#it just...it just fills me with so much joy because NATURE GETTING ANGRY AND FIGHTING BACK | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bookishofalder · 4 years ago

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Night Changes [Seven]

Summary: An unexpected attack cuts the final tethers of restraint for Poe and the reader.

Warnings: Language, violence, blood, mentions of attempted assault, choking, injury description (note RED cuts to skip past uncomfortable parts if preferred), Smut—PiV, fingering, squirting, oral. W— +14K.

A/N: If there was ever a chapter I would beg for feedback/thoughts, this is it. Please tell me you like it. Oh god, soothe my worried mind.

It was tempting, the urge to roll your eyes as the man before you moved to stand too close. You smirked, waiting to see if he was serious in his attempt to corner you or if he would scamper off the moment you pulled your knife from your thigh holster where it was hidden beneath your dress.

There was a darkness in his gaze that made your hand twitch at your side, and here you had thought Canto Bight would be relatively uneventful. But it appeared you caught his eye and your disguise as just another casino patron worked because he had followed you unexpectedly into the foyer off of the main ballroom, where you had gone to wait for Poe and Temmin to return.

The three of you were here for intel promised by a very wealthy ally, so dressing the part was important for blending in with the privileged crowds. You were sure the man before you thought you weak enough to bully, a rich girl he could take advantage of.

You were annoyed, wishing you’d gone with Poe instead of Temmin, that you hadn’t offered to keep watch for any signs of your enemies because you felt you were the least suspicious of the three of you. BB8 stayed with you, but when you’d seen the man following you over your shoulder you told the droid to hide and it had zipped behind a potted plant in the corner of the foyer, beeping coyly.

You had first assumed he was a guard, perhaps about to tell you that you were in the wrong place if you were looking for a fresher, but when he stepped around you and blocked your path you quickly realized he was something else entirely. His suit, you could tell now from close up, was immensely expensive and he reeked of cologne.

There were two hallways over his shoulder, one which Poe and Temmin had gone down to meet with the contact, and the other which branched off to various parts of the greater building. Both were quiet, and so you knew not to expect any sudden interruptions that might save you the trouble of having to incapacitate the man.

But, you could easily handle one lone wolf who bit off more than he could chew.

Which was why it came as a very great surprise to you when you felt another presence behind you, but before you could do more than stiffen you felt pressure against your spine; a second man had snuck in and was pressing a knife to you. Now you understood that the first man wasn’t blocking your path; he was distracting you.

So less of a lone wolf, more of a predator with a partner. Bile rose in your throat and you glared at the man in front of you. He smirked now, taking another step toward you so that both men were almost pressed up against you, sandwiching you between them. “You’re a pretty little number.” He hissed, one hand shooting out to grab your throat.

You wanted to fight, but the knife at your back was a heavy warning of what could happen and you knew you needed to play your cards right. No pun intended. You’d been cornered before, of course, but always by First Order officers. Rich men who wanted what they couldn’t have were not on your list of experiences before this, and you wondered how best to deal with them.

“Fuck you,” You seethed, and the hand at your neck tightened fractionally. More of a threat than anything else.

His words though were a clear threat. “No, we’ll fuck you, doll.”

The way they got you onto the floor, the ease and swiftness of it, told you they’d done this together before. It sickened you, made fury rise inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to pull the knife from your holster and drive it into the hand at your throat. You made a noise, a growl, and the man with the knife finally spoke up.

“She’s a wild one, probably best to knock her out.”

You were going to kill them. Whatever happened, their blood would be soaking into this plush carpet before the end of the night. The first man moved so that he was straddling your chest, his weight on his hunches, and grinned down at you.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have our fun and be on our way. We aren’t going to hurt you so long as you don’t struggle.” He immediately contradicted himself when the hand at your throat tightened, pressing at the sides in a way that cut off airflow without completely crushing your throat. They wanted you to pass out.

You went limp, conserving your energy as you scowled up at the man. The reality of your situation was now enough to cause panic to bubble up; Poe and Temmin hadn’t been gone long. The contact would invite them for a drink, chat with them briefly before passing along the intel. They would find you here, after.

No, that couldn’t happen. It would kill Poe, and he wouldn’t be able to leave until he found the men. You whimpered, black spots started to dance in your vision and you saw, from the corner of your eye, a blur of orange and white zoom down the hallway your squadmates had ventured not long ago.

The second man was already getting excited, his free hand brushing over your face, touching your lips. Even without any air coming in, you tried to bite him. He jerked his finger back, cursing, and the man holding your throat threw his head back to laugh loudly, the pressure releasing in his distraction. You think he started to tease the other man, but everything was confusing now and instincts overtook your body, pulling in air-too much air, too quickly.

Scream.

Yes, you needed to scream. One good, long one that someone would hear, or at least loud enough to scare them off of you in case someone did come looking for the source. You kept pulling in air and it was painful your vision blurring, and you think you were about to pass out. Faces appeared in your mind. Two very distinct, very familiar faces; Charlie and Poe. Your protectors, your family, your love.

Just like that, you had what you needed to find the strength to scream.

It came out in one long, very loud wail, the sound of it echoing off of the walls and back to you before you passed out.

“POOOOOEEEEEE!”

The Martell family moved off, having given their words of sorrow and sympathy, and Charlie tightened the arm he had secured around his mother’s shoulders. She was the strong, silent type like him; whereas you always took after dad. He was keeping close to mom today, providing her with the support she needed and knowing that you were being well taken care of by the one person who could provide the tender love you required.

Charlie glanced around the room as mom took a sip of water, seeking you in the crowd. His eyes landed on Dad's green armchair in the corner, where you were curled up in Poe’s lap, face pressed into his neck as you shook with sobs. He could see his best friend whispering to you, his hand rubbing up at down your back, no doubt repeating words of comfort. He must have felt Charlie’s gaze, his eyes flicking up suddenly before he smiled sadly.

In many ways, it was a beautiful thing to behold the love which you and Poe had for one another. Even as young as you all were, no one could doubt or question that you were both made for one another-except, of course, for yourselves.

Charlie could almost be jealous if he hadn’t spent years around you and seen how natural it seemed to come to you both. He couldn’t be angry that his best friend loved you so deeply, that he knew what to do to comfort you, to care for you, knew when it was needed without Charlie even needing to ask. Hell, even dad had noticed, mentioned it to Charlie during that last visit...

Dad was smiling at Charlie, who sat in the chair next to his bed in the medical facility. It was a nice private room, the kind that the staff made a little homier because it was where the terminal patients came to live out their last days. Mom had taken you and Poe with her to get tea in the nearby lounge, leaving Charlie alone with dad one last time. He sighed, admitting to dad now that they were alone that it didn’t feel fair to lose his father at sixteen. And you were barely fourteen!

Dad chuckled sadly, “I want to stay more than you know, son. I have to tell you, Charlie, that I’m already more than proud of who you are and I know you’ll continue to be a remarkable person. I told your sister the same, but she’s still young, she’ll need more reminders,” Dad paused to take a breath and Charlie waited patiently, taking hold of one of his hands. “I know you’ll always take care of her, put her before anything else. Even the fight, it comes second to her. Though I expect you’ll have help. Wish I could have been around to see those two get married one day.”

Charlie grinned, “You noticed them too?” His father nodded, eyes bright despite the sickness. “How could anyone not, I suppose. Except them.” Charlie added, rolling his eyes fondly.

Dad laughed again, “They’ll realize it when they’re ready. You’re all too young for love anyway,” He joked, giving Charlie a mock stern look. “Just make sure that whatever they do, you focus on your own happiness too, son.”

He squeezed Charlie’s hand weakly, he smiled at his father, “I promise I’ll take care of her, dad. And mom, she’ll need me more.” Dad nodded, his eyes a little wet but so filled with love that Charlie could only stare at him for a few minutes before continuing. “You want me to beat him up when they do finally kiss, though?”

Another weak laugh, followed by a wink, and then Charlie spent a few more minutes talking with his dad for the last time, before eventually mom, you and Poe filtered back in.

He felt a lot of love and joy despite the fucking misery of it, until Dad's eyes slipped shut the final time and you all kissed him before stepping out to leave mom alone with the nurse. You were wrapped around Charlie, who had carried you out of the room, and he passed you over to Poe, asking his friend to take you home while he took care of mom. Poe pressed his forehead to Charlie’s before doing just that, his own eyes leaking tears.

Now, Charlie wondered if Poe had stopped touching you since that day. Perhaps he simply switched between carrying you and keeping his arm around your shoulders, anchoring you down in safety and love, letting you grieve while keeping you from falling too far into the darkness.

Poe met his eyes across the room, wordlessly asking ‘do you need me?’ And Charlie smiled back, shaking his head. Because Poe was already doing exactly what he needed him to, cooing softly in your ear as you trembled and cried quietly, protecting you while Charlie held up his mother and in turn, she held him up, thanking him for being strong, for loving so hard.

Charlie thought he could love as much as he wanted, it would still never compare to the love between Poe and you. It made him smile.

Poe was walking with Temmin at his side, the contact leading them through the extravagant hallways to the room where their source would pass over the intel promised to the Resistance. Intel that could help track down a man that had something the General needed. He was an ally to the Resistance, not a neutral or ‘for profit’ type but a true ally who pushed through funds for them as much as intel. Coming in person to the casino he owned, dressed to the nines in finery that felt foreign, sitting over a glass of champagne-it was the least they could do.

And Poe had to admit, the moment you’d stepped out of the fresher on the small ship Black squad had taken to come to Canto Bight, he’d become gleeful over the necessity to dress up. Because you were gorgeous, dazzlingly so in a golden, glittering dress, your legs bare, hair styled loose, a touch of make-up on your face. He thought you were so beautiful, and he wanted to tell you but didn’t trust himself to say it right, so he’d grinned before turning away and letting out a low whistle. Calling ‘looking good, sweetheart’ over his shoulder.

They were approaching a large, ornate door that the man leading them gestured toward, indicating their contact was on the other side. Poe thanked him for his help, but before he could move the final steps to the door a familiar sound suddenly entered the hall; BB8 was zooming towards him, beeping frantically.

Exchanging a curious look with Temmin, Poe dropped down to one knee as the droid rolled to a stop before him. Despite Poe’s fluency in binary, he was only catching words due to the panicked, too-fast rate at which the droid communicated. He gathered ‘attack’ and ‘knife’ and wondered if BB8 was telling him you had stabbed someone.

It wouldn’t have been the first time on a mission you’d done so.

“Buddy, slow down, I can’t understand you,” Poe hushed the droid, “Say it again, slower.”

The droid repeated itself, slowly.

Poe was moving before he finished. “Captain, go in without me. BB8, stay with him.” He ordered over his shoulder. He heard Temmin’s worried affirmative reply. And then he was running, faster than he had in his entire existence, blood roaring in his ears. Poe ran because the message was clear.

You were being attacked.

And he didn’t like how BB8 had phrased it, saying you ‘couldn’t breathe'. He didn’t know if he was about to find you with Storm Troopers or undercover First Order fighters, but regardless being unable to breathe didn’t sound like their usual treatment of suspected Rebels. It only drove him to run faster through the twisting hallway, forgetting his expensive clothing or even the importance of remaining undercover, his focus solely on you now.

You had offered to stay behind. Because it was the best option, and Canto Bight was an easy enough place to blend in. So who had made you?

Poe half expected to round the final corner up ahead and find you waiting for him with your enemy incapacitated, or otherwise in a standoff he would have to join in on the fight with.

He never expected anything like what was about to happen.

Before he reached the end of the hall, an ear-splitting shriek filled the air and Poe’s veins turned to ice, his breath catching.

“POOOOOEEEEEE!”

You had never made a sound like that before in your life, and blind, all-consuming rage overtook every facet of Poe’s being-whoever, whatever, made you scream like that was about to fucking die. He came tearing around the corner and his eyes fell on the most gut-wrenching, heart-stopping sight-you, laying still on the floor as a man straddled your chest, one hand wrapped around your throat. A second man stood next to you; both men had their backs to Poe and appeared to be watching you...

Were you dying? Dead?

They didn’t hear Poe coming, neither of them even turned around when he pulled the knife from the inner pocket of his jacket and leapt at the standing man. He slit his throat without thought, already looking toward the man still straddling you, who had released his hold on your neck to peer around curiously. He looked just in time to see his friend collapse to the floor, had enough time to jump back in fear, mouth opening in horror.

It didn’t matter, though. His futile attempt to block Poe only served to aid his aim, so that the knife he slashed out could be thrust down and into the soft flesh between his collarbone and throat. Poe snarled, slamming him back into the wall to ensure he didn’t fall onto you, before yanking the knife out and finishing him off with a firm swipe of the blade over his throat, cutting through the tendons and blinking when a spray of blood landed on him.

Stashing the knife back into his pocket and glancing up at the closed door, Poe stumbled forward and dropped to his knees next to you, adrenaline coursing through his body and keeping his hand steady as he sought out your pulse point. He could already see bruising bleeding over the soft skin of your throat, darkening it, and he felt his rage ebb away into a panic so severe that he almost missed the steady beat of your heart.

“Oh fuck,” He gasped out, a modicum of relief seeping through the panic. He scooped you up quickly, spinning around and making his way toward the hallway opposite the one he’d just come from. He groaned when he realized he wasn’t sure where to go, which door led to an exit-you had the entire place memorized. But you were breathing steadily in his arms, still passed out, and Poe needed to follow his gut on this because you’re life depended on him getting you to the safety of the ship.

He couldn’t cut through the casino, so he opted to simply try each door in the hall ahead until one of them lead to a room with a window he could climb out of. Kare was waiting on the ship, he could send her in as backup once he was out. It was the second door that he shouldered through that lead to him gasp in relief-it led onto a patio, on the ground floor. He glanced around, confirming no one was in sight before tearing off at a run, holding you tight in his arms. Everything was happening in such a blur.

He tapped on his comm, “Kare! Please tell me we have bacta shots on the ship.”

Her voice crackled through in alarm, “What’s happened? We only have spray-“

“Shit!” He growled, “I’m coming back with the Major-she was attacked, get out the medkit and prepare to head to the casino and wait outside for Temmin, he needs to have a backup-“

“You got it, Commander!” She replied swiftly before the line went dead and he knew she’d have switched over to Temmin’s channel to give him the update.

When Poe boarded the ship a few minutes later, Kare was waiting at the top of the ramp and gasped at the sight of you in his arm, passed out. She paused, eyes on Poe “Whose blood is that, Commander?”

“It’s not hers,” Poe replied, setting you down on the only bed the tiny ship had and picking up the medical kit Kare had left out for him, “I killed two men. Make sure Temmin and BB8 get back here with the intel, I’ll have the ship ready to depart.” She confirmed she heard him before running down the ramp and out of sight.

Poe set to work quickly, first tugging a rolled blanket from the end of the bed and covering you with it, then seeking out your pulse to confirm it was still beating steadily. He then uncapped the bacta spray and gently tilted your head back; exposing your heavily bruised throat, and carefully opening your mouth.

“Oh my sweet girl,” He sobbed out, first spraying into your open mouth so that the spray would drip down into your throat and reduce the swelling, then again to the outside skin. It would help, he comforted himself, “My sweet, sweet girl, I’m here. I’ve got you, please, please be okay.” He pleaded, his voice a strained whisper as he stroked your hair gently off of your face, waiting for the spray to do its work. He thinks he kept talking, while his eyes watched your face, every second torture until he saw movement behind your eyelids.

“Mmm,” You moaned out a strangled sound, your face tightening as you registered the pain. Your eyes suddenly snapped open and he saw panic flash there, a fear he’d never seen on your face before that shattered his heart right in his chest.

“Baby,” He whispered, bringing his face over yours so you could see him clearly, “It’s me, I’ve got you, sweet girl. We’re on the ship, we’re safe.” He promised you, dropping his hand to hold yours under the blanket. You gazed at him for a second, then dropped your eyes to search over him and he glanced down, realizing he was...still covered in blood.

“Ah-okay?” You wheezed, your voice was scratchy, but your brows pinched together in an expression that cleared up your meaning.

“I’m fine,” He assured you, leaning down at pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t try to speak until we get you looked at, okay? Does anything else hurt?”

He drew back to watch your face, but you shook your head slightly to indicate you were okay. He cupped your cheeks then, needing to touch you, to feel you alive and warm under his now trembling fingers. You noticed his shaky hands, one of your own coming out from beneath the blanket to reach up and stroke his jaw.

A shuddering, retched sob tore out of him as you did this familiar comforting gesture, attempting to ease his pain when you were the one that had been harmed. Tears no longer threatened, but spilled from his eyes as he leaned over you, his face inches from yours, “My sweet girl, y-you scared me, there, thought I-I-“ He broke off, unable to even say the words. You kept caressing his jaw, the motion soothing to you as well, he gathered from the expression on your face. “I killed them. Both.” He admitted. You responded by merely widening your eyes slightly, then shutting them in understanding.

He watched you for a few moments, then let his own eyes shut as he lowered his head and pressed his forehead to yours, trying to reign in his emotions so that he could get the ship ready to go home. He pulled back when you attempted to speak again, your voice a little clearer thanks to the spray.

“L-love you.”

Poe ran his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the tears that spilled, “I love you,” He replied, turning his head and pressing his lips to your hand, “So, so much, my lovely girl.”

When Tahla had first walked onto the ship after Temmin and Kare had successfully landed back on base at D’Qar, his expression was so fraught with concern you’d squeaked a little from your spot on the bed, wanting to tell him you were fine despite your voice box rejecting the attempt. Poe had disappeared into the cockpit with Temmin and Kare when they finally boarded the ship on Canto Bight, BB8 in tow, and you think he must have overstated your injury when he’d called into base.

“Well, that sounded extraordinarily wretched, let me take a look,” Tahla joked, his features relaxing, and he sat at your side on the bed. Poe was behind you now, his body acting as your pillow, a comforting position he’d taken up the moment the ship landed and the rest of Black team had departed to get the intel to the General. “This is going to be uncomfortable, but try not to make noise, okay?” His eyes were on Poe when he spoke at first, dropping to you when he posed the question. You nodded your understanding and decided to lose yourself in thought as he gently started feeling along your throat.

When you first came to, the only thing you had been aware of was the pain in your throat. You’d felt movement at your side and panicked, thinking you were still under attack, only when you opened your eyes you instead met the most heart-wrenching sight of your life; Poe covered in blood, looking down at you pale and panicked, his eyes wide with fear. Seeing him like that hurt worse than the pain in your throat, though that was certainly in a strong second place.

When he admitted he killed the men, you regretted only that you hadn’t been able to fight them off yourself, or at least been able to help him take them down. You didn’t want all of that to sit on his shoulders. You comforted yourself at the moment by telling him you loved him, testing the words on your tongue, despite knowing he would take them at their usual meaning and not how you truly meant them now.

But you could wait a little longer to tell him properly.

“Alright, Major. The good news is that you’re going to be okay and the spray will combat any long-term damage to your vocal cords,” Tahla was looking into your mouth now, a light shining in his hand as he inspected your throat. “Bad news is that I can’t administer a Bacta shot this far into the injury, so you’ll have to allow it to heal on its own over the next couple of days.”

“F-fuck.” You stammered, and Poe’s hands, which were clasping your shoulders, tightened fractionally in response. A silent, loving, admonishment. Tahla laughed, stowing away his light before giving you a final once over.

His eyes moved up, meeting Poe’s instead, “That’s not your blood, right?”

“No,” Poe replied, his voice quiet, “No. I killed them. BB8 found me, told me (y/n) was being attacked. They were...I didn’t hesitate.”

Fuck, he sounded so dark and haunted, you wanted to take away his worry, take away whatever memories he had now from the attack. You were tired though, your eyes beginning to droop now that you were home and safe and in the clear of any permanent damage. Tahla gave Poe a nod that suggested his approval over Poe’s handling of the men who attacked you, his eyes darkening for a moment, and then your eyes closed completely.

Poe’s hands immediately moved, adjusting you in his arms. How he was able to tell you were ready to sleep you’d never know. He was lifting you before you could even consider offering to just walk since your legs worked just fine. But you let yourself curl into his hold instead, your face pressing into his neck. He began to walk and you let the gentle motions soothe you further, lulling you towards sleep.

Tahla spoke from somewhere behind your head, where he walked next to Poe, “I’m going to give her a few days off, pull her from the field for a week minimum-I’ll check on her in five days, see if her voice is good enough for the field.”

“Listen, man, thank you for coming. I know it’s overstepping to demand a specific Healer-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Tahla interrupted, “I’m glad you did ask for me. Scared the hell out of me though, Poe.”

Poe sighed, “Sorry about that.” He didn’t elaborate even though you wanted him to explain why he’d caused Tahla to panic, what he’d said to have your friend run into the ship like he thought your head was about to fall off.

You also wanted to thank Tahla for coming, but you were too sleepy. Instead, you let the way Poe carried you to ease you closer and closer to the blissful release of sleep, not realizing until you heard a door whoosh open that the Healer was gone. Poe lowered you onto something soft and you peeked out beneath your eyelashes to find you were in his room.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” He murmured, pulling his blanket from where it was folded at the base of his bed to cover you, his hands still shaky. You reached for him then, grabbing hold of his hand, and Poe stilled, gazing down at you. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You cleared your throat carefully and kept your voice as low as possible when you spoke. “Sta-y with me.” You saw the words hit him, his tension releasing so quickly that you think he nearly collapsed as he joined you on the bed, laying cautiously next to you. The only part of him that touched you was where your hand had grabbed him; now, you tugged him closer and shuffled, burrowing into his side and tucking your head into his neck.

You didn’t care that he was bloody or you were both still dressed in the fancy clothing-you just wanted him close. Needed him, not only for yourself but also for him, so that he knew you weren’t upset with him in any way, so that he couldn’t lick his wounds alone and convince himself that he messed up.

You needed him to know that you still trusted him. Always would.

He shifted so that he could circle his arms around you, holding you tight against him and breathing steadily, hard enough that you knew he was fighting off tears again. Your poor, kind-hearted Poe. He took things so hard, loved so fiercely. You didn’t understand how you deserved him when you were young or now. You just felt so fucking safe now, he was all-encompassing safety and love and you wondered again how you could have thought badly of him, to ever have run away.

“Sweet girl,” He started murmuring again, whispers as he stroked one hand over your hair soothingly. You weren’t sure if he knew you were still awake, it had been so long. You remained still, hoping he would never stop speaking so sweetly to you, letting his words lull you. “My brave, beautiful girl. So strong. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again. I love you, maker I love you...”

You wanted to say it back, but you fell asleep to the soothing rumble of his chest as he caressed you in the night, rocking away your nightmares and keeping you every bit as safe as he promised.

Poe woke early, light only just filtering in his thin window because he was too warm. At first, he was confused as to why he felt so restricted, so heavy until he looked down.

Stars.

You were tangled around him as he lay on his back, your arm hugged around his waist, head resting just below his sternum, legs entwined with his own. And he was still wearing his suit, the fabric not as breathable as his flight suit, and tighter too. As he gazed down at you, still peacefully asleep, further warmth pooled in his chest and belly.

‘Stay with me.’

Maker, three words and you knocked him clean over and he was ready right then to tell you he would never leave your side again if you asked him not to. But he’d managed to reign himself in slightly before curling around you protectively, unable to keep himself from touching you in gentle, soothing motions. He’d fallen asleep faster than he’d thought he would.

Now, he realized that if you woke up you would find him still covered in the blood of the men he’d killed. He needed to get himself into his fresher and clean up. With slow movements, he was able to extract himself from your grip and climb from the bed. He covered you in the blanket so the temperature change wouldn’t go as noticed and wake you up. He watched you for a minute as you slept, then quietly grabbed a pen and piece of paper, jotting a note down in case you woke up.

‘In the shower. Don’t leave, please.’

He set it next to you on his bed, then grabbed some clean clothing and stepped into his fresher, the door closing behind him silently. He bypassed his mirror, not interested in seeing how he looked, and went straight into the shower, turning on the water and flinching at the brief burst of cold before the temperature evened out. He scrubbed himself clean and avoided looking at the floor, at the swirling blood and grime disappearing into the drain. He had enough images in his head. It wasn’t that he hadn’t killed before, because he most certainly had-both from his x-wing and in ground combat. But he had never taken a life so viciously, so intimately. And it wasn’t how quickly he’d done it that scared him, it was how okay with it all he was.

They were hurting you, at the time he’d thought they’d killed you, he had no choice. No option but to end them.

He considered working in the field with you now, what that would look like. Would he start throwing himself in front of you and breaking protocol as he had in the woods of Takodana? Like he’d gotten angry at you for doing all that time ago when you’d first come back to D’Qar and had taken out that Stormtrooper with his gun levelled at Poe’s head? Was the fight...

Maker.

Was it worth losing you for?

The answer came fast; no, no it wasn’t. And that scared him because he’d always been ready to die for the cause, for the Resistance, to abolish the tyranny of the First Order. You and Charlie and he had all grown up with that single mindset, to get old enough to join and then fight until the war ended or you died.

And now all he could think was that he would rather lose the war a thousand times over than lose you.

When he stepped out of his shower and dried off, Poe was reeling. He was going through the motions-pulling on his socks, his shorts, his favourite tee. But internally he was reminding himself of everything he’d accomplished as a Resistance fighter. Of everything you had. Even after losing Charlie, you both kept fighting without question, for him, for yourselves, for the cause.

But...wasn’t the saying in your family that family came first, then the fight, and then everything else? When had he lost sight of that and forgotten that with great love came the equally great threat of losing it? But he couldn’t just leave, would never even consider it, no and he knew you wouldn’t, not for him or anything. There was nothing in the entire galaxy that would make you stop fighting. Which left Poe with the greatest question of all-what the hell was he going to do?

He didn’t have an answer, not even a vague idea, so he tabled the internal battle he was waging and stepped out of his fresher to check on you. His heart stuttered in his chest when he found you splayed across his bed, head hidden under his pillow, one leg kicked out from under the covers. You had always looked so peaceful when you slept, and memories surface of the countless times growing up, waking in your bed and watching you sleep. He’d usually wake up before you, sometimes he’d sneak out to hang out with Charlie, other times he’d enjoy the quiet and calm of your room.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was to wake you up, and so Poe made his way to his dresser to search through options for you to wear. Even the idea of you going alone into your room to shower and change made his heart drop, his need to keep you safe and close was so great. He picked out one of his shirts, a pair of athletic shorts you could tighten the waist of, and after much debate with himself, a pair of his briefs. He’d let you decide if you were going to wear them-he just wanted you to have the option.

He went into his fresher and set the clothing on the vanity, starting a little when he emerged and found you watching him with bleary eyes. He smiled tentatively, suddenly nervous under your gaze, but after a small pause your face lit up, eyes brightening and smile wide, melting his heart in his chest.

“Good morning,” Poe sat down on the bed next to you, brushing a hand over your face to wipe away stray hairs, “Try not to speak too much, sweetheart.” He gently reminded you, his eyes dropping to your darkened throat.

You made a face, scrunching your nose, and Poe chuckled softly. He watched you yawn before pushing yourself up, moving to sit next to him and raising your hand to tentatively touch your throat. You winced before flicking your gaze up to meet his, offering a small smile, “Hi,” It was raspy and quiet, dry enough that he realized you needed some water. He leaned over and grabbed a glass bottle from his mini-fridge, handing it over to your waiting hand.

He watched you gulp the water down in small bursts, happy to see swallowing didn’t appear to cause you too much discomfort. “How do you feel?”

“M’fine,”

“You up for a shower?” Poe asked, and your eyes widened slightly in response and he started sputtering immediately, heat flushing his cheeks, “I mean-you can shower, I uh, that is, I put some clothes in there for you-and I will wait here. I showered already.”

Stars, he felt about fifteen all of the sudden, embarrassment flooding him over his unintentionally suggestive phrasing. He scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, glancing at you to find you holding in your laughter, amusement evident in your expression.

Poe rolled his eyes, recovering himself, “Very funny,” But he laughed, cheered by the smile on your face as you climbed out of his bed and made your way into his fresher. Your dress was crumpled and flat from sleeping in it, and your hair a tousled mess.

Even still, you were truly beautiful.

You looked over your shoulder at Poe before closing the door to the fresher, and he patted the bed, “I’ll be right here if you need anything.” He assured you, and a wave of relief flashed over your face as you shut the door.

Poe got out of bed, taking the time you were showering to tidy his room, including making the bed. He thought about everything that had happened and realized he wasn’t even remotely aware of whether the intel had proven as useful as the ally had claimed, having passed it off to Temmin and Kare to get into Leia’s hands. The fact that his droid hadn’t returned however told Poe that BB8 must be helping to decipher the intel, and Poe reasoned he could find out once he’d taken care of you.

When he heard the water shut off in the fresher, he started to fret over how to best do just that. He supposed it would be ideal for you to remain in the quiet space of his room, where you could avoid speaking too often or loudly. He wanted to keep you close...but then the doubt crept in and he began to question whether you would even want to stay with him, or if he was already being too overbearing. Maybe you were right now looking at the clothing he left out for you and shaking your head.

The fresher door opened a few minutes later, as Poe was tying on his boots, eager to get food from the dining hall and bring it back to the room for you both. “Anything you want from-uh...” He froze, eyes landing on you dressed in his clothing, his shirt much too large and-and you’d decided to only put on the briefs, the tighter fabric only just peeking out below the hem of his shirt.

Poe hadn’t thought of a chest band, not until this very moment when he could see your full breasts outlined against the light grey fabric. He swallowed, dropping his eyes to the floor as heat crawled up his neck.

If you noticed his reaction, you didn’t comment. You crawled back onto his bed, pulling a throw blanket over your legs before settling into the cushions happily, “Pancakes. Definitely pancakes, please.” You whispered, voice slightly improved now that you had some water.

It was entirely without thought that Poe leaned across his bed and placed a gentle kiss to your temple, before jumping up and promising to return with all the pancakes he could carry.

Poe sat with his drink held firm in his hand, his eyes flicking around the crowd before he sighed and settled back into his seat. The usual table, though this was the first time he’d been back to the Cantina since the funeral. Tommy and Rico had asked him a few times, of course, but he’d refused, never feeling quite ready to return.

Today though...he’d come because it was your birthday.

He’d have a drink for you. Even though he had no idea where in the fucking galaxy you’d gone.

And it wasn’t for lack of trying, but no matter who he went to, no one could or would give him your new assignment. You’d been clever and covered your tracks enough that you made sure anyone who would have helped Poe couldn’t see your assignment.

He’d never been more miserable in his life, never more angry with himself. He’d said awful shit to you and then disappeared for a few days to collect his head, thinking of how he’d apologize.

He’d wanted to tell you he loved you.

Instead, he broke your heart.

And you up and left before he could even begin to start making amends.

He was on his last possible source at this point, a person he hadn’t even wanted to go to. But Vanya had been kind to Poe, said she could try and see if anyone she was close with had the access needed. He told her he’d be here tonight, having a drink in your honour, if she wanted to stop by and let him know how she’d got along.

He just needed to find you, and then he would say everything he should have before, apologize to you and promise to make it up to you for the rest of his fucking life. He missed you so much it hurt, it hurt more than losing Charlie. You had disappeared in a way that almost made it feel like you had died as well.

He was starting to feel dead inside.

He glanced up, seeking Vanya out, and met the eyes of a woman at a nearby table, who shot him a friendly smile. He gave her what was probably more of a grimace in return, dropping his eyes to his drink. He wasn’t sure he was ready for...anything like that.

After a moment, he looked back up and saw Vanya walk in. She spotted him and waved, beginning to make her way over. As she grew closer, Poe could see the hard set to her jaw and felt his heart sink into his stomach-he could already tell she’d been unsuccessful.

When she sat down across from him, she heaved a great sigh, her eyes casting downward to look at her hands. “I’m sorry,” She looked up at him after a moment when he made no reply, “She’s smart, didn’t leave a lot to chance.”

Poe waved his hand, “It’s not your fault in the least, Vanya. I appreciate you trying.”

“I’m sure she’ll come back, once she’s grieved enough, had a chance to think things through.”

He wanted to laugh, but instead only grunted, “You didn’t get a chance to know her, but she’s more stubborn than...” He broke off and rubbed a hand over his face. Vanya’s face had fallen as the unspoken name sat between them, and he felt a surge of sadness for her-she had really loved Charlie. “I said...well, I don’t blame her for leaving. It’s already been a couple of months, she’s not coming back. I just wish one person in this fucking place could tell me more than ‘she’s alive.’.”

Vanya leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she bobbed her head in agreement, eyes kind, “Poe I saw you-both of you-that night when we first met here. I saw the way you looked at each other-“

Poe tried not to glare, frowning into his drink, “Yeah? And what do you think you know now?”

Vanya ignored his tone, unbothered, “I saw how in love you both were. That kind of love...it doesn’t go away. Not forever. She’ll come back.” And with that, Vanya dipped her head and let loose a wave of fresh tears as thoughts of how Charlie was never coming back sat in the air.

He reached across the table automatically and took her hand, squeezing. “I’m sorry, Vanya. Look, thank you for everything. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me, alright?”

She smiled then, her eyes misty, but remarkably already recovering from her emotional moment, just the kind of tough lady Charlie loved. With a farewell hug, Vanya departed and left Poe alone at the table again. He sat for a minute, his drink nearly finished, and thought of all the times he sat here and took for granted what he had. Silently, he wished you a happy birthday wherever you were in the universe and hoped you weren’t even half as lonely and miserable as he was.

When he finally looked up again, the pretty woman at the table not far from his caught his eye again, and this time he smiled more broadly at her, tilting his head in question. She gestured at the seat next to her and after only a brief pause, Poe decided it was time to give himself a break from the monotony of grief and pain and loneliness and just escape for a few hours.

He joined the woman, Smiling in a way that didn’t feel real at all.

“This is nice, me getting to talk and talk with absolutely no interruptions-“

Tahla flinched when you kicked him under the table, and you stifled a giggle. Stars, it wasn’t as painful as when you’d woken up last night, but your throat still hurt. It was stinging, scratchy sort of pain when you made too much noise, but you found you’d been able to hold a low conversation with your friend over the past hour with minimal issues. It was just the laughing that did you in.

Poe had reluctantly dropped you off to the dining hall for an early dinner after you’d spent a good ten minutes convincing him you could handle going to dinner. He’d then been called away by BB8 to see the General, and you’d watched him actually contemplate what to do. It had almost been funny, but it also made butterflies erupt in your stomach-not for the first time that day. You shooed him away with the promise that you’d seek out Tahla or Temmin so that you wouldn’t be alone.

He’d been so attentive since you woke up, setting out clothing, then by bringing you breakfast and lunch and confining you to lounge on his bed all day. Despite your injury, it had kind of been one of the best days you’d had in years. It had felt a lot like old times, curled up in bed with Poe. The silence was comfortable as you read and he typed up his mission report, though the emotions running through you were entirely new.

It was a lot, emotionally, the last twenty-four hours. As traumatizing as your attack was, you felt like you were being best-taken care of by Poe and felt a little overwhelmed at how good he made you feel. He sensed everything you needed, right down to catching you when you’d be stuck on a page for a little too long, your thoughts turning inward, and he’d press a soft kiss to your hair, run his hand over your jaw, whisper sweet words of comfort.

You wanted to comfort him, too, for having to do what he did. For having to suffer through the worry of how injured you were and if you would recover. You didn’t know how to make him feel better, exactly, but you sensed that the more he took care of you the better he felt in turn, so you allowed him to fret more than was necessary.

And every time he touched you? Well, that was the thing, now that you’d encountered darkness where, for just a few moments you thought you were going to die, you realized you needed to tell him how you felt, finally. You weren’t sure how to bring it up, though, and ended up going back and forth in your head all day trying to decide.

“Lost in your head again, kid.” Tahla’s hand came to rest over yours from across the table; you glanced up from staring into your soup to meet his gaze. He looked extraordinarily understanding considering this wasn’t the first time it had happened during this dinner.

“Sorry. I guess I-I’ve never been attacked like that before. I’ve had, you know, guys pinch my ass or whatever and had no problem kicking the shit out of them if Charlie or Poe didn’t get to them first, but this was...” You trailed off and ran a hand over your face, then sipped your water to help soothe your throat as you spoke. “This wasn’t enemy forces, this wasn’t some guy in a cantina too many drinks in with a shit moral compass. This was-“

“Attempted assault,” Tahla said bluntly, squeezing your hand again. You gulped, then nodded, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry that you went through that, (y/n), I really am. I wish I could say something more insightful.”

You sighed heavily, waving off his concern, “The worst part is that I passed out before I could...and Poe didn’t say what he did, but I saw Temmin’s face when he was getting off the ship last night. I don’t care how he killed them, I just hate that I couldn’t help, that I couldn’t take away some of the responsibility from him.” You had another couple spoonfuls of your dinner, eyes on Tahla as he thought over your words.

“You know,” He began slowly, tapping his free hand on the table, “Poe basically said the same thing to me when he got me on comms last night. That he wished he’d prevented you from being hurt at all, that he failed in protecting you. He was so worked up, so upset, I thought you were close to death. He really loves you.”

Setting down your spoon with a clang, you sat up straighter before, quietly, replying. “Of course he does, and I love him. We’re a team, one of the best. We get the job done, always have. That’s why I’m freaking out, Tahla,” You flinched as your voice raised too high and your throat burned. You switched to a whisper, “He dropped everything mid-mission to save me, then brought me to the ship. He still...He sent in Kare, but it wasn’t exactly protocol.”

Tahla suddenly grinned at you in a bright, knowing sort of way that made you want to kick him again. Your scowl gave you away, “Don’t kick me, I’m just...I can’t believe you don’t see it. Don’t you realize-aren’t you in love with him?”

You blinked across the table; were you that obvious? If Tahla was calling you out, did that mean others, Poe, had figured you out? “Kriff, Tahla, why are you always so fucking blunt.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You glanced around wearily to ensure you wouldn’t be overheard, “I am, but I just got him back so I’m trying to time it-”

“Maker, I bet he tells himself the same thing and that’s why you’ve both been so fucking blind. You realize he cut down your attackers with his knife?” You stared at Tahla in surprise, “Then he carried you back to your ship and freaked the fuck out until he got you here, not to mention how he told the Healer on call to go to hell and only send me to look at you?”

“I-I, but-“ You gaped. You’d known some of the pieces, of course, but hadn’t realized the extent of Poe's panic.

Tahla laughed, not unkindly, “You want to know what we all used to say back home growing up?” He didn’t wait for your reply, seeming to understand from the expression on your face that words didn’t exist for you right now, “We said, ‘never mess with Poe’s girl’. Remember when Gus broke up with you, said some rude shit to you? Well, he ended up with a black eye for it. Poe’s always loved you. And since I’ve been here these past few weeks, it’s like you two are already a couple.”

You still didn’t know how to reply, so you were incredibly grateful when his pager went off and he glanced down before releasing your hand. With an apologetic smile, he began to stand, and you joined him-no longer hungry-and met him around the table. He pulled you in for a hug, his face schooled to a more neutral look when you pulled back slightly to peer up at him.

“Thanks for everything, Tahla. I’ll be sad when you leave next week.” You admitted softly, and his smile grew.

Leaning down, Tahla pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek and then turned his head slightly to whisper in your ear. “I’ll come back for the wedding, of course.”

And with that, he pulled back, winked at you, and then walked off toward the far doors of the dining hall. You had half a mind to follow him and kick him just for the hell of it, the cheeky bastard, but instead, you pushed your seat in and turned to head back to your room, hoping Poe would be done with the General and would give you an update.

When you walked into the hallway and spotted Poe coming along, a weirdly decisive sensation seemed to settle in your stomach, solidifying the moment his eyes found yours from several feet away. His face broke into a relieved, wide grin and that was it, that was the final cord snapped.

It was almost funny.

You saw a modicum of confusion knit his brows together when you suddenly marched towards him, jaw set because you were trying to reign in the intense emotions now bubbling up inside of you. “Sweetheart?” He said, frowning further when you grabbed his arm and started toward the direction of your rooms. You didn’t speak, afraid of opening your mouth and just word-vomiting every thought you’d ever had, and so you pulled him along silently.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him assessing you, trying to figure out what set you off, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth as he considered. When you got to the first empty hallway, you couldn’t contain yourself any longer. You halted, releasing his arm and spinning to face him straight on. Poe opened his mouth, but before he could ask you a question, it just...came out.

“I love you,” You sighed it, lower than you’d have liked to say it because of your damaged vocal cords, but he heard you. You knew because he stiffened like a board and his open mouth slackened almost comically. “I-I’m in love with you, Poe Dameron, and I always have been and I can’t hold it in any longer.”

You bit your lip to prevent yourself from babbling, holding his wide-eyed gaze steadily. Finally saying it aloud was about a million times better than it had felt to simply admit it to yourself. You felt like you could float away just for getting the truth out, though a level of anxiety began to grow the longer he stood silent before you. But you knew his eyes, every expression they’d ever held, and you could see that he was processing your words, that they grew brighter and brighter until movement caught your eye and you glanced down to see his fingers twitch, and then he was moving.

Poe reached up and caught your face gently in his hands, closing the distance between you both so that your bodies were pressed together. He gazed at you in wonder for a moment. “Oh my sweet girl,” He crooned softly, and you were melting into his touch, your heart was surely about to burst now, and then- “I have loved you in every eternity that has ever been, and will ever be. You are everything, sweetheart, everything to me. I should have...should have told you so many times before this.”

And then Poe Dameron slotted his lips over yours and kissed you deeply like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it. It was like coming home. You were rooted to the ground now, his kiss anchoring you, his gentle caress over your cheeks sending fire into your veins that conflicted with the euphoria in your mind.

Because Poe, your Poe, was kissing you. Handsome, tall, broad and strong Poe. Your best friend, your soulmate, was kissing you and you didn’t think you could ever stop now. Your lips parted for him the same moment he did for you, and then you were tasting him and Stars, did he ever taste good. Like home-warm, a smouldering fire on a rainy evening. You knew he liked what he found in kissing you when he groaned lightly, his hands settling at the back of your neck and pressing you closer against him, deepening the kiss as your tongues danced, and you whimpered in response.

With a gasp, Poe pulled back and you saw more than love and adoration on his face, now you saw desire too. Real, heated desire.

And fuck, that pollen had absolutely nothing going for it, you saw that now. Seeing just a sliver of what desire truly looked like on his face, you knew it had all been a huge illusion brought on by the poison, during that mission. You were burning under his gaze now, every cell of your body alight and happy to surrender, responding to him before he’d barely moved. His hands were still on you and you realized yours were in fists at your sides so you reached up and did something you’d always wanted to do-sinking them into his curls.

“Fuck,” He rumbled the moment you gave a slight tug, his eyes fluttering closed briefly, a twitch appearing in his jaw. When he looked at you again you swear you burst into flames. “We need to...talk. In my room.” Before you could reply, he stooped and clasped his hands to the back of your thighs, lifting, and you realized he wanted to carry you.

And you were going to fucking let him. You pressed yourself against Poe and allowed him to guide your legs to wrap around his waist, whimpering again when his hands gripped your hips tightly. You leaned forward, wanting to kiss him. You could see how determined he was to focus, to get to the privacy of his room. You nipped along his jaw as he hurried along, grateful the halls were quiet but truly you wouldn’t have cared if he bowled people over at this point. His hands flexed as you kissed him, pressed you even closer against him when you lightly sucked on a spot on his neck that tasted as delicious as it looked.

“Stars, Poe,” You whispered, playing with his hair still. “I love you so much.”

“Let m-me show you, how fucking much I love you, sweet girl.” He panted in response, stepping through the doorway to his room and laying you onto his bed. The door shut and locked at his command, sealing you into the privacy of his quarters. He pulled back to gaze down at you, eyes wide, then reached up with one hand to very lightly trace along your neck. “And no one is ever going to touch you again.”

He said it with such strength and conviction you could only nod, even though it was a tall promise to make given the lives you lived. Because you believed him; that he meant he would do anything in his power to keep you safe. When he lowered himself down over you and started to kiss you again, you relaxed entirely for probably the first time in your life.

Burning never felt so good.

Poe was kissing you. You were kissing Poe. It was, it had to be, a dream. But if it was a dream how could it feel so intense and real and right? How could kissing you possibly be as perfect as this? He felt like he was whole again-like his heart tripled in size the moment you told him you were in love with him and then every moment with his lips pressed to yours only continued to make it grow.

Yesterday he’d almost lost you, or at least thought he had, and now you were tangling your fingers in his hair and moaning underneath him as you kissed, your body trembling. He’d never been as hard as quickly in his fucking life, could feel himself pulsing where he was pressed against your leg. He wanted to be embarrassed but the look on your face when he’d dropped you onto the bed told him you were thinking the same thing as he was now, just as overwhelmed and needy to get as close as possible, skin to skin. To finally tear down every single barrier-mental and physical-between you and come together, be together.

Which was probably why it seemed to take no time to rip one another’s clothes off until Poe was only in his briefs and you were left in the briefs he’d given you that morning to wear.

“Oh sweetheart,” He murmured, his eyes running over your every dip and curve and swell, the smoothness of your skin calling to him. He was laving his tongue over your nipple the first time you cried out, the sound strangled and broken enough that he pulled back and looked at you closely. “You can’t be loud, sweet girl. I want you to, trust me, but you have to be a good girl. We don’t want to hurt your voice any more than it already is, okay?”

“O-okay, I’ll try.”

Poe hummed, “Tell me the moment you want to stop. We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable-”

You slid one hand out of his hair and dropped it between your bodies as he was speaking, coming to grip his length over his underwear. Poe broke off with a hiss, automatically thrusting into your hold. “I’ve b-been waiting my whole life for you, Poe Dameron.” You sighed, releasing his erection and tracing your hand along the planes of his stomach and chest. “Never stop. I’m yours and I never want to stop.”

A possessive feeling, one that had always lingered in the background when Poe was with you, increased tenfold at your words, further driven by what had happened yesterday. He growled before capturing your mouth in another, more fierce kiss, his tongue exploring you as he ground his hips down a little.

When he finally pulled back, you were gasping and even more flushed, your chest heaving as you looked at him. “You’re mine,” He repeated, bracing one arm on the bed and trailing the other down to tease over your centre, dipping below the band of his briefs. “I’m yours, too, sweet girl.” And he locked eyes with you as he pushed two fingers inside of you, gasping out at the blissed-out, contained moan you allowed yourself and the feel of how tight and wet you were.

Your hips bucked when he pressed in deep and curled his fingers, playing with you until he found a spot within that made you just about shoot off of the bed. With a wicked grin, he started to tease that spot and watched your face as you came undone bit by bit for him.

It was the most vivid, raw experience of his entire life. Every single moment soaked into his mind and became a permanent, detailed memory-your little whines and pleas, the roll of your hips, the heat of your slick and how he could smell you, just the right amount of sweetness. It was all so much more than the sex you’d had during the pollen exposure. Every other sense had been cut down and pushed back during that, but now they were all operating on full levels and it felt so right. It enabled Poe to work you through to your orgasm with ease all the while just about ready to cum in his underwear as he did.

“Shit, you are fucking beautiful, sweet girl,” He moaned, adjusting the arm he was bracing himself with so that he could clamp that hand over your mouth. He sensed you were close, could feel your tight walls clenching, and wanted to protect you from harming yourself if you forgot you couldn’t scream. “Cum for me-I’ve imagined it so many times, need to see you cum for real, for me. I’ll keep you safe, go ahead, let go.”

He felt your lips part behind his hand, then your entire body went rigid and you came hard, back arching until a significant amount of wetness soaked his hand, and the bed, and you started to whine and shake from the intensity of it all. Poe growled as you came, glancing down in wonder to see more wetness pool and realizing you were squirting, and he hadn’t known you could do that.

“Fuck, baby, is that for me? You perfect little thing, you are the hottest fucking woman. Holy shit!”

You slumped into the mattress with a huge breath, the warm air hitting his hand and he moved it so that you could catch your breath. With care he slowly removed his fingers from you, looking from your blissed-out expression to your soaked underwear, to your essence all over his hand. He quickly removed your panties, then shuffled down the bed, even more turned on now.

“I just, fuck I need to taste you real quick, sweet girl.” And he dove into your folds before you could respond, taking care to avoid your sensitive nub, and licked you like it was his last meal. You tasted fucking delicious and he didn’t want to stop, pushing your legs apart he cleaned up every drop you’d leaked while you whimpered for him.

“Sh-shit,” You cried, voice low, writhing against his hold on your hips. “Poe, please. Please!”

Poe pulled back, licking his lips, and grinned up at you. “You okay, sweet girl?” You nodded and he rose, eager to get you over the edge again so that he could lick up everything you gave him. “Please what? What do you need?” He crawled back up your body, chuckling when he felt your hands pushing desperately at his briefs.

You cleared your throat, “You. Always needed you, Poe.” You whispered, your voice so filled with emotion you nearly knocked him over. He took over pushing his briefs off and then reached under you with both arms, securing your body before lifting you, changing positions so that you were sitting in his lap. His length pressed against your thigh as you settled.

Poe stroked some stray hair out of your face and kissed you softly, holding you against him and savouring the moment. He’d never been so filled with emotion and pleasure before, every woman he’d been with over the years simply could not compare to the power and love between you and Poe, and it was terrifying. Sensing his apprehension, you drew back from the kiss and stroked along his jaw soothingly and Poe took a moment to simply drink you in.

“I never knew anything could be like this,” He admitted, now running his hands all over your body, pausing to squeeze his favourite curves. You smiled at him, pupils blown wide with lust, your expression telling him you agreed. “I’ve wasted so many years, (y/n). I’m so sorry.”

“No,” You shook your head, dropping one hand to seek out his length and holding it gently in your hand, lining him up. “No, we aren’t apologizing for our mistakes anymore. It’s you and me now, Poe, you, and, m-me.” You lowered yourself, your scratchy voice breaking off into a sigh of content as you slowly sunk onto his length.

Poe had pictured being with you like this many times in his life, certainly more than he’d like the admit. But even combined, none of those fantasies could come close to how it felt to bring your bodies together, the fucking ecstasy, the sight of his cock splitting you open as you slowly took him inch by inch. Your hands tangled in his hair again as a low, continuous whine fell from your lips. Your face was slightly scrunched as you tried to relax and accommodate him, and Poe was enraptured, watching everything with his hands at your hips.

You were devastating. And you were his.

Poe hurled headfirst into oblivion as you settled fully on his lap, a groan escaping as your tight heat clenched around him, and it was all he could do to speak, to just tell you how perfect you were. “Baby, oh fuck, I love you,” He leaned back slightly, dropping one arm to brace on the bed and then gripping your hip with the other. Poe set a slow and deliberate pace with his feet pressing into the baseboard of his bed. He rolled up, then back, his cock dragging halfway out before sinking back into you as you gripped his shoulders and whimpered above him.

It was sensual, soft, each movement like a slow dance, your hips rolling down to meet his in perfect harmony with his thrusts. You were biting your lip, eyes locked on Poe’s, and he could feel you flutter around him every time he groaned; so he let himself make noise, let you hear how good you made him feel, grunting and cursing with every blissful motion.

Even though the pleasure kept mounting Poe didn't want to rush this, so he moved at the same pace for a long time. Occasionally stopping completely when he was fully inside of you and relishing the sensation until you whimpered and he would move again with a grunt. It was divine, perfection...you. It was all you.

“Poe,” You whimpered as you moved one hand from his shoulder to push into his curls, urging him toward you as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you slowly as well, licking into your mouth, over your lips, drinking up your moans, until eventually it wasn’t enough for you and you made a noise in your throat, a little frustrated sound that made him smirk. Made him even fucking harder.

Without warning he sat forward, brought both hands to your hips and slammed you down onto his cock, using his strength to lift and drop you. “Sweet girl,” Poe grunted as your head tilted back in a silent cry, “That’s it, cum for me, let me feel you, baby, please.” He was desperate to feel you cum on his cock, pulling out and then slamming you back down, meeting you halfway as you struggled to hold in your noises, and Poe let loose another round of groans that seemed to propel you straight over the edge.

Your body curved forward as you came, one of your hands shooting to cover your own mouth as you sobbed in pleasure. He kept moving, watching your face rapturously until a strong clench around his cock drew his gaze downward. He had a moment to recognize what was about to happen before roaring in delight as you squirted for him again, the hot wetness coating his lap. The room filled with the wet slapping sounds of your body meeting his and Poe had to actively work not to cum, setting his jaw and gripping your hips with almost bruising strength.

“Ahh,” You whimpered, your legs going limp. Before you could fully collapse into Poe, he flipped you onto your back and started to fuck you into his mattress while peppering you with soothing kisses, “Oh Poe, more!”

He was right there, nearing the edge and yet savouring every deep thrust into your tight cunt. His movements were getting sloppy now, and he wasn’t even trying to hold back his noises because you felt so fucking good and this was so perfect and he loved you so much.

“Oh baby, baby-” He slammed into you one last time, dropping most of his weight down onto you and filling you deeply as he began to cum, his hips stuttering. You were moaning for him, weakened legs hooking behind his ass to draw him closer as he filled you, “I love you, I love you, I love you-“ He couldn’t stop saying it now, his head dropping to your shoulder-careful to avoid your injured throat-he just kept repeating himself between grunts.

As he started to come down from the high, he realized you were speaking, your voice a whisper in his ear, hands stroking his hair. “I love you too, Poe, my Poe,” He was gasping now, everything that had transpired catching up to him in the clarity of post-orgasmic bliss and your words brought his emotions back to the forefront.

He made to move back, only you stopped him, keeping him close. He looked at you, “You okay, my sweet girl?” Stars, you looked fucked out in the best ways and he swore he could cum again just at the sight of you as drunk on him as he was on you.

You nodded, giving him a soft little smile, “Just stay inside me a little longer.”

Fuck, you were going to kill him, you were so hot.

As much as he liked the idea, he didn’t want to stay on top of you and crush you, so he considered carefully before rolling you both, settling himself into the bed as you lay atop him, whimpering at the movement before resting your head on his chest. He’d started to soften inside of you, but remaining in your warmth kept him semi-hard, not something he’d ever done before and yet he decided at that moment he wanted to do it all the time.

“That was...you are perfect, you know that? Dreamt of you my whole life and that was better than I ever could have imagined.” Poe beamed at you when you looked up at him, your eyes bright. He had never been so radiantly happy in his entire life.

You reached up and ran your hand along his jaw, “Says the man who made me squirt. Twice.” You gigged, and he gazed at you for a moment before responding.

“You’ve done that before, yeah?”

When you shook your head, Poe felt a mixture of both surprise and pride swell within him, and you read that in his expression. “Yes flyboy, that was all you.” Another throaty giggle, which then morphed into a full cough as you hit the limit on your poor vocal cords.

Poe was up in an instant, carefully slipping from you and hurrying to his fridge to get you water. He passed it to you and then went into his fresher to get a warm washcloth. You were gulping the water gratefully when he returned, your eyes raking over his body with a level of possessiveness that made his cock twitch. You wanted him to yourself as much as he wanted you to himself, that much was now abundantly clear.

“Alright, sweet girl, let me take care of you,” He whispered, running the washcloth gently through your folds and tidying you up. You cooed softly, relaxing into the bed. When he was satisfied, he lifted you into his arms and carried you into the fresher to set you on his toilet. “You pee, I’m going to change the sheets.” And he wiggled his brows at you, earning him another big smile that settled right down into his oversized heart.

A short while later Poe Dameron was laying in his bed with you held in his arms. This was not the first time in his life that he drifted off to sleep with you, but it was the first time you were both nude and satisfied and so wholly consumed with your love for one another.

It was the first time he would wake in the middle of the night, hard and aching, only to find you already awake and needy for him, moaning when he rocked his hips into you and fucked you slow.

It was the first time since Charlie’s funeral that Poe would sleep entirely at peace, wrapped around his soulmate.

If you thought making love with Poe Dameron was perfect beyond expectations, it almost made it unfair how fucking good he was at eating you out.

You’d both woken late the morning after coming together and felt ready for more-you wanted him inside of you again. Only he insisted he hadn’t gotten anywhere near his fill of tasting you last night. Now he was happily lapping between your folds with his skilled, hot tongue and absolutely wrecking you, one hand clamped over your mouth to keep you quiet because he knew how fucking good he was.

You saw it the first time he’d made you squirt and then watched it solidify when you admitted you’d never done so before. It was hot, seeing the mixture of passion and cockiness, skill and care. You fell more and more in love with him throughout the night, when you came together and fit so perfectly, and now you were about ready to beg him for his cock before he killed you with his mouth.

When you came again for him, you were spent and though you did get wetter, you didn’t squirt. He didn’t mind, eagerly drinking up what you did give him before moving to kiss your thighs, then eased your legs together and began to massage the aching muscles. “Such a good girl,” He praised, his muscular figure drawing your eyes. You hadn’t realized how talkative, how much noise he would make, and it was the hottest shit. His groans were downright sinful, were what sent you rocketing into your orgasms the night before. “I should keep you here all day, wet and ready for me.”

“Fuck,” You replied, the words shooting straight to your core even after all of the orgasms you’d had. You sat up, struggling slightly and Poe reached out and gripped your arms, lifting you in another show of his strength that made you kind of dizzy with lust. “You’re insatiable. But we’re having lunch with Tahla, remember?”

Realization flashed over his face and he glanced over at his wrist comm next to the bed, relaxing when he saw there was still time before lunch. “Shit, I forgot. He’s leaving soon though, right? So I don’t want to bail.”

“Next week,” Poe moved to sit next to you, both of your backs against the wall now. He pulled the blanket from where it had been kicked to the end of his bed to cover you both. “He said something...that sort of made me realize how stupid I was being, right before I saw you yesterday.”

Poe turned his head to face you, his arms circling your waist and tugging you close to his side, “Oh? What did our wise, filter-free friend say?”

You giggled, then cleared your achy throat, “I had said I was going to miss him when he left and he told me he’d come back for our wedding.” You thought Poe would laugh with you, or at least scoff, but instead, he’d gone quiet and his expression turned inward in a way you couldn’t read. You hesitated a moment before tilting your head into his line of sight, though his mind was clearly a million miles away, “Poe?”

He looked at you then, for what felt like the first time in your life because of how intense his expression was, filled with love and something you couldn’t get a read on.

“I’m sorry,” He began, shaking his head a little, “I just...you are the love of my life. I meant everything I said last night.”

Warmth filled you as he spoke; you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to him saying such perfect things to you. Saying he loved you. “I know, Poe, I meant everything too.” You assured him, brushing your hair over his forehead to push back some stray curls.

Poe nodded, his expression still intense, eyes bright, “We’ve lost a lot of time, sweet girl. But I don’t want to waste another minute. I-” He paused, and you were growing increasingly confused. When he suddenly pulled away standing up to cross his room, your curiosity spiked, confusion at an all-time high.

Until that is, you saw what he was doing.

He was pulling something out of the inner breast pocket of his flight suit, lifting a chain and then turning to you back at the bed. He glanced between his hand and you once, stealing himself before dropping down to one knee next to the bed.

“Maybe he won’t have to come back for our wedding,” Poe opened his palm to reveal exactly what you knew he kept in his flight suit, “Maybe he’s here just in time. Marry me, (y/n). I love you and I never want to spend another minute without you. You are my soulmate, so please marry me, sweet girl.”

Your eyes fell from the passionate look on Poe’s face to his mother’s wedding band that lay in his outstretched hand.

34 ABY - Aftermath of the Battle of Takodana - D’Qar

Climbing from his ship with his adrenaline running high thanks to the success on Takodana, Poe turned and gasped when saw his droid, the orange and white blur zooming over to him. “BB8 my buddy!” He cried, dropping to his knees, “It’s so good to see you!” He looked the droid over, happy to see it looked to be in good shape.

BB8 beeped, excitedly explaining what had happened to it, “What? Saved you? Where is he?” He asked, the droid responding quickly and Poe glanced up, eyes landing on the defected ex-Storm Trooper who had saved Poe. Holy shit!

Finn spotted Poe at the same time and began running forward, “Poe?” He called, and Poe rose to his feet and started towards him, still reeling in surprise that Finn was here, that he was okay.

Poe felt himself grin, “Oh no!”

“Poe Dameron, you’re alive?”

Rushing up to Finn, Poe gasped out, “Buddy!” He pulled his new friend in for a hug, “So are you!” And he looked well enough, thankfully, too. Poe had worried he’d been captured back by the First Order after he couldn’t find him on Jakku.

“What happened to you?

“What happened to me? I got thrown from the crash. Woke up at night-no you, no ship, nothing,” Poe released Finn, pointing to him and then to his droid, “Listen, BB8 says that you saved him.”

“No, no, it wasn’t just me-“

Poe stepped closer to Finn, needing the man to understand, “You completed my mission Finn, I-that’s my jacket.” His gaze dropped to the jacket-his jacket- that Finn was wearing.

Finn glanced down, “Oh,” And he started to take it off and suddenly, Poe realized he didn’t need the jacket back, that Finn needed it more.

“No, keep it,” He punched Finn’s arm affectionately, “It suits you.”

Finn stopped and straightened, his eyes roving over Poe once again, “I still can’t believe your alive, Poe.”

Poe laughed, grasping his friends' shoulders, “You’ve got no idea what I have to live for, Finn. Dying ain’t an option.”

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#reader insert #fanfic #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #fluff #angst #night changes series #multichapter #friends to lovers #star wars #poe x you #poe x reader #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron smut #poe dameron series #smut #oscar isaac

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passable-talent · 4 years ago

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listen,, im just in the mood for stih!reader. not followed-anakin-to-the-dark reader,,, just straight-up sith, subscribed to the sith, bloodlustful, power-hungry reader x anakin. whether they were a sith before him or a knight pulled to the dark at the same time but separate from him is up to you, but i just want some sexy evil reader <3

two things. one- in planning this one i came up with possibly my most interesting canon ret-con ever.

two- sorry about the lack of this in the past, with all of my darkfics i just always end up trying to make the reader redeemable or in some ways well-meaning so that it doesnt alienate my,,, readers,,, but as you wish!

that said, i havent gotten to really indulge my absolutely sadistic side in a while and it was uhhhh fun

There was a prophecy to the Jedi, long ago, that one young Jedi would bring balance to the Force.

And to the Sith was a prophecy that there would be a Dyad in the Force, one whose power would give rise to the power of the Sith.

Sheev Palpatine, tasked with finding an apprentice more powerful than he, who could possibly be within the Dyad, went through many apprentices in very quick succession, each destroyed by the Jedi before they could gain true power. There was only one apprentice who escaped the Jedi unscathed- a young former scrapper from a planet so unexceptional it didn’t even have a name.

You had struggled from the moment you could walk. You had built yourself up, with no help, no guidance. From a difficult child to a violent teenager, you fashioned yourself weapons, taught yourself to fight. When others tried to lay claim to what you owned, you cut them down.

So naturally, when he discovered you, Darth Sidious gave you a lightsaber.

With your skill in mundane weapons came an adaptability into the divine, and you were quickly nearly as skilled with a light saber as his last three apprentices, combined. He believed that your innate skill and exorbitant midi-chlorian count meant that you must be one half of the prophesized Dyad, and with the formation of a Force bond, he could do what his master had not, and become the other half. He just needed to build your power.

Each time he praised you, the hole in your soul grew larger, wanting more, needing it. You had come from nothing- so now, you wanted everything. You wanted to be the most skilled. You wanted to be the most powerful. You wanted to be the strongest and the fastest and the best.

So imagine your anger when you came across a little Jedi padawan who you could not defeat.

Anakin Skywalker was the golden boy of the Jedi, and it had gone to his head. He was nineteen, and already more skilled than his master, and most of the masters on the council. Of course he would try to kill a Sith apprentice, when one crossed his path.

Imagine, two young prodigies, on opposite sides of a millennia-long war, each convinced that nothing could stand in their way. Imagine no one winning the battle, and both going home unscathed.

Imagine how it would drive them mad.

Darth Sidious could not be seen without risking his discovery, so you often did what he needed. You wouldn’t complain- each successful mission would ease your hunger for victory and power, if only for a moment. You were cunning, and only unleashed your brutality when it was necessary, but Anakin- Anakin had the key to the cage that held your rage, and he opened it every time you saw him.

His master, the other Jedi, those you would dispose of easily, not caring enough to kill them, just doing enough to get them out of your way, so that you could face him. Every time you failed to kill him, you got angrier, until you felt nothing but rage when you saw him. How dare he challenge your supremacy, your skill. How dare he live and breathe, proof that you weren’t unbeatable.

In the dark side of the Force, with this conflict came uncertainty- no matter how Palpatine promised that his blood-soaked and rage-filled apprentice was the most skilled in the galaxy, he began to doubt. He began to wonder if Anakin was truly the apprentice he’d been seeking.

In the light side of the Force, Master Yoda began to understand what Anakin’s prophecy had truly meant- Anakin was meant to be the light’s balance to the dark that you carried in your heart.

Against the numbers of the Jedi, you were at a disadvantage, but you weren’t concerned with odds, not when you were the most talented Sith that had ever lived. All you felt that you lacked was the wisdom of the Sith who had come before you, and so you often meditated, trying to reach them. Darth Plagueis in particular guided your mind many a night.

But something was off about your meditation, this day. You couldn’t reach your grandmaster, and a sick, disjointed sensation rolled in waves through your skin. Breaking your concentration, you opened your eyes.

And seated in front of you was Anakin Skywalker.

“You-” you snarled, immediately calling your saber to your hand. He held his hand up, though, and something about the motion made you pause.

“I’m not really here,” he said, then looked around. “Can you see where I am? I can’t see where you are.” You narrowed your eyes, suspicious and still angry, but now curious. You slid from your meditative sit and onto your knees, slinking toward him on your hands before reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“You mean you didn’t reach out to me?” You asked, tilting your head, expression still distrustful.

“No, I thought you called to me.” You locked your eyes with his, reaching forward with the Force to feel him, his presence. He seemed to feel you doing so, but did not resist, and in fact did the same. Reaching deep into his heart, you found a surprising spot of cold- and latched onto it, holding it, unlocking its secrets. This, you could use.

“You don’t trust the Jedi,” you said, a smirk curling on your lips. His eyes widened briefly, which made you realize just how correct you were. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he was so skilled- if it could be used in service of the dark.

“The Jedi stifle me,” he conceded, and from your connection you’d forged into his soul you felt a spark of fire, that so-familiar rage. This time, the emotion wasn’t yours, but his.

“The Sith will not,” you promised, and sat back down, much closer to him now.

“The Sith must be destroyed,” he snarled, and you were in your element now, you were finally in control. After all this time, you were winning a victory against Anakin Skywalker.

“Why? We seek to bring order. I seek my fullest potential. Isn’t that what you’re doing? What the Jedi aren’t letting you do?”

“Shut up,” he groaned, looking away, and so you leaned closer, lifting your chin, beginning to smile.

“We’ve fought in the past, Anakin,” you breathed, “But I promise you this- I would help you the way no Jedi would think to.”

You felt it when his entire presence in the Force sparked, and then disappeared. It seemed that he’d grown too distracted to keep your connection.

Speaking of that- how could you have had such a connection?

Sure, you’d felt his presence in the Force before, but only when you fought, when your souls clashed as brightly as your sabers. This was new, very new, and in all your teachings you had heard of nothing like it.

Nothing- nothing but a Dyad. The Dyad.

Sidious was right, in everything he had ever told you- you were of the Dyad, you were the Sith meant to experience power like none before you had, you were the one the prophecies had spoken of. But Palpatine wasn’t the other half, the way that the Rule of Two would’ve expected it- the other half of the Dyad was instead a young Jedi.

Master Yoda felt a disturbance in the Force as you realized it- as your dark hunger pulsed out of your body, satisfaction with knowing that it was all true making you feel powerful. The destiny you had been promised, you now knew for certain, was rightfully yours.

You only had two problems, both easy to fix. The first- your Dyad partner needed to join the Sith. Only then would you be fully unstoppable, only then would no one be able to stand in your way.

And the Second? Anakin becoming a Sith would violate the Rule of Two. Meaning that there would be three Sith where there was only room for two.

So you needed to be rid of Sidious. Such was a plan for another day.

The Clone Wars were a Sith’s playground- Sidious’ extraneous apprentices, Dooku and Ventress, took care of most of the messy battles. Fighting clones, negotiating with the Trade Federation, such things were beneath you. Your specialty, your joy, was in the destruction of the Jedi. Every single Jedi death in the Clone Wars was at your hand.

And though you clashed with Anakin, the roles had been reversed- now twenty-two and sure of your destiny, you fought not to kill Anakin, but to show him the power of the dark, the power you wielded. He fought the way you had as a teenager, full of rage and murderous intent. Tortured as his missions were by you, he could not escape you in meditation, nor in sleep. You walked his dreams, making him wake with not anger but want, something that he hid from everyone, even his master. In his meditation you would appear before him, promising things that he only believed because they left your mouth.

“Anakin Skywalker is at his most powerful when he’s at my side.”

No Jedi sensed the rising darkness in Anakin Skywalker, just as you expected. Jedi are incapable of seeing past what they believe. They know that the Sith have returned, and still are blind to the power of the Dark!

The Sith, though... the Sith sensed his power. You sensed it, of course, reaching into his soul any time you could, grooming and nurturing the darkness he’d begun to share. And Sidious felt it, too.

So he took an interest in Anakin Skywalker.

He grew closer to Anakin through their mutual friendship with Senator Amidala. Palpatine promised Anakin balance, salvation from the worries he carried with him.

And he began to pull away from you, which certainly did not sit well. You were the most powerful Sith in generations, more powerful than even him, and he dared think you could be replaced? Not only he thought you could be replaced, but he dared set up such a replacement as though you wouldn’t notice?

No.

You were stronger than that. Smarter. There was three where there should be two, and if your counterpart in the Force was meant to bring balance, weren’t you meant to, as well?

So you took advantage of the age and weakness of Palpatine’s body. You poisoned him, slowly, deteriorating him, so that all that kept him alive was the Force, and he had no strength of his own.

And then you told him everything.

“An apprentice, when they are no longer fit for the teachings of the Sith, is replaced,” you said, your scarlet saber humming, its life and energy filling your body, like it had a thousand times. “Which is why you have grown interested in Anakin Skywalker. I have learned from you, my master, I see through your deception. You wish him to take my place.”

Your darkness invaded your smile, an emptiness invading your stomach that the deaths of dozens of Jedi had yet to fill.

“He will,” you promised, “He will be one of the most amazing Sith there has ever been. And he will fulfill the prophecy of the Dyad, just as you suspect.”

Sidious didn’t even have the time to ask how you knew before you buried three feet of plasma in his body.

You didn’t remove the saber, just let it rise and fall with the laboured breathing of an old man.

“Without your help, Sidious,” you snarled, “I have pulled Anakin Skywalker to the Dark Side. I have found the Dyad, the one spoken of in prophecy- I have felt it pull he and I together. And without your help, I will purge the Jedi from the galaxy.” You ripped the saber from his body, separating his chest from his stomach.

As Palpatine breathed his last breath, you had an unexpected visitor- a few of them, actually. Masters Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, and Mace Windu each entered Palpatine’s office, sabers ignited and prepared for a duel with a Sith Master.

But they didn’t expect it to be the one that now stood before them.

Master Mace Windu knew of you- knew of the Sith apprentice who had a hunger for power so strong that it was meant to outgrow their master. He knew that you had killed countless Jedi, and would kill countless more, if given the chance. So he wasted no time in changing his intentions for the evening.

“In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic,” Windu said, igniting his saber, “You’re under arrest.” Your lightsaber still humming with the blood it had taken, you turned to him over your shoulder, canine tooth glinting from underneath a disturbing smile.

“And what are the charges?” you asked, calm as though you could predict the exact outcome of the match. “I’ve just killed your Sith Lord. Surely that must count for something.”

You focused the Force within you, sending it to the one person who you needed the most- and you showed him the way that four Jedi looked at you, threatened you.

“The Senate will decide your fate,” Windu threatened, and you tilted your head.

“The Senate just lost their chancellor,” you said with a small laugh, “I don’t believe they’ll be deciding anything for a while.”

It was all too easy to destroy them. Fisto, Kolar, Tiin, they were no challenge. Neither was Windu, but you needed him to believe he was gaining the upper hand- for Anakin was back on Coruscant, hurrying to your location, seeing through your eyes the way that Windu meant to murder you.

Feigning weakness, you opened your chest, which Windu rewarded with a strong kick, and you fell to your back, little groans and whimpers of fear leaving you as you scrambled backwards, and you could feel it, you could feel the way Anakin was running toward you, feel his desperation to protect you, even if he tried to disguise it with democracy.

“You are under arrest,” Windu hissed, his saber pointed to your nose.

And then, there- the man whose presence you had once loathed, and now craved. Anakin was here, with those lovely blue eyes, that curly hair, that body that deserved to rule the galaxy by your side.

“Anakin,” you said, chest rising and falling in panicked breaths, “Anakin, I killed Palpatine, I- I’m trying to help, I’m trying to help you!”

“You killed him to take his place,” Windu said, and your eyes narrowed. “But you have lost.” You reached out as though to call your saber back to you, but didn’t actually use the Force- which made it seem as though Windu overpowered you when he grabbed your throat and lifted you from the floor. Letting your body hang limp, you clawed at your throat, breathing ragged, and this- this was your chance.

You turned your gaze to him.

“Anakin,” you breathed, desperation, love, in your eyes. “Anakin, please...” He’d heard you say that word before, sounding just the same, in dreams of soft touches and tangled sheets. He’d seen the way you looked at him, when he met you on the battlegrounds, and you seemed to enjoy his skill. All too familiar was the curve of your neck, the flex of your muscles, as you fought against a grip on your throat.

“Please, Anakin,” you whispered, “I love you.”

“They are a traitor, Anakin!” Windu snarled, arm extended toward you. “Don’t listen!” You weren’t choking, not quite, but blood was being cut off, and you were starting to get woozy. You pushed the feeling through your bond to Anakin, proving to him how desperate the situation was becoming.

“Please,” you said, mouth gaping for a moment as you struggled to breathe, eyes briefly rolling back in your head. “Don’t let him kill me.” Windu dropped you, and you crashed to the floor, coughing and sputtering, letting them both believe your limbs were too tired to hold you up.

“I am going to end this,” Windu said, conviction in his tone, “Once and for all.”

“You can’t,” Anakin said, and dark satisfaction pulsed deep in your chest. With those two words, you knew how this day would end. “They must stand trial.”

“They are a Sith Lord! They're too dangerous to be left alive!” Curled up on your side, you didn’t look dangerous- you looked pitiful, coughing to regain your breath, tears rolling down your face.

“Please don’t kill me,” you sobbed, and in Anakin’s heart you felt resolve- you knew he wouldn’t let you die.

“It’s not the Jedi way!” Anakin said, “They must live!” You raised your eyes to Windu’s, and saw no remorse in them.

“Please, no-” you whimpered.

“I need them!” Anakin shouted, but Windu lifted his saber anyway. Anakin reacted in an instant, igniting his saber and slashing it through Windu’s arm, the distinctive purple saber now lost to the window and the streets of Coruscant below.

You smiled.

In an instant you flipped onto your hands, swiping Windu’s legs out from under him, and he could do nothing to stop his fall. Anakin fell to his knees, shocked, and ashamed of what he’d done.

“Anakin!” you said, rushing toward him, and finally, finally you could feel what you had in dreams, what you’d longed to- you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. “Anakin, you saved me.” He hugged you back, slowly, and there was nothing else to compare to this.

You had been prophesized to be the Jedi and Sith who would bring balance and rule, and finally, after all this time, you were together. Not on the opposite sides of a battle, not in a connection, not in a dream, but in reality, in each other’s arms.

Together, you were more powerful than any Jedi or any Sith had ever been. You could feel it already.

“Thank you,” you breathed, pulling away far enough to brush back his hair, but his eyes were heavy with sorrow and regret. “Ani, love, look at me-” His gaze met yours, and nothing else in the universe had ever been so beautiful.

“I love you,” you promised again, and pressed your lips to his. The Force itself seemed to rejoice in you finally meeting, and now, all that was left to do was to ensure he stayed by your side.

“Finally, we’re on the same side,” you breathed, and you felt the way he bristled.

“The Jedi won’t see it that way.”

“The Jedi don’t understand- and they’re traitors, anyway, plotting to destroy the Republic, all this time. We have to rebuild the Jedi Order. We can make things the way we want them to be.” Anakin seemed to consider, so you pulled yourself closer to him, holding him just the way you remembered, in all those dreams you’d shared.

“We don’t have to run away anymore,” he said, and you cupped his face.

“No,” you said, “We don’t have to hide.”

“The Jedi turned against me,” Anakin said, his voice low, and you felt that darkness in his body grow.

“I know, love,” you breathed, brushing back his hair. “But I’m here. I’m still here.” Anakin leaned forward, holding you close by your lower back and kissed you, and you felt it- you felt hunger in his body, you tasted it on his lips. He rocked forward, laying you down on your back, even as you kept your arms around his neck.

And as you surrendered control, you almost had to laugh- he had no idea how much power you had over him.

-🦌 Roe

part 2 | part 3

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Text

Tedious Joys - Chapter 5 -

- Ao3 link -

It was not a letter that came to the Cloud Recesses in response to his query, but rather Lao Nie’s two sons.

Lan Qiren was made aware of their arrival when Lan Wangji burst into his room at a run, without knocking, and it was such a strange and bizarre occurrence – it was simply unthinkable for Lan Wangji to do such a thing, when his love and respect for the Lan sect rules were equal to Lan Qiren’s own, a special interest they shared and bonded over – that Lan Qiren immediately knew that something must have gone very wrong.

“Nie Huaisang is scared,” he said, his own golden eyes wide and round as the moon, his voice trembling as if this news was the worst thing that could ever happen. Indeed, Lan Qiren could not think of any instances in which he had known Nie Huaisang to suffer the emotion of fear: laziness, impertinence, annoyance, any number of emotions, yes, but never fear. “Shufu…”

“Where is he?” Lan Qiren asked, already rising to his feet – Lan Xichen, with whom he had been having tea, had already leapt up.

“Is Mingjue-xiong here as well?” he asked anxiously. “Is he well?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes filled up with tears and he shook his head furiously, his voice failing him, and Lan Qiren held out a hand to him. Lan Wangji put his smaller hand in his and started tugging him out the door. When he met the Nie boys at the gate, it was already after dinner, late by Lan standards with the sun already mostly set, and Nie Mingjue was unexpectedly wearing one of his winter cloaks; perhaps it was that which deceived Lan Qiren’s eyes, hiding his appearance until they returned with him to his rooms, or else it was simply that he had difficulty believing the evidence of his own vision.

“What happened?” he demanded, his hands gentle but determined on Nie Mingjue’s shoulders as he guided the boy into his well-lit home, forcing him at once to sit when he saw the state of him. Nie Mingjue was a mess: a black eye and a split lip, bruises on his cheek and his collarbone; his fingers were trembling and it was unclear what other injuries there was under his clothing. “Where’s Lao Nie?”

Nie Mingjue flinched when he asked; Nie Huaisang, following in behind him, burst into tears. He, at least, looked more shaken than actually injured: his lips were chapped from what must have been a blisteringly fast flight and there was a bruise at his brow, but one that seemed more like the sort that one would get from knocking into something by accident, rather than a fight gone horribly wrong.

Lan Qiren felt something cold slither up his spine.

“Where’s Lao Nie?” he asked again, suddenly afraid of the answer. “Did you come here by yourselves..?”

Technically permissible, given that Nie Mingjue was probably fifteen, but Lao Nie would never have allowed such a thing – and yet Nie Mingjue nodded dully.

“You need a doctor!” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Mingjue started violently, then reached out and caught Lan Xichen’s wrist before he could go to fetch one.

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t, no. I don’t want anyone to know. I only came here because – because Huaisang –”

“I’m not letting you go back alone!” Nie Huaisang shouted, and his voice was hoarse, too, almost squeaking with the effort needed to speak. “I’m not! You promised you’d stay with me!”

Nie Mingjue averted his eyes.

“Da-ge…!”

Lan Qiren swallowed down his fear. “Xichen, get the medical supplies from my travel bag,” he instructed, interrupting the imminent battle between brothers, and Lan Xichen moved at once. “Wangji, fetch them both some water; Huaisang, you will drink the water before you lose any more of your voice. Mingjue…tell me what happened.”

The story, when it came out, was worse than Lan Qiren could have imagined.

A night-hunt gone wrong, that was with the realm of his expectation – a night-hunt against an especially vicious yao, a wild boar gone mad with the season and having cultivated to great strength, near-human in its cunning and malice but purely bestial in its unending strength. Such things had been the end of many cultivators, no matter how talented or powerful; it would have been something not unlike that which had put an end to the life of the light-hearted Cangse Sanren and her valorous husband.

But the rest of the story…

“Jiwei shattered?” Lan Qiren asked, unable to believe it. “Jiwei? How could that happen?”

“It was Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue said, wiping his streaming eyes. “I could feel it, just before it happened – I felt him. His cultivation. He did something to Jiwei, all those months ago, that stupid party…he patted her a few times, I don’t know what he did. A-die’s been complaining ever since then that something seemed wrong, but he couldn’t quite say what it was so he just disregarded it.”

Lan Qiren swallowed again, his throat abruptly very dry. “That’s an accusation of murder against another sect leader, Mingjue,” he said carefully. “To say such a thing could lead the whole cultivation world into war.”

Nie Mingjue – honest, straightforward Nie Mingjue – looked up at him with red eyes. “But it’s true, Teacher Lan. He did it. I’m sure of it.”

Lan Qiren didn’t doubt him. Nie Mingjue might be young, but he was an exceptional cultivator. He wouldn’t have made a mistake of this type, not with something like this. And given his earnest, serious, and righteous nature, he wouldn’t speak lightly, either – if he said it, it meant he believed it; if he believed it, it was more than likely true.

Wen Ruohan had shattered Jiwei.

Whatever his motives, whether they were political or personal, whether he was avenging some grudge or perhaps just irate that Lao Nie had decided against sharing his bed or what – he had destroyed a spiritual weapon, which would be an abominable move under any circumstances but which was so much worse when the blade and master were so closely connected and intertwined as Lao Nie and Jiwei were.

Had been.

“And – Lao Nie – he…” Lan Qiren’s heart shook in his chest. “Is he…”

“He’s not dead,” Nie Huaisang said, and Lan Qiren’s knees went soft in relief. “But he’s not – he doesn’t act right.”

“Not right?” Lan Xichen asked. He was sitting next to Nie Mingjue, dabbing warm water on the wounds on his face; he clearly would have preferred to summon a doctor at once, and was equally clearly itching to tear off Nie Mingjue’s robes to get at the untended wounds that doubtless lay hidden there. “What do you mean?”

“He keeps asking for her,” Nie Huaisang said. His voice was high-pitched with stress; his hand was clenched around Lan Wangji’s, knuckles white, grip so tight that it must have hurt, although Lan Wangji said nothing to indicate any discomfort, even if he noticed it. “He’s always asking for someone to bring him his saber, asking where Jiwei is – even when we showed him the pieces, he didn’t recognize them. And he doesn’t recognize us, either!”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t recognize you?” Lan Qiren asked, voice sharp. “He doesn’t know who you are?”

“He thinks we’re his enemies,” Nie Huaisang said. “He doesn’t – he doesn’t believe us when we say we’re his children, he thinks we’re other people – calls us names I don’t recognize – he thinks we’re keeping Jiwei from him on purpose, and he gets angry. Teacher Lan, he gets so angry…”

Lan Qiren’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms. “Mingjue,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. “Mingjue, A-Jue…how did you get those injuries?”

He’d thought that it was left over from the fight with the boar yao. Nie Mingjue had said he was there, that he’d finished the job after everyone was frozen because of what happened to Jiwei, after Lao Nie had nearly gotten gored with a tusk, and it was plausible. And yet, Lan Qiren knew too well how fearsome Lao Nie was in the midst of his rage, how violent, how vicious, how callous.

It was rage he would never turn against those he loved. But if he didn’t recognize them –

“Some are from the boar,” Nie Mingjue finally whispered, his head bowed in silent admission that that was not the source of all of his wounds. An admission that some of them had come from Lao Nie’s hand, and oh – that hurt most of all, to think of how Lao Nie would hate what he’d done. Lao Nie despised those who raised their fists to their own kin the most; he called them cowards, pathetic, monsters in human flesh.

He would hate more than any other what he had become at Wen Ruohan’s hands.

“What do the doctors say?” he asked, voice sticking in his throat.

Nie Mingjue’s head lowered still further. “Wait.”

He did not mean – they did not mean – that time would heal this illness.

They meant for him to wait until Lao Nie died.

“I will return with you to the Unclean Realm,” Lan Qiren decided, and Nie Mingjue started crying in abrupt relief.

“I didn’t dare hope – I just needed someone to watch Huaisang,” he said, stuttering over his words, face in his hands as he wept. “A-die said we could always come to you –”

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Nie Huaisang shouted at once, although his face was pale. “Da-ge, he’s my father too -”

“Your cultivation isn’t anywhere near strong enough to stand up to him! You need to be safe, Huaisang –”

“And you don’t? Da-ge! Teacher Lan, tell him!”

Lan Qiren held up a hand, calling for silence. “Huaisang,” he said sternly. “You wish to return because you fear for your brother, which is admirable – ‘be loyal and filial’. Yet remember that you must also extend faith to others. Do you trust me to make sure Mingjue is safe?”

After a moment, Nie Huaisang jerked his head in a nod.

“You will stay here with Xichen and Wangji,” Lan Qiren said. “Mingjue and I will go, and I will do what I can. To the best of my ability, I will not permit him to be harmed.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, comforted, and Lan Wangji solemnly squeezed his hand. They were young and easily deceived; but Lan Xichen, who was older, had not yet lost the look of concern on his face – unlike the younger two, he knew the vast difference in strength between Lao Nie and Lan Qiren.

If Lan Qiren were the more meticulous, the more targeted, then Lao Nie was still the blazing sun in comparison to his dim candle. Lan Qiren had never been permitted to leave the Cloud Recesses in search of adventure, had barely even been allowed to go to night-hunts to try to win fame lest he die and leave the Lan sect with a power vacuum, and even before that, as a child, he had been promising but painfully slow; he had always relied on Lao Nie for matters that called for sheer power. No matter how much Lan Qiren had cultivated through meditation and music and orthodox swordsmanship, enough for a golden core that shone brightly with a clear and pure light, it was nowhere near enough to give him the strength to stop Lao Nie if he was in the midst of a rampage.

Lan Qiren was no match for Lao Nie.

Lan Xichen knew that. Equally so, he knew that Lan Qiren obeyed their Lan sect rules as if they were a heavenly mandate: he would not lie.

To the best of his ability, he would not permit Nie Mingjue to be harmed – even if it cost him his own life.

It very well might.

“What’s your condition? How long do you need to rest before you can fly again?” he asked Nie Mingjue. If he could, Lan Qiren would side with Nie Huaisang and force Nie Mingjue to stay in the Cloud Recesses as well, to heal from wounds both external and internal – he might be as tall as a grown man, but Nie Mingjue was the same age as most of Lan Qiren’s students, most of them less than a year or two into night-hunting and convinced of their own immortality, foolish with confidence and deeply vulnerable beneath that. Nie Mingjue himself was steadier, had been night-hunting for years since Lao Nie had no plausible basis to deny him the right to it, but the hunted, scared look in his tear-reddened eyes showed that he was still just as fragile.

And yet, without him, Lan Qiren would not be allowed into the Unclean Realm.

He knew the protocols of the Qinghe Nie sect like the back of his hand: in such a dire situation they would retreat inside their fortress, bar the doors and refuse guests, wait for the storm to pass. They were brave and exuberant, always willing to rush out to be the first to face down evil, but they were also intensely private, each one of them. When the hurt came from the inside, they would hide the truth of it more thoroughly than they would a treasure.

Lao Nie would not be able to counter-order them – so Nie Mingjue had to be the one.

He’ll be sect leader next if Lao Nie dies, Lan Qiren thought, and felt abruptly sick to his stomach.

The Nie sect valued martial strength much more than the Lan sect, prized their saber spirits above all else, even safety; Nie Mingjue wouldn’t be forced to give up saber training or night-hunting the way Lan Qiren had had to. But the demands of the position of sect leader were relentless, taxing beyond belief, and something would have to give – it would be everything else that would need to be sacrificed.

All of Nie Mingjue’s softness, the hobbies he enjoyed in his spare time, the books he liked to read; his time with friends, his inclination to play, to read, to learn, to do things for pleasure, his ability to act spontaneously without first thinking of what it might mean for his sect. Even the tears that flowed so easily down his face now would become a luxury he could not afford, a weakness he would need to hide away until only a few close friends could see it.

His sect elders would probably want him married off as soon as possible, too, and never mind that he was too young – Nie Huaisang was still young, too young, but he’d never been especially promising, not the way Nie Mingjue was, and the Nie sect elders knew very well how the saber spirit worked, how the most talented were often the earliest to die. Lan Qiren had a letter on his desk from Lao Nie, only a few months old, complaining that they were already pressing for him to find an engagement for his eldest.

If they had their way, they would put Nie Mingjue to stud at once, hoping for at least three strong sons to carry on the family name by the time he died, and in so doing would selfishly sacrifice any hope he might have of finding love…

“I can keep going at once,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Qiren leveled him with a stern look. “I can! Teacher Lan, trust me, I know myself. Let me meditate as you get ready; two incense sticks and I’ll be capable of the return journey.”

“Take a shichen,” Lan Qiren instructed, and glared Nie Mingjue into silence when he tried to protest. “The journey to Qinghe is long, and we will need to make stops along the way regardless to recover the strength to continue. Overexerting yourself could damage your cultivation, and that’s the last thing we need right now. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said. He was as headstrong as any Nie, but on everything but a matter of principle he generally erred in favor of obedience; a good, filial child. He would need to get rid of that trait, too, if he were to become sect leader…

“It will take that long for me to get matters in place for my departure,” Lan Qiren added, a comfort, and he had the pleasure of seeing Nie Mingjue’s shoulders inch down a little from his ears. “Xichen, go to the kitchens; tell them we require something warm – soup for sure, and preferably a meat dish, if there is any. Do not accept no as an answer.”

Lan Xichen barely took the time to nod before he was out the door. Nie Mingjue was already folding himself down into a sitting pose to meditate, drinking the water Lan Wangji had brought him, and Lan Qiren looked at his second nephew and his best friend’s second son.

“Wangji,” he said, and Lan Wangji looked at him at once, seriousness written into every line of him. “Take Huaisang back to your quarters and keep him there, hidden from notice. As few people as possible should know that he is here at all, and even fewer where he is being kept.”

There was a glimmer of fear in Lan Wangji’s eyes as he absorbed the implications of that – that there were those that might want to take advantage of the crisis to harm the Nie sect, even here in the Cloud Recesses, that Nie Huaisang was the most vulnerable of them all with his weak golden core and no defender by his side, that he could be subject to death or kidnapping or worse – but he nodded deeply, saluted as best as he could without releasing Nie Huaisang’s hand from his own, and tugged Nie Huaisang along with him.

“Da-ge…?” Nie Huaisang asked, twisting to look at Nie Mingjue, who nodded encouragement at him. With a sniff and a swipe of his nose on his sleeve, he finally went, trailing behind Lan Wangji.

Lan Qiren busied himself with the preparations he needed to make – he hated to plan a journey that did not have a set endpoint, but he’d gotten better at it and this was one in which it was clearly necessary. As far as he knew, he might never make it back to the Cloud Recesses, and Wen Ruohan would have struck down two sects in a single blow.

It was, in all truth, pure foolishness for him to go. All the sect elders would advise against it, marshaling any number of citations to the rules and arguments to support them.

Lan Qiren didn’t care.

He could think of dozens of rules to cite as rebuttals, his heart hurting in his chest all the while, but in the end he could only think about how taking the time to argue at all would delay him, how it would extend Lao Nie’s suffering if he dithered and debated instead of acting swiftly. Lan Qiren might die, yes, but he had to try to help. He owed it to Lao Nie to do anything he could.

He owed it to himself.

#mdzs #lan qiren #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #lan wangji #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #tedious joys #tw: child abuse #tw: domestic violence #but like #unintentional?

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shutupaboutandraste · 3 years ago

Note

“Hear this now — I will always come for you” for Fenders? <3

OKAY so like. I saw this and was just immediately inspired and knew exactly what I wanted to write so I hope you like it!

It's more pre-ship, buuuuut still Fenders.

Words: 3203 Pairing: Fenris/Anders For @dadrunkwriting

ACT I

To say Fenris didn’t trust Anders would be an understatement. An abomination through and through, he would never understand Hawke’s trust in him. Perhaps, it was because of her sister-- Bethany always seemed to vouch for him, something else that made Fenris’ head spin. Never before Bethany Hawke had he seen a mage so in control of themself. Yet, there was Bethany who shined in beauty, grace, and kindness all without being possessed or resorting to blood magic. He had only known her for a short time since he was approached by Hawke’s motley crew.

Still, he stuck by them, despite it all. Hawke had become a good friend in the short time he had known her. Even if her taste in women was… questionable. Anyone with eyes could see the tall warrior had affection for the Dalish blood mage of all people. Of course, that did exclude the elf in question. Merrill seemed entirely blind, even when Hawke told her that she was free to call her Aingheal. To everyone else, that name seemed off limits and Merrill seemed content to leave it that way for herself. Strange woman…

There were days he thought about leaving. Danarius could arrive any day on the doorstep of his borrowed mansion any day. The thought of leaving, however, left the taste of ash in his mouth. Little things were what he would miss-- Hawke coming to check in on him, coming back to the mansion to find little plates of food from Merrill, Isabela’s flirting, all of it. Loyalty threaded into Hawke’s group, evident in the way they watched each other’s back in battle to those little gestures Fenris had grown fond of in the past few months. Echoes of his days with the Fog Warriors sang softly within him.

These thoughts tumbled and toppled over each other with each passing day. Fenris took each one in and compartmentalized it within. These were the people that he had thrown his lot in with, for better or worse. Yet, he never knew if Merrill would be possessed by a demon, or whether Anders would suddenly turn on them to fulfill the desires of Vengeance. So, when Anders was still glowing after an encounter with a Tal Vashoth mercenary group on the wounded coast, Fenris leaped into action.

His brands lit up as he reached for Anders. Justice’s glare flashed his way, but he did not flinch. The only thing that stopped him was Hawke’s sword in his way. His heels let him skid to a stop just in time to avoid phasing through it. There was always a chance that phasing through a weapon would just wind up with him impaled.

“What the hell, Fenris?”

Varric whistled, “Easy, Broody! That one is friendly.”

“Hardly,” he snarled, “Why is your demon still active, mage?”

“I AM NO DEMON,” boomed that voice that both was and was not Anders. Still, it didn’t argue further, seemingly releasing Anders for its thrall.

Anders snarled at him, “Justice was fine! You could have killed me!”

Fenris crossed his arms, holding his head high, acting as if he could stand down the taller man, “And you could have killed Hawke.”

Hawke scoffed, “I can fight my own battles. Thanks. Justice doesn’t scare me.”

There she went again, trusting the fool mage and his demon. Even though Fenris had warned her of all he saw in Tevinter, Hawke insisted that she knew better. One day she might live to regret it. Fenris hoped that he didn’t live to see that day. For all his terse nature, he did want Hawke to be right about Anders. So, he let the argument brewing inside him die.

Hawke was a harsh woman. When she spoke, there was no argument, one simply followed. That did not make her unkind, simply firm. It was one of the many things Fenris found himself respecting, all but in awe of. Leadership decorated Hawke like well-fitted armor. There was very little she could do now to waiver his trust in her. The group began heading out, Varric and Hawke immediately taking to counting out the loot as they walked.

Fenris came up to walk beside Anders, “You may have favor with Hawke, mage, but hear this, should you betray her--”

“Why are you so sure of my guilt long before I’ve committed a crime?”

“Should you betray her, hear this now-- I will always come for you. That is a threat.”

ACT II

Putting trust in Hawke was far from misplaced. Long after the Deep Roads, she still remained his friend, helped him when Hadriana came knocking, and trusted him in return. Fenris was a regular member of her party, trusting him even about Aveline whom she had known for far longer. Hawke was a natural, but ruthless in her efficiency. Fenris respected that, even when he wasn’t sure he agreed. Sometimes, Fenris caught Hawke with a wild, angry glint in her eye as she plowed through enemies with an almost sadistic glee. Fighting was the happiest he had seen her bar her time spent with Merrill or after she was permitted a visit with Bethany at the Circle.

Yet, still, Hawke persisted with Anders. The mage had only grown more rebellious and unstable since they had met. Fenris did not despise him, but Anders set his teeth on edge in a way Fenris had not known in some time. Yet, she had left him to deal with the wounded as healer and protector while she fought the Arishok.

Upon the kill, Fenris thought she might cut off the Qunari leader’s head and hoist it up as a trophy. If she was, she never got the chance as she was rushed upon. The word ‘Champion’ echoed about the halls of the Viscount’s Keep. Before Fenris’ very eyes, the city seemed to be turned upside down. In the chaos, he managed to stumble out of the building, attempting to follow Merrill and Varric as they both rushed after Hawke.

Bethany was outside, tailing Orsino under the watchful eye of Meredith-- Shit. Where was Anders?

Templars milled about outside, keeping watch over mages who were working on healing the wounded while Aveline’s guard began lining up the dead, human, dwarf, elf, and qunari alike. There was no mess of dirty blond hair among them. No matter what he thought, Anders did a service in Darktown. Without him, the Ferelden refugees would be worse off. Instead of following whatever parade was forming around Hawke, he ducked down a side street, attempting to search for Anders.

Smoke still filled the air, making Fenris cough as he attempted to plunge ahead. Loud wailing was still echoing in the streets, amid the cheers of victory. Loss had still struck everyone fiercely. While he searched for Anders, he also kept his eyes peeled for Isabela. Wherever she had left to go to, he had a sinking feeling that she was never coming back.

Neither deep black curls nor a dirty blond mop was what caught his eye. Instead, it was Aveline’s flash of bright ginger hair. And, safe from templars, Anders was next to her. Fenris found himself surprisingly sighing with relief. He had worried for nothing. Carefully, he approached them.

“This is your fault,” Anders snapped, teeth grit as he tried to control Justice.

Aveline snarled, “What? Saving you from templars?”

“No! The Qunari attack!” he replied, “Much as I appreciate you getting me out of there.”

“Isabela stole that tome,” muttered Aveline, crossing her arms, “That’s what started this.”

“Isabela stole that stupid book ages ago. Then you let that… that monster get away with raping a girl!” Blue crackled at the edges of Anders’ eyes, which he shut, quickly as he tried to slow his breathing. His self-control after a long day of casting and healing was reaching its limit.

Aveline rubbed her nose bridge in frustration, “Anders, honestly, I don’t know what you expect me to do--”

“Punish the guard?” offered Anders, “Or would that be too much effort because the victim was an elf? I didn’t realize we were in Tevinter.”

“That was uncalled for,” snarled Aveline, clearly close to losing her patience.

Quickly, nearly fade-stepping to get there, Fenris went forward, taking Anders by the shoulders. Justice flashed, but Anders merely looked alarmed at being touched. His eyes narrowed on Aveline, who instead just looked relieved that someone else had interrupted them. He nodded at her slowly.

“Hawke asked me to escort him back to Darktown,” he said, “Go to your guards.”

“Be safe,” she said before turning to leave.

Anders scoffed, pulling away from Fenris and trudging ahead, “I should be out there healing.”

“You can deal with the injured that make it to the clinic,” sighed Fenris.

He crossed his arms, trudging forward, “Did Hawke really ask you to come check on me? I figured she’d send someone else. Varric, maybe, or--”

“She’s too busy entertaining the masses,” admitted Fenris, “I wanted to make sure you did not get caught by the templars.”

“Me?” Anders scoffed, “Why do you care?”

Why do you care about the lives of elves? Fenris wanted to ask. Yet… He knew why. While the Spirit within Anders could ebb and flow between Justice and Vengeance, Fenris knew that the Anders had originally allowed a spirit in him. Anders had stories of Justice and their time with the Grey Wardens as separate people. Letting the guard go unpunished was unjust, no matter who the victim was, but as usual it was elves who saw the short end of the stick.

Despite every notion Fenris had of the other man, Anders continued to prove himself dedicated to the people, even if those people were usually mages. Everyone was welcome at his clinic, from refugees to the Seneschal himself. Many things Anders did annoyed Fenris, but his dedication and passion were to be admired. To see a spark of joy when healing, that was something Fenris could respect. Maybe he even wanted to, if he would just let himself.

Hawke expected his loyalty-- she had it, of course, but she still expected it. When that loyalty was questioned, she made sure you knew about it. When he had run off after killing Hadriana, she had made her position known. If Fenris wanted to do that again, he better damn well wait until they got back to Kirkwall so they weren’t romping across the Wounded Coast without help. Her anger had shamed him.

A few nights later, he had brought Anders dinner. The practice was not uncommon among the group, but it happened when Anders failed to show up at the Hanged Man. Usually, they played a round of Wicked Grace to see who took the meal. Fenris had been the first out, thus the man to take the meal. Anders had been finishing up with a patient-- a little elven girl with a scraped knee. The injury was hardly worth the time of a healer with Anders’ caliber, yet Fenris watched as he distracted her with jokes while healing her knee. Once he was done, he patted it, making her smile before he dug around for a bit, pulling out a sweet. Most of them were stale, but the refugee children hardly cared, always pleased that the healer had candy for them.

When he saw Fenris, Anders had asked him if he was okay. There was no yelling about Fenris’ comment about how magic spoiled everything--though Anders had made a snide remark when he had spoken it. No, concern lined the wrinkles of Anders’ face as he graciously took the meal, double and triple checking that Fenris didn’t need healing or something to help. Once that was over with, Anders huffed, told Fenris he was stubborn, thanked him for the meal, and reminded him to clean the up mansion before he caught something from the corpses.

“Hear this now,” he said, “I will always come for you. That is a promise.”

ACT III

Smoke had a horrible, overwhelming scent. After the Qunari attack, he didn’t have the stomach to even enjoy a good campfire anymore. But watching the rubble of the Chantry smolder before him sent a revulsion through his gut. Why did Anders always have to be such a fool? Why couldn’t he just wait for the conflict to run its inevitable course?

Hawke did not ask for their opinions. Sebastian was furious-- so was she. Merrill had her hands clasped at her heart as they watched Aingheal Hawke walk around Anders like a predatory animal. For prey, he looked remarkably calm, sad, even.

Run, you idiot. Petrify her and run for your life.

Anders didn’t move. He wanted to die. Fenris felt sick.

“I trusted you,” hissed Hawke, “I made you part of my family; I protected you. Then you LIE to me, have me help you do this.”

“The war is inevitable,” said Anders, “Justice and I have done what had to be done. Kill me if you will and be done with it.”

“You put my WIFE in danger! You put my SISTER in danger!” Hawke raised a fist, bashing it across the side of Anders’ head.

“Vhennan, no!” exclaimed Merril, “Don’t kill ‘im. He can help us protect the mages, please.”

“He doesn’t deserve to live!” bit back Sebastian.

Hawke growled, “Do not speak to her that way! Merrill, I can’t. He’s too dangerous. He’s… He’s not the Anders we knew. Not anymore.”

Fenris felt his fist clench at his side. These theatrics were ridiculous-- there was a city to save. And, to be frank, either they chose Anders to die as he pleased or they went with Merrill’s plan. Hawke had seemingly chosen the former. Tears streamed down Merrill’s cheeks as she looked away, her wife hoisting her greatsword high. Fenris felt his insides twist.

He remembered the Anders he thought he knew. Once upon a time, that man had been an abomination, just a foolish mage playing Maker. Then, things had shifted. As much as he wanted things to be simple, Anders never allowed anything to be so. With his manifesto and ranting, came the healing and the gentle touches. Even when he himself forgot to eat, he never let anyone else forget. He would risk hair and hide in battle to protect others.

One night, not long after Hawke had been dubbed the Champion, Anders had admitted to Fenris that he had not always been so selfless. Justice was what brought out the best in him-- that if Fenris hated him now, he would have loathed the Anders of the Circle or the Grey Wardens, all flirt and wit and self-serving. Somehow, Fenris doubted that was the whole story.

Each passing day over the last three years, he found he craved it more. Was Anders really so different? Or was he exaggerating in an effort to self-loathe everything about himself? One minute he was witty and charismatic the next he seemed to gain ten years from exhaustion. Yet, each day, that wit and charisma faded away. A demon-- not a traditional one, but some sort of sickness of the mind-- had taken hold of the healer. Had anyone tried to help him?

Varric, perhaps, refusing to give into such demands like taking a pillow that meant so much Anders. Yet, no one else knew what to do. None of them knew how to cope with this shell of their friend. But he was still there. After Danarius, Hawke had clapped him on the back, asked him if he was alright, and went on her way.

Anders had shown up that night, barging his way in, double-checking injuries he had already healed while Fenris pushed him away. It didn’t work, of course. The mage had always been too stubborn for that. No matter how easy it would be for Fenris to kill him, Anders had never feared him. He treated him like any other friend. Only a week ago, he had invited Anders to eat dinner together… privately.

And then Fenris, cowardly, had failed to show.

Showing up would not have changed this event. No, Anders was too far into this plan, he was sure. Yet, now, he could not find it in him to overthink. Firelight glinted on Hawke’s as it arched its way down. Far faster than he knew that he could run, Fenris found himself knelt at Anders’ side. His hands clutched the other man’s shoulders, before shoving him forward. Lyrium flickered to life.

Hawke’s sword passed through him. Phantom sensations touched him, but did not harm him. Anders looked at him from where he had fallen, gathering himself up as he stared at them all. His feet slid backward, his mouth attempting to make Fenris’ name. Behind him, Hawke seethed.

“Run!” he ordered, urging Anders, “Run! Hear this, I will always come for you! I will find you! Go!”

Anders nodded quickly, life suddenly seeming to spring forth in his eyes. Oh, how long had Fenris longed to see that glint again. He had not realized he had ached for it until he saw its gleam. The mage took off, rushing away and into the chaos of the street. Once he was out of sight, Fenris turned to face them. Sebastian had his bow cocked at his head while Hawke looked disgusted.

“You bastard,” she hissed, “What had gotten into you?”

“What has gotten into you?” he repeated, “Anders was your friend. More-so than he ever was mine.” And yet, his stupid, treacherous heart and all of its longing had found the sympathy to save him.

“You were right,” she sneered, “He was always an abomination. I was blind.”

“Your wife is a blood mage,” snapped Fenris, “Shall you put her to the sword next?” Merrill gasped, but he glanced at her, trying to show her that it was not something he wanted. Hawke looked appalled at such a suggestion, thank the Maker, and lowered her sword.

Hawke did not circle him like a prey animal as she did Anders. No, instead he raised her nose to him. Golden eyes, just a bit hazel and always piercing, cast their judgement down on him. In an instant, without thinking, she saw what he had done as throwing away her loyalty to save Anders. And Hawke always expected his loyalty.

“I loved you like a brother,” she said, shaking her head, “Get out. Get out of my sight. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you both.” Merril sobbed, Varric quickly tending to her, looking unusually surly at Hawke. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so unusual. Hawke was always funnier in his tales than she was in person. Perhaps Fenris had been blinded to something Varric had always seen.

Fenris did not say goodbye. Instead, he walked away with pride, head held high, a free man who would not be tethered to a woman who confused loyalty with ownership. Fenris owed her much, but she did not own him. And a free man was allowed to walk into whatever fate he damned well please.

Fenris chose Anders, and he knew he would keep choosing Anders every day after. All he had to do was find him.

#dadwc #fenders #da2 #fenris #anders #da drunk writing circle #da

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Take the Money

(cross-posted from my AO3 and based on the Bleachers song of the same name; you should give it a listen ‘cause it definitely shaped this story)

-vomit tw, depression tw, lots of angst and emotional whump with a happy ending, of course-

Jaskier had received six urgent messages in three weeks, each delivered by a different exhausted messenger in the same oddly familiar livery. They showed up outside of inns, in the corner of taverns, and one of them even had to trek through the deep woods to find their hidden campsite; Geralt almost felt bad for them. Almost.

After the seventh strange man appeared with a scroll for Jaskier, the bard didn’t even bother reading it. He merely tossed the rolled and sealed piece of parchment into a refuse pile on their way out of town and didn’t look back. Geralt picked it up when the bard wasn’t paying attention, letting his eyes scan the fancy, swirling script of the Viscountess Pankratz.

Julian Alfred Pankratz,

Return home immediately! Your wedding cannot be put off any longer! Lady Ainsley will not wait another month for your foolish adventures with that Witcher to come to an end. If you do not return for your wedding in three weeks time then you shall be officially disowned and your name will be stricken from the family records.

With Urgency,

Lady Pankratz

Geralt swallowed hard. Jaskier was betrothed? He was to be married in three weeks? But they weren’t anywhere near Redania. Or Lettenhove. Jaskier had never mentioned anyone by the name of Lady Ainsley before, or anything about his past if he could avoid it. Did that mean...?

“Why aren’t you going?” the Witcher asked. Jaskier whirled around, his eyebrow already raised in confusion; he went three shades paler than normal when he saw the limp paper hanging from Geralt’s fingers. “We’re not even remotely close to your hometown and we’re traveling in quite the opposite direction.”

Jaskier made a face and waved his hand dismissively.

“I know. I don’t want to marry her.”

“Why don’t you want to marry her? They’re going to disown you, Jaskier. Isn’t this” - he shook the letter for emphasis - “the life you’re used to living, anyway? You should go home and be with...with someone like you .”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Geralt? You think I belong with someone foppish? Loud? Annoying?” The bard was spitting mad already. The Witcher had touched on a sore spot, apparently. “Should I be with someone more breakable and human and petty?”

“Don’t you want- aren’t you-”

“C’mon big boy, use that fantastic Witcher brain of yours. Figure it out.”

Geralt didn’t understand.

“Wouldn’t you be happier with her than on the Path with me?”

Jaskier looked...hurt. His expression changed from indignant to heartbroken in the measure of time that occurred between split seconds. It did something awful in the Witcher’s gut. Something unfamiliar and painful. The bard’s next words were barely above a whisper. Even with his enhanced hearing Geralt had to focus hard: “Would you prefer me to be married off and out of your way?”

“No, that’s not what I-”

“I don’t even know what we’re even getting at here, Geralt. I’m sorry. I can return home if you’d like. If I send a messenger first thing tomorrow then the family’s hired mage can portal me back in time for the wedding.”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher was pleading. He didn’t know why or for what, but the pitch of his voice left room for no other possible interpretation. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“Then don’t ask me to marry her, Geralt.”

The Witcher dropped the letter back onto the refuse pile and shoved it deeper with the tip of his boot. Jaskier’s bright smile returned and the soft notes of his lute filled the air once again. For some inexplicable reason Geralt felt triumphant. As if he’d won a battle he didn’t know he’d been fighting against an enemy he’d never met before.

---

“Are you Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf?” a well-dressed stranger asked, approaching the table where the Witcher was seated. It had been a week since his and Jaskier’s argument over the summons. Neither one had brought it up again and the bard had seemed almost unusually affectionate since. The amount of casual touching they did had significantly increased, even when the sun set and it was growing close to bedtime. Jaskier seemed to be happy touching Geralt and the Witcher had no reason to complain; he liked knowing that his best friend wasn’t scared of him.

He regarded the messenger with a suspicious gaze, “Aye. I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“I have a contract for you.” The man slid a piece of paper across the table and folded himself into the chair across from Geralt’s. The pattern stamped into the red wax seal was familiar but the Witcher couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen it before. His strange visitor smiled benignly, “It doesn’t even involve killing.”

“Then why hire a Witcher? That’s kind of our schtick.”

“This agreement is of a more personal nature,” the man shrugged, leaning back in his chair and waiting for Geralt to read his missive. The Witcher took the delicate stationary in his large hands and unfolded it until he could see the printed words:

To Sir Geralt of Rivia,

Witcher and Friend of Julian Alfred Pankratz

We, the Pankratz Family, come to you and offer this agreement:

Return Julian safely to our ancestral home within two weeks and you shall be paid the sum of 1500 crowns. Consider it a bodyguarding mission, if you so desire.

You are also formally invited to attend the wedding of Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove to the Countess Ainsley DeStael of Rinde, which will occur three days after your mission ends.

In order to complete the job and claim your payment, however, you must leave the wedding party without Julian at your side and return to your Witcher duties alone. He isn’t cut out for such a hard life on the road. He is of noble blood and has responsibilities here at home. Please return him to his kind of people and claim your coin in recompense.

Sincerely,

Francois Reginald Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove

Constantina Charlotte Pankratz, Lady de Lettenhove

Geralt glanced up from the contract and out into the main dining room where Jaskier was currently jigging atop one of the surprisingly sturdy tables. The bard’s smile was bright, his voice was strong and clear as he sang of lovers meeting in secret, and his blue eyes twinkled with joy. He loved the attention of performing. How could Geralt take that away from him, even if he would be safer at home? Even if he would be married to another, spending his time with another, caring for another…

But didn’t Geralt care about Jaskier? Isn’t that why he’d risked life and limb over and over to keep the bard safe? Because Geralt loved him? He pushed the thought away with haste and tried to keep his expression neutral. His amber eyes strayed to the upturned hat at Jaskier’s feet. People had been depositing coins there all night and a rather decent pile had sprung up but -

But he could be doing better, Geralt thought. He could be taking a warm bath every night and buying expensive oils from real apothecaries and not sketchy traveling salesmen. He could be dressing in silk every day and never complain about having to wear a woolen doublet for warmth again. He could sleep next to a fire in a real feather-bed. With blankets. He could stay healthy and safe and never go near another angry monster for all his days.

Something in the Witcher’s heart withered and died when he realized just how much he’d been holding Jaskier back; something important. Something the bard had helped him cultivate over six long years of traveling together. In an instant the Witcher had hidden it away in a dark corner to die.

“Alright.”

“Huh,” the messenger smirked. “They thought it would take more bribery to get you to agree, Witcher.”

“It’s not about the crowns,” Geralt shrugged, gaze flitting back up to Jaskier. The bard’s twinkling cornflower-blue eyes met with his and Geralt quickly glanced away, already ridden with guilt and shame over his decision. “It’s about making him happy and keeping him safe.”

“If I didn’t know any better about your kind and their lack of feelings,” the messenger snorted, “I’d say you might even love the Little Lord Pankratz.”

“If I didn’t know any better about myself,” Geralt replied, “I might agree.”

“See you in two weeks, then. Hope you can make it to Redania in time.”

“Why not just portal us there? Jaskier said his family had a hired mage.”

“Busy with wedding preparations,” the man shrugged. “Anyway, I must be going. The Viscount and her Ladyship are eager to hear your reply. See you soon, I’m sure.”

The stranger stood, bowed, and disappeared back to Lettenhove with the signed contract. Geralt swallowed back a mouthful of bile. He hated himself. He really did. But this is what’s best for Jaskier.

---

“Who was that, earlier at the table?” the bard asked. He was lounging on the bed with a tin of lute polish in one hand and a rag in the other. “Did he have a contract?”

“Yes. In Redania, actually.”

“Oh, lovely! It’s almost time for the summer festivals to begin; I can show you the best alehouse in all of Novigrad while we’re there.”

“My job is near Lettenhove. Do you want to go with me?”

“Sure. Might be fun to swing by my old stomping grounds. This doesn’t have anything to do with my canceled wedding, does it?” the bard shot him a pointed look. Geralt schooled his features into some sort of passivity and shook his head.

“Vampires rarely attend the weddings of minor nobility,” the Witcher lied through his teeth.

“Vampires, huh? Nifty. Haven’t had one of those to write about in awhile.”

“Hmm.”

---

“Geralt, help! Geralt, please! GERALT!”

The Witcher tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He kept hearing Jaskier’s raw, heartbroken voice ringing in his ears. He could still smell the desperation and panic that clung to the bard’s soft skin as he struggled to get away from his captors. To get back to where the Witcher stood with Roach and the gatekeeper. Geralt kept imagining those eyes, those fucking beautiful eyes, brimming with tears of betrayal as a liveried servant handed him a velvet pouch stuffed fat with crowns. Oh gods, the way his bard had looked at him…Geralt shoved his head out the window and vomited. There was nothing but the sour sting of bile against his tongue and the back of his throat. He heaved in a breath but choked back the sob threatening to come with it.

“Please don’t leave me here, Geralt! Don’t take the money! I’ll be better, I promise! I won’t talk as much, I won’t touch Roach again, I won’t write any ballads about you, Geralt please, I lo-”

The guards had dragged Jaskier inside and slammed the heavy oak door shut before he could finish his sentence, but the Witcher had gotten the general idea. The bard thought he was doing this out of hatred and not out of the sincerest, purest love Geralt had ever felt. He thought this was a punishment and not a slightly backwards form of rescue. If only the bard could understand.

Jaskier’s love wasn’t unrequited.

The bard stole the very breath from Geralt’s lungs every time their eyes met. Every time Jaskier crowed with pride after finishing a new song about their adventures together the Witcher felt his icy heart melt a little more. Each casual brush of their hands as they walked side-by-side sent his emotions reeling. The way his exuberant bard looked as he strolled beside Roach, the sunshine bringing out streaks of dark red in his chestnut hair and lightening the embroidery on his travel jerkin, it was ethereal. Magical. Overwhelming in all the best ways.

And he’d given it all away for a measly pouch of a coin and a slightly clearer conscious. Or was it?

Geralt retched again as he came to another realization.

He had forced Jaskier into something he didn’t want. Geralt had always given his friend free reign. The younger man came on and off the Path like a bee between flowers, visiting and traveling with the Witcher when he pleased and leaving again for odd jobs or festivals when Geralt wasn’t in the mood for company. But he’d given him no choice about the marriage. No, he’d wrestled Jaskier to the ground and bound his hands. He’d gagged him. He’d flung the bard into Roach’s saddle and tied his crossed wrists to the pommel so he couldn’t pick the knots free and escape. He’d passed Jaskier off to the guards and watched them drag him away as he spit out the gag and started yelling.

As he confessed his love to Geralt after six long years on the Path together.

Fucking hells, what have I done to him?

The suddenly panicked Witcher tumbled from his rented bed and reached for his boots. There was no time to spare. There was no time to waste.

There was only Jaskier.

---

Jaskier couldn’t believe it.

After all this time. After all their adventures. After all the songs he’d written and rooms he’d gotten them at comfortable inns, this is how the Witcher repaid him. Trading him back to his parents for a bag of coin like he was some sort of slave or whore.

He was a bard.

He was Geralt’s bard.

Well, he used to be Geralt’s bard. Now he was going to be Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and Lord of Rinde by marriage.

He wished he could just stop breathing and disappear. His heart thudded dully in his chest and it felt as if he was floating several feet below the surface of deep water. He was unable or unwilling to surface; maybe both. There was no point anymore, really. Geralt, the only person he’d ever really loved, had trussed him up like a market goose and traded him for silver.

The food his family’s servants brought him laid mostly untouched. He knew how to eat just enough to keep from dying. He’d been in plenty of dungeons and bandit camps before. Jaskier had spent six years following the Witcher’s Path and surviving off of whatever Geralt caught or he traded for. There was no reason to eat any more than what he needed to keep his body alive. There was no reason to get out of bed. Or bathe. Or change clothes. These clothes still smelled like the road. Like lute polish and chamomile oil and Roach and mud and Geralt.

“Please,” his mother begged, clasping his limp hand in both of hers. She’d been sitting at his bedside for maybe an hour, watching him stare listlessly up into the green velvet canopy above him. “Just eat something substantial. Say something. Do something, Julian. We know you aren’t happy with us or our decision but you can’t just lay here all day and wallow in self-pity. You have responsibilities to take care of; Ainsley has grown worried and her father is impatient.”

“The wedding is tomorrow,” he’d replied. There was no emotion in his voice and the monotony was soothing to his own ears. Geralt didn’t like it when he got too excited. Best to be calm and quiet like a good little noble. “I will be presentable. I will be at the altar. I will do my duty for the family.”

“Thank you, Julian.”

“But I will not love her.”

“You never have to love her,” his mother smiled. She gave his hand another small pat before standing and moving towards the door. Her job here was done, after all. “We only need you to marry her.”

---

Geralt pounded up the steps of the keep two-at-a-time. His usually slow heartbeat was now pounding in his ears like a warlord’s drum. He had to save Jaskier, he had to - the door slammed open and something hard went flying into his chest, knocking him back a step. The Witcher reached out a hand to steady the person he’d collided with but his amber eyes were still focused on the castle’s front door. He moved to step around the stranger and into the building when they suddenly spoke. The bard’s voice was pitchy and low from crying all morning: “Geralt?”

“Jaskier?” the Witcher gasped. His grip tightened around the younger man’s upper arm. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Jaskier looked truly flabbergasted. His expression shifted from shock to anger quickly, however, and the hurt in those blue eyes nailed Geralt to the ground where he stood. “Am I OKAY? You absolute fucking moron; of course I’m not okay. The love of my life tied me up, handed me over to my horrible fucking family like a Beltane offering, and disappeared into the night with a fat bag of crowns. The one person I love most in this world, the only person I’d ever trust with my life or my lute, treated me like a transaction of some sort. I am very much not okay, Geralt of Rivia! Now pick me up, take me to Roach, and get me the fuck out Lettenhove before I have to marry that horrible, terrible, hideous woman!”

The Witcher cracked a smile. Jaskier jabbed a finger into his chest and frowned even more deeply. “Why the fuck are you smiling, Witcher?”

“Because I missed the sound of your voice.”

The bard blushed, his righteous anger faltering.

“I love you too,” Geralt added. Jaskier’s eyes somehow grew even rounder and more watery. “I’m so fucking sorry but I didn’t know how else to protect you. I thought that maybe after coming home and seeing how much nicer it was than being on the Path you might want to stay here and be safe. Live your life normally. I thought you’d be happier here than you were with me. You’d certainly wouldn’t be hurt as often.”

“Did you just say that you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me say that I love you, mere moments ago?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the fuck would you try to get rid of me?” The Witcher tried not to flinch when Jaskier placed a gentle hand against his cheek. He’d expected a slap. A kick to the shin. A knee to the groin. Screaming. He hadn’t expected that look of soft understanding to dawn on Jaskier’s boyish face. Despite the knowing sparkle in his eyes, the bard’s voice was sad. “Caged birds never sing, Geralt. What an awful cage it would have been; I'd never see my handsome Witcher again. I'd never attend another royal wedding as entertainment. I'd never write another line of song, much less be able to sing it. I would have been miserable Geralt. I probably would have died much sooner here than I would on the Path.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“As soon as you do as I say and get me the hell out of here, then yes, I’ll consider forgiving you, Witcher.”

“Well I suppose we shouldn’t waste any time.”

Geralt flung the bard up and over his shoulder and took off back down the steps at a sprint. He wasn’t going to let those people have his darling Jaskier back. Not if they tried to cage him and take his voice. He knew better now. He understood.

They loved each other.

The bard was laughing brightly, bouncing along as Geralt made for the stables. He could see his family exiting the Great Hall and making their way in his direction. It didn’t matter. They’d never catch up with his Witcher. He shot them several naughty hand gestures and grinned widely when Geralt swung them both up into Roach’s saddle. “Sorry girl,” he apologized. “Time for our daring escape into the woods.”

---

"Fifteen hundred crowns, huh?" Jaskier asked, eyeing the hefty purple velvet bag.

"Actually there are only fourteen hundred left," Geralt shrugged. He reached into his saddlebag and brought out a small leather pouch, which he handed to Jaskier. The bard opened it, peered inside, and gasped in very genuine surprise.

"Geralt..."

"Do you like it?" the Witcher was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in the cutest way. Jaskier wanted to answer but his heart was caught somewhere between his throat and his stomach so he couldn't quite form words. He nodded.

"Can you help me put it on?"

"There's no clasp. They aren't meant to have clasps."

"I know."

Geralt's heart soared as he lifted his gift for Jaskier out of the bag and lowered it over his head. The medallion rested just between his collarbones, framed by a tuft of the bard's chest hair. It was a copy of Geralt's wolf medallion, only this wolf held a flower in its mouth. Gently, as if unwilling to break the stem or let it go.

"It's perfect," the bard beamed. His eyes were watery and he blinked the tears free to keep staring at his new jewelry. "Thank you."

"Hmm."

"What do you want to do with the rest of the money?"

"I don't know," the Witcher shrugged. "Maybe go to the coast?"

"I've always wanted to go there!"

Geralt pressed a tender kiss against Jaskier's lips, reveling in the sensation of his bard melting against his chest. They'd spent the last few nights wrapped around each other, whispering secrets and stories into each others mouths until sleep overtook them. Tonight would be no different, except that now Jaskier felt truly safe. He felt loved. He felt utterly surrounded by the happiness that came with being on the Path next to his Witcher. "What are you thinking about, little lark?"

"I'm glad you came back for me. I'm glad we're together now."

"Hmm. Me too."

#geraskier fic #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier whump #geralt of rivia whump #jaskier whump #geraskier hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #geralt/jaskier #emotional hurt/comfort #h/c fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher netflix

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danddymaro · 4 years ago

Text

Playing with fire | Loki x Reader

Includes Enhanced Reader W/ fire manipulation, and a temper.

Basically Loki Being an Ass

Word Count : 2393

Playing with Fire

She smiled with satisfaction as she continued to clean the counter in small circles, the little powder blue rag leaving the surface with a nice shine that filled her with pride.

All the while, sweet, soft hums of happiness left her as she saw the lovely surface slowly bouncing the sight of what seemed like her reflection.

“You’ve certainly outdone yourself this time (f/n),” she said lowly, grinning at her work with fulfillment, executing joy-filled little claps as a mild cheer that lasted only a few seconds before she went back to work.

Tony walked past the doorway but whirled around as he caught sight of her, tisking at the sight, because,

how many times has he told her now?

“- I told you, you don't have to do that,” He said with exasperation, pouting down at her as he coolly walked over to her, “ You don't have to pick up a finger here.” He continued, making himself comfortable by leaning his elbows onto the counter, looking at her with tired dark eyes throughout the entire time,

“In fact, even the toile-”

She stopped him by lifting up her hand in a halt sign, the other maintaining the same circular motion,

“I want to,” she said simply, looking over to him with a soft smile that was filled with peace. “It makes me happy,” she added with pleading (e/c) eyes, hoping he’d drop the argument.

“It brings me peace, so please... drop it?” she asked him, giving him the same sweet, begging eyes.

Rolling own his eyes, Stark shrugged, a heavy sigh accompanying the action, “I guess,” He mumbled, displeased nonetheless.

“If you continued to do it after the first few times, I don't know why I keep trying to convince you otherwise,” he added, a halfhearted glare directed at her, “Just don’t overwork yourself,” he pleaded her.

“ - I feel bad enough having you slaving around her,” he murmured with a sheepish upturn of his mouth.

Granted, he appreciated how tenderly she treated their home, but it was to the extent that he felt guilty, almost like he was taking advantage of her.

“Slaving?” she said with a quirked brow, “You have your drinking, and I have my cleaning… yet I’m the one in the wrong?” she said back to him, chuckling all while she shook her head, giggling even more as she saw his expression change at her words, a toothy grin etched onto his face as his eyes were squinted playfully,

“Really Red Hot?” He snickered, watching as she rolled her eyes at the address.

He opened his mouth to speak more when another voice cut through their merriment,

“Ah, Servant Girl,” Loki called out, beckoning the woman to go to him with a lift of his finger, causing her to instantly drop her happy, little expression down south,

“Servant...girl...?” she lowly, all while shooting the man a quick look that dared him to repeat the phrase.

“Yes. servant girl," The long-haired male said in a snobbish manner, “ Did I not just call you?” He questioned her, and by then the little rag in her hand combusted.

‘What is with this guy?’ She wondered while irked.

A seething hot glare was shot directly at the dark-haired prince as she destroyed her little rag, and it gave her all the more reason to be angry.

“Oh no, “ stark muttered, quickly placing a hand to her shoulder, directing her attention from Loki’s lasting gaze and turning her over to him instead,

“ he’s not worth blowing your cap off, just relax,” he advised feeling a cold sweat running down his forehead as his palms that had landed over her shoulders began to grow warmer, indicating that her temperature was rising.

He could feel her body begin to increase in heat, and he had to act fast, taking her mind off of the annoyance that triggered her,

“You don't want to ruin this pretty kitchen do you?” he asked anxiously, sweeping his arm to offer her the grand view of the luxury space.

“Besides...I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.” He further explained, hoping that it was the case, but not entirely too certain about it because after all, it was Loki.

-The same Loki that had in the past bated the Hulk out of Banner.

It was then that her ( e/c) eyes swept left and right to the little place she had dubbed her ‘safe space’ and after a good moment of reflection, she closed her eyes tightly, her harsh pants coming down to mellowing breathes that were both inhaled and exhaled through her nostrils.

“There we go, “ Tony said smiling with relief.

She gritted her teeth, “Okay...I’m fine..” She told him, soon releasing a low breath that seemed to make her deflate, her tense muscles with the blow of air.

“You sure?” he asked her, uncertain.

“Yeah,” She responded back with a lax voice, a slow smile beginning to pave way onto her face, “Sorry about that, “ She said sheepishly, her face glowing as she’d calmed to a state where she was easier to reason with.

‘Gotta be nice,’ She told herself. ‘Technically he’s a guest. One who’s not from here,’ She reasoned.

She then turned back to the prince, the same sweet expression present as she approached him, truly hoping he didn’t get the wrong impression of her.

‘I’m not a horrible person, you have to believe me,’ She thought to herself, ‘It’s just...sometimes...I’m too passionate.’ She went on.

‘I’m really sorry,’ She added while releasing a calmed breath, ‘You didn’t know any better,’ She mused, ‘I don’t know what got over me.’

“I’m so sorry about that,” She said with humility, nearly close to bowing her head in shame with how embarrassed she was.

“I’m (f/n) (l/n),” She introduced herself, her weary smile easing into a true, amiable grin.

She then extended her hand out to him, kindly offering it,

“ I’m a part of the A-”

“- Avengers,” He finished for her, “Yes, I know,” He said while grinning at her, the words falling onto her and causing her to freeze, numbness soon overwhelming her as he took her hand.

‘He knows…’ She thought to herself, ‘Which means,’ She then droned on,

‘Which means he PURPOSELY called me that,’ She went on, the gears of her brain working at max capacity, coming to the conclusion in a manner of seconds.

All while her face began to twitch with annoyance, she could see him slowly form a grin of amusement, one she took in with insult,

‘He thinks he’s so cute…’ She went on, soon glaring at him, ‘What’s his damn problem?!’ She added, hearing him chuckle, the sound of his velvety voice producing such an aggravating, yet warm sound that it frazzled her.

‘He’s doing this on purpose,’ She concluded, watching as every twitch of her face made his eyes glow furthermore, the gems married with amusement.

‘He’s trying to… to,’ stopping herself she bit her tongue, not knowing what his true aim was,

‘What the hell is he even trying to do, get on my damn nerves?!’ She wondered with dismay.

‘So, You think it’s that easy huh?

You think I’m just some hotheaded punk that can’t stay fucking...uuugggggghhhhhhhh!’ She inwardly shrieked, fighting against the nature she assumed he wanted to become a spectator of.

‘I want to just wipe that stupid grin off his face!’ She thought with malice, ‘But if I do, the pretty boy wins,‘ She contemplated, her mind viscously jumbled, and throughout it all, much to her pleasure, she managed to hold herself steady, not letting the fiery strength take over.

“I hope I get to see more of you!” She chirped back, shoving out the words, subconsciously squeezing his hand.

‘- No I don’t,’ She inwardly added, wanting to wring his neck instead.

“I just know we’ll get along,” She then added with the same glee.

‘- I want you acres from me,’ She maundered darkly.

At the first elated peep, Loki’s brows rose, a chuckle escaping him as he eyed the saccharine smile that was in stark contrast to her vicious (e/c) colored eyes that clearly showed disdain, and it only gave him more reason to fuel her flame.

“(f/n) (l/n),” He then said, taking her warm hand in his before laying a little kiss to her first knuckle,

“A pleasure,“ He told her, enjoying the way her face morphed into complete, and utter shock that left her doe-eyed.

She was then left blubbering, her brain nearly fried by the simple action, not knowing how to take it,

‘Wh-who does he… think he is?’ she asked herself, unsure of just how to feel.

‘No one’s ever done that before,’ She thought to herself, ‘But that doesn’t mean i enjoyed it,’ She then added.

‘I just got caught off guard!’ She reasoned.

Tony chuckled lowly, having only seen the other man’s face throughout the entire exchange in greetings, completely missing her annoyed tick as well as her withheld aggression, only catching sight of the glowing enjoyment in the other man's eyes.

“I hope to see more of you,” Loki then added, withdrawing, and leaving her stunned.

‘Why...Why did he even want me in the first place?’ She asked herself, unsure of what had even transpired between them.

“- Looks like Reindeer Games likes you,” Tony then mused aloud, and it did nothing to help her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The man alternated between bitter and sweet.

He was charming even when he was a nuisance, and she detested the way he easily tweaked her.

Anything he did was sure to make heat rise within her, from his annoying pestering that brought her close to combustion, to the sweet, charming second nature that made her face glow.

He pushed her on edge in more ways than one, and it made it all the more frustrating when he went out of his way to bother her, because sometimes she wanted to choke him, and other times,

‘Other times… I just want to...to do things with you that I don't even understand,’ She thought helplessly, having never felt so bothered by another being.

She was grateful to have learned how to properly control her powers to the degree that most of what he threw at her was shot back with sweetness,

‘Kill ‘em with kindness,’ That was the motto that, and until then, she’d followed to a T.

But, everything had its breaking point, and as the second month rolled by she found hers,

“ Call me servant girl again you little shit,” She sneered, holding up a tightened fist before him, the little ball shaking with the furiousness she felt.

“ Oh? and what will you do, if I do ... little, servant girl?” he said snickering, nearing her with a confident strut, “Are you going to strike me?” He said while grinning, his two hands held behind his back as he leaned towards her, extending his jaw out subtly, all in a manner that dared her to do so,

“ Because I’d just love to see you try,” he said lowly, challenging her, his emerald eyes glowing as he looked down at her.

Her already accelerated heart jumped at the glance, forcing a gasp out of her, one she was aware he found amusement in by the sly way he continued to tease her.

Her lips then twitched upwards, not in a show of amusement, but instead a nagging annoyance before she swung at him, which, of course, went straight through him.

“My...You're quite hot-headed,” he said while observing her, making her whip around to him with eyes that glowed just as fiercely as his did,

‘ Hot-headed…

Hot-head…’

She repeated the name over and over, detesting it.

The little nickname made her insides bubble, and as she dwelled in the nickname her body erupted into a heap of flames,

“I AM NOT HOTI-HEADED, IM CALM AND SERENE AND A FRUCKING DELIGHT!”

She screeched, launching herself towards him.

“- All of that foul language.." he muttered, his left hand capturing her wrist in a strong grip, soon pulling her to him before he spun her, forcing her back to his chest.

His right hand then gripped her lower jaw, holding it in a manner that made her lips pucker,

“Such a pretty mouth, and yet such ugly words,” he said amused, releasing the same sweet chuckle that made her insides bubble.

“- I hate you so much,” she said lowly, squirming all the while.

It was rare to be captured, much more, held down by someone else while in her current state, and while it scathed her, it touched her in a way that was indescribable,

‘Do you know how many people have run from me?’ She silently asked him, wondering just why he played with her so much, when she could lose control at any moment.

‘Do you know how many people I’ve hurt?’ She then added, shrinking with a touch of sadness at the remembrance, because she never forgot.

‘Because I’m this way…

Because no matter what I do… I always end up burning…’

“I hate you… so much,” She said in a weaker voice, wearing a small smile that held just a touch of fondness,

‘I hate you for being able to handle me...even at my worst.

I hate you for making me feel so small and weak next to you.

I hate always thinking about you.’

A low, sweet chuckle left him, and during then he wore a teasing little smirk she couldn't see, but could vividly imagine, because she had it ingrained in her mind.

“Ah…” He breathed, “ A shame…,” He murmured, “I love to play with your flame.” He admitted.

“Your heat...” he then uttered, before falling into silence. His hold and presence disappeared all at once, leaving her wide-eyed and surprised, her face burning with embarrassment.

She whipped around, spinning like a curious dog chasing its tail, her eyes searching for the man with wide-eyed innocence.

“I just can’t stand him, “ She murmured, fuming, by then having been subdued into a less agitated state.

‘Because I can’t think of anything but him.

I want him to play with me as much as he wants, shape me in every way I can be molded.

Loki...why are you so unbearable....so unforgettable?’

61 notes · View notes

mimiplaysgames · 3 years ago

Text

Terraqua Week Day 2 (Rivalry)

Summary: Growing up with your best friend is the greatest joy, the greatest nuisance, the greatest heartache. (The one where they kiss after their fight in Radiant Garden). || Word Count: 6,705

Read on AO3

A/N: My submission for the second day of @terraquaweek !! Title is from a quote from Eraqus from BBS. It’s pretty much the only line in the game that sums up Terra and Aqua, and it’s partly the reason why they’re so amazing. This whole rivals to lovers thing is so much like enemies to lovers and I WANT TO EAT IT ALL. I’m especially proud of this one - I had so much writing it!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

for when equal powers clash, their nature is revealed

CHILDHOOD

It was a strange dream but she doesn’t remember it when she wakes up, just that it left her with a coppery taste in her mouth and a fog blanketing her thoughts. Something is coming, and she can’t prepare for it.

Aqua decides to tell her best friend about it.

Terra is waiting for her in the woods. They like to hike to the lake, to listen to the birds in the summer. They like to spar away from the training grounds of the castle sometimes, away from the Master’s eyes so they could practice without any scrutiny. She’s grateful to have Terra—he’s just as crazy as her when it comes to their studies. Books past midnight? Sign me up. Spar for five hours? Your ass is grass. Forgo an entire night of sleep to talk about outside worlds, about their worries, their pride, finally being a Master? We won’t be efficient for training tomorrow, but here’s what I’m thinking.

She finds him at the mouth of the forest, a trail down from the waterfall. Terra is lobbing balls of fire, an excited grin on his face, itching to get moving. Too much energy for a fourteen-year-old in the morning.

“What does that mean?” Terra asks her when she describes the dream.

Well, she can’t really describe it. Nothing happened. Darkness. Questions spoken in her head, worries that there was a darker darkness moving around in the shadows stalking her. A nagging suspicion that inside its mouth was something she should have pulled out.

“Nothing’s going to get you here. You’re safe,” Terra says, though she doesn’t need reassurance. “Should we go back?”

“No, please.” Aqua keeps her nose high. “The lake is a good place to rest.”

But they wouldn’t rest. They both love the thrill: training their magic, the thought of an upcoming exam two weeks from now, essays. They can’t help themselves.

Terra punches the air, an energy blast shooting out from his arm. Another fire spell, his favorite. When he gets too involved though, too much, he becomes obsessive—obsessed with winning, obsessed with tripping her up, obsessed with outlasting her. The fury in how he builds his attacks is what makes Terra a dangerous opponent.

He’s perfect.

Aqua dodges and summons an ice spell to repel him, sweeping her kick so it spreads out. That’s the best strategy—tire him out, make him run after her, evade and exhaust, evade and exhaust, strike him when he’s almost done.

Pull. She hears. Pull from it.

One of his attacks breaks her barrier, and she grins, twirling while she heals herself. Every moment she stumbles is another opportunity to learn how to beat him. They’ll talk about their duel after they finish. They’ll gloss over technique and how to improve. Every time they spar, their bond is reforged, connected, strengthened, unbreakable.

Terra throws another blow.

Pull.

This one catches her off guard.

Aqua gasps and shields herself with her arm without a spell to protect her. Terra chokes on her name, too late to warn her.

A light explodes in her face, a flash of flower petals, a spell so instinctual she can’t articulate where it comes from. Her hand wraps around metal, as though an invisible hand has shoved it to her, strong but as light as her feet, a thrum deep underneath, a heartbeat. Its arrival blocks the attack with a barrier.

“A-Aqua?”

She holds her Keyblade in her hand.

“Huh.” Terra grimaces, stepping back.

The Keyblade is curved, striking at the tips, like a slice of movement. Blue and silver, a cool brush of a touch as chilling as snow on her fingertips but warm all the same, the feeling of a beloved embracing her. Aqua jumps in excitement, squealing. She had drawn images in her journal for what it would look like. This is better, much more beautiful.

“I don’t have a name for it, yet,” she says, laughing.

Terra doesn’t laugh with her. “Congrats,” he says, his enthusiasm on a chokehold, his hand rubbing his hip because it can’t find his pocket.

Oh. He’s two years older than her, the first child to come to the Land of Departure, and he can’t conjure his Keyblade yet.

“Terra?”

“I’m fine.” He’s not.

“Wait.” She follows him into the thicket. He’s speedwalking, trying to get away from her. “Don’t be sad. Yours will come soon.” He doesn’t slow down. “Maybe I can help.”

Terra scoffs, scorched. At least he stops. “Or maybe not.”

Aqua fiddles with the tip of her wonderful Keyblade, rolling it onto her palm. “I was thinking how happy I was sparring with you. We’re best friends and I was thinking that…” Heat pools into her cheeks. “I was thinking we’d be best friends forever. Then she came to me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “That’s nice.”

“I summoned mine in the middle of danger,” she offers. “Maybe you need the same.”

He arches a brow. But he softens, blinking back tears. “You think that would work?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“We could tie you down. I can cover you in ice.”

Terra’s face contorts, as if stopping a snort. “That’s the best you can offer?”

“Should I hang you by your toes and put leeches in your shirt?”

Terra cracks a smirk and she sighs, relieved.

Once he’s able to summon his own Keyblade, they could go home and declare the semester over. The Master will be so impressed.

Aqua calls for an ice spell to stay near. With the Keyblade, it’s much more natural, as if the chasm she normally has to pray through is now a step away. “I won’t hold back,” she warns.

Terra brings his fists together, heat simmering off his skin as a fire spell starts to build. “Good.”

He is the first to strike. Aqua dodges as the flames lick under her shoes, swinging her Keyblade forward. Ice sparks out from its tip and shoots forward in a straight line. It’s so much easier to aim now. Terra sways his hands into a cupping motion, as if picking up dirt into a bowl. Flames burst out of the ground, creating a wall that melts the ice before it hits him.

But Terra has a huge disadvantage: because she’s faster at summoning spells with the Keyblade, she can race around him, dodging everything he comes up with. He’s stuck in one spot, forced to place all his focus on bringing his magic to him in order to pull from it, the worst kind of exposure in a battlefield imaginable.

He wants this, doesn’t he? To be pushed into summoning it?

“Don’t hold back,” he says when she hesitates. He throws a burst of thunder at her.

“Terra, I don’t like this.”

“You promised,” Terra says, closing a fist. He takes several moments to meditate on a spell, and Aqua stops. He’s trying to summon ice, a weaker command for him. But Terra is smart and Terra is capable. He pushes what he’s conjured with a force strong enough to crush her into a tree.

She clicks her tongue when he follows that immediately with a fire spell. It nearly singes her hair, and she retaliates in kind—ten fold. Her fire hits him directly on the shoulder, sputtering onto the bush behind him, spreading like wings on the greenery, blackening the tree nearby and jumping to others.

“Aqua!” Terra grips his shoulder and gapes at the collateral, which is moving too fast to seem real.

“Terra, we have to—”

“Come on!”

Ignoring his injury, he scrambles towards the lake, Aqua following close behind. The forest fire beats heavy behind them, a nasty gray suffocating the sky. The heat molts onto them, the smoke thick and invasive, visibility covered by a layer of graininess. Terra throws himself into the lake and draws a circle on the surface with his good hand. The smoke is now black.

“You need to heal first,” Aqua says, coming up behind him and placing her hand on his shoulder, whispering a spell. Green petals kiss his charred shirt, and he can move his arm better, gathering the water into an invisible bowl to carry back.

Aqua does the same. She tries sealing the fire with her Keyblade so it stops spreading so far. So much work that seems like it’s doing nothing. So much earth that Terra is throwing onto the fire when the water sizzles away. Aqua almost collapses from the adrenaline keeping her standing, from the sweat and soot filling her eyes, from coughing but no matter how much, she can’t clear her throat.

The Master finally arrives and points his Keyblade into the sky. A storm cloud gathers, a wave of water to hush everything. Aqua doesn’t know what comes next, only that Terra is picking her up in his arms.

It isn’t until after she wakes up in the infirmary that she realizes what a shithole they’ve dug themselves into.

It’s raining, trickling down the small window that sits above the bed, behind the pillow. Wooden shelves line the walls, filled with potions that she can pronounce and ones that she can’t. Some are so expired the Master has never opened them. Flasks, beakers, needles, syringes, scalpels, gloves spread across the table. Medical books about the nervous system and the heart are plenty here. There should be two about herbal remedies, but they’re gone.

She hears the Master and Terra bickering on the other side of the door.

“Am I to believe,” the Master says, icy and sharp, “the day she summons her Keyblade for the first time and a sudden, devastating forest fire is to be simply spooned together as a coincidence?”

Terra is quiet at first. “No, Master.”

“Of course not,” he bites.

“I was angry, sir.” This shocks Aqua. “I couldn’t control my magic for a moment.”

That’s not true. He needs to say it was her fault. She didn’t know her own strength and she tried too hard—

The Master scoffs. “I am so disappointed,” he says, his voice shaking in a way she’s never heard before. “I do not have the words. I can’t bear to look at you.”

Her heart sinks. She can’t imagine. She can’t imagine how awful Terra must feel.

The door opens, and Terra slips inside with a gathering of fresh herbs in his hand. His face is ashen and pale. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice brittle. He’s about to sob.

Aqua moves and flinches. Her arm. “Ugh.”

“Don’t move.” He rips the leaves off and stuffs them into a mortar. “Your arm is badly burnt. The Master already healed you, but you need longer term care.” Somehow, he doesn’t cry.

Aqua pulls the sheet over her down. Red splotches trail from the shoulder down to the elbow. The Master took care of the severe scarring, but it hurts like she’s still in a pyre. “The fire?”

Terra sniffs and mixes the herbs with the pestle. “The Master took care of it. He hasn’t given me my punishment yet.” Briskly, he approaches her, spreading the concoction over her skin. “This should work better than a potion.”

“Our herb master,” she says, hoping it would make him smile. It doesn’t. Terra has dedicated himself to potion making and teas, considering that healing spells are hardest for him. When he finishes balming her in the mix, he reaches for bandages, holding her by the wrist so he can wrap the entire arm. “You shouldn’t move this for a while.”

“Terra?”

He doesn’t look at her, pinning the bandages in place.

“Thank you,” she says.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Terra climbs into the bed with her. It’s a narrow cot, the mattress thin and overused, the sheets washed too many times that its threads fray. Terra holds her good hand, bringing it up between their faces. Tears roll down his cheeks and pool on the pillow. “You’re going to be okay,” he says, “right?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. The mix soothes the superficial burns but it takes its time relieving the stabbing pain that comes with such an intense injury. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

Terra frowns, staring at the folds of the pillow under his face. “I didn’t want him yelling at you.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow—”

“Nah.” He wills a smirk and it looks fake. “We should… celebrate your accomplishment, you know?”

For some reason, it makes her guilty. “Are you really that mad at me?”

“What? No.” He bites his lip. “No, I just… I’m stupid.”

Aqua stares at him. “You’re not.”

He scoffs. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t fail at the most basic part of being a wielder.”

“Your Keyblade?”

He shakes his head. It’s not fair.

“Why didn’t it come?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs.

Aqua gives his hand a light squeeze. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“Pssh. Maybe?” He grins.

She would hit him on the shoulder, but she hurts too much. “Maybe my approach isn’t your approach.”

“Meaning what?”

“Maybe your Light needs something different.”

His smile falls, like that of a lost and abandoned child. “But I don’t know what it wants from me.”

“Hmmm.” Aqua thinks hard, staring at the way his eyebrows furrow as he thinks with her. “You like to protect.”

“Okay?”

“Maybe your Keyblade isn’t about connecting with others or making friends like mine is. Maybe you’re happiest protecting and taking care of them.”

Terra purses his lips, blushing. “I guess.”

“Look.” She lifts her bandaged elbow, wincing. “You took care of me.”

“I took care of a sap.”

“Who was the one crying over me?”

“My secret evil twin. He wants to make me look bad.”

“What kind of a joke is that?” She sticks her tongue out. “Sometimes, I hate your face.”

Terra laughs for real this time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

BEFORE THE EXAM

The books she needs are not where they’re supposed to be on the shelf.

“Terra!” she calls.

“Shhh,” she hears from the other side. Terra is sitting on one of the numerous tables in the library, a long, five-story ballroom with windows for walls, the ceiling a skylight. It allows for the sun to beam on them from all directions, on ornate gold-plated shelves with ladders on wheels for the books out of reach. Of all the desks he could have chosen, figures he’d be right here where she’s frantically searching, just to spite her. “We’re in a library,” he says, voice low.

Aqua refuses to whisper. “We’re the only ones here.”

“How rude.”

“To who?”

Terra gestures to the open book splayed under his hand. “I’m reading.”

He has seven other books stacked next to his parchment and pen. Preliminaries start tomorrow—the preliminaries that would determine their eligibility for the Mark of Mastery next year—and essays are due.

On top of the stack is Darkness and the War for Light, right above The Stars As Your Guides and the ever-necessary Affairs of the Heart.

“I need those,” she says.

“You know the rules—”

“They’re arbitrary.”

“—first dibs, first reads.”

“You can’t read them all at once.”

“Watch me, I’m impressive.” Terra bites his lip to restrain a snort, those deep eyes waiting for her reaction, his strong cheekbones suspended in a smirk. She wants to punch him in the face.

Aqua exhales. Without saying a word, she snatches the book at the top of the stack before he could stop her, bolting for the other side of the table. Terra scrambles out of his chair, tackling her from her behind so he could yank it out of her arms. She’s laughing under the weight of his chest, heat rising to her cheeks.

“You’ll have to fight me for it,” she warns.

Terra snorts, his breath brushing her shoulder. “Really?” He grips the book and pulls. He’s stronger than her and they both know it.

The trick to defeating an opponent so much larger than you is to hit them at their most exposed. Aqua elbows him in the gut, and leaves Terra clutching his side so she could take a seat at the table, where her own unfinished essay awaits.

“I guess that’s fair,” he groans.

“You sought a challenge, so accept your defeat.”

Aqua flips pages of Darkness—this year, it was especially important that they recognize signs of Darkness lurking near. Rage, scheming, impure intentions, greed, selfishness, fear. They’re present in subtle ways. Sometimes people act without realizing. Sometimes people are fully aware. Both are dangerous.

She grunts when she’s shoved over.

Terra brings his parchment with him when he fills her seat, his hips so wide that she’s left with the corner.

“It could be more comfortable,” he complains. His body is warm.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing my essay, but you took my book.”

The one he wasn’t using. Aqua inhales. “Terra—”

“I had first dibs. You broke the honor code, so you left me with no choice.” He smirks. His face is nose to nose with hers, and she imagines closing the gap. “We can share.”

“Fine,” she musters, averting her gaze. It’s awkward staring at him when his eyes look like they’re about to swallow hers.

They work. The book sits between their respective essays, the scratch of pen on paper the only noise filling the room, especially when he strikes long lines across words he no longer wants. He leans over her shoulder to read, his breath heavy on her cheek. If they were in different places, if he had her in an embrace, she could probably feel for his heartbeat.

Though this isn’t something she should be thinking about right now, not when she’s trying to read the three tenants in combating the Darkness. Vow Number One: Do not give yourself to Temptation.

“You’re very distracting,” he says, his voice so close to her ear that it sounds like yelling.

She jumps. He took the words right out of her mouth. “Speak for yourself. You’re too big for this chair.”

“There’s one right next to you.” She could hear how much he loves this.

“I sat here first.”

He leans back and wraps his arm around the backrest. “I have to defend my space.”

“Then you can squirm.”

He huffs, and it suspiciously sounds like he’s pleased with that. Aqua reads a sentence, scans the current page, and flips to the next one.

Terra swats her hand and turns it back. “I wasn’t finished with that one.”

Aqua would scream if she already didn’t enjoy this. She’ll never admit that out loud. “So you’re just,” she starts slowly, “going to police how fast I read this book?”

“Depends on where I am.”

“You’re slowing me down.”

“You’re not being considerate.”

“I can do the same thing.” She flips the page back to her spot.

“Aqua,” he warns.

“Oh, you didn’t like that?” Aqua smirks at him.

He eyes her and smiles. “You make me want to scream.”

Like a mind reader. “Don’t forget—we’re in a library.”

“Okay.” He pulls the book closer to him.

“Okay.” She pulls it back.

Terra strengthens his grip on the book, leaning forward and wrapping his other arm around her waist. To use her as a counter-weight, to push off of her so he can claim the prize, Aqua knows this, but her heart jumps at the touch. He drives her crazy in the most delicious way. He’s addictive.

“Nice to see my students finding some time for leisure,” the Master’s voice says, approaching them from the entrance. “A healthy activity during such a time of stress, if I do say so myself. I commend the both of you.”

Aqua doesn’t know about healthy when she’s thinking about all manners of touching. Terra slips away from her. Is the Master being facetious? Should they move to different chairs? Or would that make them look more guilty?

“Terra is deliberately sabotaging my essay,” Aqua says, voice shaky, her sleeve coming up to cover her blush. Terra has his elbows on the table, both of his fists hiding the lower half of his face.

Eraqus tucks a binder under his arm, glancing over their work. Aqua isn’t sure if she’s seeing things, but she swears that’s a smirk underneath his moustache.

“Well,” he says. “These will be the last essays you will write, if everything runs smoothly tomorrow. Quite a reward for all these years of hard work, yes?”

Terra and Aqua nod.

Eraqus nods along with them, as awkward as the collapse of clothes leaving you naked. “Don’t work too hard,” he advises, and Aqua wants to melt under the table. “Tomorrow will come regardless. Enjoy the time when it is good.”

The Master leaves the library with a different atmosphere.

“Last essay ever,” Terra repeats, mumbling to himself. He’s frowning. They don’t make a move to a different chair, as if doing so would have admitted some secret neither of them even know but nevertheless, they don’t want anyone else to find out. “Then there’s next year.”

Next year.

Some of Terra’s pages have whole paragraphs crossed out. Maybe that’s why he’s better than her at essay-writing. He goes beyond. He’ll scrub out parts he’s already written when he realizes they no longer serve him, drenched in ink blots when he notices small errors. Even with a complete essay, Terra will rewrite it from scratch, to prepare clean pages with no mistakes. Aqua doesn’t consider herself lazy with essays. She just never had a difficult time writing something the Master will want to read.

But all the effort Terra puts into his work means that he considers angles she’s never thought of before. On the subject of Darkness and Temptation, Terra writes: The Master of Masters writes of Temptation: “To tempt a snake for its loyalty reaps safety in the future,” (Affairs of the Heart, pg. 236). Giving in to Temptation when a Light is about to expire harbors selfishness, and that beacons the Darkness to cloud our minds. If we are doubtful, we too welcome the Darkness. However, if we deny the very thing our Hearts want, when we should be following Them as our closest allies, then we are unable to persevere. I question whether Temptation can only have negative connotations. Our duty is to make sure the Light is in balance, and perseverance is key. How are we supposed to keep the Light bright if ours are too dim? Should we not enjoy our own lives as we see fit, follow our Hearts to bring us fulfillment? Should we not make love, or enjoy the dessert we bake? These trivialities are the very thing people hold dear and protect. It is not our calling to enjoy them, but if we are, then our Hearts are at peace. If happiness is shared, then it is Light worth protecting, even our own. It feeds our strength.

Aqua can’t write like that.

Tomorrow, they’ll spar under the Master’s scrutiny. If they pass, they’ll do it again next year and finish their studies once and for all. Ever since Terra conjured his Keyblade, he’s treated his fights like he’s a bulldozer. Tricky to outmaneuver, keeping her on her toes.

He’s still the best sparring partner she could ask for, the best teacher when it comes to outlasting opponents. Her only equal.

“I’m nowhere near finished,” Aqua says.

“Looks like we’re both pulling all-nighters tonight.”

Aqua sighs, and this prompts Terra to hold her hand under the table, interlacing their fingers together. She wants to curl into him, feel what it’s like to really hold him close.

“We’re going to do fine.” Terra says, his voice soft, but he’s so close he fills her mind and every sensation in her body. He rubs her thumb with his.

“All-nighters aren’t pleasant,” she says, thinking ahead to a yard of headaches and yawns. “We’ll need energy.” This is the first opportunity to stand up. “I can make coffee and tea for us.”

“And lots of food.” Terra stands with her. “Protein. Nuts are good for energy boosts. I can make us enough meals to sustain us for the rest of the night.”

They’re speaking with the intention to leave something behind that they don’t want to address, packaging their words away from the obvious. Aqua fiddles with her fingers.

Terra moves his essay over. “Maybe we should work on opposite ends of the table,” he says, clearing his throat. His voice is shy.

“So we can focus.”

“Yeah.” He sounds desperate to agree but also…disappointed? “You can take the book. For now. Consider it my peace offering.”

“It wasn’t an honorable battle to begin with.” She moves hers over too, measuring in her mind how big of a feast they’d fill the table with. They’ll need more, enough for Ven to pig out every once in a while.

“Says the cheater.”

“You were the one stealing my book!”

“You broke the rules.”

“It wasn’t a fair setup.”

“Aqua, I’m shocked.” Terra feigns displeasure, holding his hand over his heart. “I thought I knew you better.”

She groans. She hates his beautiful, impeccable face sometimes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THEN...

The conversation is a combustion she can’t prevent from happening. It isn’t supposed to be this way.

“And what is this dangerous task, Terra?” she asks, refusing to believe he’d test the teachings they both held so dear. After all these years. That he’d squander his chances at convincing Eraqus to give him the Mark of Mastery. “It doesn’t sound like what the Master told you to do.”

“It might be a different route, but I’m fighting the Darkness.”

“I’m not so sure. I’ve been to the same worlds as you and I’ve seen what you’ve done. You shouldn’t put yourself so close to the Darkness.”

Ven interjects. “Listen to yourself, Aqua. Terra would never—”

“You mean you’ve been spying on me?” Terra says, his eyes narrowing. To see his beautiful face this hurt—stars, she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She should shut up. “Is that what he said to do? The Master’s orders?”

What is she to do? What else does he expect? “He was only…”

Quietly, he says, “I get it,” like the silence in a coffin.

“Terra—”

“Just stay put! I’m on my own now, all right?”

“Terra, please! Listen! The Master has no reason to distrust you, really! He was just worried.”

Her words fall on deaf ears. Terra is not like this, he’s never like this, turning his back, walking away, leaving her to stand and watch him go.

“Why?” Ven asks her. “Why would you do this? You’re letting this whole Master thing get to your head.”

Terra has never said that about her, even when pushed. They’ve been pushed and pushed, how is she supposed to mend the tear now?

“I’ll be right back.”

“He’s really pissed.”

“Stay here.”

“I won’t.”

Aqua stops. A lot is changing and she can’t keep up. “But Ven—”

Ven purses his lips. “I’ll give you guys some time alone. Then I’m going after him.”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. She is the odd one out, the one that shouldn’t follow Terra, the one that broke some sort of code by choosing to side with the Master. They should be on the same side.

“Be safe, please?”

Ven nods, but he isn’t happy about it.

Aqua crosses the alleyway, opening an ornate gate that leads into the town square. Radiant Garden is pretty; they arrived just in time for spring, where the dandelions are yellow and the town is painted in herbal colors. But Aqua can’t get herself to enjoy the view. She can’t appreciate the architecture, the castle, the clock tower, the townsfolk selling their wares, the gentle sunset, not when her heart is collapsing into a growing, weighted pit. Nothing else and no one else exists in the seconds she dashes down the streets.

“Terra!”

He’s heading towards the city gates, where she assumes he’ll summon his glider and fly away.

Aqua speeds up as fast as she can, feeling she’s still too slow. He’s about to disappear if she can’t break her bones and fly. She grabs him by the shoulder. “Terra, please. I don’t want the conversation to end the way it did.”

“Aqua,” he grunts, stepping out of her touch and crossing his arms. “Not now, okay?”

He’s about to turn on her. Don’t let this be the last image she sees.

She hugs him by his waist and buries her face into his shoulder. “Please don’t leave.”

He tenses.

“Please?”

She doesn’t know what to say. Apologize? For doing what’s expected of her? Shouldn’t he know this?

Shouldn’t she understand on some level, after all these years, that sometimes Terra is way more important than her duties? That she should stand up for him when it’s called for?

When Terra finally wraps his arms around her, she squeezes him tighter, hoping the loss of words would translate. How many minutes does she have left before she has to let go?

Terra splayes his hand on her back, as if to prompt her to loosen up. “I need to go.”

“There’s so much we need to talk about.” Why is her heart pounding this hard?

“I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“I feel so awful for what I’ve said.”

Terra doesn’t reply.

Aqua doesn’t know what’s gotten into her, why she can’t trust in anything, let alone the faith that their bond is unbreakable when she is witnessing how it’s cracking under the pressure. She grabs his face and kisses him, the taste of his mouth unique, warm, sweet, more than she hoped for.

Terra seizes her when he kisses back. He wants another. And another. He grunts.

They part for breath, too exposed and in public. Terra takes her aside, into a shadowed alley between a house and the city wall, pushing her against the brick to kiss her harder. She locks his neck in her arms and pulls him in. He’s so enveloped in her lips and he’s so angry, his teeth sliding and nipping barely on her skin like he’s fighting to win, his pelvis on hers, his chest pressing her, squeezing her breath away. She doesn’t want him to let her go.

He pulls away, his touch slacked. Heavy in breath, lips swollen, eyes watery, he trembles as if he’s done something awful. Aqua has her hand on his chest right over his heart, where it thrums quick and strong. He’s strong, he’s always been. She has to believe that.

“I don’t compare to you,” he croaks.

Fear churns in Aqua’s stomach, and she reaches for his wrist. “You do. You—” She doesn’t know what to say. “You shouldn’t think that way.”

Terra pulls from her, snapping their connection, leaving it cold where he was warm. It hurts. “I have to do this alone.”

“Terra—”

“Master Aqua,” he says, and her heart drops. “Please, respect my wishes. This is something I need to do if I’m ever going to—” He doesn’t finish. Instead, he turns over his shoulder, the crown of his dark hair glistening in the light of the sun where he disappears past the city gates. He doesn’t come back.

Aqua wraps her arms around herself, caressing the warmth he left behind for as long as possible before it inevitably leaves her too. She wonders if there is meaning in what just happened, wonders what he’s telling himself that would set him down this path. She’s scared of what will happen if she follows him.

She has to follow him. She has to make sure he’s alright. She prays he makes the right decisions, that they won’t have to fight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

NOW

At night, the library is surrounded by stars. Twelve years in the Realm of Darkness and Aqua has forgotten that the library is all windows, bookshelves suspended in a birdcage on the side of the castle. It’s drizzling, droplets appearing at random, with none of the weight to drip down the glass. The lights are off, a glow polluting in from the hallway.

Terra is here, lying on a gold and white couch, the stand ornate and the cushions embroidered.

“Welcome to the insomnia party,” he says.

Aqua sits by his ankles. Terra rests his head on his arms, and lets go of the stars above the storm clouds to watch her. He leans up on one elbow and offers her a smile, but it’s a mimic of one. Who knows the reason why he can’t sleep. She won’t ask.

“Can we,” she starts, bringing her knees to her chin. “Talk?”

“We are.”

On the spot, Aqua blanks. “I don’t know where to start.”

He scoffs and unhooks his elbow, plopping back on the cushion. “Pick a place. We’ll get lost together and have to backtrack anyway.” He sighs, rolling his head towards the floor. “I can’t look at any of these books the same way again.”

Five stories of them, and not a single explanation for what happened.

“When it got tough and I needed to rely on my knowledge,” Aqua says, counting words on her essays over the years: 20,000. “I found that none of it could help us.”

“I’ve had questions ever since I started my apprenticeship,” Terra says, staring at the glass ceiling. “Many of them are still unanswered. What was the point?”

“None of it was relevant in the Realm of Darkness.”

Terra rolls over into a fetal position, burrowing his face into his arms. “So what did help?”

“Thinking of you and Ven.” The thought right now makes her smile, a little thing, a blink in the darkness.

“I thought of you every day,” he says, morosely, shyly, with a speck of hope and a mix of self-awareness. After twelve years, Aqua still knows him so well and she’s grateful he’s (almost) the same Terra she came home to.

The thought of that chokes her. “I didn’t want it to be this way,” she says. “Any of it.”

“None of us did.”

“I meant…” She pauses, watching closely. The outline of his shoulders, the shape of his brow. They’re furrowed. “Our dream was to become Masters together.”

His shoulders tick. “I should have congratulated you.”

“What?”

“When you were titled Master. I didn’t congratulate you. I’m sorry for being self-centered.”

After twelve years, that’s the last thing in her mind. “I was thinking of withdrawing the title.”

Terra shoots up, face to face with her. “Why?”

“Like I said,” Aqua whispers, now that he’s so close. “Our dream was to be Masters together.”

“No way.”

“You’re quite passionate about this.” Aqua rubs her knee. A nervous habit, something for her body to do. It used to be natural to hold his hand.

Terra slaps his forehead. “I can’t let you do that. Not after all the work you’ve done.”

“You’ve worked hard, too.”

“And everything you’ve survived.”

“What you did was not survival?”

Terra gapes. “I don’t know, but I need to own my mistakes. I should have accepted my setbacks and my weaknesses…I wasn’t a good friend to you.”

Aqua sighs. “Don’t tell me you don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t want to think about what I deserve. I only know that you deserve better.”

Deserving and not deserving sound like arbitrary definitions, markers of work ethic and integrity when everyone deserves peace of mind. “Then it sounds like you need to work really hard in the next couple of weeks.”

He blinks at her sudden change of tone. “Doing what?”

“Passing the Mark of Mastery.” She looks at her knee. “If you want me to keep my title, you have to pass.”

“You’re keeping your title regardless.”

“Pass and become Master with me.”

“Aqua,” he warns.

“That is the only condition.”

Terra leans his elbow on the backrest, and laughs into his hand. Laughs. It’s a weak and unpracticed song. She forgot what it sounded like. “You drive me crazy,” he says, “but it makes me so happy.”

She swallows. “I’ll contact Yen Sid to schedule the date.”

“Don’t get cheeky. You haven’t won this conversation.”

“Yes, I have.”

When the chuckles shared between them fade out, Terra studies her face, starting at the tip of her forehead, running his eyes down her nose and lips. The quiet is unwelcome.

“Do I look different?” Aqua asks.

“Not really.” He blinks, and it’s too dark to tell if he’s staring into her eyes. “You don’t smile like you used to. It’s like you’ve dimmed the lantern.”

“I can say the same about you,” she says. He’s tired, leaning on the couch like he can’t sit up on his own. He needs effort to speak. When he smiles, they’re delayed, as though he’s lost and needs to be reminded that he lives in reality now. He’s still beautiful. Terra doesn’t ask her to elaborate, but she supposes he understands exactly what she means. She supposes it’s the same for her.

Terra takes her hand and pulls it closer to him. “I do feel better with you around.”

Aqua grips the fabric of her stocking. “The last real conversation we had shouldn’t have been a fight.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh.” She holds her breath. “Wait, I shouldn’t be sorry for the fight or…” The kiss? She can’t bring herself to ask.

Terra smiles into his knuckles, and a spark of flame ignites his eyes. That’s what it is. Their hearts are tired. No book in the library can teach them how to bring them back to life. How to give it an ounce of oxygen to fan the warmth. Or how to provide a touch of oil, a passionate something to make it burst and remind them what it’s like to really want to hold a Keyblade. Aqua wonders if Terra’s essay on the subject is somewhere in the Master’s old office.

“You know what, I’m sorry,” Terra says, stroking his thumb on the back of her hand. “For that stupid fight. For being stupid enough to have issues with you being Master and for leaving. For being incredibly stupid for not staying in Radiant Garden with you and Ven.” He giggles again.

“Why is that funny?”

“I should have stayed and kissed you longer.” He blinks back tears, inhaling sharply in shock of what he just said. “I guess I needed to get that off my chest.”

Aqua snorts and brings a hand to her cheek. “Yeah, you should have stayed and kissed me longer.”

They say nothing else. Terra takes her face into his large hands and brings her to him, lips to lips, warmth on warmth, chest to chest, heart to heart. He breathes into her, pulling her waist in so she could lie next to him, his heartbeat loud and clear, eager and anxious. A fire grows inside her stomach—she’s forgotten she’s ever felt like this before, years ago when they’ve touched and never went further. It’s invigorating, it’s relaxing. Not a blaze born out of excitement but a gentle hearth, something more than a flicker of the flame in a lantern. Alive.

He mumbles into her ear. “By the way, I have every intention of being the better kisser.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just so you know.”

“We’re really going to be doing this with the kissing?”

“Doing what?”

“What we’ve always done.”

“There’s no contest here.”

“But you want to be the best kisser.”

“I will be the best kisser.” He smiles, digging his nose into her hair. “I must be good enough for you to enjoy it. Therefore, naturally, I have to aspire to be really damn good. That’s all.”

Aqua giggles into his chin, soft and careful and excited when his arm curls around her waist, squeezing her into him. She loves that he laughs with her. She loves his beautiful, cocky face.

They exchange small words in between, a gasp of surprises, whispers about old memories, requests for what she wants, for what he wants. Two wicks to a single candle, held gently between their hands.

#terraqua #terraqua week #aqua #terra #eraqus #OMG I REALLY LOVE THIS ONE #I hope you all too ;-;#my fic

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mitthsyndic · 3 years ago

Text

I didn't have time to proofread this, so let me know if there are any mistakes! I also did a little rebranding of my blog; I changed my icon, header and user (was chlmaera).

Read on AO3.

Summary: Maul embarks on his journey to finally end things with Obi-Wan Kenobi after years of bitter rivalry. With the lingering feeling that he will not come back from Tatooine, Maul pays a final visit to the person he loved most in the galaxy: you.

Pairing: Maul x Reader angst with a bit of fluff (gender-neutral).

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,846.

Goodbyes

Long ago, these surroundings were all too familiar to Maul. The hum of speeder traffic could almost constantly be heard from your apartment; the first few times he'd stayed the night, it had deeply irritated him. In time, he'd learnt to appreciate the ceaseless sounds of city life as a part of your relationship, and how to focus on the noises that brought him joy instead, like your soft singing voice floating throughout your home as you went about the day. He never imagined he'd miss the cacophony of urban living, let alone that it would bring a smile to his face.

The smell of local markets and restaurants would always drift up into your apartment, but Maul much preferred the smell of your own cooking. Whenever he'd come to visit and you'd be standing in the kitchen over the stove, it would temporarily satisfy the ache he'd long had in his heart for domesticity. The ache he never truly allowed himself to give into.

The taste never disappointed him too; the number of exotic spices and flavours you'd subjected him to from your small apartment on a planet you seldom left took him all across the galaxy. You'd always have a story prepared about the meal you made; over dinner, you'd tell him all about the meal and its various components, how you'd discovered it, how you cooked it. He was certain that the love and passion you put into cooking made the meal taste better than anyone else could ever make it.

Despite the lack of space, your home was beautifully decorated; he’d always thought it was a perfect reflection of your inner self. It was so distinctly you that even when he’d been alone here your presence lingered like a veiled phantom; he found it oddly comforting. As your relationship progressed, tabletops and shelves slowly became decorated with various trinkets he’d bring back for you, such as ornaments or unique stones and shells from countless planets business with Crimson Dawn had taken him to. He’d often longed to take you with him to see the galaxy (and fulfilled that longing a few times), but he feared too much for your safety to expose your relationship to the Empire and his other enemies. He felt it pointless to regret such things now, but a part of him still wished he could turn back time and do things a little differently.

He missed the soft touch of your lips against his, and your drowsy yet delicate caresses of his horns and skin in the early hours of the morning. Physical intimacy was not something he’d often allow himself to indulge in, mostly due to his own insecurities, but there had always been something special and comforting in your affection and desire for him. He had fully trusted you with every inch of his mind, body and soul.

And yet, it had been years since he last saw you.

With the help of Ezra Bridger, Maul had finally uncovered the location of his life-long nemesis, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had practically fallen into his ship and punched in the coordinates, eagerly rushing to put an end to his rivalry with him. Just as his ship had been prepared to enter hyperspace, he paused for a moment. Allowing rational thoughts to enter his mind once again, he thought about the potential outcomes of fighting Kenobi. Although he’d proved a formidable foe, Maul was rather confident in himself that he could finally kill Kenobi. And yet, he simply could not shake the feeling that he would not ever leave Tatooine once he arrived. He would usually ignore a feeling like this, and label it paranoia. But, the logical side of him acknowledged that he was a little (rather, a lot) older than their last fight. Furthermore, he’d spent another time on Tatooine to know just how dangerous it could be. Eventually, he concluded that it was perfectly logical (and not too dramatic) to pay you a visit again, just in case it really was the last time he ever saw you.

And here he stood now, on your doorstep, anxiously awaiting you to answer his desperate knocks. It felt like an eternity before you finally opened the door, a surprised yet pleased look appearing on your face as you recognised him beneath his dark robes.

“Maul? I… really wasn’t expecting to see you on the other side of the door.” You offered him a warm, genuine smile as you stepped to the side. “Please, come in. If you can stay, that is.” “I have a little time.” He passed you and inhaled your familiar scent, feeling slightly more at ease now you’d happily welcomed him in. He paused for a moment beside you in the doorway, and turned to you. “Thank you.”

Not much had changed since he’d last been here. There were a few more trinkets and paintings, he presumed from your own travels since the last time you’d met, but every gift he’d given you remained proudly displayed around your home. The calming familiarity of your apartment brought him solace. He took a seat, and gestured for you to join him as you closed the door.

“What’s wrong? You seem… troubled.” You read his face with such ease as you settled beside him despite the many years you’d been apart. Sometimes, it appeared you knew him so well he felt certain that you were secretly incredibly strong with the Force.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just going on a… mission. I have a purpose. I thought I would stop by on the way.” He knew that you could tell he was lying.

“Good. It’s good to see you.” You stood, and looked over to the kitchen.

Despite your friendly demeanour, it was apparent that you felt a little awkward around Maul. When you were lovers, you would have pushed Maul to tell you how he was really feeling, and he’d eventually relent and allow you to reassure him as best you could. In that moment, he longed for you to pry into how he was feeling, or how he’d been. He knew that it was selfish of him to expect things to be exactly as they had been all those years ago due to the nature of your break-up.

“Can I get you anything?” You asked, eyes glancing between the kitchen and your feet, looking at everything except for Maul.

“No, please sit. I want to talk to you.” He pleaded, a little more desperately than he’d meant to come across. But, you obeyed, and sat beside him once again.

“The nature of my mission is dangerous, to say the least.” He sighed, suddenly feeling the tension that had been apparent to you since he entered. After a moment’s contemplation, he took in a deep breath, and decided to be honest with you. “I am confident as ever in myself, but since I left I have been unable to shake this feeling that I will not return from my mission. I knew I had to see you one last time before I died.” “And if you live?” You inquired, ever the optimist. Your question was sincere, though. He could tell from your expression that you believed him, but were doubtful that his feelings would come to fruition.

“Then I shall finally allow myself the life I have always wanted. I did not leave you because I didn’t love you; for my entire life, I have always been serving a greater evil than myself. Sidious, Mandalore, Crimson Dawn. Hatred and anger have always been my driving factor, and the way I connect myself to the dark side of the force. But, our relationship taught me that there is more to life than revenge and fury. Love, passion, domesticity, you. You taught me to live my life differently from the way I always had; I let myself love and be vulnerable and enjoy the smallest joys the galaxy has to offer.”

“Then why did you leave?” A question that he knew was coming, yet the hurt in your voice wounded him all the same. He couldn’t bear to meet the tearful, pained look in your eyes.

“I could never let myself be vulnerable and happy. There is comfort in familiarity; I understand how to be angry, violent and selfish. I find it hard to understand how to fully love and give myself to you the way you are able to with me. It was easier to go than to stay and learn about the other side of me.” He locked eyes with you, allowing himself to shed silent tears with you. “I feel as though I am finally ready. That is, if you’ll have me. I didn’t think to ask how you’ve been all this time.” “I’ve been good. Nothing much has changed, but I’m happy.” You broke eye contact with Maul, mustering up the courage to be as honest with him as he had been with you. “It took years to recover from the heartbreak of losing you, and yet I never truly healed from it. No other lover could have ever filled the void you left. But, I learnt to be happy without you, and in time, my anger towards you subsided, and I forgave you. I understand why you left, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I’m sorry. Truly.” He reached out, and took your hands in his.

“I know.” The two of you sat in silence for a little while, adapting to each other's touch and presence once again.

“When your mission is complete, come back home to me. Life is too short to deny oneself of the things you love. We’ll adjust to however we may have individually changed over the years, and we’ll make it work. Just, promise me that this time you’ll stay.” You broke the silence, and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. They felt a little more rough than you remembered.

“I promise.” Maul felt almost overjoyed at the new incentive to kill Kenobi; he could finally let go of all his hatred, and return home to you. He stood and walked to the door, and you followed. “I love you. I always have and I always will. I’ll see you very soon.”

Maul took your head in his hands and placed a delicate kiss onto your lips. As he went to pull away you deepened the kiss, the urge to make up for lost time increasing your yearning for each other. Or was it the lingering feeling that this really would be the last time you’d ever meet?

“I love you too, Maul. Be safe for me.” You grinned, watching Maul walk away and shutting the door behind him.

The persistent feeling that Maul would not return remained in both your minds as you parted once more, but you chose to remain hopeful. Maul, on the other hand, knew his fate was clear. Regardless, for the first time in a long time, he drifted off to sleep easily, dreaming of the future that the two of you never had.

#maul x reader #lord maul #darth maul #maul #star wars #fanfic

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shelby-love · 4 years ago

Text

MATT CASEY

Beginning of a family.

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warnings: Angst (labour Kind of angst), of course a happy ending

Authors noter: I decided to do normal labor with a tiny wimsy complication because I tried so hard to have a good plot for difficult labour but it was waay too hard to make it so I dedicated to just do it like this. Hope it's okay! I LOVE IT!? Maybe it's because we all know how much Matt wants to start a family + If any of you have a better fitting Casey gif my messages are open for you to send to me! This gif isn't all that great.

You support your back and pace around the living room. At 9 months pregnant the only position that makes you feel somewhat comfortable is actually standing... Or better said - walking. Having just recovered from a hormonal breakdown because of your lack of fitting clothes, you found walking to be the way to get rid of some steam that was built inside of you like a 16th century fortress.

"Two weeks Y/N. Two more weeks to go," Days when Matt is working are definitely the worst. You're all alone at home with no one to cuddle with. I ran out of cake mix too. Your thoughts were occupied by cravings and everything above. This baby wore you out!

Your lower back ached as you supported yourself with your arms. Small pufs of air and a few curses escaped your mouth here and there.

No matter what you went through you still cherished every moment of the pregnancy, always thinking of the end. The end in which everything is finally going to be worth it. You would look at your belly every morning since you found out you were going to be a mom. No cramps could ruin that joy for you.

The journey was amazing for Matt too, he wanted nothing more than start a family with you. He loved caressing your stomach, gasping slightly every time your baby kicked and moved. It was his favourite sight to see.

Every time he left to go to work, he always said goodbye to you, kissing you softly on the lips, and also on your belly. He wanted the baby to hear his voice and that's the reason why he sometimes talked to your belly more than to you.

He never missed any of your regular checkups either.

Those checkups that meant the world to you couldn't prepare you for the labour that you were going to go through.

***

A week later, you're in a hospital bed, in the most pain you ever felt and thought possible.

"Okay Y/N I need you to push!" Your doctor instructs you. He was there since the beginning and his familiar face eased your wish for kicking him in the face for yelling at you.

"I can't do it, Matt, please. I can't do it." Sweat trickles down your forehead.

"Yes you can baby. Y/N you can do it." It was a relief to see Matt with you. The baby decided to come just when he was supposed to finish with his shift.

The waiting room is filled with firefighters but the one you need it right next to you.

"I'm a tough-ass woman." You tell yourself. Both Matt and your doctor nod excessively at your words of encouragement.

You grab his hand and squeeze. Hard. You don't fail to catch his facial expression. Matt finches at the strength of your grip.

"Matt do you want to switch places?" Sudden wave of anger overcomes your senses. "So you can see what it's like to do this!"

"Here honey hold my hand."

"Okay, maybe not so hard, baby."

You shoot him an angry look. "You said to take it, so I did - now deal with it!"

"You're right. I'm right here with you. Break my hand if you need to." As another contraction hits you, both you and Matt yell out in pain.

Matt being in pain kind of makes you feel better about your situation so you squeeze his hand even harder. Once the contraction is over you let go of his hand and take deep breaths.

"Do you need me to take a look at your hand?" Your doctor proposes. Matt flexes his fingers to see if they still work.

The half an hour that comes after that is blurry.

"Okay the baby is not moving as fast as I would like. Y/N I'm going to need you to push really hard for me. It's either that or a C-section."

At the mention of the latter Matt speaks up. "Cut her open? I don't know. Y/N what do you want to do?"

Your brain swarms with questions. "Would the baby be in danger if I keep pushing."

"You are okay to push Y/N but it's not a decision you can take much time making. You need to decide."

"That's good to know. I have to decide now?" You start to panic, imagining the worst of scenarios, but Matt is there stroking your forehead and holding your hand in his almost broken one.

"What if I make the wrong choice?" You sniff.

"Right now there is no wrong choice. If you decide right now. You are going to have this baby at the end of this. One way or another."

You look at Matt and suddenly it's clear what he wants to tell you. The decision is yours to make.

"I will do it naturally. But with the epidural." You lay back and take deep breaths as your doctor calls for an anesthesiologist. After some time the pain doesn't remotely stop. "This hurts real bad guys!"

Your announcement of pain startles Matt and "How long does it take to get some pain medicine around here?" In that moment, after those words came out, you never loved him more.

5 minutes later another doctor comes in the room and stabbed you with a giant needle in a matter that looked quite merciless to you. The reason you didn't give him a piece of your mind was simple - the pain you felt fell drastically and you sighed in relief.

You rest for a while before you have to start pushing. You do as you're told and before you know it you eventually open your eyes to the most precious sight - your baby.

You look at Matt who has tears in his eyes as he drinks in the sight. Your love for him was bigger than ever before. Tears flow down your rosy cheeks as you fight for words. "I... How did that big of a thing come out of me? I mean, look at the size of him/her!"

Matt laughs before coming down to kiss your temple. "Y/N do you want to hold your baby before the nurses take him/her?"

You know how much first skin to skin contact is important. You nod your head. With shaky hands and Matt's help you slip your hospital gown off your shoulders as your doctor hands you your squirming baby and lays him/her on your bare chest.

Tears gather in the corners of your mouth, "Oh my God, you're here."

You look up to see tears streaming down your husband's face. You hold and talk to your baby for a few moments before one of the nurses takes him/her. The nurse carries your son/daughter to get cleaned up and then you slip your gown back on. "You were amazing Y/N. I'm so proud of you."

"How are you feeling?"

"You know Matt... I'm feeling like a torn up piece of paper. Literally."

"Yeah," he laughs. "That looked rough."

A little while later, both you and your baby are taken care of. You're cleaned up and wrapped in a safety bubble that is your family. Matt and you take your time drinking in the sight of your newborn baby.

"We made that." You retort as you play with his/her small fingers. "Shhh. It's okay little one. Mommy and daddy are here."

You rock your baby gently to calm him/her. "I know you haven't gotten to hold our baby for long but I'm just dying to cuddle with him/her."

A soft laugh escapes your lips as you carefully hand him your baby. Matt bends down as you lift the baby up to him. "Just support his/her head. There you go. You're a natural honey."

Your heart melts at the sight in front of you. After wanting to have a family for so long, Matt finally has a baby of his own. A baby with you. You watch as he stares down at your son/daughter, and your heart bursts. You've never loved him more.

You run your fingers over your babies head and cheeks while Matt talks to him/her.

Soon you're lulled out of your world by a knock on the door. A very familiar set of firefighters poke their way inside your room.

"Can we meet him/her?" Both Matt and you can't refuse their puppy eyes as you carefully introduce them all to your baby.

That's how the rest of your day is spent. In the comfort of your family, extended and first.

MASTERLIST

#chicago fire imagine #chicago fire fanfiction #chicago fire #matt casey x reader #matt casey imagine #matt casey fanfiction #matt casey

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shera-dnd · 3 years ago

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AND WE’RE BACK BABY! WHO IS READY FOR SOME ANGST?

Well you better be ready, because I packed this one full of it

The campfire crackled between them, fire lighting their faces and smoke rising into the night sky. Silence had fallen over their camp, and none dared to break it. Belladonna, the Black Cat turned Black Knight, held her knees to her chest, tail wrapped protectively around her body. Though she easily towered over her companions, now she felt so small and frail.

“I knew there was something wrong with Taurus,” Amitola spoke first. She could still remember the way Belladonna looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world, and how he looked at her like she was nothing more than a valuable asset.

“And I should have known much sooner,” Belladonna replied, quietly.

Weiss, for her part, stayed quiet. Amitola wasn’t sure if this was due to having her words taken from her, or out of respect for their conversation.

“He lied to us,” she said, and red tinged her skin as her anger rose, “he said the humans took you. That we should avenge your death.”

“Of course he did,” Belladonna sighed, though there was no disappointment in her voice, there was still sadness, “I shouldn’t be surprised that he turned my defiance into more fuel for his revenge.”

“When I saw you I thought...I thought you had faked your own death to escape us, that you had left us,” that you had left me, she thought, but did not dare say it out loud, “when you had only left him.”

“Could you claim you would have been more accepting?” Belladonna asked, looking her in the eyes, “that the court wouldn’t have slain me the moment I spoke of my plan.”

And once more there was silence, tense and agonizing. Holding the Black Cat’s gaze in that moment was like holding your breath, and there was only so long Amitola could keep that up.

“No, I cannot,” she spoke, red shifting into blue, “even now I doubt this plan will ever work.”

Belladonna let out a sad chuckle, “sometimes even I have my doubts.”

“Well, I don’t!” Weiss declared, breaking her silence. Though Amitola could only shake her head, the Black Cat looked at her with something almost like hope in her eyes. “You are a fae who has clad herself in iron, and refused to burn. You have done the impossible once, Lady Blake, I cannot see how you couldn’t do it a second time.”

“I appreciate your confidence, my lady,” Belladonna thanked, “but I have done nothing more than accept Lord Ozpin’s gift.”

“Then accept my gift as well,” Weiss insisted, taking the Black Cat’s hand. Jealous greens and reds marred her at the sight, “I shall take my father’s seat at the council, and my sister shall take Ironwood’s once she becomes the Witch of Winter. Together we can sway the council in our favor, we can reshape Atlas. We can build the bridge from our side too.”

Light returned to Belladonna’s eyes and she smiled, “I didn’t take you for the kind to have big dreams, Lady Weiss.”

“This isn’t a dream,” she countered, “it’s a plan, and my plans don’t fail!”

Amitola couldn’t help herself. “Haven’t your plans for the festival failed miserably?”

“Things have certainly not gone the way I expected, but I must say…” Weiss took her hands away from Belladonna’s and looked directly at Amitola, with a smirk on her face that set her skin into a riot of colors, “I much prefer it this way.”

Her body seemed to decide that yellows and pinks were the colors of choice for the moment, as much as the fae herself found it profoundly disagreeable, forcefully changing it back to its natural colors.

“This still doesn’t speak well for your planning skills, Schnee,” Amitola argued, “and here I thought your whole family knew how to scheme from birth.”

“Actually, we have a scheming tutor,” Weiss played along, “though I can’t say I paid much attention to mine.”

“I take it you were too busy daydreaming about sword fighting and rescuing damsels in distress to pay attention to your classes,” Amitola joked, finally getting her revenge by making the human blush for once.

“You are…not incorrect,” Weiss answered quietly.

This whole time none of them seem to notice the bright smile on Belladonna’s face. Genuine and full of joy, only growing as they continued to playfully argue. It was only when laughter escaped her lips that her cheer was brought to their attention.

“Are you well, Lady Blake?” Weiss asked, a little worried by the sudden display of mirth from the fae.

“I’m more than well,” she answered, another chuckle escaping her, “you two just reminded me of why I chose this path in the first place.”

Weiss looked oh so very pleased with herself, smiling back at the Black Cat. Amitola on the other hand was utterly disgusted at the implication, and at how happy it made the Schnee. She forced her skin to shift a sickly green, before faking a gag.

“Don’t be rude!” Weiss complained, nudging her with her elbow.

“Bite me, Schnee!”

Belladonna could only laugh at those two, comfortably leaning back and watching them go at each other once again, her tail swaying contently behind her. To see a Schnee and an unseelie play around like this, it made her mission feel just a little bit more possible, and the slightest hint more rewarding.

It was unfortunate then that Amitola did not quite see the value in Belladonna’s pursuit.

In the days that followed Amitola continued to fulfil her roles in Fennec and Corsac’s plan. It started simple, spying on the human nobility, taking on different faces so she could listen to their never ending gossip.

Then came the rumors, spread through words she spoke in the wind, or through faces that weren’t her own. Small things, little twists on the truth, small lies here and there to rile up the nobility. Soon fear would spread among them, the fear that there was a spy in their ranks, that one of the kingdoms was conspiring against the others, during a celebration of peace no less.

Amitola did not delude herself, she knew this wouldn’t be enough to spark a war between the nations, this was simply the first step, gathering wood so someone else may light the pyre of war. But once the fire was lit, she had made sure that it had enough fuel to keep on burning until Atlas was consumed whole.

And the Schnees along with it.

Not a month ago she would’ve been filled with pride at having a hand in the destruction of that damned family, and their accursed kingdom with it. Now it was difficult to find any joy in this. When every night she returned to that same smile from across the campfire, the smell of the meal she had prepared for them, the sound of that playful voice. It stripped her heart of any joy it could find, and in its place left only the terrible weight of guilt.

She knew peace wasn’t an option, that Belladonna had deluded herself, and that this could only end in war. This was her only option. If this could only end with one side destroying the other, then she had to make sure her side was the one to survive.

She had to do this. They had to burn so her people wouldn’t have to.

Even when Penny stumbled onto her again and again, every time offering little apologies riddled with that sweet giggle of hers.

They had to burn.

Even when the Branwen sisters sang and recited beautiful poetry about their home, their family, the people they love.

They had to burn.

Even when she saw that sparkle in Belladonna’s eye whenever she talked about the future and all the amazing things they’d achieve together.

They had to burn.

Even when Weiss smiled so sweetly. When she snarked and bantered with Amitola over something silly. When she gave Amitola space, because she knew when to back down. When she laughed. When they sparred. When she looked at her, her real self, as if she had never seen something quite so beautiful.

They had to burn.

But Amitola didn’t want to be the one to light that torch.

Days passed, and the tournament grew ever nearer, with now only two nights between them and the great event they had been waiting for. It was half heartedly then that Amitola continued her job, that she continued to don the faces of strangers and speak words she did not care to remember.

It was perhaps of this indisposition that she did not catch the pair of eyes that followed her as she left the tents of the vacuan emissaries.

“Lady Ilia,” called the last voice she wished to hear.

Amitola did her best to pretend not to hear it. She turned to leave, but there she was.

“I’ve been looking for you all evening,” Weiss informed her, “where have you been?”

“None of your business, Schn--Gigas,” Amitola snapped.

There was some annoyance in her expression, but she put it away and did not push. Curse her for being so understanding.

“How did you find me anyways?” Amitola continued, trying her best to stay angry at her companion.

“Mostly luck, but with some unwitting help from Lord Marigold,” Weiss answered, causing the fae’s eyes to go wide in attention, “he was attempting to spy on you for some gods forsaken reason, but I sent him scurrying away before he got the chance.”

Oh no.

How much had Marigold seen? How long had he been following her? Damn it all, if he saw something she couldn’t risk letting him tell anyone. But silencing him would require…

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. He didn’t see anything,” Weiss assured, offering Amitolla her arm, “how about I walk you back to camp?”

Or maybe she could ignore the little lordling for now. It’s not like anyone with any real power actually believes a single word he says. Oh, curse the Schnee again for having this effect on her.

“I...wouldn’t be opposed,” she sighed, resigning herself to a fate of wanting to spend time with a Schnee and genuinely enjoying it.

And so they crossed the festival grounds, arm in arm in a way that Amitola vehemently refused to acknowledge. Part of her worried that people were watching them, making assumptions as to the nature of their relationship, but it was clear the festival goers could not care less about a single minor noble and her little knight.

Weiss on the other hand was trying her best to not look profoundly pleased by this turn of events. She was failing miserably, of course, but it was clear that she was trying. Another curse, this time for being so endeering in her awkwardness.

“You know, I meant what I said,” Weiss spoke, quietly, so only the fae could hear it, “the festival hasn’t gone the way I expected it, but I think I’m much happier with how things turned out.”

Amitola did not answer. It was hard to, when it felt like Weiss had just impaled her heart.

“As a kid I always wanted to come to the festival. I wanted to be a knight like my sister, and compete in the Vytal tournament,” she continued, unaware of the pain in her companion’s heart, “this is my first festival, and I’m glad I get to enjoy it with you.”

They had to burn.

“This is my first festival too,” she informed, voice naturally even, as she did all she could to hide the turmoil building inside her, “my parents used to show me the tents when I was a kid, and they told me that someday, when I had mastered my glamours, I would get to walk among the humans and enjoy the celebrations with you.”

“They must be happy for you then,” Weiss offered with a smile, but she was wrong.

They had to burn.

“I’m certain that they would be.”

There was a question stuck between Weiss’s lips, something she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to, so instead she stayed silent. Thankfully they had reached their camp and Amitola finally had an excuse to escape the Schnee’s terrifyingly comforting touch.

“Where is Blake?” Amitola asked, trying to escape the topic.

“She plans to spend the night with Lady Yang,” Weiss answered, “I believe she wishes to tell her about her nature.”

“Of course,” was her only reply, now wishing for nothing more than sweet silence.

For a while Weiss obliged, focusing all her attention on making them both supper. Allowing Amitola to enjoy some momentary peace, even if her mind and heart denied her any. It was unfortunate then, that even this flawed blessing was also a fleeting one.

“That’s why you hate my family, isn’t it?” Weiss asked, though she already knew the answer, “we’ve hurt you and your family.”

“Always so clever, Schnee,” Amitola mocked, half heartedly, “yes, your family is the reason why my parents and my entire village are gone.”

Shock and horror spread through Weiss’s face, “I did not know.”

They had to burn.

“Of course you didn’t, you were probably just a little girl back then,” Amitola offered, “I was barely old enough to understand what was happening.”

She only noticed she was crying when she saw the stains from the teardrops on her dress. It had been so long and yet that memory still wracked her with such terrible sadness. Even back with Taurus, when he insisted that she allowed that tragedy to fuel her rage, she could not find any anger in her, only sadness. Anger and hate were things she had to learn.

“Your family’s men had pushed my village further down river, so they could open up a new iron mine,” she told her through the tears, “for a while we thought that would be it, that if we just lived our lives away from your people, that maybe we’d be allowed to live on,” a sad chuckle escaped her, “but things just couldn’t be that easy. One day that mine flooded, and the iron your father had mined now poisoned our river, and my village burned.”

“I’m sorry,” Weiss whispered, tears streaking down her face as well, “I’m so sorry.”

They...had to burn.

“I know.”

Amitola couldn’t look at Weiss right now, she couldn’t bear to see the genuine sadness and worry in it, so she looked away. So she was surprised when she felt Weiss’s arms wrap around her in the terrible comfort of a hug.

“I--I promise I won’t let anything like this happen again. I swear it, I’ll do everything within my power to keep this tragedy from repeating itself,” Weiss swore once more. Yet another on the long list of oaths she has made to Amitola.

And yet, this time, she believed her. She genuinely and truly believed every word Weiss said. She was a human, a Schnee, and Amitola couldn’t help but trust her implicitly. But that wasn’t the worst part - no - the worst part was the revelation that came next.

“They would have loved you, you know?” Amitola said, voice cracking with every word, “my parents. They would’ve been truly happy that I met you.”

Weiss pulled away, just enough to look into the fae’s eyes. Perhaps it was all the tears clouding her vision, but to her the Schnee’s expression was unreadable.

“I would have been honored to meet them.”

They...

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep tearing herself apart, she couldn’t keep doing this.

“Curse you, Weiss,” Amitola whispered, “why must you be kind? Why can’t you be the monster I always thought you’d be?”

Weiss wiped away her tears, looking at her now with clear confusion, “what?”

“Things would be so much easier if you were some hateful monster. It would be so much easier if I didn’t care,” Amitola accused as she shoved her away, “but you had to be so trusting, you just had to be lovely, did you not? You had to make this hurt.”

“Ilia, I don’t understand.”

“I betrayed you, you fool!” Amitola shouted, “I’ve been spying for the fae for days now, and you just let me, because you were enough of an idiot to trust me!”

Weiss tried to stand up, but roots and vines had grown around her legs while she was distracted.

“Ilia!” She called, desperately trying to get rid of damned plants.

“Curse you, Weiss Schnee,” she repeated, more softly, with every hope that Weiss wouldn’t hear, “curse you for making me love you.”

She left for the woods before she could hear her answer.

#rwby #prismatic ponytails #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #blake belladonna #angst #copious angst #medieval au #fanfic

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