anna, don't you see? It wasn't the kiss — and certainly not your indiscretion with my chains. You healed yourself. Putting your body between Hans and I was what unfroze your heart, and I guess your head."

"Wait, what? Putting my- that was just because I didn't want you to have to kill that jerk. I couldn't stand the thought that my sister would have blood on her hands just because of me."

"And that's true love. Even if it was a little reckless."

"Hey! You could at least not make fun of me for trying to help my smmmph…"

That was as far as I got before she was drawing me into a gentle kiss. Melting into her arms was as easy as it ever was, pouring all of my longing and gratitude into her lips as our hearts beat as one. And of course, she was right; I guess protecting Hans, even if it was just to keep my sister's conscience clear… that was an act of love. For her.

A little at a time, we could hear commotion drifting up from downstairs. After taking a moment to slip handcuffs onto my former fiance's wrists, we went to investigate.

"Ohhhh, the storm is over," I breathed as I looked out the windows. "That's a relief; at least we can walk around outside without getting knocked down."

"Yes… but why…?" I turned to look at my sister, seeing her hand at her chin as her mind raced. She looked like a little junior detective when she did that. "Love will thaw. Do you really think…?"

"Think what?" But she was already grabbing my hand. "Hey!"

"Guards!" she snapped at the two who had also been gawking at the weather. "Prince Hans of the Southern Isles is a traitor to Arendelle, and one of our men is dead. Please remove the body and lock his cell until his fate is decided."

They were still clamoring through their confusion to manage a "Yes, Your Majesty" when Elsa yanked me further down the hallway, literally running in her glittering ice heels. How does she do that when I can barely run in boots?!

Once outside in the courtyard, I finally demanded, "Okay, Elsa, what are we doing? I mean, if you wanted to take a stroll, all you had to do was-"

"Shh." Grinning at me, she rubbed her hands together and then began to swirl them around each other, building up her energy — or something. You got me, since I've never done magic before. Then she curled them into claws and began dragging them upward from the ground, as if she were trying to summon the rocks from the earth and send them into the sky.

And as I watched, the ice and snow in the courtyard disappeared. That wasn't quite true; it was more like it evaporated. From the ground, the trees, the rooftops — from Arendelle. In no time, green was bursting out all around, and the confused servants throughout the castle were gasping in wonder.

"Whoa!" I squeaked. "You un-magicked your magic! Amazing!"

"Yes," she laughed, grabbing onto my hands and spinning me around in a circle. I couldn't help the peal of laughter that burst out of me, my heart was so light for the first time in forever. "Your love! That was always the key!"

"Yeah, sure!" I giggled. "My magical love!"

"No, really." Once we came to a stop, she pulled me in close, and I was struck again by how gorgeous she was, cheeks flushed and chest heaving slightly, bright red lips parted and curling into a smile. By Freya, she could have had anybody she wanted.

"You said that only an act of true love could thaw your heart, and your mind, Anna. I�� I had to wonder if that's what I've been doing wrong all these years. Trying so hard to control my magic out of fear and anxiety for its consequences, terrified of hurting anyone, that I forgot… I forgot how to reach out, and let myself love you, and our parents, and… my people. That was the missing link."

My hand drifted up into her sweeping blonde forelock. "You sure you didn't bump your head when you tackled my ex?"

"Very sure. Our love thawed out Arendelle, Anna; that was all I needed."

"Oh," I breathed, knowing I looked like a shy dork by now. She had me so flustered in a way Hans could never have managed. "Well… I guess… you're welcome? Or thanks? I, u-um…" No, I could do better than that. "You'll always have as much love from me as you want, Elsa. Always."

And she kissed me again. That was never going to get old; it would always send tingles from my ears to the tips of my toes, set my stomach fluttering and my heart pounding. Even though I was no love expert, I somehow knew that was something only for the two of us.

Of course, when we broke apart we could hear the mutterings; the kiss had trapped us in a little world of our own, but pulling back revealed there were quite a few Arendellians shocked at what they had just witnessed. And I mean, I get it; their queen was acting like she was from Lesbos, not Norway, and with her own family member. That's a whole lot of Greek.

But even though I would have expected Elsa to retreat into her shell again, ashamed of what she had done, she did not. She stepped forward and announced loudly, "My sister and I have freed Arendelle of my magic. If any of you have a problem with how we have done that, you can air your grievances during the court levée I will open to the public on Monday morning. Until then, enjoy your summer again!"

Somehow, ending on that positive note triggered the automatic response of everyone cheering and clapping. Maybe it was a little bit of a trick, but it still gave Elsa the freedom to sweep me into her arms, to spin me around as I laughed. How long had it been since I felt that free?

Thirteen years. That's how long. But now we could be free forevermore. I only hoped the people of Arendelle would let us be free.

~ Å Være Ferdig ~

#min soster bursdagskake #cake fic #forkanna writes #elsanna fandom #elsanna fanfiction #elsanna #forkanna #jess the writer #nsfw-text

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pokemon-ventures · 4 years ago

Text

Blank Slate

Part 6, part 5 here!

The moment everyone’s been waiting for! There’s smut ahead, proceed with caution.

In the early evening, you find yourself relaxing alongside Lance on the couch as he works on his computer and you channel surf. You lean on him a little bit, arms pressed together and he replies to emails. It keeps you grounded in the moment as you try to spark your memories returning by replaying events in your mind.

Flashes of the Graveler dance around your brain, you hear some people talking and that’s about it. You see different moments with Lance, a time he was laughing while holding a beer bottle, or him looming over you in the darkness of your bedroom. The second moment sends shivers down your spine.

That’s a frequent occurrence lately, a side effect of being by Lance all day and seeing the moments he realizes you don’t remember their relationship. You see the way his eyes track your movements, admiring your form in his clothing you insist on wearing. You hadn’t realized it would stir anything in him by wearing it. It just made you feel comfortable to wear his shirts and sweaters.

“How are you feeling?” Lance questions, not looking up from his computer. His hand comes up to brush against your ear without a thought. “Hungry?”

Blood rushes to your cheeks at his touch, even worse, your head leans into his hand with a soft hum. His fingers slip through your hair, further enveloping you in pleasure at his touch as you close your eyes. Another memory surfaces, you feel his hands brushing your arms as lips touch your neck...

When his laptop slips from his grasp, the moment breaks and the two of you pull away from each other. Your face red as he swears under his breath and leans over to pick up the laptop from the carpet. He settles back next to you but keeps his hands to himself as he clears his throat.

“I-I’m not hungry,” you stammer, pulling the blanket around you firmer.

It’s silent for a moment.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his computer set aside and his body turned towards you. His body feels electric at getting to touch you again, hearing your little moan definitely jump started his blood. He missed you and his body yearned for yours, but unless you initiated sex, he wouldn’t pressure you into anything.

He curses the laptop for breaking the moment, but he realizes you may have been uncomfortable and he fears he’s destroyed your trust in him.

You take a breath, gathering your resolve to glance over at him. “Y-yeah. I’m just... getting some memories back.”

He perks up. “Oh?”

“Nothing major,” you offer a small smile. “Mainly you.”

“Anything specific?” he raises a brow. “Anything I can clear up?”

You flush at the thought of mentioning the sex, and instead opt for the first one. “Nothing big, you smiling with a beer bottle. It looks sunny.”

“Probably our beach trip a few months ago,” he leans back against the couch. “I needed to go to the Orange Islands for inspection and I brought you with me. We were welcomed with a feast and a day on the beach.”

“That sounds amazing,” you relax into the couch, smiling at him. “You love your job?”

He shrugs. “It’s not perfect, but I love battling, pokemon and trainers.”

The tension settles from there and you find yourself sitting on the kitchen counter watching as Lance prepared some pasta for dinner. Soft music plays in the background as you both sip some water, no alcohol for you until the doctor says it’s okay, and watch as he sways to the music. Your eyes stay glued to his hips, watching him move, until he turns and your eyes meet his.

“Do you like dancing?” you ask him, feeling silly talking to your husband like this and getting caught checking him out.

“Yes,” he smiles and holds out his hand to you. “Join me?”

You flush at the invitation and nod after several seconds of silence from you. You slip off the counter and take his hand, it feels warm and strong in yours as he pulls you close. His free hand takes your right to place on his shoulder before putting his hand on your hip. Time seems to slow when he presses against you and twirls you around the spacious kitchen.

Lance fills each of your senses. His warm touch in your hands, his sweet smell in your nose, his gold eyes smiling into yours and his gentle voice humming along to the song. The only one left being touch. Your eyes drop to his lips, full and taunting, as he mumbles the words to the song. Heat pools in your belly as you imagine kissing him, feeling his lips against yours, tasting him.

“Lance,” you whisper, eyes flying up to his to find them half lidded and much closer than you thought.

“Mm?” he hums, his tongue brushing across his bottom lip. “Okay?”

Unable to speak, you nod silently, your eyes following his tongue. Your grip on him tightens and you feel the pull take over as you tilt your head up and push onto your tiptoes. His body reacts in return, his arm encircling your waist and leaning down to meet you in the middle.

You press your lips to his, feeling like a fire exploding in your chest as he takes charge immediately. His hands pull yours to wrap around his neck before moving to hold your hips and lift you onto the island counter.

Eyes closed and core tight, your hands run through his red hair, marveling at the heat generating between you. His lips part to let his tongue through, you welcome it, running your own along his and exploring his mouth. He tastes like the red sauce he was making, a reminder that dinner is on the stove.

You pull back, gasping for air and keeping Lance close. “The stove.”

“R-right,” he stammers, turning away to turn it all off and remove the pans from the burners. He comes back, settling between your legs, and placing his hands on your thighs. “This okay?”

“Yes,” you nod, your hands tracing his jaw.

He brings his lips to yours, brushing yours and tracing your jawline to the spot under your ear lobe. The sound of your shaky breaths, turns him on even more as you struggle to be quiet. “We don’t have to.”

Your breath hitches and he leans back to gauge your emotions. “I am starting to remember things... Moments... with you. It’s not all back, but I’m still really attracted to you. I just... I don’t want it to seem like I’m leading you on.”

He brushes back your hair. “You’re not. The doctor said you would remember or you wouldn’t. Either way, I plan on trying to win your heart again, (Y/N).”

You can’t think of anything to say, so you kiss him. A confident, needy kiss where you cup his head and hold him to you. He returns it with the same fervor, his hands grasping your thighs tight and lifting you from the counter and into him. His arm snakes around your waist as your legs do the same to him, holding you to him as he stumbles out of the kitchen towards the bed room.

He’s gentle, placing you on the bed before pulling away to move towards your neck. Hot breath fanning across your neck and his lips nipping at you pulls moan after moan from you. Your body feels as though it’s on fire from his touch, his hands ghosting at the hem of your shirt, his lips paying careful attention to your neck. You could cum from this alone.

“If you need me to stop or slow down, just let me know,” he pants, pulling his sweater off and tossing it aside. He stops his movements as your breasts fall free and you cover them with your arms. “You spent all day with no shirt on underneath? And braless?”

“Yeah,” you glance away, a little nervous for him to see you naked.

He leans close, kissing your cheek. “Babe, I’ve seen your body before. I love your body as much as I love you.”

Your cheeks flush at his words, he really knew what to say to make you feel better. “Go on.”

He scoffs, leaning down to engulf your left breast in his mouth. Your back arches at the sudden jolt of pleasure as he suckles on it while squeezing the other in his hand. “I prefer actions to words, (Y/N).”

A coherent response doesn’t exist as you squirm under his ministrations, moans falling from your lips his tongue swirls around your nipple. He switches to the other side, marveling at the sounds coming from you, and refrains from moving too fast. This moment couldn’t come soon enough and he is going to savor it.

Your hands rake through his hair, your legs pressing his groin against yours and creating delicious friction between you. Sparks dance as he kisses his way down to your pants, his hot breath tickling your sensitive skin as he pulls down your sweats and tosses them away too. He finds the lack of underwear an extra turn on as he kisses everywhere but the spot you want.

“Lance,” you groan, lifting your hips to get him to work.

“Patience, (Y/N),” he nips at your inner thigh. “I’m going to savor this.”

A shiver shakes your body as his tongue draws circles around your outer lips, teasing you and making you squirm beneath him. His arms hook under your legs and you whimper when he kisses your mound. He licks his lips before taking a taste with his tongue pressed flat against your warmth, moving up towards your clit.

In response, your legs tighten around him and he has to hold your thighs apart to give him space to work. Your mewling moans as he laps at your folds increase his hardness and urges him to push harder. His tongue circles your clit, his hands spreading your lips apart allowing him to encompass your pussy with his mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” you arch your back suddenly. Legs trembling as you attempt to not squeeze him too tight while moaning louder. “La-lance! Oh, oh!”

His tongue flicks over your clit and he feels your orgasm overcome you with another loud moan. Your breathing comes out ragged as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, filling his mouth with the sweet taste of your cum. As you come down from your orgasm, he settles next to you with a grin.

“Feeling okay?”

You place a hand on your face as your heart pounds and your blood rushes through your veins. The afterglow of an orgasm, lulls you into a dreamy state as you feel his erection pressing against you through his sweats. It sparks a hunger in you, you turn to him with your own smile.

“More than okay.”

That springs him to action.

He settles back between your legs, stroking himself a few times before rolling the condom on and adjusting over your body. Vanilla sex to start off the night is okay with him, as long as it’s with you. He’d take all the time in the world to make you come if he could. He presses up against your entrance and hopes he can make it through the night.

You wiggle your hips, teasing him as he takes way too long to get going, your lips forming a smile as he stares down at you. He takes the hint and pushes into you, careful to go slow and allow time to adjust to his size. You arch your back, your moans filling the room as he gets to the hilt.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he grunts, pausing to hold himself together.

You watch him, his brows furrowed and his mouth set in an ‘o’ as he breathes through the rush of pleasure. When his eyes open, he keeps your gaze before pulling back out and snapping back in. The first few slaps make your eyes roll back and you clenches around him with a heavy groan.

He picks up the pace, hips thrusting into you, the smack of your skin filling the room and mingling with your moans. His hands slide from your hips to your legs, pushing them forward and together. Your hands clutch at his sheets, your head twisting to the side as you pant, his name falling from your lips as he continues to hit just the right spot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasp.

Your walls clench around Lance as he drives into you and sends you over the edge and into pleasure. It’s like a river of ecstasy pulls you under, your walls contract on their own as you squirm and moan beneath him. Everything feels amazing, his continuous thrusts down to his teeth on your shoulder.

Lance grunts, feeling you come around his dick and he presses against you as he reaches his peak. His teeth digging into your shoulder as he lets out a deep moan. “(Y/N)!”

Panting and a bit sweaty, Lance pulls away to clean up himself before pulling you into his chest. Your mind is a puddle as he runs his hand along your arm, and brushes his lips against your forehead. Your body feels alight with pleasure next to him, your blood humming and breath slowly evening out.

“I’m going to say it so you know, but don’t feel obligated to respond,” he murmurs into the waning light. “I love you, (Y/N). You’re the only one for me.”

You lift your head to stare at him, the sincerity in his face staggering as he drinks you in. For a moment, you feel the heat of his love engulfing you, reminding you your relationship with him goes deeper than the past two days. It’s comforting, if a bit intimidating. But you take it at comfort and bury your face in his neck.

“I’m going to love you too,” you promise him.

Taglist:

@soundcitysession @cyndaquilsion

#Blank Slate #Lance x reader #Wataru x reader #Smut #Vanilla sex #still a bit new to writing sex #let me know what i can improve #we're starting off slow with it #posted early for today #pokemon #pokemon lance

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