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I love Fire Emblem, and decided to write some fics about it. These are, for the most part, gonna be little bitesized one-shots with little-to-no continuity. While these stories are gonna be, like, 95% female-character-focused, there are a handful of male characters in Fire Emblem that I like for omo purposes, like Ashe and Robin. They also won't all be the same kinds of accidents. This first story is mostly centered around fear accidents, but I'm also planning to involve other types of accidents and desperation.

Anyway, here's the first story, starring Bernadetta and Petra. Hope you enjoy it!

For clarity, this is post-timeskip, the characters are age 20 or above.

 

 

          Why couldn’t I have gotten Hanneman or Manuela as my professor? Bernadetta thought miserably. She considered Professor Byleth a friend and confidant, without doubt, but she was also fairly sure that Manuela didn’t regularly take her class out to rout legions of bandits and deserters. Hiding, faking sickness, pleading to be allowed to stay in her room, nothing fooled nor persuaded the Professor. Though of course, now that war had engulfed the land, it wasn't as simple as just faking sick to get out of class.

          It didn’t help that she was the only skilled archer in Byleth’s retinue; she couldn’t stay out of the fight because her skills were explicitly needed. The added pressure did nothing to help Bernadetta’s malaise.

          “Bernadetta, something is the matter?” Came the elegant, if confused, voice of Petra. Frail and small as she was, the archer needed some protection, and Petra was selected to guard her.

          “Huh?” She looked at the taller woman, who appeared rather concerned, “Oh, uh, sorry. Just… ”

          “You have not been firing,” Cutting to the point, Petra gestured to Bernie’s bow.

          “Ah, r-right! P-please don’t be mad!”

          “Mad? I am not being mad,” She said in a soothing voice, “But the Professor may be.”

          Bernie went pale. Images of Byleth turning her wrath against the diminutive woman raced through her mind, chilling her to the core. “W-what?! Y-you don’t think she’d actually be m-m-mad, do you?!” The logical parts of her mind told her that Byleth would never hurt her, but the much larger paranoid section screeched that she was now in mortal peril.

          “Oh!” Petra realized that her wording had frightened her, “You should shooting… I mean, you should be, uh, aiding our allies,” The foreign woman stumbled a bit as she tried to piece the sentence together, “The Professor brought you for doing that, yes?”

          “Uh, yeah… ”

          “And you are good, yes? At shooting?”

          “Um, I guess… ”

          “Then don’t you want to be helping our friends?”

          Bernie swallowed, knowing there was only one right answer, “Yes… Let’s go.”

 

-----

 

          In a twisted, ironic sort of way, Bernie found the rigors of combat marginally less stressful than her daily life at the Monastery. There, she was constantly looking over her shoulder and trying to listen for plots to harm her. But on a battlefield, there was no paranoia. Everyone who wanted to hurt you was usually pretty open about it. Now, that’s not to say that she wasn’t absolutely terrified, because she was. Just that the added fear of the unknown was not present.

          Her heart racing, mind fueled only by adrenaline and instinct, she nocked and loosed arrow after arrow, turning a large group of bloodthirsty bandits into pincushions. Beside her, Petra dueled and defeated any ventured too close to the little archer. As worried as she was that her teammates would turn on her at any second, she had to admit that she did trust Petra. She didn’t seem to have a bad bone in her body.

          And it’s good that Petra was trustworthy, because she was a terrifying opponent. With speed and dexterity unlike anything she’d ever seen, the Brigid warrior nimbly dodged every attack and retaliated with deft and lethal blows. Once again, gory images of what would happen if she incurred the wrath of one of her friends came to her mind. She banished the thoughts quickly, but not before a spurt of pee dampened the crotch of her boyshorts. 

          She clenched her thighs together slightly, but she knew it was only a leak. As timid and meek as she was, Bernadetta was… well-versed in the workings and failings of her bladder and bowels. She knew when it was just a light leak. She blushed as the slight heat caressed her groin, but she ignored it, and resumed her archery. It’s not as though the sensation was unfamiliar to her; almost any conversation with Hubert or Edelgard saw her retreating to her room with soggy shorts.

          “Just a little more, we’ve nearly won!” Byleth’s voice called through the trees and ramshackle bandit housing. Joy filled Bernie’s heart with the realization that soon, very soon, she’d be able to return to the comfort of her room.

          “Bernadetta!” Petra’s shouting startled the young archer, and she whirled around, only to be greeted by an axe-wielding man with a murderous glint in his eyes.

          Bernie screamed, and collapsed to the ground, landing on her butt. The bandit raised his axe, only for Petra to deliver a strong kick to his side, sending him reeling. In the blink of an eye, her sword was driven through his chest, ending whatever threat he posed.

          Bernie was stunned and motionless, having nearly fainted in fear. Her eyes told her that she’d been saved, but her brain was too terrified to process as much. It was her nose that finally got her attention, when a sharp, acrid smell drifted upwards. She glanced down, and saw that she was sitting in a rapidly growing puddle of urine. Steam rose upwards, carrying the scent with it. In the silence that took over the area, she could even hear the hissing as her pee spilled into her black shorts. The wetness and heat spread across her bottom, the pool expanding behind her and soaking into her skirt. The backs of her thighs were wet, the fabric of her shorts now clinging to her.

          Worst of all, Petra stood right next to her, watching the entire display. Tears stung her eyes, and began to flow down her cheeks. Ordinarily, her solitary and elusive nature meant that she was able to hide almost all of her accidents.

          “Oh my… ” Petra said simply.

          Bernie attempted to reply, but only produced a choked sob.

          “Bernadetta, it is okay. Did you hurt… Um, did you get hurt?”

          She shook her head.

          “Then there is nothing to be worrying about!” Petra smiled, and extended her hand, but Bernadetta just looked back down at the ground, and the cooling puddle of her own pee that she sat in.

 

-----

 

          Petra hated to see anyone in such a state. The princess of Brigid had a deeply compassionate heart, and she was determined to help her friend feel better.

          Even if meant resorting to… unconventional measures.

          Ensuring that Bernadetta was still focused on her own wetting, Petra closed her eyes tightly. She pushed and strained, struggling to overcome her instincts telling her not to piss her pants. Eventually, she won out, and felt hot urine stream into her panties. Even though she was doing such a humiliating thing to help out a friend, she saw no reason to go too far with it, and stopped herself after peeing just a little.

          “It is okay, Bernadetta. I… did, too,” Petra had strategically peed just enough that a few droplets slid down her toned thighs, leaving wet trails.

          “Y-you did? Were you scared, too?” The archer looked aghast.

          She wasn’t particularly scared, in reality. Sure, any fight was dangerous, but these guys weren’t exactly big fish. “Every fight is scaring to me,” she lied, “sometimes, I wet.” She lied through her teeth. The elegant princess of Brigid had never wet nor soiled herself in combat before, and the sensation of damp, clammy panties was agonizingly shameful and uncomfortable. She wondered if she might burn her underwear once they returned to the Monastery.

          “Wow… Um, I didn’t know that,” She seemed to be more shocked by the false revelation than her near death experience. At the very least, Petra intentionally wetting herself hadn’t been for nothing- her friend had stopped bawling.

          “Um… Please do not… Uh, I won’t tell any of the-” Petra struggled to find the correct words,

          “Don’t worry, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

          “Ah, yes. Thank you.” Suddenly, Bernadetta had become the comforting one.

          Once again, she extended her hand, and this time Bernie accepted it, and was helped to her feet. Once more, she looked ruefully at her drenched shorts, and patted her behind to feel the soaked fabric of her skirt. Even though it was black, it was quite obvious what she’d done. She was considering a solution to help her hide the accident when a bandit stumbled into sight from the treeline.

          The bandit was a woman, and she looked behind her with a sly smile, but jumped back when she spotted the two. “You’re kidding me? More of you?!” She said, “You’re not taking me!”

          It seemed she’d lost her nerve and tried to flee when Byleth and the others cleared out her group. Her pants were wet. A fairly natural reaction to facing Byleth in combat. Petra drew her sword and prepared to finish off the bandit. Behind her, Bernadetta raised her bow. Either one of them was more than a match for the bandit, and it seemed she knew it; her legs were shaking.

          But their short battle was not meant to be. A low but loud growl emanated from the woods behind the bandit. She spun around to see the source, and Petra noted with some concern that the seat of the bandit’s trousers bulged and sagged suddenly. “Oh, forget this!” She shouted as she sprinted away.

          Seconds later, a colossal demonic beast surged through the trees, knocking many of them down. It was some sort of enormous, gray, stone-covered lizard. It roared with monstrous vigor, and Petra could feel her heart skipping. Her breaths quickened, and numbness shot through her body. It was a monster of pure malice.

          She wanted to move, to speak, to fight, to do anything, but she was frozen. Wetness flooded her groin, and she glanced downwards to notice a dark spot on the front of her tight skirt. It spread swiftly, and after a couple of seconds, streams of pee spilled from under her skirt. It splashed messily to the ground, sprinkling her legs with urine. Her pee made a sharp hiss as it spilled into her panties; this time she had truly wet herself in fear.

          No… She’d done even worse than that. Her panties sagged, and drooped low between her legs. Her bowels had voided in her fright, as well. Unable to expand far thanks to her tight skirt, her mess went downwards. Petra knew that her clothing left little to the imagination, and it most certainly did little to hide the bulge she felt certain was there. At the very least, her release was almost entirely solid, and wouldn’t stain very badly. It still didn’t make her feel any better about having soiled herself, too. In front of Bernadetta, too. She felt she now understood her friend’s misery when she wet herself.

          “P-Petra… What do we do?” Bernie’s voice shook with fear.

          Petra inhaled deeply, desperately wanting to steel her nerves, “... Fight.”

 

-----

 

          True to her earlier advice, Petra had had an accident out of fear. Bernadetta once again could hardly believe her eyes when she noticed that Petra had crapped herself. Even with a load in her underwear, she still moved with the grace and poise of an apex predator. The reptilian beast lunged at her, massive claw swiping. Only barely, Petra leapt backwards. Taking the opening, she slashed at one of its forelegs, leaving crimson gashes.

          While it was focusing on Petra, Bernadetta had time to line up a few shots. Fighting through the trembling of her limbs, she loosed an arrow, which buried itself in the hide of the monster. It grumbled lightly. Another arrow. Another. Another. Another. She began firing arrows as rapidly as possible. Eventually, the beast had had enough of it, and raked the ground, sending a shower of large rocks right at Bernie. With a shrill scream, she dove out of the way.

          Standing back up, she reached for her bow, only to find it absent. Looking around in a panic, she saw it several yards away, partially covered by thrown rocks. A vicious growl called her attention back to the beast, which was focused entirely on her, ignoring Petra. The arrows must’ve hurt more than she realized.

          Staring into the soulless, hateful eyes of the beast, Bernadetta became totally paralyzed with dread. Her body relieved itself of everything left in it, and a wet squelch was audible just before she felt her mess spill into her boyshorts. It swiftly crumpled up against her rear, forming a large, wet ball. The sensation of wet clay spread across her butt. The elasticity of her underwear and shorts let her release create a large bulge that pressed up against her pee-soaked skirt. As she continued crapping her pants, she could feel her shorts getting tighter to accommodate the release. There was a final squish as she finished soiling herself, and the load settled into her underpants.

          The beast drew closer, preparing to strike, when a voice rang out: “Get down!!” It wasn’t Petra’s. It was an authoritative but respectable voice. A voice that, even through her extraordinary terror, Bernie obeyed. She ducked, and only a second later a swipe of Byleth’s whip-sword flew over her head, striking the beast in the face. It reeled in pain as the blessed Sword of the Creator burned its flesh. Byleth followed up with a direct assault, charging forward and striking the beast over and over. Petra joined in.

          If Petra was a frightening enemy, then Byleth was a force of nature- unstoppable and invincible. With skill and speed, the two made short work of the monstrosity. It collapsed, lifeless.

          “Are you two all right?”

          “Uuh, I… We… ” Still in shock, Bernie could hardly speak.

          “We are not harmed,” Petra answered for her, “Thank you for the saving- er, thank you for saving us, Professor.”

          With a couple of sniffs, and an informative glance at the wet skirts both of them wore, Byleth quickly deduced that they were in need of a change. She didn’t say anything, but she fixed both of them with a sympathetic look.

          “Um, it came out of the woods, from nowhere, and it was terrifying, and I just kind of… ” Bernadetta trailed off. The smell in the air told the rest of the story.

          “The same for me,” Petra intoned, blushing deeply.

          Byleth put her hands on her hips, “I’ll keep the rest of the class here a bit longer. You two can run ahead of us so you get back to Garreg Mach first. Get cleaned up.”

          “Oh, thank you Professor!”

          “Quite, thank you!”

          The two took their chance and ran for it, though both quickly decided to go a bit slower. Running with a load in their pants turned out to be rather unpleasant.

Edited by DsGSilver (see edit history)
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  • 2 months later...

Finally wrote up the next short story, this one focusing on Tharja and male Robin from Awakening. So fair warning for anyone who dislikes male content, there is male wetting/messing in this chapter. It also is unlikely to be the only chapter to feature Tharja, since she's one of my favorites. Hope you enjoy!

Also, I should note that, while these first two stories are similar in concept, not all of them will be. With Fire Emblem being about going off to fight scary monsters and wars, it's just an ideal setting for fear accidents. The next story will have a largely different theme.

 

 

        Robin had always been unnerved by the Risen, even after facing them in combat dozens of times. They were possessed, or undead, or just bloodthirsty facsimiles of humans; he had never been sure precisely what they were, only that they served a darker power. They always shook him to his core; although the young tactician was careful never to air his fears with anyone else, lest they doubt that his strategies were compromised by his nerves.

        In his nightmares they stalked him, and in his waking hours he often swore he saw one just at the edge of his vision. Twice before, after a bloody battle with a pack of Risen, he’d returned to his tent to discover that the wetness between his legs was not sweat, but his own urine. He thanked Naga that he’d never released enough to stain his pants, only soak his underwear. Part of what made the Risen particularly frightful to Robin was their method of attack. They appeared seemingly at random, and began marauding about as soon as possible. There was no possible way for him to formulate a plan of attack when their opponent was a random assortment of foes that appeared at random.

        But this time was different. As Robin furiously scribbled away and drafted lines across a war map, he relished every stroke of the pen. At last, they’d found the Risen first, and the tactician was having a field day plotting their demise. Chrom and Frederick prepared their force, and left Robin to complete the plan. Finally, he could-

        “That looks good,” Came a happy-yet-gloomy voice behind him.

        “Gyah!” He whipped around, startled, and saw Tharja standing behind him. “Ah, oh. Hello Tharja.” As always, the dark mage stood just slightly too close for comfort, just close enough to violate his personal space.

        “You seemed invested in what you were doing, so I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Her face was usually difficult to read but she almost always smiled faintly when she and Robin were alone, and she did then.

        “Wait, Tharja how long have you been there watching me?”

        “A couple of minutes,” She responded flatly, without the slightest inkling that Robin may have found this a little unsettling.

        The strategist felt himself blush slightly. He’d been rather animated in his drafting of the battle plan, and hardly anyone ever saw him lose composure like that. “Ah… At any rate, you think my plan will work?” His voice betrayed his anxiety.

        Her smile grew deeper, and she put her hands together, “Robin, I think any plan you come up with will work.”

        “Yeah, I suppose you would, huh?” He was well aware that Tharja supported anything he did. Maybe that’s why he was actually willing to confide any of his anxiety to her, “But, really look at it. Is there anything you might do differently?”

        The dark mage inhaled quietly but sharply, immediately jubilated at the opportunity to help her crush with something. She stepped forward, and inspected the map. “These here indicate our archers?”

        “They do.”

        “These are the mages?”

        “Yes. You’re that one,” He pointed to a little X on the map.

        “Hmm… ” Tharja was no career strategist, but she was an extremely intelligent woman. She was most certainly among the few people in their army that Robin would seek counsel from. “We don’t know what to expect from the Risen, so perhaps don’t have us spread so thin.”

        “That’s something to consider. Thank you, Tharja,” He smiled at her, and she blushed. “Our force looks to outnumber theirs, so I figured we could surround and route them quickly.”

        “And that is why you are making the plan,” she responded, with an odd warmth to her voice. Robin had never seen her speak to anyone else even half as kindly as she did with him. “You know… ” She began, then took an excited step forward, stopping only a couple of inches from him, “If you’re in need of a bodyguard, I’d be happy to stay by your side.”

        “Um, thanks, but… ” He stammered out, quickly becoming uncomfortable, “I’ll be with Chrom and Lucina near the center. I’ll be fine.” At the mage’s dejected sigh, he continued, “You know you’re our strongest magic user by far. I need you to help lead the others and keep them safe.” She smiled faintly once more, indicating he said the right thing.

        The flap of the tent flew open, revealing Lucina, “Robin, it-” She stopped for a second to fix Tharja, who shouldn’t be in the war tent, with a quizzical look before continuing, “The Risen are beginning to move. It’s time to strike.”

 

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

 

        Robin’s plan worked beautifully. The Shepherds swiftly overwhelmed the meagre enemy force, and put them all down. However, any celebration was cut short as a swarm of Risen pegasus riders descended upon them, and more of the monsters began pouring from the treeline. Once again, the unpredictable nature of the Risen had become a nightmare.

        Indeed, “nightmare” was a shockingly accurate word. Separated from his friends, his carefully crafted plan in shambles, and imminent death surrounding him; it looked very much like the nightmares that haunted his sleep. A Risen knight charged him, but a blast of lightning from his spellbook killed the fiend. A swordsman lunged at him, and he barely blocked the strike. With his free hand, he pulled another spell from his book, and incinerated the undead warrior.

        He was already panting hard when more glowing eyes spotted him from the shade of the trees. There were a lot of them, closing in fast. He turned to flee, in the hopes of finding the others to help him, but all he saw were more glowing eyes, burning brighter as they came ever closer. He was dimly aware of the odd sensations in his underwear, which felt as if it was being pulled and tightened. A weight settled in the seat of his pants, and something like clay pressed up against his butt. Ah… He realized, I just soiled my smallclothes, didn’t I? As shameful and humiliating as it was, he could scarcely bring himself to notice or care about it.

        Forgetting the sensitive cargo that had come to rest in his underpants, he inspected his spellbook, but found it had been depleted of magic. His sword was all he had left. Ditching the book, he readied himself for combat. No matter how scared he was, he was still the second in command of the Shepherds, and he intended to fight like it. As the first of the Risen broke from the treeline, and was fully in view, another sensation struck him. A warmth creeping down his thighs. He spared a quick glance downward, and confirmed that his baggy white pants were now host to a rapidly expanding gray stain.

        He swallowed his fear, and prepared to fight. Just as the Risen came within striking distance, a bolt of lightning obliterated the unholy marauder. He was disintegrated utterly. Even the generally mindless Risen stopped to look at the source of the attack. Following their gaze, Robin saw Tharja not far behind him, surrounded by golden runes, already heaving another cataclysmic spell at the next Risen. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you!” She shouted in a steely voice. He’d never been so happy to see her. Most of them promptly prioritized Tharja, and sprinted towards her.

        Taking the opportunity she’d granted him, he lashed out at the distracted Risen, cutting down several as they made for the mage. Between her destructive spells and Robin’s judicious strikes, the Risen didn’t last long. In the heat of the fight, however, Tharja caught a glimpse of Robin’s urine-soaked pants. The poor thing, he was terrified without me, she cursed herself for leaving him alone. And he’s going to be so upset. There must be something I can… do… 

        Before she even finished the thought, an obvious and unpleasant solution occurred to her. Robin would most assuredly feel better is he knew he wasn’t the only one to have an accident in their pants. And she did feel the need to relieve herself. But at the same time, Tharja silently agonized over the possibility that him seeing her wet or soiled would disgust him to the point that he’d never want to be with her. Not to mention that her outfit was beyond revealing. She only wished to comfort Robin, but her “accident” would be easily visible to anyone.

        But time was running short, the last of the Risen would perish to Robin’s blade momentarily. She had to make a call. Making use of his focus being elsewhere, Tharja shut her eyes, and gave a push. The back of her panties began to tent, but just as she began she hit a mental block. She hated what she was doing. No, it’s for Robin, She told herself, and found the will to continue. She pushed once again, and the air filled with a loud crackle as her underwear and stockings were filled with her own mess. She shuddered and cringed at the warm, soft feeling of the mass that was pressed against her butt. Since her lower clothes were little more than panties, they did a poor job of holding her mess up, and began to sag low very quickly.

        The last enemy was no more, and for better or worse, it was time to see if her own plan would pay off. Robin approached her. He was absolutely haggard and exhausted, but still looked grateful, “Tharja, I can’t… Thank you enough… ” He squeaked out between breaths.

        “Of course. I’d do anything for you,” She proudly answered. Anything, even treat my panties as a latrine.

        Robin scanned the area around them, but Tharja’s eyes were drawn to the extensive stain between his legs “We should find the… others...” Following her eyes, he suddenly remembered how much he no longer needed to relieve himself. “Right. That.” He muttered quietly. The delayed shame finally began to set in. “It just… happened. I was surrounded, and then,” he finished simply looking down at his wet pants. The wetness seemed to reach all the way down to his shoes.

        It was now or never. “Oh, don’t look so depressed.” She found what she was about to do far more frightening than any enemy she’d faced. She spun around, and lifted her cape to give Robin a view of her rear. Her soiled, sagging rear. “I was afraid, too. And I did worse than you did.”

        Robin chuckled awkwardly and turned crimson. “At least I’m not alone, I suppose.” He averted his eyes, “Although, I wouldn’t be so sure that you did worse than me… ”

        “You mean you also… ” His bowlegged stance answered for her.

        “How about both of us forget what we saw here?” Some mirth had returned to his voice, and Tharja elected to just feel satisfied that her plan seemed to have worked, rather than think about the mess in her pants.

        “My lips are sealed,”

 

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

 

        When they finally reunited with the rest of the Shepherds, Robin had buttoned his long coat to hide his stains, and Tharja wrapped her cape around herself to prevent the wind from exposing her mess. As loathe as the two were to spend any more time in their soiled clothes, they had to stick around to make sure all of their people were safe. Once everyone was accounted for, the two promptly disappeared back to their camp, before anyone got close enough to smell them.

Edited by DsGSilver (see edit history)
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