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btsbabe7 · 7 months ago

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Safe Haven

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x reader, Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected, age gap, intoxication, infidelity

Synopsis: After a long night out with friends, things take a drastic turn when you show up unexpectedly at the Malfoy Manor and your best friend isn’t the one who lets you in.

You find yourself on the doorstep of the Malfoy manor, lightheaded and nauseous, clothes soaked in rain, liver swimming in poison, and entirely too nervous and embarrassed to knock. You curse yourself for not sending for Draco, your best friend of a solid decade, to come rescue you from your recklessness. You’d insisted to your other friends that you could make it safely, that you knew your way home. And while you did arrive safely, you can’t bring yourself to lift your fist to ask for permission to enter.

The Malfoy Manor has always been a safe place for you throughout your childhood and granted you the same safety as an adult. You’d practically grown up here under the care of the house elf, Dobby, and the companionship of Draco Malfoy. Narcissa saw to things like taking you shopping for clothes and catering to your other womanly needs as you grew older. On the other hand, Lucius Malfoy was hardly present. He remained the breadwinner of the home and that came with the sacrifice of working long days and nights at the Ministry, and in his spare time, he’d used it to meet with friends.

When he was at home, he could be quite demanding. He constantly lectured Draco about slipping grades and the importance of putting his best foot forward instead of indulging in useless shenanigans.

One night, after his wife and son had long trailed off to bed, Lucius had stayed in the entertainment room with you to finish a movie. The both of you remained long after the movie ended, speaking about school, work, and life. He confided in you just as you had with him. You’d always known Lucius Malfoy to lack nothing, not of confidence, not of power, and certainly not control. Yet, that night he’d told you that he didn’t want Draco stuck at the Ministry like himself. He wanted a powerful son that would be able to take his place if the situation ever arose, to be prepared for anything, and be able to step up when his family needed him the most. Most of all, he just wanted someone, something that came from him, to be proud of.

You’d spent several years listening to Draco’s complaints about his father over breaks and in the courtyard at Hogwarts when you two would sneak out to meet late in the night. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to spill Lucius’ wishes. It felt as if you were overstepping every time his words echoed in your mind: someone to be proud of. When you were around, Lucius was a completely different man—tolerant, caring, even nice at times, and you knew Lucius needed to be the one to tell Draco himself.

Now, as an adult, you can recall the moments where he tried caring for Draco in the best way he knew how. You realized that being tough had become his default to shield himself from disappointment, to keep Draco on track. He’d tried to raise him to become a man of power with nothing but confidence and control in his arsenal. He hadn’t failed, but he also hadn’t let his guard down, never liberated himself from the need of being in control.

And part of being in control meant Lucius always remained aware of anything going on inside of and around the Malfoy property, so it’s no surprise that he’s the one that opens the door to your shivering body without you lifting a single finger.

“Look what the storm washed in,” he muses and motions you inside to take shelter from the pouring rain and lightening rolling in through distant black clouds. “You’ve been drinking.”

He doesn’t ask, just states it matter-of-factly.

Anyone with a nose can smell the bitterness seeping off your clothes, your body, your mouth. You smell of whisky and sweat and body odor that isn’t yours. You aren’t sure what you were attempting to drink away, but perhaps it was the searing that burns in your chest when his eyes meet yours.

The look is one you’ve seen him give many, but never to you, and it’s now spread over his hardened features. Disappointment is what lingers in those angry pale grey eyes.

“I… I came to s— I came to see D-drac—“ You let out a scoff, now utterly disappointed in yourself as you slur and stumble over the raised threshold. It’s truly a miracle that you’d made it here at all.

Had you truly allowed yourself to get this wasted?

That answer comes when Lucius uses his own body to shield you from tumbling onto the frigid tiles of the foyer. You cling to the silky sleeve of his robe as he hisses something vulgar under his breath.

“You can’t possibly be this drunk,” he snorts and locks the front door behind you both in a fury. “Who’ve you been with? You graduated years ago and this is how you choose to live? The life of a—a drunk? I expected more from a brilliant witch like yourself. I thought you incapable of falling this low. Does your father know you’re here?”

You rub into the sultry velvet and focus on the way it clings to his body. It’s a black so deep against his pale skin that it makes your eyes feel as if you’re staring into a void.

You hiccup and a soft smile plays at the corners of your mouth as you take in the tart apple and spicy woodsy scent that only the Malfoy men have. It reminds you of all the nights you’d sneak into Draco’s room as a kid and cuddle against his side when you couldn’t sleep, and in your current drunken state, it’s completely intoxicating.

“What’re you doing, Y/n?” Lucius demands as your hand travels up the length of his arm.

You give his biceps a squeeze and chuckle in response. He has such a strong body and he’s adorned it in such a delicious feeling fabric. One you can’t seem to keep your hands off of and want to crawl into.

The truth is that you don’t know what you’re doing and with every blink of your weary eyes, you see Draco’s iced silver ones in waves. You see glimpses of blonde hair in your grasp, lush, silky and soft. You imagined it countless times in the past, pale white hips rutting against your backside while you both watch in the silver ornate mirror that hangs over his dresser just beside his bed. You’d wished it happened as it had in the privacy of your dreams and daydreams.

You see flashes of books in Lucius’ study. The two of you would sneak inside while his father and mother were out and the elves were busy. You’d make out there near the fireplace. Other times, you’d be propped up on the desk with Draco’s erection pressed hard against the delicate folds of your clothed, aching sex.

You lean back on the familiar desk, wet ass gliding against the smooth mahogany. Lucius led you here into the study, which means you’ve truly fucked up.

The study is just the way you remember it. The backside is filled from floor to ceiling with books and skulls and trinkets, all meaning something to Lucius, or simply nothing at all. Lucius’ desk remains in the center, facing the fireplace, and placed firmly on a fancy rug with a huge velvet chair behind it. He has other knickknacks here and there, but the study remains fairly simple and serves its purpose.

You turn to your right and see a family photo nestled in a silver gilded frame. Draco stands in the middle, posed with his chin up, his parents stand as far away as they possibly can with their hands resting on either side of his shoulders. No one smiled, save for the small tug at the corners of Narcissa’s lips, though it didn’t meet her dim eyes.

When you’d snuck down here with Draco, he’d turn it face down on the desk before delving into you. It sits upright now, yet piles of marked scrolls threaten to bury it. A box of limited edition quill inks sit in a box beside them and a semi-wet quill lies on an open scroll just beside you. You come to the conclusion that he must have been working when he sensed someone’s presence, your presence, outside.

Lucky for him.

It’s so late that you begin to wonder where Narcissa might be, where Draco might be since you’d come for him. Asleep upstairs maybe. Or perhaps somewhere else entirely. As for Narcissa, you’d noted her absence shortly after graduation and she only seemed to grow more distant now that you and Draco are of proper age. Draco himself had always remained distant and found solitude in being alone when you weren’t around to keep him company. Just like his mother, his interest in his father had diminished over the years while yours had grown.

Lucius huffs and the springs in the chair squeak lightly underneath his weight. The sound pulls you away from your memories and the weight of your own thoughts settle in the center of your core with a wave of nostalgia. The chair had made the same noise in all those times Draco plopped down there and it knocks you back to a time many years ago.

Draco’s mother had left with her sister, Bellatrix, and you both knew his father would be out later. Narcissa had left you both to the mercy of the house elves, who treated you with much more respect than you cared for.

When silence had fallen over the manor, Draco had waltzed down the hallway and placed a knock on your door. You’d been half asleep in the room given to you since the moment you’d decided this home suited you more than your own. The door had squeaked open, sending golden light cascading over the bright yellow walls they’d let you paint.

You’d hissed at Draco for interrupting your sleep, but somehow he’d managed to coax you out of bed and down into his father’s study. You remember the taste of his lips, so sweet and delicate against yours after the door had been closed. Somehow that had led to him splaying your legs wide and planting your feet firmly on the sturdy wooden surface of his father’s desk.

All you remember afterwards is the fire roaring to life and warming your entire being as Draco pumped you hard with his skilled fingers for the very first time.

You bite into your lip and let out a soft moan as your brain caresses and savors every inch of that memory.

“Y/n!” Lucius demands.

“Lucius,” you mewl softly in a taunting, singsong tone that sends his eyes rolling.

He groans as you kick your muddy heels off and clicks his tongue in disgust when they clatter on his rug.

He curses himself for not remembering to make you take them off at the door. Though, he reminds himself that you don’t usually show up in such a pathetic state where your manners are long forgotten. He also reminds himself that he’s not usually in a position underneath your taunting gaze. You sit there like a queen on her throne. Unfortunately for him, the throne just so happens to be his desk.

Lucius fights the urge to take control of the situation, though his body aches for him to do so. He wants you off his desk, off your ass, sobered up, and sinking down his cock. He caresses his chin and bites into his bottom lip before flinching away from that final realization, away from you and the way your nipples grow hard against the thin fabric of that skimpy dress you’d slipped on hours ago to meet with friends in. Had he been here, he wouldn’t have let you step a foot outside in such scandalous attire. He curses your father for being so absentminded and so uninvolved in your life.

Despite that truth, Lucius had watched you bloom into a brilliant witch and beautiful woman. Over the years, he’d listened to Narcissa’s comments on the way your body had practically become a woman’s overnight—large breasts and curves that had been flaunted too well in your robes and skirts. Lucius forked over more money for your new robes and uniform without hesitation. He couldn’t stand the idea of boys at Hogwarts gawking at you, targeting you with their useless, impure minds. And selfishly, he’d always seen you more fit for a Malfoy, even though you went against everything they stood for.

You have half-blood friends, you were sorted into a house other than Slytherin, you were curious about muggles. Lucius had pushed all those details to the back of his mind when he took you in. You were strong, opinionated even when he disagreed with you, and best of all, you never backed down from a challenge. You weren’t weak and he appreciated that quality about you.

Now, you appear stronger than ever, though your judgement is obviously skewed.

“I’m disappointed in you,” he begins. He knows he has to scold you like a child, but he also knows you’ll do it again if he doesn’t. He hates that he has to be the one to do it. “I think y—“

“Deserve to be punished, don’t I?” You whimper and pick at your nails with a firm pout of your pink lips.

Lucius rolls his eyes and ignores the ache daring to tear him apart at the seam if he allows you to open your mouth again. He comes off the chair and turns to face the endlessly shelving of books. He crosses his arms and stares mindlessly at the first row that meets his eyes, far away from you.

Sickness, much like bile, collects at the base of his throat and he swallows it down. He knows he cannot touch you, it’d be crossing the line on so many levels. Worst, it’d go against his morals. He’s married. His son is one of your better best friends. He’s friends with your useless excuse of a father, he’s looked your mother in the eyes over countless meetings decades ago where he vowed to take care of you to the best of his ability before he took you in for good. Yet, every civilized thought escapes his mind when he hears your breathing hitch behind him. A soft shuffling follows and he swallows dryly. He knows the sound all too well—wet clothes being removed, peeling away from damp skin, and plopping against the floor.

You’re a sopping mess in the neatness of his study. His rug will suffer, but so will he.

He clenches his teeth and sneers as he whips his wand out and sends a charm towards his study door. It closes and locks quietly, but the nearly silent sound still echoes loudly in his eardrums.

You let out a soft whimper as you bristle against the cool rush of the closing door. You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. The men of this manor never could, and with the close of his door, you’d just become Lucius Malfoy’s seductress.

You roll your head back and stare at the way the ceiling curves to a point above the desk. You’ve stared at it many times when Draco pleased you while he remained completely oblivious to your true desires. Thoughts of Lucius had plagued your mind while Draco’s fingers and mouth did all the work. His father’s name had clung to the edge of your tongue while you forced Draco’s out with careful skill. You knew it was wrong, but it’d almost become a game during those long nights. You’d always wondered if you’d slip up and what Draco would do if you did.

You splay your thighs wide and run your feet along the arms of the emerald green chair. With heavy eyes, you watch the fabric’s color distort slightly from light emerald to a darker shade of the same color with each stroke of your flesh. While you do this, you take notice that Lucius hasn’t turned around since he’s left the chair. Denying his own primal needs as a male, you’re sure. You’d just waltzed, well, stumbled right in and threatened all order, seized all his control with minimal effort, and he hates it. You know he does. Yet, your own need for warmth begins to overtake your own motives and you shiver against the cool air circulating in the darkened room.

“C-could you start up a fire?” You blurt through clenched teeth as you hug into your shivering body.

Lucius’ head snaps back as if he’s been in a trance the entire time. His senses slowly return and he follows the needy plead of your voice. He regrets it the very moment your nude body comes into view. Your lacy black underwear are all that remain of the clothes you’d stripped off and Lucius is suffering indeed.

Hardened grey eyes glaze over the length of your being. He takes in the way your dark hair is now chopped at your shoulders, the length of your short, delicate limbs, the perfect curvature of your breasts and hips. It’s all more proportional and more appealing than he cares to admit.

His eyes snap away from your shivering body and he forces himself to focus on the dead fireplace alongside the wall. The door is sealed shut behind you, beyond you. He should open it, the door. He should summon Draco or call for an elf to help you, cloth you. If you’re this comfortable around him, daring really, then he has no doubt that his son has seen you just the same and would have no qualms about helping.

Cunning as you are, you should have been sorted into Slytherin during your school years. A true shame that the Slytherin house missed out on such brilliance due to a wrinkly old hat and a fool of a headmaster.

He thinks to himself.

Lucius kindles the firewood in the fireplace with a sharp snap of his fingers and watches the fire spark. As the wood crackles, the flame catches another piece and begins dancing to life as he attempts to choose his next words as carefully as he can.

“How long?”

You cannot admit that your liking for Lucius had begun at the ripe age of fifteen. You were young, impressionable, and Lucius had shown you how real men care for their families. While Draco complained about his father, you saw a hardworking man who needed to put food on the table for his family, a provider. You seen him as the man who’d step in when your real father chose not, and you admired that too.

You swallow and keep your eyes on your fingertips which are coming more and more into focus with each pick of your nails.

“It’s been awhile,” is all you manage.

Lucius continues staring into the fire, still upset with himself for closing the door while trying to work out how long a while consists of. His heart races with both fear and excitement, but he isn’t sure which one will win this battle.

After a while, Lucius brings a blanket over from the corner of the room. He dusts it off and wraps it around your warming body. He doesn’t dare look you over again. He can’t. Not when your eyes watch his every move, from his pacing to the way he strokes his chin across the room when he’s deep in thought. He hadn’t planned for you to show up like this and hadn’t planned for you to strip everything off and be so confidently naked in front of him.

He stares at another book on the shelf, hardly registering the title as he slips a delicate stripe down the spine. He needs something else to focus on, but he isn’t prepared for the sound that comes out of you next. A sound that ripples through his very being and has him on edge like a wild beast.

The fingertips of your right hand run down the plain of your belly, relishing the feeling of your warming body before slipping underneath the hem of your lace. The blanket shifts off your shoulders as you spread your legs wide and allow your fingertips to trickle just below the dampened folds. The thought of Lucius, as always, overtakes your senses, and you graze right between the folds with a low moan. You tease your arousal before bringing it back up to the little protrusion between your lips. You give your clitoris a generous rub and you melt right where you sit.

Lucius’ head whips in your direction and all color leaves his face. His body goes still like a statue.

“You… Y—“

His name finally slips off your tongue and it tastes absolutely delicious. You’re exhausted with holding back, holding it in. You’d spent years doing so and you weren’t going to give up this opportunity that’s presented itself. It was supposed to be Draco that let you in, that came to your rescue as always, but when the long, white-haired Malfoy, the patriarch of this manor opened that door, you knew the stars had aligned that very moment.

“I command you to stop,” Lucius orders, but you shake your head in protest and circle harder.

Lucius feels as if he’s the one that’s been drinking. The way your moans and soft pants make his head spin is intoxicating. He can’t help the way his cock twitches underneath his pajama pants. He’s glad the robe does the job of covering the sudden reaction. He doesn’t want you to have the satisfaction of knowing what you do to him.

He bites into his lip once more and shuts his eyes. No, he reopens them because the memory of you naked is now engrained behind his eyes and also right in front of him. You’re everywhere he looks, your moans are all he can hear. He cannot escape you. Perhaps if he just opened the damned door. But he’s sealed it shut with a charm not even his own son could get through on the other side. It sealed off all sound and no one would come bothering the two of you. He knows this, even with the sickness rising in his throat again.

Lucius’ eyes cower towards you, watching the way your hips rock softly against your circling fingers. You hadn’t slipped inside yourself, just gathered your arousal enough to keep the rubbing lubricated. His cock aches and he cannot remember the last time he had sex, let alone the last time a female had graced him with such vulgar imagery. He turns away from you and wishes for the pulsing in his veins to stop. He wishes away the heat centering between his legs, but it remains. Your panting grows louder and he fears he will erupt right where he stands. So, what would be the harm if he were standing in front of you instead? What would be the harm if he simply gave in? Stopped fighting and resisting?

He lets out a shaky breath and faces you. You watch determination settle in his eyes and you let out a squeaky moan. Lucius makes his way towards the desk and kicks the chair to the right side. When he finally faces you, his face goes pale. He flinches at the sight of you spread open and so beautifully aroused. He’d missed the fact that you’d now removed the lace, which he’d hardly call underwear as they’d probably hid nothing from the skimpy look of them on his rug. But now, your sex is glistening at the folds, reddened and swollen with heat, and he almost collapses.

“Help me, Lucius,” you hum and trace your wet fingers upwards in a smooth motion.

His grey eyes follow the wet trail up to your navel, over the soft skin of your belly, over your sternum, and now the way you lazily circle around each of your nipples. His chest tightens, but he can no longer force himself to look away. This entire situation is scandalous and if he were to take this risk, how would anyone other than the two of you know? He knows you brilliant enough to keep your mouth shut about something like this. It would ruin you just as much as himself if word got around.

Lucius whips his robe open and your eyes go wide in amusement. Creamy white skin with dark hairs cover the expanse of his chest and navel before leading a trail underneath the hem of his velvet pajama pants. You cock your head and smile weakly at the protrusion in the center. He’d been hiding it, the way you turn him on, and a deep satisfaction steeps in your belly.

You place your palm on your sex. Excited by the sight of him hardened for you, you feel the need to release yourself; however, Lucius quickly throws a wrench in those plans. He takes your sopping fingers and tosses them away from your mound, and you watch as he kneels on the floor in front of you and pushes your legs further apart.

You can’t hide the amazement in your eyes as he pulls you to the very edge of the desk.

Lucius Malfoy kneeling.

Your mouth waters. So does his.

His eyes devour the glistening between your thighs and his heartbeat quickens with each passing breath. If he does this, there’s no going back. If he doesn’t do this, you’ll both be completely unsatisfied and the awkwardness would linger in the air much longer than the realization of your actions if he were to give in. With your eyes plastered on him, he can’t stop himself from licking his lips. Your body is so intriguing, so divine, and he wants to explore every inch. With quivering lips and unsure thoughts, Lucius’ breath shutters against your warmth before licking a stripe up the wet folds of your cunt. Your head falls back and a rumbling moan escapes your throat. You know this will be so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced in this room.

Your fingers caress his scalp and gingerly gather his long platinum hair into your fists. Your hips buck forward to meet each flip of his tongue. You feel hot all over. Your head, your cheeks, your throat, chest and belly, your thighs and ass pressed hard against the wood, and your very core. Lucius suckles at your clit and it almost sends you overboard. You attempt to pull him away, but he clamps hard enough to earn a yelp before settling back. He lets out a rough chuckle and toys his thumb over the reddened protrusion before slipping down and pressing through your entrance.

You fall back on your elbows and shut your eyes to the ceiling.

“Lucius…”

Remarkable. Is all that come to mind at the way your cunt squeezes around his thumb. With the sound of your ravenous moans in response to this little action, he can hardly imagine what you’d sound like with his cock buried inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you snarl. “Please fuck me, Lucius.”

He knows he can’t ignore your commands any longer. He will go mad if he does. He stands to attention, slipping right out of his garments as he does. His cock pulses as he sucks your juices off his thumb, then uses the same hand to stroke his own ache. He sighs in relief and you watch him align himself. He wastes no time thrusting through your folds and you howl in pain and pleasure.

Perhaps you should have warned him of the truth, but it’s much too late. His cock is tight inside of you, running along the fresh, untouched walls with so much precision. Your breasts ache and your chests burns. Your entrance burns, but you don’t care. You’ve needed this for years, craved it, and now you’ll relish every inch of him.

Something flickers in his eyes when they find yours, shame and lust reflect in them. He can’t believe he’s inside of you, can’t believe he gave in so easily. He hadn’t bothered asking of your prior experience. Truthfully, he didn’t want to know how many men had buried themselves inside this glorious, tight hole of yours. The ridges of your walls had swallowed him whole and he didn’t need to think of any competition because he was already determined to be your best.

Lucius watches you like a hawk, catching the way your hand finds your curls and massage into your scalp. He watches the way your breasts jiggle with each movement of your body against his. He closes his eyes, hoping it’s just a dream. When he opens them again, you’re still there like the delectable woman he now knows you to be.

It’s not long before your chest begins to tighten and the squeeze in your core contracts softly. You know this feeling all too well, Draco had taught you all you knew about the feelings of an orgasm, and you won’t last much longer. Not with Lucius hitting all the right spots and his rutting cock buried so deep inside your very core. Your head spins and the point on the ceiling distorts as you falter back onto your elbows. You feel as if you’re floating and he feels like perfection.

Lucius tries to avoid your eyes, your low and seductive features that have his mind reeling and tethering on the edge of reality. He knows he shouldn’t have given in and that he’ll pay for it every time he sees you going forward. He’ll think about it when his wife returns home, whenever she returns home. He’ll think about it when he sees his son and he’ll scowl at idea that he may have had you in this very position before but never had the balls to go any further. Or maybe he has and Lucius should’ve triple-guessed before delving balls deep into your tight little cunt.

He snarls at the thought and at the sight of your arousal glistening under the golden light along his full length with every pull of his hips. He’s growing sloppier in his thrusts, failing miserably in keeping his groans and grunts at bay as he wished. He can’t have you thinking he’s enjoying himself or that he will be allowing this to happen again. He can’t allow you to bring out this side of him again, messy and bending at your will. Yet, if this will be the last time, he plans to make it memorable for the both of you.

Lucius glides his hand over the plain of your stomach and watches the way your breasts bounce to the rhythm of his thrusting. He’d give anything to be properly buried there, right in the softness of your skin, but he knows this is wrong. But how can it be wrong when his name slipping off your lips sounds as if an angel is calling out for him?

He sneers and squeezes his eyes shut. He tries to imagine a time when his wife loved him enough for this, not from a place of dedication or duty, but just a desperate need to be touched by him. A need for hot, raging, glorious sex. And he almost goes limp at the thought of her.

He opens his eyes and yours are right there, hungry and focused solely on him. Whatever alcohol had dared to poison your liver, dared to overtake your senses has vanished very quickly. Though, he knows you’ve been aware from the moment you’d grasped his robe in the entryway. He knows from the way something like golden fire sparkled in your eyes in all the times you’ve glanced at him when no one was watching over the years.

Something flutters deep in Lucius’ core and he pants loudly at that realization. It drives himself to take a fistful of your hair without thinking it over, and he almost melts when you flash a bright smile that sends him swooning.

Fuck me, Lucius.

The line rings like an echo in his mind.

“Lucius… Kiss me.”

Lucius’ eyes blaze and he rushes his mouth against your plump pink lips on command. Your tongue sweeps over his and his eyes grow wide as yours flutter to a close. The bitterness of whisky and the sweetness of butterscotch that lingers after too many Butterbeers is heavy on your tongue, but you taste just as sweet against him like strawberries underneath. He imagines you downing goblets, tossing them back like a champ. Perhaps the sway of your hips if music were playing throughout the tavern. He knew you to be confident in that way, somehow always socially adept and always the center of attention, even though you denied it.

You sweep your arms around his neck and pull him closer, and just as his thrusts begin to falter, you bring your heels up to his muscled cheeks and drive him in further. A shakily groan floods into the cavern of your mouth and his eyes glow with something you’ve never seen before. Desire? Lust? You don’t know. All you know is that you don’t want him stopping until your orgasm is pulsing all around his long, slender length. You want to feel his warm seed coating your inner thighs and stomach. And as much as you wish to feel him spilling inside of you, his milky semen dripping out of you and growing sticky between your thighs as the night grows to day, you know you can’t allow that. Not now.

With your lips hot against his, Lucius can hardly contain himself. His grip in your curls tighten as he holds your lips to his, swallowing each of your pressing moans whole. He gives you the satisfaction of guiding him deeper until he’s had enough. When he does, he withdraws entirely.

He could explode from the way you appear in front of him, eyes blown, pussy swollen and glimmering at the folds, breasts supple and nipples harder than his cock. Your arousal is all over his length and groin and he can’t take it easy anymore. He grasps your arm and yanks you off the desk. You yelp as he twists you around in one quick motion and ropes one of your knees in his hands to press up against the desk.

A chill runs down your spine and your nipples ache against the coolness of the wood. They’re begging to be relieved, but neither of you can be bothered to do so when the pleasure of Lucius’ cock being buried inside you is much more vital.

He knows the fireplace had done nothing to warm the desk and he relishes the sight of you shivering against the chill. He watches the way goosebumps prickle over your skin and the way your ass has become discolored from being pressed against his desk for so long. He gives it a firm smack, which earns yet another whimper from your lips.

He smirks while collecting himself and driving back into you.

With a deafening grunt, he takes your hair back into his fist and places the other on your hip. His own plow against your ass and you whine at the new depths of his cock.

Your cheeks burn at the thought of how wet you are in front of him, for him. Unbelievably pathetic.

Knowing this will end soon feels like absolutely torture and Lucius struggles with that reality with each contraction of your walls. His thrusts remain erratic, but he stopped caring. His hand loosens in your hair and squeezes harder against your hip when your back arches. He catches you taking glimpses of him over your shoulder and chuckles at your desperation. Though, his is just as bad. He’s never known how desperately he needed this from you.

“Perhaps I should’ve left you on your ass.”

“Maybe,” you pant nonchalantly. “At least I would’ve been granted the pleasure of seeing your face when you release.”

He tugs at you closer and uses the chair to prop his own leg up before dropping his hand from your hair entirely and lowering it to your jawline. He grasps it hard and you groan against the touch.

“You want to see my face when I release?” He laughs coldly. “Well, here I am.”

He stares into your lidded eyes and smirks at how fucked out and beautiful you look taking his cock.

“You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

It’s a backhanded compliment, but he lets you let it out an exasperated giggle. It rumbles in your throat underneath his hand and drives him mad.

“How many cocks have you taken?”

You blink blankly, surprised by the question, the forwardness. You’re prepared to force out an answer, but his hand tightens around the base of your throat, squeezing just enough to cut off air.

“The truth,” he adds. “Only the truth.”

He loosens his grip a smidge and you gasp the words, “Only yours.”

Lucius’ eyes go grim and he squeezes your throat again. Your cheeks burn hot in embarrassment.

“The truth, Y/n!”

Your core aches at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue and you shiver against him.

“Just yours, Lucius.”

His heartbeat quickens and he draws your lips back to his, forcing himself deeper with the twist. You squirm under the pressure and grasp the edge of the desk for stability as your back arches with each thrust of his hips and his breathing draws shakily against your mouth.

“Y/n,” he grunts. “I… You—your first?”

His eyebrows twitch and his body shivers. A low hum leaves your mouth, completely in tune with the way his body quivers against yours. You focus on the way your own heart begins to race in your chest, a deep thrumming that has you gasping with the tightening inside your core. Your core burns as you hold back your orgasm. You know he’s earned it, but he isn’t there just yet.

Lucius squeezes tighter and you rock your hips back to meet his. His eyes go wide, then roll with a hiss slipping from his mouth simultaneously.

“Shit!”

“Lucius…”

He sneers and slips behind you again, completely withdrawing from your view. He can’t look you in the eyes right now or his load will be buried so deep inside of you that he’ll have a new set of problems on his plate. His wife, his son. He already feels that he isn’t a good enough husband or father. His job at the Ministry is demanding, and you… Merlin, you are going to be the absolute end of him.

He ruts his hips forward in long, hard motions until the only noises filling the study are the sounds of your ass clapping against his groin, the sloppiness of your arousal sticking to his shaft, and your moans drowning out his own. He thrusts and thrusts and thrusts, sinking you down to his balls with each sweep. And your cries…

“Fuck,” he whimpers and shakes at the knees.

He plants both hands on your hips and stares at anything else but your body leaned over his desk, obeying his every command, and rewarding him with its own sweetness.

“Cum for me,” he growls lowly.

Your moans are so loud that you can barely hear the order. You’ve been teetering on the edge for minutes now, barely able to hold your own release back any longer.

“Cum for me now,” he demands. “Or I-I’ll…”

You rock your hips and Lucius lets out a deafening groan that sends you overboard. Your walls tense around him and your body flushes hot as you milk him dry. He sputters and grasps your ass, your hips, your waist, then with agonizing discipline, he slips out of your squelching warmth and explodes all over you with a roar. Warmth explodes all over your backside, your thighs, your ass, and you collapse on your arms against the desk. Your legs shake terribly and you aren’t sure you’ll be able to stand much longer.

Lucius’s groans stifle into breathy pants and the familiar squeaking of chair behind you fills your ears as he pulls you down into his lap. Your legs almost give out with the action and his eyes are full of nothing but hot rage. He splays your legs apart and clamps his hand over your cunt, feeling the stickiness of your own orgasm between your thighs. He watches you intently, studies you and the way your body shutters softly with the touch. Then, his own need for control returns, washing over him in a powerful wave.

He swirls his fingers just as he’d watched you do, just the way you like it. Your head snaps back, nipples peaking once more and your moan filling his ears with that sweet melody he’ll never forget. He hates how pretty you look when you cry, but he loves how responsive your body is to his every touch.

“Lucius… please…” you pant softly, eyes already rolling.

“I don’t recall saying we were done,” he muses.

His fingers run between your trembling folds and you jerk forward with a breathy howl.

You catch sight of his vile smile as you tremble in overstimulating pleasure and you bite back a demanding moan knowing this is now his own form of torture.

Lucius’ brows raise as he watches you struggle to regain your own control. Just when you think you have it, he lets out a soft sigh. Something along the lines of, “Happy Christmas,” fills your ears in a deep groan just before he plunges his fingers into your needy cunt and takes you all over again, completely reminding you who is always, truly in control.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fanfics:

⚡︎ Keep Me (In the Shadows) (m.) - Draco Malfoy x reader

⚡︎ Lost Love (m.) - Lucien Vanserra x Rhysand x reader

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Perfect Storm (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

December 2024

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justwinginglife · 11 days ago

Text

Lifetimes and Lifelines

Synopsis: An AU where Jinshi was always Ka Zuigetsu because you saved him by coming into his life. Approx Word Count: 5000 Tags: adults being dicks I guess, child abandonment, Jinshi likes to be a little shit but we love him anyway

You’re six years old and you think adults are cruel.

Even in the short amount of time you’ve been on earth, you already know this. You aren’t sure why they say the things that they do, only that their words leave destruction and despair in their wake. It didn’t take you much time at all to figure this out.

Your mother, you’ve been told, is a waste of space. Barely useful even in the pleasure district, which is what she’s been resigned to after your father, a waste of air, left her with you. She left you almost as quickly as he did. You couldn’t recall a sliver of their faces even if you spent all day trying, so all you have to go off of are the nasty recollections given to you by nasty adults who present their distasteful words to you as though they are some sort of gift, as though their testimony serves to comfort you from the tragedy of having such parents. And so what if they abandoned you? After all, you’re better off without them, right? Or so that’s what you’ve been told by every adult you’ve ever been pawned off to.

You spend a lot of time in and out of homes, everyone arguing about whose problem you are. You’re tossed around so frequently, you even learn how to sleep sitting and standing, because you never know when one adult will get tired of assuming responsibility for you and rip you from your bedsheets just to hand you over to the next. But no matter how many different houses you are brought into and kicked out of, everyone shares the same sentiment: your mother was worthless, your father was worthless, and now, by default, so are you. It isn’t until you're adopted by a friend of your mother’s that you are ever taught any different.

It is fortunate for you that your mother ever had a friend so generous, and it is even more fortunate for you that her friend had gone on to become one of the Emperor’s most valued concubines, allowing you to be welcomed into the rear palace with the Emperor’s blessing.

You are skeptical when you first arrive. You sleep with one eye open. Eat as much as you can in case it’s the last time you eat for a while. Exercise good manners but never engage in more than minimal, polite conversation. But the sun and moon come and go, over and over, and your clothes never fray, your belly never empties, your education never wanes, and the roof over your head -the very grand roof- never changes. Under your adoptive mother’s tutelage, you learn how to be graceful, how to be skillful, how to be successful. Under her roof, you learn how to be thankful, how to be joyous, and above all else, how to be kind.

And kindness soon becomes the most useful tool in your arsenal.

During your time at the palace, you hear that somewhere on these grounds there lives a boy about your age. As refined as you’ve come to be, you’re still just a child, in want of a playmate. You’ve always been cautious about straying too far from your home, but boredom does wonders for your courage. You sneak out -making a mental note to apologize to your attendants for the trouble later- and begin your search for your new friend. You hope he is kind. You hope he is fun. You hope people have nothing but good things to say about him.

As you near the location where you hear he might be staying, you realize that the men and women passing by do, in fact, have plenty to say about this boy. But none of it is good, and you are sure, without ever even knowing him, that none of it is true.

They speak of how he must be an imposter. How he must be illegitimate. How he’s been handed a lavish life that is not deserved. And then there is that phrase again. “A waste of space.” You’re sick of hearing it. You wonder if the adults who are so casually spewing these words know just how destructive their ridiculous declarations are. How those words can make even an adult want to lock themselves away from the world, and how it can be even more detrimental to a child.

And when you finally catch a glimpse of him through a cracked door, peeking out from underneath a blanket, hands trembling yet forcefully attempting to cover his own ears, you know you’re right. And you hate it.

You wait for the court ladies to walk by and then quietly slip into his room, closing the door behind you. Like a scared cat, he backs himself into the corner of his bed, pulling the blanket around himself tighter as he watches you enter.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You speak gently but it isn’t gentle enough for him. He’s still wide-eyed and panic-stricken. You give him a soft smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. I just have-” You slowly reach into your pockets so as not to startle him further, “-a lot of candy and I wanted to share it with someone. You seem like you’re good at sharing. Want some?” You hold out your candy-filled hand in offering to him.

He stares at them for a moment. Then looks back up at you. Then back down to the candy. He nods slowly.

You crawl into bed with him and begin separating the candies by flavor. “This one’s my favorite- I love strawberry. How about you, what’s your favorite?”

“Ch-chocolate.”

“Oooh, yummy! Good pick.”

He gives a small smile. It’s minimal but you can work with it.

“Go on, try the chocolate and tell me how it tastes!”

He pops a candy into his mouth and then wrinkles his nose. “That’s gross, what is that?”

You look at the wrapper and laugh. “Sorry, sorry. You don’t want that one. That’s dark chocolate. I think you want something sweeter, yeah?” You hand him a different candy.

“Mmm, much better.”

“See, I told you.”

He hesitates before offering you a similar candy. “You wanna try?”

You graciously accept his offer, wasting no time in popping the candy into your mouth. “Mmmm- yummy, yummy, yummy!”

He cocks a grin at you. “Do you know any other words besides yummy?”

You feign thinking for a moment. “Hmm. Lemme see. It’s SUPER yummy!”

He can’t help but laugh, shaking his head at you. “That doesn’t count, silly.”

Several minutes later (though both of your stomachs would soon wish you’d taken more than just a few minutes) you’ve eaten all the candies with his help, and have now begun to sprawl out across his bed, groaning and giggling to each other about how full you both are.

“Zui, your bed is so fluffy. I can’t believe you get to sleep in this every night.”

He nods his agreement, still lethargic from stuffing himself full.

“Must be nice having such a nice, warm bed that’s all yours. No one else’s.”

He fidgets with a nearby candy wrapper.

“It’s like, if you sink deep enough into the bed, you can’t hear anybody else talking. Right? Like your pillow might just swallow you up and you won’t have to hear stupid people in the hallway.”

His eyes widen. Could you…have heard those people talking about him earlier?

“I think this bed is perfect for you. Like it was made just for you to have. Like you were meant to be here.”

He bites his lip. “You…you think so?”

“I do. Because if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have a new friend. So I think you were always supposed to be riiiiiight-” You lean over to poke his nose, “Here.”

He laughs and shoos you away. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Well I…I think you’re meant to be here too. You know. Feeding me and stuff.”

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. “I can do other stuff too, ya know.”

He turns on his side to face you, eyes alight with challenge. “Like what?”

“Like…this!” You reach over to attack his sides with tickles.

“Hey, hey! Do you want me to puke on you or something?!” He rolls away from you, grumbling. But when he’s turned himself far enough away from your prying eyes, he allows a sincere smile to spread across his face. He’s made his first real friend. And he intends to keep you. “Anyway, I’m tired now… but come back tomorrow, or something?” His breath hitches as he waits for your answer.

He doesn’t expect arms to suddenly be thrown around him in a tight embrace.

“I promise. Tomorrow then.”

You’re six years old and you’ve made your first friend and your first promise.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re ten years old and you think life is unfair.

“How come Zui gets to train with a sword and I don’t? I wanna do what he’s doing!”

Your mother sighs. “Darling, remember what I told you; you cannot address the Prince so casually. And as for the matter of sword fighting, I simply will not allow you to wield a sword. It’s dangerous.”

Your brows furrow. “But it’s not dangerous when he gets to use it?”

“It is, but it’s part of his duty to learn the sword as he assumes the role of the Prince. And he will have special training on the way of the sword.”

“And why can’t I have training?”

“Because you’re a proper lady now, and if word gets out that you run around swinging swords, I might not be able to protect you from what others say or do to you.”

You cross your arms stubbornly. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to, sweetie, but I want you to be safe.”

Once your mother has thoroughly finished lecturing you, you meet your friend -you meet the Prince- in your secret hiding spot: a little garden tucked away where no one can interrupt the two of you. Ever since you’ve known him, you’ve always found time to sneak out and meet him, but now that you’ve both been growing up and he has more important things to attend to, you find yourself desperately clinging to any time you have with him at all.

He looks up when he sees you coming. “Your mom finally done scolding you?”

“Barely. I’m sure she’ll have more to say about it later.”

He laughs. “About how dangerous this all is, and about how you’re a girl?”

“Pretty much. Sucks.”

“You know, I don’t think that’s a very lady-like thing to say,” He teases.

You scowl at him and he laughs again.

“How about this- I teach you one move and I stay right beside you the whole time so nobody gets hurt, deal?”

Your eyes light up. “Really? You would?”

“It’ll be our little secret.” He holds a finger up to his grinning lips. “C’mon, we gotta figure out your stance; now, get over here, slowpoke.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You hop off the bench you’ve been sitting on and eagerly join him at the practice dummy.

“You’re going to want to brace yourself; a sword is heavier than you think.”

“It can’t be that heavy; I carry all those textbooks around with me all the time-” You curl your hand around the sword handle and hoist it up. A spark of pain shoots through your arm and you let the sword fall back down. “Okay…so it’s kinda heavy.”

He begins to chuckle but when you are quick to glare at him, he chokes it back down. “Look, you’re just holding it too close to the end of the handle. Here, hold it like this.”

You feel his arms wrap around you as he adjusts your positioning, and at this moment, you swear you can’t feel anything else. Not the sun beating down on you, not the sweat rolling down your neck, not the wind sifting through your hair. You only feel his hand on yours, his breath along your skin, his warmth against your back. And you don’t want to feel anything else.

You’re ten years old and you’ve already found exactly where you want to be and who you want to be with.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re thirteen and you’re completely soaked and it’s all his fault.

“Mom is going to kill me!” You groan as you look down at your drenched garments. You’d had the not-so-smart idea to accompany Zuigetsu down to the river for a morning stroll when he decided it was much too hot outside and the both of you were much too dry. So he pulled you into the river with him for a swim.

He grins with no remorse as he watches you squeeze the water out of your dress. “So what? We’ll just wait until it rains and tell her we got caught in the rain.”

You emphatically point at the sun, burning bright in the morning sky. “With what rain??”

He tugs you closer to him. “That rain.” He points far off into the distance where storm clouds have begun to gather.

“Zui, that’s like, so far away! We’ll have to spend half the day here before we can use that excuse!”

He chuckles. “It’ll rain soon, I promise. Don’t you trust me?”

You raise a brow. “You seriously want me to answer that?”

He purses his lips into a pout. “Now when have I ever steered you wrong?”

You tap a finger to your chin in thought. “Hmm, oh, I don’t know, maybe when you lied to me and told me the latest fashion trend was hair buns and I showed up looking like a panda to the last picnic! Or maybe when you had me wasting my entire evening searching for a secret passage in the library that you swore existed but you knew didn’t! Maybe then!” You jab a finger pointedly at his chest.

He laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t being serious then. But I am now- I swear it’ll rain soon.”

You sigh. “Your Highness, you’re the worst.”

His brows immediately furrow upon hearing your formality. You only call him by formal titles when you're in public together and you're trying to pretend you don’t know him. “Hey. That’s not my name and you know it.”

“Does your grand Majesty have proof he can tell it’s going to rain soon?”

His scowl deepens. “Don’t call me that, not when we’re alone. You know I don’t like it.”

You take a daring step closer to him. “Does your Lordship not like when I address him so formally? What a shame.”

“Damnit- Y/N, cut it out.”

“Your Grace wants me to cut it out-?” You take another step towards him but the rock beneath your foot gives out, and before you know it, you tumble forward and topple the both of you into the water again.

He emerges from the river, gasping. “Damnit, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He trudges back up to the river bank and begins to squeeze the water out of his hair. “You’re always so careless and you like to push my buttons and you-” He turns to find he’s been ranting all this time to thin air. He scans the surface of the water for you, but you still haven’t come up yet.

“Real funny. You can come out now. Do you hear me?”

When he is met with more silence, his heart begins to squeeze in his chest. He immediately dives back underwater to look for you. He discovers that the current has taken you slightly downstream and he finds you at the bottom of the river bed, passed out, hair tangled in a bundle of branches. He frees you as quickly as he can but it isn’t quick enough for his liking. He carries you back to the river bank and deposits you gently on the shore. Wasting no time at all, he begins compressions. When you exhibit no reaction at all, he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I have to.” He bends down and presses his lips to yours, blowing air into your lungs. He resumes compressions again and you sit up in an instant, coughing up water.

“Are you okay??” He hovers over you, examining you worriedly.

You take a couple of unsteady breaths. “I…I am now. Th-thanks…” When you finally regain proper control over your breathing, you press your fingers to your lips. “Did…you…”

Zuigetsu blushes and looks away, not willing to admit to you that he’d basically kissed you.

Suddenly clouds began to flood the morning sky. Thunder crackles once and then twice before the rain starts to pour. He quickly scoops you up and carries you to a nearby gazebo to wait out the rain.

“So you…”

His heartbeat quickens. Damnit, are you going to make him admit what he did? He bites his lip nervously.

“You…were right…after all.”

He blinks. He was…right? Right about what? Kissing you?

“It did…rain.”

He exhales a sigh of relief. You must not have realized he’d kissed you. Thank the gods. He cracks a weak smile. “I’m always right.”

You sneeze. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Being right once doesn’t qualify as ‘always being right.’”

His eyes widen as he takes notice of the way you shiver, hands coming up to rub your arms. He wastes no time in pulling you to him, arms surrounding you to provide some semblance of heat, even though he’s also soaked to the bone.

“You…smell like a wet dog.” You tease him tiredly, resting your head against his shoulder.

He snorts. “And you don’t smell any lovelier, princess.”

You laugh softly and move to bury your face in his chest.

He feels you snuggle closer to him, figuring you’re just freezing, and he holds you tighter.

What he doesn’t realize is that you have full recollection of the way he’d kissed you and you’ve chosen to seek refuge out of his line of sight so he can’t distinguish the shade of red blooming in your cheeks. Your first kiss and you were barely conscious for most of it.

You’re thirteen and you wonder if he’d humor you if you asked for a redo.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re sixteen and there are too many goddamn hairpins. Or, at least, that’s what he says.

You know you’re at the age when men start noticing you but you don’t know what it is exactly that you’re doing to make them notice. All you know is that it puts Zui in a bad mood all the damn time. He’s become so difficult. But you still love him.

“So what if I got a lot of hairpins? I can just sell them all, can’t I?”

He huffs, crossing his arms. “It’s not about the hairpins; it’s about accepting the hairpins. May as well just go around telling everyone you’re a free buffet because everyone’s trying to take a bite and you’re letting them.”

You glare at him. “I’m not letting anyone do anything. I just like accessories.”

He scoffs. “But I’m telling you, it’s not about the accessories! It’s about what they want to do to you after you accept the accessories!”

You raise a brow. “And what are they going to do to me?”

He coughs. “Well. You know. They…they…”

“Yes?”

He sighs, exasperated. He absolutely does not feel like explaining the birds and the bees to you today. “It’s just not good things, okay?! And it’s not like you can just kick these guys in the balls if they act up!”

“Yes, but you taught me how to fight. And I’m never alone; I have, like, a million attendants. Okay? I’ll be fine.”

His lower lip juts out in an emphatic pout. “Sure, sure. Big girl over here. Grown adult, she says.” He grumbles.

You roll your eyes at his antics. “I am a grown adult and I can make my own choices. And right now, I’m choosing to shut you up with food.” You take a fruit off of a nearby platter and shove it into his mouth.

He glares at you but then realizes you’ve picked his favorite fruit and swallows happily. “Okay, but I’m still mad at you.”

You sigh. “Fine, what do you want me to do, give all the hairpins back?”

“You can’t just ‘give the hairpins back,’ idiot. The sentiment is already there. They already mentally have their hands all over you.” He shudders.

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”

“Exactly- ew. So just don’t accept anymore hairpins, okay?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly bring anything to wear in my-”

“So wear this. Here.” He shoves his hair pin into your bun.

You gesture to your other bun. “Now it’s uneven. What am I supposed to wear in this one-”

He quickly pulls out another hairpin and slides it into your second bun. “Happy now?”

“I think, just to sell the image, we should walk around together. Probably have my arm around you. Wouldn’t want other guys to think I’m available, you know.” Your words drip with innocence and Zuigetsu registers none of your ulterior motives.

“That’s a good idea; stay close to me.” He wraps his arm around you and parades you around like you’re his. He knows no one would dare offer a token of affection to the Moon Prince’s beloved and he’s happy to play the part of your lover if it means it will keep others away from you.

You’re sixteen and you know, deep down, it’s not an act when you cling to him and claim to be his; now you just have to figure out how to make him yours.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re eighteen and you are impatient as all hell.

You’ve already had a line of suitors in and out of the door, all damn day, and not one of them was Zuigetsu. Not one. Sure, he’s busy as this kingdom’s Prince. Sure, he’s off doing royal things that royal people do, whatever that means. But it doesn’t mean that he can just ignore you on the day you’re supposed to be getting engaged. You can only hold back the floodgates of men for so long before your mother finally just picks one of them for you. So you hope and you pray to God (it’s honestly less praying and more threatening) that Zuigetsu will show up and make you an offer, because if he doesn’t, you’re trapped for life. And then you might kill him for ruining all of your plans.

The sun starts to kiss the horizon and you’re mentally imagining horrific methods of torturing him whenever he finally decides to show his face again. But the moment he walks through the doors, your previous mental threats are nowhere to be seen, your anger dissipating. When you see him, your heart can’t help but soar over the moon. He’s sweaty (probably from more sword practice), and he’s so, so late, and in so, so much trouble, but he’s still here and goddamnit, you love him, and you’ll say yes no matter what stupid thing he says. So he better hurry up and ask already.

You fix your hair quickly before gesturing for him to come into the sitting room where you’ve been poised on the couch all day like a perfect, porcelain doll, allowing suitors from far and wide to gawk at you.

“You have something to say?” You prompt him, heart skipping in your chest.

“Yeah, you got any food?”

You give him a pinched smile. “Sorry, food?”

“Yeah- I’m starving. Whew, it’s been a long day!” He plops down on the couch next to you. “By the way, why’re you wearing that fancy getup?”

This is it. You’re going to kill him.

You stand up stiffly and cross the room to grab a platter of delicacies. You walk them back over to him. When he thinks you’ll hand it to him gently, you drop the tray in his lap, not even bothering to watch as the food splatters all over him before you leave.

You’re eighteen and you think you’re in love with an idiot.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re eighteen and a day, and he’s taking you out to apologize, even though he has no idea what he’s apologizing for, and you think you might kill him. But preferably after the date. Just in case it ends up being worth it. And then, if it isn’t, you’ll kill him.

You watch his expressions -and to your frustration, he appears to have none- as he leads you through a route you are now realizing feels quite familiar. It’s been ages since you’ve been down this road, but you recognize it nonetheless. He’s taking you to your secret garden. It’s a good start. Invokes sentimentality. Maybe he thinks you’ll go easy on him in the place you always go easy on him. You haven’t decided yet if you want to go easy on him or not.

It isn’t until he clears away the vines and unlocks the door with the key you’d thought lost to time that you realize he’s done something different with the garden. He’s strung lights all over the place. Got the fountain that never worked to actually start flowing water. Planted new flowers- your favorite. And in the center of it all, he’s set up chocolates and strawberries on a little stone table.

“Thought it might be better than the candies we used to eat. As fond as I am of those, they don’t age well.” He jokes.

“I think you’re right. I nearly cracked my tooth open on one of them the other day,” You admit, eyes still raking over the impressive scene before you.

“Do you like it?” He asks hopefully.

You give him a shrug. “Looks okay.”

His shoulders slump ever so slightly and suddenly you’re caving. You hadn’t expected to cave this soon. You had hoped you could hold out longer, stay indifferent, the way he appeared to be. But you can’t keep up the nonchalant facade anymore. Not when he looks like that.

“I’m just kidding. It looks beautiful. Better than it ever did. I seem to remember this-” You hop onto a nearby stepping stone, “Always being cracked and now it’s repaired. And this section of the hedge-” You run your hand along its leaves, “-I’m pretty sure I remember us accidentally burning it when we tried to light candles in here after skipping out on the New Year’s Festival to hold our own.”

“Yeah, you know, I thought about keeping the burnt hedge for nostalgia’s sake, but I just thought it might ruin my proposal.”

Your heart stutters to a standstill, the sun stops its rotation in the sky, and the birds all around you freeze their flights in mid-air. “Your what???”

“Oh, you know, the proposal you thought I forgot yesterday.” He mimics your earlier casual shrug.

“So you…didn’t forget.” You say slowly.

“Of course I didn’t forget your eighteenth birthday. But I wasn’t going to propose to you when you just spent an entire exhausting day being proposed to. Granted, I didn’t expect you to walk out on me, so I must admit, I did panic.”

“Yeah cuz you could’ve downplayed the indifference maybe just a little bit!” You scold him.

He laughs abashedly. “Sorry. Maybe asking for food wasn’t the best idea when you’d clearly been waiting for me. And sorry I was so late. Your birthday present wasn’t ready yet.”

“My…present?”

He gets down on one knee. “Well, it’s really more of a present for me. That is, if you say yes.” He pops open a ring box.

You knew the moment was coming. He’d already admitted that this was his proposal, so you shouldn’t be surprised. But the moment you see the ring -the gorgeous, gigantic, jade ring- you feel your heart trumpet in your chest. “Yes!” You stammer out.

He laughs. “I haven’t asked yet.”

“Oh. Right. Carry on.” You mumble sheepishly, cheeks tinging red.

“You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you. You’ve saved me over and over again. Saved me from boredom, saved me from running away from the throne, saved me from myself. I know, with your high standards,” He gives a fond laugh, “That I may probably spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy and may only succeed half the time, but please, I’d like to spend the rest of my life trying. You’ve already succeeded at making me the luckiest, happiest man alive, and I can only hope that one day, I can make you feel even a sliver of what I feel whenever I’m around you. I know it’s not much of a deal, but will you allow me this chance? Marry me?”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” You grin, accepting his ring.

“I hear it’s part of my charm.” He returns your grin.

“Unfortunately, it is. But you’re wrong about one thing. I’m not happy only half of the time you’re with me. I’m happy every second I get with you, even if you drive me crazy. I’m happy even if you’re not around but you happen to cross my mind. You make me happy just by existing and I’m even happier that I get to call you mine. So I do feel the way you feel. I do feel like the luckiest, happiest person alive. And it’s all because of you.”

He coughs and turns away.

“Zui, you did not just turn away from my grand speech because you don’t want me to see you cry, right?”

He clears his throat. “N-no! Course not!”

“So look at me.”

“One moment.”

“Darling. My love. Would you just look at me?”

He turns, tears in his eyes.

There he is. The man of your dreams. The love of your life.

You’re eighteen and a day, and you’re about to have the best kiss that’s ever been recorded in history. And then you’re going to marry the hell out of this man.

@pixelcafe-network @h3art-love

#han's library #apothecary diaries jinshi #jinshi apothecary diaries #jinshi x reader #jinshi #apothecary diaries #the apothecary diaries #anime fanfic

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marudol · 11 months ago

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kabru and the dungeon lords

kabru is a very critical character to dungeon meshi for a thousand and one reasons, and not merely for his status as the point-of-view character in the story's b-plot. kabru represents the compass by which dungeon meshi's world works. he has big-picture motives that involve the entire world, much grander than the original a-plot of "let's save falin."

he is our classic hero, a character who suffered great personal tragedy and must ensure that no one suffers the same fate. as such, he is a great parallel for dungeon meshi's most integral characters:

the dungeon lords themselves.

🚨manga spoilers ahead.🚨

thistle

picture this: you are a child, separate from anyone else in the world who looks like you due to circumstances beyond your control. you are taken by pale-skinned adults who try to treat you well; who clothe you, feed you, and put a roof over your head.

it is not enough.

who am i describing - kabru, or thistle?

kabru-thistle parallels focus on their shared past as trans-racial adoptees. their shared experiences are not a universal one to all trans-racial adoptions in the dungeon meshi universe: the floke twins are treated well by their gnomish foster (grand)parents; allowed to be children while they are children and treated as adults when they are adults.

not all trans-racial adoptees are given the same courtesy. kabru was raised by an elf who infantilized him, even once he was fully-grown. milsiril did not always know what kabru needed from her, so she defaulted to treating him the way she would treat an elf his age rather than understand what his age meant as a tall-man.

by contrast, thistle was raised by tall-men. freinag saw thistle as a son and so he and delgal thought themselves as brothers. but as delgal aged and matured, thistle remained stagnant. eventually, delgal's relative age surpassed thistle's- but no one could even conceive of that, because thistle's numerical age made the tall-men around him treat him as an adult rather than a teenager.

they both feel immense responsibility for the tragedies suffered by their people. kabru explicitly believes there must be a "reason" he survived utaya and that the reason was to destroy the dungeons to ensure it never happened again, and thistle IS the reason the golden country survived their war, and why eodio made it to adulthood all.

kabru and thistle are characters pre- and post-accomplishing their goals. kabru has yet to assume total responsibility; thistle already has.

they must save them- they must protect them all.

[🩵]

marcille

once upon a time, a child lost a parent before they were ready to, and the trajectory of their life changed forever. desperate to understand, the child grew into an adult and dedicated themself to preventing their personal loss from happening to anyone else ever again. as a result, they looked downward into the dungeon's depths.

they will find the answers they seek.

who am i describing- kabru, or marcille?

marcille and kabru stand as important secondary figures to laios, our main protagonist. in the words of another excellent post, they are the heaven foils to laios's earth. where laios is grounded and thinking about the here and now, they have both identified big picture problems plaguing their world and pursue these goals with intense fervor.

however, these goals have been diverted by censorship. marcille cannot access information about historical ancient magic through traditional means and the elves won't tell kabru what happened to utaya's dungeon, so they both decide to go and do something with their own two hands.

entering the dungeon is a step towards their grander goals, which are both rooted in opposition to long-lived supremacy. critically: the solutions they come to are vastly different.

marcille's solution is very fantastical - "fixing" everyone's lifespans by making EVERYONE long-lived (though her original solution seemed to be more grounded; being a lord gave her the chance to indulge in the full fantasy).

on the other hand, kabru wants something more concrete and based in the real world. he wants to use the dungeon as a means to an end before destroying it entirely, whereas marcille wants the dungeon to be the end. hers is a magic idea borne about by escapism, while kabru wants to solve a societal problem with something tangible to improve the lives of the shorter-lived without resorting to the fantastical.

(note the similarity in these compositions!)

kabru and marcille are aiming for the heavens; they have chosen to act as stewards to bring about a better future for as many people as possible.

but eventually, they must crash back down to earth.

[🩵]

mithrun

a long time ago, a dungeon lord met their maker and the demon ate its fill, but failed to breach the surface. carnage and destruction was sown in its wake. in the aftermath, a survivor dedicated himself completely and utterly to the cause with no room for reproach.

the dungeon will be conquered. and if he has it his way, it will be conquered by his hand.

who am i describing- kabru, or mithrun?

if thistle represents kabru's past and marcille represents kabru's present, than mithrun represents one branch of kabru's future- and a rather bleak one.

mithrun has suffered great tragedy at the hands of a dungeon and, as a result, dedicated himself to be what he believes is his one remaining desire: to finally be consumed entirely. he thinks he has nothing else to live for, so he runs himself ragged every single day just to inch closer and closer at a chance to kill himself while pursuing his goal.

this great fervor is one that kabru artificially mimics long before meeting mithrun. kabru is willing to die for his goals. he does die for his goals. he thinks he is going to die without a chance for resurrection when he sabotages the canaries, which is why his 'last' thought is "it's up to you now, laios!"

remember: kabru believes his survival has to serve a purpose- his survival must have been 'worth it.' in order to make his own survival palettable, kabru dedicates himself entirely to the dungeon's destruction without long-lived intervention as a means to avoid repeating utaya's fate. kabru self-deprives, fails to care for himself, and he is constantly killed in pursuit of his goal to conquer the dungeon before people like the canaries can. while kabru has desires, he only indulges in the one that has guided him for over a decade.

functionally, he and mithrun are identical when they first meet.

kabru has purposefully deprived himself of his desires beyond ensuring another utaya doesn't happen again, and mithrun is proof of what happens when you follow that to its logical conclusion. however, over the course of their week together and the final arc of the story, kabru makes the choice to divert from mithrun's fate.

kabru looks into the eye of his ultimate goal, and in the culmination of his arc, ultimately refuses this destiny.

what do you want, kabru? are you hungry, kabru?

kabru indulges. instead of blindly following through the dungeon's destruction and sacrificing what he wants for the greater good, he wants, and he befriends laios instead of ending his life. he leaves mithrun's fate behind...

...and senshi- one of the most steadfast representatives of dungeon meshi's thesis- sets mithrun on a path where he, too, can learn to chase after newer, healthier desires.

[🩵]

laios

one day, a child was hungry for the answer to a question: "what is wrong with me?"

there is no satisfactory answer. a mother and a sister believe nothing is wrong, but everyone else in their small world disagrees. those eyes, that personality- something must be wrong.

but there is no recourse.

so, these children endeavor to focus on the world around them in ways that won't hurt them. one chooses to study and love humans, because humans are beautiful and complex and amazing. the other chooses to study and love monsters, because monsters are easier to understand and always obey one simple rule: eat or be eaten.

they double down on their interests soon enough. monsters have hurt one child enough, and humans can't get enough of hurting the other.

you know which one is kabru. you know which one is laios- dungeon meshi's fabled narrative foils.

laios and kabru are as textually close to being explicit foils as humanly possible. the first sentence of kabru's page of the adventurer's bible says it perfectly: "in every possible way, he's a contrast with laios. laios loves monsters, while kabru has an endless interest in humans" (56).

in basic terms, a foil character is a character with traits that contrast against another's, typically the main protagonist. this contrast serves to highlight the themes of the story, and we see that illustrated perfectly with laios and kabru.

where kabru has denied himself care, laios gives it to him without thinking. where laios believed no one could ever want to be his friend, kabru proves him wrong. the nature of nourishment and human connection are both critical foundations to dungeon meshi's story, and the main character struggling with human connection while his foil struggles with nourishment is no mistake.

kabru wanted to be laios's friend all along. the b-plot of dungeon meshi is driven by kabru's unconscious desire to understand and ultimately aid one inscrutable laios touden. the reason they cross paths at all is because kabru wants to meet him! he takes a chance when toshiro appears and sees his chance through.

but kabru doesn't realize it until he's already said it. he betrays himself, completely unaware that his supposed interest in the touden siblings skews a little more to the right than he could have possibly known.

killing laios would have been the ultimate preventative measure. he was yet to be dungeon lord, and with the canaries intent on handling marcille, kabru could have dealt with him right then on that cliff. but kabru doesn't take the opportunity because he doesn't want to.

he'd rather befriend laios than see him dead, and he takes the chance by the sleeve and doesn't let go until he is listened to.

and in the end, kabru is rewarded for his leap of faith: laios puts an end to the demon. laios has ensured that another utaya will never happen again.

laios saves the world.

all because kabru allowed himself to be selfish.

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