#its like the process kills their mind. removes any last sense of self lingering within the warrior

[mo-ok]

[elmidol]

So Sweet the Scent

Reysma (Rey x Phasma) PWP

Originally written in 2019 for Sayr on AO3

Warnings: Sex pollen

Word Count: 3.8k

If given the chance to properly choose between the harsh, dry deserts of Jakku and the humid, swamp-like nature of the planet she was presently on—for the life of her, she did not remember its name though its coordinates were forever ingrained in her mind—Rey would have requested to be sent to Jakku. This was largely due to her familiarity with the existent hardships of what could technically be referred to as her homeplanet. She had survived as an orphan there for as long as she could remember. Survived mostly on her own. This was in stark contrast to the shaky alliance she had made with one Captain Phasma following a skirmish leaving both of them stuck on the planet together. The chrome armored female had made it clear she preferred to survive, which had led to her calling the temporary truce since Rey’s budding Force sensitivity allowed the younger woman to identify threats all the sooner.

 Ironically the skirmish had had nothing to do with the Resistance nor the First Order, not really. Only in that a weapons supplier had arranged to meet the opposing parties at the same time without either being aware of this duplicity. Captain Phasma had not been willing to overlook the transgression when it cost the lives of several troopers, and Rey had been more focused on sending the Resistance personnel with her on their way before they could be slaughtered. The events on Crait had left her allies crippled; she would not allow them to risk their lives. The vessel she herself had intended to take had been destroyed by a surviving stormtrooper. Rey had returned the act in kind, albeit mere seconds before the alarm blared stating that the vessel she was aboard was set to self-destruct.

 Captain Phasma and Rey had then entered the same escape pod. Neither of them made a move to kill the other, both more focused on whether or not they would safely break atmosphere. The comm devices within the escape pod was broken. That was just their luck as well. Rey was merely grateful that the chrome-armored woman had noticed this before making any move to attack her. She had proposed the truce, and Rey had been caught off-guard but accepted. The older female seemed to possess a vague recognition of the planet, which was more experience than Rey possessed.

 It was not an uninhabited planet, and, according to Phasma, there were smaller villages that had technology capable of initiating contact with ships that could pick them up. The issue? Those villages were several days’ journey away. The former scavenger wondered if her temporary comrade would betray her when they were closer. She glanced at the armor every now and again in an attempt to better read her.

 The first night, they slept up in one of the trees, albeit taking turns. Being unfamiliar with the wildlife and what predators may be stalking them, both knew better than to not have a lookout. Phasma had taken the first watch, waking Rey for the younger woman to stand guard for approximately four hours while she slept. Though focused on listening and watching for predators, as well as using her force sensitivity to reach out and feel for them, Rey stared at the chrome armored woman. She wondered what Phasma looked like underneath the armor. Finn defecting from the First Order had not only changed her life, but also her perspective. He had once worn a helmet, yet it had never defined him. What had drawn this woman to the First Order then?

 She rested her chin on her knees, which she had drawn closer to her body to allow for an easier time balancing on the branch. Her hair clung to the back of her neck where it wasn’t pulled into a bun. What length was Phasma’s hair? Rey imagined that it was rather hot and stuffy inside that armor. She did not envy Phasma, although she started to wonder why the other hadn’t removed it at all. Was it pride that kept her from doing so? Or was it the protection offered by the armor?

 Rolling her shoulders, she closed her eyes and reached out with the Force again. She sensed life around them, in the plants and in the creatures that were near. Death as well. Nothing sinister, not in the sense that it would be a threat to them. There was something else though, something that almost whispered to her… It was unfamiliar but alive. She could sense a longing from it. As she opened her eyes, she turned her head and strained to hear all of the sounds around her whilst identifying to what they belonged. She never did locate the creature that had reached back for her within the Force that night.

 On the eve of the third day, the pair arrived by a source of cleaner water. There was enough dry materials to make a small fire, which Rey ignited via her blade. “Quite useful,” the other intoned, her voice so smooth to Rey’s ear. She smiled awkwardly, unsure how to react to the praise, or what could pass for it. Captain Phasma was not much of a conversationalist. Rey had not been much of one either when she had first left Jakku. That had changed the more she interacted with others, namely the Resistance and the handful of Force sensitives she had found scattered around the galaxy.

 Phasma’s attention did not linger on that moment. After having spoken those two words, she had grabbed hold of either side of her helmet and lifted it off her head. Rey sucked in her breath. The woman had short blonde hair and blue eyes. Her flesh underneath the armor was pale; not surprising given how often she must wear all of that armor. The older woman scooped some water into the helmet, swirled it around, and dumped it out. The next time she filled it, she held the helmet over the fire that had been lit. They had no other source of holding enough water to be purified for drinking purposes; the one container they had used broke had gained a hole, rendering it useless.

 Those blue eyes flicked over to her when she was unable to tear her eyes away. Rey quickly averted her gaze, her heart hammering in her chest. When it came to physical attractions, she had not experienced many in her lifetime. Random crushes, emotional connections. Never this though. To her, Phasma was gorgeous; a strange thing to think about one’s enemy. It left her all the more confused and curious about the blonde.

 I should focus on something else, she told herself, eyes traveling around their surroundings before she started to use her other senses instead. There it was again, that whisper. This time it sounded nearer to her. Rey took a step in the direction of the noise. Phasma said something. Her mind processed the words then replayed them for her. Did she sense anything? “Not a threat,” Rey said by way of response, walking a little farther. “I...need to go to the bathroom.” A lie. She did not want to risk Captain Phasma’s safety, nor annoy the woman with something so trivial. That being said, she wanted to learn at long last what that voice calling to her was saying.

 The other woman remained behind without protest, offering only a quick do be careful that Rey heard before stepping around a tree. The voice grew louder, as did a scent unfamiliar to her. It was sweet. Much like a flower, she thought, or a fruit. It caused a pressure in her abdomen. Hunger? A row of vines, which she pushed aside with her hand. Rey came across the source of the call. It was a large, unfamiliar plant. Its flower larger than her. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was carnivorous then reminded herself there was no sense of a threat from it. Nothing like what she detected from predators or enemies. Her nostrils flared as she breathed the scent in more deeply. The petals on the flower twitched.

 Rey straightened, her body growing rigid. The flower gave a quick spasm that sent its pollen into the air. Rey sneezed then once more inhaled, enjoying the sweetness. The heat in her body multiplied. The pressure in her belly growing stronger, pushing lower.

 Oh.

 She was not a foreigner to arousal. Rey felt her cheeks flush not only as her body responded, but of a sense of embarrassment. She could not allow the other woman to know that she had been anything but careful. This was dangerous. The plant had used pheromones to attract her, and who knew what sorts of beasts would be able to smell her now. They would hunt her. If the plant had a symbiotic relationship with a predator, she was doomed.

 Pressing her thighs together as the strength of her arousal increased, Rey grit her teeth. Her hand went to the front of her pants. She held in a moan at the momentary contact, all the while she mentally berated herself. Rey stumbled a few steps backwards. It would be stupid to remain here alone in her current predicament. Walking over to Phasma, though, would mean showing just how careless she had been. Rey toyed with the decisions between foolish and embarrassing. It was becoming more of a chore to breathe. She was damn near panting by the time she managed to choose before the effects could compromise her thinking more than they already had.

 She had been sweaty before due to the humidity. Now she was drenched as the pollen drew out her body’s physical responses. Rey stumbled into the clearing where she had left Phasma. Her cheeks felt hot beyond all reason; they were flushed, she knew that they were, and no tan was going to hide this fact from the blonde-haired woman who turned her way to regard her.

 “Don’t go near the flower,” the younger woman somehow managed to say between deep gulps of breath. She shifted over to the nearest tree that would offer her a semblance of protection and privacy. “So...sweet.”

 Her hands were pawing at the bark. Rey could hear Phasma stand and take a step away from the fire. The helmet containing the water discarded off to the side. “I’ll watch.”

 “Do...you really want to?” Rey asked, biting down on her bottom lip and twisting around. Phasma tilted her head. It dawned on the young woman that she had heard wrong. I’ll take watch. “Right.” She turned around again, rubbing her thighs together. She had to climb this blasted tree while she had the strength.

 “Do you need help?” It was an offer that she had not expected from Phasma, and she was not about to say no. Rey bobbed her head, nodding without trying to speak. Her lungs were already too taxed with trying to breathe. No need for words.

 Phasma closed the distance between them, setting a hand on the small of Rey’s back. A quiet moan escaped from her. The taller woman ducked down, shoving Rey up several inches. Rey used that momentum to climb further, her arms wrapping around the nearest branch. She was soon joined by the other, who assisted her up another three branches. The blonde grabbed several of the vines that had grown along the trunk of the tree, securing them about Rey’s waist in a similar fashion to what both of them had done during the nights. Tight enough to prevent a fall, but loose enough where one could get free at a moment’s notice.

 Nodding to herself in satisfaction over her work, Phasma began to step onto one of the lower branches. “O-oh...where….?”

 She paused to consider Rey. “Assistance with the climb.” Rey averted her gaze, her embarrassment growing with every passing second. “Have you never…?”

 The implied touch yourself had the brunette picturing herself back on Jakku on the days of storm. Stuck in her makeshift home. Her fingers buried inside herself, her cries of pleasure drowned out by the sand and wind that pelted the outside. Her hand crept between her legs as she thought of it. For a moment, she forgot that Phasma was still there, waiting for an answer from her. Rey peeked past her eyelashes at the blue-eyed woman, whose gaze was locked on her face.

 “I...Mmm… I have.” She closed her eyes, choosing to be reckless for one final moment as she reached out to hear the voice of the plant. She felt, too, a connection with the woman in the tree with her. A shared desire. Passion. Master Skywalker would have told her she was giving into the Dark side to entertain such thoughts. Her body thrummed in pleasure at that thought. It felt sinfully delicious. It made her ache all the more for contact. “I just…”

 Think you’re dangerously gorgeous.

 She was too shy to say those words even with the pollen taking its claim on her faculties. Phasma touched her shin. “Are you sure?” An offer. An opening for her to say she was mistaken, that she did not want this, that it was all just the pollen. Only it wasn’t. She had thought the woman lovely before she had pursued the voice. Rey had simply shoved away those thoughts because, off this planet, Captain Phasma of the First Order was her enemy. And because she had feared rejection. So many people referred to her as girl. She wasn’t. She was a woman, young perhaps, but a woman all the same. “I’m not gentle.” Both gloves removed and tossed down to join the discarded helmet. She had impeccable aim.

 “I can take it,” Rey said earnestly, watching through half-lidded eyes as Phasma walked two fingers up towards her thigh. In contrast to her words, the blonde did not suddenly surge forward in any manner. There was no harsh kiss, something that Rey realized she had been hoping for. She wanted to feel that mouth upon hers. On Jakku, to appear strong had kept her alive. That did not mean she didn’t enjoy allowing another to take control. She was not entirely familiar with sex; she had been touched by one other woman who had been roughly the same age as her, and it had been an enjoyable experience. Yet also clumsy. Nothing like the delicate way in which Phasma seemed to know where to touch. Tracing a pattern up the length of her leg, massaging her mere inches from where her legs met. Rey gulped in air. Her chest was heavy, the humidity and arousal doing a number on her.

 Phasma paused again. “I won’t continue if you pass out.” A promise. A warning. A sign that she valued Rey’s consent, which proved to the former scavenger that she hadn’t been foolish in offering her body to the other. Rey nodded, parting her trembling legs and touching one hand to the side of her neck. Phamsa used her free hand to touch the band that had kept all of that brown hair away from the young woman’s neck. She snagged it on her finger, unwinding it with expertise, and slipping it onto her wrist for safe keeping. “Move your shirt out of my way.”

 The hand on her thigh shifted upwards, thumb making contact with her pubis. Rey jumped at the contact. She could feel how wet she was already, and knew that Phasma would be able to tell. Her hands clumsily worked open her top, tugging down the excess cloth and raising up the shirt. Phasma groped her right breast through her bra. Two fingers found their way past the material, toying with her nipple, her areola. Testing what made her body react the most. Her hips jerked forward at a swipe down the underside of her breast.

 “How much did you inhale?” The younger female groaned, not caring if she sounded desperate or childish. What did it matter?  “Or are you always so sensitive?” Oh… She tried to think, but could not focus. Phasma’s entire hand was inside the cup of her bra now, kneading the sensitive flesh. She used her wrist to shove aside the cloth, her breath hitting the sweat, making it hotter instead of cooling Rey down. “Let’s test it then, if you can’t answer.”

 She had been expecting a kiss, hot and wet with tongue. Not a nibble. It shot straight between her legs, her entire body giving away to a spasm. She clenched, her inner walls grabbing at nothing. She wanted so badly to be touched everywhere. Phasma trapped a portion of the flesh between her teeth and sealed her lips around it, her tongue dancing along it. She cupped Rey in full. The brunette bucked her hips, grinding against the woman’s palm. The vines kept her from achieving the strength she wanted to; Phasma continuously teased her, withdrawing her hand then returning it. Rey felt Phasma’s body tremble in silent laughter. Not mocking though. She was laughing because she enjoyed Rey’s reactions to her touch.

 Phasma nibbled a trail up Rey’s throat, to her jawline, and slid her tongue past pliant lips. Rey moaned into the kiss as the other woman explored her. This was what Rey had been picturing. The fingers pinching at her through the cloth of her pants were an added bonus. Swiping along her folds, bunching together her wet panties.

 The humid air still managed to feel cool as Phasma tugged Rey’s bottoms, underwear included, halfway down her legs. The Force user struggled to obey the other’s orders of bending her knee, just one, long enough for the clothing to be hanging from its twin. Her legs were then hooked over armored shoulders. Rey felt her toes curl in anticipation. Would Phasma bite her as she had done with her breast? Or simply touch—oh!

 “Ohhh.” A single finger prodded her. Slid into her, just the tip. Rey swerved her hip, twisting and pushing downward. A second finger, both of them fully inside of her. She was wet enough to take them, as well as the third. The smacking noise as the fingers spread a little away from one another as they remained inside of her brought a satisfied smirk to Phasma’s lips. Rey was watching her, her eyes glued to Phasma’s face as the blonde examined the work she was doing. Phasma started to thrust her fingers in and out, her wrist in constant motion. Rey sloppily met her pace, her hand on the back of Phasma’s head as the woman’s tongue flicked along her clit. She was true to her word; not gentle, however not rough to the point that Rey wasn’t enjoying herself. The extra pressure was much different than what she had experienced with the other woman on Jakku. That had been one aspect her previous encounter had lacked. Enough force behind the actions.

 Phasma curled her fingers within Rey, her knuckles brushing along the woman’s inner walls, which clenched around her. She pressed her tongue flat against her, tilting back her head and tasting her. Then flicked her tongue downwards, its underside nudging the bud from left to right.

 Over-sensitive as she was from the pollen, the Force user felt her climax crash upon her. Phasma did not relent. Rey’s legs jerked towards her body, although not completely as Phasma’s armored shoulders kept them spread. The blonde moved a little higher with her mouth, her teeth ghosting over the flesh. Then clamped down. A tiny spike of pain that was washed away by the kiss, by that skilled tongue. Phasma swiped her thumb over the flesh she had marked, her fingers nearly leaving Rey completely.

 “You had some on your clothes,” she whispered. Here voice was heavy, a weight that Rey was well familiar with. The younger woman couldn’t say that she was sorry, not entirely. It had not been intentional, yet that did not mean she wasn’t going to enjoy the outcome. In fact, as Phasma drew up to her full height and removed enough of her armor to expose herself, Rey was one-hundred percent certain it had been one of the best accidents to have happened in her life. “No biting.”

 She almost laughed. It wasn’t hypocrisy, not really. Rey tilted back her head, her lips parting and tongue experimentally pushing forward so that she was able to taste Phasma the moment the older woman had hooked one leg over Rey’s shoulder. It was Rey who moaned louder. She nevertheless enjoyed the sound that the other had made and hoped to coax more such noises from her. Both of Phasma’s hands were in her hair. One tugging it gently, manipulating her head so that she licked all of the right places. The other petting at her, especially when she did a good job, which always had Phasma whispering: there, yes.

 Rey could feel her face growing wet and slick with the other’s juices, with her cum. She dragged more into her mouth, rolling it around on her tongue. Until Phasma pulled away from her. Not entirely, though—Maker, she would have been so disappointed had it ended there. Not only because the pollen still had ahold of her. Also because it would have meant that she had missed out on this.

 Phasma straddled her, scissoring open her legs and slotting herself between them. She pressed their bodies together, rocking her hips. Rey relished in the feel of Phasma’s clit sliding along hers. Both of them groaning aloud at the friction. At the sparks of pleasure flooding through their bodies. The blonde guided Rey through it, telling her how to move, how to grind up without hurting either one of them when the former scavenger started to become a little sloppy. Phasma did not chastise her for her inexperience, did not make Rey feel anything but wanted. She praised her with her words. With her tongue. Her lips and teeth more. Rey knew she was marked several places by the woman. If any of her allies saw...she didn’t care. Not in the reckless sense.

 Phasma cupped her cheeks when both were close to cumming. Kissed her mouth, kissed her deeply. It was as though, with their similarities and differences of circumstances, they were connected through more than this mere act of sex.

 “Another two days before we arrive at the nearest village,” Phasma whispered as they sat in the tree together, gathering their bearings and staring down at the remnants of the fire. Rey was toying with the vine that had kept her from pitching forward after her third orgasm. She nodded without registering what she was doing. Then stopped upon looking at the other’s face. “Don’t go near the flower again.” Rey felt her cheeks growing hot again. “Just...ask.” Hot now in excitement. She breathed deeply, enjoying the musk of sex far more than the sweetness of the flower. Phasma placed two fingers under her chin, leaned in, and nibbled on her bottom lip. Tugged it between her teeth, allowing it to pop back into place. “Rey.”

 That was the sweetest thing of all; her name spilling from those lips.

[brawlingdiscontent]

terrible with the brightness of gold, 6/6

(cherik fic, viking au, subtle a/b/o)

(part 1 here, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)

Thanks so much for your patience, everyone! I’m not dead!! Here’s the last part for this section.

Warning in this part for discussion of child murder, some dub con elements, and threats of self harm.  

----------

Throughout the rest of dinner, Charles is left alone to process what has just happened and what it means for him. On the edges of his awareness, a rowdy song rings through the hall and inebriated Vikings toast their victory.

It’s clear from Lehnsherr’s announcement that he plans to make England his base and home, even if he intends to continue his conquering outwards. It’s an unprecedented move and Charles can’t begin to account for it; but, regardless of the cause, he must readjust his plans for these new circumstances.

Around him the torches burn low once more, and this time aren’t replaced. The drunken singing and reveling tapers off and the hall slowly begins to empty of its occupants.

“Come.”

Charles looks up to find Lehnsherr’s hand filling his field of vision, once again extended towards him. It seems that most of their interactions thus far have consisted of the other commanding him about.

He ignores the gesture, and stands on his own, figuring his rudeness can this once be excused.

As they leave the hall, Charles following behind Lehnsherr, he doesn’t make eye contact with any of its denizens. He doesn’t want to know what he will find in their gazes.

Fortunately most of the remaining men are too drunk to take notice of them.

To his surprise, rather than heading back to the keep he finds himself being led towards the city gates. Lehnsherr, then, is not setting up in the palace, at least not yet. He wonders if this is a decision moved by habit or a sign of lingering mistrust: the keep, while secure, could well be breached from within the city.

At least he gets his own horse this time.

The moon is bright, and its light is enough to guide their way back to the camp.

They are alone, and for a split second Charles thinks of running. He could turn his horse around, break off in another direction. He’s a good rider, and it would take him only a few minutes to reach the woods: a terrain with which he is familiar and Lehnsherr and his men are not. But it’s just a fleeting thought. What keeps him here is not Viking force, but his loyalty to his people, his sense of duty, and the mission he has yet to accomplish.

He re-adjusts his grip on the reins and moves on.

He pays little attention to his surroundings as he rides. Horses’ eyes are keen and can see well in the dark; he trusts his mount to carry him safely. Instead, Charles considers the fact that he is once again facing marriage to a stranger.

He’s survived it once, and he can do it again. He and his husband of fourteen years had never been particularly fond of each other, but all things considered Sebastian hadn't treated him badly. He was never overly cruel (to Charles, at least). The Black King had recognized in him an asset; a keen mind, an aptitude for statecraft, and had taken care to shape his young spouse accordingly, treating him as well as any useful object.

They had had what might be called a workable relationship--and perhaps in time something like that could be crafted again. But right now, that’s of little importance. Right now all that matters is how this new development can help him to complete his mission: namely that Lehnsherr has inadvertently given Charles a position of strength from which to bargain.

The camp is still bustling but slowing down when they arrive back. Charles dismounts and hands his reigns over to a figure in the waiting party--a boy, perhaps a page of some sort. He looks very young to be a part of a Viking war party, and Charles feels a pang of sympathy.  

As Lehnsherr leads the way back through the camp, they are flanked by several men. Some carry torches, others seem to be reporting back to Lehnsherr, exchanging tidbits of information in low tones. Occasionally he sees them look over to him, a half-step behind, with curious glances.

They weren’t at the banquet, of course. They wouldn’t yet know.

They weave through the tents and presently stop outside what Charles is surprised to recognize as the tent from this morning. It was so plain, unlived-in that he would never have imagined it belonged to Lehnsherr--though maybe if he had he might have seen some of this coming. 

Lehnsherr detaches the heavy train of his cloak, sweeping it off his shoulders and handing it over to an attendant. He’s giving instructions to someone else, but Charles doesn’t really pay attention. He doesn’t speak Danish, anyway.

At last they begin to disperse, exchanging a short phrase that could be ‘good night’. Lehnsherr lifts the tent flap and gestures for Charles to walk in ahead of him. He goes.

After the evening’s events, this at least is not unexpected. There are all sorts of reasons for Lehnsherr to want to bed him: to bind their engagement, to stake his claim in the eyes of his men—plus the fact that Lehnsherr has been fighting without omega company for quite some time. He imagines it’s been many nights since the man had someone to warm his bed. And Norsemen have a more relaxed approach to the vows of marriage, not requiring them in order to sanctify their conduct.

“I’ve no intention of hurting you,” Lehnsherr says shortly and gruffly, perhaps misattributing Charles’ silence to fear. “We Danes respect our spouses.” He's already started stripping off his battle layers. Putting aside the thick, leather gambeson, unlacing his vambraces. Someone has left several candles burning, bathing the tent in a gentle glow.

It is this ridiculous assertion that finally pulls Charles out of his stupor.

“Oh really?” he huffs, “Do you respect them enough to ask their consent to marry them?”

Lehnsherr’s head snaps back towards him—perhaps surprised by this spark of energy after his relative docility since dinner.

He levels Charles with a measured gaze before responding. “There wasn't enough time to consult you, and there seemed little point, knowing you could hardly refuse.” He leaves the final part unsaid; that their last interaction hadn’t left him in the mood to confer. He goes back to tending to his garments, folding them and piling them neatly, and finally, unbuckling his sword and laying it to the side.

“So which am I, then? Your prisoner or your spouse? As I assure you, I won’t be both.”

Lehnsherr huffs a laugh as he turns back to Charles, now wearing just a light tunic. “You’re quick, I’ll give you that.”

And then those hands are on him, grasping Charles and pulling him in closer to capture his mouth in a kiss—

Charles firmly pushes him back. Straight to it, then. “You’ve still not answered my question, Your Grace.”

Rather than reply, Lehnsherr crowds forward once more, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk, carrying this interaction with an infuriating air of humour. As though Charles poses no threat. Charles backs away as Lehnsherr advances. His foot seems to catch on the edge of the piled furs that make up the sleeping place, and he stumbles, falling back onto their cushioned surface.

With a hungry look, Lehnsherr prowls over him.

And then he freezes.

“Not a sound to your men,” Charles quietly directs, his boot knife resting lightly across the back of the other man’s neck, his heart beating wildly.

The sharp edge of the blade has fixed them close together, their breath mingling and sharing the same space.

“You would attempt to kill me in a camp surrounded by my own men?” Lehnsherr’s voice is threaded with amusement, but he’s being carefully still, the bite of the knife discouraging him from taking any action.

“Perhaps I would. Perhaps my only goal is your death, consequences be damned.”

“Then I would already be dead and we wouldn't be talking. No.” appraising eyes sweep over his face, intent. “You’re too clever for that.”

Charles pushes down the flush of pleasure at the rarity having his intelligence recognized as vastly inappropriate. Besides, the other didn’t intend it as a compliment, merely an observation—and he is perfectly right. Even if Charles managed to kill Lehnsherr, the guards outside could quickly gut him, and then would feel free to exact a bloody retribution on the city and all of its inhabitants, something that Charles has already shown his unwillingness to risk.  

He craves the clarity of distance.

“Very well, then; how about this? You want me as your consort to legitimize your claim to the throne of England.” He says it as statement but there’s an element of question in it that is resolved when Lehnsherr doesn't blink nor challenge his words. Feeling some satisfaction at his powers of assessment, he continues: “I will play along, provide you with an English heir, even, but first you must give me what I want.”

“And what might that be?” Lehnsherr asks indulgently

“My children. You must promise to spare their lives.” 

He wishes they were further apart for this conversation, not pressed close in a parody of intimacy. Rather than the proximity of their bodies, he focuses on the other’s eyes, trying to discern Lehnsherr’s thoughts from his gaze.

“What makes you think they're in any danger?”

Lehnsherr’s trying to rile him. “They’re the last legitimate heirs to the throne, thus their claims far exceed your own. I understand your situation: in order to stabilize your own position, you’ll seek eliminate any threats, and I’m not naïve enough to assume our union will protect them.”

The other’s face takes on a thoughtful, more serious expression than his earlier amusement.  

“Say that I do have plans to harm your children. What might induce me to spare them? As the greatest threats to my rule, surely it’s in my best interests to remove them.”

Charles senses this is more an intellectual exercise than a direct threat--at least for the moment--but just hearing the words inflames him. The knife digs in just a little more, drawing a hiss from Lehnsherr.

“They’re children. They have no plots or schemes, no interest in ruling anything. I’ve already sent them to Normandy, as no doubt your spies have informed you. They will stay there, you have my word, far from here and no threat to you, as long as you give me yours that you will not send assassins after them.”

“So I let Shaw’s vipers wriggle free? To sting another day.” His face is impassive, but there’s a new intensity underlying Lehnsherr’s words. The difference on the surface is barely perceptible, but Charles senses that he is betraying a depth of feeling long hidden.

“My children are not vipers! I protected them from that. Why would I encourage ambition in them when, so far down the line of succession, it would only get them killed? Sebastian saw little reason to shape them to his will, the spare children of his political second marriage. I remained useful to him, and he left them alone. It was our agreement. Of course he could never have imagined that in just a few months of battle you would slaughter all of their siblings.” Or that Charles would be here, lying in bed with their killer. “Would you have the blood of innocents on your hands? Even if they had inherited the predation of their sire, they care for me deeply. They would never attack here if they thought it might endanger my life. Wasn’t that in your thoughts when you arranged this marriage? Besides, I would hate to think that a warrior of your supposed might is afraid of a couple of children.”

This last dig, a transparent attempt to goad the other man, draws a hint of a smile to his now mollified lips.

“Well, your Highness, even if I were willing to concede to your wishes, tell me, what reason do I have to do so? You have no leverage when my death would bring you nothing.”  He leans back just a bit more as though to emphasize his point, pushing his throat a little further into the blade.

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Lehnsherr’s eyebrows raise. “Then, please, enlighten me.” His flippancy and distraction creates Charles’ advantage. He puts sudden pressure on Lehnsherr’s throat and rolls them, turning until their positions are reversed, and he straddles Lehnsherr. He lets the other’s faint look of surprise fuel his next words.

“I suppose you imagined that I would quietly acquiesce to your plans, for fear of you, or for the privilege of remaining royal consort---or perhaps because I’m simply too meek and too pliable to do otherwise. But I would do anything for my children. Even die.”

Perfectly calm now, he pulls the knife back from Lehnsherr’s throat and moves it to his own, pressing down against the skin. The other’s eyes widen slightly, revealing, for the first time that evening, a hint of uncertainty.

Lehnsherr tries to sit up, pushing himself up on his hands. Charles holds out his other hand in a stalling gesture and presses the knife further into his own throat. A bead of blood wells up where they meet, the sting of it sharpening his thoughts.

“Stop.”

There’s not force behind the word, and yet Lehnsherr lowers himself back down.

One corner of Charles’ mouth twists up in a grim smile.

“As you've so astutely pointed out, I’m not a fool— and you’ve revealed a vulnerability in your plan. You need me to legitimize your claim on England. But it would be only too easy to turn this knife on myself. And how would that look?—Erik the Conqueror ruthlessly murders the defenceless omega consort of his dead rival—or, better still, his own consort (thank you for that). With the span of your kingdom, you can’t afford the resulting upset; your men can’t be everywhere. Not to mention that my family in Normandy would hear of my death and feel obligated to seek vengeance against the perpetrator.”

Lehnsherr is watching him avidly, now, his eyes bright with something unnamable.

“So the way I see it you have two options: spare the lives of my children and gain a compliant, strategically advantageous spouse; or refuse my bargain and live with the consequences.”

The warlord seems to consider his words.

“Done.”

“Done?” For all that he has been angling for this outcome, it feels unreal to hear it spoken aloud.

“I agree to your terms, Charles of Normandy.”

The wave of emotion that flows through him is strong—but Charles has the presence of mind to stutter-- “Swear it.” -- before he lets it carry him away.

“I swear to you on my sister’s grave that in exchange for your cooperation your children will come to no harm from me--nor anyone in my service.”

Charies’ eyes flicker over his face, searching for signs of veracity, sincerity; and Lehnsherr returns the gaze in an in entirely different mood, expression rapt, a bright, almost eager look in his eyes.

Charles finds no signs of deception and in the resulting wave of relief, relaxes his arm marginally--and Lehnsherr presses this advantage.

He grabs Charles’ wrist, pries knife from his grasp and tosses it to the side. In one fluid motion he flips them back over, pushes Charles back into the furs and leans forward to take his mouth in a kiss.

Lehnsherr kisses him roughly, like a man used to taking what he wants; but there's another layer underneath, a tenderness that undoes him. It sends hot streaks of want slithering up his spine. He grabs at Lehnsherr’s shoulders, shocked, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

For a brief moment, Charles lets himself reciprocate, gives in to his surprising desire. He breaks from his paralysis and returns the kiss, pushing back against Lehnsherr and matching his fervour.

And then, using surprise to his benefit, he pushes up one of his knees and shoves Lehnsherr off of him with all of his strength.

While Lehnsherr is momentarily stunned, collapsed on his side and fallen off the edge of the furs, he snatches up his knife from the ground, grabs a thick blanket from the pile, and removes himself to the farthest corner of the tent.

“We’ll wait until we’re married,” he says. 

The words suggest a firmness that doesn’t quite make it to his voice, as he tries to ignore his racing pulse, hide how he’s affected.

When no response is forthcoming, he looks back over to Lehnsherr and finds him still stunned, looking vaguely winded. And then he can’t help it--a laugh bubbles up out of him, borne of relief and vaguely hysterical. Perhaps his thrusting knee had brushed some sensitive areas.

“Glad we could come to an agreement.”

He half-expects Lehnsherr to come after him, like a brute; but when the other finally moves it is just to blow out the candles, plunging the tent into darkness.

When Charles works up the courage to look back over, he sees that Lehnsherr has turned away to face the tent wall, seemingly committed to sleep.

He can hardly believe it. 

He has done it all, rescued his people, preserved the lives of his children. Everything that haunted his nightmares, that had kept him awake for days on end, has been resolved. 

He breathes out. 

And then, in a tent in the middle of the Viking camp, surrounded by his enemies on all sides, he at last falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.

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

Thanks all for following! This fic started with just two images: Charles waiting on a beach, and threatening Erik with a knife in bed. I was inspired by the story of the 11th century King Cnut and Emma of Normandy.

After the death of her husband King Aethelred, Emma (his second wife) held a besieged London for months alone against the Danes. Less than a year after the city was surrendered to Cnut, they were married. There has been much speculation around the fact that, despite the custom of the time, and Cnut’s swift execution of other potential claimants to the throne, Emma’s two children from her first marriage were not killed but survived in exile.

I think my next step is editing this part bit more until I’m somewhat satisfied and uploading it to ao3, and then I may develop more in this series. I have some ideas of what to cover, for one, this fic didn’t really have time for Erik’s backstory/motivations, but let me know if there’s something that you’d like to see. :)

Thank you all for your amazing support and encouragement!!

[larairving]

Earlier (a few months ago) I said something about writing a headcanon about Exspheres and Angel Toxicosis and how they affect Lara. Well, I went and did that, but it turned into something really, super long. So I’m putting this under a cut. If you want to know the specifics about what’s happening to Lara, I suggest reading through it. Otherwise, you can skip over this.

The Biology of Exspheres and Cruxis Crystals

So, what exactly do we know about Exspheres and Cruxis Crystals? We know that they’ve existed since the time of the Kharlan War, which means they’ve been around for approx. 5000 years on the world of Aselia. But where do they come from? How do they form? And why are they mined? These are things we don’t really know. It’s hard to say for sure what all the facts are, and anything we imagine would only be speculation. However, that’s really all we’re left with.

So, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty.

We know that Cruxis Crystals are really just an evolved form of Exsphere - a Hi-Exsphere, if you will. But how exactly does an Exsphere evolve into a Hi-Exsphere? Certainly, the process is extremely difficult and rare, otherwise there wouldn’t have been so much trouble with the Angelus Project. So how does it work?

Let’s start with an ordinary Exsphere.

We know that Exspheres are mined in the Toize Valley Mine, and they may have been found in other locations in the distant past. So, they’re some kind of stone, right? They’re only ever referred to as ‘stones’or ‘gems’. But what if that wasn’t really what they are? What if, perhaps, they were formed through a sort of fossilization process? I mean, they do seem to be alive in some way, so they must have formed from some kind of organic material. Like, perhaps the bones of an ancient race?

We also know from that one scene with Presea that Exspheres have voices/souls of their own. However, it would seem these ‘souls’ are incomplete in some way, and as a result, when they’re placed on a ‘host body’ they cause a reaction. Exspheres are a sort of parasitic lifeform, yet they’re also inanimate ‘stones’, hence why they’re called ‘Lifeless Beings’.

An Exsphere placed on a host without a Key Crest will slowly feed off the host’s energy. In an ordinary situation, the process of completing an Exsphere might well take an entire human lifetime. But the Desians found a way to speed up the process by capturing humans and forcing them to work endlessly/tirelessly in their Human Ranches. This significantly reduced the amount of time before an Exsphere was ready to be removed from the host, but this also heightened the risk of the host’s mana going out of control when removing the Exsphere.

In order to prevent this, obviously the Desians chose to kill off the hosts before removing the Exspheres. Otherwise the process would have been far too dangerous. It is also widely known, through canon material, that the soul of the host is contained within their Exsphere. We see this with Alicia, and with Mithos. Chances are this is also true with Martel, her exsphere is likely attached to the Great Seed, where the Seed’s mana is used to keep her soul alive/separate from the Exsphere without fading away.

So, upon the death of the host, their soul is stored within the Exsphere. What is the purpose of this, exactly? Is the Exsphere’s soul trying to make itself whole? I’d like to think so.

Given all that information, you might ask, what is the difference between an Exsphere and a Hi-Exsphere? And that’s a good question, but also easily answered.

An Exsphere feeds off the host body; their life energy, emotions, etc. In exchange, it gives the host enhanced abilities; a moderate boost to endurance, stamina, strength, and (if you’re a half-elf) a boost to mana control. However, an Exsphere without a Key Crest can also be extremely dangerous, causing one’s mana to go out of control (even without an attempt to remove it from the host). Such a situation causes the host to go mad and transform into a monstrous humanoid called an Exbelua. While in this state, they can barely recognize themselves, let alone anyone around them. Some rare cases regain self-control just long enough to protect the people they care about, while losing their own lives in the process. This is seen with Marble, Alicia, and we also know this is the case with Anna. All of them having been killed by people they care about, or -- as in Marble’s case -- by self-destructing.

So what makes the Hi-Exsphere different, exacly? Well, for one thing, it doesn’t seem to cause one’s mana to go out of control. The effects of it are completely different, in fact. A Hi-Exsphere still needs a host in order to evolve, however, but the symptoms seem far less deadly, though they are far more dramatic. The evolution of a Hi-Exsphere causes a condition that is only known as Angel Toxicosis, which I’ll get into later. But the abilities gained from wearing a Hi-Exsphere as opposed to an ordinary Exsphere are considerably different.

For one thing, the enhanced physical strength, reflexes, enhanced senses (such as sight, hearing, and smell), being able to sense and control mana, as well as the ability to control one’s own metabolism. Of course, this last effect can only be used with a Key Crest in place, and with a certain skill with mana. In most cases, only half-elves would be able to control that last effect. But a human can do so by ingesting Aionis, a stone that may well be a form of condensed/crystallized mana.

This still begs the question of how one gets a Hi-Exsphere from an Exsphere. The answer may lie with the Angelus Project itself. A very experimental project that was entrusted to Kvar to figure out a new method for manufacturing Hi-Exspheres/Cruxis Crystals. As far as we know, Anna was the only person to be a host for the Angelus Exsphere and live as long as she did. Sure, she still ended up dead, but that was the result of becoming an Exbelua and so on. But how exactly did Anna match up with the Exsphere?

It may be that the Angelus Project already had such considerable research behind it, or that there was something significant in Anna’s DNA that allowed her to be a host for the Exsphere. And, subsequently, the Angelus Exsphere responded to Lloyd as a user later on. This may be due to Anna’s lingering spirit trying to protect him, or because the Exsphere itself recognizes that Lloyd shares Anna’s blood. Either way, the Angelus Exsphere is very special, having the ability to absorb the remnants of Mithos’ shattered Cruxis Crystal, and soon after allowing Lloyd (a human who has never ingested Aionis) to have wings.

Personally, I feel that the success had something to do with Anna’s DNA, due to all the things stated above. I mean, after Anna was taken from the Ranch, and after her death, Kvar had zero success in recreating the Angelus Exsphere, even though fourteen years had passed. If the success had been due to research alone, he would have succeeded with another host body somewhere along the line, right?

It is also for these reasons that I’ve thought about Lara’s unique situation. Not only does she also possess Anna’s blood. but she’s also the daughter of Kratos, who had to ingest Aionis to be able to control his Hi-Expshere. Being able to do so allowed Kratos to live for over four thousand years without aging, and that heightened sense of mana is still in his blood. That trait got passed to Lara, and being similarly exposed to the Angelus Exsphere’s effects meant that her body began producing an Exsphere of its’ own from the womb.

For a grand total of fifteen years, Lara didn’t even know about the Exsphere, didn’t even really notice the effects of it. She wasn’t being forced to work too hard, and most of her early years were spent in peace, going to school and just having a happy family life with her mother. It’s no wonder that her Exsphere had no inclination to evolve, but it had also been feeding off her energy for that long without anyone even knowing.

Then, when she was fifteen, she got attacked by a massive, powerful monster while she was out hunting. The mere fact that she survived being nearly killed by it hastened the growth of her Exsphere exponentially, urging it to evolve into a Hi-Exsphere. But she then spent the next two weeks recovering, and she didn’t begin the process of Angel Toxicosis until her body was well enough to endure it’s effects.

On another note of speculation, it may well be possible to get an ordinary Exsphere to evolve into a Hi-Exsphere if placed on a specific host, or by placing it on several hosts over the course of many ‘human’ lifespans. When you consider the fact that the Kharlan Heroes all went through Angel Toxicosis, it makes you wonder whether there’s a natural way for a Hi-Exsphere to be produced. It must have been so during the time of the Kharlan War, or else the story of Symphonia wouldn’t have happened.

All we can conclude for certain is that it is very difficult to get a Hi-Exsphere. But that the effects of wearing one differ significantly from that of an ordinary Exsphere.

The Physiology of Angel Toxicosis

Now, we’ve discussed what Exspheres are, and how they work, but you may now be asking, what exactly is Angel Toxicosis? And how does it change one into an angel?

Truthfully, there is no evidence to prove that the process of Angel Toxicosis turns one lifeform into another. What we do know about it is that it alter’s the metabolic structure of one’s cells, allowing for physical changes that would ordinarily not occur in nature.

So, what are these changes exactly? How do they occur? All good questions, and that’s what I’m here to explain. Mind you, much of this is speculation and merely my own way of understanding how this all works. So it’s as much headcanon and speculation as can be. But here’s how it works.

Angel Toxicosis typically develops in stages. The onset of which is when one equips/wears a Hi-Exsphere (aka a Cruxis Crystal). The toxicosis itself will not cause any direct effects until the Hi-Exsphere begins to evolve further. In order to make this happen, there are two methods. In the Chosen One’s journey, this requires the releasing of special seals that keep the Summon Spirits of the world in a hibernating state. After which, an Angel (or guide) will claim to bestow the ‘Power of the Angels’ unto the Chosen One, awakening their Cruxis Crystal.

In the other case, one must have a near-death experience, such as fighting an extremely powerful monster that can almost kill you in one hit. (This is what occurs in Lara’s case.)

Now we know how the stages awaken, so let’s explain what each stage does, and how it does it, shall we?

Starting with the first stage, when the Angel Toxicosis first awakens, the afflicted will feel a sudden, intense pain, usually originating from their chest (or wherever the Hi-Exsphere is positioned), and will then collapse. At this moment, they also obtain an incredibly high fever that causes them to need rest for the following day and night.

During the time that the afflicted is resting, the Toxicosis is altering the body’s cells, changing one’s metabolism so that food is no longer necessary to survive. In fact, it’s a strange concept, since food is so integral in staying alive, especially for humans. Yet this is the first stage of the Toxicosis, and the effect is rather severe. The afflicted not only loses all sense of being hungry, but they lose their sense of taste as well. Strangely, this doesn’t seem to affect the sense of smell.

Stage two is also a doozy. Followed by the same sudden pain and high fever, the following ‘night’ of their Toxicosis, the afflicted can no longer sleep. Their metabolism has now changed so that they don’t need sleep to survive (something that is equally important.) During this stage, the afflicted stops feeling tired. In fact, they likely feel like they have too much energy, and as a result they feel restless when staying still for long periods of time.

Now we move on to stage three.

In this stage, the afflicted loses all sense of touch. The ability to feet hot, cold, even pain. It is completely gone. Though I headcanon that when this happens there is a sense of pressure when touching something, this is quite likely not the case. Truthfully, it would be like one is floating in a void, unable to feel anything around you. Everyone and everything would feel exactly the same, like nothing.

Chances are that one can become quite clumsy during this stage, being unable to feel the ground beneath your feet, not feeling pain when you bump into something, or while fighting an enemy. It can be pretty unnerving. So far these three stages have something in common. They all alter the body’s metabolism, the cellular structure, yet there is no indication of it shifting one’s DNA.

Why do I say this? Well, even with no evidence, you need only look at the survivors who’ve experienced Angel Toxicosis.

Mithos, Yuan, Kratos, and Colette. All of them are biologically the same as they were when they were born. If the Angel Toxicosis had altered their DNA, they might not look the same, or have the same personalities. Instead, what we understand is that Mithos can alter his metabolism to change his appearance, making himself physically taller and older in order to rule the organization of Cruxis.

Kratos clearly halted his body’s metabolism so he wouldn’t age, as did Yuan and Mithos. But this isn’t connected to their DNA. It’s all about their metabolism, their cells. Yuan and Mithos are still biologically half-elves, while Kratos biologically remains a Human. If he didn’t, then Lloyd wouldn’t have been all human.

So, how best to halt one’s metabolism? How about stopping the cells from reproducing, thus making them immortal? This clearly has to be the case, or else Kratos simply wouldn’t look the way he does for a 4000+ year old Human. After all, if the cells never change, then why would one’s physical appearance change as well, unless that was expressly desired?

Anyway, moving on. We’ve still got two more stages to get through.

In the fourth stage of the Toxicosis, the afflicted loses their voice. It’s unclear exactly what purpose this serves, or for what reason they lose their voice. So far the only explanation seems to be that one’s voice is considered part of one’s Humanity, and so that’s why the fourth stage takes it away. But we have no direct evidence to prove this theory, and it seems rather unnecessary.

We do know that from Colette’s perspective of Angel Toxicosis that each stage takes away a part of her Humanity, and that she deems it ‘necessary’ since she’s supposed to sacrifice herself for the world. In my opinion, the fourth stage is less about losing humanity, and more about losing one of the things that make you an individual. But that’s just a personal opinion on the matter.

And now we move on to the last and final stage of Angel Toxicosis. So far the only precedent we have for this stage activating is from the Chosen’s Journey of Regeneration. Yet we know there are several angels in Welgaia who seem to have experienced this stage, as well.

Well, what does the last stage do, anyway? For one thing, it seals away one’s Heart and Memories. Taking away the last vestiges of one’s Humanity. To lose the individual personality, that which is defined by one’s emotions and memories.

From the Chosen’s journey, we know that Colette must willingly give up these two parts of herself. And the same may well be true of any who go through Angel Toxicosis. In the case of the Angels in Welgaia, they were all half-elves who were discriminated against. Chances are that Mithos offered the cruxis crystals to them to test whether this last stage would work. But those ‘Angels’ also talk, which means they most likely gave up their heart and memories willingly before going through the fourth stage of the Toxicosis, and therefore bypassed it completely.

This is another of the reasons why it seems the fourth stage is unnecessary. But it’s also true that one with a Hi-Exsphere, a Key Crest, and the ability to control mana, can actively control the functions and symptoms of wearing the Hi-Expshere. Such as in the case of the ‘Four’ Seraphim. Mithos, Yuan, and Kratos all still retain their hearts and memories, as well as their voices. Any other effects turned on or off are a matter of individual preference. Personally,

Basically, the full course of Angel Toxicosis turns an individual into a Lifeless Being. Immortal due to the Hi-Exsphere’s influence, such a being reacts solely on instinct, recognizing neither friend nor foe. But it is still true that this condition makes the individual immortal, forcing the body’s cells and metabolism to freeze and remain as is.

And in Lara’s case, she’s going through Angel Toxicosis without knowing anything about it. Her exsphere isn’t even in a place where it can be seen, so she doesn’t even know she has it.

[solaciummeae]

I’d Ask If You Feel the Same | Part 2

MOOD MUSIC

Emma could sleep through just about anything once she was out. So it was no surprise that she didn’t wake up at any point in the night and realize she needed to go home. Likewise she didn’t wake when he did and shifted ever so slightly around her. 

Jude is completely content with this part of her as he looks up to see light blocked by the blinds in his bedroom. He grimaces as a yawn takes over and he readjusts his vision to the woman in front of him. He’s fairly certain that this is the calmest he’s ever seen her and it resonates a deep peace within him. He’s also certain that as soon as she realizes she didn’t go home last night she’s likely to blow a fuse.

But for now, with only silence between them, he’s comfortable to lie here until she wakes up herself. His muscles let him know that a good stretch is in order and so carefully he removes his arm from her and carefully tenses his muscles beside her and relaxes them again. All seems well until her face crumples in her sleep. ‘No no no–’ He thinks desperately to himself. The brunette senses that she’s not alone while she sleeps and internally panics as she slowly rouses. Emma was a violent sleeper and didn’t share beds well with others. She liked sleeping alone because the act made her feel so vulnerable. She never knew what state she’d wake up in. As she feels movement her eyes shoot open, only to squint at the culprit. Her eyes widen a little bit but the fatigue is still to great for it to last. 

“Wha–” She frowns at him sleepily as he smiles at her. “I’m going home.” She grumbles, attempting to turn over and get out of her side of the bed. His arm which had been lightly draped over her waist suddenly tightens, pulling her back to him. Leave it to her to fight the progression of their relationship. “Hey–” He calls out to her softly. He risks the kicking and screaming to pull her firmly to himself. He rests his chin over her shoulder, inhaling the still potent smell of her hair. He’s determined to not let her win the fight this time.

“Jude– I will hurt you– let me go.” She tells him stiffly, her body just a rigid. Again, she feels self-conscious; as though it’s strange for them to behave this way. She just wants some distance to convince herself again that this is a bad idea.

“No– you won’t.” He says simply. “Now would you please just relax?” He laughs, tightening his arms around her as if to brace against retaliation.

Emma lies there all but pouting and refusing to get comfortable. How could she in the jean shorts she wore? She’d fallen asleep in street clothes. Still, these aren’t the real reasons she won’t settle and she knows that. After she’d helped him clean up the apartment and he’d in turn done the same for himself, they’d fallen asleep. 

There hadn’t been much more discussion about what was happening between them. They were in no way official and she still had Matt to worry about it. Her mind quickly begins formulating a plan before he can sway her. She’s going on a men-free diet. “No.” She finally growls. What she lacks in experience with working relationships, he more than makes up for. He easily maneuvers around her keeping her in place as he moves over her. She looks just as disgusted by the idea of being underneath him and he’d imagined she would be. “You are holding me against my will.” She tells him angrily, crossing her arms over her chest from where she lies on her back. “This is wrong.” She adds defiantly.

He ignores her protesting as if she’s actually telling him how in love with him she is. His hands find a firm grip around her wrists and he pulls her arms aside, leaning down to fearlessly press a kiss to her lips. She’s still frowning as he retracts only to drop another on her cheek, and likewise at the bottom of her jawline. The flinch it elicits from her is more of a shiver and he places his lips on her skin one more time in the crook of her neck. She has half a mind to shove him, if she only she could. She waits for him to recoil enough to see the look in her eyes before she speaks again. “That is not allowed– stop it, right now–” The frustration in her voice is silenced as he is so bold as to again kiss her firmly on the lips. She gives an indignant whine and glares at him as he rises above her again. “I mean it.” She barks.

“Yeah– you seem to be genuinely against this.” The blonde scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “Don’t look so proud of yourself– this is considered sexual harassment.” She fires back. He makes a face something between disbelief and judgment. “Yeah– I really get that. You’re not essentially my girlfriend.” He snorts, his eyes rolling in front of her.

Normally, such a claim would cause her to freeze in her tracks. However, Emma is so far down the road of denial that she can’t possibly take him seriously. Immediately, she argues back. “I am essentially nothing of the sort. I think I’d know if we were in a relationship. Besides– I don’t ever remember even being asked on a date.” He’s just so tired of this game they’re playing. She fights him, he refuses to give in. Mostly, he’s just done with the arguing. He’s so sure of himself, he wears a grin as he leans down to catch her lips again. This time, he doesn’t move away when their lips part. His forehead presses to hers, his nose brushing against her own. “I will take you out right now– regardless of whether or not you say yes.” “I’m glad you’re making all of my decisions for me now, really satisfies the feminist in me.” She shoots back, though this time her voice is softer. She finds her movements mimicking his instead of fighting them. “That’s my job as your boyfriend,” He tells her, repeating the use of labels he knows she despises. “You’re not my boyfriend.” She argues weakly. “Fine–” He pulls back to look her in the eyes so that there is no escaping or making excuses. “Emma Harper– will you please be my girlfriend? Since we are clearly still in the seventh grade.” His confidence is visible, as if he already knows the answer that’s coming even if he secretly has doubts. He gives her an expectant look as he watches her process the proposal. She eyes him suspiciously as he puts her on the spot. The past thirteen or so hours have made it incredibly difficult to stick the plan of being alone. Even when she’d gone out with Matt– she’d expected nothing from it. This time, its Jude– someone she can’t ignore or deny her own feelings for. She wants to keep fighting him as is her every instinct. In her head, the only correct answer is rejection but still the battle in her rages on. She swallows as she finally finds the words. “And if I say yes? Then what?”

“Then– we end up happy, like it’s meant to be.” He replies easily without a second thought. She looks skeptical but his answer came so naturally, as if he really believes it. So much so, that she begins to believe it herself. She tries to avert her eyes and keep from smiling at him, but he’s quick to turn her back to face him. “Well?” He questions, refusing to give up until he gets a solid answer– the one he wants.

“Fine.” She says shortly, finally breaking down. He slumps, still sitting on his legs above her. “Wow. Thanks Em– you’re really filling me with a lot of confidence here. If you wanted to say no you could have–” “Yes! Okay? Yes, I’ve been into you for forever– is that what you want to hear? Yes Judah– I am just as in love with you as you claim to be with me.” She finally blurts out with a scowl as her own confessions. This was so ridiculous, being forced to share how she really feels. Completely and utterly ridiculous, not to mention childish. She huffs a breath of air, frankly done with the entire situation.

He listens to her short outburst, his eyebrows jumping as he takes in her words. He knows that saying it is hard for her and that she’s not happy with him for pushing her. At the same time, its exactly what he needs to hear to abandon any and all questioning in his mind. 

When he kisses her again its almost as a reward for the progress they’ve made. This time he lingers, his mouth moving slowly with hers as she finally gives in and responds the way he wants her to. His hands find the sides of her face, determined to keep her there with him if it kills him.

She reminds herself that this isn’t a bad retaliation to her admissions to him. That, and that this is going to happen a lot more often in the days to come; so she’d better get used to it. Easier said that done with the mild heart attack occurring in her chest. Her arms find their way around him, her hands gripping lightly at his shoulder blades. 

She wills herself against any thought as her lips move in slow motion with his right until he finally releases her. She’s sure he senses the electricity pulsing through her as their eyes connect again and she has to remember to breathe. “And for the record– I’m not claiming anything– its the truth. I am in love with you. Again– whether you like it or not.” He finally corrects her previous statements.

“Just stop already, okay? Are you trying to kill me?” She complains. “We get it– you’ve been unintentionally brainwashed.”

Jude laughs, making a face as he shakes his head at her. “Yeah okay– get up– I’m taking you to lunch.” “I would– if you’d ever stop pinning me here, you’re not as lightweight as you think Kidd.” She quips defiantly. Almost immediately, he moves to stand from the bed and gives a real stretch. Another expectant look in her direction brings another glare in his. He simply laughs and starts searching for a pair of flipflops. Nothing could possibly ruin this moment; he wouldn’t let it. He’s determined to take her on a nice– long overdue– date. She just watches him for any signs that what has transpired between them is a mistake. She only finds the results of her observation to be the opposite of what she’d expect. He seems so happy, not to mention perfectly at ease with all of this. When he starts humming, her eyes slip shut involuntarily. There’s no sound she appreciates more than the sound of his voice, singing or not. 

Seconds later, she finally sits up and looks down at her wrinkled clothes. “You really expect me to go out looking like this?” She asks, her tone dripping with distaste. He’d been focused on figuring out where to take her and how to leave a lasting impression when she finally speaks up again. He glances over at her looking almost as confused as he sounds. “Why not? You look beautiful.” His eyes linger long enough to catch her mouth fall open in obvious shock. He huffs a laugh and with another shake of his head he leaves the room to find his keys.

She just sits there unable to even remain upset anymore. He’d just said it– as if it were nothing more than common knowledge. She sighs. 'Just stay calm. You can do this. Don’t mess it up,’ Her mind rattles off several reminders as she tries to get used to this change in their relationship. She swallows, praying to God that this time– it lasts.