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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Text

Stuck

My entry for @levihan-drabbles Smut Sunday event! My prompt this time was "Hange, why are you stuck there?". I might have gotten a little carried away, so this is uh...on the long side, but please enjoy anyway!

Warnings: dubious consent, if you squint. Explicit consent talks, too, but if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable please be careful!

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

By all counts, Hange was having a terrible day.

She had been late to the morning's budget report, too wrapped up in her research notes and the blueprints for her new titan trap to notice the time. Erwin had chewed her out thoroughly for her tardiness, and, to add insult to injury, had denied her request for new materials to build the trap. She had argued as vehemently as she dared that the materials were a necessity in ensuring the sturdiness of the improved design and that, built correctly, the new apparatus would reduce risk to their soldiers by over 50%. Despite her best efforts, Erwin had been resolute in his rejection.

She had also missed breakfast. After the meeting, incensed by Erwin's refusal, she had taken straight to her lab to revamp the design, ignorant of the time until well past 10am. Breakfast had been cleared long before the growling of her stomach pulled her out of her focused scribbling.

And then she had spilled a cold mug of tea, who knows how old, onto her research notes from the last experiments. The dark liquid sank into the fabric and blurred the ink faster than Hange could react, leaving every scrawled graph and table and footnote completely illegible.

Hange should have known, then, with her run of luck, that today was not a day to take risks. She should have anticipated that more would go wrong, that something disastrous might happen. But each instance had only served to anger her further, and Hange felt resolved to solve something. To get one thing right.

Starting with the titan trap was evidently a mistake.

It was a risk to try toying with the thing all alone at the best of times. Clunky chains and thick, heavy ropes, intricately looped and knotted for strength, cross-hatched to make them more structurally sound. Hange was up on her ladder with her torso threaded through one of the giant loops, stomach braced on the rope as she leaned over to adjust the bolts in one of the chains, when part of the structure gave an ominous creak. Something, somewhere, snapped with a crack, and Hange's foot slipped off the ladder.

The ground rushed up to meet her. Hange braced herself for impact, but a few feet from the floor, she jerked abruptly to a stop. The rope punched roughly into her stomach, knocking the air out of her. She took a second, gasping, to catch her breath.

In a stroke of uncharacteristic luck, Hange had chosen to wear her goggles while working. Her glasses, she knew, would have fallen from her face and shattered to pieces. Another expense for Erwin to pay. Luckily, her goggles held firm--no extra cost for the Scouts, and wonderfully clear vision to take in the remains of the trap.

As it stands, she'd gotten very lucky indeed. A section of rope had snagged on one of the hooks on the wall, breaking her fall. Her stomach felt tender, and would no doubt bruise horribly, but she could only be thankful that it wasn't worse.

Now, though, she had a problem.

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

Hange let herself hang over the rope and puffed her hair out of his face. The lab was out of the way, no chance of anyone incidentally passing by—it would be a waste of energy to try calling for help. All she could do was hang here and wait until someone—Moblit, probably—came searching for her.

She hung there for what felt like a lifetime. The rope had been plenty uncomfortable in the beginning, but had long since become painful. She was desperately considering her possibilities for the millionth time, when she heard the sound of feet stomping in the corridor outside, and the door abruptly burst open.

"Oi, shitty glasses, you missed lu—"

Levi stopped short. The click of his boots scuffed to a halt. His fingers slipped off the door handle, the hinges squeaking loud in the otherwise silence. The click of the latch rang as loud as a gunshot.

Hange waved a hand. "Yo, Levi. A little help?"

"The hell are you doing?"

"There was an incident. It's not important—can you help me down?"

Levi, overcoming his surprise, managed to take a few more slow steps into the room. He walked a full circle around her, ducking rope and stepping over loose chains, taking in the sight with the same scrutiny he examines bookshelves for dust.

"This," he announced, after completing his examination, "is fucking ridiculous."

"It's not my finest moment," she conceded.

"What even is this shit?" Levi touched the rope, running his palm over it. His voice sounded a little distant, contemplative. Hange didn't for one second entertain the idea that he was curious about the mechanics of her titan trap, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was that intrigued him.

"Does it matter? As you can well see, I need some help."

Levi hummed. He gripped the rope a little harder, followed it down to where it was digging into her waist. He gave it a little tug; Hange coughed out a breath when the movement jostled her. She suspected that Levi was trying to figure out how exactly she had gotten stuck. When his gaze travelled up to the hook, she assumed she was correct, and hoped that, armed with this knowledge, he might try freeing her. He stepped a little further behind her, out her direct line of sight. Hange waited impatiently for him to help get her out of the trap.

But then, he did something Hange hadn't expected him to do at all.

He touched her leg.

To an outsider, it might have been an innocent thing. Something designed to soothe, maybe; nothing more or less than the simple touch of one's palm to another's thigh.

But Hange knew Levi. Hange knew that Levi was not one for casual touch. There were very few instances in which Levi touched anyone, and most were unfavourable--upon grievous injury, commonly, or else holding a comrades hand when death comes calling. But there is one other occasion in which Levi will touch her, at least. One other scenario where his hand might find itself on her leg, or her hip, or her waist. Up her shirt. Down her pants.

It's not all that often. Maybe a dozen times, give or take, over the years they've known one another. But it follows a very strict pattern: they have a shitty day. They drink. They get too close. They drink some more. Smoke, maybe, if they've ventured to a bar where they can snag a cigarette to share. Drink again, though at some point they give up ordering their own, and start passing the same goblet back and forth. Levi's leg will nudge up against hers. Hange leans heavily into him. She blames it on the drink, giggles a half assed apology into his ear. He lets her. They search for somewhere private—their quarters, if they're patient enough. Close enough. A back alley has done fine on more than one occasion.

And then, they fuck.

Sex, Hange had once thought, was a rather romantic notion. Two becoming one and all that. Something couples did, an act of feeling so absolute, so all-encompassing, that making love was the only way to truly express it. Older, and wiser, Hange knows now that sex can be many different things. Sex can be romantic, but it can also be rough, animalistic. Sex can come from frustration, from desperation, from an itchy beneath the skin that nothing else will scratch. Sex with Levi, more often than not comes from anger and sadness and manifests in a clash of lips, grabbing, yanking hands, the sharp bite of teeth. It comes from a desire to do something, anything, to relieve the helpless, hopeless feeling when they've done all that they could and somehow, it still isn't enough. A guilty, sordid undertaking, high on fumes with the dark of the night to hide them.

Sex with Levi has never begun like this, with Hange hanging from a makeshift harness in her lab in broad daylight.

It's not that she's against the idea, per se. There are times when Hange feels that restless ache without the weight of grief sagging her bones—times when she thinks it might be nice to find Levi in his room, or invite him into hers, close the doors and let loose. Enjoy the pleasure of it without the bite of pain.

But now, she thought, shivering when Levi's hand slid around to the inside of her thigh, was not the time.

Levi seemed to have other ideas.

His thumb brushed back and forth over her leg.

"Not that this isn't nice," she said slowly, "but is now really the best time?"

Levi, standing behind her now, gave a noncommittal hum. His other hand came to rest rather boldly on her ass, thumb running lightly up the centre seam of her trousers. Hange sucked in a sharp breath.

"Can it wait? I'm a little uncomfortable here."

Levi acted as though he hadn't heard her. It made Hange huff. Either he was deliberately ignoring her, or he was too preoccupied to listen and respond appropriately. Hange suspected the former, though when she shot him a look rather awkwardly over her shoulder, she did find him gazing quite intently at his own hand on her backside.

Hange had never really considered that Levi might be receptive to the idea of sex outside their current, unofficial arrangement. He never seemed all that interested—in her or in anyone else. His disinterest was so pronounced, that it had shocked her the first time he had touched her—she had reciprocated with equal ferocity, but the initial hunger of his touch had surprised her. Even then, when she had grown accustomed to the uninhibited way he would touch her during their meetings, he had seemed perfectly indifferent whenever they were together in any other circumstance. He retained his perpetual, bored expression, and gave her no indication that he even found her attractive, let alone had any interest.

And yet, here he was. Eyes flitting over his view of her ass and legs, his hands roving almost reverently over her. Hange blew out a loud breath.

"My legs are going dead, Levi. Help me down."

Levi ticked his tongue at her. "Oi, all trussed up like that and you expect me not to look?"

For a second, shock quieted her pleading. Her mouth snapped shut and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. Levi's tone had been low, gravelly. The kind of voice he used when he hissed filth in her ear, hand at her throat and cock driving into her fast and hard. To hear something so calm from him, in that voice, sent a rush of warmth straight to her crotch.

"You've looked plenty," Hange said. She squirmed when his hand slipped higher still between her legs, finger running back and forth along the seam of her pants. The pressure against her clit made her writhe, forced a groan from her. She shifted her legs restlessly, searching desperately for some purchase, but found nothing. Levi, face inexpressive, cupped her fully, letting his thumb push against where he knew her opening was. Hange choked.

"Levi," she gasped, toes scrabbling at the floor. "Levi, c'mon—at least—nngh—at least let me d-down first." It was embarrassing, the way her voice grew higher with each word, until she was almost squealing.

"You look good here," he said plainly.

"Well, that's swell," she wheezed. "But I—ah—am a little uncomfortable."

Levi's hand was still cupping her. Her fingers rubbing lazily at her clit, his thumb threatening to press into her through the thick fabric. Hange let out a high whine and wriggled.

"Levi," she implored. "It hurts—the rope, its—digging in." She finished with an embarrassingly loud moan, because Levi chose that moment to let his mouth replace his thumb, pressing over her. Hot air bled straight through her trousers, right onto her cunt.

"It's painful?" He asked. Hange felt his words vibrate against her. For one incredibly stupid moment, she considered telling to forget about that, to keep his mouth on her instead—but it did hurt, and as good as Levi's every puff of breath felt, as the pressure of his tongue poking out to rub at her felt, she needed to get down.

"Yeah," she breathed. Hange suspected then that Levi truly hadn't considered that her position would hurt. They were used persistent press of the 3DMG belts, all held scars and bruises from the leather where it took the brunt of their weight during use—Levi likely hadn't expected the rope to be too different. But it was much bigger, and Hange had slammed down onto it with enough force to wind her. She told him so with great difficulty, for he was seemingly fixated on touching her with his fingers and his mouth. At length, however, he pulled away.

"Fine, hold on."

With an arm hooked around her upper thighs, Levi hefted Hange up a little higher, taking her weight off the ropes. Hange let out a relieved sigh as the pressure on her waist eased—blood rushed to the flesh where the rope had pinched and dug into her, making the tender skin throb. Levi used his other hand to yank at the restraints until the section that had been snagged to the hook came loose, then steadied Hange with a palm pressed flush to the flat of her stomach, and lowered her to the ground.

Hange knew Levi was strong. Humanities strongest, after all. But that title was in awe of his titan killing abilities. It spoke nothing of his brute strength. The ropes and chains were heavy, moving them usually took a couple of people at least. Levi had managed to hold her up and shake the ropes loose like they weighed nothing at all. The thought sent an embarrassing thrill of heat through her.

Hange's toes hit the ground first, but she made no effort to get her feet firmly beneath her. They sank down together until Hange's knees hit the floor. She straightened her torso up, spine popping in several places as she did.

"That's better," she breathed. Levi only hummed as he helped her disentangle herself from the mess of rope and chain. He heaved it aside once she was free, and crouched behind her. Her shirt had ridden up during their manoeuvring, revealing a thin strip of pale flesh at the bottom of her back. Hange could feel a cool draught blowing over the exposed skin, but it was followed swiftly by something a hair more solid, the ghost of a touch that made goosebumps pinch at the back of her neck. Levi's fingertip, trailing featherlight above the waistband of her pants.

Hange sucked in a quick breath. She'd thought that Levi was done tormenting her, now that he'd freed her from her confines; she'd expected to be left flustered and frustrated on the lab floor, but Levi, it seemed, wasn't finished with her yet. He hooked his finger into one of her belt loops and yanked up and back. Hange jerked forward, slapping her palms into the ground to keep her balance as Levi raised her hips up. The fabric of her trousers, already a little tight, pulled taut—the seam pressed painfully against her sensitive clit. She whimpered through clenched teeth and gathered her knees more solidly under her in an effort to relieve the pressure.

"Fuck, Levi," she hissed. She glared over her shoulder at him to find his gaze sweeping over her. The thing with Levi was, he never looked impressed. It was impossible to tell, in moments like this, with his sharp eyes travelling over her, whether he was pleased with what he saw or simply satisfied that his view wasn't terrible. "Do you have to be so rough?"

"You've never complained before."

Hange flushed. She tried to form a suitable response, something biting to retort with, but her mind could focus only on one thing; Levi's hand, gliding up the length of her spine now, pushing the fabric of her shirt until it bunched beneath her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

Levi said nothing. He skimmed both palms, this time, from her upper back to her hips, and back up again, fingers curving to follow the contour of her waist, her ribs. With her breath held, it was quiet enough for Hange to hear the way Levi's callouses caught the bandage binding her chest. His thumbnail scratched lightly at one point where the wrappings met her skin, hooking beneath it. Hange tensed, and Levi's movements ceased abruptly.

"Can I take this off?"

Hange shook her head. "Not today," she said. And then, quiet and a little guilty, "sorry."

"It's fine."

He withdrew his hands from near her chest. One hit the ground beside her, while the other sunk to her hip, fingers digging into her groin. He pulled her back towards him until her ass was flush to his hips, and at the same time, Hange felt his torso rest against her back, the buttons of his shirt pressing cool into her heated skin. His mouth settled open and hot at the base of her neck. Hange shivered as his tongue laved over the skin there, a choked out little sigh stuttering out of her—she felt hot, trapped; prey pinned by a hungry predator. It sent a tremulous thrill zipping up her spine.

Levi's teeth sunk into the back of her neck. "Down."

Hange obliged without thought. Arms folding, back arching, she sunk low until her chest met the hard floor.

"Good," Levi hummed, pleased. His voice was deep, hoarse, and barely loud enough to register, but Hange could feel the rumble of it shudder right up her spine. The change in her position made it harder for him to reach the bare skin of her neck, but she could feel, acutely, the heat of his breath billowing through the layers covering her upper back. He always had an aura of calm about him, and an unreadable expression that bordered on indifference, but there was something in the heavy pant of his breath that exposed his excitement. It was gratifying to know she wasn't the only one.

When she was settled, Levi straightened up. Hange could feel his eyes roving over her, but flat to the ground as she was, with her face tucked into her folded arms, she could see nothing. She jumped when his hands cupped her waist, almost tenderly; he stroked his thumbs over the skin where the rope had been. It hurt, aching in the way heavy bruises do, but when Levi's fingertips pressed a touch deeper into the welts stretching over her stomach, she squirmed, and not altogether from discomfort.

"Is it painful?" He asked, almost absently.

"A little," Hange wheezed. Levi made a thoughtful little sound, brushing his thumb and fingers back and forth over the wounds, and then he shifted back—cool air flooded into the space between their hips, and Hange almost cried out in disappointment—but before she could complain about the absence of his touch, she felt instead his impossibly soft lips, smoothing over the spot his hands had been. First one side, then over to the other.

Hange's muscles flexed and twitched beneath her skin as Levi kissed her. In the handful of times they had fucked before, tender kisses had never been a part of the equation. Everything was rough, biting, scratching, choking, gripping so hard they left fingerprint bruises on each others skin. Hange had never walked away without a limp in her step and a satisfying ache in her hips, the kind that lingered for days on end, as a reminder of what they had done. In their handful of whirlwind encounters, Levi had never kissed any part of her like that. As though she were something fragile. Something precious.

Hange almost straightened herself up to look at him. He lingered so long with his gentle ministrations that Hange thought, for a moment, he might have abandoned their romp in favour of laving her in his silent apologies. But then he shifted, lips dragging to the centre of her spine and down, down, until he found her waistband, and his hands looped around to the front of her pants, finding the buckle and deftly unfastening it.

He was in no particular hurry. He took his time, running his tongue across the bottom of her back as his fingers worked open the buttons on her fly, and explored the newly exposed skin at his leisure. The tips of his fingers, at first, dipping just beneath the elastic of her underwear, running from hip to hip and eliciting shivers and huffed out breaths from Hange as he went. And then he pressed lower, until his fingers found coarse hair. He took his time here, too, allowing his touch to stray near to where she wanted it before dancing away again. Hange grit her teeth in frustration, her hips swaying of their own accord, curling and wriggling, trying desperately to meet his idle fingers. His spare hand brushed up the outside of her thigh, soothing at first, and then he gripped her tight, limiting her motion.

She could feel his smile press against the bottom of her back.

Hange hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of begging. She tried what she could to keep her mouth shut; bit her lip, bit her knuckles, bit into the sleeve of her jacket, huffing panting, needy breaths through her nose in an effort to stifle the whines and pleading moans that threatened to spill out. And she had thought, for a moment, that she had succeeded—Levi finally graced her with the touch she desired, rough fingertips grazing over her clit, swollen and aching now, desperate for attention. Her hips bucked and she moaned, knees instinctively spreading wider. But then, the touch passed. Levi's fingers brushed along her groin instead, withdrawing. Hange's throat tightened, a frustrated lump forming, choking her.

"Levi." She had hoped to sound more angry, but her voice came out high and tight. Desperate. She bit hard at her lip.

"Hm? What?"

"You know what," she hissed. It was absurd, how badly she felt like crying. Her need was bordering on painful; a throbbing, pulsating kind of desire, hot and heavy between her legs. She felt almost dizzy with it.

Levi had never teased her before. Sex was perfunctory; a means to an end. A quick, rough fuck, just another way to burn off steam, like sparring, or running. Feeding a specific hunger; scratching a persistent itch. Drawing things out was never a part of the equation. Hange didn't know how to handle the building tension—her body screamed for relief, release, anything, but Levi seemed perfectly at his leisure. Unhurried.

"Touch me," she grit out, splaying her legs wider still. Levi rubbed his hand against her lower belly. "Please."

"You said now was a bad time, before," he said. He must have anticipated Hange's indignance, for he closed over her and pinned her chest down with a hand between her shoulder blades before she had a chance to straighten up.

"That was before," Hange ground out. "You've started something now. Finish it."

Levi made a quiet, thoughtful sound. Hange twisted her face to one side, flushed cheek pressed to the cool floor, and tried to gauge his expression. It was as unreadable as ever. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, face impassive.

And then, without preamble, he sunk his hand deeper into her pants, and pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger.

Hange swore loudly. Her hips jerked at the sudden touch. It was bordering on painful. Usually, rough was fine. Rough was good. Sex for them was often something like fighting, so Hange was no stranger to these aggressive touches. Usually, she delighted in it. Levi had learned her body well, toed the line between pain and pleasure with the same innate expertise he had for killing titans. Quick and efficient.

But this, for some reason, was too much. Hange twitched painfully and gasped his name, freeing one of her arms and reaching beneath herself, gripping tightly to Levi's wrist.

"Levi—too much."

Levi's touch stopped. His fingers splayed over her lower belly again, thumb rubbing back and forth as Hange released a shuddering breath.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked plainly. He sounded unbothered, almost bored, but Hange knew him better; the fact that he had even asked spoke volumes of his concern.

"A little," she said. Levi curled over her and dropped a kiss to the middle of her back. He mumbled a sorry so quiet Hange barely heard him.

"It's fine," she said. "Just...not so rough, next time? I'm too sensitive."

Levi ran his tongue up the trench of her spine, between the hard ridges of muscle, and hummed quietly. He let his fingers wander back to her clit again, but they settled over her far more gently. She gasped, and moaned quietly. Levi rubbed light circles over her, eliciting more soft little sounds. Hange was used to being vocal, and Levi was used to trying to shut her up, with a hand clamped over her mouth or his fingers depressing her tongue, but he made no move to quiet her this time. She bit her lip and breathed, harsh and uneven, through her nose as Levi's strokes found a rhythm. The weight of his chest rested fully on her back.

Hange could easily imagine the same weight pressed against her as he fucked her, pinned her down and buried himself deep within her. She could imagine the way he'd grind into her, barely withdrawing an inch but still punching the air from her lungs when he pushed all the way back in.

He was shifting over her now, his body twitching in quick, jerky motions that didn't match up with the way his fingers were rubbing her. Belatedly, Hange realised that the hand not playing with her clit was nowhere to be found; he wasn't bracing on the ground, nor touching any part of her body. Raising herself up a little, Hange turned to look behind her, and let out a low, guttural moan.

Levi's spare hand was down the front of his own pants. He stroked himself off with quick, uneven strokes, his face pressed against her back. Hange could feel his hitching, panted breaths against her skin.

She breathed his name and pushed her hips back, seeking him. Searching for the pressure of his cock against her cunt, something to ease the heavy need there. She bumped against him once, twice, before Levi withdrew his hand from his pants to grip at her hip, pulling her back.

"Fuck, Hange," he rasped. He pressed his forehead into her back and ground his hips forward, pressing desperately against her. He must be able to feel her, how wet she was, even through the layers she still wore, for she could easily feel the heat radiating from his cock as it strained against her trousers. Hange whimpered, resisting every urge to shove back onto him. She wanted him to inside her, wanted to feel the stretch as he fucked her open; wanted the delicious ache as he buried himself to the hilt within her, the satisfaction of being full.

Levi curved himself over her, craning until his lips and teeth nipped at the back of her neck. The head of his cock nudged right at her opening and Hange let out a quiet, needy moan, pushing her hips back towards him.

"Hange," he said. Hange gave a shaky hum in acknowledgement. "When did you last bleed?"

Disappointment and a deep, loathing kind of frustration washed over her. Her face twisted in a grimace and her hands, balled into fists, smacked against the stone. She dropped her forehead to the floor, swearing under her breath, and mumbling her response. Levi pinched her hip, brushed his lips over her skin.

"I can't hear you, stupid."

Louder, she moaned, "Last week."

"Ah."

Too recent. Hange could hear the pang of disappointment in Levi's tone, too. He was just as worked up as she was, hard and straining, and it must be torture for him to feel Hange so ready for him, wet, tight, eager. Inviting. But the timing was off. Too soon after her last bleed. Not worth the risk. Levi knew it, and Hange knew it too, but that didn't stop her from wriggling against him, hips easing back, searching for him, desperate for his length to split her open.

Levi let out a low growl and ground against her. Hange half wanted to resign herself to an unsatisfying release, to guide Levi's attention back to her neglected clit and get off quickly, but before she could regain his attention, Levi withdrew his hand from her pants completely, and instead yanked them over her ass, and worked them a little way down her thighs. His breath felt hot and fast gainst the back of her neck as he tugged at the tight fabric. Hange felt his cock bare against her. She shivered and sucked in a quivering breath.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanna fuck you," he said simply. Hange whimpered. She wanted to spread her legs wider, make room for him between them, but her trousers, wrapped around her thighs now, prevented her from opening them, and besides—

"We shouldn't—Levi, we can't."

He made a gruff sound against her. Hange could feel his fingers trembling as he gripped the outside of one thigh, pushed her legs closer together. Hange shuffled the other further in to keep her balance, head spinning. Levi shifted so his knees, either side of hers, kept her thighs pinned together.

They couldn't—it wasn't worth the risk, she knew, and every logical part of her screamed that they should stop now, before they made a mistake. Levi dug his face between her shoulder blades and his hand reached between them, wrapping around his cock and giving it a few jerky pumps. He guided it close; Hange felt the smooth head nudge against her dripping entrance.

"We can't," she said again, weakly. "Levi, we—"

Her breath hitched as Levi applied a little pressure. She could feel herself beginning to stretch for him, opening up as he pressed a little into her. She gasped, groaned, shifted her weight; she meant to move forward, away, but her hips sank helplessly back instead. She almost sobbed in relief as the stretch increased, the sensation dizzying, delicious. She tried again to spread her legs, but Levi's legs locked her in place.

"Levi—Levi, please—" Hange wasn't wasn't sure what she was pleading for. For him to stop, before they went too far, or for him to drive into her, fuck her until she couldn't stand. She felt him hiss against her back.

"Wanna be inside you," he breathed. "Fuck, Hange—you feel so good."

Hange could barely keep herself still. It took every ounce of strength to keep some presence of mind, to hold her trembling hips in place, but it felt like a losing battle. She wanted to feel full, fucked out and satiated. She wanted to feel every inch of him spreading her open, wanted him to fuck and fill her until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give. They shouldn't, they couldn't—but Hange had never wanted anything more in her entire life. To deprive herself was the cruellest thing.

Levi came to his senses before she did. He growled loudly, teeth bared, frustration evident, but he pulled his cock away from her opening and drove instead between her legs, right up against the apex of her thighs. The head of his cock bumped her clit and Hange let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a wail. He tightened his knees against hers, wedging her legs as tight together as he could. He let out a low moan, pulling back slowly, savouring the tightness of her thighs pressed around him. Hange squirmed and squeezed her legs together, desperate to keep his cock pressed up against her. She ground her brow into the ground and let out a harsh, ragged breath. Levi brushed his lips against the edge of the coarse bandage, over the nearest patch of skin.

"What I'd fucking give to be inside you now," Levi breathed, strained. He drove his hips forward at a slow, building pace. Hange squeezed her eyes closed and pushed her hips back to meet him. "Fuck you just like this."

Hange whimpered out her yes, and reached down to pull one of Levi's hands from her hips, guiding it to her clit. He applied a dizzying pressure there, pressing down and rolling his fingertips against her, and the combination of that, plus the length of his cock gliding so temptingly against her, was enough to make her thighs tremble.

"Next time," he grunted. Once or twice he pulled back a little too far and for a moment the head of his cock nestled back against her entrance before popping free and sliding between her thighs again. Each time, Hange guiltily hoped he would slip inside, that they would ignore the consequences, leave it as a problem for another time. It made her twitch, and whine, and fuck her hips back harder against him.

His fingers rubbed rougher circles over her. Hips bucked harder. Hange felt the tension winding low in her gut, in her thighs--her breathing, already ragged, began to hitch and hold, punching out short little mewls and sucking in quick, uneven gasps.

"Close—Levi, I—hah—I'm gonna come—"

Levi gave an affirming grunt against her shoulder blade and fought to keep his pace even. Levi wasn't much of a gentleman in any common sense of the term, but no matter what they did, how quick and harsh sex was between them, Levi always made sure Hange finished first. It was chivalrous, in a way. She might have laughed at the thought if her orgasm didn't cut her off, choking the sound in her throat. Her mouth opened in a silent moan as her body drew impossibly tight, impossibly tense—and then the tension broke, and she was left shuddering, incoherent, disjointed sounds bleeding out of her, eyes watering with relief. Levi rode her through it, and then followed after her, with a few hard, jarring thrusts and a grunt muffled against her back. Hange felt him spill up her belly and onto the floor beneath them.

Without his hands to hold her hips up, Hange sank down to lie flat on the floor. Levi followed her down, pressed to her back, and together they lay there, gathering their senses and catching their breaths.

After a moment, Levi rolled off of her, and sat up. Hange pushed herself upright on shaking arms. She took in the mess—on her front, on the floor, between her legs. Heat rushed through her, sweeping into her stomach. In her lab, of all places.

"Stupid Levi," Hange said. She tugged up her pants and sat on her backside, levelling a kick at Levi's knee. He had already tucked himself into his pants with a grimace, but he was too sluggish post-orgasm to dodge her. "Anyone could have walked in here!"

"They didn't."

"They could have! What if Erwin had come looking for me, huh? Or Mike? What about poor Moblit!"

For a second, Levi looked like he might smile. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Hange flushed hot at the memory. Poor Moblit, she thought, guiltily recalling their first needy fumbling in Hange's office. She had been drunk—they both were, probably too drunk to reasonably consider the consequences of their actions—and Moblit, ever the loyal sidekick, had only come to check Hange had made it to bed. He'd hoped to find her sleeping soundly. He certainly hadn't expected to find her sprawled back on the desk with Levi's face between her thighs.

"You wanna scar the poor bastard again?" Hange hissed. Levi shrugged. Hange narrowed her eyes at him; perhaps she was imagining it, but she could have sworn she saw something in his expression that looked almost smug. Hange huffed at him.

They fell into a strange silence. Hange busied herself kicking and dragging the remains of the titan trap to the side of the room. She piled the ropes up as neatly as she could manage, while Levi used a napkin to wipe up the mess on the floor. Then he simply sat back and watched her. After a moment, he spoke.

"Did you mind? Me touching you like that."

Hange looked over at him. His face gave nothing away, no hint of guilt or trepidation at all, but there had been something in his tone; a hesitance to voice the question out loud.

"You're asking me that now?"

Levi turned his eyes away from her.

"I figured you'd let me know. If you really hadn't wanted to."

"Most people just ask before they start feeling someone up, you know. Saves all the confusion."

Hange had meant it in a teasing way, with her tone light and her lips turned up in a wry smile, but Levi paled after she'd spoken, eyes a fraction wider than normal.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Screwed up his face, then said, "I don't—I never want to—" He let out an annoyed huff, and ran a hand back through his hair. It was perhaps the most flustered Hange had ever seen him. "I'm not into that shit. I don't get off on making people do shit they don't wanna do."

There was something imploring about the way he looked at her, after that, as though he needed her to listen. As though it were important to him that she understand.

"I know," Hange said, struck by the sudden need to soothe him. He had lost all colour, and looked oddly distressed. "I know. And you're right, I'd have let you know if I didn't like any of it."

It took a long moment, but the tension in Levi's shoulders relaxed a fraction. Hange plopped down to sit next to him and nudged her shoulder to his.

"Maybe we should get a safe word for next time." She grinned, then laughed when Levi weakly elbowed her. "How do you feel about titans."

Levi scowled at her. His eyes looked dark and broody as ever, but there was a pinch to his cheeks, as though he was trying not to smile. "How do you feel about fuck off."

"Nah, you say that too much. What about Erwin's toupee."

"I don't wanna think about Erwin when I'm fucking you."

Hange's face heated a little at the brazenness in which he said it. She laughed, and said, "how about eyebrows?"

Levi grimaced. "Still Erwin."

Hange laughed a little harder. She leaned into him, so close that when he twisted his head to look at her, his fringe tickled her face.

"I kinda like it. Nice and snappy."

Levi tipped closer to her. His nose brushed against hers.

"How about stop talking shit," he said. Hange felt his breath blow hot over her lips, smelled the rich, perfume scent of the tea he'd drunk at lunch. Their brows bumped clumsily together. Levi pressed closer, more solidly to her.

"Too long," she breathed. Levi hummed quietly, tilting his face up so his nose nudged along hers. "Can we go back to titans?"

"Whatever. Use whatever shitty word you want." His voice had gone strangely low, and just a touch breathless. Hange felt her own breath catch somewhere in her chest.

"Titans it is," she said. Levi's lips were so close, Hange could feel them brushing against hers when she spoke. She and Levi had kissed a few times. The sloppy, biting kind of kiss, hot and furious. It was always part of the process—A to B, kissing to fucking. It was never something sweet, or gentle. They never kissed for the simple sake of kissing.

Hange found herself wanting to, now. She wanted to close the breath of distance between them and feel Levi's soft lips against her own. It was an outrageous thing to want, really. Kissing without the promise of something more, it strayed into unfamiliar territory for them. Dangerous territory. Hange had sworn her heart to humanity, same as Levi had—but right now, hers was beating out of her chest for him.

Levi let his mouth touch barely against hers. Hange's eyes fluttered closed and she waited, heart pounding, for him to make some kind of move. To pull away or press closer, either, something.

Instead, he said, quiet and rasping, "this safe word. How does it work?"

Hange rolled her brow against his. "You just say it, if there's something you don't want to do, or if you want to stop."

Levi made a thoughtful sound. Hange felt his fingers graze over hers where her hand was braced on the floor.

"So you'd say titans, if you didn't want me to kiss you now?"

Hange let out a long breath. She nodded, but said nothing more. Levi waited. Hange made no noise at all, and after a moment, Levi tipped his face up and kissed her sweetly. Simple, chaste, his lips pressed against hers. He sighed out a trembling breath through his nose.

They stayed like that for too long, for a kiss so simple, but Hange hadn't wanted to pull away. It was warm, comfortable. She felt pleasantly content. Levi was the first to move, and when Hange opened her eyes she caught sight of his own eyelids fluttering, blinking rapidly, as though he had just awoken from a dream. He licked his lips.

"Not bad," he said. Hange rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder.

"I'll take whatever compliment I can get, coming from you," she said. She dragged herself to her feet, dusting the back of her pants. She grimaced at the tacky, drying wetness in her underwear. "C'mon. I need a shower. And you said I missed lunch, right? No wonder I'm starving!"

Hange held out her hand for him. Levi took it, climbing to his feet while Hange hefted him off the floor. He looked equally uncomfortable with the situation in his own clothing, tugging at the sticky fabric with an angry frown. Hange hooked her arm through his and pulled him out of the lab, pausing only to lock the door behind them. Levi kept step with her as they walked down the corridor. If her closeness, or her happy, out of tune humming bothered him, he didn't show it. They were approaching the end of the hallway when Hange dug her elbow into his ribs lightly.

"Next time," she said, "if you insist on fucking me somewhere inappropriate, we're doing it in Erwin's office. I don't want to put poor Moblit at risk again."

Levi pulled a disgusted face, shoving at her. Hange teetered out of his reach, gleeful.

"On his desk, maybe. Or in his chair. His room is attached, right? Maybe even in his bed—”

"Titans, Hange. For fucks sake, titans."

#levihan #snk #side note: titans is a bad safe word for Levihan!!#my writing #ahahaha I haven't written smut in a hot minute BOY

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rreyie · 3 years

Text

Fight for Us

Chapter i- the reunion

summary- it’s been a long time since you’ve last seen reiner, one of your best friends from your childhood. but he’s changed. a lot.

genre- some fluff, angst, comfort/hurt

warnings- mentions of trauma, alcohol, readers feeling getting hurt, death. major spoilers for those who have not watched aot. eventual smut, not in this chapter- this is mainly just background info.

a/n- i told y’all i would be giving you a reiner fanfic for 500 followers, so i delivered and now it’s probably a series lol

For the past hour, you had been waiting at the train station for the Warriors to arrive once again. You had heard about their recent victory at Fort Slava, which everyone seemed to be giddy about. Another step towards victory.

You hadn’t seen them since you were about fourteen or fifteen, when you used to hang out with them in their free time when they weren’t training. You would all chat about who would be getting each titan and why and what the future would hold for you all.

It was always peaceful except for when Porco and Reiner had their usual clash, a few of which quickly became violent. It would usually end with Reiner having a bloody nose which you would always have to tend to, telling him to tilt his head back as you dabbed a tissue under his nose and on his clothes to wipe off the remaining blood.

Your parents lectured you each and every day about how you shouldn’t be hanging out with Eldian scum like him, that he and the others were spawns of the devil and not to be trusted around their innocent daughter. They scolded you each time you checked on them or decided to bring them bread to eat, and sent you to your room for hanging around them. They claimed it was out of love, but you knew better at this age that it wasn’t out of love- it was out of fear.

But they gave in on the day they were leaving for Paradis, and let you say goodbye one last time. You and Reiner talked for a while about how he will make his parents proud of him and save the world.

———

“So you think you can do it? You can really turn things around?”

“Of course I can!” Reiner chirped. “I’ll be a hero.”

“But you only have thirteen years, Reiner”, you warn him. “Your life is cut short now. I, I just...”

“Just what?” Reiner asks you, hazel eyes looking your way.

“I just... don’t want to lose you that early.”

You felt your cheeks start to warm, and quickly hid your face in your shirt to save yourself from the embarrassment. Reiners gaze was soft now, mouth slightly agape. You could easily see a pale pink form on his light complexion.

“You’re that worried about me?” He questioned, slightly raising his brow.

“Yeah, sure. You’re one of my best friends and I don’t want you dying early like that. It’s not fair to you”, you said, almost muttering those words.

“Y/n...” Reiner said. “I’m not just doing this for my parents. It’s for you too.”

Your eyes stop staring down at the ground and now avert to Reiner, who’s blush was deep now.

You had no clue what to say. It seemed like this comfortable silence was the best option, just sitting there trying to process your emotions.

The sun was starting to set, and Reiner had to leave at sunrise with the others. He slowly got up from the pavement of the sidewalk and brushed off his uniform pants in case any dirt got on them. You got up with him, wanting to spend every moment you possibly could with him before he left.

“I think this is goodbye, y/n. I should get some sleep before I leave in the morning”, he murmured.

“Okay. Guess I should let you sleep then”, you say. “Just...promise me you’ll come back alive. Fight for us, Reiner.”

Reiners expression turned warm, a smile curling on his rosy lips. “I will. I’ll come back, I promise.”

You both knew what was coming next. Reiner put his hands out for you and pulled you in close, your lips landing on his. You put a hand on his cheek, rubbing at his skin as both of your lips clashed against each other. It wasn’t a rough kiss, but not timid either. It was somewhere perfectly in the middle. Something you both were going to need to remind you of each other.

———

Now the time had finally come to meet eyes with him again. This was the last thing you thought about before the train came rolling in, coughing big clouds of black steam as it entered the station. Cheers could be heard from the crowd on the platform as passengers from inside waved to their families, likely for the first time in years.

You jostled through the crowd once the train came to a stop and started to unload its contents. Soldiers ran to embrace their mothers, fathers, siblings and spouses, some reunions making tears fall from their cheeks. This was the most happiness you had seen in a while.

Nearby, a short brunette girl quite literally flung herself out of the train, shouting into the air about how happy she was to be home. A man with slicked back hair had a rosy-cheeked blonde, clearly intoxicated, slung around his shoulder. For a moment you thought it was Reiner, but you thought otherwise when you continued to observe his features.

“Reiner! I’m so glad you’re home!”

You heard what sounded to be an old woman talking in another direction, the mention of his name making your head instantly turn towards where it was coming from. A woman with short blonde-grey hair was hugging a much taller man, with pale skin, hollow cheeks and noticeable dark circles under his eyes.

No fucking way that’s him, you thought to yourself. The solemn expression on his face did not match what you last saw, the old Reiner you used to know. What the hell had happened while he was in Paradis? Did the island devils get to him?

You gulp and decide to go and see for sure if this was really Reiner. Pushing through the dense crowd again, you walk the direction of the familiar voices.

Once you finally get a clearer glimpse of the old woman and who you assumed to be Reiner, you came to the conclusion that this was in fact him- just a tired, potentially malnourished version of him.

“Reiner!” You call. His head spun around, eyes widening when he saw your figure running towards him. You swore you could see a tiny smile form on his face, a contrast to his exhausted features.

You run into his chest, and wrap your arms around his buff figure. But for some reason, you don’t feel his arms hug you back. It felt strange, but you were going to take what you could get.

“Y/n?” Reiner asked, making you tilt your face up to confirm that it was you. “Oh fuck, I missed you, how are you?”

“Language, Reiner”, the old woman scolded. You could recognize her now, it was his mother- Karina Braun.

“Excuse me mother”, he said. “But really, how have you been?”

“I’m okay, but shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” You question him. “You’ve been at war for years.”

“Yeah, sure”, he responds. “Just tired.”

You pull away, and see Karina starting to smile, making her dimples appear on her cheeks. “This must be y/n, the girl you wouldn’t stay quiet about when you were little!” She exclaimed.

Reiner scoffed. “Not the time, mother. And I didn’t talk about her that much.”

The dispute between them made you giggle. Karina sighed, slightly exaggerated.

“If you like, you can come over for dinner tonight”, she offers. “I’m making beef stew and my sister and her family will be over to talk about what happened. Her daughter is a warrior candidate too, so I bet Reiner and her would have some interesting stories to tell.”

“Sounds wonderful!”, you say. “I’ll be over whenever.”

“Is seven alright for you?”

“Yes, that’s alright”, you reply. “In that case, I’ll see you two tonight!”

Karina beamed and nodded. Reiner was clearly starting to get bored of the conversation, observing some of the architecture of the station. It looked like he was in his own world, telling from the foreign look in his eyes. They didn’t seem as bright as they used to.

“I should go. I need to run some errands for my family before tonight, but I’ll be over! See you two later!”

“Goodbye, y/n!” Karina yelled as you waved and began to walk away. For some reason, Reiner did not say anything to you before you left, which you found strange. You chose to not question it out of being polite, he may still be adjusting to being back in Marley.

A couple hours had passed since you left the train station. You went to the market to negotiate the high prices of nectarines and plums, to the bank to cash a few checks, and back to your parents house to drop off groceries and a little bit of spare cash to buy toiletries for the week.

But Reiner didn’t leave your mind while you were doing all of this. You were almost scared to ask what happened to the others who went on the mission, in fear of the truth. Perhaps minding your own business was the best thing to do right now.

You walked into the Braun household at exactly 6:55, a smile on your face. Karina hurriedly walked to the door to greet you, a bubbling sound in the distance along with the scent of meat, garlic and rosemary.

“Welcome, welcome!” Karina chimed. “I’ll take your coat, it’s rather warm in here.”

“Thank you”, you say. “It smells delightful in here!”

“That would be the signature Braun family stew”, she said. “My sister is tending to the stew. Reiner and Gabi are in here waiting for you.”

You walked though the hall that connected to the dining room and small kitchen, where the smell was coming from. Reiner and Gabi sat at the table along with a middle aged man, who was Gabis father.

“Is this her?” The man asked. “Nice to meet you, y/n. This is my daughter Gabi, and I bet you know Reiner. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Gabi gave you a toothy smile, while Reiner just looked down staring at his empty bowl.

“Sit down, Reiner and Gabi are about to tell out about their experiences”, he said and pulled out a chair.

The other woman in the kitchen brought in a steaming pot of a red stew, chunks of meat, carrots and celery floating around in the thick broth. She dished you some, then gave some to the others.

Gabi seemed to talk for hours about how she single-handedly took out the rest of the Allied Forces from a grenade she constructed, Reiner not saying anything and only staring at the stew, occasionally poking the contents.

“It was amazing!” Gabi said. “After this it’s just those island demons!”

“Speaking of”, her father said. “Reiner, how was your stay in Paradis?”

“Dad, you shouldn’t ask that stuff!” Gabi yelled. “Most of it is probably classified anyways!”

“You’re right, Gabi”, he sighed. “Reiner, forgive your uncle.”

“Actually”, he began. “Not all of it is a secret. There was this girl who had the courage to eat a potato at the opening ceremony... what was her name again? Sasha Braus? Yep, that sounds about right...”

“That’s wonderful, but I mean the battle. Did they find out? About you know... the titan thing?”

The slight smile on Reiners face soon disappeared and turned into one of terror, his pupils getting small and eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Gabi elbowed her father. Karina flashed a nervous look to her sister, and you looked back to her for guidance.

“Reiner, are you okay?” She asked.

“Y-yeah, just need to step outside. I think the air is getting to m-me”.” He quickly got up and left his seat and hurried out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

You all sat in silence, growing uncomfortable by the second.

You weren’t hungry now.

———

After failing to make conversation due to the recent events, you get up and excuse yourself, only after putting your bowl in your sink and thanking them for dinner. Gabi promised she would tell you more about her adventures before you headed out the door.

The Braun’s had a small porch on the house, and you assumed that Reiner would be sitting there when you came out. But you were shocked to find him nowhere to be found. You told Karina that you would look around for him, and left the house.

You were out for two hours looking for him. The night was starting to become darker, stars twinkling above you and shining down on this messed up world you were a part of.

But after hours of searching and worrying that you may not see him again, you found him on a bench outside of a pub in Liberio.

“Hey, Reiner!” You yell to him. His reaction wasn’t as sudden as the last time you called his name at the train station. Instead, his head was hanging low and slowly lifted up, his eyes reminding you of a stray dog.

You walked towards him, and stood in front of him once you felt that he noticed your presence.

“Your mom is scared, she doesn’t know where you ran off to”, you lecture him. “You should really come back home-“

“I’m not coming back home tonight, y/n.”

“Huh?” You ask him. “Reiner, it’s almost midnight. I’ll take you home if you need someone to walk you home.”

“Stop worrying about me. I’m staying here for the night, gonna have a few beers. Just... go away.”

These words take you by surprise. You can feel your throat tighten, and you try and swallow the feeling down so you wouldn’t have to deal with it right now. You couldn’t cry, not with him in front of you like this.

“I said fuck off. What do you not get about that?” His gruff voice growled. There was hostility in his expression, like you had never known him, or even worse- he was your enemy.

“O-ok, I’ll be going now”, your say as your voice cracked. You did your best to stifle your tears but you couldn’t stop them from collecting at your lash line. “Um, have a good night, Reiner.”

Swiftly, you get up from the bench and head in the direction of home, where you would probably spend the incoming day crying in embarrassment for making Reiner pissed. This was the exact last thing you wanted to do, make him feel uncomfortable to the point where he was pushing you away.

You stopped at a nearby lamppost to collect your thoughts, slumping against the cold pole and letting a few tears trickle down your cheeks. You grab a tissue from your pocket, and try to soak up your salty tears. You felt like absolute and utter shit.

A few footsteps are heard in the distance, and you are quick to reach in your other pocket and pull out a small pocketknife. After all, Liberio after dark wasn’t a safe place for a woman to be. Especially in this lighting.

“Who’s there?” You ask. “Show yourself or I’m drawing my knife.”

“Calm yourself, y/n.”

The familiar deep voice came closer to where you were standing, and a tall figure showed itself in the shadows. The red armband was crimson in the faded yellow light from the lamp, the man wearing a beige uniform.

“Reiner?” You ask, hoping for an answer. “Is that you?”

“I followed you back. I’m sorry for yelling at you”, he grumbled, and scratched the back of his head. “It’s about time I told you what happened.”

You nod, and sit on the curbside of the dimly lit street. He came and sat with you, just like you two did when you were young.

“So are they like people say?” You ask. “You know, the whole devil thing.”

Reiner shrugs. “They’re not evil. But they’re not good people either. It’s... hard to describe.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“Well, that’s a stretch”, you say. “I don’t, but I know how you feel. Um, I know you probably don’t want me asking but... what happened to the rest of the people who went with you? Marcel? Bertholdt? Annie?”

Reiner puts a hand to his face and shakes his head.

“Marcel died first. Bertholdt died a year ago I think. His titan was passed down to some blonde boy with a bowl cut in Paradis. And Annie, god who knows where she is? I’m not sure if she’s alive or dead.”

This information was something you were struggling to process. Marcel was a quick thinker, how could he not survive? And Bertholdt- he had what may have been the strongest titan, and who would want to kill his poor gentle soul? Annie though, you still had a bit of hope for.

“Before he died”, Reiner began. “Marcel told me I wasn’t meant to become the Armored. It was supposed to be Porco, but he interfered to protect him. I’m seeing what he means by I wasn’t meant to do this.”

“Don’t say that”, you order him, but not in a pushy tone. More like a gentle one. “If you’ve made it back alive, that’s enough for me.”

“What would you have done if I died?”

“I wouldn’t know”, you say. “I don’t think I want to even think about that.”

He nods. Death was too familiar to him now, it had almost become his friend now. It wasn’t an uncommon thing to see nowadays.

“And you kept that promise to me”, you utter. “You came back in one piece. I’m proud. This entire country is too.”

Reiner doesn’t look to you. Instead he gives a hum of approval, indicating that he heard you. You could see his chiseled features in the moonlight shining down on him to create a perfect shadow. God he was beautiful, he always was.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #aot hcs #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #reiner x reader #reader x reiner #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #aot reiner #reiner aot #snk reiner #reiner snk #aot #snk #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction

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yungidreamer · 4 years

Text

First Bite

Starting at the beginning!

Summary: Seonghwa attends a house party, all part of keeping up appearances as a high ranking duke trying to hide his immortality. She is the the little nobody, there by luck or by fate, and when their paths cross he decides she is his, he just has to convince her of that fact.

Wordcount: 8.2k

Content warnings: Not a ton, kissing, Seonghwa is a bit possessive and supercilious, descriptions of biting and arousal, references to sex but none yet.

Seonghwa sighed, trapped inside the stiflingly warm, dark carriage as it jostled along the road to the manor. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t like travel. It was all a massive waste of his time. But he had to do it once or twice every few years. Prove he was alive and well, caring for his land, and protecting the people. His somewhat distant lands provided some buffer to his official obligations.

He stayed in one of his fiefdoms for 20 or thirty years, however long he could hide the fact that he didn’t age, then left the land to a caretaker while he moved to his second, repeating the process when he had to or when the situation in one place became intolerable. War, famine, and unrest; they were all inevitable and sometimes he stayed and sometimes he didn’t. It mostly depended on what he could do and what he had to risk. Though he was incredibly deadly with his strength, agility, and speed, his inability to bear sunlight made him a useless soldier. At least these days they didn’t expect lords to go out at the head of their army.

This wasn’t war. This was almost worse. It was a useless social obligation, hours and days of mindless chatter and social interactions. This was going to be hell, but it had to be done. He had to be one of them occasionally, had to play the role, play the part he was obligated to be by society. At the first chance, he was going to leave and go back home. Thankfully most of the people who would be at the function were degenerates who slept the day away and loved to party all night, so at least his schedule wouldn’t make him stick out all that much. And food would be plentiful as the chaperones were always eager for a little trist with a lord after their charges went to bed.

Seonghwa sighed and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, wishing he could sleep to pass the time. At least he could just let his mind wander to more pleasant things.

The halls were still relatively quiet in the manor. It was morning and the guests who were already there were mostly still abed and probably desperately hung over. She tiptoed down the hall to the library, having snuck out while her shared chaperone and her fellow charge were sleeping the day away. She needed another book to read, something to break the mind numbing boredom of the chatter in the ladies rooms. The sewing and knitting and the like didn’t bother her, she in fact, enjoyed them. It was the hours of meaningless chatter that killed her.

Nothing could make her care about the latest gossip about who had done the latest scandalous thing; like dropping their napkin at the last dinner or who forgot to use a properly sized parasol while taking a turn in the gardens. She didn’t care who had done what and, thankfully, it was never about her. Being barely in the class that allowed her to be here and having no relations who were of much more import, no one cared what she did so long as she never stepped outside of her station. Never presumed to be more than she was supposed to be. And that suited her just fine.

Slipping in amongst the tall wooden shelves, she searched for the section she had discovered on her last trip, determined to pick up the book she had been thinking of since she spotted it on the shelf on her last trip.

“Where was it, where was it,” she muttered to herself. “I know it was somewhere around here.”

“What were you looking for?” A voice drifted in from behind her, startling her. Spinning on her heels she turned to find a man behind her, a stranger who must have joined the party sometime after she had retired to her room the night before. What was he doing here in the dim library? No one was ever up at this hour aside from the servant.

She paused, taking in the figure that seemed to have appeared from the ether to loom behind her. He was tall and slim and impeccably dressed in something a few years out of fashion. Given the perfect state of his clothes and the ornate trim and frippery, she guessed it was a personal preference rather than old clothes he was simply making do with. His hair was dark and glossy, not powdered or covered in a wig, as was currently fashionable. From what she could see in the dim corridor of the shelves, he was pale and in possession of beautiful angular features that fit his oval face perfectly. The expression on his face had the sort of effortless disdain that only an aristocrat could manage.

“Just a book,” she curtsied, knowing her place and what was expected of her in the presence of such people. “I didn’t realize anyone was here. I apologize for the intrusion.” She bobbed again as she backed away, looking to escape, knowing how many things could go wrong in her position if she was found alone with someone like him.

“Wait,” his voice was soft but held a command to it, something that said he was used to being heard and obeyed. She froze, raising only her eyes as she waited for whatever he would ask of her. “What book?”

“The City of Ladies,” she replied softly, dropping her eyes to the floor.

“Come,” He said, turning and going back down the aisle. Falling into step behind him, they moved to the next row of shelves. He went in a few steps before turning to one side and running his finger along the spines of the books on one side until he found what he was looking for. Pulling a small leather bound volume off the shelf, he turned it in his hand to double check the cover, then handed it to her.

Blinking, she looked at what he had handed her. Pressed into the cover of the book in Old English typeface was The City of Ladies by Christine de Pisan. How had he known where this was, she wondered to herself.

“Is that not what you were looking for?” He asked, when she merely looked at the book in her hand with no response.

“Oh yes, it is,” she nodded, pulling herself together. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to your business.” Without another word, she turned and made her way back out of the library as quickly as she could without looking back.

The day had passed quickly and the incident in the library seemed to have gone unremarked upon by anyone else. He probably didn’t mention it to anyone, she told herself, feeling a sense of relief at the thought. She probably wasn’t worth the breath to him and had been dismissed from his mind the moment she had closed the library door behind her.

Sitting in front of the small vanity in the corner of her room, she looked at herself in the mirror, lit by the single flickering taper she had on the tabletop. Her nimble fingers pinned the last errant curls up on her head before picking up the furry puff from the ceramic canister and giving her hair a light dusting of powder. She pulled the towel from her shoulders and shook it out the window to get rid of the dust it had caught. Giving herself one last glance in the reflection to check for anything out of place, she blew out the candle and headed out of her closet sized room to join her chaperone and the other charge to head to dinner.

The older woman, paid by both of their families to watch over their unmarried daughters as they attended the house party, was gushing over Emma, the other girl who was her charge, as she dressed and prepared for the meal. They were both there ostensibly in search of suitable partners of the right class also in attendance at the party, but she was smart enough not to hold such illusions. Unlike the girl being properly pampered and prepared, she knew she was there mostly to pass the time and fulfill her social obligations as a spare girl to fill out the gender balance. For most everyone else there, the coming hours were the highlight of the day, the thing they most looked forward to. For her, it vied for the dullest. But alas, her attendance was required.

Taking a seat off toward the side, she waited patiently as they put the last details on the other girls outfit. A diamond comb was tucked into the curls on one side and a string of pearls were tied around her neck. Their chaperone gave her hair a few last pokes before having the girl stand so she could brush out the last crimps in her skirt. She was her best hope at landing a sizable reward for landing one of them a good partner. It was only logical that she would pour her attention into Emma.

“Alright, let’s go,” Mrs. Collins said motioning at her as she took Emma’s arm to walk the other girl to the dining room. She happily stood up and followed them as they made their way through the long halls to the dining room. At least dinner would only last so long tonight, she thought to herself. There would be a small ball tonight after dinner where people could drink and dance and mingle well into the wee hours of the morning if they wished. She, very likely, wouldn’t. Instead finding a good time to bow out, go back to her room, and read in the privacy of her little closet until she fell asleep.

Servants at the doors to the dining room bowed as the ladies passed, going to find their seats for the evening along the long, wide table that stretched the whole length of the large dining room. It was a classic room, decorated in a late baroque style that gave the room a heavy, dignified feel. The curved ceiling, covered in vivid scenes of figures, fruits, and plants made from plaster moldings that glinted with gilded accents. Busts filled oval frames above the doors and some windows that always made her feel like she was being watched and judged by people long since dead. Do you really think you belong here, they seemed to ask. Don’t worry, she always assured them silently, I won’t be here that long.

Taking her seat, she placed her napkin in her lap, letting her eyes look at the sparkling setting on the table before her. It was a safe place to look and didn’t invite nosy questions on inane conversations. There would be enough of that once everyone was seated and eating. Reverend Norwich would be seated to her right and would want to ask her if she had read her bible that morning. To her left would be Edward Johnson Esquire who wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes from dropping the cleavage of the women on that end of the table, more so with each sip of wine. At least it would only be a couple of hours.

Reverend Norwich arrived, taking his seat and giving her a bob of his head, which she returned. Thankfully, he turned his attention to the woman on the other side of him first, giving her just another moment of respite. All too soon, though Mr. Johnson arrived and, with no one to the other side of him, his attention was quickly turned on her.

“You look lovely this evening,” he told her, leaning a little too close as he spoke.

“Thank you,” she replied, giving him an obligatory smile that never quite reached her eyes.

“The dress, is it new?” Mr. Johnson asked, his eyes lingering on her neckline.

“No,” she shook her head, adjusting the gauzy fichu she was ever so glad she had worn this evening. “I wore it the first evening here, but I believe you hadn’t arrived yet.”

“It’s very, very pretty,” he stated with a small nod. “The pink looks lovely against your skin.”

“I want this seat,” said a surprisingly familiar voice from behind them.

“Pardon?” Mr. Johnson said, turning in his seat to look at the interloper who was interrupting their conversation. There he stood, the man from the library, and for the life of her, she had no idea why.

“I said,” he repeated in clipped tones. “I would like this seat.”

“Your Grace,” the hostess, the Marchioness of Umberland, drew close, her voice slightly breathless from her hurry to join them. “Your seat is next to mine, near the center as our guest of honor.”

“Lady Umberland,” the man greeted, taking her hand and giving it a light brush of his lips. “Forgive me, but I would like to choose my own seat this evening.”

“But, the seats…” her voice trailed off and her eyes flicked over the three of them for a second before pursing her lips. “Right, please follow me, Mr. Johnson.” The man stood up, following the hostess to the other side of the table while she reworked the seating to keep the gender integration and the ranks of those seated… appropriate.

Seonghwa took his seat beside her, scooting his chair in before waving at a passing servant to get him a new napkin as Mr. Johnson, in his rush to vacate said spot, had taken his with him to his new seat. Having received the acknowledgement from the man, he turned his attentions to the rather flustered woman beside him.

“Are you enjoying the book?” He asked her, fixing his dark eyes on her profile.

“Pardon?” She finally turned to look at him with wide almost startled eyes.

“The book you borrowed from the library this morning,” he pressed. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes,” she responded tentatively. “I haven’t gotten far, but I do like what I have been able to read of it.”

“Good,” he gave her a small nod. “It’s been a while since I read it, but I remember finding it interesting.”

“You read it?” Unable to keep the surprise out of her voice, she continued to stare at him.

“Reading fills the time and I do rather enjoy it,” the corner of his mouth twitched, almost hinting at a smile.

“Reading takes me to the world I cannot see myself,” she replied, turning to look back at her place setting.

“Is it your dream to travel, to see the world?” He watched, waiting for her reply.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “There are things I would love to see, but I suppose I want to understand the world most of all.”

“Intelligence is as much the ideal foundation for a conversation as it is for a city of ladies,” Seonghwa said, returning to reference the book he had located for her.

“I’m not sure many share that opinion.” A rueful smile tugged at her lips. She set her chin to a haughty angle before parroting just a few of the things she had heard since she had arrived at the party. “No man wants a woman whose mind is outside the home… An educated woman makes a terrible wife; she is never satisfied and always argues, thinking she knows so much more than her husband… What is the use in a woman who can do more than read the Bible and calculate basic household finances?”

“Amen,” said the Reverend from the other side of her, having caught the last few sentences she had spoken but not the context. “A woman who is educated beyond the role that God has given her, is destined to misery and constantly reaching beyond what she is destined for.”

“I could not possibly disagree more,” Seonghwa sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Why would any man wish to tie himself to someone who is barely capable of holding a conversation? And if she is to be the mother of one’s children; to nurture and raise them, would you not want a woman who could educate and cultivate brilliant children?”

“Perhaps it is different at your station, Your Grace,” the Reverend allowed, giving a deferential bow. “But it is the fate of most women to live simple lives and those who dream of the world beyond that will find only disappointment.”

“A simple life need not be in contradiction to one of curiosity,” Seonghwa couldn’t help but retort. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the soup course as a small army of servants placed low, shallow bowls on the charger plates in front of them which was then filled with a ladle of clear brown broth.

The conversation of the room dulled slightly, replaced by periodic tinking noises as spoons made contact with the fine china. She picked up her bouillon spoon, bringing the soup to her lips, hoping that the contentious conversation was done between her two dinner companions. Much as she was enjoying seeing the reverend taken down a peg, she couldn’t help but feel like a rag being pulled between two dogs as they competed for possession of it.

“Why did you come to the party?” Seonghwa asked from beside her, having finished his soup and laid his spoon in the now empty bowl, ready to be taken away.

“The usual reasons, I suppose,” she set down her spoon, having finished enough to satisfy her. “To pass the time and, my father hopes at least, to meet a potential husband.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how forward it sounded, as if she were dangling herself as a prospect for him. “I didn’t mean… I myself don’t think the prospects are terribly promising for me.”

“No one suitable or you aren’t finding yourself much in demand in that category?” He asked as the wave of servants returned, taking the bowls and replacing them with dinner plates.

“Perhaps both, perhaps for the same reasons,” she admitted. “None of those in attendance find me appealing and the sentiment is mutual.”

“Taste, or lack thereof, cannot be accounted for,” he commented enigmatically. Their conversation continued through the courses as they came and went, mostly consisting of him asking her something and her replying. It wasn’t that she wasn’t curious about him, but she didn’t know if it was really her place to pry. Given the gap in their stations, she couldn’t be sure of his reaction if she did.

When the meal was finally over, Lady Umberland stood up calling everyone’s attention to her as she asked them all to find their escorts and make their way to the ballroom. She started walking towards Seonghwa, expecting him, as the highest ranking male visitor to the party, to escort her. Seonghwa however turned away when he saw her moving toward him, taking the arm of the woman he had sat beside for dinner. Lady Umberland quickly sought out the second highest ranked man and headed down the hall, leading the way to the ballroom.

The guests quickly broke apart, moving into groups of milling, chatting people as they waited for the music to start. Seonghwa took her off to one side of the ballroom, finding an empty seat for her and taking a relaxed stance beside it. She could feel the eyes of others from around the room landing on them with a questioning intensity. The attention was cloying and she wondered how long it would be before she could escape.

“Would you like to dance?” Seonghwa asked as the quartet began to play the first song.

“I… if you would like,” she agreed, coming to her feet. Taking her hand, he led her out onto the open floor, not yet filled with any other couples. In time with the music they moved through the steps of a minuet. It gave him an excuse to hold her hand as they swayed and dipped in time with the music. Her hand was warm and soft and he couldn’t help but imagine what her skin would feel like under his lips.

All too soon, the music stopped and Seonghwa had to release her hand and give her a bow. She returned it and quickly made her way back to her seat, almost hoping he wouldn’t follow when she caught sight of her chaperone standing near it, her eyes boring into both of them as they returned.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Collins bobbed, giving him a quick obligatory bow. “I came to take my lovely charge off your hands. You have been so kind to give her your attention this evening, but I am certain there are many others you wish to see this evening. We can leave you to that. Come along, young lady.”

“I am perfectly happy with the company I have,” he said, stopping her as she stood up from her seat to follow her chaperone.

“Pardon, Your Grace,” Mrs. Collins tried to sound diplomatic. “But I cannot allow you to monopolize my charge when you patently have no intentions of consequence for her.”

“Frankly, madam, you have no idea of my intentions,” Seonghwa replied flatly.

“You can’t possibly be entertaining the notion of courting her,” the woman gave a dismissive chuckle. “She’s the daughter of a barrister.”

“I have intended on doing so since I first laid eyes on her,” he stated. “My conversation with her over dinner simply served to confirm my first instincts.”

“Pardon?” The older woman sputtered.

“I thought I might wait to ask her in a more private setting,” Seonghwa took a step closer to her and put his hand on the back of her chair possessively. “But I suppose I can make my intentions clear here.” He came around to face her, going to his knee in front of her as she sat frozen in her chair. “Consent to be mine and you will never want for anything. You don’t have to say yes now, just say that you will consider my offer and you can retire for the evening.” She nodded silently, satisfying Seonghwa who then said quietly, leaning closer, “If you wish to speak about this tomorrow, you know where to find me.”

With that, he stood up, stepped back and gave her a little bow. Taking the opportunity he offered, she gave him a curtsy and quickly made her way back to her room with her chaperone following behind.

“What did you say to him,” the woman asked in a harsh whisper as she closed the door to the main room. “How did you even meet him? Have you met him before?”

“Not before coming here,” she replied, taking a seat at her vanity in her small room. “It was pure chance that we crossed paths.”

“I dare say your father will be pleased with this if you can actually land him,” Mrs. Collins sighed. “I have to go back so I’ll lock the door behind me. I’ll only say this; if you choose to pursue this and it ends in ruin it won’t be on me. A scandal would not touch a man of his station but it will be all you are remembered for. It is your risk and your reward to seek.”

With that she was left alone to contemplate how her life had so quickly, in a mere course of hours, been turned upside down.

Seonghwa retired to the library after the party, sitting himself down in front of a pile of papers related to his estate as he tried to pass the hours of the early morning. Waiting. Surely she would come. Surely she felt that same magnetic pull as he. When his manservant arrived to check on him that morning, he had tasked him with obtaining a marriage licence from the local church or magistrate, whoever could procure it most readily and most expeditiously. The man had uncharacteristically let a flash of surprise cross his face for a moment before suppressing it beneath his usual mask of neutrality. He simply nodded and ventured out to do as he was bid.

It was not until well after the noon hour that he heard the soft click of the library door unlatching and then being softly closed again that she finally arrived, drawing him from his work. He knew it was her by the soft sound of her footsteps and the almost timid entrance into the space. Anyone else who would have come would have behaved as if they owned the place, or at the very least, like they were sure of their place there; they knew they belonged.

He hurried to stand, walking quickly to meet her as she crept in the dimly lit room. He met her as she paused near the last set of shelves by the doorway before the room opened up. Her eyes met his as he came near and he could practically feel the tension roll off her in waves.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, taking her hand and guiding her to the seats arranged comfortably around the unlit hearth. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you,” she agreed, taking a seat in a broad square velvet and wood chair to one side. “I believe we have a little to discuss.”

“Yes,” he agreed, taking a seat in the chair nearest to her. “We do.”

“Do you mind if I ask you… why?” She ventured nervously.

“Why what,” Seonghwa cocked his head to the side as he looked at her.

“Why me? Why all of a sudden you decided… I’m not even sure what,” she trailed off.

“It’s simple,” he stated, leaning forward. “I want you; I find you fascinating. You were meant to be mine and I see no point in dancing around that conclusion.”

“But, why?” she pressed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Do you not feel the same?” He asked, the first hint of doubt entering his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I know nothing about you and I would have not have dared to dream that you would be interested in me. Men like you don’t take note of women like me.”

“There are… few men like me,” he replied.

“And women like me are rather common,” she softly challenged.

“You are not common,” He shook his head. “ You are fascinating. The fact that others have overlooked it only speaks to their idiocy, not your quality.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” her chest felt inexplicably tight.

“Give me just a little of your time to convince you,” Seonghwa proposed. “If you don’t want to sign the marriage licence when it has been procured, I will leave you alone. But give me a chance.”

“Alright,” she agreed, standing up and smoothing her skirt. Seonghwa stood as well, taking advantage of the moment to step forward and draw her into a kiss. She froze as his lips brushed over hers, slightly dry and cool as they pressed against hers. It went unnoticed that no breath caressed her cheek as he held her face between his hands, gently savoring her lips. He smelled faintly of sandalwood, paper, and ink. Her eyes drifted closed, softening under his touch.

She felt so alive under his touch; so warm, so vivid. Touching her was like facing the embodiment of every temptation he had ever faced. He could hear the faint stutter of her heart at his touch like a trapped bird fluttering in its cage. So delicate, so fragile… so tempting. He wanted to crush her to him, to hold her close. Her warmth was a delicate flickering flame that he was torn between wanting to protect it and wanting to curl his chilled hands around to the point of nearly suffocating it’s light as he tried to absorb as much of the radiant heat as he could.

“Will you have tea with me this afternoon?” He asked, finally managing to pull himself away.

“I-- yes,” she nodded, taking a step back and bringing her hands up to cover her flaming cheeks. “I believe you can send for me and Mrs. Collins at the appropriate hour.” She turned quickly and made her way out of the library while she could, a frisson of nerves tickling the back of her neck.

He spent the next three days by her side at every opportunity while he courted and coaxed her into letting him into her mind and heart. They took tea together in the afternoons under the somewhat distant but watchful eye of her chaperone. In the evenings he sat with her during dinner, discouraging any of the other men in attendance from socializing with her as he stayed, hovering over her, even when they were not speaking. He was just there, always.

On the evening of the third day, her father, having been summoned by a very distressed Mrs. Collins, arrived half expecting to find his daughter ruined or the whole of the house party in shambles. Rather he found the house, perhaps tense, but otherwise unremarkable. When he located his daughter he was somewhat flummoxed by the sight of a very well dressed and handsome man hovering silently beside her. He decided it must be the man who had caused the uproar but how someone who seemed as cold and staid as a marble statue could have done so baffled him.

With his presence, at the moment, unnoticed he waited and watched. His daughter seemed perfectly at ease in his presence and the others in the room looked at them with an occasional curiosity or perhaps envy, but little else. After a long few moments, she turned to address the man and for the first time there seemed to be a warmth to him as he leaned in and spoke to her quietly. A faint smile emerged at the corner of his lips and a warmth and attentiveness burned behind his eyes.

Deciding he had seen enough, he stepped into the room, making himself known to the occupants including his daughter. He couldn’t help but think how much she resembled her mother as her eyes landed on him and she grinned as she stood up to greet him, her feet carrying her to him with an effortless elegance.

“Papa, what are you doing here?” She asked as he drew her into a warm hug.

“Mrs. Collins insisted I come here myself and sort out whatever was going on,” her father replied. “Though I must confess I am not sure what exactly that is.”

“She was right to ask you to come but I believe she may have made things sound much more dire than they are,” she laughed, looking over her shoulder to where the mysterious figure was waiting. Upon seeing her turn towards him, the man stepped closer, coming up alongside her. “It seems that I might be engaged.”

“That is good news, my dear,” he assured her, taking her hands while giving the man beside her another assessing look. “So long as it is to someone who would make you happy.”

“I would like to introduce myself properly sir,” Seonghwa said from beside her. “Perhaps we ought to speak privately for a moment.” Her father nodded at the offer, motioning for him to lead the way to wherever he thought best. Seonghwa turned and led the way out of the main room and into a small side study, taking a seat in one of the plush armchairs and crossing his legs. Her father followed suit, taking the chair opposite, un intentionally mirroring the younger man’s stance.

“I’ve decided I am going to marry your daughter,” Seonghwa stated in such a perfectly matter of fact manner that her father could not help but blink blankly in response before clearing his throat to respond.

“I believe it would be customary to ask permission to do so,” her father returned, feeling a bit prickly at his surety.

“I did,” Seonghwa stated simply. “I asked her.”

Her father was again left blinking. In theory he actually liked that answer as he did believe it was up to his daughter who she would marry. He wanted her to be happy and very much believed in her and trusted her judgement. Still, something about the haughty certitude of the man irked him somehow. Yes the man outranked him, yes he agreed with his assertion in theory, but could he not at least pretend to want his approval?

“While I am glad that you have made her opinion in the matter of such priority,” her father granted. “I would be remiss if I did not seek to ensure that your intentions toward my daughter were good and that you intend to care for her as the treasure that she is in my eyes. I could give her away to no one who would care for her with less devotion than I do.”

“She will never want for anything,” Seonghwa replied. “Every comfort of life will be hers. I can promise that any intellectual pursuit that catches her fancy she will have the means to pursue. I would not seek to put her into a box that demands she is anyone but who she wishes to be.”

“Do you love her?” Her father asked bluntly.

“Love is a complicated word,” Seonghwa waved away the world dismissively. “And love fades like a picked bloom. I would not reduce my feelings for her to something so trivial as love. I can promise to be devoted to making her happy for as long as we are both alive.”

“Perhaps I am a strange man,” Her father sighed. “But I have never considered love to be a trivial thing. I would say I love her mother still, though she has now been dead for longer than I had the privilege of having her as my helpmate and companion.”

“You are fortunate to have had such a love that lasted so long,” he commented.

“Pardon me for saying so,” her father couldn’t help but observe. “You seem quite young to be so jaded.”

“I am, perhaps older than I look and have long been accused of acting older than my years,” Seonghwa laughed wryly. “Just think of me as an old soul.”

“Whatever word you choose to put to it,” her father steepled his fingers and touched them to his chin. “If you can promise that you will do whatever is in your power to make my girl happy, I suppose I can give you my blessing.”

“Thank you,” he said as he stood up. “I know having your blessing would be a relief to her. I believe the marriage license will be available to be signed tomorrow.”

“So soon?” His eyebrows shot up at the news. “Is it really necessary to rush so? No wedding? No vows in a church.”

“I am not fond of churches,” he explained without really explaining anything at all. “But I would not object to a small ceremony here, perhaps tomorrow evening.”

“Not to repeat myself but, so soon?” Her father asked, his chest feeling slightly hollow. “I won’t even have time to get her a dress or gather her trousseau.”

“She needs nothing more than the clothes she has brought with her as far as I am concerned,” Seonghwa shrugged. “I will provide her with clothes that befit her new station. You can send any of her belongings she will want to my residence. I can provide anything she needs, but I cannot replace things of sentimental value.”

“I will send them along when I return home,” her father swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I do hope you won’t object to an occasional visit by her old father now and again.”

“You are welcome to visit our home,” Seonghwa said simply.

“Thank you,” her father bobbed as he also stood. “I am relieved to hear that, if I am honest.”

“You can come soon and assure yourself that your daughter is well,” Seonghwa offered in a tone that might be mistaken for kind as he opened the door to the main room, allowing her father to exit first before he closed the door behind them.

They found her waiting for them, keeping busy with her nose buried in a book, though she had clearly been keeping half an eye on the door, waiting for them to emerge. When she saw them step out, she closed the book on her lap and stood up, looking at them expectantly. Her father came to her, a smile on his face as he took her hands in his.

“Congratulations my beautiful girl,” he pulled her into a hug. “I shall miss having you at home to stop me from letting my work keep me up too late.”

“Maybe you will have to find a new wife who will make sure you will take care of yourself,” she suggested, only half joking.

“Perhaps,” he chuckled. “Or I can just listen to the spirit of your mother nagging at me and do as I know she would have told me to.”

“Mmm, so long as you actually listen,” she scolded lovingly.

“I will, I will,” he promised. “Would you perhaps have a private dinner with me this evening? One last meal, just the two of us.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed. “I’ll go tell the kitchen that we will take our portions in your room, if that is alright.”

“Excellent,” he nodded. “I believe I will go now and wash the road off me before then. Give me an hour and then please join me.”

“Alright,” she replied, watching as her father straightened his jacket and headed out to ask after his room.

“Just one thing,” Seonghwa caught her arm as she started to go to find a servant to send word to the kitchen. “When you are done with dinner, come to my room. There is something I wish to discuss with you tonight, alone.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and he let her go, heading out of the surprisingly busy library to see to dinner.

It was late by the time she left her father, but most of the guests of the houseparty were still busy with dinner and the after meal socializing so there was no one in the halls to take note of her sneaking to Seonghwa’s room. She knocked lightly on the door, still half unsure if she really should have come. But, now with her father’s blessing, it seemed more certain than ever that she would actually become the Duchess of Harrington tomorrow. Seonghwa answered the door quickly, indicating that he had been eagerly awaiting her arrival. He shepherded her inside, closing the door firmly before he pulled her into his arms and taking her lips in a hungry kiss. He had been starving for the taste of her ever since that first kiss in the library, her taste and warmth teasing him with the mere memory.

After a moment he forced himself to pull back. He had to tell her tonight, give her the chance to back out now or decide to go forward, knowing what he was. With a strength and determination he had not been sure he had in him, he stepped away from her, leaving her blushing and dazed in the wake of his passion. She looked tempting and delicious standing there in his rooms, ready for the taking.

“I don’t mean to sound as though I object to this,” she said, touching her lips at the lingering sensation of the kiss, “But if this is why you asked me to come, I think it is best if we wait until tomorrow to do anything more.”

“It isn’t,” he admitted, shifting on his feet. If he could have blushed, he would have. “I want you to understand what it means to bind yourself to me. I want to know that you are choosing this life with me freely and with a full understanding.”

“If you are wondering if I intend to try and abstain from what I understand to be my wifely duties,” her eyes flicked to the tall, damask draped four-poster bed on the far side of the room. “I do not, but I would still ask to wait one more day.”

“I am comforted to know that, given how short a time we have known one another,” he said with a calm formality that did not match the lustful turmoil inside him. “I have a… special requirement of my wife.”

“If it’s about having an heir,” she tried to reason out what he must be trying to get at. “I have no reason to believe I would not be capable of providing you with one. I know that it is vital for men of title.”

“I cannot have children,” Seonghwa replied plainly.

“How…” her brow crinkled as she looked at him. “How do you know?”

“For the same reason that I have a special requirement that I would ask of you as my companion,” he stepped forward and took one of her hands and placed it on his chest. “Those who are like me are simply incapable of producing new life. Is it important to you to have children of your own?”

“To be honest,” she gave him a self effacing smile. “I had expected to never marry which means I long ago accepted the idea that I would never have a child. I remember losing my mother when she had my brother who followed her not long after she passed. It could perhaps be a blessing not to risk such a thing, though I am still not sure how you know that you cannot have children.”

“Should I show you what I would ask of you?” He questioned, taking half a step towards her.

“I suppose that is the simplest way for me to understand,” she agreed, nerves tingling with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

“Come here,” he reached for her, taking her to stand in front of the unlit hearth. Two candelabras sat on either end, providing the room with flickering light from their tapers. Behind them, in a frame on the wall was a glinting mirror. Seonghwa positioned her to stand facing herself in the reflection and stood behind her, his dark eyes locking with hers as he put his hands on her shoulders. His fingers gently pulled the gauzy fabric of her fichu from where it was tucked in at her neckline, tossing it away and onto a nearby chair. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something but seemingly thought better of it, instead biting her lip as she continued to watch him in the reflection.

“My precious, do you trust me?” He asked as he brushed the hair away from the side of her neck.

“Yes,” she replied. She couldn’t have told you why, but she did trust him.

“This might sting at first,” he instructed gently as he pulled her back towards him and leaned closer to her, breaking eye contact as he looked at the soft flesh of her neck. “But don’t pull away. I promise it will feel good.”

She didn’t reply or even nod, instead, simply allowed him to tilt her head to the side as she watched, almost as if she were seeing it done to someone else in that reflection. Seonghwa kissed the side of her neck with his cool, slightly dry lips, feeling the gushing pulse of her blood just below the soft veil of her skin. Her scent wafted off her, carried by the very vital heat of her body out to tease his nose. He knew she would taste sweet to him, like the finest candy. All human blood tasted delicious and was satisfying as it coated his mouth each time he fed. It was the only thing that truly held taste for him like this and each person tasted different, tasted like them. They carried the hint of what they ate and anything else they put in or on their bodies, which naturally made some more tempting and delicious than others, but they still tasted mostly of whatever their innate flavor was, He could smell someone and know largely how they would taste, the good and the bad; and she smelled good.

His tongue darted out, getting some small first taste. He had spent so much of the day with her, waiting for her, or mired in thoughts about her, he hadn’t yet taken the time to feed. The borrowed warmth and life he took with each feeding had diminished and the thought of getting it from her excited him. Opening his mouth, he set his teeth on her skin and looked up to meet her eyes which had gone slightly wide as she watched him… and still she did not pull away. Snaking one arm across her chest to hold her to him, he bit down, his fangs sinking into her neck with a fluid ease.

She stiffened and let out a small gasp at the sensation, the flash of pain. But almost as soon as she felt it, the pain vanished and was replaced by a strangely insistent pleasure that seemed to flow through her as if it could replace the blood he took. Her heart fluttered under his hand and her body ached for something, she knew not what.

As Seonghwa fed, watching as pleasure bloomed on her face like the evening primrose at dusk. Her gasp became a breathy moan as she leaned into him, giving herself over to him and the pleasure he bestowed upon her. She tasted as good as he had thought she would, perhaps better, and it took immense resolve to pull himself back when he had eaten enough. With a gentle brush of his tongue, the wounds closed, leaving only two small pink marks in their place. They would surely go unnoticed, or at least unremarked upon.

Her legs felt weak and she couldn’t help but sag in his arms as the pleasure faded, leaving her fuzzy headed and slightly dazed. Lifting her into his arms, he sat down in the large, old armchair, cradling her in his lap. He held her, murmuring to her softly as the feelings faded, leaving her mostly tired and slightly confused.

“What are you?” She finally asked.

“Vampire,” he whispered, as if the lower volume might make the word less threatening to hear.

“I didn’t think they were real,” she said back, continuing to let her head rest on his shoulder.

“Not everything they say is true,” He answered, giving her comforting pats and strokes.

“What is, then?” She asked, letting her head remain resting on his shoulder.

“I can see in near total darkness,” he began. “I am stronger and faster than I was before, long ago. I seem to be cursed to live forever like this and can quickly heal nearly any injury so long as my body is largely intact and my heart is not pierced by wood or silver. I cannot go in the sun or even the direct reflection of its light.”

“Does a bite feel as good for you as it does for those you bite?” Her question was honest, holding only the faintest hint of embarrassment at the half hidden admission.

“I only remember the feel of it from your side once and it is different,” he considered, thinking back to what he remembered of it. “But feeding from you gives me great pleasure if that is what you are wondering.”

“Then does that replace lying with me for you?” She sat up straighter, wanting to look at him as she asked. “Is that why you can’t have children?”

“No,” he smiled as he took one of her hands and gently guided it to rest on his very ready erection under the layers of his clothing. “I am quite capable of that as well, but we will save that for tomorrow… if you will still come.”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Then for tonight, give me one more kiss and then I will let you go on your way.” He reached for her, turning her face to his with his now warm hands cupping her soft cheeks. Her lips parted under his touch and she allowed his tongue to venture in to dance with hers. The faint tang of iron teased her taste buds as he kissed her and the brief thought that it was the taste of herself fluttered through her mind as inconsequentially as a fall leaf caught in a fall gust.

Breaking the kiss, Seonghwa stood them both up, giving her some small distance before taking her hand and guiding her to the door. He brushed a hand over her cheek, letting it trail down over the side of her neck where he had bitten it.

“Tomorrow I will make you mine for all the world to see,” he vowed before letting his hand drop and opening the door to the hall with a quiet click.

“Tomorrow,” she nodded once before stepping into the hall and slipping away before anyone could notice her presence.

Masterlist

#park seonghwa #seonghwa smut #ateez smut #ateez imagines #seonghwa imagines #kpop smut #kpop imagines #ateez fluff #vampire au #vampire #historical AU #historical fiction #smut

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 2 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: mourning and Aragorn's bad coping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Can’t Promise You Kind Road Below

Aragorn did not want to think about the dying face of Boromir, how he had clutched to his clothes in desperate regret, nor how he had looked as if their doom was impending and there was no stopping it.

He hated how when he recalled the image of Boromir, he could only see that Boromir, chocking on his own blood, confessing his sins. He wanted to see Boromir in the flickering light of the fire, his eyes when he talked, but he could not.

Through Rohan, he ran himself ragged trying to find the little ones Boromir had died to protect and when even that task was his no longer, he worked to ensure that the world of men would not fail.

As they rode to Helm’s Deep, he was aware of Éowyn’s eyes on him, but he knew it was not love, for he knew what love looked like. She loved him for the things he could bring her, not for his tales of mischief or his tracking in the wild, just war and valor.

He would not engage with her meaningful looks hoping that they would go away, before he had to deal with them. His soul was smarting still and the affection in her eyes instead of his, hurt more than he could have thought.

When he went over the cliff edge, a small part of him hoped that he would see Boromir again, but instead he saw but an image of him, kissing his forehead as Aragorn had done on Amon Hen, before pulling him up, urging him to fulfill the oath he had made.

Brego trotted slow enough to not jostle him, but it would not have mattered for his mind was consumed by his empty arm and the shadow a smile long gone.

Arriving he heard Gimli through the crowd: “Where is he? Where is he? Get out of the way! I’m gonna kill him!” Then he saw him and hugged him close. “You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew!”

Aragorn hugged back, but he did not have the time for this. His mind had been made up, he needed to save Rohan and then Gondor, for Boromir. It was a truth he had already known, but seeing Boromir in his mind’s eye, pleading with him again, made it a reality once more. He could not give up now. “Gimli, where is the King?”

Legolas also stopped him before he could reach Théoden King, however. “Le ab-dollen,” he frowned and scanned him over. “You look terrible.”

It was a relief, somehow, to have Legolas there, insulting him as of old. The Elf with his long life had more familiarity with grief than most and he tried his best to keep Aragorn on his two legs. A smile broke out on his face.

Then something leathery was pushed into his hands. Boromir’s bracer. It had been torn off during the fight with the Orc and he had felt its absence ever since, holding it in his hands once more made swallowing harder than it needed to be.

“Hannon le.” It was not enough to express all the thanks he had to his friend for saving and protecting this object while he could, even if he did not know whether Aragorn had made it and even if there was no one to return it to. Yet, he hoped his face showed all the gratitude his soul held.

After that he walked on to the King and so he stood and fought for Helm’s Deep, for mankind.

It was a pity that the Elves send to their aid were from the Western border of Lothlórien, instead of the Eastern, which had collected Boromir, since now neither knew that Boromir lived still.

Gandalf prevented him from marching directly through to the White City once the battle was over and the warning had to be brought, while Aragorn’s heartwas eager to march on.

Waiting was more agonizing than Aragorn had expected. When there were no longer marches that lasted days on which the silence was oppressively present or battles that went through the night, the emotions he had tried to hide from crept into his mind once more.

There was no description in any of the tongues he knew for the way his heart hurt. No words for the way it was hollow yet so heavy, nor for the way his mind replayed that day and all the things he could have done differently, if he had only seen.

He spend days sitting alone with his pipe.

Legolas understood. The Elf would sit next to him in silence, watching over the plains for someone, who would not appear on the horizon. Gimli, as well, would hold him company, on the long nights wherein sleep seemed the enemy more so than the darkness.

This night he was alone, however, gracing the halls of Edoras with his drunken mumbling filled with grief. His mind had called upon him to write a song for the loss and glory of Boromir, something he had been turning in his mind for many days.

There were reproaches to himself also for not giving him some sort of ritual send off that he had deemed as too time-consuming, if he was to fulfill his promises, and had regretted ever since. He should have bore Boromir to one of their boats and let the Anduin take him home, yet he had not.

Softly he swished the ale in his mug, looking into his reflection that looked more pitiful than a King should look. But he was no King here, just a broken man and quietly he murmured:

“Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes "What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?" "I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey I saw him walk in empty lands until he passed away Into the shadows of the North, I saw him then no more The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor" "O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar But you came not from the empty lands where no men are" . From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans "What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve" "Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie On the white shores, on the dark shores under the stormy sky So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me" "O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea’s mouth" . From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls "What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today? What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away" "'Neath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast" "O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days"”

“That was beautiful, my Lord. I knew not that a lament had been written for the grievous loss of Lord Boromir.” His private sorrow was interrupted by Éowyn, who could not know how deep the grief ran in Aragorn’s heart.

“It is not,” said he. “I wrote it.”

“Did he go down the Anduin, my Lord?” she asked. “We heard fairly little of the demise of our trusted ally of many years, only that it had happened.”

Aragorn’s teeth clenched, a steady breath leaving his nose at her innocent question. “He did not. We had not the time and I have regretted it ever since I turned my back to the place where he fell. He deserved more honor.”

Éowyn fell silent, then gently sat beside him. He knew not whether to be grateful for her company or upset at the intrusion, which it could hardly be called inside the public halls of her home.

She laid her hand on his arm. “You cared for him,” she observed. “He was not just your brother in arms, I can feel the grief in your voice and I see the bracers of Gondor upon your arms. Though it might not be a comparison, Théodred is a soul dearly missed by me. He rode into battle with Éomer, but it was me he comforted in the night when the nightmares got too strong. He was my brother more than my cousin.”

He heard the pain in her voice and while it was not a lover she had lost, it had been a loved one. She had not looked at him before with the compassion born of something other than love and in that moment, he appreciated the understanding she brought him.

“I promised I’d protect him, that we both might live to see the end of our quest.” His gaze wandered to a far off place that was unseen to other eyes. “I found him too late and save him, I could not. For all the Elven healing I have learned, I was not enough. I failed him.”

“You have not failed him, for if Boromir was to be failed, he would be failed by no one but his own,” Éowyn spoke fiercely. “I knew Boromir for many winters passed and he was proud and bold. He knew his sword better than his body, leading the charge and ending every fight he fought. He was a great warrior and I will not have his name tarried by your claim that he needed your protection. If he fell, he fell with the honor of a Soldier and a noble man, fighting until he could do so no more to protect what he held dear.”

Aragorn fell silent.

While Legolas and Gimli had many times told him to not carry the weight of Boromir’s death on his shoulders, it was Éowyn that defended Boromir in removing his guilt.

Boromir valued his honor and he had told him that he had kept it. It would not do to take those words back in his mind, to carry the guilt of Boromir’s death that was more Saruman’s fault than his own. Still it was easier to speak the words than to take the message to heart, yet it eased his mind, for he had felt he could not grieve that which he had caused, allowing himself to only feel the pain when colored by blame.

“You are not responsible for Théodred either, my Lady. Saruman’s magic lies in his voice and his arm reached far, do not blame yourself for there is not blame to be laid,” he said, not knowing how else to respond to the kindness she had shown him.

There was the same shock of the confirmation that it was okay to rest that had been upon his face moments before. She swallowed, then stared ahead: “I still have to atone for not doing more, for taking one of our greatest Captains in times of war when he could have been saved.”

“You do not have to replace him, my Lady. Dying in honor is not worth it to repay a debt that isn’t owed. Why should you atone for Gríma’s and Saruman’s crimes? Who will be here to protect the home that Théodred died for? If we fail, who else will hold steady here?” He knew her urge to fight, but he hoped she would see that times of peace were more valuable and that everyone had their own part to play in getting there.

She did not take kindly to his comfort, nor his advice. For all her wisdom to Aragorn, she had little for her own heart, little to soften the blows she dealt herself. Her lips pulled into a thin line and her hands clenched, before she swept out of the room, leaving Aragorn once more with a mug of ale as his only company.

Aragorn was still churning their words in his head the morning after. Both trying to find the right words for the ones that had been misplaced by her mind the day before as well as trying to come to terms with hers.

On the horizon a light flickered.

He rushed up many stairs and through the town he flew into the great hall of Edoras, where he panted:“The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”

The hall fell silent in awaiting Théoden’s answer and while Aragorn had already decided that no matter the word of the King, he would ride, taking whoever was willing with him, he still longed to know the King’s answer.

“And Rohan shall answer,” the King decided. “Gather to Rohirrim.” The words loosened the weight inside Aragorn’s chest. An army would do more for Gondor than a lone man.

He would come to Gondor’s aid, he would not abandon Boromir nor his home. There was a little hope for Gondor now and Aragorn found himself eagerly awaiting the return to his Kingdom, even if there was a chance he would find it in ruins.

In the end his return alongside Rohan would not come to pass. Seeing Elrond was a respite he did not know he needed, but when the older man shed his hood, Aragorn’s knees nearly buckled as a sense of safety and home consumed him.

“Estel?” he questioned when he saw Aragorn. “You are not the man that left Rivendell. You have lost something, a part of yourself. Where is the Evenstar brooch?”

“I- I gave it away,” Aragorn confessed, voice less steady than a hut during an earth quake.

“To whom?” Elrond wore the face that he often did when the human character of Aragorn managed to baffle him, even after all the millennia he had walked this earth.

Aragorn knew not whether he wanted to confess to the man, who had been like his father, to whom he had given the star of his daughter, but it felt unfair to keep it from him and yet it was hard to speak the name. “Boromir.”

“The brooch was not all you gave to Boromir.” The statement was an inquiry, but it might as well have been a knife. There was no judgment in Elrond’s voice, just a quiet understanding that came with all the losses he’d had.

He nodded in reply, for there was no more he could say to Elrond, save: “I swore to him that I would not see Gondor fail, Ada. Yet, my heart tells me Rohan will not be enough.”

“Your heart speaks truth, you ride to war not victory. Sauron’s armies ride on Minas Tirith, this you know, but in secret he sends another force, which will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the South. They will be in the city in two days. You’re outnumbered, Estel. You need more men.”

At Elrond’s words, Aragorn’s heart sank. He had known this was a futile attempt to stem the tide of the darkness, thatthey would need even more men, men that did not exist or could not be spared. The promise he made to Boromir, was an oath he could not keep. “There are none,” it was a desolate fate to realize there in the night.

“There are those, who dwell in the mountain,” Elrond’s suggestion was one they could not count on and he wondered when the counsel of the Elves had turned to hopeless last efforts that would not be fruitful.

“Murderers, traitors. You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing, they answer to no one.” Did Elrond not see that it would be his end?

“They will answer to the King of Gondor. I am here on behalf of someone that I love, Arwen begged me to bring this to you healed before she left to the Grey Havens,” said Elrond, revealing a sword that had been concealed in his coat. “Andúril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil.”

With near reverence Aragorn took the sword, by whose shards he had first seen Boromir so many nights ago. The rhyme that foretold his duty came to fruition as a tale from old.

It seemed poetic that it came to his hands now that he marched on the City he had sworn to protect in name of the man, he had met next to that very same sword. How it came to him healed, only after Boromir had named him King and he had proven himself in battle.

“The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith.”

While he knew his duty, he could not easily do so without the entire encampment knowing. He made his goal clear, but all thought it a foolish quest that would rob them of a leader in the battle that was to come. “Why are you doing this? The war lies to the East. You cannot leave on the eve of battle, you cannot abandon the men.”

“Éowyn,” for that was who had spoken and Aragorn hoped that his tone would convey all that he tried to say to her, knowing that she was not susceptible to listening.

“We need you here.” Everyone seemed to need him, but he knew where he was needed and it was not here, it was with a deadly army marching on Minas Tirith from the South.

“Why have you come?” he asked instead of all he wanted to say to her. He knew her reasons, but he needed her to understand that what she wished could not come to pass, for he did not think he could ever fully heal from the grief of Boromir. He was not right for her.

“Do you not know?”

“It is but a shadow and a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek.” The glance she send to his bracers told him she understood, yet she did not want to believe and the blunt rejection still hurt her as she backed away.

Aragorn knew that he should have felt more guilt about hurting the maiden, but he could not find it in him, for he was hurting too, yet there was no one right for him either, except the dead. He would find company there.

He also found company in Legolas and Gimli, glad for his friends that had been a steadfast presence by his side.

There were no finer companions to march with, for they had been there through it all, not once leaving his side and trusting him with their life, even when his judgment had cost them one of the Fellowship’s. They had not blamed him and stood by his side with more understanding of his conviction than he could have hoped for.

A dark path later, he finally gazed upon the White City. It stood high and mighty still, yet the magic with which Boromir had described it fell flat as the lower levels burned and the streets were overrun by Orcs and Trolls.

Boromir’s words in Lothlórien echoed through his mind: ‘Still, my heart tells me that I will not see my home as it is now ever again and my fears would have me believe that the next time I see it, it will be in ruin.’

Had he known then the omen of which those words spoke, he would not have thought so lightly of them.

Yet those were demons for after the war was won, for the end was only staved off and the Houses of Healing were filled with people, who did have a chance to see their home restored, should they live through this.

Aragorn worked tirelessly, remembering Boromir telling him off the time he had ended up here with a broken arm after he had fallen of a horse as a youngster. Boromir had recalled how the nurses had more resembled a beehive and how the busy hands had distracted him from the pain.

It was strange how his memories came alive amidst the dying soldiers of his City. He tried to work through it and many citizens saw him there, working so tirelessly as to be the hive Boromir had told him off by himself.

His people spoke, rumors of his deeds in the Houses of Healing spread through the City. Yet, no one spoke of the King that had wept at the sick bed of Faramir, Son of Gondor, now herCaptain and Steward, who resembled his so brother closely.

For days he found himself beside Faramir, looking at the man with an aching guilt. He wondered if he knew his brother was dead, if Pippin had told him, if he knew that Boromir would never again hear the silver trumpets call him home.

He knew not how Boromir had carried so much upon his shoulders for the many years he dwelt here and he felt deeply how the burdens he had seen in the eyes of Boromir, were the burdens meant for him. So, he set to work again, trying not to think of it more.

And it was in the Houses of Healing that Legolas found him, gently washing Faramir’s wounds with athelas water. He laid a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “You need to stop, Aragorn. You will not save Boromir by saving his brother. He is in safe hands here, you can do no more but rest.”

Aragorn tried to ignore him and went back to what he was doing, but his hands were shaking and his eyes were drooping. He knew Legolas to be right, yet it was hard to tear himself away from caring for the family of the man that held his heart.

“We have a counsel about our next move come morning. You cannot protect Minas Tirith if you’re exhausted. Please, sleep.”

The fact that Legolas spoke truth made it all the more frustrating. Faramir looked so much like his brother that it was sometimes easy to pretend that he had been on time to save him. But he had not. Every time he glimpsed features that were not Boromir’s that revelation came to him again.

Still, he knew that Boromir had cared for his brother, with many tales of their adventures both as young lads and soldiers proved that. Aragorn would never forgive himself if Faramir died under his care. He would do anything to protect Minas Tirith.

Slowly he stood up, vision going black for a moment as Legolas steadied him. Gratefully, he leaned on the Elf and let himself be led to a bed. He could not remember falling asleep, but it was the first full sleep he had in weeks, through virtue of pure exhaustion.

The debate for their next move had gathered in the Citadel and Aragorn walked the halls where he was meant to rule and where Boromir had grown up. He should have been there as well, to decide the fate of his City and people, but he was not and Aragorn would try his best in his stead.

He deeply understood Gandalf’s fear and blame of himself, when he talked about Frodo and the heavy shadow in the East, as he stated: “I have send him to his death.”

“No.” Aragorn would not let Gandalf fall into his own mistakes, he would not let the Wizard give up when he had just hardened his resolve to do what he must. “There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that.”

“How?” asked Gimli and Aragorn explained the plan that had been growing in his mind: “Draw out Sauron’s armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate.”

“We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms,” Éomer rightfully critiqued, but he did not yet see the full picture. The real goal.

“Not for ourselves,” Aragorn agreed, “but we can give Frodo a chance if we keep Sauron’s eyes fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves.”

“A diversion.” It clicked for Legolas and he saw in the Elf’s eyes that he thought him mad and genius at once. He knew then that he would have Legolas by his side.

“Certainty of death, small chance of success,” Gimli summarized and Aragorn hoped the Dwarf would be on his side as well. The three of them had journeyed so far and it would hurt to see his friend abandon ship at the end. Yet, his heart knew that Gimli was more stouthearted and loyal than that, which was confirmed by the Dwarf himself: “What are we waiting for?”

“Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait,” Gandalf voiced what Arargorn had also realized, but he had an idea. He grinned and said: “Oh, I think he will,” before explaining what he meant to do.

Before he could do so however, Pippin stopped him. He looked at the Hobbit curiously, it was not the same Hobbit whom he had left Rivendell with. There was a weight on his shoulders and a wisdom in his eyes.

“Promise me I can come with you to the Black Gate,” he asked. “Boromir gave his life for me and Faramir has shown me great compassion despite my involvement in his brother’s death. I would be ashamed to not protect their home.”

“It is not up to me to decide who goes,” he said and he saw Pippin’s face fall, so he added, “It is up to the heart of every man. I will not force anyone to come with me, but every man is welcome. Still, you should not feel like a debt is owed, because you were the bringer of the news of Boromir’s death to his kin.”

He knew how Boromir cared for the Hobbits – Merry and Pippin especially, since they reminded him of the youth untouched by war and he had hoped to save them of the harsh, dark hands of violence. Another place where Aragorn had failed him. Boromir would not want them to unnecessarily endanger themselves.

“That is not why I want to fight, Aragorn. I want to help Frodo and Sam, I hope to see my friends again and I wish to fight for their good fortune,” Pippin said. “And it was not me, who brought the news.”

“It was not?” Aragorn frowned. He did not know how else the news could have come to the White City.

“No, it was his cloven horn that was found in the river, which told the people that Boromir would not return, I merely confirmed the loss already felt,” Pippin explained.

A cold hand gripped Aragorn’s heart. How had the horn ended up in the river when last he had seen, it had been next to it’s bearer far from the water of the Anduin, lying on the forest ground? Who had moved the horn from it’s resting place?

“Aragorn?” He had been quiet fortoo long and Pippin’s brows formed a concerned look. He failed to smile reassuringly as he said: “I’m sorry, Pippin. I was distracted. It is a noble cause to fight for your friends and your blade will be welcome.” Then he quickly left.

The fear and guilt in his heart was a familiar mix and he had not the time to examine the revelation too closely, for there was something he had to do. Though his mind kept straying.

Looking into the Palantír, he saw the dreadful eye that had haunted them through their journey across Middle Earth. It writhed and hissed in Black speech, things he could not understand. He unsheathed his sword and told Him: “Long have you hunted me. Long have I eluded you. No more! Behold, the Sword of Elendil!”

Immediate was the reaction of the Dark Lord, who showed him the body of Boromir, defiled and dismembered by a pack of Orcs. His fair face was no more, his horn tossed into the river with all that was left of him. The Evenstar trampled and left in the dirt.

Aragorn felt sick as he dropped the Palantír.

He knew not whether the stone spoke truth or if the Dark Lord had looked into his heart to confirm his deepest fears. Yet a part of his mind could not help but think that it had come to pass and that his actions had led to Boromir being desecrated like that after death.

When he had decided to leave Boromir there, it had been purely selfish. He wanted Boromir to be given the chance to be buried as the Kings of old as he had deserved. He had not wanted to dishonor Boromir as well as giving himselfthe chance to be buried alongside him. But the had not been the time to dig a grave with the trail of Merry and Pippin growing cold every second, he could not fail what Boromir had started.

So the body had been left and now he had a broken horn that should not have been in the river and an all seeing eye that confirmed what he had feared.

The bile rising in his throat felt almost as bitter as the taste of regret that coated his tongue. It seemed like he was only failing Boromir. His city lay in ruin, he would march her last soldiers to their death by the Black Gates and now the decisions about the death of Boromir felt foolish and was causing an anguish and doubt in his heart when Gondor needed it least.

He could not let this stop him, however. Boromir had turned his back on helping Frodo for a moment and it had led him onto a road of ruin and Aragorn had swore to do better by him. He could not abandon Frodo, not now. No matter if his heart wanted him to hide and cry.

Thus it came to pass that he marched steadily on the Black Gate with too small an army and a sun rising in the sky that he might never see setting again.

Aragorn spoke to his troops, to the brave men that had followed him in spite of knowing the foolish quest that it was. “Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers. I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and all bonds of Fellowship.”

Even as he spoke the image of Boromir haunted his words. His attempt to take the Ring colored his mind, yet Boromir had the courage to turn back, to not forsake his friends and neither would the men in front of him. “But it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight!”

He saw encouragement in the eyes that looked up at him as he heard the voice of Boromir: ‘I have not yet seen you in a proper battle, nor with men under your command,’ and he hoped that if Boromir could see him, he would be proud. That he would have provenhimself worthy of the throne that lay waiting for him, should he return.

“By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!” Around him weapons were unsheathed as men readied themselves to fight with Aragorn joining them on his horse.

No one could stop him, he had to fight. Fight for Frodo, for Gondor, for Boromir and the promises he had made to him. He would fight for the memory of the Elves and the legacy of men in the new age. He might perish on the field of battle, but he would do so with honor. For if he fell, he wanted to join there were Boromir dwelt.

A/N:

Shout out to me for using a bazillion (9k) words for FOTR only to breeze past the rest of the franchise in record speed (5k). Well, maybe not record speed, but pretty fast if u compare.

Also I adore the Lament for Boromir (and I cry every time, very hard and long, lets not talk about it, anyways), but that does not just come to you and I wanted to explore writing it for Aragorn, so it had to be included and is straight from the books. I am quite sad that Legolas didn’t get to sing his part though :/

In the movies more so than the books, I feel (which is up for interpretation), Aragorn’s journey is shadowed by the death of Boromir. It is Boromir that convinced him of the courage of men and how Gondor needs him, who accepts him as King first and shows Aragorn what his absence has caused. So, I really wanted to explore all the places where Aragorn would meet Boromir’s shadow when he thought him dead and was mourning.

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sophiamargaux · 3 years

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖕𝖎𝖈𝖊

Hellooo! This is my very first fanfic post and I am incredibly nervous about it lol. I have always shipped Hinawa and Maki so here’s an ode to the HinaMaki ship :) I hope everyone will be respectful and know that you are allowed to ship whoever you want (as long as it doesn’t involve minors, incest, you know the rest).

BTW the story happened when they were both still in the military.

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The military is not for the soft – hearted. Its hard knuckle fights, intense violence of bombs, guns, and devastating destruction stemmed from a shallow and pointless war, is not for those with kind and gentle souls. Takehisa Hinawa only realized this truth a little too late before he joined the army. His motives? It was not worthy of an award – winning speech about being faithful to the country. It was not even an illustration of something as heroic as world peace, or to discover the cure for cancer or aids. Motives that most aspiring politicians or doctors would have. But for him, his motives are as blurry as his eyesight. Maybe the military was the only pillar he could rely on for stability or maybe it was merely because he is a second generation pyrokinetic user. Although he only found out about it when he first held a gun during a range practice in his first days in the military. Whatever his motive was, you can say it was tenacious since it made him stay in the army long enough to become a sergeant.

Hinawa was packing an overnight bag for a mission. The night was silent, and it was the customary time where most of the soldiers are already asleep. The mission was mildly dangerous since it required an assistance from two second generation pyrokinetic users, Hinawa being one-half of the assistance. The higher – ups could call someone from the Special Fire Force Department, but they are afraid that it might be all for naught and it would waste their precious time where they could have been protecting the people from infernals. They also reasoned that if an infernal did happen, the second-generation users will hopefully be able to handle the situation just in time for the Fire Force to arrive. But then again, Hinawa is starting to get used to these situations. Especially since he was recently paired with his partner for these kinds of missions. Hinawa and his partner did not have a great start when they were first paired for these types of missions. It certainly did not help that his partner was under his command as a sergeant. But with the aid of time, they started to work in sync with each other. Things would not have worked out if his friend Tojo did not convince him to offer some help to his partner.

“I’m all packed Sergeant!” A familiar voice rang through the open door.

Hinawa looked back and saw a young lady dressed in the same military gear and uniform as him standing straight by his door in a salute stance. Private Maki Oze, daughter of the commander of the Tokyo Army and the other half of the second-generation user assigned for the mission. His partner. To be honest, he was not exactly fond of her when she first joined in the army. During their first drills, she always came last and had no strength whatsoever. He often found her doing extra practice in training rooms, but he still thought all that effort was for nothing. She got in because she was a soon to be heir of the Tokyo Army, so it is safe to say that their partnership did not start off in the right foot. Maki did talk back to him once in a tone that he particularly did not like, and it ended with the whole section running fifty laps because of her. It did not end there. Maki had to run extra five laps and do fifty push – ups. He was not dubbed ‘Sergeant Hell’ by his comrades for nothing. Hinawa was always tough around them, but it was all for their sake. You needed to be hard and unbreakable for a job like this.

Maki specifically was a different story. Hinawa saw the determination and drive. Anyone can grow muscles and be physically strong but not everyone has the mental capacity of a fighter. But he saw that in her. It was not the same fire that he usually saw in other soldiers. It was brighter. It was like her flames were a loud voice in the dark. So, he decided to heed his friend’s advice and helped her. It took a lot of back – breaking drills and exhausting laps to dash the soldier out of her. No matter how much she improved, Hinawa still thought that he is right. She was not meant to be a soldier. Not with a kind heart like that.

Hinawa zipped his bag and walked over towards Maki, closing the door behind him. He sported his head cap.

“Let’s go,” he said, as they both started to make their way outside where a military truck awaits them.

“What’s the mission this time, Sergeant?” Maki asked.

“We were asked to assist Captain Daichi’s troops in their retrieval for military armor and gear from a burnt down building in the south.”

“So why are we needed?”

“They said there might be some bombs in the building that are still active. Just to be safe than sorry, I guess.”

The cold air greeted them when they made it outside. All they could hear was the deafening noise of the crickets and the soft slow rumble of the chilly air that occasionally passed by. If they both listened closely, some mild snoring could be heard from the military truck situated three feet away from them. The military looked peaceful during nighttime. The gloomy atmosphere of the moonlight shone an agenda of rest for the beaten down soldiers. The green light signaled a temporary respite to put down their armors and shields, offering sleep before a new day starts once again. Hinawa would have loved to wave the white flag of defeat and retire to his bed but for now, he needed to be a soldier.

Upon closer investigation of the military truck, Hinawa’s urge to rest grew further. The truck was an old, rundown shackle with a tarp that not only barely covered the last row but had terrible patch work which meant all the good and comfortable spots were already taken. Maybe it was some sort of universal punishment or maybe it just so happened that the other good military trucks were taken but whatever the reason was, Hinawa was too tired to even make a face of disagreement.

“I know, she’s not much to look at but get on.” The vice-captain who was in the driver’s seat bellowed brusquely.

Maki was first to climb on the truck then Hinawa followed. He looked at his other comrades and saw some of them sleeping while the others gingerly engaged in some late-night idle chatter. Hinawa was on the verge of making a bitter face towards the soldiers who first claimed the spots he deemed were nice and favorable but stopped himself before Maki noticed his sour disposition.

“I guess we should have packed and arrived earlier, huh,” Maki said as she sat down, disappointment lacing her tone, as if she just spoke out loud the exact thing that Hinawa was thinking about.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it.” Hinawa sat down, facing Maki on the opposite side. They were hardly being covered by the old, craggy, and uneven tarp in a somewhat crowdy vehicle, sitting at the very last row. The last row was not the most unfavorable of all places, Hinawa thought. The view could be amazing plus the breeze that you could feel while travelling felt refreshing but considering that it is the middle of the night and he had barely any rest, he was not looking forward to the cold air.

He felt a sudden jolt from the vehicle and after a few minutes the truck started moving towards their destination. Tokyo still looked busy and bright even at ungodly hours, Hinawa observed as he looked at the scenery behind the vehicle they were on. All he knew about the south is that the building was in the middle of a field, a couple miles away from civilization. He guessed that maybe it was to guard territory of the country, but he was not exactly sure. But he was positive that the fields of the south nurtured cows, goats, and other animals alike. If the mission went well, the captain might agree to stop by a nearby farm to gather raw ingredients for the army kitchen. He would not mind having the chance to enjoy rest time with farm animals. Besides, he did grow up in a small town.

Hinawa swarmed in his own thoughts when he felt the forces of fatigue and exhaustion pull him closer and closer to sleep. He crossed his arms close to his chest to combat the cold air. It was not long before Hinawa completely fell asleep.

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Hinawa felt the jostling of the vehicle and the gust of the cold morning air. He slowly opened his eyes to see the sight of his lap. It appeared that he had fallen asleep with his neck facing downwards, and slowly he started to feel the ache gathering at the base of his neck as he tried to look up. Still groggy and dazed from recently waking up from his slumber, he gazed up at the free sky and the rough edge of the tarp that seemed to be falling apart at the seams. The sky was a lovely pool of lilac, pink, and blue. It was dawn at its most beautiful, banned from the shadows and despair that came with nightfall. The horizon painted a muddy picture of black and white, ambiguity brewing anticipation of a stupendous day. But at last, the world was brand new once again.

He looked behind him and noticed that the scenery had changed. Instead of buildings, towers, and a mob of civilians, what beheld him was a beautiful landscape of the countryside. Rice fields, trees, and far-off sights of the forest. It would not be long until he started seeing the fields of the south. He eyed his comrades and noticed that they were still sleeping soundly. Must be nice to not be affected by the cold air, Hinawa judged bitterly. He peeked at Maki in front of him and observed that she too, was still sleeping soundly.

He felt a small tug of his lips at the sight of her small snoring, sleeping form. She had her head rested at her left shoulder and the top of her head was facing the hide of the truck. He could already predict the look of her pained face once the sore on her neck started to settle. It pained him to see her this way, because she looked so lovely, despite the military camouflage clothing and the armor geared with it. She had grown up to be daddy’s princess, and here, a decade and thousands of miles away from that life, here amid the threats of violence from Infernals’ dissolute and unlovely tasks of the army, here was Maki Oze, asleep, raven hair softly dancing with the wind, radiating a gentle glow.

Her eyes slightly wrinkled as the sun started catching up with the moving vehicle. Immediately, Hinawa removed his field cap and gently placed it on her head, careful not to wake her up. It changed everything somehow to see this new facet of her and to be aware of how eagerly she had sought to be a better fighter. It made going through the mission with her a dangerous endeavor. A strange shiver of devotion passed through him and then a corresponding swell of protectiveness. Not that Maki needed much protection.

Hinawa realized that he had been slightly smiling for quite some time, unaware of his blatant stare towards his sleeping comrade. Instantly he dropped his smile and shook his head to be rid of the intricate thoughts he had of his partner. Such fragile, tender thoughts could cause the beating heart to act on its own that might travel beyond logic. Hinawa had to remind himself of who he was and what he needed to be, a commanding officer.

The vehicle came to a halt to signal their arrival. Hinawa stood up and gently shook Maki’s shoulder. Maki still a tiny bit bewildered, woke up from her slumber and looked at the person who woke her.

“It’s time to get off.” Hinawa said, not making eye contact as he immediately went down first. Slowly getting to her senses, Maki realized that there was something on top of her head and upon instant inspection, she noticed that it was Hinawa’s field cap. Or at least it was what she assumed since the sergeant earlier appeared to not be wearing his field cap. She removed the cap from her head and looked inside to find the tag in it beholding the name Takehisa Hinawa. She felt smitten and grateful as she gazed at her walking partner, smiling at his kind gesture.

_______________________________________________________________

The sun had a blinding glow. Its fiery rays cascaded down the fields of the south border. Soldiers from left to right were moving armors. Half – way through the mission, another military truck arrived to compensate for the number of objects they have retrieved. Maki looked at the ash and soot that covered the building with disdain and annoyance. It had been three hours of back – tiring, back and forth slavery, climbing up and down the burnt building, carrying the surviving heavy equipment, while staying alert for stray bombs, and Maki has had enough. She had been sweating profusely and her arms were starting to ache. She had experienced worse, and it mostly involved Sergeant Hell’s drills and punishments.

Three hours had also passed since Maki felt nothing but scorn and spite towards her partner. She knew all too well the merry feelings she experienced earlier were too good to be true for Hinawa was stricter than usual and Maki was getting a little irritated. To think that he bestowed her his field cap only to be treated this way. Maki was certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Hinawa had her whole respect, but he was treading the line between army disciplinary and blunt rudeness.

Maki grunted and carried the large metal bin, making her way back into the building before Hinawa reprimanded her again about her tardiness – even if it was only a minute, no worse, thirty seconds late. Ever since she woke up, Hinawa was… a touch different. It was not a complete three sixty-degree transformation to the point where he was unrecognizable. It was more like a switch was turned on and out came a side of him that she had never met. She should not interest herself in such mundane and small observations, but she could not help but wonder at the baroque changes that Hinawa was making. Hinawa appeared as his perfectly normal self to a random comrade at first sight, but Maki would digress. From the first hour of the mission, he had been barking orders at her with excessive intensity than the usual firm but authoritative tone. Lately, it was always Maki, walk faster! Or Maki, pay attention to where you are going! Not once did he even try to make eye contact with her. No matter how hard she tried to keep up to his orders it she was either a minute late or it was not done in the way he would want it to.

Maki quickly jogged upstairs to where Hinawa was waiting. When she arrived, he already had a pile of different machine guns waiting beside him. She stood up straight and demonstrated her best salute stance while hiding her desperate panting.

“You’re late.” Hinawa said bluntly as he grabbed the bin that she was holding. He promptly dropped the bin and started placing the machine guns inside one by one. Maki swiftly struck her tongue at him when he was not looking, like a little juvenile child.

“Are you helping or not?” Hinawa ordered in firm and harsh tone.

Maki jumped to her feet and started placing the machine guns into the bin as well, scared at the possible return of Sergeant Hell. The mission was already tough on its own, she did not wish to worsen the weight of her burdens. The work was not entirely silent since they could hear other troops outside handling their own retrieved armor. Maki found the background noise pleasant since she could not handle Hinawa’s aggressive aura.

“Why am I always deployed with you?” Hinawa sounded like he was thinking his thoughts out loud after a long time of silence between them. Maki would had given him the benefit of the doubt and assumed the start of his day did not go as great as hers, or he had received bad news, but Maki was not feeling kind after three hours of nothing but boorishness and acrimony from him.

“It’s because we make a good team, you dipshit.” She muttered in her lowest, tiniest voice, silently praying that Hinawa did not catch what she said. She looked up at him just in case, but Hinawa was already staring. Maki’s blood ran cold, and her fingers started to get clammy. It was the stare. It was the look that Hinawa would use that rendered the rest of her comrades meek, frozen, praying for their lives. His face did not contort in any way nor did his eyebrows crease downwards. His face was rather relaxed and devoid of any emotion, but everyone could feel his unwavering motive for severe discipline strongly.

“I-I’m very sorry Sergeant! That will never happen again!” Maki hurriedly stood up and saluted. Without pausing, she picked up the bin and hastily made her way down. The bin was heavy, but she was willing to make that sacrifice if it meant she did not have to witness the wrath of Sergeant Hell. Although, she was fully well- aware that she would face the consequences of her actions when they returned to Tokyo.

Hinawa was left a little bewildered at the sight of Maki scurrying away. He wondered why she would suddenly bolt with the bin knowing very well that it was heavy. He sighed in frustration. He withdrew his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose to release some tension that he had been feeling lately. Hinawa was not known to be someone who was led by their emotions, in fact it was the opposite. He couldn’t even make decent eye contact without getting flustered for remembering her sleeping face. Hinawa felt pathetic at his disposition. It did not help that she was wearing his field cap. He probably scared Maki away when all she ever did was try her best while he was being a pain in the ass. He put his glasses on and went down to catch up with Maki, in hopes of trying to patch the things that he did.

It was not long before Hinawa witnessed Maki dragging the bin with whatever strength she got left. When Maki noticed his presence, she immediately had her back straight and was about to apologize again when Hinawa stopped her.

“You shouldn’t have recklessly carried this all by yourself.” Hinawa said in a calmer tone. An inconspicuous apology. He held the underside of the bin on one side and ordered Maki to do the same on the other, their fingertips briskly making soft contact. In the count of three, they lifted the bin and carefully tread their way down, conscientious of each step they took.

Hinawa cleared his throat and thought of the perfect words to say.

“I apologize for the way I um… acted earlier.” Still struggling to make eye contact he kept his gaze onwards. He felt stupid for struggling over something so regular and casual. Something he was able to do almost every single day. He could even meet eyes with strangers. But Maki was no stranger. She moved past that title long before Hinawa realized it himself. Finally mustering enough grit, he looked at her direction and there she was, looking at him with her bright purple eyes, smiling.

“You’re a weird one, Sergeant,” she said, simply. In her usual sweet, cool tone. Her eyes returned forward and continued to walk in silence with him, her smile not dropping.

Hinawa did not want to overthink. He did not want to interrupt the soft mumbling of his heart. He had been too hard – like granite, that something as soft as Maki made him feel ominous towards all things that are delicate and gentle. He did not want to think of what will become of him in the future when the comfort that she gives, became too serene that he would no longer look for peace in anything or anyone else, but her. But that was for future worries. Hinawa knew that the slope he treaded on was precarious, but for once he wanted to bask in the small joy that he found in this old, burnt, and retired building. When they finally made it outside, it was then that he realized the warm smile he wore the whole way down.

Maki stretched her back and groaned at the pain that came with it. She adjusted her cap and looked at the building. Is that all? She thought hopefully.

A sudden loud boom answered her question. The bellowing noise echoed from the top of the building. Large debris sputtered out with ashes and soot, as the soldiers ducked and took cover. Hinawa looked around, checking for every soldier, hoping that all the troops were present outside, and none were harmed from the explosion.

Hinawa stood up and decided to go inside to check when he felt someone pull his uniform, crumbling to the ground, just in time when a large rock dropped in front of him.

“And to think that could’ve been you.” He heard a familiar voice by his side. Maki had a firm grip on the collar of his uniform and the other on the ground to support her upper body and his weight. Hinawa’s back was pressed against her chest as he lay in between her legs. They took cover when another wave of cinders approached.

Once everything settled, Hinawa stood up and helped Maki along with him. He took notice of the sight that was around him. Everyone seemed fine and no one looked harmed from the abrupt blast. The captain in charge quickly grabbed the megaphone and assured the troops. Orders were made. Everyone gathered around the center and checked. Hinawa could already tell the mission was going to be delayed for another day.

________________________________________________________________

The night was silent. Tents covered the area where soldiers rested after a long tiring labor. Thankfully, no one got hurt from the explosion, thanks to the great Sol’s mercy. Daylight resigned and made room for nightfall. The crescent moon that hung above the clouds were glistening with pride, silently saying good job for a well – spent day. The campfire placed in the center crackled softly as its tiny embers danced in the wind, its serene cacophony bringing peace to the sleeping soldiers.

Hinawa was sitting by the fire, polishing his guns. It was one of those days where sleep did not befall on him, causing him to gun at the blazing fire with thoughts at disarray. This happened once or twice in every two weeks ever since he joined the army. It was the one possibility he was aware of when he signed up. It did not dawn on him that another soldier also shared the same troubles.

Maki had always known that Hinawa had sleeping problems from time to time. It was a speculation she made on their first mission together and confirmed it when she once saw him strolling around the military campus late at night. She did not know why the information stuck with her. Maybe it was because she too, had difficulties with sleeping. Whenever restless nights occurred, the Sergeant would come to mind. The cynosure of her thoughts often sloped to Hinawa on whether he was awake as well. She did not know how this circuitous way of thinking started, but it was a guessing game that she very much enjoyed playing.

Maki got up and went out of her tent. She looked around and noticed Hinawa all alone by the campfire. Maki was right again.

She approached Hinawa with careful posture, hoping not to disturb his deep contemplation. Hinawa already seemed aware of the approaching footsteps, then glanced expectedly at Maki.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Hinawa questioned in a solemn voice while continuing to polish his guns.

“Why aren’t you?” Maki asked with the same solemnity.

“I can’t sleep.”

“It’s the same for me too.” She sat down beside him. Happily warming herself in silence.

Maki would not say it out loud, but she had always loved the silence between them. There was no tension, no awkward air, no rigidity. It was just him. His good old eccentric self. The gap amidst them, in vague estimation, was but a hand’s distance yet for Maki, it was more than enough.

“Thank you for earlier.” Hinawa stopped and turned to her.

Maki was a little surprised with his words of gratitude. It was not every day for her to receive a thank you from him, though still, she replied with a soft small nod. They spent more of their time together in gentle stillness, appreciating the campfire and its warmth. Maki observed his face in her own discreet manner. The mischievous shadows of the fire grazed his features. She suddenly got an idea.

“Sergeant, do you want to play a game?”

“Honestly, you and your games –.”

“This will be fun, I promise.” Maki looked at him with hopeful eyes, prying for a yes. It was late into midnight. Hinawa was tired, and it looked like Maki was in the mood to drop any form of formalities. He had been in this predicament more than once ever since he asked her to play a game of chess with him. From that day forth, she had gradually adapted into the habit of asking. Often a game of poker or go fish. It did not help that his fierce competitiveness would get the best of him. So whenever the chances arose, he’d give in.

Hinawa sighed in defeat.

“What is it this time? Poker?” He set aside his guns. Maki’s excitement increased after his agreement.

“I forgot to bring my deck of cards though. But I have an idea.” Maki’s arm reached out to touch the temple of his glasses. “May I?” She asked politely.

Hinawa tried to ignore the sensation of her fingertips on his face but instead eyed her in suspicion.

“What are you planning?” He asked defensively. When it came to his eyesight, he did not easily trust anybody.

“Don’t worry, I won’t run away with it. It’s a game called How far can Sergeant Hinawa see.” Maki looked skeptically happy for Hinawa’s liking. He raised his eyebrows at the absolute ridiculous made-up game she curated.

“And how is this exactly, fun for me?” He asked, reaching with careful ease to her out-stretched arm.

“You’ll get a chance to teach your subordinate about having bad eyesight? It is all for educational purposes!” Conviction laced her tone. “Well… at least it is for me.” She mumbled her words after, trying her best to convince him, but she knew she was not demonstrating conceivable reasons.

Hinawa stared at her pleading face and considered every possible outcome that could occur if he ever gave in. A bad feeling brewed from the very bottom of his guts, creeping up to his esophagus and felt himself enter an unknown territory.

Maki cowered under his gloomy stare. Her shyness slowly resurfaced like a bad itch, until Hinawa eventually agreed.

“Try to run away and I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” He threatened.

“Yes, sir.” Maki swallowed back her fear.

When Maki detached his glasses from his face, the once bright and brilliant sight of the campfire suddenly shifted to an orange blur. He squinted his eyes on impulse but to no avail. He still could not see. He heard a giggle from where Maki was seated and tried to look at her pointedly, but his eyesight was too cloudy that he could not decipher her face.

“What are you laughing at?” He tried to scold.

“I’m sorry Sergeant, but I can’t take you seriously when you squint like that.” Maki sought an apologetic tone, but she could not control those small fits of giggles that came out.

“If you’re going to laugh at me, I’m no longer playing this ga-”

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m starting.” Maki waved her hands around in compliance.

Maki scooted a few places away from him, not far but far enough that she became a filmy mess of colors in Hinawa’s eyes.

“Can you see me?” She asked earnestly, quietly, a small call amid the cackling of the campfire’s flames. Maki knew what she meant when she said those words, she promised no other message but the literal. And yet the chatoyance of her eyes and the comely warmth of her face begged to differ.

“No, you’re a blurry mess.” He said calmly, with a cool and collected composure that Maki was a little jealous.

So, he is nearsighted, Maki thought to herself. She scampered a little closer as the sound of her rustling clothes melded with the fire. She sat three steps away from him.

“How about now?” She asked once again. The tender beating of her heart elevated. Step by fragile step. A dangerous distance separated them.

“No.”

She moved closer. Two steps away. The sight of his face grew nearer. Her fast pulse teetered amidst a minefield, taking precise steps, yet fully anticipating the eventual fall, his succeeding notice. Nothing went past Hinawa’s strict observation, and yet, and yet! How his keen-eyed nature toppled in the face of sweet blatancy. Tension seized her deliberate advance. She mustered enough courage to ask once more, despite how her heart opposed.

“Can you see me now?”

“Maki, you have to move closer than that.”

It sounded like a small dare. A miniscule challenge to scoot closer, or so it seemed at first. Maki closed the chasm. Their bodies touched. And there it was, the fatal flaw. And suddenly his face was one breath away. She felt her heart tightened at the gnawing clarity in front of her. This was not the game she expected to play. The once dulcet juvenile idea was short – lived and it turned into a diaphanous duel of the heart. Regret dawned when her chest constricted, a great effervescent demise waited at the sight of his face only inches away.

If Maki had been brave enough, she would’ve taken another ghastly risk closer.

“How about now?” She inquired in a supple whisper, wordlessly urging him to say yes.

To her surprise, Hinawa drew his face closer to hers. Their noses nearly caressed. Her pulse drummed. Her heartbeat soared. The campfire’s amber glow resembled his orange eyes, brilliant like the shiny coppers and pennies in a treasure box, kindling a special flame of their own. She marveled in awe, staring deep into his copper pools.

Hinawa’s stare penetrated. Really looking at her. With enough fervor, passion, and blithe to ignite a golden unadulterated cinder.

“Now I see you.”

Maki knew with most certainty what Hinawa meant when he said those words. There was no code or hidden message. But across this labyrinth of newly planted confessions, burning novelties, and undecipherable sentiments, a fine piece of thread guided a way for Maki. And for a moment, her what-ifs exulcerated, paving fresh roads for more, knowing that she may be falling because just for a short second, she felt the whole world disappear. All she could see was the soft glimmer of his tangerine eyes.

Upon sudden realization of their proximity, Maki hastily moved her head and awkwardly laughed.

“Wow, Sergeant you have really bad eyesight.” Maki lightened the mood and placed his glasses back into his face. She shifted and moved herself away to create a tiny distance between them.

“You should have them checked.” She weakly added, her hands covering the reddening of her cheeks, completely avoiding his eyes.

“I already did but there’s nothing they can do about it.” Hinawa adjusted his glasses as he said so.

Maki cleared her throat and stood, feigning a yawn as she stretched her body.

“I’ll be going now Sergeant Hinawa, it was nice talking to you.” Maki respectfully bowed and quickly made her way to her tent. As she walked, she peeked him, hoping to find answers about the earlier endeavor. Maybe it was the night’s illusion or her sleep-deprived mind, but she could have sworn that his ears were a tinge pinker than ever before.

________________________________________________________________

Maki was lying in her tent, unable to fall asleep. She tossed and turned but nothing worked. For the past hour, her mind continually travelled to the glasses game that happened earlier. She wondered if she could ever face him again without being flustered. Hinawa must have been dense enough, right? There was no way he could’ve noticed, not when she had his glasses in hand.

But after her attempted conviction failed, she began to panic at the idea of Hinawa seeing through her façade. That her rose blush had been blatant enough for his blurry eyesight.

Maki groaned in frustration and turned to her side once more. Hinawa’s field cap occupied her vision. I must return this to him, she reminded herself. She took the cap and stared at the tag that held his name. Out of nowhere, Maki felt a smile budding. She had never been more confused in this predicament, and yet she had never been happier as well. Her feelings were still an unresolved puzzle towards Hinawa. She could not even begin to untangle her thoughts about him.

Maybe it was homesickness or a glitch in the mind. She could not care less either way, only a mellow delight seeped through the fabric of her confusion. Surely, one could never be in the wrong disposition when such odd joy triumphed.

And just like that, Maki fell asleep with a smile on her face that night. Whatever it was, whatever her heart whispered that evening, she’d had enough time to worry later. It can wait till then.

#my fic #my ships #fire force #hinawa x maki #maki oze #takehisa hinawa #hinamaki #they're so precious #slow burn #i hope more people will like them lol #i had to write this

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notquitecanon · 4 years

Note

Ohhhh or maybe one where the reader just makes jasper talk for a while just cuz she adores his accent 🥺

Jasper could feel your bad mood from outside your house- he was always so attuned you you. If his abilities were anymore developed he would probably be able to see your mood like a dark storm cloud hovering outside of your bedroom. Alice had a vision in the middle of their hunt of how your day would go, but with the sunny weather and the face they were already in the Canadian wilderness- he could do nothing but hope it wasn’t too bad. After stopping by his house to change clothes, he made a beeline to the tree line that surrounded your yard like a natural property line. He’d seen your silhouette in your window starting at five pm, but couldn’t make a move until the sun had gone down. The last thing his family needed was Chief Swan getting called because your neighbor caught him climbing into your window. The moment the sun dipped below the tree line, he raced up and into your bedroom.

You had been wallowing in self pity: already showered, in pajamas, and lying face down in bed with your computer playing some of your music quietly. The moment he crossed into your room, you felt his presence like a calming wave washing over you. Eyes fluttering shut as some of the tension left your body, you muttered, “Jasper.”

“Evenin’ Darlin.” His voice was like honey-warm, sweeter than sugar, slow, and sticky. Drawing you into his words and keeping you there while he lingered on the edge of your room. Ever the gentleman, waiting for your invitation. Prying your head out of your pillow, you faced him.

While you observed his freshly glowing golden eyes, slightly disheveled blonde hair, statuesque posture, and heavenly face- he did the same, taking in your tense muscles, dark under eye bags, flushed cheeks, and the general feeling of resignation and annoyance in your emotional map. He didn’t fail to notice you’d been crying- you didn’t fail to notice that he noticed. You were the first to break the silence, adjusting yourself to meet his eyes easier, “Good hunt?”

Jasper breathed a quiet laugh, such an abnormal question asked so nonchalantly, but entertained the notion nonetheless, “Most of us went up into Canada, into the mountains. Emmet took on a pretty big grizzly so he’s in a particularly good mood. I got a Moose and a couple deer.”

You didn’t know what truly constituted a “good hunt” but his thirst seemed appeased so you nodded. The head ache that came after a long day hadn’t put you in a particularly chatty mood. Jasper filled the silence, “Alice told me you had a bad day- well, told me you would have a bad day. I’m sorry I couldn’t help, doll.”

Shaking your head, you brought your knees up to your chest before wrapping your arms around them, “Not your fault, Jazz, bad days happen.”

There was a beat of silence as the two of you stared at each other, him trying to dissect every emotion you were feeling and you mentally begging him to just drop it. Finally, you just patted the spot beside you, motioning for him to join you. Talking waant something you wanted to do, but just having him close would be a big step towards feeling better.

As always, the vampire had a hard time saying no to you. So with the mattress dipping beside you, he easily slid beside you- staying perfectly still until you were situated. As usual, you bunched up a blanket where you cheek would rest against his chest- thick enough to cushion against his stone chest but thin enough to be close enough to smell the comforting scent he always had on him. Cologne, cedar, leather, something woodsy, and a sweet scent you could never quite put a finger on. After letting you settle, he looked down to you, “Wanna talk about it, sugar?”

He felt you shake you head before you nestled closer to him, so he just wrapped his arm around you alternating between tracing patterns up you arm and running cold, graceful fingers through your hair. One of your arms flopped across him just to have more phsyical contact, and Jasper frowned out of your sight. Besides truly changing your emotions (which felt invasive), he didn’t know how else to help. So for the moment, he just let you curl into him. Golden eyes raked across the room before landing on a book on your nightstand so without jostling you, he easily snatched it up.

Not bothering to read the synopsis, he began flipping through the first chapter- quickly becoming amused at the scandalous historical fiction set during the Civil War in Mississippi. Now that he thought about it, he remembered Angela passing it off to you during third period. He chuckled at a particularly inaccurate and racy part. His laughter was deep and reverberated through his hard chest which roused you, at your movement, he tried to quiet himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. This book is just so terrible.”

His amusement made it hard not to smile as you tried to snatch the book out of his hands, the racy novel had been on lend from Angela and after the second chapter had been collecting dust on your nightstand. He easily kept it out of your reach, amusement growing at your protest (and quiet proud that he’d got you laughing again, he could already feel your mood lightening up). Listening to his laughter made you long to hear him talk in the smooth southern accent, about anything (anything other than that awful book), “Well, if the book isn’t up to par, how about you tell me what it was really like?”

As his chuckling was dying off, he thought about it before tossing the book back on the nightstand. It wasn’t that his past was an off limits topic, there was just a lot of it and he preferred to live in the moment with you. But you were staring up at him with hopeful eyes, and he could feel the remnants of sadness and frustration so he just nodded. “Well, first of all Mississippi didn’t see battle until The Spring of 1862, and union soldiers didn’t make any head way until a year later. So the notion that a this woman met a union soldier celebrating victroy in New Albany is just wrong. Even if it was true, she wouldn’t be so eager to fall into any soldiers tent considering Conderate troops would of torched her father’s plantation for being a sympathizer or vice versa.”

“Hmmm.” You hummed in response to the history lesson, before he continued going back and forth between learned history and personal experience until he hit where he was changed. You’d heard this story, traced the silvery scars on his arms, so once he went quiet you didn’t press any further. “So where were you at the turn of the century?”

“I was still with Maria, we were going back and forth across the border in Texas and New Mexico, I honestly didn’t now it was the new century until 1905, but we were the cause of the Austin Dam failure.” He mused, thinking pack, “I left shortly after the start of the First World War, to search for my friend Peter and because I was tired of fighting Maria’s battles- she starting to lose trust in me and me in her.”

You’d heard him talk about Peter and Charlotte, the only two he ever let escape, “Did you find him?”

“No, not until the late 1930’s, so I mostly just wandered around the South and the West as a nomad. The roaring twenties were fun between Chicago and Mexico City, I’d like to go back to New Mexico someday.” He thought aloud, cold lips ghosting on the crown of your head as his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. The hand laid over him searched for his so you could intertwine you fingers with him. He squeezed for a moment before detaching just to play with you fingers, burning hot compared to his cold touch.

“Where’d you go next?” You asked, letting him gently tug and curl your fingers with his. Jasper laughed bringing your knuckles up to his lips. When he had just fed, it was so much easier to be so close- which is where he preferred to be.

“You’re mighty full of question tonight, ma’am.” He teased, dropping you hand in favor of lightly digging his fingers into your side. The quiet squeal, laughter, and weak attempts at fighting him off was so delightfully human that he couldn’t help but do it every now and then. Jasper gave you a moment to calm down before continuing, “I spent some time in Tennessee and then Kentucky, the Great Depression hit those areas pretty hard, but it was better than being involved in a territory war.”

“Peter and Charlotte ran into me in the Appalachian mountains- that would be the late 30’s- it was easier to hunt without gaining attention up there.” He paused to gauge you reaction, carefully checking for any fear. Finding none, he sighed in relief before continuing, “They told me about Coven’s in the North, how there weren’t many territory disputes and how in some areas they could even go out in day light...”

You let your eyes slip closed, tension melting as you listened to his honeyed words, and his fingers toyed with your hair. Jasper kept going, talking about traveling with Peter and Charlotte through the Midwest and Northern states before breaking off from them too. Then it was the Fifties, going into a diner and meeting Alice. You’d always envied Alice a bit for her closeness to Jasper, even though you knew neither of them felt that way for each other, but you were also incredibly grateful to her- who knows where Jasper would be without her.

“I remember she said that I’d kept her waiting long enough and I thought to myself I’ve never seen this woman in my life, but I sat down with her regardless and she told me about ‘vegetarianism’ and our future family. I could feel her excitement but I thought she was crazy.” He laughed to himself, a beautiful sound. You’d heard this story a few times from him and Alice. “I was about to go on my way, leave Alice in the wind when she told me something I couldn’t ignore.”

You perked up, neither of them had ever mentioned this part of the story. Craning you’re neck up, you saw he was watching you expectantly with a soft smile tugging those perfect lips up- waiting for a reaction, “She told me that she’d seen me with my soulmate and her future family. She couldn’t tell me when, or where, or how, but she’s seen it and I had to trust her. She felt so sincere and I’d been lonely for so long that I left with her that very afternoon.”

You sat up very suddenly, blood rushing to your cheeks ass you turned around to him, “Jasper, you’ve never told me that before! What are you doing with me then?”

Jasper couldn’t help but grin at the flash of indignation and feisty anger, but quickly frowned when it morphed to hurt. His movement was much faster and infinitely more graceful than yours as you took your face in his hands, “You were the girl in the vision, (Y/N), you’re what I’ve been waiting for.”

It was like someone pulled a plug on your negative emotions as they drained out to be replaced by jittery happiness, and he didn’t need his brother’s telepathy to see the wheel’s turning in your head, “Oh.”

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out the appropriate reaction to being told your someone’s soulmate. You’d never really imagined life without Jasper, you’d long since admitted to yourself that he was the love of your life, “Well, I’m glad you believed her otherwise I could be with Mike Newton right now.”

It was a bad joke, but he laughed nonetheless and pulled you back down with him, now wrapping both arms around you-effectively trapping you to his chest, but you had no reason to be afraid or even attempt to break free. There was a long pause of silence, him sending off soothing vibes, (it was getting pretty late) listening to the sound of your heartbeat as it slowed, and waiting for you to doze off. It did surprise him when you spoke back up.

“Where’d you go next?” It was quiet, sleepy, but a request he wouldn’t deny. He’d pay you back by asking a hundred inane question about your childhood tomorrow.

Pulling your comforter over the two of you, he adjusted you to what would be a more comfortable sleeping position. He continued, “Well, in took a few years but eventually we met Carlisle who welcomed us to the family with open arms. It took a bit to adjust to the new life of going to highschools and colleges, being around humans. Alice would occasionally drop little hints about you, your hair color, eye color, things you would do in her visions, and that was enough to encourage me to stay with it.”

You only hummed in response, turning over a bit as you let him nudge you towards sleep. Jasper was more than surprised when you made it to the mid-seventies without falling asleep, but was satisfied that he could no longer read any anger or frustration on you. Brushing a lock of hair out of your sleeping face, he silently laughed at your unconscious reaction to his cold touch. Yes, he had waited nearly sixty years for you.

“Good night, darlin’. I love you.”

Bad moods and all, he’d wait a hundred years more for moments like these.

#jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader

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unstoppableforcce · 4 years

Text

always

—CHAPTER ONE: dusk

pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader ( royal au )

next part | masterlist

a/n: oo so this is a long time in the making and was finally decided to be an obi wan fic, my first one!! I hope y’all enjoy this two being sickly sweet bc I’m so soft for them rn !!

There was a beauty to the onset of dusk, the last minutes of light as the two suns began to lower down to the horizon.

The light was warm, incredibly warm, pouring over the valley, illuminating the fields outside the city walls and the spires of the palace in an overwhelming surge of orange and yellow. And as the minutes passed, the warmth began to disappears but the colors only became more and more electric, streams of red flowing to purple, the whole valley a glowing landscape that you couldn’t pull your stare away from.

“I knew I would find you out here...”

Part of the beauty was the silence, you would be eager to remind him, but doing so would only further break the silence. Besides, for being fleeting on his feet as a solider in a fight, he had already shattered the quiet with his boot steps through the grass as he came up behind you.

All you wanted was to breathe outside the palace walls, all you wanted was to watch the sunset...

He took a step closer behind you and you couldn’t ignore him anymore.

“Where else would I be?” You countered, reaching down to pick at the grass that poked up around the fabric of your dress where you sat.

His chuckle was deep, verging on mocking in tone but never quite getting there, he had too much respect for you to ever really mock you, “I believe there were some diplomatic meetings that were awaiting your presence.”

“They can manage without me, they always do.” You let out with your somber sigh, exhaling as the wind picked up, whipping over the crest of the hill where you sat and blowing your hair back from your face, jostling the grass around you.

It was a beautiful sound, the wind echoing through the surrounding nature. All you could hear back in the palace was the sound of guards pacing by and people coming and going, coming and going...

Taking another step forward, he finally came into your view even as your head remained pointed dead ahead, his boots and his legs peaking into your peripheral. You couldn’t help but spare a glance to them, the leather over his feet somehow immaculate even after having made the same hike you had to get up to the top for the view.

“It angers him that you sneak out. Eventually he’ll lock you up for good, you realize that, don’t you, your highness.”

Your lips pursed on their own as your head gave a minuscule nod, just enough for him to recognize as a response, but even then, unnecessary. He was a man trained to spot a threat from miles away, a man ordered to protect you no matter what, and from this distance, he could pick up on even your subtlest of emotions without batting an eye.

Even now, he was searching the surrounding wilderness for any sign of a threat, scanning every inch of land that he could see, which from this vantage point, was nearly everything.

As he finally finished his scan of the terrain, he took another step forward and settled in on the grass next to you, “If you keep doing things like this, I’m inclined to agree with such actions.”

The piercing color of his eyes could kill, you were sure of it. Why keep the blade strapped to his thigh all hours of the day when surely one look from him would be enough to ward off even the largest of threats?

“I don’t believe you.” Pulling your knees up to your chest, you held them in snug with your arms wrapped around, turning your head to lean against them and gaze to him at the same time. Though, he didn’t turn and look back to you as you did to him. His stare held forward, his shoulders tense and his back sat painfully straight, just waiting for an attack that had yet to come your away, always waiting.

“To keep you safe, there is little I wouldn’t consider.”

“And yet, you let me come out here.” You mock, not quite as quick to hold your tongue as he tends to be. “You know that I leave the palace, you have to know, but you let me.”

There had to be some tell, some shift in his stoic disposition to give something away, something to allude to there being a real man under the soldier who stayed so close to your side. But all the setting suns illuminated was the blonde in his hair, on his head and face. He was a painfully blank page that you had been trying for months to figure out how to read, yet, still nothing.

“It is not my responsibility to get you to your meetings, just to keep you safe,” he sighed, finally dropping his eyes from his continuous scan, considering the grass mindlessly for a moment before letting his stare drift to you. “If you’re here and I know you are, you’re safe.”

Your own chuckle fell from your lips as you held his stare, “locking me up would certainly save you the hike.”

“I don’t mind the hike,” he shrugged as he turned back to his scan of the perimeter. “It’s quite the view.”

Getting to his feet, he reached down his legs to dust off some grass and dirt before finally offering a gloved hand your way.

“I’m not leaving.” Your shrug came just as easily, rolling off your shoulders almost too nonchalantly as one of your brows raised in a challenge his way.

“Your highness...”

“I came up here to watch the suns set, Obi-Wan, I’m not leaving.”

He dropped his stare from the surroundings again, back to meet yours, but found nothing that hinted at surrender behind your eyes, only the stubborn nature he had swore he would never grow used to.

“I have orders to bring you back to the palace.” He reiterated but you only moved your focus back to the glowing horizon.

Shades of purple began to fall over you as the clouds pulled away and the setting suns unleashed a marvelous palet across the sky, illuminating every inch of your complexion, making you a radiant light against the green grass of the hill. The wind blew through again, this time coming in from a slightly different angle and blowing your hair into your face instead if away, forcing your hand to slowly lift and tuck it back behind your ear. It was such a small movement, but so languid, so distracting—

“I’m not going.” You added again, maintaining your tone of finality even as he kept his hand extended to you.

“Yes, you are.” He urged, gesturing with his hand again but you still held in your conviction. “I don’t wish to carry you back down the mountain, but we both know that I will, your highness.”

You bit your tongue but the words came out anyways, “to keep me safe?”

It was a challenge this time, he was sure of it.

A challenge to which he wasn’t sure if he knew how best to respond to, so he kept his hand out towards you and pleaded with his stare for you to take it, to make this as simple as possible.

“Your highness?”

Sucking in a deep breath, you finally conceded as you realized you didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. You would thrash the whole way down out of stubbornness, but he’d still carry you, the same conviction running through his veins. It wasn’t his fault, you reminded yourself, he was doing his job.

Slipping your hand delicately into his, he easily hoisted you to your feet, the soft edges of your fingers digging into the worn leather of the glove until you were stood toe to toe with him and his the more rational side of his brain forced his hand from yours. He took a substantial step back, holding out his arm to gesture you ahead of him, and surprising both of you, you nodded and followed the direction.

The path wasn’t paved, it wasn’t even well maintained, but you had navigated it enough times to know nearly every pebble by heart, and it seemed that either Obi-Wan did too or that he trusted each step of your foot enough to take the same one as he followed close behind. Though, he had a significant advantage in his boots where as your feet were bare, dirt and grass bending beneath your toes where each step he took sounded off with a crunch.

It was your element, it wasn’t his.

And as another gust of wind whisked around the two of you, you turned back over your shoulder to catch sight of him, a half smile working it’s way to your lips while he had on his same stone-cold disposition. He wasn’t even looking at you, his chin up and his eyes continuing to scan while his hand rested on the sword sheathed to his side.

The soldier was not exactly a conversationalist, not that he was lost around a discussion, but more in the sense that he wouldn’t be one to initiate. And apparently he was sticking to his own tendencies as you looked back at him, hoping to catch his attention, and came up with nothing, not even a glance.

A couple more minutes down the path, the suns coming to touch the horizon just before dipping below, you stole another glance over your shoulder, appearing in his vision sun-coated and absolutely glowing. But he still said nothing, leaving the game in your hands.

“Why do you chase after me?”

His step almost faltered, almost.

Thankfully, he was trailing behind you on the path only wide enough for the two of you to go one-by-one. Even though you were staring, you didn’t catch it, your eyes remaining secure on his face and the way it was equally illuminated by the setting suns.

“It’s my job, your highness.” He answered with a steady voice as he kept pace behind you.

Your laugh this time was softer as you turned back to focus on the path before you. “I certainly don’t make it easy for you.”

“No, you don’t.” He sighed as the path widened out and he stepped up to walk alongside you, “that doesn’t make it any less my job.”

You stole a glance to the side as he settled into pace, boots hitting the ground in time with your simpler steps, “no, I suppose it doesn’t.”

Your pace began to slow, forcing him to adjust and slow beside you until you came to a full stop, leaving him no choice but to stop as well. Clearly something was weighing on your mind, he didn’t need to be an expert in you to see that as your feet twisted in the trampled grass of the path.

“Your highness?” He urged as he noticed the first sun finally dip below the horizon, the air around the two of you dropping in temperature almost immediately. But as he glanced back to you, he found your brow furrowed on your face, the skin between your brows crunched together as thoughts clearly poured into your head. So, he urged again, “your highness?”

“What if it wasn’t your job?”

There was no response he could give. There was one he wanted to give, there was the truth, but he wasn’t entitled to either of them, even as you took a step forward, closer than he typically allowed you to get.

He wasn’t allowed to answer questions like that, he wasn’t your friend.

He was employed to keep you safe; he was bound by the position and his duties to professionalism just as he was bound by his place in the world, several miles below yours. You always aimed for casualness, and he tried his best to give you that, to not put you on the pedestal he knew you resented, but sometimes he couldn’t.

Sometimes the best he could do was his job, and sometimes that meant keeping a strong line in the sand even as you tried to blur it with your bare feet.

“Your highness,” he tried again to urge you forward, to move you back down the path but instead, you took another step forward and his breath caught.

“What if it wasn’t your job?�� You repeated, your brow no longer furrowed in confusion but your stare twisted into a desperate plea for an answer he just couldn’t give.

“The sun has set, princess, we need to keep moving—“

“You didn’t answer my question.”

No, he didn’t, nor did he expect you to move on without realizing he was avoiding it, but he had to try.

“I know. We need to keep moving—“

“What would you be doing right now if this wasn’t your job?” There weren’t many inches left between the two of you and you stepped up to take one of the last ones, making it possible for him to avoid your stare now, no matter how hard he tried.

And he really did try. But eventually, after a deep breath in, he stopped fighting and allowed his stare to meet yours directly, “I don’t know.”

Your head quirked, like another question was brewing in your head as a smirk began to rise to your lips. It wasn’t a question surging behind your eyes, not as your stare grew sly, it was an idea.

And he didn’t like the look of that.

You took one step back up the path and he gave a brief warning, “your highness...”

It didn’t work.

As the second sun dipped behind the horizon, the temperature dropped again and your took another step up the path, forcing him to take another step to follow. “What are you—“

You stole a few more steps back before trying to run, but it didn’t last long. He was much quicker, catching up to you and stopping you with a hold of his hand, not touching you but easily keeping you from going any further. He didn’t have to warn you this time, his stare and broad shoulders did it even with his mouth remaining shut.

But instead of trying again, you lowered yourself down to the ground on the grass there and sighed.

“Your highness...” he extended his hand with a disappointed sigh of his own.

“Why don’t you call me by my name?” You asked next, angling to look at him as the light continued to decrease around the two of you.

The purples grew deeper and deeper as his stare grew more and more aggravated, the highlights of his cheeks bones cascaded in midnight blues while his hair bounced back the last traces of light, sparkling like the stars that slowly became more visible as the clouds pulled back.

“I cannot, your highness...”

“You can, I’ve told you a thousand times that you can—“

“We need to get going, your highness.” He pushed his hand further into your line of sight, trying to urge you forward, to grab it and get going but you merely stared at the worn leather grasp he was offering. “Please...”

“If I didn’t have to be here, I’d be anywhere but...” you sighed, leaning back into the grass, further from his hand. “I’d travel, take my horse and just ride as far as I could... I’d go to the mountains, to the coast and out into open water, you’re from the coast, aren’t you?”

He shook his head slightly before reluctantly admitting, “Yes, your highness.”

“See, you just answered a question, clearly you know how—“

“We need to get you back to the palace.” He corrected his stance, back straight again, his hand still held out for you. “Now, your highness.”

“I’m not leaving until I’m satisfied.”

He bit his lip, looking back to recheck for any emerging threats before he looked back to your reclined form, “something tells me that’s near unachievable...”

Your smirk only grew, soaking in the mere second of a break in his typically reserved disposition like it was the best wine that had ever been sat in front of you, deliciously coating your sly tongue as you responded, “never took you as one to shy away from a real challenge.”

“Your highness—“ he gave one last desperate attempt to protect his position as you sat up and threw a clump of picked grass at his perfect uniform.

“Call me by my name!” You chuckled out as he brushed the grass away from his tunic. Another brief second of something real flashing behind his eyes as he plucked a piece of grass from his holster and, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone again.

“Yes, your highness.”

Whether it was intentional or not, the direct disobedience covered in a slick gesture of his respect sent a wave of heat over your bare shoulders and down into your stomach. It was like he was willing to play your game, just not willing to admit that he was. It would have annoyed your more if it didn’t amuse you so much to watch his golden curls, now darkened by the evening light, bounce as he moved his stare away and to the surrounding tree lines again.

You picked up another clump of grass and tossed it his way again, trying to break another real moment from him but what you got was far more than you had been trying for.

“I have orders, your highness, to get you back to the palace. The suns have set, it’s just going to get colder and we need to return before they worry and send armies out after you.” His serious tone showed no sign of breaking anymore, and it certainly quenched any heat that had been burning in your gut, the wind coating your skin in the same drop in temperature he had been referencing.

Though this time, you weren’t sure if it was the fault of nature or his suddenly icy disposition.

And as your face fell to your lap and the grass still laying on your gown and around it, you missed the way his own face fell in regret from seeing the playfulness vacate your form right before him. He wasn’t out of line, if anything, he was the greatest embodiment of order that could be asked of a bodyguard, but knowing that didn’t help the shiver that ran down your back.

“I’ve been missing for longer,” you solemnly admitted, brushing your hair back behind your ears with both hands before glancing back up to him. But his stare was further away than it had ever been, maybe looking for threats, maybe just avoiding you.

He extended his hand again, still covered by the thick leather, protecting it from the elements that your gown left you bare to, and you took it, slipping your hand into his and letting him bring you back to your feet. It wasn’t fair to make him bad at his job, it was just a job to him...

But then again, you still weren’t satisfied. As he tried to pull his hand away, to guide you back to the city, you kept your grip, all but forcing his stare to meet yours again.

“What would you do if I truly ran away, not up here but as far as my legs could carry me?” You asked, not letting him pull away, if anything, using his reciprocal grip to pull yourself in closer to the heat he radiated.

“Your highness...”

“You can’t avoid every question I ask you, Obi-Wan.”

He shook his head, finally pulling his hand from yours, “I’m afraid I can...”

You didn’t fight him the rest of the way back. He gestured for you to move ahead of him and you, even solemnly so, complied. The grass and dirt that warmed your feet on the way up now just froze you, as did the chilly aura emanating from the man behind you. And once you hit the stone of the city floor, it only got worse, especially as the palace lights illuminated ahead did nothing to warm you.

Never more than a few feet behind you, even once you two were safe within the walls of the palace, the number of guards around increasing exponentially, he still kept you in his sights as you led the way back to your room. Staircase after staircase, the staff around you bowed to your presence while your steps grew faster and faster, not typically one to ignore those around you but speeding ahead like they weren’t even there.

He couldn’t let his head hang with the guilt of sending you into your own icy shut down, he had to keep you close until he knew you were secure in your room, as he swore he would do.

Making it to your floor, he quickly waved the guards off who stood by your door, choosing to escort you the rest of the way himself, but you couldn’t care less, all you wanted to do was put the gilded door of your bedroom between the two of you as quickly as you could.

You grabbed for the door, attempting to throw it open and throw yourself inside when he moved up right behind you, caught the door and held it shut, warming you with an anger now as you turned back towards him and his golden hair, brightly illuminated by the surrounding candles.

“You win, go tell them I’m back and get your reward—“ your sarcasm heated you the rest of the way up as you stepped into him where he held his ground.

“Your highness—“

“I’m going to bed, Kenobi—“

“I would follow you.”

He slowly brought his eyes from your bare feet to your pointed stare, his breath catching in his perfectly poised throat as he watched you soften at his words.

“Follow me?” Your voice barely qualified as a whisper as your hands reached up yet again to brush your hair back behind your ears.

“If you were to run, truly run, as far as your legs could carry you...”

The candle light around the two of you flickered as the wind blew through the open windows of your hallway, the shadows on his face making him look older and far more tired than you ever really noticed he was. But in a second, the light was back, his hair glowing like the golden decorations around your room did, his eyes piercing much easier now, not necessarily capable of killing anyone but only a degree separate from it now as he held your eyes with his.

“You’re telling me the truth?”

He nodded, dropping his head as he grabbed your hand in his gloved one yet again, his lips pressing a hesitant kiss to the crest of your knuckles.

“Always, your highness.”

Taking a step back from the door, he let his hand fall and allowed you open it once again.

“Goodnight, Obi-Wan...” you muttered as you took your first step through the door.

He called the two guards back from the end of the hall and gave you one last nod before leaving for his own chambers with the rest of the palace guards about four stories beneath where the two of you stood. “Goodnight, your highness.”

As the door shut, you felt your hand tremble slightly from where his lips had pressed against it, the warmth never really leaving.

—

no tag list yet but I’m willing to open one if there’s interest!

#always #star wars #star wars imagine #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #royal au #princess!reader #princess au #feedback greatly appreciated bc this is my first obi wan fic!

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 4 years

Text

Ikhrêkh Gabalî

Part 2 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’. Who know how many more parts are going to follow... Link to Series Masterlist.

Thorin falls for a Dwarrowdame raised by Elves, and tries to make know his feelings, but accidentally offends her, which leads to another and another misunderstanding between the two.

Based off of @immawriteyouthings ‘Falling Stars’

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count: 1,442

Warning(s): Swear words, someone thinking they are getting called rude names.

Translation(s): Ikhrêkh Gabalî: Painful Words

~~~~

Things were going south far too fast for me. Already, we were being pursued by Orcs mounted upon Wargs.

Of course, I wasn't idiotic enough to not expect trouble on a quest such as this, but I had figured we'd run into Wargs a bit closer to Erebor perhaps. Not within the first two weeks of our journey.

"Run faster!" Thorin bellowed at me as we sprinted along, and I would have yelled some choice words back at him, but I was too out of breath to do so. Honestly, he was just doing this to be snippy.

I was in the lead as we sprinted through the grass; he was at the back. Who was the better runner? Obviously me. I hadn't been raised by Elves for nothing....

Finally, we reached a boulder and hid behind it for a moment, trying to catch our breaths. Where had that blasted wizard run off to now? Wasn't he supposed to be helping us get out of this mess in the first place?

Thorin must have shared my unspoken thoughts as he grumbled something about stupid wizards underneath his breath. Glancing over at him, I noticed the way his tangled dark brown hair tumbled messily down onto his shoulders. His mouth was opened as he panted lightly, steely blue eyes darting around as he scanned the horizon for more Orcs. I would be lying if I said that the sight didn't send a convoy of butterflies through my stomach.

Why wouldn't my heart just forget about him? He obviously didn't want me around the first place; he'd certainly made that clear.

"Over here!" Our heads snapped up to look around at the source of the voice. Gandalf stood by a rock, waving at us with his staff. "This way!"

I bolted towards him, deciding to put my trust in Gandalf. Eru knew Thorin didn't know where the Mordor he was going.

I stepped lightly through the dry grass of the meadow, feeling it slash at my trouser legs as I darted through. I just knew it would be torn by the end of this. Believe it or not, grass was sharp.

But then I tripped over something and found myself flat on my stomach; all the breath knocked clear out of my lungs. I gasped like a fish out of water, unable to move until I could force oxygen into my body.

Bodies flashed by me on either sides as dwarves passed me, running towards Gandalf.

Glad to know they cared about me.

I resigned myself to my fate of being eaten by the Warg I just knew was probably pursuing them when burly arms snagged me and lifted me into the air, tossing me over a furry shoulder.

An arm grasped tightly around my lower waist, and I prayed they wouldn't adjust their grip any lower. That would be awkward.

But then my mind registered just who was carrying me, and things suddenly became much more awkward anyways.

Why was the Dwarf who complained about me the most the one saving me?

Next thing I knew, my jostling ride stopped as Thorin entered a dark cavern, and slowed to a walk. I expected to be put down, but he instead kept me slung over his shoulder as Gandalf began to lead us through a series of cracks within the ground.

"Thorin, put me down right now." I said, fisting his fur coat in my hands in an attempt to not fall face-first off his shoulder as the path angled sharply upwards.

"No. You're just going to slow us down again." He grumbled, and I rolled my eyes. How would I slow them down? We were walking.

"I can assure you, I can keep up with you all just fine." I said, wriggling in his grasp in an attempt to get him to release me, but he just tightened his grip around my waist.

Curses.

"Somehow, I doubt that after your performance, Miss Estel." He said, and I could have almost sworn that there was just the slightest hint of mischief in his gruff voice.

"Uncle just wants to have an excuse to--" Kili's cheeky voice pipped up suddenly from somewhere ahead of Thorin, but his uncle quickly cut him off.

"Kili, be quiet." He ordered severely, and Kili obeyed quickly. I didn't blame the lad. If I had an uncle like Thorin, I would have done the same.

But still, Kili's words wouldn't leave me. What did Thorin want an excuse for? Did it have something to do with me, and why was Thorin so touchy about whatever it was?

At last, we reached what I recognized to be Rivendell, and Thorin finally set me down as he realized just where in Middle Earth we were. The company and him formed a protective circle around me and Bilbo as a sudden commotion emerged.

Peering over the hairy heads of the Dwarrows, I caught sight of Lord Elrond and a few soldiers as they returned in full armor that gleamed in the bright rays of the sun.

Gandalf persuaded Thorin to let us stay here in Rivendell for a few days to regain our strength, which gladdened me more than I would admit to Thorin. I had sorely missed the company of intellectuals.

Also, it would be a nice change to converse with others in Elvish once more. I didn't dare speak a word in it in front of any of the Dwarves for fear they would figure out my past and Thorin would throw me out of the Company.

But first I had to get away from a suddenly clingy Thorin. It was strange, he didn't outright stand beside me. He just, hovered around me.

As we began to settle in to our new quarters, he suddenly approached me, and I took in a deep breath, wondering what in Eru's name he needed. Vaguely, I could see everyone else pause in their activities to watch us.

Weird.

Thorin's brow was furrowed as he walked up to me, his gaze scanning me up and down, taking in my torn trousers and skinned up palms. Then his gaze landed on the small scratches and cuts I had gained on my face from landing face down in the grass, a frown appearing on his face.

Great, now was he going to say that I was ugly now too?

"Are you alright, Amrâlimê?" He asked suddenly, and I puzzled over the unfamiliar word he used when referring to me.

I could hear the titters coming from the group around us, and Thorin's cheeks suddenly gained a faint dusting of pink.

"That'll show her, Uncle!" Kili's voice carried over the unintelligible mutterings of everyone else, and I began to gain an inkling of just what the unfamiliar word meant.

And that realization hurt.

"Didn't think he'd ever work up the courage to say that..." Bofur's voice met my ears next, and I quickly made up my mind. Obviously, the word was an insult of some type and I was not going to stand to be treated like this.

I shot a hurt look at Thorin, grabbing the bedroll I had started to unpack and beginning to repack it. I would sleep somewhere else tonight. Somewhere far away from this Dwarf that disliked my company so much.

"I'm fine, thank you." I muttered through clenched teeth, looking at Thorin with a fake smile on my face. "I suppose you think it's funny to insult other people in a language they can't understand, huh? But I'm not going to take that from you. It just shows how much of a stupid, insensitive arse you are." I said, blinking away the tears that rose in my eyes. No matter how much I could try to pretend otherwise, it hurt to be called names.

The mutters suddenly died as I spoke, and Thorin's eyes widened. "Miss Estel--" he started, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

"I don't want to hear another word out of your filthy mouth. I'm going to sleep somewhere else tonight so you don't have to deal with my obviously intolerable presence." I said and hurried off before I could burst into tears, leaving a stunned silence behind me.

Maybe this would teach them not to speak badly about other people in their presence. I mean, if you couldn't say the word straight out in Common to the person's face, then perhaps you shouldn't say it at all. That's what my foster mother had taught me.

But these were crude, cowardly Dwarves. What did they know about other people's feelings?

Nothing, it appeared.

#Thorin #thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield #angsty thorin #misunderstanding #angst #language #middle earth #the hobbit #the company #dwarves #tolkien #a deep misunderstanding #part 2 #fanfic #fanfiction

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 33: Aftermath

Im sorry this one took me so long! Schoolwork and the election really wiped me out! But I hope you enjoy and as always - let me know what you think!

(also this moodboard will hopefully make sense a lil ways through this one - was super fun to make so I hope you like it)

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

With each step down the stone staircase, a slight clicking sounded from Rowan’s hip, the four stone collars jostling against each other as he walked. With each step he took away from Aelin, he felt something in his chest twisting. Something bright, and strong, and full of fire. Something new.

The carranam bond.

Rowan had never heard one described before, and he was taken aback by the strength of it, the potency. It was like a…tether. That connected him to her. An artifact of Aelin’s scent, like a key, buried in his chest.

It was strange, to be given another magical connection after so many centuries. He was used to the feel of the blood oath on his soul, the way it writhed in his veins. An acidic, curling smoke. The strength of it. The inevitability of it. Maeve always made sure that their oaths to her were born of pure submission.

That bond smothered his will, and dulled his senses. That bond had put him to sleep for two hundred years.

This bond was a jolt of electricity. An awakening.

The stone corridors were quiet all around him, but not with death. With healing. Rowan could sense the presences of his…cadre, as Aelin liked to call them, deeper in the fortress. Small flickers of darkness at the edges of his senses.

And with each of his steps closer to them, Rowan couldn’t help but think that this new bond was almost like how he had felt with Lyria. Couldn’t help but draw comparisons, and similarities.

Before her death, and the mating bond became an aching chasm in his chest, it had been a soft, warm presence just over his heart. A place where he could feel his mate close. Where he could sense her.

Rowan always felt when she was in pain, when she was in danger. And it gave him the vaguest sense of her location, almost like a scent trail.

This new bond, his carranam bond with Aelin, was strikingly like that. Unnervingly so.

Aelin hadn’t replaced Lyria. She hadn’t filled the hole the mating bond had left within him. But with this carranam bond…Rowan found that it was harder and harder to feel that hollow ache. To feel the place where his body remembered her loss.

And Rowan wasn’t exactly sure whether he was glad of it.

Rowan was hovering just before the entrance to the corridor where he had spent most of that morning – shoulder to shoulder with the demi-Fae, sweat dripping down his limbs, the air drenched in copper. Now, it was empty of all but the dead. The stones were slick with blood, the walls spattered with gore. Rowan could hardly walk without stepping on hands and toes and torsos, cold and hard and bulky in death.

But Rowan did so anyways – making his way through the pit of bodies to check for a smothered breath or faint heartbeat – any hint of life. He found none. Someone had clearly already gone through and collected the injured, then probably moved them to the dining hall, or the inner courtyard, to be attended to. Where the survivors had gone, Rowan did not yet know.

He stood and sighed, making to leave the corridor.

There was much to be done. The bodies would have to be burned. The gate to the tunnel was mangled, it would have to be reinforced – and soon, in case of a second attack. There were the injured to heal, and prisoners to organize.

And Rowan was utterly uninterested in all of it. All he wanted was to go back; to follow that tether to its source. To curl up beside Aelin and sleep for a century or more.

His feet were slow as they mounted the stairs, making for the sentry station where he knew he would be able to find Malakai. But before he made it very far, a familiar, bronze-skinned shape nearly barreled into him.

“Hey – oh, it’s you.” Fenrys, now in human form, stepped to the side and out of the way of Rowan’s path. Though he had fought as his wolf, the younger male was drenched in half-dried blood, his skin mottled with newly forming bruises. It didn’t matter that it was a different form – it was still you.

Rowan’s greeting was guarded. “Fenrys.”

“Rowan. Where’d you get off to? You missed almost all the fun!” Even with his hair matted together with someone else’s blood, the boy was practically chipper.

Rowan frowned, raising his eyebrows. Fun?

Fenrys waved his hands derisively. “You know what I mean. Did you leave to go help the princess? Is she alright?”

Though he was only asking from general curiosity, there was an anxiety in his tone that unsettled Rowan. He didn’t know what they wanted with Aelin, didn’t know if Maeve had sent them, couldn’t be sure of anything. Though he had fought with them for years almost beyond count, he didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them.

Rowan followed Fenrys’ question with one of his own. “What happened after I left? Where were the survivors taken?”

“Lorcan’s in charge. Last I saw, he was up on the battlements with an older demi-Fae who seemed to be a leader. There were forty or so soldiers who were still standing when their commanders fell, and they surrendered fairly painlessly. Lorcan had them taken to the dungeons to await questioning, but none of them seem particularly talkative.”

So Lorcan had taken charge. Something inside Rowan unfurled, a hidden tension flowing from his limbs. “How many dead?”

“Most survived. Seems that Adarlan was seeking to capture, not kill. I think last count was twelve, though that might increase before night falls.”

“Wounded?”

“Our side? Most. I think Gavriel is attending to them in the mess hall. There are a few dozen Adarlanian soldiers too – but I think they’re being kept separately.”

Rowan just nodded, satisfied. But before he could turn to depart, Fenrys’ hand shot out, stopping him.

“Wait – you never answered my question. Is the princess alright? We…we passed her on our way in and she…she didn’t look very good.”

Fenrys’ eyes were surprisingly earnest. But instead of compassion, Rowan felt a chill pass through him. Fenrys had seen Aelin. They all had, on their way into Mistward. For some reason, Rowan had never thought that through before – that in order to reach the fortress, his cadre must have passed by Aelin. And left her there.

“You saw her?”

Fenrys seemed to hesitate at the coldness in Rowan’s tone. “…Yes. She let us through that strange black smoke. It was phenomenal actually – she made this…this bridge. Of golden light. A tunnel, that gave us a way through. Otherwise we never would have been able to make it.”

There was awe on the young male’s face, wonder in his voice. But Rowan did not hear it. “You saw her, and you just left her there?”

Fenrys started, his brow furrowing. “Yes. What else could we have done?”

Rowan was fuming. You could have stayed. You could have helped. He wanted to rage at the male, to shout himself hoarse. But he kept himself in check.

“She will be fine in a few days.” And Rowan turned and left without another word.

He didn’t really expect Fenrys to understand. But Lorcan should have. And Gavriel definitely should have. Had they all just sailed past her?

Gavriel knew exactly what it was like when the people you were responsible for died under your command. Hadn’t Rowan tattooed enough names into the male’s skin by now? It was almost as though they died by your very hand. As if they died because of you. Because you didn’t think hard enough, or plan well enough.

They died because you weren’t good enough to save them.

Gavriel knew that. And he had nearly let Aelin die for them anyways. To die for him.

Rowan strode out through the gates and onto the yellowed grass, damp with rain. The ward stones towered before him, dark and silent and aged. Even with the death of the creatures, the magic that had fueled them was gone – utterly emptied.

Most likely, they would never spark again.

The loss of their magic, their majesty, weighed on Rowan just as those twelve deaths did. Deaths that he was responsible for. Somewhere, the logical part of his mind told him that there was nothing more he could have done, nothing more he could have sacrificed. But it was a very small part.

Rowan took another step forwards, to rest a hand on the black monoliths. Seeking to confirm with his hands what his eyes and ears were already telling him. But as he moved, the stone collars jostled once again, like a chorus of dull wind chimes.

Rowan lifted one off of his sword belt, examining it closely for the first time. They were perfectly round and utterly black – so dark that it was hard to see the flaws on the matte surface.

Even with the demons dead and gone, the fragments of stone held whispers of darkness about them. And it was more than just a memory of power, more than just a trace. It was almost as if those bodies had been little more than vehicles for the darkness, and it was the collars that held the real power.

Rowan placed the circle of stone carefully back on his belt, then shifted and flew out into the morning light, headed deep into the mountains.

He didn’t have time to make it all the way to the sea, not with Aelin sleeping in their rooms, unprotected, while Maeve’s warriors strode through Mistward. Not when Rowan couldn’t be sure of their motives, or their obligations.

Instead, he headed for the deepest, wildest place he could find with his winds and his hawk’s eyes.

Half an hour passed, and eventually he chanced upon a patch of evergreens hidden in the shadows between two massive peaks. Though it was approaching summer, snow still shone at their tops, the steadily rising sun marking the mountains a blinding white.

Rowan dove through the chill, passing between shelves of rock and soaring through narrow crevasses until the light dimmed, and became scarce, and mid-morning turned to dusky twilight.

The evergreens were undaunted however, monarchs rising up against the faces of stone to tower over the southern hills that lay below. Rowan flew to the base of a particularly gigantic pine, where he shifted in mid-air and landed on a platform of gnarled roots and discarded rusty pine needles.

Rowan breathed deep, then called his power up from within, pulling the last dregs of ice from the well in his chest. The magic came unwillingly, though with it he cast a blade of pure ice. Which he used to dig into the earth, tunneling deep into the nest of roots below.

Once the hole was at least eight feet deep, Rowan let the blade melt and fade into the dry earth. He carefully lifted each collar off his swordbelt and threw them into the deep, then filled the pit back up with hard-packed earth, replacing the bed of pine needles over the surface.

Rowan stood carefully, realizing for the first time that he had let his concentration slip. That he’d perhaps been too focused on the task before him, and not paid enough attention to his surroundings.

For as he turned to leave the hollow, a strange presence flitted at the edges of his senses.

Immediately, Rowan strengthened his shields and cast out his winds, seeking answers. The air did not give them to him. Not really.

The presence felt…different. Unexpected. But surprisingly, not unfamiliar.

It felt wild.

Then it clicked into place. The Little Folk.

Rowan took a hesitant step forwards, just as a pair of eyes peeked over a fallen log, then quickly fell from view. Rowan took another step. And another.

He wanted to speak, to say something. To tell them that the demon creatures were dead, that the wild reaches were safe once more. To tell them who had killed them. But for some reason, Rowan felt that they somehow already knew.

Rowan reached the log, expecting to find it empty. So he was unsurprised to find that the faeries were gone, their presence fading from the hollow. But he was startled by the fact that the log was not completely bare.

Atop the mossy surface rested two circles – crowns, Rowan realized – of red and white.

They were undeniably beautiful. Exquisitely crafted wreaths of the warmest flame and the coldest frost. Rowan’s hand stretched towards the red one first, recognizing spiky red maple leaves and orange petals from marigold flowers. There were strips of yellow from the brightest buttercups, and yet more colors from plants Rowan could not name. All collected and pieced together into this fiery masterpiece that barely resembled the plants they had once been.

Rowan was struck with the memory of the crown Aelin had once made for him, the crown of pure flames. This wreath was the perfect image of her magic.

He felt his eyes shift, searching out the other wreath. It was quieter, more understated, and yet still indisputably majestic. It was made of leaves of pure frost, wormwood and silver sage and needles of blue pine. And the spitting image of the circlet he had crafted for Aelin.

Rowan felt his brow furrowing, his gaze searching through the close-set tree boughs for any hint of movement, any indication that they were still there. Still watching.

For they had been. The Little Folk had been watching them for weeks.

And while Rowan was discomforted by this discovery, he felt no fear, no antagonism. These were gifts, not threats. A silent thanks.

And as Rowan held that crown of fire between his hands, it finally sank in. The demons were dead. They had won. Aelin had lived.

Tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he raised his head to face the darkness of the forest beyond. “Thank you,” Rowan said. “Thank you.”

···

The harsh stone of Mistward’s walls appeared through the thinning mist as Rowan dove towards the fortress. Now that the barrier-stones were forever silenced, he no longer had to pass through the front gate, and so could glide over the battlement wall and land directly on the stones of the interior courtyard.

With the knowledge that Lorcan had taken charge alongside Malakai, and that they had suffered minimal losses with the enemy forces already contained and subdued, Rowan had lost all interest in participating in the recovery and repairs. All he wanted was to go up to their rooms, bar the door, and drift off into the deepest sleep he had risked in weeks.

But the interior courtyard was far from the empty, silent place it usually was.

A temporary hospital had been set up under swathes of white canvas, where men were lying on cots and sitting on mats, blood pooling beneath bandages while hollowed eyes stared into air filled with the sounds of the dying.

Mistward hadn’t been hit hard, but Adarlan had been. And the wounded waiting to be helped numbered in the dozens.

Fenrys had told Rowan that the hospital had been set up in the dining hall. Otherwise, Rowan would have flown directly to his rooms, instead of risking passing by where he knew Gavriel would be waiting for him.

The male in question looked up just as Rowan entered. There was no avoiding him, no matter how much Rowan might wish to.

Gavriel was standing at the bedside of a young soldier in Adarlan’s colors, though they were hard to see through the pools of blood encrusting the fabric. But as Gavirel wasn’t holding bandage or needle and thread, Rowan assumed that the blood was not the soldier’s.

Gavriel’s brow furrowed as his eyes met Rowan’s, concern and – was that fear? – passing through his scent. But as usual, the male swiftly reigned in his emotions once more.

“Are you alright?”

The question felt loaded, though Rowan wasn’t sure if that was Gavriel’s intention. It didn’t really matter. Rowan didn’t have an answer to give him. So instead of speaking, Rowan just grunted, then moved to stand at the soldier’s other side. Silently offering his assistance.

Together, they reset the soldier’s broken leg, then used their combined magics to bind the fragments of bone and knit the skin and muscle back together. Despite everything, the two of them immediately fell back into a rhythm, into that shared dance of movement and magic and thought.

Soon, the man was whole once again. Gavriel took a wet cloth from the man’s bedside and used it to wipe his hands and face, then handed it over to Rowan, a silent thanks in his eyes. Rowan took it.

“Is Aelin going to be alright?”

A pause. “She’s resting.”

“She has grown these past weeks. Improved.”

Another grunt.

“Do you think it is enough?”

For the first time, Rowan looked directly into Gavriel’s eyes. Something passed between them. “I cannot keep her here forever.”

“No, you cannot.”

There almost seemed to be actual remorse in the male’s voice. Rowan wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his irritation in check for much longer. “Is that why then?”

“Why what?”

“Why you just left her there? Why you held me down when I tried to help her?”

Gavriel looked taken aback. “You think that I wanted the girl to die?”

“Give me an alternative.”

“She begged us to leave – to save you. I could not deny her her last wish.”

“Even when you knew that would not be what I wanted?” Rowan was very nearly shouting now. “Even after all these years of tattooing the names of the Fae you’ve lost on your own skin? You still don’t understand?”

“If you had seen her face, you would not have denied her either.” The quiet resolve on Gavriel’s face was enough to momentarily disarm Rowan. He changed tack. “What were those stone rings you carried before? I didn’t get a good look – “

“Does Maeve know that you’re here?” Rowan interrupted before the male could finish his question.

Gavriel hesitated, his eyes darkening. But not with anger, with…shame. “No. She did not know when we left. Though she must surely know by now.”

A small measure of sympathy washed through Rowan, working to melt the ice somewhat. Gavriel was loyal through and through. This betrayal had cut him.

“What happened? When – when you got my letters?”

Another pause. “I was alone. Fenrys and Connall were also in the capital, but I didn’t meet up with them until after. I don’t know how Lorcan and Vaughn decided, but they were still in the south – we met up with them near the southern mountain pass.” Gavriel’s eyes were almost boring into Rowan’s by this point, pinning him in place. “I did not say anything to anyone. I just left. But that doesn’t mean that you have nothing to worry about.”

The accusation in his tone was a painful reminder of what Rowan had been suppressing all morning. A reminder of what was waiting for them back in Doranelle. Who was waiting for all of them.

And whatever happened, it would be Rowans fault. Their pain, their punishment. Aelin’s pain – it all would be his fault. But he saw no other way.

Rowan took a slow step back, nodding at Gavriel. All of his anger towards the male had temporarily evaporated. “Thank – thank you.” He choked out. “For coming. For saving her.” Then he turned and left the courtyard, heading up the stairs to finally join Aelin in their bed.

···

Lorcan was nearly at his wits end.

He’d missed most of the actual fighting, instead babysitting Rowan to make sure that the bastard didn’t run off to his own death. So by the time he reached the tunnel where it appeared most of the battle had taken place, the twins had already taken care of almost everything. And now he was stuck organizing the repairs and recovery of this insignificant backwater fortress.

Bodies had to be collected and burned, sentries needed to be sent out to confirm that there were no other forces lying in wait for a second attack, workers needed to be organized to clear away the rubble and gore. He needed to ensure that the prisoners from Adarlan were well locked up, and had to arrange for them to be interrogated.

But all the while, as the morning passed into mid-day, Lorcan couldn’t get that image out of his head. The picture of his second, of Whitethorn for gods’ sake, screaming bloody murder as that princess fell into darkness. The look on his face when he wrenched himself free of their grip and ran to her. The image of them in each other’s arms, while the world burned to ash at her hand.

When they arrived, Lorcan had left her for dead. He’d dismissed her – just like that. The darkness surrounding those creatures was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The feel of it on his skin…Lorcan shivered. His powers did nothing against it.

Only fire could destroy them, and the princess had burned out. Or so he’d thought.

He’d tried to convince Whitethorn that the girl was dead, that there was nothing to be done. But the male refused to listen. And then, when she rose through the darkness – it was almost as though she brought the dawn with her.

That power…it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Apart from his queen, nothing could match the girl. Nothing and no one. Not even him.

He almost didn’t even blame Whitethorn for going after her.

But only a very small part.

Mostly, Lorcan felt…betrayed. There really was no other word for it. And betrayed for love, of all things.

Everything was about to change. Nothing would ever again be the same between them, or within his lieutenants. Never again would they rove through the countryside together, drinking and fighting and bedding women. Never again would Rowan be able to look at the horizon without some measure of longing in his eyes.

Rowan Whitethorn had fallen in love. After all these centuries, and with that foreign bitch of all people. Whether the bastard knew it or not, he had fallen in love once more. And it would probably break him all over again.

Lorcan cursed violently, and a sentry in the corner of the room jumped in fright.

He didn’t know where Rowan was at the moment, and frankly, he didn’t much care. Lorcan wasn’t sure he wanted to see him. Didn’t know what the hell they would say to each other.

Not that Rowan’s help wouldn’t be appreciated. The older demi-Fae male in charge of the fortress – Malakai, Lorcan thought his name was – wasn’t particularly helpful. Rowan was Lorcan’s second for good reason, and his other lieutenants were already occupied.

Fenrys and Connall were running forays into the perimeter, ensuring that there weren’t any more parties of soldiers lying in wait. Gavriel had been dispatched to help the small group of fighters who had skills in healing, and Vaughn was helping to repair the damage done to the escape tunnel. It had caved in in places, and the gates were badly damaged.

They were all here, doing their duty. Helping Rowan save all of these gods-damned ungrateful bastards. Risking their lives, and most definitely risking their liberty. All because of Rowan. And where was he? Absolutely nowhere to be found. Probably off with that fire-breathing bitch.

At some point, Connall returned with the information that there weren’t any soldiers within fifty miles of the fortress, and the caves that had served as their camp all these weeks were emptied.

Lorcan then sent the wolf to the healer’s compound to inform the head healer there that the threat had been dealt with, at which point the older demi-Fae commander spoke up and said that the healers had been moved into the mountains for safety, and Lorcan had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from snarling at the male.

Then Connall was gone, Fenrys was arranging for the traps in the woods to be taken apart, and the elderly demi-Fae had left with some mumbled excuse about following along behind Connall to meet up with someone to tell them the news. And Lorcan was alone. Which he found was actually not that much better than having company.

What did Rowan think was going to happen?

Did he think that Maeve would let them be together? That there was some happy future in store for them?

The second that that little girl made it through Doranelle’s gates, she would likely be trapped there forever. Maeve would never let a power like that slip through her fingers – and with the way the girl looked at Rowan? The princess was doomed.

Maeve would force the girl to swear the blood oath, one way or the other. Then, once the girl was hers, Maeve would undoubtedly keep her and Rowan separated as much as physically possible.

Because they were carranam, and together…together their power was more than anything Lorcan had ever seen. Even Maeve –

No, his queen was the most powerful being in all of existence. But still, the two of them together could prove a threat. And Maeve would not stand for it. So they must be kept apart.

Lorcan’s teeth slammed together. Why had that jackass allowed this to happen?

His team of commanders had been near-perfect. They worked together almost seamlessly, each with their own specialties. There was order, and structure. Even Fenrys, who was a right pain in the ass most of the time, fit within their hierarchy well.

But now…now it would all fall apart. Rowan loved that girl, and everything was about to change. He would defend her above all others, would protect her in the face of any threats, would never put her in any danger – even if it proved necessary in order to meet their objective.

That bastard’s cock was going to fuck everything up. And Lorcan didn’t see any way to stop it.

Then Vaughn reappeared, with the news that he had just gone down to the dungeons to check on the prisoners, and found them all dead in their cells. Poison.

Lorcan muttered a violent curse, and stood.

···

Gavriel was exhausted to his very bones. Night had now fallen, and they had lost three more men over the course of the afternoon. Three men whose deaths he had not been able to prevent.

Many more Adarlanian soldiers had died, but Gavriel couldn’t bring himself to much care about them. Particularly after they started bringing out the cyanide. Lorcan had told him that they had lost all of the prisoners in the cells, and to try his best to save the few soldiers from Adarlan who were still in his care.

Gavriel told the male not to get his hopes up.

He had spent the entire day at work, stuck in some courtyard, surrounded by the moans and complaints of broken men. There were a few demi-Fae sentries who had some healing magic, but far too soon their powers were exhausted, and Gavriel had to send them off to rest.

He couldn’t completely heal all of them – it would have surpassed his strength. But he ensured that no one died that wasn’t already marked to enter Hellas’ realm. Obviously, the soldiers’ goal had been to overwhelm and capture, rather than kill. The fortress was very lucky to have escaped with so little death.

Still, what he wouldn’t have given to have Rowan’s help. Or Lorcan’s. Or anyone’s, really. But they were all busy. And Gavriel would have rathered face a dragon in single combat than to go up to Rowan’s rooms and ask him to come down and help. Especially after their discussion those hours earlier.

It had been so strange – the cold male had felt almost…vulnerable. In a way that Gavriel had never seen before. And the look on his face when the barrier fell, and the princess was consumed by darkness…Gavriel would be haunted by that look for as long as he lived.

Just as he had known the second he saw the princess’s pleading, desperate, dying face before the ward-stones, begging them to go save Rowan, that she had loved him, in that moment he had known the same for Rowan. The prince loved that woman. And now there was nothing that any of them could do about it.

All they would be able to do was wait, and watch, and discover how it would play out.

But there was something, something more. The two of them were closer, more comfortable with each other. And they were obviously sleeping in the same bed. But there was also this strange hint, a trace, of the girl’s scent on Rowan. Mixed in with his.

Perhaps it was just the settling of that new bond between them – the carranam bond. For some reason that didn’t quite sit right with Gavriel.

Though that was another image it didn’t seem likely he would ever be able to erase from his mind. The way they looked together, staring into each other’s eyes while the entire world burned to ashes around them. The way their power felt as it rushed over his skin, an avalanche, a tsunami. The explosion of a star on the surface on the earth.

The fact that they were carranam changed everything. Now, if Aelin joined their ranks, it seemed unlikely that Rowan and the princess would be allowed within fifty feet of each other. Maeve disliked a threat almost as much as she hated betrayal. Or disloyalty.

Gavriel’s stomach turned over. He knew far too well what they would be facing upon their return to Doranelle. He forced his mind away from the unpleasant memories. He had made his choice, and he would stick by it. He had known the consequences when he decided to come.

And he would not regret it. The girl and Rowan had both lived. Even the majority of the demi-Fae had survived.

Though he would regret leaving Aelin alone at those gates for as long as he lived. Rowan was right, he should have stayed. No matter how worried he had been for his friend, the princess had needed him. And he had almost let her die for them.

His daughter. The words were an uncomfortable weight. Full of doubt. At first he had desperately shied away from them, aching for them not to be true, for them to be anything but. Now, he was less sure.

The princess was growing into a powerful female, a leader and magic user worthy of renown. Wouldn’t it be understandable to want to belong to her, in some small way? To want to be hers?

Shame joined the guilt writhing in his gut. It was a betrayal to his queen to want to belong to another. For it wasn’t really as a father that he wanted to belong to the princess, it was as a soldier. A lieutenant.

Aelin’s power was a beacon, and just like Rowan obviously was, Gavriel felt himself being drawn to her.

So, as Gavriel moved between the dozens of patients sleeping before him, searching for bandages to change and fevers to lessen, his thoughts kept whirling back to that essential, all-consuming question. What would happen when Rowan brought the princess to Doranelle? And would Rowan be able to survive another loss of this magnitude?

The night slowly passed into day, and just before dawn began to peek her head over the mountains, Lorcan appeared.

He was obviously trying to sneak out before the fortress woke up, now that the majority of Mistward was once again up and running as normal. And though Gavriel doubted the male would ever admit it to himself, to leave without having to see Rowan. Without having to deal with whatever it was that was shifting like quicksand beneath their feet.

Gavriel stood and walked over to meet Lorcan, who was now standing over by the entry gates, buckling on his swordbelt.

They stood in silence for a moment, but then, “What do you think will happen when we return? What are you going to say to her?”

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed, knowing immediately what Gavriel was getting at. “I’m going to tell her the truth of what happened. What else.”

Gavriel’s brows furrowed. “You know as well as I –”

“That changes nothing.”

“It changes everything, and you know it.”

“Just because Rowan went and fell for – ”

“He hasn’t been at peace for centuries, Lorcan. You would deny him that?”

“No. But there isn’t exactly anything that we can do to stop it. I would worry less about that selfish bastard, and more about your own skin, Gavriel. Rowan and that bitch are going to get what’s coming to them, and so are we.”

Gavriel only nodded. “I knew that when I decided to leave.”

Lorcan’s face darkened. “Tell Rowan I said goodbye. And that…that by the time he returns to Doranelle, I will have submitted my report. I can’t hide this from her – even if I wanted to.”

Gavriel nodded again, then clasped Lorcan’s arms in farewell. “I will meet you on the road, Commander.”

Lorcan’s gaze shifted slightly, an acknowledgement that he heard the silent words in Gavriel’s promise. I am coming too. I will not let you enter Doranelle alone.

But the male just jerked his head once, turned, and ran into the mist.

Dawn passed into morning, and Fenrys, Connall, and Vaughn all also departed, with similar words of farewell. But Gavriel lingered – wanting to see the girl one last time before he left, wanting to ask her the question that burned on his lips.

Before morning could give way to midday, an opportunity presented itself. Rowan and the princess were walking down through the fortress and the courtyard, heading out over the grounds. So Gavriel headed towards the back gate in order to intercept them.

Rowan was stony faced. Aelin was smiling.

I thought you’d be gone by now.” The accusation in Rowan’s icy voice was difficult to ignore.

“The twins and Vaughan left an hour ago, and Lorcan left at dawn. He said to tell you good-bye.”

Rowan only nodded absentmindedly, dismissing Lorcan’s message without much thought. “What do you want?”

Gavriel frowned, looking them both up and down. “Be careful when you face Maeve. We’ll have given our reports by then.”

Rowan didn’t react, though the princess started slightly. “Travel swiftly,” he said, an obvious dismissal, and continued walking past the gate and into the waiting mists. The princess, however, lingered.

Her eyes were cautious, and they studied him carefully. Then she said, softer than the mists brushing his cheeks, “Thank you.” Gavriel blinked, and he heard Rowan freeze suddenly at his back. “For the warning. And for hesitating that day.”

She extended a shaking hand towards him, wrapped in gauze and purple with bruises. Gavriel looked at it for a moment before shaking it gently in his own. Her warm golden eyes met his, and then all of sudden he was asking the question, the question on which his world now turned.

“…How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” she replied, casually as anything, and Gavriel was releasing a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He didn’t know if it was from relief or sadness or surprise, though nevertheless, it was a release.

Aelin Galathynius was not, and could not ever be, his daughter. She was too young, by a number of years.

In order to fill the strange silence that had fallen, Gavriel made some comment about how that made her magic even more impressive. Aelin winked at him, then turned to follow Rowan into the trees.

Gavriel could feel the male’s confusion from a dozen feet away, but he didn’t much care. Rowan could be confused for a bit. He deserved as much for what he had put them all through, and what he was going to put them through, over these few weeks. And Gavriel was far too confused and conflicted himself to much care about the younger male’s feelings at the moment.

He was relieved at the news, but that worry was still there. He cared about the girl now, and that wasn’t something so easily undone. And it was not only because of his own burgeoning affection.

Gavriel couldn’t help but worry for the girl on Rowan’s behalf. Particularly because of the look Rowan was currently giving her – that flaming, all-consuming look. Like he was the moon, looking at his own personal sun. Knowing that soon, it would all come to an end.

So as the pair of them began to disappear into the trees, Gavriel murmured, “Good luck, Rowan.”

Then he shifted, and ran off to join his fellow warriors. To head for the capital, where Maeve was lying in wait.

To head for Doranelle.

…

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…

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gridoc · 4 years

Text

he woke up to rain

tried my attempt to write a Doc/Grian meeting in my pirate au sooo enjoy?

7.5k grian/doc pirate au

Its quiet- the sound of crashing waves along the sides of the ship could be only heard. Grian however, hears only his heart- beating out of his chest. He isn’t scared- not at all but the stars seem a bit dimmer, the diamonds seemingly hiding from the bloodscape of the inevitable. Grians' chest goes numb from the constant thumping of his heart as he stands before the most feared pirate of the seven seas and tells him to fight him.

And maybe, he could have done something else- jumped overboard and tested his chances, but he’s stubborn and stupid. More the latter many would say if they saw him right now, two feet on deck in between the bodies of his own crewmates and- god, (you don’t even believe in god, Mumbo would say) Grian could have saved his own hide- so easily.

But he didn’t, so too the corpses around him mock him. Bodies of his crewmates, the men he laughed, drunk with- lay around with deadly wounds dealt by pirates.

The moment he saw The Golden Goat appear, Grian should have known people won’t survive.

But, as he stands with his own sword pointing towards the Pirate Captain- a smirk coming from him, a confident smile knowing it's for an easy fight - Grian is glaring in response and he knows in his heart that it’s not his own time to die, today isn’t his last day. He’ll make sure of it.

His last day couldn’t be this- he woke up to rain.

Small taps rocked the navy ship, wooden boards acting as windows cracked and clacked outside, the rain running against them, tinning delirious warnings to an ever coming storm. Grian nearly falls out of his hammock as the thunder outside crackled, a siren call about the soon future- Grian groaned forcing his eyes open, an eyelash into one of them and such tears leaving him in annoyance. So many bad omens for only a minute into the day.

Already dressed for action, he used his sleeve to wipe his tears as he got out of the hammock. The red sleeve staining due to the liquid. It’s in his right eye, he rubbed it knowing it's just going to make it worse but the inflorescent tears didn’t stop coming- the other eye bleak and dry at least. “Grian!” The voice of the first mate jostled him to look up, a visceral of his heartbeat quickening and ready to make any order come true. “Grian!” The voice grew closer as the First Mate appeared on the stairs leading to the deck. “It’s your shift, what are you still doing here?”

He scoffed as Grian quickly ran past him at the warning- was it that time already? The sun isn’t even up- Grian hit himself in the head as he realised, the storm, its clouds hiding the sun forcing him to be late.

Poking his head onto the deck, his face was immediately met with rain hitting his face. Grian put up his arm on instinct, hiding his eyes away from the water. But as the weather absorbed into his coat, he decided to put it back down and just continue on.

Looking around, he saw this shift's crew members running around panicked trying to keep the ship in control during the weather. The tempest was gulfing out water onto the deck, trying to escape itself- coughing out waves and rivers onto the boat like a sickness. The boat moved, shifting under the weight of the furore, Grian having to grab a rope to keep upstanding.

Water began covering the deck in a thin layer acting as a bowl slowly filling in the corners. A few crew members were desperately shovelling water out before it reached a too late point. Just for the sea to return it as if they lost it and it was giving it back to its rightful owner. Some others were running around pulling ropes, cutting them off- tying them, to change the sails periodically to keep up with the rising winds.

“Hey!” Another voice snapped him back to reality- a crewmate who was holding onto a rope tightly called for him, boots into the wood as they tried to settle themselves against the wet floor not to slip away. “If you have time to gawk, you have time to help us!”

He got distracted, he felt annoyed at himself. Sure, it's bad weather, he thought as he ran up to the person and grabbed the rope, helping out to pull back the sails- but they've seen worse, he’d seen worse: much worse. Spitting out hair from his mouth, the wind driving the hairs around his face in a frenzy, even his own ponytail threatening to unravel itself in the conditions. With a final pull along with his crewmate the rope finally got back far enough to tie it around the railing of the deck. Just as he pulled along and tied a knot around it- another shout came from the opposite end of the vessel. Turning around, seeing yet more people battling against the water, trying to roll barrels and supplies from the deck into shelter- into the crew, captain quarters, securing cargo from the deck.

“All hands on deck!” The captain shouted over the wind- and much more of his own crewmates emerged from the bottom of the barrels, some of them are putting on their coats and boots as they are getting up to the surface- getting met with the sudden gust of wind. At Least Grian was lucky enough to be woken up earlier alone, it must be chaos down there now.

Along with sea, the deck began being flooded with more sea, the rope he was earlier struggling to get a knot around was taken over by another pair of hands. There were a lot more people around quick, the Captain did say ‘all hands on deck’ after all. Sails and masts were being tied down quicker than before, the cargo disappearing in the scuffle. At the moment everything was secure, but just then the storm picked up in the distance large waves crashing into one another, sending ripples throughout the ocean like an echo towards them the wind propelling it towards the keel. The crew had a mixture of shouts as a particularly strong wing enveloped them, the boat violently seesawing, some people falling past to the bottom of the boat- hitting themselves on the walls.

The Captain and First Mate were at the helm, the wheel working against their will and using both the mens might to keep from going haywire. Grian once again was distracted and only realised that when someone grabbed his arm, forcing a thick rope into his hands. With muscle memory working for him, he grabbed the rope; a few more crewmates lined up behind him and before also holding onto the cord and pulling. Grian heaved it within rhythm with everyone else, rubbing elbows with the people around him as they used their might to get the sails to close so they didn't propel themselves into the nearest landmass. But the wind was stubborn, and refused to work with them.

But, in the midst of the storm: between the water crashing into waves, collecting lifes and realisations along the depths and floors of the ocean, the peaceful waters became sharp and dangerous threatening to destroy them any minute, people started singing.

“Oh!” One strong voice began, guttural and loud, “We’d be alright if the wind was in our sails!” and although Grian didn’t know this one, he still sang along. “It would be all right!” They all sang in unison with another pull and push, moving along the deck, “If the wind was in our sails!” the sound of the earth trying to shatter them, to drown them, the voices of everyone being drowned out by the winds but the energy, the ripples of energy of the song still was heard. Not even the first mates orders were heard, now one of the many voices echoing through the sea singing the song that they might die singing.

“We'd be alright if the wind was in our sails!” Grian let out the song with a throaty rasp, but he did with a unison of other throaty rasps- “And we'll all hang on behind…” the unity of everyone fighting against whatever force put this upon them outnumbered the killing intent of mother earth.. He stepped back, another shout from everyone as they pulled, people upfront guiding what to do as they stared at the sails and onto the sea.

“

In reply, the crew replied with a shout of glory compared to a thousand soldiers' army about to fight their last battle. It's funny how a little storm can test your life and realise that you aren't safe on this boat after all, but here they are anyway. Waking up to the possibility of your death, that the sky you looked under for so long had the intention to kill you.

People stopped singing and let go of the rope as they instead went to run back and forth to tighten different ropes, everyone in a hive mind set the course towards the spot of light, hoping it was not the one at the end of the tunnel.

Grian didn't expect that however, and some others as well- people upfront let go of the rope throwing off the harmonious balance upon the middle, and the force of certainty and relalibalty of the pull was gone. Grian felt himself falling forward and seeing the person before him fall as well.

But Grian didn't spend training with his sword for his reflexes to fail him right now, Grian let his chest fall back- sliding his leg behind him and the other before him. And just as quick the back one slid to the right followed by the other one, his footwork always being excellent and this was to show as he watched a few of his crewmates falling upon on each other like dominos.

Turning around, he sang along to the continued shanty, "-if we make it around the horn!" the strong voice passed by him, the song continued around him as people ran around stringing the masts.

The wind struggled to overpower the hopeful men's voices, "We'd be alright-" he sang along with the first half, watching the bodies of red scurry and sing around, in reply everyone else sang "if we make it round The Horn!"

The ship of the military men forced itself through the waters towards the sight of hope.

The voyage was clearly ofcourse, even Grian , one of the many crewmates- the last one to be told the details of the journey or not even in mind to inform, knew this. They were heading towards the Hermiatic oceans to get to a military town to pick up and change through crewmates who were due to retire or leave. And Grian has been at sight of these exchanges, old men with bitter bones who he played cards with left towards nowhere, even men younger than himself would never return- he remembered them coming onto the ship, bushy tailed and wide eyed on being part of this and serving the King just like Grian once was, then a voyage later the spark gone as well as an arm, and the one who sung with a guitar in the deep nights gone to never be seen.

And they weren't headed there, the course sidestepped due to the furious storm and thunder, not even a care for the repercussions of this task if they were going to be lost or be able to find their course nor will they be ontime for the handoffs. But even as Grian knew of this stupid decision, he didn't question it, himself wanting to head to the very spot he himself pointed out. So, he won't complain.

As they headed closer the rain held up, the waves calmed as they crossed through the threshold- the stomach of the ship letting out a breath as it digested the tension every soul within it let out during the situation.

People stopped running around, stopping to look up with a smile. However some were already holding brooms and mops and forcing the water back to its source, the wood stained and dripped through. Grian hissed, it must have gone to the crewmate quarters, he already knows he's going to sleep either on the floor if they decide to put them up to dry or just sleep on a damp hammock. He isn't happy for either. Well, so it goes.

God (Mumbos voice once again ran through his mind)- he’s tired.

“Hey!” A hand waved before him, the quartermaster, “Use your gawking for something useful and go to the birds nest, spot us some land why don’t you?” With a ‘yes sir’ Grian turned around to climb up the mast, ropes and ladder making it easy and he hoped he's going to be able to come down just as quickly.

...He didn’t, yawning hours later after someone brought him up some soup and bread he was still up looking for any land, and his fear that they got turned around away from land and into the large and into the uneding Eremeetis- where pirates roam circling the land like prey, waiting for a stupid navy ship to sink their claws in.

He raised his spyglass, his heart freezing as he saw it. The sun was going down behind it but there was no secret what it was. A custom ship, seen years of wear sailing through the ocean, as if the sea itself was falling upon itself to make way for it, red sails doing nothing to camouflage the ship against the blue ocean, and the red flag with a skull and crossbones didn’t hide who- what it was.

The Golden Goat.

He’s heard of this ship, legends, stories, rumours- and there it was. He never expected to see it, never expected to lay his eyes on it. Intimidating, large and on its way towards them- getting bigger and bigger in his vision. He gasped, his spyglass falling down to the floor of the nest. Shocked, and terrifying he looked down and with all his might shouted into the deep,

“PIRATES !”

And that's when the first cannon went off, and the pirates missed, but the force of the waves rocked the ships- sending Grian flying off the birds nest.

He barely registered what was happening, the wind breaking under him- the air in his lungs beginning to taste metal, he screamed. Looking up, the nest and sails looming over as he grabbed the first that ended up under his hand, his stomach dropped and arms pulled as he held on tightly onto a piece of horizontal wood at the bottom of the sails. Blinking numbly against the pain, he tried to breathe but couldn’t, “Drop!” He heard a voice under him, and, he did. He didnt think about it, his fingers were slipping anyway. He let himself fall further- and closed his eyes for the impact of the floor of the ship….

But it never came. Instead he landed on something softer, opening his eyes to see some crewmates around him, linking their forearms to make him a landing pad. Seeing him okay, some let go to go load up cannons or help to sail away from pirates.

“You okay?” a young one asked, one of the bushy tailed types, Grian couldn't speak- air knocked out of lungs. “Go-” he rasped his hand on his chest, heart beating canons into his brain. “Pirates-” the other seemed to understand. Leaving him to go help out.

Grian took a deep breath, and one more regaining his lifeback- they, they need to leave. He looked around and well, there wasn't much to do than go on normally, a cannon shot won't do right now, it will knock them back again. And then, the first normal shot went off- and the young boy who he just talked to was shot point blank, his body slumping over and falling down against the floorboards.

The sun has completely set now, the darkness returning into everyone's minds as more bullets flew past. Grian ducked behind some barrels- as more shots from both sides overcame and he heard more and more bodies hit the floor, the echo of their souls departing onto the wood never forgetting, and another and another and another- and he heard laughing, unknown laughter from faraway, The Golden Goat was coming closer. Then, another body fell by him, and in his hand- a gun. He took it.

He popped his head over the barrels, and shot. And hit, a strong ‘fuck!’ was heard- an unknown masculine voice from the other side. He hit a pirate- he hit a pirate! Of course he did- they didn’t see him so he had the window of opportunity. He popped his head out, seeing one less pirate up on the deck. But with a large hit, as the two ships collided with one another. They were probably going to put down a plank for the pirates to come and raid the ship Grian was on. And he didn’t want to be already the first victim to be sliced by the sword, in the moment of distraction and bullets Grian crouched up, gun in hand.

He vaulted across, moving behind barrels and just any cover. Moving up the stairs toward the helm, and his bread hitched seeing the dead body of the first mate. The same first mate who woke him up this morning, the one who told him that it's his shift- who woke him up before everyone else. And now he was lying dead on the floor, a bullet through his head bleeding out on the wooden boards. Grian tried to stop his gasp, tears in his eyes as he crouched down to avoid being seen. He peeked over the helm however, seeing a plank on the space between the two ships, The Golden Goat grander in size yet smaller in crew but with the amount of bodies on their ship it should be the other way around at least.

But, the pirates were lurking around right now. A man, with brown hair in a ponytail roamed around on deck- shooting whomever breathing. A woman with short brown hair disappeared down the stairs to the cargo hold.

Guess the red, no mercy flag was no joke. However, where is the captain of the pirate ship? He peered up higher, looking for the fabled captain, a monster who was ever worse than any of his crew, ruthless and emotionless and no pleading will help you when before him.

But, it isn’t whoever is on the navy ship right now, the man with the ponytail was a contender but as one of Grians crewmates pleaded for his life [the voice of the man, was deep and naturally loud. The one he heard leading the shanty during the storm], telling the pirate about his children and wife. The pirate hesitated, it was seen in his demeanor, the gun at the forehead of the navy did not set off immediately, it lingered. The pirate stepped back, and looked away. Then shot.

The body of the father, husband, singer fell onto the floor- slumped. Draining his blood onto the floorboards, forever staining the deck.

Grian fell down, sliding and sitting down- hand over mouth to resist a gasp. Grian knew the red pirate flag- no mercy even if they plead for life. He heard about it, the legends, but- but- he never really believed it until now. He had to face the facts, as they are alive onboard right now.

Looking around, he took a deep, quiet breath. He needs to get out, there is a lifeboat on deck.He needs to get into it, and just go. Or die trying. Hopefully not the latter.

Grian looked back up, seeing now another woman with long blonde hair onboard along with the ponytail pirate.

He needs to sneak past them. Can he distract them? But how? He looked around, seeing a bottle- empty glass bottle by the helm. He frowned, was the captain driving the boat, drunk? Where is the captain anyway? Is he dead? Where is the Navy Captain?!

He sneaked down the stairs again, in one hand he had the gun in the other the glass bottle. Crouched down and walking down slowly, he was staring at the other two pirates as he did so. He ducked beside the barrels again, walking over the dead body he grabbed the gun from earlier. The lifeboat is where the pirates are, he needs to distract them-

“Wait- Wait!” His captain's voice rang out, Grian peeked out seeing the captain being dragged up from the lower deck by the brown haired woman, “I can tell you- where the gold is- don’t kill me! Don't kill me!” The captain was hiding under the deck, as his crew was killed. As his first mate was shot. Aren’t the crew supposed to be family?

The brown haired woman threw the captain before the other two, Grian peeked out further- could this be the distraction? Is it okay for him to use this as a distraction to save his own skin?

The ponytailed pirate raised his gun. The captain looked around panicked, for something to help him, save him- then they locked eyes.

The captain looked straight at him, Grian was too far out- he was seen by him. And now, he just hopes that the captain won’t see him as what is needed to save his own hide.

“There!” The captain shouted, pointing at Grian. A wish is too weak.

The long haired blonde pirate looked at him directly- as a shot rang out and the ponytailed pirate earned his second kill. Point blank, no mercy. And as he put his gun back into his holster, he also looked at Grian.

Grian started shooting.

The blonde woman immediately went towards the short haired woman, throwing them both to the ground- the ponytailed pirate shooting back before moving towards Grian. Is he not scared to be shot?! Grian tried to shoot again, but instead- blanks. He ran out of bullets, he clicked and clicked onto the trigger and nothing but air and his hopes left the gun.

The ponytailed pirate arrived at him: With a well placed kick to the chest, Grian stumbled back. And overboard into the water. Grian was about to plummet into the ocean- but the deja vu of before, of falling off the mast again. So, once again he grabbed the first solid thing under his fingers. And then, with a familiar gut into the throat and a stretch of the arm, he grabbed a piece of wood from the side of the ship. But this time no ones going to be there to tell him to drop, and this time he won’t.

With a sense of determination, of remembering his crewmates, who cared enough to stop in a midst of a pirate attack to make sure he's safe, the new crewmate who stayed behind for him to make sure he's fine- who died because of that. Grian can’t fall, how would he be able to face them in the afterlife? Or in the next life? Or whatever the gods have planned? But as he's dangling from the side of the ship, which in the past two years he felt safe in- who he gained new and old friends- which it all disappeared in the hour as their blood drip through the floorboards. Do gods even exist? Is Xisuma, the god of sailors, laughing right now or crying over this loss? Has he created the storm who got them here?

It's a sick joke, Grian thought as he lodges his feets into some crevices between the wood, and clumb. He had no gun, no bottle- the gun fell into the water, and the bottle was still on deck. But he doesn’t have any use for it now does he? Grian took a deep breath, as he put his foot up again- bracing against the water, then the next- and so to the hand. Hissing as he felt water hit his back, the sea water engulfing his seasons as he clung to the ship that threw him up.

He finally came back up to the top, peering over again, the pirates back where the navy captain's body was. There was another one however (a pirate), still not the captain however, as they seemed to be arguing with him. He had white hair and a black mask on, a bandage on his arm. He couldn’t hear what they were saying from this distance. Vaulting over the railing, he landed feet first- crouching again. This time they were seriously distracted, but still by the lifeboat.

He moved again, to the right behind more closer barrels, quickly sneaking between the empty space. Hearing them a bit better now.

“You could have left ONE Person alive!” The white haired man shouted, annoyed. “Now we don’t know where their safe is, their important cargo- what were you thinking?!”

The ponytail shrugged, “I- I! Well- I thought more people were left?”

“Doc is going to be mad, you know that right?” The blonde woman pinched the bridge of her nose, “And then we’ll be on cleaning duty along with-”

“I don’t care if Doc is mad!” Ponytail replied, throwing his hands up, “How difficult is it to find some safe?”

He turned around towards the captains quarters, “That captain grassed out his own crewmate! He probably has it under his bed or something.”

“Come on, False” The short brown hair said towards the long blonde hair, (False, Grian hears her name is), “Let’s distract Doc for a bit, before he wonders why we’re taking so long.”

False sighed, glaring at ponytail, then looking back at short hair with a “I don’t think Doc can take losing at poker against me again.”

“He’s going to have too, lets go.” Short hair gently pushed false towards the pirate ship. Which the other decided to just go. White hair followed ponytail into the captain's quarters.

Grian grinned, it's his chance! With nothing left to lose and a clear path in front of him, Grian didn’t even think as he ran across the deck- a bad plan in mind. Grab the boat, turn it over and throw it down onto the sea overboard, dive into the water and get into the boat. It's foolproof.

It was too easy to run across, ripping off the ropes that kept the boat to the ground. He didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, panicked and quite hopeful he threw away the ropes. Then he felt his hair being pulled back violently, he was thrown back by his hair back onto the floor. In the same way the captain did too him- and saw ponytail again. Oh no.

“Thought I threw you overboard.” He said looking down at him, saying so as he placed another bullet into the chamber of his pistol. “I should have waited for the splash I guess.” with a click, the weapon was loaded, and the pirate pointed it at Grian. Straight at his forehead.

“Ren!” A new voice entered the fray, deep and accented. The authoritative voice echoed through the ship, calling the name. The pirate about to deal his death sentence turned around, he must be Ren.

Grian used this opportunity and dealt the same fate Ren did to him earlier, so he kicked him. Kicking his hand holding the pistol, the gun was thrown somewhere else- Grian didn’t have time to watch where, but concentrated on standing up and dealing a punch to the pirate.

The pirate fell back, and in this distraction Grian ran back to the boat- and once again was pulled by his hair. This time the white hair was back, and threw him face first to the ground, arms behind him and he felt them being tied up with rope.

“Amu, you’re annoying.” He could hear Ren's voice, he was standing back up. As white hair pulled him up to his knees. “Thanks Etho.” Ren said to the white haired pirate, as he walked up to the two. Etho started talking, but the two went silent as a set of footsteps were heard.

Footsteps, belonging to the voice which called out Ren- in the middle of the loud sea, the loud, heavy footsteps walking across the bridge between the ships were the only things heard. They were slow and confident, taking their time. Grian was too nervous to look up to who they belonged to, already having a feeling. “Is this why you were taking so long?” The accented voice returned, the footsteps changing to creaks, indicating it landed on the navy ship.

Ren coughed- “Well, we were about to ask where they have the safe.”

The footsteps grew closer, and Grian still watched the floor- the pale oak floorboards looked darker now. Much more redwood. Why isn’t he looking up? He could kick a pirate who he saw kill twice earlier, he blindly shot another pirate earlier- but the silence the two went when these footsteps arrived, told him to shut up and look down. “I’ll ask.” And the steps were before him, well, the shoes. Black boots- stained dark at the heels and soles.

And like that, then the feet crouched down- squatting down and Grian still stared at the floor. Then a hand was grabbing his face- forcefully and squishing his cheeks, making him look up at the owner of the voice.

It was alot to take in.

First thing he noticed was the teeth, there was a smile on the person's face- it was sharp, twisted- and smug. The teeth were so too, sharpened alike to sharks, created for biting, for violence, for hurt- nothing peaceful. Then, it was the eyepatch across the person's right eye, black and a scar peeking from beneath the fabric. Smoothed back brown hair, a stubble on his chin- with a white eye. But, the white eye seemed to make sense with the green textured skin, a monster. The legend echoes, staring at the Captain- many calling the Pirate King- he was a monster through his actions and through his own self. The smile however, was the most terrifying thing about him.

“So, where's the gold?” He asked, the low voice once again coming through. Grian stared, stared at the captain before him. Earlier, he was scared because of the concept of this man, of the idea, of the silence- but his confidence came flooding back for the second, aswell as the sounds of the seas and the rotten and mournful realisation of: he’d going to die anyway. So:

He spit onto the Captain.

The Captain immiedietly recoiled back, closing his eye with a “Fuck-” Grian grinned watching the pirate stand up, wiping his face from the saliva. The Pirate King looked back at Grian, “Take him to the plank.”

Wait no- Grian thought as he felt himself being pulled up and pushed towards the edge of the ship, where there was a gap between the railings, a long board beside it. This time, Grian doesn’t know if he will be able to catch himself if thrown off.

Ren placed the board onto the gap, halfway so it won’t immediately fall off, Etho pushed him towards the plank. And with his hands literally tied, Grian couldn’t do much as he began walking onto the board. He looked back, seeing the Pirate captain, not even looking- not even witnessing his order just wiping his face and not paying attention.

Grian gritted his teeth, “Go.” Ren said, seeing him not moving, both him and Etho had their feet onto the board to keep it steady as Grian walked but instead he stood still looking at the Captain he just offended.

“Duel me!” Grian shouted. Its a stupid move, idiotic- He;s the pirate king, he never looses. This is a suicide mission, just a way to make his death slower and more painful. Delaying the inevitable.

The captain looked up, hearing that. ‘Paying attention now, are you?’ Grian thought.

“He won’t duel you, move along.” Etho scoffed, letting his foot leave a board for a second, making it wobble, Grian however, didn’t care- still looking at the Captain as he steadied himself under the moving board, the roar of the sea under him beckoned, waiting for a new snack as the sacrifice dangled above in the form of him. Grian didn’t show any weakness, back straight and looking straight on, as the waves clung up trying to grab him for dinner.

The Captain didn’t even spare a second thought as he walked over- the same confident walk as before. “And what's in it for you?” He asked, the deep voice making Grian shiver, but the contents of the sentence made him angrier. For him? The pirate is already assuming that this will end with Grians defeat.

“You let me go.” Grian said his terms, feeling worse when the two other pirates laughed at this.

“I let you go?” The captain smirked at this demand, “And if you lose?”

“I tell you where the safe is- as well as navy trade routes, plans- which ports aren’t properly guarded with valuable cargo.”

“And then I let you go as well?” The pirate crossed his arms, an amused smile still on his face.

Grian shook his head, a gulp before finally speaking. “Then you kill me.”

The two other pirates looked at the Captain, it was a good deal- if Grian only offered the safe it would be easy for the Captain to just order for him to plummet to the sea.

But, Grian worked in the navy long enough to be trusted with secrets, and is able to see and know where too, he has valuable information. And it's only a duel for them.

The Captain stared at him, the smirk falling, a more serious face actually contemplating this.

“Doc…” Ren began, making the captain look at him. They shared a look, which Ren shook his head during.

“Okay.” The Captain said, earning a look of disappointment from Ren. The smirk was back, “Untie him, give him a sword.” The captain ordered and turned around, taking out his own sword from his belt.

Grian looked at Etho and Ren, who once again shared a look before beckoning Grian to come back. Which he gladly did so, Etho took out a small knife from his pocket- cutting off the ropes with a quick slice. Grian instantly takes them apart, going to rub at his sore wrists.

Ren looked around, walking away towards a corpse and taking the sword off them. Throwing it at him- Grian catches it.

Looking across, he sees the Captain with his own cutlass already out, with the same annoying smile. It's confidence, it's relaxed, he knows he will win. All the odds are in his favour, Grian is much shorter than him, he’s been thrown about the past hour and his arms are sore from catching himself constantly as well as a headache due to the hair pulling.

But, even with those, Doc is going to lose, Grian was determined to stay alive. Today isn’t going to be his last day. He woke up to rain.

Grian stepped forward, standing up straight- sword out, one foot behind the other, and one arm behind him. Grian isn’t going to die, not within a duel- he remembers all the navy training he had, all those days he skipped to practice sword fighting with Mumbo, the only thing he was top of his class in.

And he was also determined for that Captain to stop with that annoying smile.

And if Grian knows something about sword fighting, then he knows it's going to take a few seconds to cut it off.

Suddenly, a wave crashed into the boat- making the occupants recoil, moving around to tighten their feet onto the ground. And suddenly Grian felt something hit his foot, he looked down- the glass bottle. Grian looked back up, to see the pirate captain raise his eyebrow, “Having second thoughts?” He asked, with that same, irritating, so sure of himself smile.

“No.” Grian smiled back, and in fell swoop- grabbed the glass bottle and threw it at the captain- once again having the benefit of surprise as he began the duel with a bang. The captain exclaimed, putting up his arms as the bottle hit them- and when he put them back down Grian was already before him, a split second earlier the duel would have been done with. But the Pirate still had his reflexes in the close quarters, reflecting the blade quickly- pushing Grian back but with nosense of self-preservation Grian was already back hitting the other blade again.

Grian pushed, the pirate captain walking back as he continued the deflect the sword hits, the sore sound of metal hitting one another echoing throughout the ship with buoyancy, Grian was going to get him in a corner and he’s determined to maybe even throw him off the ship- but after a few more sword deflects the captain was sick of this, and with one more strike the captain used the sense of confidence Grian had and kicked him when least expected- Grian falling back onto the floor, blinking his eyes open and with an reflect he rolled away from the sword about to stab into his chest- the captain's sword lodging itself into the wooden floor where Grians body used to be.

Grian stood up, and before the Pirate could take out his sword he launched himself at the pirate, pushing him down onto the floor. Sword gone, the captain rolled across the floor. But, quickly collected himself again, looking up with a deadly glare. Grian gulped, the glare at the others' faces replacing the annoying grin from earlier, and this time- Grian saw in the pirates expression that it's serious now, that his ruse of being weak is up- and that the pirate will show no mercy.

As Grian was realising the tone shift of the battle, the captain used his own trick against him- moving up during distraction. The pirate ran at him, grabbing his sword out of the floor as he pushed it at Grian. Grian reflected again, the two roles reversed as Grian walked back, this time the one being pushed over the edge.

The parrying continued, and this time Grian was in a corner, concentrated on keeping Grian in front of him, but Grian didn’t want that- he needed to get out of this. Break the rules, think outside the box, both of them were too confident and the beginning and those feelings both faltered during the fight, putting on equal level but Grian couldn’t have equal. Grian wanted- needed to win, his life depended on it, and he doesn't plan on dying today.

With another reflect, Grian ducked down- and headfirst ran onto the pirate, pushing them both down onto the floor. Grian sat up, straddling the captain's legs as he went for the kill with his sword. But the captain again had good instincts, putting his own sword up to defend himself. Grian pushing down onto it, trying to somehow bypass it.

The captain gritted his teeth, pushing the blade up and with a loud clang of metal in the reflect; the other was pushed back giving the pirate an opportunity to sit up and roll the two again- this time Grian on the floor and the pirate over him, swords once again gripping against each other in the midst of their own duel of which one will break first. And over the sparks, in the seemingly dead end within the battle with no rules, Grian took a guttural breath- and once again. Spit onto the pirates face.

It worked, the Pirate fell back, rolling off- closing his disgusted eye at this. Grian stood up, filled with adrenaline, his own sword in his hand- and pointed it at the pirate. Placed under his neck- the pirate doesn't even notice until he stops wiping his eye, looking up at Grian with a surprise. The pirate blinked, looking up at Grian with- with an unfamiliar expression. A beat passed between them, both breathing heavily, the wind passing through them. Grian let out a smile, he won.

And then two more swords were at Grians own neck. Right, the other two.

“Put the swords down.” The Captain said breathlessly, after nothing happened, he repeated the order, a much stricter tone “Did I stutter? Put the swords down, the man won!” He gestured at Grian. At this the swords disappeared from under his neck.

Doc looked at the sword Grian was holding with an incredulous look, Grian stared back not sure what he meant for a second before- “Ah, ri- right.” He stuttered, putting his sword back.

“What's your name sailor?” The pirate asks, standing up.

Grian did not want to give him his name- but, he feels like he owes him that after this but first- “What's your name?” Grian asked in response to the question.

“Now, that hurts.” The pirate stated, with a slight smile and a rolled eye, he bowed ceremoniously, clearly in mock. “I am Captain Doc. Surprised you do not know my name already.”

“The wanted posters don't give out your name-” Grian tried to excuse himself, before realising how that sounds.

“And yours?” Doc asks, disregarding that- but a smile still on his face showing he understood what he meant.

“Grian.”

“Grian.” The pirate repeated, in his deep, rumbling voice that made Grian shudder. “Well, Grian-” Grian realised that he regrets giving out his name, just for the sole reason of having to hear the pirate say it. “You won, we will let you go.”

Grian finally turned around, away from Doc, to see the other two pirates had flipped over the lifeboat he was trying to get too early. They were setting up to lower it, he looked back at the pirate. Doc put his sword back at his belt, hands in pockets and no ulterior motives to be seen.

Grian walked over to the lifeboat, sitting down before looking at the other two pirates with distrust. It's not like he’s going to ask to go get his things from under deck. Sitting down, he saw the two other pirates beginning to lower it down to the sea. Which calmed down fortunately, and as Grian looked back at the bright ship from above- he saw the Captain peer down overboard, crossed arms on the railing, just watching him.

It's as if he knew that Grian was angry he wasn’t paying attention the first time he was being plummeted to the bottom, and as he stared at Grian and Grian stared at him- well, Grian lost. He might have won the duel, but in the staredown he was defeated as he looked away back at his rowboat- his heart beating faster as he heard a chuckle from above. He looked back up and saw the captain gone. And as he was fully lowered, the other two pirates disappeared too. And Grian let out a deep breath.

“He- He had important information!” His crew was angry at him, Etho exclaimed when they passed back onto the boat, “Now- we killed an entire crew and we still couldn’t find the safe! You had your fun, you could have just forced the information out of that navy-”

Doc stared at the sea, completely ignoring his crew, the ship behind them where the duel took place was long onfire crumbling upon itself and the bodies it had onboard. The gold and cargo falling to the bottom of the sea.

He shrugged at the complaints, “He won.” He only said, staring out to the calm sea.

It seemed only Doc realised the fact he won, that that random navy defeated The Captain of the Golden Goat, in a duel. Maybe the crew was avoiding the topic, or didn’t understand the implications of the fact but Doc himself has- since the moment the sword was under his chin and he was looking up to the blonde man.

“Grian…” he murmured out, turning around- a smile returning to his face. “Huh.”

#hermitship #hermitshipping #gridoc #pirate au #my writing

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blancheludis · 4 years

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@whumptober2020, Day 6, “Get it out”

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, JARVIS, Bruce Banner Tags: Hidden Injury, 2012 Avengers, Hurt Tony, Team as Family Words: 4.129

Summary:

During a battle, Tony is injured by getting stabbed with a piece of his own armour. He hides it, of course he does, because he always dealt with these things alone. He has not counted on JARVIS and the bots ratting him out, however, and much less on Steve actually rushing to his side. Maybe he's more a part of the team than he thought.

---

Once the doors of the workshop close behind Tony, breathing gets that much harder. Away from prying eyes, he does not have to stand so tall anymore, does not have to concentrate on making well-timed quips and generally live up to the invincible part of his name. He does not have to pretend he is one wrong movement away from passing out. Right now, there is only quiet, the flashing red of the alarm inside the HUD, and the pulsing pain in his abdomen, threatening to overwhelm him.

Tony is not quite sure what hit him. The outside of the suit looks fine – apart from the obvious dents, but it does not have any glaring holes in it. They were fighting a group of AIM soldiers, but they did not seem to be particularly well-equipped. Although Tony has to admit that a few spectacularly devastating things have come out of their lab before. So, they either created a missile able to penetrate the suit without leaving much trace on the outside, or Tony almost killed himself with his own creation again by leaving exploitable weak points.

It does not matter. He is not dead and now that he is home he can sit down and sleep this off. Nobody has to know and once his brain is not flushed by adrenaline anymore, he can try to reinforce the places where the suit has failed him.

Taking as deep a breath as the pain allows, Tony takes a step forward. He will not have gained anything from collapsing right inside the door to the workshop. It is agony. Every little movement sends new shocks through his body until it feels like he is burning. The flashing red inside the HUD intensifies as if Tony does not notice he has a serious problem right now. But there is a first-aid kit stashed somewhere and he is already halfway to the assembly station. While Tony would like nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week or two, he needs to get the suit off first. He opens the face plate, relieved at the sudden lack of flashing red.

Another step, and JARVIS pipes up, sounding at once too formal and too urgent. His kid is worried. “Sir, if I might advise you to –”

“I won’t go to medical for a scratch,” Tony cuts him off and tries to put some authority in his tone, which is hampered by how little air he manages to get into his lungs.

“That scratch comes from a piece of your suit that has pierced your skin and runs approximately three inches deep,” JARVIS reports as if he thinks words will make Tony see reason. After an expectant pause, he adds, “With a considerable piece of metal still inside you.”

Bless modern technology, Tony thinks. What does he need the medical team for when his AI can diagnose him just as well, if not better? JARVIS knows him and does not needlessly prod him only to arrive at a conclusion Tony knew beforehand.

What a way to go, though, impaled on his own suit. The press would certainly call it poetic justice, and Tony might be inclined to agree with them. He does not plan on dying, though. A lot of trouble is still ahead of them and the team still needs him if they want to stand a chance against the army closing in on them from space.

With a last shaking step, Tony gets on the platform and steadies himself by grabbing one of the robotic arms. “Well, then we need to get it out.”

Tony does not need a medical doctorate to know that is not the best of ideas, not without proper preparation. He believes in JARVIS’ abilities, though.

“Let me alert someone at least,” JARVIS all but pleads. “Dr. Banner –”

“- is not that kind of doctor. Weren’t you listening to him?” Tony asks and manages half a smile. He knows perfectly well that Bruce would be put out if he ever found out Tony refused to call him in for help, no matter his constant protest that they have trained professionals for that.

“And yet he’s more proficient at stitching people back together than you are,” JARVIS argues, sounding like he is one wrong word away from open rebellion.

“He’s not more proficient at stitching me back together, though.” And that, in Tony’s opinion, is the absolute truth. He does not make it easy on people – or AIs – he knows, but he takes care of himself and tries not to be too much of a problem for other people. That is just human decency. Especially considering how many issues he has.

“Sir.”

When JARVIS resorts to quiet disapproval, Tony almost feels bad, but he is too miserable to let anybody else in. “It’s okay, JARVIS, I’ll be right as rain in a minute.” He just hopes they will not be called out for another mission any time soon. The pain might get better once the metal is out, but he will still have a hole in his side, which will make moving, much less fighting, a tad difficult. “Now, get the suit off.”

The robotic arms stay still and Tony thinks for the thousandth time that he needs to create a better system for that. A suit of armour is nice to have, but he needs an easier way to get out of it without ruining the suit than stepping on the platform in his workshop and hoping that his AI is in the mood to indulge him.

“It’s highly inadvisable to just rip out the piece of metal inside you.” If JARVIS had a foot, Tony is sure he would stomp angrily.

“I’m sure that’s still better than leaving it in,” Tony answers, trying to remain standing. “I don’t have the best of immune systems, if you remember.” He pats the arc reactor gently.

Tony is half-convinced that JARVIS is playing for time. The longer he waits, the more likely it is that Tony will collapse, and then he will not have any other choice but to call for help. Well, that only makes Tony fight harder to stay conscious. Worse than handing himself over to medical is being handed over while he does not know what is happening to him.

“At least get the rest of it off,” he suggests, wondering why his kids have to be so stubborn.

Nothing happens for another long moment. Then the machine whirs to life, slower than usual. Tony is sure JARVIS works as gently as he can and yet the process hurts. The removal jostles him, pressing against bruises and the pulsing wound in his abdomen. Waves of black roll through Tony’s vision and it is all he can do to stay upright.

When the chest plate is lifted, the dented pieces cling to each other, tugging on Tony’s abdomen in a way that has hot red pain shooting through him, making his knees buckle. JARVIS catches him with the robotic arms, the chest plate clattering carelessly to the ground.

“I really must insist –” JARVIS’ voice sounds from far away, barely audible over the ringing in Tony’s ears.

Still, Tony shakes his head, or maybe the world is just spinning in front of him. He is not sure what is happening anymore. Then familiar beeping reaches him as JARVIS has the robotic arms deliver him into the fretful hold of DUM-E.

“Hey there, buddy,” Tony mutters. It ends in a groan as a chair is pushed against the backs of his knees and he involuntarily falls into it. Manhandled by his own kids. It is probably for the best. Even sitting down, it is hard to stay upright instead of falling right down to the floor.

This is okay, he tells himself over and over again. A mantra to cling to. He has had worse. It just hurts. Looking down at himself, he sees the dented piece of the suit. It is not even bleeding much.

“I am sure you are aware it will start bleeding the moment you try to move that piece.”

Sluggishly, Tony blinks up at the ceiling, wondering when JARVIS learned to read his mind. That could come in handy – at least when JARVIS is not admonishing him.

“I must insist you allow me to call someone,” JARVIS goes on, sounding almost frantic now.

Tony wonders whether he really looks that bad. It almost feels okay now. The pain is dulled, almost like a second heartbeat. He could just go to sleep and wake up when everything is over.

“Just get it out,” Tony says. He is tired and just wants to get this over with. Sitting up straighter despite the pain, Tony clarifies, “Butterfingers, get the firs-aid kit. U, hold me. And DUM-E, get it out.”

This is probably not the best task to give to DUM-E, whose motor control is leagues behind Butterfingers’, but he is Tony’s oldest and least likely to rebel, if only because Tony never programmed any common sense into him.

Closing his eyes, Tony grabs the sides of the chair and braces himself for more pain – only nothing happens, nothing even moves. He glints and finds all his bots looking at him, DUM-E at least with an air of shame.

“JARVIS,” Tony bites out between clenched teeth. He does not have the energy to do everything himself. “Could you please not keep the bots from doing what I tell them to do?”

“My first priority is your well-being, sir,” JARVIS answers stiffly.

“And that means getting this damned metal spike out of my body, yes?” Tony snaps and glares at his bots.

“In a safe manner. I will not watch you bleed out right in front of me.”

If Tony were in less pain, he might acknowledge the trace of fear in JARVIS’ voice, but he does not have many alternatives to dealing with these things himself. There is no way he could go to Medical without the rest of the team finding out and they do not need the reminder that Tony is just a rather squishy human in a tin can. He does not know how Clint does it, who always comes out of fights with scrapes and bruises, unenhanced as he is. But Steve does not doubt his abilities as much as he does Tony’s.

“I won’t –”

Tony is interrupted by the door opening – which should not happen because he is sure that he ordered a complete lockdown. He always does when he comes home injured or when he needs to repair some serious damage done to the armour.

Drained and weary, he is unable to react quickly, does not even manage to really straighten in the chair. When he tries, fire spreads through his abdomen that has him flinch, unsettling his entire balance. It is all he can do not to slide right to the ground. And thus, barely hanging on to consciousness – and the last scraps of his dignity – Tony has to watch Captain America himself hurry into his workshop, his face already drawn into an unhappy frown.

This is it, he guesses. He does not have the energy for another shouting match about all the things he has done wrong, so he will likely say something unforgiveable just to get it over with or pass out. In Tony’s head, there is no way this will end with him still on the team. Irresponsible as he is, endangering the actually useful members of the team – he can already see where this is going.

“Cap, to what do I owe the honour?” Even to his own ears, Tony sounds strained, and his lips feel ready to crack when he pulls them into an estimate of a grin. It is a poor attempt at keeping up appearances, but Tony is too much of a Stark not to try.

Steve’s face grows considerably darker. “Don’t waste your energy, Tony. What were you thinking?”

These words should warrant a harsher voice and yet there is something careful to the way Steve moves. He comes closer, the bots getting out of his way without a fuss, and studies the way Tony is curled around the last piece of armour on his body.

“I thought we’d all take a nice post-mission shower and then meet up for dinner,” Tony says conversationally, doing his best to pretend Steve cannot see his shame. He is offering them an out. It would be easy for Steve to nod and leave, to let Tony himself deal with this mess. That is not how this works, however.

Steve looks like he will start yelling any minute now, and the familiarity of it relaxes Tony a bit, despite the pain. Some things will never change, and Steve’s disapproval of him and everything he does is one of them.

Then, Steve seems to think better of it and steps even closer, crouching down right in front of Tony. He reaches out as if to touch Tony’s side but his hand keeps hovering over the dented piece of armour.

“How bad is it?” Steve asks in a clinical tone.

Before Tony can even open his mouth to answer something dismissive, JARVIS speaks up, making him feel like he has been deemed unworthy to be a part of this conversation any longer.

“My preliminary scan shows that no vital organs or large blood vessels were hit, but there was considerable blood loss. Which will get worse when we try to mobilize the piece of the armour.” JARVIS sounds just as disapproving as Steve and in his haziness, Tony can just imagine the old Jarvis coming back from the dead only to appear right next to Steve, watching him with the same pinched expression.

In response, Steve pulls away his hand as if burned, as if his mere proximity might do more damage. Tony might be imagining things, though, since black is creeping in on his vision until he sees everything around him as if through a long dark tunnel.

“What hit him?” Steve asks, still with that worry.

Once again, Tony is too slow to keep the catastrophe from unravelling, and has to listen to JARVIS say, “It was blunt force that pushed parts of the suit inside Sir.” The honorific feels like a terrible mockery, considering that JARVIS is blurting out how irresponsible Tony was. What if he got a teammate hurt because he put himself out of commission and could not be there to help? “It is a stability issue of the seams that has been ignored in favour of more manoeuvrability.”

The glare Steve sends at Tony is enough to make his pulse race from more than the pain. They will have an argument about this later, Tony knows, and it will be ugly. If he is not thrown off the team altogether. Certain weak points have to be accepted if he wants to remain at peak usefulness. He is not sure where the difference is to Clint jumping off buildings every opportunity he gets without confirming someone is close by to catch him. The purely human members of the team have to take some risks at times – and they usually deal with it just fine.

Tony looks at where he knows one of JARVIS’ cameras is located and mouths, “Traitor.” Then he pushes himself away from Steve only to have the chair collide with Butterfingers, who is still right behind him. The unexpected jostling drives a whimper to his lips that he is too slow to swallow. He closes his eyes in shame, wishing this was just a bad dream.

“All right,” Steve says as if he has only just made up his mind about what he will do. “Can we move him to Medical or do we need to get a team here?”

“I’m perfectly fine with –” Tony bites out, his voice coming out much quieter than he wanted. It does not even surprise him anymore when he is ignored.

“I advise not to move Sir too much, although the piece should be removed in a sterile environment,” JARVIS says, no doubt thinking of Tony’s suppressed immune system. He has dealt just fine with that before. He does not need them to hold his hand through something he has done by himself a thousand times.

“Let’s get him a stretcher, then,” Steve decides and gets to his feet, although he keeps hovering over Tony as if he is just waiting for him to fall.

It is too much. The pain, the impending doom of Steve telling him he has outlived his usefulness, people deciding over his head what to do with him – Tony has enough.

“I’m not an invalid, damn it,” he snaps, glaring at Steve with all the energy he has left. “I can speak for myself and I can walk if I have to. I just fought a battle with you.”

Perhaps he should not have reminded them of the fight because Steve’s expression falls at that before settling into another frown.

“While injured,” he replies shortly. “That alone makes me doubt your mental capacity at the moment.”

This is so unfair. If Tony had bowed out of the fight just because of a scratch, he would have gotten a lecture about abandoning his team. Now that he kept on fighting, he is called irresponsible. Tony always knew that Captain America would disapprove of him but this is like dealing with Howard all over again and being unable to ever do anything right.

“Cap,” Tony tries but is cut off harshly.

“Don’t test me right now, Tony. I will not lose one of my team to his stubbornness. It’s bad enough that you didn’t tell anyone you are hurt.” The words do not quite fit the stormy expression. Then again, Steve has that helper syndrome where even losing just Tony would make him feel bad. “Why would you insist on going through this alone?”

The question hangs in the air between them for a minute, leaving Tony stunned with the desperate note clinging to the words. Then, Steve turns around abruptly and brings some distance between them before snapping at the air, “Where are you, Bruce? We need a med team up here immediately.”

Still stunned by the outburst, Tony is glad that Steve’s attention is not on him anymore. Otherwise, he might have just made a rather embarrassing admission like What if you decide to throw me off the team if you’re reminded how easily I’m hurt? or, worse, It’s better to hide than to find out nobody cares.

Tony does not believe that last thing, not really. He might not be a full-fledged member of the team, but they would care and they would help. Some lessons are hard to unlearn, however, and Tony has never been allowed to be vulnerable before.

“Steve,” Tony says, although he is not sure how to continue. He feels the urge to thank Steve. For coming. For not starting to yell immediately.

He does not come that far, however, because Steve whirls around to him and cuts him off. “No, I don’t want to hear any stupid excuses.”

That is more like it. Disappointment wars with relief in Tony’s chest. In the end, the familiar scorn is better than treading into the unknown and hoping for things to change. So, Tony swallows the words rising up in his throats and leans back in the chair. This time, he is prepared for the pain and keeps his face impassive. He is getting tired of this, and since his input is apparently not needed, he might as well close his eyes for a moment and get some rest.

“Tony? Are you –” A few hurried steps and Tony feels Steve right back at his side, sounding worried again. “I mean, is it getting worse?”

Tony is not sure. The pain is bearable when he does not move. His thoughts are very slow, which is not at all what he is used to, but that could just be the exhaustion.

“I’m fine,” he says because what else is there to do? “Everything’s fine.”

He keeps his eyes closed, does not want to see Steve, does not want to face reality at the moment. The darkness is pulling him under and he does not fight it. What for? Help is on the way, JARVIS and Steve will not let him do anything on his own. Might as well pass out and not have to face the fear of other people’s hands all over him.

“Stay with me, Tony,” Steve’s voice sounds from a distance.

That sounds like a bad idea. Staying with Steve means shame and arguments. No, he will stay like this and do his best to miss all the excitement. He might not like things happening to him that he is not fully aware of but it sounds nice to wake up once everything is over and he is alone again. He could –

Pain shoots through him, more acute than before, that makes him snap up his head and blink against the sudden light. He is not sitting in his workshop anymore. Instead, he is lying down, tight straps over his chest and legs, and the ceiling is flying by. Panic rises in him and he does not have any energy left to fight it.

“We’re here, Tony,” Bruce’s voice reaches him, calm and familiar, right before his face appears like a dark blob above Tony.

Only a second later, Steve shows up on the other side. “They’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t –” Tony says, but his mouth is too dry to continue.

Don’t watch, he means. Don’t let them take out my heart. Don’t let them put another battery in me.

“We’ll stay with you,” Steve says and it sounds like a promise, like he understands Tony’s fear, although they have never talked about his time in that cave. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Those two things are not the same, Tony wants to point out, but darkness comes creeping back in from the corners of his vision.

“Hold –” you to that, he wants to say.

Instead, the last thing he feels before unconsciousness claims him is something grabbing his hand and holding on tight.

---

When Tony wakes up, he is in his room. At first, he thinks he dreamt up all the excitement, his fantasy spurred into motion by blood loss and exhaustion. Some part of his incorrigible heart keeps wishing to be saved, no matter how much he fights it.

Then he hears the familiar beeping of a heart monitor and feels the pressure of bandages around his abdomen. That alone is a clear indicator he got outside help. If he had done this one his own, DUM-E would have gotten tangled up in the bandages until Tony decided a band aid would have to be enough. And he would have passed out in the workshop. Maybe he would have gotten to the couch. But his bed? Never.

Shame wells up inside him, but he stomps down on it. There is no use in dwelling on something he cannot change anymore. Now, he must soldier on and deal with the consequences.

When Tony opens his eyes fully and looks around, he is greeted by the strangest sight. On the sides of his bed sit Bruce and Steve, both asleep and looking like they would desperately need a bed of their own. Worse, Steve is still in his uniform, which means he really has not left Tony’s side since finding him in the workshop.

That thought does strange things to Tony’s stomach, which he cannot dully blame on his hole in his abdomen. He distantly remembers them promising they would stay with him, but that is just what people tell those who are injured and would rather jump off the rood of the tower than get actual, medical help. They were not meant to actually do that.

Opening his mouth, Tony means to clear his throat, to say something, to send them off to bed. Before he can get a single sound over his lips, however, his eyes fall on his hand. Specifically, his hand that is held by Steve.

Oh. Tony’s mind is blank, wondering what to make of that.

As it is, the lights around him dim a bit more, just enough to catch Tony’s attention. JARVIS, then, telling him that everything is all right – and probably admonishing him to shut up and let things be.

Later, Tony will blame it on exhaustion, but he complies without a second thought. With one last glance at their intertwined hands, Tony closes his eyes.

Maybe he is not in as much trouble as he thought. Or, in any case, a different kind than expected.

#whumptober2020 #no. 6 #get it out #marvel #fanfiction #tony stark #steve rogers #hidden injury #ao3 #my writing

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newsiegirlscout · 4 years

Text

Comfortember Day Four: Anxiety!

I should not have spent as long on this as I did, but fanfiction is always cheaper than therapy.

@brushes-of-sage, because they need both and the best I can offer is some Team Awesome in these trying times.

Varian had to be the worst liar Eugene had ever seen.

All second-guessing, slipshod explanations; he animated everything so much more dramatically, and one look at the way his eyes darted away usually gave away exactly what (and where) he was hiding.

And Eugene had never seen it any more clearly than in the way Varian said “I’m fine.”

*******************************************************************************************

Project Obsidian had started as one of Varian’s ideas, a second-wave of the infamous Rrrrooster; originally, it had started as a counterattack, a way to slow down the moonstone’s power.

After Cassandra kidnapped him, his blueprints increased the strength of the catalyst and the firepower drastically; in Varian’s own terms, he moved on to figuring out how to slow down Cassandra. Eugene himself understood little of it when Varian explained it for the first time, but whistled upon seeing the sketches amidst masses of scribbled notes and smudged ink.

“So this will stop her in one shot?”

“Yeah! It should, anyway.” he said, sipping delicately from the coffee Eugene had insisted he wouldn’t like, and wincing to confirm he didn’t, “Once it hits black rock--which her armor is made out of--it will crystallize immediately and immobilize her within six-point-seven seconds--or was it seven-point-six? The blowback on it is enormous, though, heh, since the liquid amber serum is dispersed at three hundred fifty miles a second, so, heh, might want to make sure your soldiers are up-to-snuff on their armor upkeep.” Varian rubbed his own shoulder and laughed softly. “You need to deploy the trigger slowly, too--got a heck of a burn from the experimental trial, testing the prototype with a nonreactive compound.”

“Y’know…” Eugene said softly, “If we can get a decree passed for it, then I can put it at the front of the attack, but I think you’re the best man for the job.”

His eyes widened, coffee mug crashing to the floor.

“Eugene-” he said, hands shaking, “I-uh-I couldn’t, I mean, your soldiers are s-so much better trained--”

There it was--the Captain of the Guard smirked, hearing the trademark voice crack, stutter, and haphazard excuse. Typical translation: I’d love to, but--was it don’t want to? Still nursing a crush on the notorious dragon lady, maybe?

In the silence, Varian stumbled for words clumsily, looking valiantly for a way out. “And besides, ah--” he flushed crimson, gesturing to his shoulder, the opposite of the one he’d claimed to have burned.

Since when has this kid been worried about getting hurt? Wait--

And it clicked, as the alchemist stood up and closed his singed sketchbook, sliding it into his satchel even as the pages crumpled.

I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m going to hurt someone.

“Hey, not so fast now…” Eugene said in the softest tone he could, “Kid, has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar?” Then, with a bit of a chuckle, “And I mean terrible, you could pick that up from the next kingdom over.”

Varian cracked a small smile, rubbing his shoulder sheepishly. “That bad, huh?”

“I mean, we can talk about whatever you’re hiding later, but as the former Flynn Ryder, it’s my duty--no, my destiny--to impart upon you the key to getting away with murder.”

“I’m insulted, Eugene, you say this like I haven’t.”

The elder of the two winked and gave him finger-guns. “Well, technically, you didn’t manage to carry through on either of those things, so here’s how to charm the court--and the audience--alike.”

*******************************************************************************************

“So by instituting Project Obsidian into the royal force, I think we could protect Corona against future attacks from Cassandra.” Varian finished, concluding his presentation at the royal meeting. Nigel leaned forward, and there was something in his...energy that made Varian uneasy.

“Interesting proposal.” he said quietly, staring straight at the alchemist, “Why the direct action, in particular? I believe the princess last spoke in favor of peaceful efforts….on several occasions.”

And suddenly, the room grew hot.

A current-red flush spread from Varian’s face down to his neck, and his chest tightened. Vaguely, he was aware of the sliding of Eugene’s chair against the floor, the almost colloquial way he challenged the royal advisor with a smile--”Well, Nigel, I believe you last spoke in favor of dragon elimination, how’d that work out for you?” but the jostle of Eugene’s hand against his shoulder was the first breath of air before falling under the riptide.

And Rapunzel held her hand to him desperately as Queen Arianna pulled away from the golden fragments, crystallizing, fractalizing, reaching towards her--

And Lance offered him a second chance as Andrew was armed with the most volatile compound Varian had ever created and he had no promise, no word, and no trust to offer them--

And Cassandra screamed as the automaton’s mechanical claws crushed her ribcage (he’d never heard her scream before, and the ha that registered immediately in his mind was one of the first things to haunt him in prison)--

And he was going to give her a silent death on a hair-trigger impulse.

Nigel’s quill scratched across the parchment, and he was going to prison, he was going to be tried at the gallows, he was going to be hanged without a single person to speak for him--

He barely managed a half-bow and a quick approximation of “Thank you for your time” before his throat closed

And he left the palace grounds as fast as his boots could carry him

And he sobbed.

*******************************************************************************************

Eugene’s boots crossed the castle garden lightly, and Varian turned away as soon as he saw them.

“Had a feeling I’d find you here.” he said quietly, sitting a few feet away on a beautifully-painted swing between two flowerbeds. “What’d I tell you? All about misdirection and a cat’s tone, you can get anything you want. We have a tentative act, minus Rapunzel’s signature, and, I think, one of history’s greatest lieutenants.”

“Go away, Eugene.” he said softly, “Delegate someone else, I--” his shoulders shook, tears pooling in his eyes as he huddled closer to the trees “I-I’m just going--I’m just going to hurt her.”

“Now, what is it?” he said playfully, digging his heels back into the soft ground, “Speculative hypothesis number one: Varian of Old Corona has proven effective the use of amber as non-lethal force.”

“Premise.” he grumbled, as Eugene swung back ever so slightly.

“Not just a science rule?”

“A hypothesis is an idea of what will happen, a premise is a presumption that it will.” he said, though his tone was flat and emotionless, devoid of any enjoyment.

“Premise numero due: Cassandra of Corona has given the conditions for permission of strong force if necessary; Princess Rapunzel has requested the strongest non-lethal force available.

Premise three: Varian of Old Corona is a good person, and wouldn't hurt anyone.”

“Even you can’t get--get away with that, Eugene.” he snapped, even as the panic set back in because he would, and he had, and they knew it. “Even if I didn’t want to--half my stuff blows up anyway, and I--if I made the wrong decision too fast, I could--”

The Captain knelt down closely by him, lifting his chin up softly and smiling. “But you won’t.”

Varian got no further into his argument before he was wrapped in a hug warm and strong and trusting enough, and just for once, everything was going to be okay.

“Tally-ho, then, lieutenant,” Eugene said brightly, patting him on the shoulder, “Our training awaits.”

“Tally-ho, Captain.” Varian said quietly, smiling.

#(I'm still overall unsatisfied with this but ah c'est la vie)#(does this fall flat or am I #just desperate for a hug right now? Anyone's game!)#tts #rta #rapunzel's tangled adventure #varian #eugene fitzherbert #team awesome #comfortember #project obsidian #variangst

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agent-cupcake · 4 years

Text

Anon asked for prompt 22 with Hubert

the read more isn’t working so here we are. thanks Tumblr, you’re Gucci af

22. “I’d never hurt you. Not unless you forced me to.”

The dark parted, pain slipping through in an agonizing stream. Thunderous hooves pounding against the ground, inside your head. Skin sliced apart, all of the insides slopping out onto the outsides. But then the rain engulfed you, ice freezing so cold it burned. You wanted to scream, but when you opened your mouth, water filled your lungs. And it was too much. You drowned.

Life had taught you to be mischievous and curious, to smile through the gloom if only to prove you could. You were the weird one, the strange one. Even at the academy, you never truly became a fighter. It simply wasn’t your nature. But that didn’t matter in the end. Survival became more important than living the day the Empire declared a terrible and bloody war against the Church of Seiros. And so you became something else, someone else. And now that person was broken, shattered into tiny shards of porcelain and scattered far and wide across the Tailtean Plains.

Goddess save you, it hurt. Everything, everywhere it hurt. Punishment, surely, because living through calamity was grotesque, unnatural. You should have died, but you had not. Consciousness wavered in and out. At some point, you opened your eyes to the smeary world around you. Faces flashed across your vision, voices echoed and rang in your ears. You tried to speak, but your tongue was swollen and numb and there was no air. Each labored breath was a stab of pain. There was movement beneath you, around you. Jolting, jostling. Onward, forward. The nauseating scent of the battlefield stuck in your nose, the movement of your world twisting your insides. Vomit choked you. The rain washed over you anew.

Clouds broke to give a reprieve from the oppressive rain, but there was no clarity. You couldn’t understand. The pain was less intense now, but you couldn’t help but whimper, uncomfortable to the very marrow of your bones. A new face appeared. An awful, bitter liquid filled your mouth, giving you no choice but to swallow. In turn, you were swallowed by the sharp maw of darkness.

The world had stopped moving. Your surroundings had changed. The world had finally settled. And through the daze of the drugs they forced you to swallow, you remembered. Your friends were dead. Lost to you. The strength and bravery you had so desperately clung to were lost. In a ragged and hoarse voice, you begged for death. It filled the small, stone cell. You thrashed about so violently that you had to be tied down to the bed lest you injure yourself further. And still, they forced medicine, food, water, and treatment upon you.

Swimming in the daze of herbs administered for pain management and to keep you docile, you wept. Drowning in your tears, hours and hours spent mourning for the country you’d lost and the friends who died while you inexplicably were kept alive.

You couldn’t understand.

But, eventually, when you could cry no more, you realized that you had to try.

So you fought the dark and the monsters that lived there, refusing to give in to the sleep you knew would bring nightmares. The tears had gone, your hitching sobs faded into painful hiccups. The pain was the ache of healing ribs, as it turned out. The crying and thrashing had done little to help.

There, in the dark, you focused. Glazed eyes fixed upon the stone ceiling, sluggish mind moving through memories and thoughts, testing each one to check for value. The sandstone above you was marked with a map of cracks. Your lips moved with whispered words as you attempted to compile some understanding of all that had happened. The whole room was cold stone, indifferent to your pain. Your head ached, but you forced yourself to think.

“I heard them say it,” you muttered, your voice quiet to avoid putting too much pressure on your ribs. “The battle at the Tailtean Plains was a complete loss for the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. For us. King Dimitri is... He’s dead. They’re all dead.” The lack of passion in your voice scared you, but it wasn’t unearned. You had tried to verbalize the reality of everyone’s death a dozen or so times now, each attempt ending in tears.

“But I’m not dead.” Not for a lack of trying, though. Towards the very end, a sword had slashed a gaping wound into your side. You could recall fragments of that moment. Shock, terror. The fall was missing from your memory, but you remembered the agony of hitting the ground. As the dark invited you, the rain cutting beneath your skin and running your blood pink, there was a voice, a set of hands. Someone you clung onto in those final moments. And the call of the abyss.

“The Imperial army spared me,” you said. “I… Don’t know why. The cut was fixed, but there were too many other wounded soldiers to heal me completely.” It wasn’t worth mentioning that your captors probably didn’t want you to be healed, either. An injured, drugged prisoner was a bit more convenient. “Now we’re in Enbarr,” you continued. “I’ve never been to Enbarr. I always hoped I’d get to come and see the opera, Professor Manuela made it sound so...” Your whispers died off with that thought, chapped lips relaxing into a part to make way for your wheezing breaths. It was too much to think of things like that, lost memories from when your life was normal and made sense.

You didn’t want to sleep, but the sudden exhaustion was too much to bear and the sound of rain was pulsing, pounding, undeniable, inescapable.

It was light again, the sun shining outside the tiny slit window of your cell. The priest who visited you on what you assumed to be a daily basis was a stern man with exhausted eyes. He gave you no name and did not as for yours, all the while stoically ignoring all of your questions. Each day he checked on you, he reapplied the Silence that kept your only weapon unusable. There was a servant who managed the lamps, gave you food, and switched out the chamberpot, but she did so without so much as a single word to you. She had never so much as given you a glance. With such intense isolation, it was no wonder you’d begun speaking to yourself so frequently. You worried that if you didn’t, you’d forget how to.

Light, then dark. Another visit from the taciturn Priest. With treatment, your wounds were healing nicely. They no longer plied you with sleeping powders or potions. As badly as you had wished for it before, recovery and control over your own mind was a double edge sword. On the one hand, you were glad. On the other, you feared what would happen now that you were more or less whole. Any day now, your captives would make their intentions for your rescue clear and you didn’t hold out much hope that it was altruistic in nature. They’d question you, maybe. Possibly torture you. You knew many things you shouldn’t, after all. If you were being completely honest, you knew that you would break quite easily under the threat of pain. Your life had never taught you to be strong, and even small pains made your eyes well up with tears. After the questioning, they would kill you. That was the only logical conclusion. There was nothing they could ever do to make you accept Edelgard as your ruler. You could never, ever forgive any of them for what they had done. You’d be a loose end.

Cowardice struck deep and icy into your spine whenever your thoughts began to spiral in that direction. Not tears of mourning, but of self-pity. Pathetically, all you could linger on was that you didn’t want this to happen, any of it. All you had ever wanted was to be with your friends. See the opera in Enbarr, visit the Alliance’s famed capital, and help King Dimitri rebuild Faerghus with all your friends. It wasn’t fair. Why weren’t you dead? Why you and not them? Why did Emperor Edelgard declare war? You knew so many things but understood so little.

But the world didn’t stop for your ignorance.

Minutes. Hours. Days. You had no idea how much time passed between the Priest’s visits. The sound of the door to your cell being unlocked yanked you from a hazy half-sleep. It was expected, and you weren’t entirely awake as you turned on your thin bed to sit up –a motion that still brought alarming amounts of pain to your damaged midsection– and smoothed your hair as a nod to manners you to whom you owed no tribute. You considered what you might say to the Priest, if you would try jokes or threats or anything to distract you from reality and make you feel more human. He had never responded, but you tried anyway. To remind yourself, maybe, of what you were. Or for some easy entertainment. Today you’d go with a joke, you could think of a really good joke, surely-

Those thoughts dissipated like mist burned away by the sun when you recognized the man who entered your cell. Hubert had changed, but not so much that you could be confused as to his identity. The shock of change was the first thing you noticed once the jarring jolt of seeing him enter your cell abated somewhat, the thing your mind grasped onto dearly to keep from panicking. Hubert von Vestra, Emperor Edelgard’s intimidating shadow. Not much of a shadow now, towering over your sitting form with an unreadable look of consideration on his face.

Fear and anxiety threatened to overtake you when you met his stare, but you combatted it with sheer disbelief. You knew quite a bit about Hubert. As far as particular points of intrigue, he was practically a gold mine of secrets and mystery. If that weren’t enough, Hubert was also tied to many of the most fascinating secrets you’d uncovered. You made it a point to keep up with spies and informants that dealt in information about the man in specific. A hobby of yours.

Unfortunately, you knew very little about who had become as a person. None of the reports spoke of the things you couldn’t help but notice now. Hubert retained that aura of malice you remembered, but his manner of presentation had changed dramatically. Not merely the hair and the clothes, or the whetstone of time that sharpened his cutting bone structure into something lethal, but some fundamental piece of his identity. Gone was the borderline awkward line of his stiff shoulders and self-important smirk, replaced by something more natural. Hubert’s posture and expression now belonged to him entirely, worn with all the comfort of a favored coat. Although he had been technically an adult even during the academy days, the person you saw now was a man. Odd how that distinction mattered. Odd how it made your skin crawl, want to scramble off the bed to ease the height disparity and attempt to gain some sort of upper hand.

Five years ago you hadn’t felt afraid of Hubert in the least. But, five years ago you hadn’t been a prisoner of war facing the victor from a position of battered powerlessness. Five years ago you had been an awkward teenage girl who chased secrets without knowing the inherent danger of finding things people would prefer to keep hidden. Five years ago you hadn’t been overpoweringly aware that you were helpless beneath his imposing, masculine presence. Now you understood, and so it was only rational for you to feel afraid.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well, I feared you wouldn’t make it the last time we parted,” Hubert said with a poisonous warmth, sitting on the only other piece of furniture in the cell beside the bed –a chair that the surgeon usually occupied. Like the bed, it was bolted to the floor. As if you were any great combatant. Even if you weren’t injured, the permanent state of Silence imposed on you would have rendered any and all of your combat strength null.

Words jumped to your tongue, but you tempered them. This interaction was not to be taken lightly. So you measured Hubert. The immediate response was to ask him if he was the one to save you, given that the last time you remembered meeting him was five years ago. You couldn’t remember anything following the battle on the plains, especially not him, but after a second you decided that was redundant as the affirmative was the only logical conclusion. Then you considered demanding to know why he had saved you and why you were here, but feared that your fear and weakness would leak through those words.

In your most intimate mind, past the uneasy calm you clung to, you longed to express fire hot rage and claw his eyes out, to damn the consequences and attack him with all your meager strength for what he had done. It wasn’t like you to do that, but maybe just this once you could be that person. It was what he deserved, what your friends deserved.

But you didn’t. Worse, you feared you couldn’t, that your strength would fail you and you’d only be reminded once more of the weakness you had never been able to kick. Instead, you found yourself without a single word to greet a man you hadn’t seen in over five years, your eyes glassy as wrath turned to despairing slush in your veins. Seeing him reminded you of all you had lost. Reminded you of the last time you had seen him, standing against his Imperial troops in defending the monastery. That battle had been the last with all of your friends. They were all dead or traitors now. Thinking of it was like tugging open the ragged skin of an open wound, making you physically recoil away. Weakness, too weak. You did your best to shove those thoughts from your mind, to steady your breathing.

Hubert studied you a moment longer, continuing to wait for you to respond. Finally, he scoffed, a sound at odds with the slight smirk on his face. “Not even a thanks?” he asked. “Well, you always were unforgivably rude. Constantly watching Lady Edelgard and asking questions about things you had no business knowing. I considered killing you a dozen times, you know.”

“How flattering,” you responded, or tried to. The words were meant to be cheeky, to show you weren’t afraid, but your voice was shaking and hoarse from disuse and got garbled up before they even left your mouth. Instead, they set you coughing, a reaction that struck your bandaged ribs and stomach with about as much tenderness as a hammer and stole away any of the power you’d tried to claim. Either the pain or the coughing set your eyes to watering and face flushing red hot, head and chest aching fiercely when you pulled in a final wheezing gasp. The cup of water on the floor at the side of your bed was stale, but welcome in the way it soothed your ragged throat. “How flattering,” you tried again when you had a grip on yourself, grinding the words out to keep them steady.

“Flattering? Hardly. You were an annoyance, nothing more than a pest I considered for extermination,” Hubert said, doing one of the last things you’d expect and passing you a plain white handkerchief with a look of half-concealed disdain. You accepted after only a second of considering your options and, deciding that it was more embarrassing to look a mess than to take his charity, used it to mop up your face. Whatever the small act of kindness meant, you were in no position to turn it down.

That justification didn’t ease the discomfort of the way he smirked at your easy acceptance, watching you in a way you found nearly unbearable. Hubert was smart, smarter than you, maybe. Where you were a hobbyist, he was a professional. Not with people, but with the deconstruction of them.

“Unfortunately, it seems that inviting the ire of those more powerful than yourself wasn’t a habit you managed to rid yourself of,” Hubert continued. He spoke in a tantalizing way, inviting you to ask questions, to give into the blunt shock factor he was trying to encourage. Part of you wanted to give in –those words really did pique your curiosity. You had always been interested in knowing the things you shouldn’t. It was probably the most valuable attribute you’d brought to the war. But you weren’t quite so reckless as you had once been and the other part of your mind just wanted to ask him to say what he wanted outright, annoyed with the pointless posturing.

Unfortunately, you were too afraid of your voice cracking to do either. Hubert waited for you, but it was a fruitless pause, each ticking second wearing away at your raw nerves. He sighed in annoyance when you didn’t rise to the bait which was, in its own way, a bit of a victory.

“You see, before the battle, I was asked to ensure your death. A request on behalf of someone quite important,” Hubert began to explain. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? You’re laughably unimportant, even among those defending the Church. I understand it as necessary to see to the death of all the kingdom patriots, but why name you in particular?” Hubert waited again as if for an answer, but the gleam in his eyes indicated that it was merely a pause to watch your reaction. His smile was sharp, eyes flashing. “So I began looking into you, wondering if you were the same annoyingly meddlesome girl I remembered from the academy who stuck her nose into things she really ought to have left alone. You’re smarter than you were, but I managed to find evidence of your nosing in the most… Unwanted of places.”

Your heart sank, stomach twisting and sloshing with the water you’d just downed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said flatly, despondently.

“You can’t lie to me. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while. Once we reclaimed the Kingdom capital, it wasn’t difficult to find your notes.” You tensed up, thinking of all the information you’d compiled. So caught up your own tragedy, you’d nearly forgotten. “You needn’t worry, I managed to keep them away from any prying eyes. Although, after studying them for a bit, I think I can understand why they would want you dead. The shadowy cabal you write about, that you’ve taken so much effort to document and study. Those Who Slither in the Dark.”

Your breath caught. The name made you flinch away, such a stupid reaction. Words couldn’t hurt you and yet these ones… They laid heavy in their air. Those Who Slither in the Dark. You had known they were working with the Empire, but hadn’t believed they’d be entrenched in the very heart of the Imperial crown. It made sense, in a way. A sickly, horrifying sort of sense. Hubert was working through them, for them, and they wouldn’t spare you. That was all you could think. Compared to their other crimes, the torture of a single individual wasn’t even that bad. All things being equal, it was practically a mercy. Hubert’s eyes didn’t stop gleaming, flashing, devouring your expressions as they flittered across your face.

“Your friends didn’t believe you about them. Nobody did. They never so much as attempted to understand you, let alone believe what you were saying,” Hubert sounded gleeful in reminding you of that fact. You had no idea how he could have possibly known that, but it hurt too badly to ask. Of course your friends hadn’t believed you, there were far more pressing issues to be dealt with. Only Rhea had given any indication that she knew of who you spoke. But her warpath was waging in one direction, and she didn’t care to consider your conspiracy. Of course, of course-

“They didn’t know,” you said, hating the weak tremor of your voice. You had to be stronger, to redirect the conversation. “But you… Your emperor… You’re are working with them.” Emotion bled into your tone, and you didn’t bother trying to hide it. It was a stronger feeling, anger. His emperor was the one who had lead the deadly assault on your country and kinsmen. Your king, your friends, dead at her orders. Commands supported by those shadowy fiends and their horrifying tactics. Your friends had no reason to believe you about Those Who Slither in the Dark, but there was no way Hubert didn’t know fully what they were and what they had done.

“Using them,” Hubert clarified lightly, clearly unphased by your accusation.

“You used them to destroy Arianrhod?” you asked Hubert. “No survivors. Civilians, soldiers, women, and children all taken out in fell swoop… Emperor Edelgard can only rule when the land has been scorched into submission, is that it?”

A controlled flash of dangerous anger, purified violent intent, crossed his face. “You forget your place,” Hubert said, his voice curling with deadly promise. “Speak of Her Majesty in such a disrespectful manner again and I’ll have your tongue.”

You shied away from him on instinct, flushing with fear. You really had forgotten your place, your circumstances. There was nothing in Hubert’s expression or voice to indicate that he wasn’t willing to follow through with that threat, and you could do nothing to stop him. Defiance was so easy until you remembered the consequences.

“I’m sorry,” you said, speaking without even thinking about it, anything to spare yourself, to soothe the familiar flare of hot tempers.

Hubert looked somewhat surprised by the apology, but that quickly became a smile. “It’s difficult to believe you are the woman he was worried about, so easily giving in to such an inconsequential threat. Truthfully, I expected a bit more fight,” he said. Your shoulders curled inwards as you avoided Hubert’s eyes out of embarrassment, scorning yourself a hundred times over and hoping you never found out what he would consider a consequential threat. Seemingly bored of your silence, he moved on with a more business-like tone, “To answer your question, allow me to ask you this. Did you approve of everything the church did? Or did you see their help merely as a means to an end, a way to defeat the Empire and potentially use in rebuilding Faerghus.”

The question threw you off once more, making you frown. Hubert would understand that type of thinking, you’d seen him employ it a dozen times over with the dubious types he would hire to enact some of his missions. It was practical. Then you thought of Lady Rhea, her rage. Her terrifying, unholy rage. You couldn’t help but shiver. And then there was the matter of their sin, a well-documented lie they hid from the world, banning innovation and information. The Church was corrupt in a deep-seated way, rotten down to its roots. You could understand the argument Hubert was making, it was only logical.

You shook your head in denial of that understanding. “That’s a false equivalence,” you protested. “The Church might have been bad, but the people you’re working with are… Malice incarnate. How could you even think to use them? The pain they caused, the unspeakable things they’ve done.” You let out a breath, focusing on the pain of your ribs to try and avoid getting emotional again. “I just don’t understand.”

“Fortunately, I don’t require your comprehension of such decisions,” Hubert said dismissively, doing nothing to hide his patronizing tone. “Now that the Empire has taken out the corrupt Church of Seiros, it is my duty to wage the shadowy war on Those Who Slither in the Dark. Due to their extreme reach and power, I cannot trust many to join me in this cause. Consider this a professional venture. Help me destroy Those Who Slither in the Dark. In return, I’ll allow you to live.”

“If I don’t?” you asked, an instinctual question. You knew the answer, of course you did.

“I’ll kill you,” Hubert said without pause. His posture was relaxed into the chair, his arms folded and head tilted slightly with a small twist of a smile on his face. Confidence radiated from the man. Curiosity, maybe, to see which path you would take.

You stared at him with parted lips and wide eyes, realizing once again that you were a coward. After waking up, bound and undergoing treatment sustained from trying to take on the Imperial Army, knowing you had lost the battle and everything you held dear, you had begged to be killed. That was the only honorable way of it, to die with your king and country. It’s what Hubert would do, what any of your friends would do.

And yet now that he offered it, death did not sound so appetizing after all.

“Does allowing me to live mean I’ll be free?” you asked, a hedging point for negotiation. You had no leg to stand on in the matter, but you felt as if you had to at least try.

“It means I won’t kill you,” Hubert reiterated bluntly. Meeting his eyes, shadowed by the poor lighting of the room yet soaking up every drop of the yellow spectrum light, you realized once more that you had no power here. He was asking for your aid, but you were not necessary. Convenient, if anything.

And you were a coward. An awful, terrible coward.

“Fine,” you said. For the greater good, you told yourself desperately. For the sake of those who died. For the sake of those who yet lived. To take down the biggest evil, the one King Dimitri was too blind to even consider might exist. Because you could escape, you could liberate Faerghus just as your friends wanted, as Loog did.

Because you didn’t want to die.

Hubert smiled. The smile of the grim reaper himself.

“I suspect you’re ready to be freed of this cage, then? We have an unimaginable amount of work ahead of us. Your wounds seem to be healing nicely.” Without warning, Hubert reached out, taking your chin in hand to tilt your face into the light. It must have been awful, a faded watercolor of bruises, but Hubert looked more intrigued than disgusted. The feeling of his gloved hand on your skin sent a shock through you, your muscles becoming tense and breath catching in fear. He noticed this, too. And it made him smile. “Are you scared of me?” Hubert asked, amused by the idea. “You shouldn’t worry. I’d never hurt you. Not unless you forced me to.”

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x reader #fe hubert #fe hubert x reader #yandere #fire emblem three houses spoilers #FE3H #my writing

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casperki · 4 years

Text

Trust Me • Chapter 1

Summary: I led a quiet little life, surrounded by wonderful people. My daily life consisted of taking care of others. I was happy to lead a simple life, until I became the prisoner of the most powerful man in the kingdom.

Theme: Fluff, Romance, Angst, Policy, Power, Adventure, Middle Age, Soldiers

Pairing: Warrior! Min Yoongi x Caregiver! Original Character

Word count: 1,7k

Warning: language, violence, aggressivity

Disclaimer: Storyline, events and characters are fictitious, I only borrow BTS’ members name and physical appearance. Some events may be inspired by historical ones, but they aren’t accurate. Please keep in mind English isn’t my first language, I still lack vocabulary, I do some mistakes and my sentences may not be as pretty as natives’ speaker ones. Don’t hesitate to correct me and give me some advice, I would be more than happy to improve!

- - -

My eyelids are so heavy. However, I cannot sleep. I must stay awake. My back hurts against the strong bars behind me. Every parts of my body hurts. At least it is a proof I am still alive. But for how long? It has been days, maybe weeks or months I have not eaten nor drunk correctly.

My eyelids are becoming heavier. I cannot take a nap now, not now everyone is supposedly sleeping. As days before, the convoy we are stopped for the night to get some rest.

I am exhausted, dehydrated and starving. My brain cannot even think properly nor remember how I managed to get there, with these men. I can only focus on surviving, on staying awake when they are all asleep. I could sleep when the sun rise, when we get back on the road so they will be busy finding their way.

My legs and knees hurt but I cannot expend them. The cage is too small. At least I do not have to walk miles a day into the mud like other prisoners. My crime is to be the only woman of the convoy and probably the last one those prisoners see before a long time. The first night of our journey, I remember falling asleep on the grass, my head resting on the root of a tree, when I felt wandering hands trying to open my dress. I opened my eyes with fear to see a prisoner so closed to me with his hands ripping off my petticoat. This vison terrified me so much that my screams woke up the entire regiment. The closest soldier came in hurry, quickly followed by another one to repel the prisoner and to beat me for being too loud. That was the reason why I ended up being lock into this wooden cage. “you make them hungry” a soldier explained with a look of disgust towards me, acting like prisoners were the only threat for me, like soldiers were not also looking for some fresh meet.

I am freezing even more since the sun is rising. I put my knees closer to my chest and blow on my dirty hands to feel some warm. My wrists hurt because of the tight strings. I can feel the strings encrusted into my flesh.

Daybreak slowly woke the convoy up. Prisoners are allowed to drink some water from the river close by before we get back on the road. A soldier approached the cage with a small bowl-like full of water. This stupid one poured more than the half on my dress trying to give me drink through the bars. I savoured the so rare water, knowing I would not get any sooner. Once the horses are harnessed, we resumed our interminable journey.

The sun was on the zenith when I reopened my eyes. I cannot recognise the landscape around us. I have never been this far from wherever I was coming from. We may have even left the country; I could not tell. The convoy stopped again to drink a bit. A soldier, the one with smalls eyes and an authoritative tone, their leader, told us -more like he yelled at us- we would not stop again until we reach our destination. He didn’t mention our destination before and yet remained silence about where we were going. Finally, I know that we aren’t travelling aimlessly. However, I still don’t know why I am here and who these men are. Thanks to their habits I deduced they are soldiers for the most of them. The others, the prisoners, were poorly dressed, chained to each other.

***

An aggressive yell woke me up. I could not understand what it says. A sharp pain onto my arm made me open my eyes. The dumb soldier was pulling my arm to get me out of the cage. I complied and managed myself to get out of the cage. Looking around I cannot see anything else than darkness. Only few torches light up the convoy and some small buildings. It seemed like we reached a city.

The dumb soldier still holding strongly my arm, an other soldier, taller, places a cloth on my eyes to keep them close. I could hear the leader ordering his soldiers to wait for us here before I hear him going ahead me. The dumb soldier pushed my arm forward, ordering me to walk.

My blindfolded eyes and my exhausted body made me stumble and fall few times. My legs, bent for days in that small cage, forgot how to walk properly, making the soldiers yell at me to get up. After long minutes, I supposed we reached the destination. I could feel a tough floor under my feet and hear footsteps clearly, a paved alley. My body should have guessed we were arrived, my legs gave way to fall on my knees. I could actually feel how exhausted I was. My whole body was heavy and hurt. Every part of myself was painful: my skull tightening my brain, my dried mouth and throat, my heavy rib cage seemed to small to breath properly, my empty stomach and my bruised wrist and knees. It was so hard to breath and to stay up, I desperately wanted to meet the ground to get some rest.

“Ya! Stand correctly!” a soldier yelled at me.

Weariness preventing me to stand on my feet, I tried to push myself back on my knees. I heard what I guess being doors opening and steps drawing near. Was my executioner approaching us? After these hardships, being locked in a cage for days with the minimum of water and food, my dead would be the logical end of this horrible trip. What crime had I committed to deserve the death penalty? Did I even commit a crime? There had to be a reason for that. I should deserve it after all. My end was near. We are supposed to see our life pass before our eyes before dying. But I could not remember anything. Who am I? Where am I from? Do I have any relatives? I had no response. I could only think about how exhausted, dirty, and suffering I was. My only wish is to end this moment, quickly.

“Bow your head whore!!” The leader yelled at me.

I was already struggling keeping myself up due to fatigue and dizziness, bowing my head down would make me fall on the ground.

“Ya! Seriously!” Since I did not obey, the leader slapped me, what made me meet the floor.

“Hey! What is that?” A strong and deep voice came from above me.

I tried my best to sit up back and the soldier on my left pulled my arm up after doing from what I could hear was a military salute.

“My General” The leader spoke. “We just arrived. Here is the prisoner you asked for, my General.”

A general? For my execution? I should have committed a horrible crime, against the royal family to deserve this privilege.

“Prisoner?” The said General asked. “You blindfolded her eyes??” through his tone, the General seemed to disapprove what he was observing.

“Well… That’s what we usually do to bring you slaves, my General.” The leader explained.

“Slaves? I really hope for your wife you treat her better!” The General spoke curtly. By the unknown fragrance reaching my nose, I guessed the General came closer to my face. I felt the cloth being untie. I slowly opened my eyes, but my vision was blurred, I could not distinguish the said General face. I could only see a bright blond hair.

“Why does she look so dirty? Don’t tell me you made her walk the entire journey!” The General’s tone was strict and threatening.

“At first, we chained her with the others prisoners, but we quickly had to lock her-“

“You what?” The leader could not even finish his sentence, the General looked at him with a black gaze.

“M-my General” the leader’s tone became less insured “Prisoners were crazy because of her! They were untenable, they only wanted to touch her and-” Whined the leader.

“Seriously?” The General’s tone indicated how furious he was.

My eyes wide open, I could clearly see the man in front of me. His black gaze contrasted with his pretty and pale face. He was well dressed in expensive clothes, no wonder he was the General of the royal army. I contemplated his face, half fascinated, half scared. I was confused. The most respected and powerful man of the kingdom, after the king himself, was kneeling in front of me, taking my hands into his to cut the rope. So many questions jostled in my head. Why was he so gentle with me? Wasn’t he supposed to behead me? He took his time to look at my dirty hands and bruised wrists. Yet I felt so soil, humiliated and dishonoured in front of the General, in my dirty torn dress, covered in mud. He looked back at me, but I couldn’t handle his gaze because of the shame. Yet I felt a soft warm on each side of my face, I guessed it was his hands.

“Damn it! My poor damsel.” He said calmly. I haven’t known kindness and care since so long time. I felt considered as human again. I couldn’t handle it anymore, I closed my eyes and let my tears rolling down my cheeks.

“You’re lucky I have a debt to your father otherwise you’d be already beheaded.” The General’s tone was firm, threatening the leader.

My tears were unstoppable. I was frozen, starving, dehydrated, covered in mud and this man, this General, was hugging me so warmly to reassure me.

“M-my General I had no clue-“ The leader was freaking out.

“Enough!” The General ordered firmly what made a contrast with his nice but tight hugging. “Park JinSung! Bring them to the dungeon and make sure they don’t come out for a week.”

“But my General-“ The leader spoke again.

“Don’t discuss my order or you’ll be lock there for a month.” The General tone was low but firm.

I tried to calm down while I eared the three soldiers and the guard leaving. The General was gently rubbing my back. All this kindness seemed so weird after what I endured, yet so much appreciated.

“Damsel, everything is ok now.” He whispered calmly. “They won’t hurt you anymore, I promise.”

***

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