#I REFUSE to believe he looked anything like he does now in life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bi-writes · 11 days ago

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an eye for an eye | knight!ghost x f!reader

your husband bends to your will. men must learn from difficult lessons how far that bending goes.

type: a continuation of a hand for a hand, but can be read stand-alone (11.6k)

cw: 1600s au, dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, graphic depictions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, simon "i'd do anything for my wife no matter the devasting consequences" riley (18+)

Your husband has an insatiable appetite. Such a big man he is; he towers over you, so much so that you must tip your head back always to look up at him. You had to make many arrangements in your house to accommodate his hunger–a pantry stocked full of eggs and less fabric for your skirts.

Your house isn’t like others. Neither you nor Ghost have ever lived in luxury. When he showed you your home for the first time, you had shaken your head–you didn’t believe that such a large place was supposed to be yours, and even now, sometimes you feel like a stranger, out of place when the maids ask you what you want for supper or where you’d like to take your afternoon tea. You don’t like the fuss, the asking, the women that curtsy when you come near, concentrated over the creases in your skirts or the loose thread of your sleeve or the wispy hairs that fall out of your braids. You are told all the time that you must behave like a duchess, that you must poise yourself with your new title and your new money, and you must do the things that duchesses do–but no one says the same to your husband.

He is still allowed to sleep in the barracks. Lick the blood off his gauntlets. Polish his sword in the dirt. He’s still allowed to be everything that you cannot be anymore, he still lives the life he had before.

He still kills; and he is still very, very good at it.

Your queen told you in a letter that the king is very pleased. Ever since your union, Ghost has been quite the conqueror. Bloodthirsty and very determined, your husband has been taking his men across the water. He is not any less impressive off land. Not even the pirates have tried to negotiate; they bend the knee or taste the salt water. You breathe shakily when you read your queen’s letters—her praise for your husband’s conquests, how blessed your family will be and how valuable you are to the crown, how grateful she is that Ghost is no longer a fiend in court but rather a little more polite and a little quieter.

All for your sake. Ghost’s name is now your own, and he refuses to embarrass you now that you have it.

You won’t lie; the bodies that Ghost has stacked since you’ve been wed do not scare you. He’s doing it for you. He has never said it out loud, never told you so, but you know it. He wants to show you what kind man that he is, what kind of soldier—you know he’s trying to prove himself worthy. If he killed a thousand men to have you, how many will he slaughter to keep you?

He sends you letters of his own. Not many, but he does send letters, and while Ghost seems to be ineloquent and entirely too brutish, he has quite the voice when he writes.

To my wife,

The sun falls quicker here. I’d like to come home. Tell me of your day, and I will tell you of mine. There were a fleet of ships that came to meet us at dawn. When we sank three, they begged for us to spare the rest.

I have you to think about now. So I burned them.

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

He signs his real name in his letters. Your eyes skim over most of it–you don’t even blink when he tells you what he does to them. Sometimes he writes in great detail about the screams of a hundred souls, the way burning flesh smells, the taste of dirt in a new place when you know it is finally yours. He doesn’t like having secrets. He tells you all his thoughts, even if they might scare you, because you are his wife, and he has discovered quite quickly that you have been cut from the same cloth.

Even when he is home, and he tells you these things all over again, he can’t help the way his cock hardens when you merely blink and ask him if he has added any scars to his collection.

Ravenous, naughty little duchess, and you are all his. He knows he picked well–he knows, he knows he wasn’t wrong when he saw you across the throne room hiding behind his queen, he knows now that he was right about what he saw in your eyes.

You do hate when he’s away. You’re not used to the maids helping you dress, and you secretly abhor the help. That is why when you hear the shuffle of your house early in the morning, your heart thuds in your chest knowing he’s home.

The staff get antsy when Simon is around. He is very good at keeping an estate for someone that has never had to or ever been taught to, but he leaves the responsibilities with you and only you every time he goes. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and every time he comes back, he makes you sit on one big thigh as he teaches you something new that you need to remember for when he goes away. He demands much of those he employs, and they are eager to please him. Whether it is because they respect him or are afraid of him, you aren’t sure.

Perhaps it’s both.

You sit up as the bedroom door opens. You smile, big and wide and sleepy as he steps into the room. He shuts the door with his boot, slipping his hood off, and you sigh as he grips the clasp of his mask and unhooks it. He tosses it onto the floor, bare-faced, and as he makes his way towards the bed, he sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You cannot stop yourself from the shaky breath you take. He is all muscle and fat, strong and entirely too scary, but it’s hard to focus on what he really is when he stands before you like this. He has fat thighs, big shoulders, carved muscle of intense labor around his middle and along his biceps. He has large hands with calloused palms and split knuckles, and your eyes meet his own as he comes closer. He’s so gorgeous, even with a face like that. He has a long scar that stretches from one brow to his lower jaw, another that cuts his nose and splits his lip, but those eyes are dark and lovely, and you can’t help the warmth that comes over you when he catches you staring at him, closer, right to his cock that hangs heavy between his legs.

Just as he begins to lower himself onto the bed, you hold out a hand, giggling.

“Simon, if you think you are getting into this bed without a proper bath, you’re mistaken!” You laugh, and he raises a brow.

“Mmm…” He smacks his lips together. “Tha’ right, my lady?” He clicks his tongue. “This is my bed. ’s oll mine. Every blanket…every pillow…” He grips your ankle from under the covers and yanks you towards him. “And every part of you.”

You giggle again, shaking your head, “Please, Simon!” You push him away with your toes. “They only changed the sheets yesterday. You’ll dirty them…” You flutter your lashes. “Will you bathe if I join you?”

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

You hold out your hand for him, and he takes it gently. You watch as he brings your knuckles towards his mouth, and you bite back a smile when he decides to kiss each one, slow. He tugs finally, pulling you up, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he hoists you up into his arms. You would worry about your weight normally, but Simon holds you so easily, barely even a grunt as he wraps your legs around his middle. You don’t waste another second, cupping his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly.

It’s never just a kiss with Simon. He slides one of his hands up your back, into your hair, and you whine as he tips your head back just enough to slip his tongue into your mouth. Simon doesn’t just kiss, he consumes. What he did to get back to you, the things he endured, the places he has seen and the bodies he has buried and burned and scattered across the places he now calls country, it’s always to get back to this place.

To you.

“How’s my boy?” He asks when you pull away. He carries you to another room, to where the tub sits, and he rings a bell by the door to call the maids in. You snatch a robe off a hook and cover him with it as he sits with you, but all he does is put a few fingers under your chin and make you look at him again. “Oi. Asked ya question, luv.”

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

“I…” You wait until the maids have gone to fetch hot water to tell him. “I bled while you were gone. I…” You smooth your hands over the robe, distracting yourself. “I’m…I’m sorry, Simon.”

You close your eyes as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours, and you shake a little as he lets out a warm breath against your lips. He moves a warm hand over your soft stomach, cupping you there, and you lean your head back a little at the tender touch.

“It will happen,” he says finally, and your mouth opens to respond, but he sticks his thumb between your lips to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear you blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his, for not being here with you, for not be able to take care of you. You give in, suckling on the salt of him, and he grits his teeth as he watches you. “I know. Seen it in m’dreams.”

Simon has dreams. Lots of dreams, but he tells you that they are not dreams, they are glimpses into something that has already happened. When you asked if he was some kind of seer, the kind that the king used to have at parties, Simon doesn’t laugh.

He says the dreams are why he knows he won’t die. Why he is never afraid, because he knows somewhere behind his eyes what’s to come even if he didn’t see the entire painting of it. It is why he knew he would marry you; it is why he paid you so much attention, why he knew he would win his battles, why he always knows whose blood it is in his mouth because he has tasted their death before and relishes in the knowing of it all, in the certainty.

It’s never I think, it is always I know, and Simon is nothing if he is not the most honest man that you know.

So if he says you will have his babe, it is as good as truth. As green as the grass grows beneath his feet, as blue as his sky, and as red as the blood that is caked underneath his nails.

When the tub is filled with water, you let Simon sink into it first. You kneel beside it, picking up a glass of oil, pouring it into your palms before sinking your hands into his hair. It’s gotten longer since he left, in need of a cut, but you smile when he leans his head back into your shoulder. You can feel his content as he relaxes into you, and you admire his physique as you use the warm water and scrub the mud and grime off of him.

“I missed you, husband,” you whisper, and he only lets you massage his hair for a few more moments before he grips you by the wrist and tugs you forward, right into the bath. “Simon!” you laugh, “my night dress—oh!—it’s ruined!”

“Too far away,” he mutters, practically ripping the silk off of you as he tosses it besides the bath. “Mmm…” He cups your breasts with two big hands, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples, and you whine a little as he pulls at them just enough to make them stiffen. “Y’should be naked when I come home,” he says lowly. “I’ll soil y’r bloody gown next time, m’lady.”

You giggle, and he smiles. A real smile. As real as he’ll ever give anyone, maybe the only one that anyone has ever even seen. He has never shown his face in court, and while it angers the women and irks the men, you revel in the fact that all of this is only for you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You kiss him softly. The water sloshes, warm and inviting, and sometimes you forget your life used to be anything but joy. A year ago, you would not believe that you would be here, titled, wealthy, in a stone room lit by candles bathing with a blood hungry ghost.

A year ago, you trembled whenever he looked at you. You cowered when you heard his footsteps. What a stupid little girl you had been. What a fool. She had no idea what she could have, the kinds of things she could hold in her hand.

Real power wasn’t being able to command a room with your words. Real power was being able to say anything and have it be believed as truth. Real power was making someone look in one direction and have them see what you see, even if what you see isn’t real.

He lays you down in your bed afterward and eats. Your wet hair soaks the sheets, but you can’t seem to be really bothered as he fits your legs over his shoulders and bends you at the waist, his mouth suctioned to your clit as he eats you slowly. One of his hands is spread out over your tummy, the other you can hear making a squelch as he fists his own cock. It’s slow and methodical, and he slides his tongue between your folds firm, catching what dribbles from you on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it and leans in for more.

He has eaten you in nearly every room in your house. Frightened the cooks tossing you onto the dining table, given a servant a scare as he ducked under your skirts in the library, had the gardeners fleeing as he dropped you onto the grass near the lake and disappeared with a frenzy to eat your cunt during sunrise. It’s maddening, the kind of need that Simon requires, but it’s hard to refuse when you feel so warm and bubbly and happy after he’s finished. A pampered princess you are, never lifting a finger, only awake long enough when he’s home to eat until you’re full and cum until you fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s why you’re not pregnant yet. Simon likes to be here, between your thighs, mouth fixed on your wet pussy until he’s practically exhausted himself with a sore jaw and lax tongue.

He kisses you sloppy after. Licking into your mouth, practically spitting onto your tongue, wanting you to taste—tastes so good, luvvie, don’t ya see, yeah?—wanting you to know why he’s so eager to be on his knees all the time.

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

“’s not what I really want,” is all you whimper, and he nods, because he knows, he always knows.

“I know, luv. I know wot ya really need.”

“I must be broken,” you sob, cradling his face in your hands, and he shakes his head.

“Not broken,” Simon assures you. He speaks so surely that it’s hard not to believe him. “It wasn’t time.”

“You can’t see the future, Simon! You don’t know!” You cry, and he snarls a little, shaking his head again.

“You listen t’me,” he growls. You shake a little as he grabs your face with one hand, fixing your jaw under his grip as he holds onto you firmly. “Wot I say goes. Y’r my wife, so listen t’me, and listen t’me good. Y’r not broken. Not time. Say it back t’me.”

Your lip trembles, and he rattles your head a little.

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

“It’s not time,” you whisper, and he plants a fat kiss onto your tear-soaked lips.

“Just need my cock, luv,” he murmurs. “Tha’s oll. Just need me t’fuck it outta ya.”

You nod, pressing your face to his, and he tuts, reaching down and spreading your legs wide to accommodate him between them as he lays over you.

“’s oll y’need,” he repeats, and you nod again.

You have to take another bath in the same morning; and this time, you weren’t able to walk there.

You like when Simon is home because it’s quiet. The only one that dotes on you here is Simon. The maids do not dress you or do your hair or moisturize your skin. It’s always Simon.

You smile at him in the mirror as you sit at your vanity. He has a brush in one hand, and he’s using it delicately to detangle your hair how you like. His hands are practiced and gentle, and when he finishes, he leans over you as he starts to part your hair to braid it. He did not have sisters, but his mother had him always do her hair after she lost the use of her hands with age. You don’t know where his mother is, but you assume she is not here anymore, because he never invites you to meet her.

He oils your skin. He slips the robe off of you, revealing your damp skin from the bath, and he slathers oil in his hands before using it to soften your skin. He takes his time, smoothing those big hands over your shoulders, down your back, along your arms. You tilt your head back when he warms your breasts, squeezing and fondling your tits. He murmurs in your ear the entire time, and he has to fuck you with his fingers to quiet you when he stops because just his hands on your tits has you wet all over again.

He dresses you, too. Helps you slip into your undergarments, fastens the cage for your skirts over your hips. He ties them skillfully, and after he layers your skirts over the farthingale, he gets you into your corset. It’s intimate as he does this. Even with your wide skirt, he comes closer, over your shoulder, and he tugs at the laces at your back, pulling it tight with firm grunts. You sigh when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hand skimming over your breasts as they sit nice and perky between stiff fabric and whalebone.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, unnerving…the way ya look…”

You close your eyes, “S-Simon, please…I’m already dressed…”

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

But when he has to leave again, you nearly come with him. You fasten his armor for him, help him slip each piece of leather on and click every piece of metal into place. You tie his cloak and slip his mask on, and you try and duck your head when you flip his hood up, but he catches you, tilting your chin up.

He huffs when he sees your face. Tears sliding down your cheeks, lips wet with them, eyes all glassy and red. He draws you up onto your toes, pressing his mouth to yours through the mask, and you hold onto him tightly, digging your nails into his chest armor and threatening to not let go.

“I want to go.“

“No.”

“Simon, let me go,” You gasp, begging, gripping his hood in firm fists and not caring that his armor is cutting into your front. “Let me go with you, I can’t do this anymore, I want to go, I can do it.”

You aren’t sure if Simon underestimates you. You think it’s more that he does not want you to see him in a place where he is most true. Where he wears the least of a disguise. He does not know he wears it the least with you, and that you have already seen his blood and how it curdles under his skin. You like it that way. You like him angry…and mean…and terrible. You like him when his sword is dirty and his armor needs polishing and his mind thinks of nothing else besides war. He should know this by now. He should know that you see him and see what he is even more than his king, more than his men.

He couldn’t scare you, even if he tried.

“War is not where women go,” Simon snaps. His tone is harsh, even for you, and you stiffen when he grips you by the jaw and rattles your head a little. “Especially not one like you, my love. War would eat ya, eat ya fuckin’ whole. Look at ya…” He huffs, deep, sliding that gloved hand down your throat to slip it beneath the neckline of your dress and fondle your breast with a firm grip. “Beautiful. Meant for my lips…for these dresses…meant to be held in my hands, not bleed from stray arrows, because tha’ is surely the least of wot they would do t’ya if they knew ya were my wife. Now ya will wipe these tears, ‘n see me off, and then ya will come back inside like a good girl, ‘n you will wait for me here until I come back.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you scowl up at him. Not indifference, but frustration, and Simon doesn’t think it suits you.

“I’m sick of waiting for you, Simon,” you spit. “It’s all I ever do, wait. Wait for you to come back, alive or dead, I never know. And don’t say you do this for country, that is a lie.” You shove him backwards, but he barely budges when your hands touch his chest, a rigid wall that does not give. “You do it because you like it. You’re a bloodthirsty dog, and all you do is bend to our king’s will.”

A lie, but you tell it anyways, because you want something, and he will not give it to you.

“That is my duty.”

“Your duty is to me,” you snap. “Kings come and go, but I will not.” Simon stills. He glares down at you from behind his mask, and perhaps this might terrify his men, but that you are not. You are his wife, and you are protected by that title alone. The only man to ever lay a hand on you would not live to see another second, himself included. “Now you will let me join you, or so help me God, Simon, I will not be here when you return.”

You do not expect the full-bellied laugh that leaves him. His armor shakes with him, and you grind your teeth, narrowing your eyes. He uses his thumb to force his mask up, and then he cups the back of your head and draws you in for a sloppy kiss. You resist at first, but when he feeds you his tongue, you melt. You kiss him back, letting him draw you closer, and you sigh as he tangles his fingers into your hair and cradles you with those big hands.

There is nothing more to say. Simon neither confirms nor denies, but you taste it in his mouth, his devotion. Not wrong, not right, but just so–he has many responsibilities, but you are the only one that will remain the same. One day, his king will die, and he will serve another, but the space you have made beside him will never change. Even when you die, because he knows you will go before him, there will never be someone else to fill it. You and you only, the woman he found and made his, the one he demanded lest he kill his own country for it, it will always be you. Soft and sweet, you are, but the Lord knew Simon could only have one woman, and he made it be you; the one spitfire enough to defy her own king because she trusted his love enough for it.

Would you commit treason to save his life? Would you watch a king die if it meant your beloved lived?

Would he?

He thinks about what you have said when he takes his fleet across the water. He runs his tongue over his teeth behind his mask, breathing deep when he thinks about your proclamations of duty. Of change. Of what remains when other things move, of the kind of life that waits for him when he comes and goes with a king’s order. He thinks about how easily he is taken away from you, and he knows there is truth in what you feel. It is not really Simon that sacrifices, it is what he leaves behind, and that is you.

It’s never angered him before. He had accepted the fact, as early as your wedding day, that he would leave and come back, then leave again. It has always been the way of his life, come desire or not, so it bothers him that of all the things that surprised him in his life, it would be missing someone that shocked him the most.

Missing his wife. Missing the serene perfection of one woman, and the perfect place between her soft thighs. Every day that he finds himself between them is the best day of his life, he reckons, so now he feels bitter about staring at a freezing ocean amongst his men because he will go weeks without her.

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

It comes in a letter from a messenger on horseback. They have been stationed in a foreign land for weeks now, watching slowly as the stone walls of a castle at their front crumples day after day from the stones filled with powder that ignite what is wood and break what is rock. The letter is sealed with wax, with the motif of a snake. It is given directly to Simon, whose name is scribbled in the letter, and when he reads it, he tastes ichor and smoke.

So the great phantom has come to seal my fate. I am not in the business of letting what is mine be taken. Even if you have brought your all, it won’t be taken from me.

I heard you have a beautiful new wife. I heard you paid for her in blood.

I shall do the same. I will hang your sword above our marriage bed.

Ghost is not someone that bends to the threats from foe he cannot look in the eye. Words are so empty. It is nothing like when he stands just a few meters apart from them, eyes fixed against one another, as they decide whether today they want to live or they want to die. The letter means nothing, but he’s surprised by the heat that bubbles under his ribs at the mention of his bride. He meant it when he said you were not meant for war, and that meant in this regard, too–nobody was allowed to talk about you, not like this, not ever.

When his king orders him home, Ghost crumples the note and tosses it into embers. He watches it burn, and then he orders his men to set to flame the ground around the stone walls.

So men like him can be goaded, it seems. His resolve is not as strong as he thought.

The weeks make you anxious. All you do is sit and collect dues and tell the maids which dress you want to wear and which you do not. It is peaceful and boring, and you wish Simon was here to make your days more exciting, but he is not.

His letters are the only things that keep you occupied, truly. He writes to you about war and loneliness, and you write to him about the mundane of domesticity and the ache he leaves behind. Sometimes, his letters come folded with pressed flowers he finds along the way, and you start to collect them, putting them away in small boxes or using them as bookmarks as you go through Simon’s library.

He has many books. His most loved books are those of war, of history, and you smooth your fingers over the pages he has dogeared and find comfort in reading the same words that he once did. You learn, as well. While in your studies as a girl, they made you learn arithmetic and the flowery bits of history and art, here in Simon’s house, you learn of strategy and weaponry and military tactic. Sometimes you disagree, and you write about these disagreements to Simon, and he writes back, pleased with your observations. He told you once that if you were a man, he would want you in that tent with him, beside him, deciding on which formations to take and when to strike. You responded saying that you could be that for him anyway. What did your sex have anything to do with whether you were right or wrong?

Simon agreed.

But I would never invite you here, dear wife. You have to understand that.

When your queen asks for your audience for dinner, you oblige easily; finally, you have something to do rather than add up numbers or sign a document on Simon’s behalf or read another fucking book.

You don’t want to wear all the costume your maids insist on, but you appease them after they repeatedly explain to you what your title means. With a drawn face, you let them tie your corset and layer your skirts, and you watch in the mirror as they braid your hair and drape large, obnoxious jewels over you. You grimace at the tiara they fit into your hair, and your elderly handmaid pinches your cheeks and tells you to put on a fair countenance, Your Grace, lest you make the Duke look ungrateful.

You bite your tongue from snapping at her. She should know that Simon would say nothing about your countenance; all he would do is fix whatever was bothering you until you smiled again.

You arrive early enough to have tea. Your queen is so excited to see you; she gushes when you meet her in the throne room, pulling you up from your curtsy so she can hug you tight, squealing. When you try to address her with a curt “Your Majesty,” she shakes her head, pressing her hands to your cheeks and giggling, “No need for formalities now. Call me Victoria.”

You hide your displeasure with a small smile. Now that you are no longer her lady-in-waiting, she allows you her name. Is it because she sees you more as equals, or because now you’re allowed to be somewhat of friends?

You must be some kind of friend. She sizes you up like you are one. She wears England’s colors this afternoon. A fire red dress adorned with gold accents, a dragon pin holding her shawl. She wears magnificent red and gold jewelry, but she’s looking at your dress, and you can see the slight twitch of her eye. You are wearing French lace, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she doesn’t like the color, the accents of navy blue and silver that you wear.

The skull motif that is woven into your tiara and printed on your coat and sewn into your dress. Does it insult her? That all your life, you wore nothing but browns and beiges and grays, were invisible to her, and now you represent your house, visit her as your guest, and bear an honorable name?

You were no one when you served her. Just a girl, no close family, no friends, just a distant uncle who gave you to the crown that hoped you could be of service. That was to be your duty for all your life–to serve the king’s wife until she wanted you no more or until she was gone. To cater to her every need and every wish, no matter the time of day or night.

Now you sit across her, more noble. Refined. Wearing a dress she despises, perhaps because she likes it more than her own.

Over tea, she gossips about the other ladies she has visit. You’ve heard this before, but you’ve never been included in the conversation. She talks to you, and she wants to hear your opinion, and you find yourself uneasy as you try to think of what to say. She is your queen, and you want her to like you. When you worked for her, you earned her favor by always warming up her jewels before she put them on, by making sure she had her tea ready in the morning at her bedside, by always holding the fan she so loved for when she inevitably had a hot flash. Now, as her friend, you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You suck in a soft breath and look at her, and then you purse your lips.

You think it best to agree with her. To be on her side. You might not be her direct servant any longer, but you still must fall under her favor. A queen’s favor can be just as powerful, especially if she occasionally has the ear of her husband.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her,” you say finally, and she laughs.

“No! She’s such a prude. I think her husband doesn’t sleep in her bed enough, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. You giggle at that. “Speaking of husbands–” She pops another cake in her mouth. “How is yours?”

You reach up and tug at your necklace a bit, smiling nervously.

“Oh, uh…” You clear your throat, “He’s doing very well. I hear his latest campaign is quite the success. His majesty is very smart, heading for the east that way, I’m sure they will be victorious soon enough.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of her husband. His intelligence. She always used to talk to you about how many hours he worked, how she hated when he was away, how she wished he was home more so he could give her a son because she was so, so lonely.

“Wise words from the duchess, aye, my love?”

You jump a bit at the low voice from behind, and when you turn, you gasp, immediately standing and falling into a delicate curtsy. John Price waves his hand, coming further into the room, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. “Please, sit. You’re here as my guest.”

You stand and lift your head, trying to relax. You take a seat, smiling nervously, and Victoria smiles giddily at her husband. When he bends to kiss her cheek, she fawns, reaching for his hand and squeezing it before taking another piece of tart and eating it. John hums before motioning for one of the staff to fill your cup again with tea. He eyes you curiously, taking in your appearance. You sit up at that, performatively brushing off over the skull pattern on your corset. John runs his tongue over his teeth, smoothing a big palm down his wife’s long coils of hair.

“Since you’re here, I’d like a word, if that’s alright,” John says to you. His tone carries a little more authority now, and Victoria sighs, whining a little.

“John, please, she’s my friend. Can’t it wait–”

“That wasn’t a question, Victoria,” John bites. Her face falls a little. She swallows and tucks her hands into her lap. You’re reminded as you look at the slight wobble of her lip that there is no one truly above John Price, not even her. You keep your face neutral, but if you were invisible, you’d pity her.

What a shame her husband sees her as less than. How embarrassing. Your Simon would never. Your Simon waits until you finish speaking before speaking himself. Your husband kneels to take off your shoes, your husband tears your skirts to get a taste of you, your husband used his teeth to sever a man’s throat just to have your hand.

What did John Price do to get his wife? Who did John Price kill to have her hand? How many bruises did he earn around his knees on their wedding night from eating her out? As many as Simon, whose knees were black and blue by morning?

No, you suppose not. How unfortunate. How pathetic.

Victoria picks up her skirt and stands, pasting a big smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and you can see the way her hands shake a little as she scurries off. She scowls as soon as she turns away from John, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll go check on dinner,” she says, but it is soft and unenthusiastic.

When she goes, the room falls quiet. At the nod of John’s head, the staff leave, and you keep still in your seat as John sits across from you, picking up one of the cakes in front of him and breaking off a piece to busy himself. He keeps his eyes on his task of cutting up the cake in small pieces, focused on his hands and how they work. You watch him carefully, steeling yourself.

You anticipate a conversation between man and woman, not a king and his lesser.

“Simon’s been away for some time. I bet that’s difficult for you.”

You straighten your posture, realizing what this conversation will be. By his tone, John seems to think you a bored, stupid housewife, perhaps. Uneducated. A woman, no thoughts in her head. You let your face relax, and you fold your hands in your lap. Maybe now is the time John should learn who you are and who you are not.

What you have become and what you no longer are.

“I do just fine, Your Majesty,” you say finally. You pick up a spoon and drop a cube of sugar into your tea, and you stir, picking it up to take a long sip. John is curious by your content. You have a quick tongue. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?”

John laughs. He narrows his eyes a bit at your clever response, taking a large bite of the cake and running a cloth over his beard. His eyes sparkle a little.

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

“You know I gave Simon orders. And you know he didn’t listen to me.”

You purse your lips, but he sees the shine in your eyes. The lack of surprise. His face twitches a bit, and you shake your head. You blink slow, and it irks him to see you so calm. He is your king, and Simon answers to him, and you are his wife, so you must answer, too.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I could have your husband’s head cut off for treason for that, you’re aware, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head to the side. What an odd thing for John to say. What an odd thing for John to contemplate, since it would never come to pass. “Don’t be daft, my king. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

John slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cups rattle with his frustration, but you do not even flinch. You blink, stone-faced, and it makes his nostrils flare. He recognizes that glare, he knows it well. He has seen it before, stared it down many times in rooms just like this. Only now, he is not fighting for land, he fights for control of the one man that he has always been able to rely on. Simon has followed him into battles outnumbered by a thousand men, and only now he ignores an order? Only now he chooses something different?

“Now, let’s be civil, Your Majesty,” you say softly. You smile at him, leaning your head in your hand. “Is there something that you need from me? I have a feeling you might have encouraged this dinner just so you could see me in passing, so why don’t you just ask me what you wanted to ask me?”

John lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. He leans towards you, and you admire how blue his eyes are. John is quite a handsome king, but he does not captivate you. It has been a long time since John has tasted blood, and he lacks the edge that you crave dearly.

“I need him back here, is what I need,” John murmurs.

“My king, I couldn’t get him back here any more than you could, even if I wanted to.”

“Now who’s being daft?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. John is not a stupid man. He created a beast of a man, and he is trying not to poke it too hard. You shift, brushing down your skirts, and you let out a low breath.

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

“Why does he ignore your order to come back?” You ask again. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons why he would stay. So why did he ignore you?”

John clicks his tongue, smoothing a few of his fingers over his beard. He averts his eyes, looking out the tall windows, frowning a little at the grim weather. The weather is always grim here, but it irks him at the moment, makes him scowl a little harder.

“I was…informed that there was some sort of letter,” John explains. “Some threat.”

“I don’t follow. He gets lots of threats. And terrible letters.”

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

You close your eyes at that, shaking your head. Simon would never be so foolish as to be baited by baseless threats. He barely bats an eye when someone even in front of him draws his sword. He is so comforted by his ability to win, by his dreams and his visions that have not yet happened.

“That’s absurd,” you breathe. “Simon wouldn’t…”

John chuckles, but there is no humor there. “Wouldn’t he?”

“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” you roll your eyes, looking away. “Simon is…he’s not…he doesn’t listen. It’s why he’s good at this, isn’t it? He doesn’t really take orders, he’s…I…”

John has never complained before about the way Simon chooses to lead. Oftentimes, it is an order ignored that has made it so that he delivered another crown at John’s feet. Simon asks for forgiveness, not permission, and John has barely batted at eye at it. He sees Simon as some kind of distant son, but this refusal bothers him so?

John leans forward. “You need to understand something here, Simon is a rabid dog,” he spits. “And sometimes I let him off his lead, but this isn’t like anything I’ve had to deal with. I need you to call him back here.” He scoots closer. “England needs you to call him back here. To me.”

You narrow your eyes a little. England needs you to call him back? What kind of sick sense of patriotism is he trying to instill in you? John is stupider than he looks, to think a woman like you would show loyalty to country. You are loyal to your husband, and nothing else, because what has king and country ever really done for a woman like you except for dispose of you?

You wear Simon’s colors, not John’s, and you will wear them to your deathbed.

“If I do this for you, my king, then you owe me,” you whisper. He laughs again, no humor, and he picks up a goblet and fills it to the brim with wine. He drinks half before slamming it down onto the table, spilling it over his hand.

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

“Quite right, Your Majesty,” you agree, picking up your napkin and dropping it onto the table. You stand, giving him a polite curtsy. “But I am not doing this as your subject.”

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

“You put your entire right to the throne on the back of one man,” you say softly. You are not accusing him, you’re reminding him of a truth. “Simon is why…he’s why your counsel still listens to you. He’s why your people are free from famine, why…why your taxes get paid on time, why your kingdom is still standing, no thanks to your father who wasted this place’s fortune on women and liquor.” You shake your head. “You have an eye for conquest, Your Majesty, but you lack the execution of any plan you conjure.”

You are not wrong, and John knows this, and it’s why he hasn’t spoken up yet or interrupted you. The man before, his own father, was a drunkard who spent all their money. He drank himself into the grave, and the only reason John stands before you now is because of Simon. A man who he fought beside, who he commanded, who once John’s duty became reality took up the mantle and finished what his father never could.

John would be in the next history book you read because of Simon, and it’s Simon’s name that will never be written. They do not bestow legacy to men who serve other men.

“Where…Where did you learn to speak to men this way?” John scoffs. “I am your king.”

You must have hit a soft spot. John is defensive now, and men only deflect and insult when they are cornered with the truth. They don’t like being held in front of a mirror.

“You are king because my husband made it so,” you correct him gently. “And Simon is a loyal dog, and that is good for your sake, because if he had any desire for your seat, it would be his.” You come closer, your heels sounding, and John glares down at you; but you glare right back because you are protected by your name and what you can do with it. John knows this, and it angers him, but he seems to have difficulty facing the truths of his own making. “But he is not your dog anymore. He’s mine.”

Your pen on paper is aggressive. You can tell because the splotches of ink are deep, bleeding black sinking into white as you put angry word to parchment. Not even a fortnight later, you are playing cards with Victoria, and you see Simon’s silhouette standing in the doorway, hood shadowing his masked face as he observes. When you look over your shoulder where John sits, and you meet his eyes, he looks away from you with a grim understanding.

Simon answers your call. Always.

At dinner, John is in better spirits. He drinks with a big smile, eats more than one plate, and he picks Victoria up by the waist to make her dance with him when he asks for the music to be played louder. Simon sits, fidgety, gloved hands moving in and out of fists as he watches you cut into your food and eat it with a blank face. He huffs beside you, his armor stiffening as he sits up straight, and you let your fork clatter onto your plate as you turn to glare at him.

“You were thinking with your cock, Simon,” you spit. “That is how men like you get killed.”

“You ‘ave no idea how men like me get killed because there are no men like me,” Simon growls. You roll your eyes, standing, and he grips your wrist angrily, tugging you close until you fall into his lap. You sigh, shaking your head, putting your hands on his broad shoulders and making him look at you.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’m not wrong. It is how you’ll lose. You know better than that, Simon. To fight someone because they taunted you in a letter, it’s playing the fool.” You cup his cheeks, keeping his eyes on yours. “You don’t need me to tell you that, and yet here we are.”

He breathes slow, closing his eyes for just a moment. He thinks he came for this, just a little. For clarity. Reason. It comes from you in waves, and it’s comforting to hear. It is something he knew, and yet it only makes sense now that you have said it.

“I know,” Simon mutters. “I know. Y’r right. I’m sorry, luv.”

You ask him to apologize when he undresses you. You ask him to apologize again when he sinks into a hot bath with you. You ask him a third time when he is in your bed, a heavy weight between your thighs as he licks and sucks at the soft skin of your tummy. He begs, lowly, let me ‘ave it, and you will, but he has to say he’s sorry again.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, sucking on your inner thigh, and you close your thighs around his head, forcing his mouth against your cunt.

“Again, Simon,” you whisper. “I wanna hear it again.”

“‘m sorry,” he slides a rough tongue between your folds, breathing shakily when he tastes the oil that he smoothed over your skin only moments ago. You taste so good, you smell so lovely, coming off of you like fumes blinding his senses so that nothing else but you makes any sense at all. When you open your eyes, you think about where you are, and you nearly come thinking about what you have wrapped around your finger.

Not even your king tells your husband what to do. Not even your king commands his men, they won’t listen, he’s not who they turn to when things go belly-up, it’s your husband, and your husband answers to you.

You weren’t sure about it until today. Seeing him when you asked him to come, it flooded you with something that hurt. You could tell from even so far away that Simon was salivating under that mask. You knew the only thing separating his mouth from your cunt were the other people around him (and they were not privy to seeing you naked).

It is such a thing to observe. John needed a lead on Simon when he was his dog. You need no such mechanism. Simon never strays, not with you. He sits proper when you ask, and he speaks when spoken to. He tears at unwanted flesh, and he comes when you call.

John cannot give him all that he desires. Perhaps he thought what Simon truly wanted was fame and fortune. Legacy. But like most things men do, John does not observe. He takes in only what is right in front of him, and he makes assumptions. Simon is not like other men. Fame and fortune do not matter. He does not care about legacy. What matters to Simon is what he can hold in his hands. The ground under his feet. The steel in his hand. The woman underneath him, spreading her legs, inviting him in.

You love Simon. You love Simon more than anything in the entire world, but it would be a lie to say that you are not at some advantage here. Simon is all-consuming. He is the pinnacle of duty and honor and everything that a man is supposed to be, but Simon is also weak. There is something that he wanted more than anything in the world, and now that he has it, he will do anything to keep it, and that makes him vulnerable. Subject to all kinds of new things. Revenge. Retaliation. Pain.

Manipulation.

Maybe you should feel bad about it. Maybe you should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything like it when there’s a big bear of a man between your thighs slobbering on your pussy like dessert. It’s hard to feel anything but bliss when he’s tracing the letters of his name into your cunt and making you see stars and fucking you into the silk sheets like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you.

It is men who govern your world, and if this is how you must move in it, then so be it. You will not feel bad. You will not be sorry for doing what anyone else would do. John thought he could keep his hand there, muzzle his mutt, but you like him this way, and you’re certain John doesn’t fuck the way you do.

He’s mine.

It isn’t John that commands an army, it’s you; or maybe your cunt, but that belongs to you, too, so it is you, isn’t it? You’re the one that lets him inside, that whispers in his ear, that tells him things you know he wants to hear to make things move in your favor, so it’s you, right?

Not John. Not Victoria. Not their counsel. You. They have stepped on you your entire life. They have made you small and inferior and sad for all of your existence, and they gave you something feral knowing it could eat you alive, and now you are the hand that feeds, and they are forgetting that if they bite too hard, you have something that will surely bite harder.

A collar would suit him, you think. He would look so pretty. He already is, the terrible beast, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen (the necklace your drape over him does just fine, a pendant with his motif that you hope reminds him of you). You don’t care if people would say his face is quite ugly. It is, very much so, but you never see him this way. Whenever that mask falls, your stomach flips. He takes your breath away. His intensity, his raw form of love, the look on his face–there is nothing else in the entire world that will love you the way he loves you.

“You came back for me?” You ask. You have a leg tangled between his, and his fingers are between your thighs, a shadow of a smirk on his face as he feels the mixture of your cum and his. He grunts a little, and you tilt your head to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“‘f course,” Simon mutters, and you kiss his chest gently, keeping your eyes on his.

“But not for John.”

He turns his head, looking down at you more intently, and he scoffs. You know it’s true, but you want to hear it, anyways. You want to hear Simon admit, unknowingly, that you are the tether.

“John is afraid, and I don’t listen to ‘im when he’s afraid. Makes bad choices.”

It’s almost adorable that this is what Simon tells himself. That he comes back for his own sake, and not for yours, even though they are one and the same, intertwined and inseparable.

“Simon,” you say softly, and he sighs, his eyes closing briefly when you kiss him gently. “You have to listen to your king when he asks you to come back. Making a…rash decision about war strategy is one thing, but…” You cup his cheek gently. “Make things easier for me, husband. If he asks you to come back, you come back.”

This time, at least. Just this time.

Simon snarls a bit, but you swallow it when you kiss him. You maneuver yourself over him, straddling his hips, and he grunts as you sink down on him. He swells hard again very quickly, releasing a deep breath as you give a slow roll of your hips.

“Make things easy for me, my love,” you whisper, and he leans his head back, putting two big hands on your ass and moving you with ease. “Appease your king, yes? For me?”

“Can’t say no when y’r pussy squeezes me like tha’, sweet’eart,” Simon groans, and you giggle, planting your hands on his chest and starting to move a little faster. You lean your head back, your mouth falling open, and you gasp when you sink down completely, your ass touching his thick thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuckin’ Christ–”

“I hate when you go,” you whine, digging your nails into his chest. He hisses, planting his feet on the bed, and he fucks up into you with a renewed fervor. “Hate when you’re not here, Simon, I-I miss you, miss this–”

“Nghh…fuck, I know,” Simon pants. “Can feel it. Feel you.” You squeal when he grips you by the waist and turns you over. He makes it seem so easy, tossing your weight underneath him, and your arms circle around his neck as you draw him closer, hanging onto him. “Y’r so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Simon–”

He kisses to devour. His jaw hinges wide to kiss you sloppy, breathing in the moans that you can’t contain. Simon always fucks so well, stretching your thighs as wide as they will accommodate so he can make room for the goliath of himself that he is. He suffocates, in a good way, and his cock never fails to stretch you for all that you are worth. Simon holds your jaw in place as he grinds into you, relishing in the wet smack of his hips against yours. The fat of you satisfies him. It makes him growl with delight when he grabs onto wide hips, your fat arse, the body that you hold that tells him you are fed and warm and content. It draws his grin wider, and it makes him drool thinking about having you again and again and again, until you beg him for reprieve and his heir sits in your womb.

Simon fucks for sport. He wants to see how stupid he can make you. He wants to know how long you’ll cry for, how fat he can make your tears. He wants to know how loud you will cry, how many times he can make you cum before you’re incoherent, he wants to know the extent to which he can use you that you will still be awake enough to say his name just one more time. Simon is not satisfied until he pushes your limits.

It is what a Riley does. They endure, and they eat, and they consume, and they take pleasure in the all-encompassing indulgement of things they have never been allowed to have. You are a woman, so he knows this will come easy for you. So often, he knows, women are not allowed to indulge at all, so he wants you to. He wants you to cry and moan and eat, and he wants you to do it bearing his name so that no one will ever tell you no.

Simon says no to kings, and they placate, or they die. His wife will be offered the same respect, and he’ll stand behind her with a sword to make it law. When you bear his children, he will expect the same of them–to give their mother utter devotion, lest they answer to his hand. There is no one above you, not God, not country, and certainly not blood. They will know what their father did to have you, and they will spill the same amount of blood to keep it that way. They will do it for you, and then they will do it for their own lovers, and if they don’t have the same sentiments, that love is not true, and Simon will not give his blessing.

Everything else is trivial. He knows this, understands it, because history repeats itself. It is cyclical, and you are right. Kings come and go. Sons die to other sons, fathers make bad decisions, and crowns are passed to bastards and back again, until lineage is merely spectacle and power changes hands often enough to lose generational merit. There is one thing that remains, and it is what you do while you are on earth, while you are standing on the ground you were born on. Even faiths change; when men find it suitable, they change the rules, and then you worship a different God, so Simon sees no point in staying loyal to any of it.

Instead, he is true to what he knows. To what he can see and what he can feel. With John, he remembers being a young man, fighting alongside him. He follows John, to an extent, because he knows what it is like to share blood with him on a muddy hill and take an arrow for him.

With you, time stands still. He saw you in a room, and he had to have you, and he brought nations to ruin to make certain no one would bat an eye when he asked for your hand. He saw you in a dream, too–he saw you laying in his bed of furs, wearing nothing but a tiara of his making, wet between the thighs because that is how it’s meant to be. He recognized you when he saw you that first time, and he doesn’t know how, but saying no to you, really saying no, will change that vision, and he couldn’t bear that.

Your voice echoes. You’re moaning, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. The hair around his cock rubs your clit too many times, and when you come around him, you’re a shaking, withering thing, back bowed and nipples pebbled. Your toes curl as you cry from the starry-eyed, hot pleasure, but he keeps moving, chasing something in the distance that he can taste, so close.

Yes, Simon ignored his king. Yes, Simon did not ignore you. Yes, Simon admits, he came when you called, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, he doesn’t care how it seems. He would do it again if he had the chance. John could give him the same answer as you in every timeline, but he will only move if the command comes from you, and yes, Simon knows it makes him a liability, but crowns come with costs, and this is the one John must pay.

Simon will fight any of John’s enemies, but he won’t fight fate. He won’t fight what has already been seen, and he won’t fight what he already knows will happen.

With Simon’s cock in your mouth, you can make him deliver on promises. Sucking on the girth of him, you can make him an honest man. Taking inside of your mouth what you can swallow, you can make Simon do your bidding, and it is a hard lesson that John learns.

“Do this for me,” you slobber against the underside of his cock, and Simon relents.

“Make me happy,” you say, swirling your fingers against your puffy pussy, and Simon kneels with an open mouth.

“Just this once,” you whisper with his cum on your tongue, and Simon seals his choice with his hands on your tits and the taste of himself in his mouth.

When you make eyes with John across the low lights of the throne room, he can’t help the way he admires you. You stand beside Simon, looking the essence of nobility and reverence in another intricate silver and blue dress. The train of your skirt glitters with delicate jewels hand sewn into the fabric, and the headpiece you wear adorns a skull insignia. Your corset has been tied just right, thanks to Simon’s hand, and your own fingers are clasped between his. Your corset and jewels are of exquisite detail–one of the newest designs from Paris, structured and elegant and accentuating every curve of soft skin.

You glow in the room. His wife must be wearing a dress just as expensive, probably more, and yet his eyes (and everyone else’s) cannot help but follow you. Your own eyes won’t leave Simon; you flutter your lashes whenever he looks down at you, big smile on your face, and even when there are people curtsying and bowing to you and giving Simon their gratitude between bites of cake and glugs of wine, your attention never really strays.

John feels inadequate in his own fortress; suddenly, red and gold sicken him, and England tastes sour in his mouth.

In a few generations, John’s house will likely fall. He will make heirs that will fail him, he knows this. In a few centuries, his family will not sit in the same place, but a Riley will remain right where they are supposed to be. Banners of blue and silver will always fly. If Simon does not make sure of that, then you will.

It’s what happens when you force women like you to their knees. When they grow up invisible, always in the shadows, forgotten and sold to the next man who will pay a higher price, it’s what you learned to do. It’s all you’ve ever known, to make the best out of something terrible.

Simon is the same, in that sense. You understand him in a way his king will never be able to. Simon has nothing, and neither do you, and Simon was stepped on and berated and tortured to the point of no return. It is why blood does not scare him and why death doesn’t come knocking. Time will be the only thing capable of killing him, and everyone that stands up to him learns that when they eat his blade.

In the quiet of the evening, Simon undresses you. He sits behind you on the bed, fingers pinching the bows at your back and unraveling them. He traces your corset, thumb circling over the skull pattern of the belt around the small of your waist, and he tastes something warm in his mouth at the sight of it. You look so beautiful–more beautiful than he’s ever seen you maybe, decorated in his colors and wearing his motif and sitting so pretty.

“You wanna know something…funny?” You ask quietly. Simon finds the ties of your skirts and starts to undo them. He grunts in reply; he might sound standoffish, but you know he’s listening. “John…John made it…he makes it seem like you don’t really listen to him. He implied that…in the face of adversity, you might only listen to me.” You put your hands on the front of your corset to keep it from falling. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wot’s so funny?”

You swallow, looking down. Your hands fidget, and you take a closer look at the ring you wear, the delicate gold band he gave you not so long ago.

“I…”

“Mmm…might be right, innit?” Simon snickers after a moment. You feel him stand, and you look over your shoulder as he peels his mask off and grins down at you. He tilts his head to the side, and you smile back at him a little. “Do anythin’ for ya. Disobeying a king…” Simon cackles, tearing your corset off, tossing it onto the floor as he walks you backwards. “Ignoring one…” He shrugs, “Oll in a day, love.”

“He can hang you for it,” you whisper. “Cut off your head. Cut off mine.”

Simon lays you back on the bed, spreading you out, climbing over you. You blink up at him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

He would have seen it in a dream. It would have come to him in a reflection in a pool of blood on the battlefield. It would have come to him, the voices in his head, he would have heard them amongst screaming, or perhaps in the void that he finds his mind in when he’s between your plush thighs.

You can’t help the smile that graces your face when Simon kisses the curve where your jaw meets your neck. It is fun, you suppose. Fun to control the tides that set the courses of history. It is fun and almost unbelievable that a king bends to the will of one man’s wife just because it solidifies his name.

You wrap your hand around the twine that dangles from Simon’s neck. It twirls around your fingers, easy, solid. Simon’s eyes are dark, and they are yours, and when you smile, so does he, because this is where you are meant to be, forever and always.

“What if I want more?” You ask. Simon hums, low from within his chest, and you run your tongue over your teeth. “Did you see that in your dreams, Simon? Hmm? Do you know what I’m asking for? What it is that I really want?”

Simon smiles. A dark one, with teeth, and you know he hears it. What more means for a duke and his duchess. What more means when you have all the money you could ever want, all the land you could ever need.

What more means when you have climbed your way to the top and still desire more. More, more, more. There are not many steps left to climb. There are not many places left to take, not much more of the world that can really be yours, but Simon looks ravenous, and Simon looks hungry, and if you fuck him now, you’ll have him right where you want him.

When you tug on what hangs around his neck, Simon bends. Simon follows.

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noisilyscreechingsong · 6 months ago

Text

Damian is de-aged to a baby and lost in Gotham. A magic user hit him with some kind of spell. His legs don’t work as well and he has trouble walking. That’s when a man appears and squats down with a tilt of his head.

“Yea, you are definitely not supposed to be out here, little guy.”

Damian glares at the man, early twenties, stubble along his jaw, ragged clothes, and dark bags under his eyes.

The man turns his head to look at the brick wall.

“Are you sure?”

And now he was talking to a wall. Curses. Of course he would be found by a crazy person.

The man suddenly hangs his head with a deep sigh. He regains himself quickly and stands. Moving closer to put his hands under Damian arms to lift him to perch on his hip.

Damian squirms to get down but refuses to make a sound. The last time he opened his mouth like this it was a pathetic baby sound. He couldn’t let this man see him like this.

“Looks like you’re coming home with me, little guy. I can tell you’ve got some spirit in you. Good, you’ll need it.”

Not ominous at all.

Damian stays with the man, mostly because he couldn’t physically drive a car, but also because he was almost always with him. The man would talk to air at the most random times. Obviously a schizophrenic. But Damian had to admit this man, Danny he comes to find out through a neighbor baby talking at him, has been genuinely trying to take care of him and take care of him well. Well, to the best of his abilities anyway.

He feeds him organic purées that don’t taste half bad, except the carrots, that one was unacceptable. Danny cleans him regularly despite his crappy apartment and makes sure he is dressed appropriately for the weather. He makes an effort to take him out to the park to play in the sandbox or just walk around discovering ‘new’ things.

Damian doesn’t need a parent, he outgrew the concept when he was five and technically he already had one, but he could tell Danny would make an excellent father. Some mistakes can be overlooked compared to the effort he was putting in.

The only concerning thing was the talking to thin air. It took Damian an embarrassing amount of time to figure out the reason Danny was visiting all these random people and the graveyard. (Sometimes he will set Damian down to ‘play’ in the grass at the cemetery. It was quite odd.)

He was talking to ghosts. It wasn’t thin air or imaginary friends, no it was actually dead people. The reason Damian actually believes this is for two reasons.

One, Danny shows true results. Damian observes closely whenever they visit a ‘client’ and Danny always has accurate information despite never looking up or researching anything going in.

Two, he never calls himself a medium or psychic. He doesn’t boast about his ability to see ghosts. He does what he does to help the ghosts move on to the other side. Closure is what Danny always says. Closure for the family and the victim. In Gotham, there are a lot of victims.

Damian adjusts to his new life with Danny. It’s been five months and he’s getting used to being small and vulnerable. He’s allowed to be messy and whiny and childish. Danny never scolds him like Mother did. The man has never hit him or raised his voice at him and never expects anything from him. He encourages his progression to speak and walk, but doesn’t expect the best out of him.

It’s… nice. A good break if anything.

They are at the park when one of the bats spot him and pauses. Danny is blowing bubbles into the air and Damian tries to pop as many as he can. It’s a silly game with no clear rules, but Damian finds it entertaining nonetheless.

“Hi there! Is he yours?”

Dick Grayson wears a bright smile, but Damian can see the tightness around his eyes.

“Huh? Oh, yea, this is Damian,” Danny answers.

He had written it with the wooden blocks Danny had given him one week in. Danny took one look at the name on the ground, laughed loudly and ran with it.

“Do you mind if I say hi? He’s so cute.”

Danny looks puzzled by the request but ends up shrugging his shoulders, not seeing a problem with letting a stranger get close to Damian. (Damian knew Danny’s intense eyes were watching Dick’s every move. He was very protective like that.)

“Sure.”

Dick squats down to search Damian’s green eyes. Damian stares back just as intensely.

“Hey there, Damian. My name is Dick.”

Damian gives him a flat look at Dick’s terrible introduction.

“Grayson.”

Although with his little baby teeth not fully in it sounds more like ‘way-shah’.

Relief flashes across Dick’s face and he gives Damian a reassuring smile. It’s not as reassuring at he thinks it is. It promises to bring him home and restore him to his original age. Damian doesn’t know if that’s what he wants anymore.

Dick stands and gives Danny some imaginary excuse to leave quickly. Damian watches him go and so does Danny.

“Funny guy, huh Dami?”

Damian doesn’t respond and Danny notices his change in mood.

“Come here, little guy.”

He knows what Danny is going to do and willingly goes. He is pulled up into the man’s lap and held between two surprisingly muscular arms. Danny’s hugs are nice and warm. They aren’t too tight like Dick’s nor are they stiff like Bruce’s. He never thought he could enjoy human contact, but Danny has been showing him things about himself he didn’t ever know. Turns out he does like hugs and playing airplane and when Danny runs his fingers through his hair when he’s really sleepy.

“Let’s go home a little early today, huh? I’ll make spaghetti and you can be as messy as you want,” Danny promises.

Damian hums. Yes, that sounds nice.

That night Batman comes in through the window. Damian is waiting.

“Damian,” Batman whispers.

“Bah-mun.”

The flat, unamused stare is what gives him away.

Batman lets out a breath silently and reaches into the crib Danny had gotten him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Batman jerks into action, twisting to face Danny who had appeared suddenly. The door behind him is still closed.

Batman stays quiet, silently studying the man before him dressed in pajama pants and a worn t-shirt.

Danny tilts his head as he does the same. Damian has never seen the man so serious. He silently worries for the man. He didn’t want him getting hurt to unnecessarily protecting him from his father.

“I’d have to break your arm if you tried to do what it looks like you’re doing.”

Danny says it so plainly. So simple.

Batman straightens.

“He isn’t yours.”

He doesn’t say Damian is his. He doesn’t claim him as his own. Just that Danny shouldn’t have him.

Damian silently agrees because technically he’s right. He doesn’t deserve Danny. He can’t keep playing house like he’s an actual baby. But Damian is also selfish and over the last few months has been taught that it’s okay to ask for things he wants even if it’s not inherently beneficial. The stuffed dog he sleeps with every night is proof of that.

So Damian says nothing.

“He is now,” Danny answers simply like there was no other answer to such a statement.

“He needs to go back to where he belongs.”

“Over my dead body,” is the immediate response.

They stare each other down until Danny scoffs.

“Don’t think I’m not petty enough to fight you, Batman. I’ll fight anyone who wants to take him from me. Damian is mine.”

When Batman tries to forcibly take him, he ends up with a concussion, a blood nose, and two broken arms. Red Robin finds him in a dumpster the next morning.

The story continues with Damian learning how to be a child his age, Danny protecting him and doting on his brilliant son, and the Batfam’s frequent failed attempts to kidnap Damian back to them.

#dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #damian wayne #bruce wayne #batman #Damian is learning to be a kid #and enjoying it #Danny finds a lone baby in an alley #the ghost that lead him there says he was left there #Danny: okay #guess I’m a dad now #Bruce is in for a rude awakening

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dunmeshistash · 7 months ago

Text

Okay I think I'm ready to write the second part of this post about Milsiril

To make it easier for me I'll just divide this into her relationship with Kabru, Mithrun and Helki (her ex-canary prisoner teammate)

First about Kabru

This is an extra from the daydream hour 5. The caption says "Something like this might as well have happened" so its probably not canon but could be. I honestly think his reaction to Milsiril visiting and being overbearing says a lot about the type of relantionship they have. This is the fakest bitch in the whole of dungeon meshi, he never says what he trully thinks unless there's an advantage to doing so, he's a people pleaser that does and says anything to make people like/trust him. And yet he immediatly converts into "Mooooooom you're embarassing meeeeee" when he sees it's Milsiril.

This translation used "Mom" but as I understand the original he uses the more formal version so I think it would be closer to "Mother" but still he acknowleges her as his Mother, and he acts like her kid in every interaction we see between them.

I really don't understand where the idea that he learned to be fake from being "forced" to be her adoptive son comes from.

(Continuing under a cut)

The other interaction we see between them is the Kabru extra from the Adventurer's Bible

Kabru comes to her with a deep fear he clearly has had even before she adopted him, he trusted her with this fear and she did not disappoint him, she comforted him and then gave him the information he needed to believe what she was saying

I'd also like to point out in no moment she discouraged him from calling his his bio-mom "Mom". He also says she taught her children everything they asked

I doubt this would only be true for him, it also mirrors something she said in the manga

"You can go ahead and learn all you want about something else." I believe it when Kabru says she made every effort to answer her children's questions. I think this is also the way she expresses the love she has for them. Plus I love the thought bubble with Kabru mirroring what he learned from her. I also love this daydream hour, she sacrifices her own comfort to do something for Kabru.

Milsiril isn't a perfect mother tho, besides the fact she is overprotective she comes from a very different culture from her children. I like to call her Kabru's white mom cause I think that would be the real world equivalent. This extra is the one I think the most about showing this context perfectly

Kabru wants to share Utaya sweets but looks at his mom looking gloomy/rejected so he talks about fruitcake instead. This very rude for Milsiril to do since she's kinda trying to overwrite his actual cultural background, but I think its done more as a "I want you to like the things I like" rather than something nefarious, and once again Kabru doesn't hide at all his distaste for it, he does the bare minimum to please his mom since she's being dramatic but he doesn't lie to her, he shows how displeased he is about fruitcake, something he refuses to do when eating the harpy omelette that is way worse, because he must make a good impression for Laios. Kabru is honest with his overbearing white mom once again.

Now a little about Rin, from Kabru's context, this is her extra in the Adventurer's Bible

(look at Helki he's such a gremlin i love him) anyway, Rin has a trauma about elves, they really mistreated her so she hates them, but when they notice she isn't thriving they go to Milsiril for help (Helki specifically I'll talk more about him next). I think this indicates she really has a better understanding of short lived kids, her kids are thriving differently from the ones the other elves try to care for. I'd also like to remember she lives secluded from other elves so while Kabru probably had lots of interactions with elves during his life, most of it was probably spent with Milsiril and her other adoptive kids. She also asks Kabru if he would do this to help Rin, he isn't being forced or anything, I also think it's good that Milsiril knows she cant take in any more kids, this to me shows she's worried about the quality of life her kids have. That is all to say, Rin is the one with elf trauma, not Kabru, because Kabru had Milsiril to shelter him from them.

Helki

This will be short and sweet since there's barely anything about Helki, he's her prisioner companion from her time in the canaries, but he was pardoned after Utaya, it says so in the Canarie's Structure page in the new adventurer's guide but I cant really find it translated again... so here's google's machine translation (I remember it saying "Retired and pardoned as a reward after Utaya", something like that)

so officially he isn't a prisoner anymore, but I think he still works as a canary, even so he and Milsiril seem quite close, he is the one to go talk to her about Rin, He is there when she's training Kabru (both laughing at Kabru and then participating). I saw people theorizing she stays close to him because he is also someone who she can feel superior to, but I don't believe it at all, he's STILL in contact with her even after they have nothing to with each other, I think they really have a friendship, and there's no point where it seems like she feels like she's better than him or that he's less than her, people seem to interpret Milsiril and her relationships in the worst possible ways every time and I don't understand why.

This segways into Mithrun

I've also seen people assuming she only got close to Mithrun because now he needs her and has no power over her, once again with the theory that Milsiril surrounds herself with people she can feel superior to. But once again, Milsiril had a change of perspective about Mithrun after seeing his Dungeon

Rather than she feeling superior to him I think rather she realized he was just like her. (And I think she's friends with Helki for a similar reason, it's probably easier to see him as an equal than other nobles)

I've also seen this part used as proof of that. "He said that you've got suspicious ulterior motives and that I shouldn't listen to you" as if that's true, but this is past Mithrun, the one that didn't trust anyone and thought ill of all his teammates, ofc he doesn't believe someone would help him without an ulterior motive. This doesn't prove much about her real motivations.

Also before she showed up, Mithrun was being cared for by servants hired by his brother, he isn't someone helpless she has power over, he is still a member of an important Noble family that has a caring brother providing for him, he can do without Milsiril, he had done without her for 20 years before Utaya happened and she quit the Canaries.

This is all to say I think Milsiril is just a white(elf) adoptive mom doing her best, I don't see much of anything nefarious about her or her motivations, she is flawed as all the dunmeshi characters are, she isn't a perfect mom, she isn't an evil mom, she's just a person.

Elves in general also see short lived species as "children" so I imagine this makes her "You'll always be my baby" attitude way worse, she really treats pre-teen/teen Kabru like he's a toddler sometimes. But she also respected him enough to go all out in training him. I think they're a family with everything that entails.

PS: I didn't get much into Interracial adoption since this is something that happens irl too and I don't know much about all the issues that entails, but in the end, in this case, it seems like a net positive for the kids she adopts considering all we see about how she raised Kabru.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #Milsiril #Mithrun #Kabru #The Canaries #part 2 of 2 #longpost #long post #Kabru of Utaya #Helki #dunmeshi thoughts #Dunmeshi Extra

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fastandcarlos · 3 months ago

Text

Soft Launch : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: follow along to see the journey of charles’ soft launch to reveal your relationship…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 2,493,172 others

charles_leclerc: another week and another race, looking forward to heading to montreal with the team for another race ✈️

139,058 comments

username1: did you think you could just post those legs and we wouldn’t say anything??

arthur_leclerc: it’s taken you long enough to start dropping some clues 😂

oscarpiastri: @/arthur_leclerc this feels like something a member of the family would know about??

username2: is this a stupid way of telling us you’re in a relationship 🤔

landonorris: I’m not gonna leave you alone until you tell me all about this at the race just so you know

username3: no idea who the person is but I’m already insanely jealous that they got to rest their legs in your lap…

alex_albon: let’s all now guess what charles’ media questions are gonna be about this weekend 🤔

carlossainz55: and here I was thinking that I was the only love in your life 💔

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 please don’t get jealous sweetie 💕

username4: please don’t go all soft launch on us leclerc 😭

username5: wishing it was me getting to fly around the world with you instead!

pierregasly: wait you’ve not just kept this a secret from the world but a secret from me too 😱

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 2,038,604 others

charles_leclerc: I think these photos are what the cool kids call living my best life ☺️

127,431 comments

username6: I wonder if there’s a certain someone that’s suddenly made him live his best life!?

landonorris: you would never know you’ve never been cool in your life 😉

username7: you need to explain yourself mr leclerc!!!

olliebearman: we get it, you’ve got a girlfriend now, quit bragging 😂

username8: there are so many questions in my mind right now that need answering 😂

carlossainz55: 😊😊😊😊

username9: we should put a ban on soft launches they’re the cruelest things

maxverstappen1: that second photo you were secretly smiling at me across the media pen I’m sure!

charles_leclerc: @/maxverstappen1 whatever helps you sleep at night my friend

username10: you just know he’s absolutely loving the fact he knows he’s winding us all up rn too ☺️

oscarpiastri: as a cool kid, I can assure you that the cool kids have moved on from this phrase now 😝

username11: at least charles has finally realised that he’s not cool anymore 😂 danielricciardo: can’t believe you’ve finally decided to make our

relationship public!!

charles_leclerc: @/danielricciardo I just couldn’t hide my love for you any longer 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, arthur_leclerc and 2,473,081 others

charles_leclerc: somewhere new with someone new. life doesn’t get any better than this 🌴🌊

129,573 comments

username12: even from behind they look like such a good match 🥺

carlossainz55: I remember before you got a girlfriend and you used to go on holiday with me 😔

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 forgetting like we’re not going away at the end of the season??

username13: how much longer does he plan on keeping these games up for!?

georgerussell63: I feel like a fan hanging on to find out more about your girlfriend too 😂

iamrebeccad: I want to meet her and tell her lots of embarrassing stories about you!!

username14: I want to hate him for doing this to us but it’s impossible…

pierregasly: I’d argue that life would be better if I was there with you guys too ☺️

username15: notice how there’s three beers, I wonder who else is with them??

lewishamilton: I refuse to believe you rode that bike in those jeans 😂

charles_leclerc: @/lewishamilton fashion first and comfort second 💯

username16: can we all agree if he doesn’t reveal soon we’ll all just unfollow and leave him to post to no one??

arthur_leclerc: not you leaving the family waiting like the fans to actually meet her properly 🙄

username17: have I ever told you charles how damn impatient I am??

alex_albon: nothing like impressing a new girlfriend with a holiday 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 2,493,072 others

charles_leclerc: introducing my beautiful girl to the beautiful sunsets that monaco has to offer 🌅

218,407 comments

username18: ofc charles would make it too dark so we can’t actually see her 😔

danielricciardo: this might be the most aesthetic group of photos I’ve ever seen from you!

charles_leclerc: @/danielricciardo I’ve been getting lessons from the best 🥺

username19: the way they look at each other I don’t need to see anymore to know they’re happy together!

maxverstappen1: you’ve got a girlfriend??? you should’ve mentioned it!

charles_leclerc: @/maxverstappen1 one day I’m gonna block you!

username20: I’m already in love I don’t need to be tormented anymore 😂

oscarpiastri: you gotta gimme some tips charles so I can up my game if these are the sorts of dates you’re organising

username21: im more jealous that she got to go on a boat date with him than anything else!!

lewishamilton: you guys are such a good couple, annoyingly adorable all weekend at the race

carlossainz55: told you a sunset was a good date idea 😉

username22: I hate how most of the drivers know about her now…they’re probably enjoying teasing us too 😭

landonorris: welcome back romantic charles leclerc, we missed you 💞

username23: what spy tricks is he using to be able to take her to races and have absolutely no one realise!?!?

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by maxverstappen1, pierregasly and 2,429,013 others

charles_leclerc: no one else I would rather adventure around the world with than you 🌎✨

189,472 comments

username24: ah we finally got a proper reveal, she’s stunning charles!!

landonorris: nothing like flexing just how strong you are for the gram 💪🏻

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris no problem for these guns 🔥

username25: look at how perfect they are together ✨

carlossainz55: feel like you’ve grown up right before my very eyes 🤧

maxverstappen1: I remember when you used to moan to me about how badly you wanted a girlfriend 😂

username26: the day we’ve waited for so long has arrived, goodbye soft launch era 👋🏻

georgerussell63: I along with all your fans thank you for finally giving us what we want 😂

alex_albon: you’ve become as soft as your launches with these captions of yours

username27: I’m officially obsessed with the two of them together omg

arthur_leclerc: stop gatekeeping your girlfriend and bring her home to all of us too!!

username28: I knew she was gonna be beautiful but this is something else 🥺

oscarpiastri: idk about that, I can take you on some pretty cool adventures too charles 😉

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and 2,894,162 others

charles_leclerc: feeling beyond lucky to finally bring my girl to her very first podium and deliver a trophy back home with us too 🏆🏎️

249,482 comments

username29: we’re all so happy for you charles, congrats on the win!!

scuderiaferrari: congratulations charles, the whole team is so proud of you ❤️

username30: we finally get to see her in the paddock too this is so exciting 🥳

iamrebeccad: it was so lovely to finally meet her this weekend charles, you’ve got yourself a good one there!

charles_leclerc: @/iamrebeccad I don’t plan on letting her go anytime soon either 🥺

username31: okay can we officially agree that she’s a good luck charm and needs to be there forever!?

carlossainz55: can you leave your celebrations with her for when I’m out of my driver’s room please 🔇

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 stfu we weren’t even doing anything 🙄

username32: that third photo was from when charles found her in the crowd…look at his little smile!

landonorris: thought we’d be nice and give you the win seeing as your girlfriend was there 😝

username33: that was an incredible drive charles, right back in contention for the championship 🎉

maxverstappen1: forgetting the part where ferrari steal your trophy and take it back to base with them 😂

pierregasly: no pressure now but she’s got high standards of you on race weekends!

username34: the way he ran over to her when he got outta the car, I can’t 😭

danielricciardo: huge drive my friend, I would say enjoy the celebrations but it sounds like you already are 🤫

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 2,583,203 others

charles_leclerc: introducing my angel to the family, safe to say she’s definitely got the seal of approval ✅

238,492 comments

username35: ahhh I can’t believe she met the fam, this must be serious!!

arthur_leclerc: we absolutely loved meeting her, you guys are the cutest 🥺

username36: they’re still all smiling so they must’ve loved her ☺️

carlossainz55: you’re family are adorable so ofc she fits right in 😂

username37: how could they not fall in love with her, she’s adorable!?

oscarpiastri: I don’t think she’s quite met all the family yet…has she??

charles_leclerc: @/oscarpiastri you’re not letting this go are you??

username38: finally arthur got exactly what he’s wanted for so long 🥺

username39: I’m so happy that this all went well, I’ve got a good feeling about these two…

landonorris: don’t remember you posting when she got our seal of approval 🤔

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris don’t remember you ever being as important as my family 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, pierregasly and 3,092,174 others

charles_leclerc: seeing as you guys have been thirsting over my girl for so long, I’ll finally give you what you want. a whole post dedicated to my love, isn’t she just perfect!? 💞✨

318,575 comments

username40: she really is perfect, you’ve got yourself a good egg charles!!

danielricciardo: I feel like a proud father seeing these photos 😭

username41: how dare he suggest we’ve been thirsting over her 😂

maxverstappen1: I don’t think it’s just the fans who have been thirsting (@/georgerussell63)

georgerussell63: @/maxverstappen1 no idea what you’re talking about 🤭

username42: charles always knows how to deliver exactly what we want!

pierregasly: thank goodness we don’t have to listen to you moan about being single anymore!!

username43: I don’t think charles could’ve found a more perfect girl if he tried…

carlossainz55: as much as it pains me to say it…you guys are pretty cute ❤️

username44: forever obsessed with these two and forever praying for more content from them too 🙏🏻

iamrebeccad: 10/10 agree that she is in fact perfect!

landonorris: you’d look cuter with me by your side, but I guess she’ll do 😂

username45: we hate you for soft launching but we love you for the fact that you’re just so happy 💕

ynusername: 🥺🥺🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

1K notes · View notes

strwberri-milk · 3 months ago

Note

hii can i request lads men with a reader who has a hard time accepting kindness/affection? like someone who grew up in a toxic household maybe so now they have a hard time believing someone would be nice to them and might get overwhelmed every now and then with the kindness and love they're receiving

combining these <3

Zayne's kindness to you is second nature. He thinks of you basically every day and worries about how reckless you can be with your health or person so he's always taking care of you. It's not even because he's a doctor - it's solely because he loves you.

He takes notice of how awkward you seem whenever you receive one of his kind gestures but doesn't point it out. In fact, he just starts treating you even better to see if it helps.

Over time you'd get used to it but when you do happen to get overwhelmed he'll remind you that he's doing this because he loves you. You don't need to pay him back at all because he doesn't look at this as though it's something transactional. To make you feel better he'll also tell you that you already pay him through your love for him. You can try and convince him that it's not enough but he won't hear any of it.

Even if you try to push him away he just continues to treat you the same, telling you that you won't be able to get rid of him just by pretending that you don't love him anymore. He reassures you that he knows what you're really after and that he promises he does love you more than life itself and he's more than happy to spend the rest of his proving it. He's normally not that vocal about his affection for you so you're forced to accept his words as truth, knowing he'd never lie to you about that.

Xavier doesn't understand why you don't accept any of his attention or what all of the pushback is at first. He thinks that maybe it's just because it's not stuff that you like so he just needs to try harder, meaning his gestures get bigger. That means he gets a little clingier or tries to think of nice ways to communicate that he loves you. He's holding and kissing you, whispering sweet words to you until you ask him to give you a bit of room. His feelings are slightly hurt but he doesn't hold it against you, knowing there's a reason why you're asking him to.

When you push back even harder he decides to ask you himself. He asks if he's just not able to make you happy or if there's something more specific that he should be doing. You try to tell him that you just don't want him to do anything for you - that you don't deserve. Mind you you're doing all of this while also cooking him a meal because you wanted to show him appreciation for working so hard/you trying to make yourself feel like you earned the gifts he gave you.

He's shocked you feel that way and tells you that you never have to earn his love or care - he absolutely adores you no matter what. He does start toning down the attention he gives you to hopefully digestible bites to get you used to it.

Rafayel's loves spoiling you in gifts and his attention. He hates it when you refuse to accept them. If it's his affection you refuse he'll mope and pout until you take him back into your arms with apologies but if it's gifts then he'll just take them back to his house and try again another day to give it to you.

When it becomes too frequent of a pattern he'll confront you, asking if his money isn't good enough or his words not sweet enough. You keep telling him that it's not an issue of him not being enough, just that you don't deserve such kindness. You work harder the more he gives you, or if the day's a little rough you just shut down.

Rafayel finds a moment when you're relaxing to pull you into his lap, peppering your face in kisses and telling you how much he loves you. He aims to overwhelm you to the extent of making you shut down and melt into him. Once you're absolutely relaxed he tells you that you don't need to work so hard just for him to praise you. You deserve every bit of his love he has for you and he's just going to be more hurt if you deny him. He manages to lightly scold you, finding a way for you to relent and start accepting more of his intentions.

Sylus doesn't like it when you reject him. He doesn't want to push your boundaries too much and force himself onto you but he also unintentionally does so when he pulls you in closer to him or gives you presents of things he found while out. You occupy his every thought so it's not hard for him to find a little trinket or 12 whenever he's out and about for work.

You try to tell him to stop or that you're really okay with him needing time away from you. Sometimes you get the sense that he's just entertaining your whims without actually wanting to, shyly divulging this to you one evening when he's holding you tightly to avoid you running away from him again.

He laughs at the thought, finding it hilarious that you could really think something like that. You think he's laughing at you, pouting and trying to turn away but he turns you back, kissing you sweetly. He reassures you that there's no way he'd truly think that you were a bother to him. Everything he does for you is solely because he loves you. It takes him more time then he thought to reassure you but he doesn't mind. His attentions are already yours so there's no reason why that'd change just because it's a little difficult for you to accept them wholly..

#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #lads zayne x reader #lads xavier x reader #lads rafayel x reader #lads sylus x reader #lnds zayne x reader #lnds xavier x reader #lnds rafayel x reader #lnds sylus x reader

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alexiroflife · 4 months ago

Text

"my duty to you"

fluff, pining, suggestive themes, kingdom au, (i was inspired by the dynamic in the movie "Epic" w/ queen tara & ronin or this one if yall know what i'm referencing)

bodyguard!toji fushiguro x royalty!reader

Synopsis: toji, a man raised in poverty who has been forced to turn to violence for the sake of survival, finds himself at the princess' side as her personal bodyguard

to sum it up: toji has never been fond of royalty, yet he submits to his responsibility to protect you with passion he has not shown to anything else

WC: 14,242

Warning(s): mentions of trauma, violence, assault, vaguely suggestive themes

Toji knows he was never cut out for an uppity lifestyle.

He’s a gruff man, rough around the edges with an air of dark mystery radiating about him. He has never believed himself to be an attractive man, at least in the realm of those who make women drop to their knees and swoon with romance. He’s more fermented, well-aged, well experienced, and he has the looks of someone who has endured hell and more, not those of a freshly groomed prince blooming in his wake.

Toji, though a man of difficult upbringing, having undergone more of reality’s harsh lessons than almost anyone in this world, has a specific set of skills that comes in handy no matter the setting. He is not a man of incredible wealth, prowess, or poise, but he can associate himself with the likes of those who are by means of what he does, and what he does remarkably well. His talents are the only reason, he believes, why he has been in your service, smack in the middle of your world for teetering into two years now.

Raised in the slums, orphaned by his absent parents, Toji taught himself a way to live. He thinks that he was born hard, when he looks back, for no one else could have survived the way he had after those years of scrounging around for food, desperately searching for change and a decently comfortable pile of grass he could sleep in. As the world grew harsher, pushing against his growing mind and body, Toji pushed back harder, angrier, more solid and more grounded. He was blessed from the moment he entered this earth with unique physical qualities that gave him an advantage when fighting to live, his internal and external mold serving as an inhuman benefit, as though he was meant to struggle the way he had all of his life. As though fighting was his destiny.

The dark haired man had encountered many different means of keeping himself afloat over the years too, some more grim than others that he refused to look back on. Nevertheless, after the will of the merciless wind had tossed him around feverishly for far longer than he realized would have been normal for anybody else, he understood that his place in this world was to stand proudly as a man capable of unspeakable violence, inept at the art of killing for the sake of his own gain.

It’s a dog eat dog world. Toji learned this before he even hit puberty, and therefore, he learned what it meant to transition himself into one - a far more gnarly beast than any of the world’s nastiest entities of evil could conjure. If he only had the choice of eating or being eaten, Toji was going to devour before another dog could get the chance to bare his teeth at him.

Well into his familiarity with his own brutality, his craft honed in and sharpened to perfection and his years of youth having flown by with the snap of his fingers, Toji is recognized by a crowd that he’s despised for as long as he can remember.

He is in the middle of a boxing match, one of many he participates in for the hell of it and the cash rather than as a profession, when a representative from the palace ogles him from the crowd, standing out as a sore thumb amidst the screaming patrons clinging to the velvet ropes of the ring, drunk off stinking liquors and spit flying excitedly from their mouths in awe as Toji, undefeated, lands a particularly gruesome blow to the face of his opponent. His foe collapses, blood smearing from his crooked nose, and the jade eyed man filled with years of pent up rage and stress, straddles the nearly unconscious man’s torso and plows his fist into his face repeatedly with wild, shrunken eyes and tight lips.

Toji only takes notice of his visitor in the midst of his abuse, eyes flickering up quickly to mull over the crowd when he finds a terrified face masked in a black cloak, attempting to shrink into the rest of the room. But Toji sees him clearly, a palace ambassador with no place in an underground ring so far from home.

The dark haired man refuses to even look at him as the owner tells him that he has a guest. He unravels the wrap from his stained fists, back tensing. Toji tells him to fuck off, not even having to whip his head around to see who it is. He can tell by his boss’ tone and the silence of the said visitor that he is exactly who he believes him to be. That, and Toji never receives visitors, for the people who are well aware of his reputation stray far away, fearing the worst from his seemingly deadly lust for blood.

His owner, however, does not turn the man away. Toji understands that he must have been paid a good deal in jewels by this cloaked man to allow him to stay back here, not leaving until he asks for some kind of favor. An agitated exhalation rises in Toji’s chest, heavy eyes tossing over his shoulder to glare at the ambassador. He gulps, trembling hands reaching up to lower his hood.

“The fuck do y’want?” Toji spits.

The ambassador’s hesitant gaze scatters over his bare back, his fists, the scars littering his skin and lip, and the murderous glow in his venomous eyes. He looks terrified for his life, face dotted in beads of sweat and eyes still full of innocent light quivering. “I-I’m here on- on behalf of the King and Queen.”

Toji stills, brows drawing together. The man’s words seem to have an impact on his boss, normally an uncaring man, for he leaves with a swiftness once royalty is mentioned, sworn to silence by hush money.

Toji scoffs, shaking his head and turning back around to refocus on his task. “You got the wrong guy,” he dismisses. “Now beat it before I kill ya.”

But he doesn’t, standing his ground rather poorly, clearly shaken by the fact that his life has been threatened for what Toji can only assume to be the very first time. He rolls his eyes at the sentiment, at how weak, fragile, and perfectly stupid palace folk are. “S-Sir, please-”

“Sir?” Toji raises a brow, crouching to sit down heavily on his bench, tossing his bloodied bandages onto the ground before him. His abdominals, bulky and intensely defined, ripple with his movements as he slides his towel from his shoulders, swiping it over his skin roughly. “I ain’t no sir, pal.”

The ambassador stiffens, lips pursing together. “Um- Mr. Toji…?”

Toji twists up his mouth at him unimpressed. “Fushiguro.”

“Yes! Y-Yes, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“Christ, it’s just Fushiguro.”

“Oh,” he nods erratically. “Yes, then. Fushiguro,” he clears his throat. “I’m afraid it’s a matter of great importance.”

“Clearly it is to you lot, or else your dumbass wouldn’t be here,” Toji grumbles, settling a hand on his thigh. “I don’t have time for bullshit. You either get to the point, or the King and Queen are gonna be down one messenger.”

Toji is a violent man. He has had to be violent in order to live, in order to eat, in order to sleep, and now in his late thirties, it has become embedded in who he is. Violence is his first response to every circumstance, to every person who approaches him, to every dirty look that he is thrown, to every unknown within this world that has been nothing but greedy, cruel, and selfish to him.

Even so, he is not always keen on his word when he threatens such things. He knows that if he were to lay a hand on this toothpick, he would be hanged and quartered within the hour, and Toji isn’t too keen on allowing the kingdom dickheads be the reason his life comes to an end after he fought so desperately to even reach past his twenties. This ambassador knows this, and yet, he is still shaking like a leaf as though Toji has any authority over him, because in truth, he does here in his territory, only temporarily. Toji can use the fear he inspires and the intimidation of his capabilities and large frame to attempt to shake a palace ambassador off of his ass, but there is nothing more to his stern words other than a desire to be left alone.

“You must listen,” the little man continues to press. “The King and Queen- t-they send me for the sake of their daughter!”

Toji groans. “I don’t give a shit who they sent you for, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

“I fear they are fully aware of who they sent me to speak with,” the ambassador’s brows angle with a sense of urgency. Toji, having been bored by the conversation, rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose and tilts his head tiredly. “N-Not many of us know about the things you do, but I was told to seek out the strongest, and you are… him.”

“What the hell do they want me for? I ain’t got shit for you pricks. Just leave me be.”

“Fushiguro,” he calls again before Toji can stand and turn away. “I understand you may not care about what the kingdom needs, but you are being offered a great deal of money. A generous salary.”

Toji’s ears perk up at this. He rises slowly, sauntering over to the man with slim, suspicious eyes and a taut jaw. Sweat glistens his bare torso, rolled up sweats hanging low on his waist. As he grows closer, the ambassador takes notice of his great size up close, and his eyes widen as he cowers away slightly from the man that casts a shadow over him completely.

Toji stares down over his nose and tilted chin with a frown. “A salary? From the King and Queen themselves?” he repeats, and the man whimpers a hum in affirmation. “The hell is going on? What could possibly be turning their panties in a bunch to offer a job to someone like me?”

“It’s their daughter,” the man re-emphasizes.

“Who?”

“The princess!” he says as though it is obvious, a desperate expression taking his features. “She needs security.”

“From what?”

“The King and Queen grow old, and so does the princess. Their reign is coming to an end, and with that, the princess’s life is often endangered by those seeking to take her right to the crown while her parent’s grow less capable of ruling. There’s already been two assassination attempts and one assault attempt within the past few months,” the ambassador explains, severely. “The princess needs someone to look after her, to be by her side as she prepares to rule as queen and as she looks for a husband.”

“And you want me to be her bodyguard?” Toji raises his brows.

“In a sense… yes.”

The dark haired man snorts in the ambassador’s face, the latter deflating at his reaction. “Of all people, you want me?”

“...Yes. That is correct.”

“What, the brat doesn’t have knights or something?”

“None that are capable of what you do.”

“And how the hell do you know what I do? You come to one match and think you're an expert on my life?” Toji grits his teeth, leering down at the poor man. The ambassador raises his hands in defense, stepping back anxiously. “I see everyone and everything that crosses my path. I’ve never seen you before in my life, and all of a sudden now you show up with a job offer from the fucking King and Queen. Gimme a break.”

He walks off, irritatedly throwing his towel in the corner and ripping open his locker on the other side of the room. “You’re right. I haven’t been watching you, but I’ve been asking around town about someone who could fit the role for weeks, and everyone was too afraid to mention you until a few days ago. Since then, I’ve heard stories.”

“People here like to gossip,” Toji murmurs.

“But your name scares people, right?”

“I don’t care what my name does.”

“Fushiguro, please,” he begs. “I don’t believe you are a man who cares about what happens in the palace-”

“I’m not.”

“But you must care about a sense of duty? Of justice? Of compensation, at least?”

“Obviously I care about money more than I do any of the other shit you just mentioned. But you tell me one thing,” his face hardens. “What the hell has the kingdom done for sorry asses like me, huh? Why should I be the one to help them when they haven’t helped me a day in my life? They’re all a bunch ‘a stuck up, frilly airheads stuck in their own bubble of what they think is urgent. So what if the princess gets a little spooked here and there? Maybe it’ll teach her a life lesson about what the world is really like. ‘Cause I’ll tell ya this, the girls where I come from don’t get to have a bodyguard before bad shit happens to them.”

Toji isn’t entirely sure why he is making a point to shame the people at the top when in the end, he knows he is going to take the job. Money, Toji finds, is incredibly valuable where he is from, and considering the hands he has dirtied in the past to get it, this proposal is practically nothing. Still, that doesn’t mean he likes the kingdom any more for their lack of involvement with the lower classes. His morals, which remain very few, go against this proposal he already knows he is going to accept - slaving away for those who made him a slave to gruesome fates, but hell, what can a man really do when he’s at his wits end and unfathomable riches are being presented to him on a silver platter?

He can complain, yes, but nothing can rank higher than the money the palace is practically drowning in. Besides, he doesn’t have to stay, he thinks. He can entertain this little charade for as long as he has enough funds to set him up for life, and then he’ll be out of there. In and out, quick and easy, and this place would never see his face again.

A grim look befalls the ambassador’s face while Toji rummages through his belongings for his clothes. He is clearly discomforted by Toji’s words, which was the goal the man aimed to achieve in the first place.

“We can not force you to do anything you do not desire to do yourself,” the ambassador starts, and somehow, Toji senses that the man is lying for the sake of making it appear as though Toji has a choice. “But I implore you to consider. The princess is unlike her parents. She is younger, eager. There is a legacy she must carry and people she must lead. Without her, the entire kingdom collapses. Including your village.”

Toji’s nose twitches. “Maybe that’ll do this shithole some good,” he grumbles.

The ambassador sighs, shoulders slumping. “Please… think about it.”

Toji rolls his eyes, turning and knuckling a hand to his hip. “How much money ‘we talking here, buddy?”

And oh, is the pay fucking obscene.

Toji doesn’t think he’s ever fathomed such grand numbers and jewels in his head, having been restricted by his village’s limitations, but once he hears his pay manifested into reality by a simple verbalization, his guilt trip seizes and he is signing his life away almost happily.

From then on, Toji is bound to the likes of you, his signature scribbled messily over a royal contract and securing him to you from now until your death… at least, that is what the fine print says. His plans, however, differ, and when he has fled from you, he will be hundreds of miles out of the kingdom’s reach.

That is his plan. To run away, but you unfortunately do not make this a very plausible task for him.

After days of training that Toji does not at all listen to, of watching elder royalty turn their nose up in disgust at the way he speaks and carries himself, of hearing murmurs of disapproval as he saunters down red carpeting with the head guard to meet yet another person that he will not remember the name or importance of, of being sworn to secrecy - to only serve as a protective, lethal air of silence and nothing more - to refuse any and all physical or verbal interaction with the woman in his protection, and of being fitted into a stuffy black uniform clad with gold detailing that serves only for show since he would have hardly bothered to lift an arm in that uncomfortable ass thing, let alone kill someone, Toji finally meets you.

And he has to admit that you are not at all what he expects.

Adorned in a regal soft pink gown that crowds from your waist and pools down to the floor, cuffing delicately at your wrists through sheer sleeves and tugging over your torso snugly with a corset, you stand before him in your chambers like an angel gracing earth. Your bejeweled gold crown sits upon your head with complementarity and your ringed fingers clasp each other before your lap. You're decked in what Toji can only assume to be century old gems, necklaces, and chains which he has to physically fight himself from reaching to pluck from your body and run off with. Standing before him, he decides that you are worth at least twenty times more than the almost forty years of life he has spent picking around for specs of funds.

The thought agitates him.

While he wishes he can say that he is the only one agitated, he notices a flick of fire in your (e/c) eyes as you size him up, trace your gaze over him with judgment and a pout on your glossed lips. Your presence is almost frightening with power as the two of you stare at each other, him with blank indifference and you with very apparent disappointment.

When the head guard eventually takes his leave now that you are in the hands of your newly bestowed bodyguard, the door closing behind the two of you as you enter the hall in preparation to go handle your duties, you stop in your tracks, dress ruffling along with you. Toji, who has been told to remain ten feet behind you at all times, freezes like a statue, eying you when you whip your head around to glare at him.

Toji’s heard of elegant aestheticism, of the otherworldly beauty that the royal family carries, but he hadn’t believed it until he sees you face to face - though he’ll admit, he imagined you to appear less… aggravated and more peachy? Light. Dimwittedly sugary.

“Listen up,” you demand, a shocking bass carrying in your tone. You’re dominant, he noticed, or at least you are attempting to be. You stand proud, tall, chin lifted and eyes narrow. This certainly isn’t the picture of spoiled naivety that he imagined you to be previously. “I don’t know whatever the royal guard told you, but I’m not a damsel in need of protecting. I didn’t agree to whatever this is or whoever the hell you are invading my life.”

Toji’s brow lifts in intrigue. You certainly are not what he expected. Not at all.

Encouraged by your tone, his lips quirk up into a subtle smirk. You drag your brows together in confusion, eyes catching the scar that stretches over the right side of his lips. “Do you find me amusing?” you frown.

“A little bit,” the dark haired man responds quickly, leading you to reel slightly in shock. He appears so unaffected by you, and you’ve never encountered a person who hasn’t scrambled to kneel in your presence or nervously abide by any and everything you say. The gaul of this stranger, you think, to stand before you so casually and smile as though your position of authority is some sort of joke.

“I beg your pardon?” you scoff. “You should mind yourself when you speak to me.”

“I’m not paid to speak to you, doll, let alone be sweet on you,” Toji scratches under his jaw, his posture slipping into something resembling his nature rather than that of a rigid guard. His hands find the pockets of his uniform slacks, hardly caring at all how disrespectful the stature appears to you. “In fact, I think you’re bein’ a little rude by tryin’ to strike a conversation with me in the first place.”

“Well, I did not advise you to answer me. I expected you to simply listen,” you state firmly. “Clearly, you are incapable of doing so without having something to say.”

Your comment is snarky, judgmental, and Toji at least finds that you match the idea of snobbiness that all royalty withhold. “If I got somethin’ to say,” he starts. “I’ll say it. You don’t gotta worry about me being untruthful with ya, I’ll tell you that. I’ll give it to ya straight.”

“And how do you think the royal guard would feel about such a thing?” you posed. “If they were to hear even a second of what you are saying to me now, you’d be booted from my side and this palace immediately.”

“And what exactly makes you think that I care about that?” he chuckles, watching you shift with sudden uncertainty. This man does not appear to be swayed by you in the slightest, and it is a bit off putting to you as a woman accustomed to your every beck and call being honored. “I thought you weren’t happy about what the ‘royal guard’ had me doin’. Besides, if you wanted me out, you’re the princess, yeah? You could kick me out yourself. I ain’t stoppin’ ya.”

Your lips tighten, eyes digging further together. His attitude is strange to you as well as his dialect, the manner in which he speaks. Even his appearance is strange, for while he is dressed in your palace’s fabrics, he is drabber than everything around you. And even with this royal clothing, his face and build do not match his suit.

He has tired bags under his poisonous haze of ivy hues. Dark tendrils of inky hair sprout over his forehead, his ears, and into his sharp gaze. His facial structure is hard, mature with hints of stubble sprouting over his chin, remnants of what you assume to be the guard forcing him to shave. He’s bulky as well, remarkably so. He’s an unnaturally large man, and his muscles bulge against his clothing as though it is going to burst with the raise of his arm.

His eyes, however, are pools of green you have never seen before - not once in all your twenty seven years of living. While the people that you surround yourself with carry a light in their twinkling gazes sparked by a passion for protecting your throne and the privilege of the lives they lead, your new bodyguard’s eyes are a stark contrast. Even from afar, you can see the exhaustion swirling about them as he looks at you slyly. He’s weary somehow, the windows of his soul revealing a glimpse into his world, into the things he has seen, and that is how you deduce that he is not the same as you. Not at all.

This observation of yours only gives you more reason to question him.

“Who are you?” you command. “You’re not from here.”

“You must be a smart one,” he quips sarcastically.

You grit your teeth. “Answer me, now.”

“You know my name, darlin’. That’s all you need from me.”

“Not if your princess demands to know your identity.”

“You ain’t my princess, girlie,” he stops you. “You’re my job. And I don’t do a lot of talkin’ on the job.”

You make a noise of displeasure, something between a grunt and a gasp, and Toji only revels in the way he has thrown you off. You sputter, taking a step forward with emotion. “Now you wait just a minute-“

“Princess!” a voice calls for you from around the corner, down at the end of the long narrow hallway by your bedroom door. You quickly swish yourself around into the direction of the address, and Toji watches how your dainty fabrics dance along with you, even long after you have stopped moving. Seconds later, an ambassador appears, peeking his head around the wall. “Are you well? You are needed in the second floor den to review some papers regarding your upcoming coronation.”

Frazzled, you nod unceremoniously. “Yes. Yes, my apologies,” you breathe out. “I am coming. My guard and I were just… I was merely informing him of my expectations here on out.”

Toji would have rolled his eyes at the way you all speak, the sound of it on his ears rather exhausting. He can hardly keep up with the properness of it all.

“I see,” the ambassador nods. “I shall inform everyone that you are on your way.”

The man leaves, and you take a moment to breathe in and dust yourself off. You murmur under your breath to yourself what Toji can only deduce as assurances and affirmations, little words you tell yourself to keep your rather striking confidence instilled. You clasp your hands once more, bracelets clinking as you regain your composure. Toji stands in silence, watching boredly.

“Whoever you are,” you begin, turning your head to your shoulder so that your voice is audible. “I don’t need you. Despite what my parents say, I manage fine on my own. Keep your distance.”

The green eyed man watches you walk off, forcing himself to begin following at a reasonable pace. His eyes train on the back of you as you trek ahead, and he finds himself lost in his thoughts, formulating his opinion of you.

You do not take to him easily over the course of your adjustment to each other, and neither does he. You find his presence to be a burden as he trails after you everywhere you go, far more invasive and persistent than your knights have ever been. He becomes your second shadow, and while you are accustomed to having been followed around all your life, Toji’s approach is impossible to ignore.

Even from ten feet away, you feel him there, watching, and it drives you mad.

He’s light on his feet, for if it weren’t for his obvious mass trekking in your footsteps, at times you would have forgotten that he was even nearby. How someone as big as him could travel so quietly, you did not understand.

And worse than his hovering is how foreign he still is to you. You know absolutely nothing about him, and your parents, who you find to be useless in their aging stupors these days, will not bother to tell you anything about where he is from. It isn’t the fact that he frightens you, per say, despite the rather frightening energy that he emits. You notice the way people stare as he follows your path, how they internally conjure their own ideas about who this ominous figure is and what he is doing in a place so very clearly unfit for his type, but you are not scared. You believe him to be a nuisance more than anything, and if he is there to protect you, you feel you have nothing to necessarily worry about in regard to your own safety.

In fact, you feel unfathomably secure, though irritated more often than not.

What you seek from Toji are answers. He abruptly appears out of nowhere under the vow that he will be stuck to you like paste to parchment for the rest of your life, and you are expected not to question his arrival? To question his place of origin? To question what he has done to secure a place as the Princess’ bodyguard with no experience in this field? To question what he has done to be trusted by royalty with your life?

It doesn’t make any sense to you, and you feel that it is unfair to be kept in the dark as the future queen in place of your parents. And every time you try to go to him about it, he either ignores you or gives you that cunning smile, scar stretching and lips spreading.

Toji himself is itching to get out of here the second he’s nestled in. He despises the atmosphere, the sneering looks, the air of shrewdness that envelopes him everywhere he turns. You’re an ungrateful thing, and that only makes his job all the more aggravating. You don’t know how good you have it, and yet you look at him like he’s doing more harm to your life than good when he is literally ensuring that you are out of danger’s path.

He studies you from his position ten feet away, watching how you take on tasks and prepare for the day of your coronation, communicating with villagers surrounding the palace walls with a generous grin and a glowing energy about your presence, and how you patiently sit with your parents at breakfast, lunch, and dinner each day as they practically wither away in their seats. You are always so poised and polite in the presence of other people, authoritative and strong, yet when he is alone with you, you’re wallowing in displeasure, throwing him heated glances and clenching your jaw tightly. You find it hard to behave elegantly in his company, and that fact alone gives him some hint of satisfaction.

But what Toji truly can’t stand above all the waiting that he has to do on you with no sign of action are the meetings you have with princes from far away, seeking to take your hand as their bride and fulfill the role as king. Toji’s found himself biting his tongue more times than he can count when he’s standing with his back pressed to the wall in one of your many tea rooms, the umpteenth shiny haired, pearly teethed virgin bowing his head before you and pompously chanting about all the wonderful things he would bring to your life if you were to allow him to wed you. Toji finds the whole thing ridiculous, for obviously you don’t want to share your crown with another man, especially not a husband, but the unspoken law of your reign requires that you must find someone to stand by your side. And of course after that is done, Toji is still expected to follow you around day in and day out.

And for what? What purpose does this bring him aside from money? He hasn’t even been given his first stipend a month into this little endeavor, and he’s beginning to think that the whole ordeal is a scam, that he had been tricked into a false agreement. He should have known when the guard outright refused to pay him up front beforehand due to their lack of trust in his goals, which in truth was fair, because the Fushiguro would have run for the hills the second he got his hands on those riches. Nevertheless, he’s growing tired of the repetitive tiredness of his routine. He was promised a chance to at least defend your honor by fighting, but despite the King and Queen’s concerns, he has not seen a single threat to your life yet.

At night, a weight drags down on his chest as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, how he even came across such a thing. Back home, if the townfolk were to hear about where he had run off to, they’d all laugh. Toji Fushiguro, the man hungry for blood now at the will of the government that destroyed his childhood, his life. What a fucking joke.

And you’re so perfect, it destroys him. To be serving such a deplorable image of sovereignty, to see your angelic face decorated in breathtaking clothes and to follow you around like a damn puppy with nothing to show for it. In your company, he is reminded of his place, of how much higher you are than he is. Though Toji is a man who has never cared what the higher class thought of him, in your wake, he feels helpless. He wants to say that he is holding out for a better future, that he is doing this for himself, but it doesn’t feel that way. He knows it’s not for him anymore, but for you, and what could you possibly bring him other than crisis after crisis, heart clench after heart clench, and more bubbling, searing aggravation over his place in society?

You are terribly beautiful, and Toji is not. He sees that the more he’s at your side, taking in the way everyone looks at you in comparison to how everyone looks at him. These palace walls are stuffy. They suffocate him, turn him against himself and almost make him forget who he is, and he can not stand it.

He is convinced he needs to leave in the dead of night, to flee away without a trace left behind, off to a new world with no money and no plan. He believes that it would be a better fate than being stuck here… that is, until he is finally paid.

A monthly salary of a thousand gold and silver pennies combined. He is handed the sack of funds while he is off duty, hours after you have gone to sleep as though the exchange is illegal, and in the privacy of his cabin, his eyes glimmer with the reflection of the money in his grasp. His brow twitches, eyes still and jaw tightening.

He hadn’t believed it to be real before he got his hands on it.

He stares into the bag, into the past years he has spent on his knees crawling for barely even a scrap of this, into the future of tranquility where he can turn to rest without having to bloody his hands for the right to buy a sandwich, into everything he has ever done amounted into far less than one bag of this payment. He’s stupefied with disbelief, with greed, and hurries to escape that very night.

Toji is stripping himself of the bullshit pajamas the guard has sent for him to wear, tucking away the bullshit uniform he’s been snug in for weeks, and stuffing his pay into his beaten bag that he had tossed under his barracks. He changes back into his old clothes, the black shirt that hugs him comfortably and the sweats that pool over his calves, and he sneaks to the door when he pauses.

A glass window breaks just above him, and he whips his head up above. It’s coming from where your room is.

The dark haired man hangs his head low, conflicted. He could go, abandon you and pretend that none of this ever happened. He could go back on his promise to the kingdom, sentence himself to death by hand of royalty if he were to ever be discovered in his new home. He could flee from you, risking the chance of you dying under his protection and run off to live the life he has always dreamed of living, far from home, swimming in gold and silver.

Or he could stay. He could conquer whatever imposing danger he has detected within a half of a millisecond, his senses failing to fool him yet, and save your life. He could keep his promise to this awful society. His promise to you, and remain stuck forever.

Toji is inching out of the door, still pondering, leaning toward the latter hesitantly when a muffled scream rips from the open space of your window that has just been broken in. Your scream.

The dark haired man doesn’t know what takes over him as he drops his bag to the ground and rockets himself through his own window, foot first, to shatter the glass. His hands grip the rim as he flips himself over to face the exterior brick, digging his chipped fingernails into the crevices of the old stone to scale the side of the building that led to your room with swift agility. He claws his fingers into the ledge of your window past the grapple of a rope that was likely used to break in in the first place. A jagged edge of glass cuts his skin, but he hardly feels it due to the roughness of his callouses.

Toji kicks his feet up and piles himself into your room, rolling onto the floor within a matter of at least five seconds. He rises slowly, chest rippling into his tight shirt as he visually locates what harm is befalling you.

You’re on your bed, kicking out against the cloaked figure hovering over you with a dirtied hand pressing over your mouth, his knees kicking open your thighs and another hand holding a dagger to your throat. A bruise circles the eye of the intruder just above the cloth worn over his mouth, likely a result of your fist to his face.

When you look up and find Toji, your panicked eyes widen in relief, your brows pressed together desperately as you screech out against the attacker’s palm. Your hair, normally so meticulously pinned is sprawled messily over your silk sheets, your satin nightgown threatening to ride up your thighs, ripped at the hims, and sweat pools over your chest as it glistens in the moonlight with each heavy, anguished breath you take.

Toji’s eyes go dull, his face blank with something horrifying, yet familiar to him. You tremble, whimpering unintelligible sounds as the intruder turns to face Toji with foolish anger. “Get back!” he shouts through his mask. “Get back or I'll kill her!”

The knife’s tip presses further into your chin and you inhale sharply, squeezing your eyes tight and mustering up whatever strength you have left to turn and push away.

Toji says nothing, staring emptily into your attacker’s eyes.

Toji finds that there is a certain coolness that takes over his body and mind mere moments before he goes in for a kill. He isn’t sure if it's a form of tranquility, or perhaps his fellowship with the act having done so many times over. His eyes gloss ever, and every muscle in his body smoothes out into a relaxed state. He is motionless, still as a sculpture, but his eyes are hungry with rage, flecks of red bleeding into the garden of his IRISES, honing in on his target before he pounces.

You don’t even see Toji move before your attacker is ripped off of you and you can finally breathe, scrambling to press your back to your headboard and stare ahead in horror. You swear you had only blinked, but by the time your teary vision refocuses, Toji is drenched up to his forearm in blood, a curved blade which seemed to manifest out of thin air clutched in his hand. His arm is curved over his mouth, reaching back over his alternate shoulder as though he had just made a slicing motion. His breathing is slow, smooth, and a headless body collapses onto your floor.

Wide eyes of fear-stricken (e/c) stare at the mangled corpse leaking out onto your expensive carpet, and you don’t even notice the splatter of blood that has reached your cheek from Toji’s nimble action. You’re hyperventilating, attempting to gather yourself after having been stolen from your sleep and held at knifepoint, and now suddenly your attacker is dead on the ground. It had all happened so fast. Your head is spinning, and you’re shaking terribly. You can’t even see straight.

With a heavy exhale, Toji lowers his twitching bicep to his side, tossing his weapon off in the corner with a resounding clang! He rolls his head on his neck, stretching it from side to side and cracking it softly, before opening his eyes to find you.

You stare at each other in heavy silence, you in grateful, terrified disbelief, and him with the knowledge of how you will react to his violence. He has seen it before. The screeches that follow, the running that ensues.

He waits for it, but… it doesn’t come.

Instead, you just stare at him like a deer in headlights.

He moves to ask if you are alright, to do something to break the air, when your door bursts open after hefty pounds at your door. Your parents and a few guards, who Toji now sees are quite useless, stand in the doorway, wide-eyed.

Your parents move to comfort you and envelop you in their arms while the guards run to the scene in shock, mulling over the body that lay before Toji. He gets an earful, angry reprimanding about having done such a horrible act right before your eyes, and Toji looks over at you, finding that your eyes are already in him.

You try to speak up and say that he had no other choice, to actually defend Toji in your shaken state, but the authorities around you hear none of it and usher to whisk you away while Toji and a few knights are left to take care of his mess. You look over your shoulder, gluing your gaze to him as you are pulled carefully away.

By the time Toji is finished, cleaned, and has been lectured by the guard, he finds himself rather exhausted, but all he can think about is whether you’re alright or not. He is told that he can find you in the library on the west wing. He ventures out and reaches the space, finding you seated in a lavish sofa before your fireplace with the room guarded by your father and mother who whisper urgently with more knights. When they look up and see Toji, however, they fall silent and immediately part to let him in.

He quietly approaches, shutting the door softly behind him. He doesn’t make a sound, but you turn upon sensing him in the room. You’re cuddled into a warm blank that is wrapped over your shoulders, eyes heavy and tears damp. You sit in a sullen state, a still mess.

Toji rounds the sofa to stand far on your left side, body half concealed by the shadows of the unlit side of the library. The fire kindles gently over your face and in your eyes as you stare. Toji thinks that you almost look like a child this way, so vulnerable and disheartened.

He’s seen things like this happen to women every day at home, only he didn’t always make it to help in time. For the first time since knowing you, he sees the same trauma in your eyes, the glimmer of innocence dimming ever so slightly.

The dark haired man is not good with emotions, and he knows for damn sure that he will not know how to approach your own. He isn’t even meant to be speaking with you, but something deep in his bones is compelling him to you after witnessing you in such a horrible state.

It’s his job after all.

“You hurt?”

The question is gruff, blunt, and you look at him but not with an expectation for more. You sit with your knees to your chest as well, a position he has failed to ever see the Princess herself in.

Eventually, you shake your head and look back to the fire crackling before you. “No.”

He hums, darting his eyes over you quickly. He sees a thin line of blood on your chin where the blade had been pointed into your skin. “You lyin’?”

You glance at him tiredly. “I am not injured,” you say again.

“Alright. You’re not injured.”

You look down, picking at your blanket as you chew on the inside of your lip. “…Toji.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you an assassin?”

The question catches Toji off guard, almost making him laugh. “That’s a little personal, doll.”

“I believe I deserve to ask right now. Forget the rules, the guards were not there. You were.”

He relaxes. You’ve got a point. “No. I ain’t an assassin. At least not every day.”

“But you have… done that before…”

“How else do you think I got the job?”

“Right,” you mutter as if reprimanding yourself for asking something so obvious. “You’re rather fast.”

He’s unsure where this stream of questions are coming from. You are still mellow, speaking below a whisper, but your eyes are in a different space away from what is before you.

“Fast’s an understatement,” he mumbles and you give a nod, at least agreeing. “But yeah. I’m fast. Among other things.”

“And how long have you been…?”

“Killing?” Toji concludes the sentiment for you. You clamp your lips, retreating into yourself. “You can say it. It’s not gonna hurt ya.”

“Well, how long?”

Toji shrugs. “A while now I guess. I’m not a killer, but I do what I need to do when I have to.”

You nod, unable to find a verbal response to his words. Your lips purse forward and your eyes still beam into the fireplace in a daze.

Toji crosses his arms. “You scared of me yet?”

You exhale, corners of your lips tugging to the side. “You saved my life,” you say. “I am not scared of someone who has been hired to protect me.”

“That wasn’t really a pretty sight for a princess to see, though,” Toji attempts to reason.

“Yet you were not the man with the knife to my throat, were you?”

Toji falters. Once more, you’re right, but he’s a bit confused. He would have expected you to turn away from him, to reject his violent nature after seeing what he could do. But here you are, complacent with his abilities. Is it because of the shock?

He looks at you closer, but does not see any lingering signs of unawareness, or any stupor that freezes your mind and body. While you still look like you are slightly in a trance, you appear to simply be contemplating instead of suffering from shock.

How are you so chill about all of this?

“I heard you’ve been attacked before,” Toji says rather bluntly. This makes you peek up, locking your eyes with his steely ones from afar.

An exhale shakes your body. “So?”

“So?” he echoes with a scoff. “That’s not a big deal to you?”

“I told you before that I did not need you,” you say somewhat gently. “What you have seen tonight has happened more than you think, and will continue to happen in the future.”

“I hate to break it to ya, doll, but it didn’t look like ya didn’t need me. You didn’t really have much of a choice but to let me help you.”

“I have gotten out of those situations before. I could have gotten out of this one.”

Toji looks at you oddly. “Not from where I was standin’, you couldn’t.”

“I’m not weak,” you frown.

“I didn’t say you were. Hell, I saw the black eye you landed on the bastard before I snuffed his ass out,” Toji grumbles. “But you’re the Princess. Fightin’ isn’t your thing, it’s mine.”

“Do not attempt to fool me into thinking you wish to fight on my behalf,” you look him in the eye as you speak. “After all, you believe me to be inexperienced, don’t you? Sheltered. Naive.”

A moment of silence passes as Toji stares at you intensely, face cold. “Yeah. I do,” he admits. “If you’ve seen enough shit I’ve seen, you’d get why.”

Your eyes dance over his face with a pensive expression of patience. Your brows are slightly angled, denting the spaces between them, yet you breathe so deeply that it almost fools Toji into believing you are at peace.

“When I was six years old,” you start abruptly. “A tutor of mine tossed a candle to my head because I could not complete my times tables correctly. The wax and flame burned my shoulder badly when I tried to dodge. I have worn long sleeve gowns since,” you confess.

The dark haired man frowns, befuddled while you proceed.

“My grandmother, who had been heavily involved in my bringing when I was a child, was obsessed with cleanliness. Every night before I went to bed, she would inspect my room to ensure that it was tidy. If a single spec of dust was found on my floor, she would raise the back of her hand and smack me clear across the face. ‘You are a princess,’ she would say. ‘Princesses do not behave like slobs.’ Then she’d make me clean the room all over again. If it was still not to her liking, she would continue to hit me, and so on. I had welts on my body for years. I would try to ask my parents to tell her to stop, but they ranked her authority over my own every time. They believed her to be teaching me discipline. Now I do not sleep at night without inspecting every inch of my room for anything that is out of place.”

Toji’s face smooths slowly into something unreadable as he listens to you.

“When I was seventeen, I learned that men sought to ruin me. Diplomats and countrymen would visit with the same look in their eye when they saw me as I grew, seeking to force their hand to mine. One of them was banished after having been caught throwing himself onto me when I was alone. He left bruises on my arm from gripping me too hard when I tried to run away.”

Toji falters completely now, internally guffawed by your revelations.

“Over the years, I have been beaten, assaulted, and almost killed by those close to me, by those envious of me, and by those who want but can not have me. And now, with the influx of assassination attempts, I can do nothing but what I have been doing all my life; stand strong and kick.”

Your eyes swirl with honesty and grief as they lock with Toji’s pools of torment. “I may not know who you are, nor do I know where you came from or what you have been through, but do not assume that because we do not share the same origins that I am a stranger to the world’s cruelty. The kingdom tricks you into believing that we are a perfect society, when in reality, we are tainted by dark secrets swept under the rug and generational traumas. I have seen enough of reality within these palace walls surrounded by people I am meant to trust, only I do not trust any of them but myself.

“I can see it in your eyes that you are broken too. You carry yourself in such a way, but do not allow that to blind you from any hardships I have experienced in my life. We are not the same, but I know inhumanity very well.”

Toji, rendered speechless for the first time in a very long time, watches as you lean over and reach to the other side of the sofa for something on the floor. You gradually reveal his satchel, the one he had dropped to rush to save you, and sit it on the cushion beside you. Toji’s eyes widen slightly when the contents of his bag clink together like wind chimes brushing each other in the wind.

“One of the royal guard found this in the hall,” you say calmly, lowering your hand back under your blanket. “I told him to let me hold onto it. That you must have misplaced it. Were you planning to leave tonight?”

Toji exhales, threading his fingers through his hair and glancing over the floor. Still moved by what you had told him about your upbringing, the man finds himself caught off guard once more by your confrontation. You’re smart, he has to hand it to you. Much smarter than he had previously given you credit for.

“Let’s face it,” Toji sighs. “You and I both know I don’t belong here. The whole kingdom knows. This place isn’t where I’m s’posed to be.”

“And still you took the job anyway,” you challenge. “This was your scheme all along? To take off with the first bit of money you acquire from watching over me?”

“Do you expect anythin’ more?”

“I expected you to be wiser,” you admit.

“I am bein’ wise.”

“By fleeing from the only life of luxury that you have ever known?”

“I don’t live in luxury here, doll. I’m your bodyguard.”

“Even so, your bag is full of enough money to buy yourself a home, and that is only the first monthly payment. That isn't a luxury to you?”

“Luxury, to me, is doin’ what I want when I want it without havin’ to worry about anything else ever again.”

“Then where are you supposed to be?”

“Far from here.”

“You did sign a contract, you know. The guard and my parents would not take well to your abrupt absence. You would be treasoned.”

“Which is why I’d be long gone before they could find me.”

You sigh, turning away. Toji monitors you for a sign of disappointment, of anger, of desperation, but instead you remain indifferent. “I will not stop you if you choose to go,” you say.

Toji cocks a brow, lowering his arms to his sides. “You won’t?”

“You are your own man with your own ability to make decisions. I do not fault you for wishing to leave. I do not know you well enough to do so.”

Toji eyes you harshly, stepping closer and breaking the barrier of a ten foot distance. He approaches the other side of the sofa, peering down at you heavily as if to piece you apart. “You’re just gonna let me go,” he tests. “The hell do you gain from that?”

“Must it be about what I gain?” you ask.

“I’m just a little shocked you’re not more pissed about this.”

“Toji, I was the Princess before you came and I will continue to be the Princess after you leave. I am not angry about what life you choose to live if it is separated from mine. I do not know what is best for you. That’s for you to decide.”

“And what about your guard?”

“They will be fine.”

“What about you?”

You soften. “I will be fine too.”

His mouth twitches. “I ain’t convinced.”

“Do you wish to leave or not?” you question. “You can not worry for my sake and desire to run away at the same time.”

“I ain’t-“ he stops himself, shaking his head and pressing his hands into the armrest. He wants to deny caring about what will happen to you, but his current hesitation over leaving proves otherwise. “You coulda died.”

“I could have died many times,” you counter. “I always manage.”

“And if one day, you don’t?”

“That will not happen.”

“Yeah, only if I’m there.”

You raise your brows and Toji catches himself, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He glances at his bag and reminds himself of his future, of his plans, of his life, and then he looks back at you, swarming in your wool blanket with such lovely eyes. Free of your jewelry, your crown, and your extravagant gowns and makeup, you look more human. You look softer, and Toji battles a newfound internal conflict - his growing desire to stay.

Slowly, a soft smile rises to your lips that does not reach your eyes. Your soft skin, aglow by the flames before you, illuminates the warmth of your expression. “Do not tell me you are beginning to feel a duty toward me?”

“Duty ain’t in my vocabulary,” Toji defends, looking away.

“Then why are you still here?”

He catches the testing look on your face and exhales in weary amusement. “Don’t get smart with me now, Princess. You won’t win that battle.”

“Just make up your mind, Toji,” you tilt your head and toss him a knowing look.

You carefully shift and maneuver your body around so that you are laying your head on the cushion with your legs curled up to you, Toji’s bag still sitting on your left. The said man’s eyes follow the motion. “What’re you doin?” he asks.

“I’m going to try to get some rest,” you murmur, though you do not close your eyes. You stare ahead in exhaustion, but no urge to sleep comes over you. “You may do as you please. If you are not here in the morning and your bag is gone, I will assume that you have left.”

Toji looks back at his bag, torn. He’s itching to grab it, to swipe it up in his grasp and make a break for it, but there you are. The Princess, soon to be Queen of everything Toji has ever resented, and suddenly he feels a human connection to you. The things you told him, the steadiness of your voice as you spoke, the maturity in your eyes, the hidden, harbored scars, the arrogant will you carry to proceed into this life alone despite your susceptibility to harm… it got to him.

And when he saw your face as you lay trapped under your intruder, how your body writhed with the involuntary will to fight despite your disadvantage, Toji was taken completely by an urge, a responsibility to protect you. To look after you. To kill for you.

Therefore, neither of you say a word when Toji moves to pick up his bag and toss it onto the floor. In its place, he sits at your feet and tosses his arms over the back of the headrest, legs sprawled out before him as he watches the fire beside you.

He stays there until the sunrise, and solidifies his fate.

After that night, Toji feels himself changing. Time goes by and you only grow stronger, approaching your coronation swiftly and taking on the role of Queen with regal pride. Toji finds himself staring at you when he’s by your side, which you have appointed him to after having a tense conversation with the royal guard, resulting in him no longer having to linger ten feet away at all times. He stands rather closely now when it is appropriate to do so, glaring ahead menacingly as he towers over your frame while you conduct meetings or speak with foreign princes and diplomats, who Toji keeps a sharp eye on with the knowledge of what you shared with him about your past interactions.

He thinks of the pressure that weighs over you, and studies how you harbor so along with your traumas with so much poise. You don’t allow the things you have gone through to weigh you down, to deter your path, and he grows impressed with the strength of your mind. Without such, you likely would not be where you are today.

Toji becomes one of the very few people you entrust your life with, if not the only person you fully trust to take your life into his hands. Despite his initial plans to leave you, he proves himself loyal to you, standing guard outside your room every night instead of retreating to his chambers and preventing disasters before they even happen. With his keen senses and hawk-like gaze, he catches suspicious figures in crowds, which he can recognize easily due to his upbringing as well. He used to be one of those lurking shadows, stalking packed spaces to find a target, only he was always too swift to be caught.

Toji now takes to disposing of the people who mean you harm in private, away from your vision. While you are well aware of his capabilities, Toji has a tendency to become borderline sadistic when killing for you. Inspired now by his respect for you and your budding relationship, the honesty in your eyes and the sanctity of your life in his hands, he is more ruthless than he ever has been before in private, and he does not want you burdened by the vision. The guard does not question him, taking to caring for your parents and watching the palace walls while Toji handles the direct threats unto you. No one in the palace questions him any longer, for you have grown close to him and he to you, and the proof of him risking himself time and time again for the sake of you forces all heads away and onto the next thing.

During the day, he is still and mute, a brick wall of eerie, bulky freight, but at night when you are alone, he’s making you laugh, sharing stories with you about gruesome bar fights he has been involved in and past jobs that have given him a run for his money. You always listen with curiosity, eyes bright with intrigue as a long forgotten book lay in your lap as you watch him, absorbing tellings of a world far from your reach. He does his best to leave out gory details, like the things that tend to keep him up at night, the things he is ashamed of having lived, but you always understand. You can always see more of him than he lets on in his gaze, how he stands and tenses, how he looks away after having held your gaze for too long.

The dark haired man finds that he has never felt such security that you bring him, that while he keeps you safe, he feels safe in your defense, in your presence, in your path. You ease his mind somehow with your gentle grace and your unearthly beauty, with your loud cackles that he draws from you after dinner when he walks you to your room, a far cry from the contained chuckles you allow to slip when cozying up to someone for diplomatic and political purposes.

You ease his mind with your warm grins, your soft hands that brush his arm when you get his attention, with the sweet breath that tickles his ear when you lean up to cup your hand over your mouth and whisper something to him. He always has to lean down for you as you reach up on your tiptoes, informing him of a task he must carry out in secret when all he can think about is the shiver that racks his spine when your coo of a whisper flutters directly into his ear.

Toji does not want to admit that you make him feel strange when he starts to notice the way his chest tightens as you brush past, the air of your perfume lingering in his nose. He does not want to admit that this foreign warmth he now feels takes over his entire being, melting his hardened soul after he believed it to be beyond repair. He does not want to admit that he recognizes this feeling as love solely because he has never felt it before, never experienced the visceral pump of his blood into his heart or the honeyed comfort that slips into his understanding of lust. He does not want to admit that you attract him as more than someone he wishes to ravish, but as someone he has come to cherish deeply.

He does not think it affects his job, for he has been at your side for nearly a year when you are finally appointed Queen and he still performs incredibly well. He stands at the upper corner of the grand hall, diamond chandelier twinkling brilliantly above your head in your wake as you inch your way down the aisle and up the purple velveted carpet. The kingdom watches you in awe, your gold encrusted gown dragging delicately over the floor, manicured hands clasped before you as you approach with your chin high and your chest puffed. You are a vision of artistry, of indescribable, unfathomable beauty, and Toji knows he loves you when he catches himself smiling gently as he watches you graze the room like fresh dew beaming on a crisp, sunlit morning.

There is no sign of an attack when your new crown is placed upon your head, thanks to Toji and the word of his talents spreading like wildfire across villages, lands, and kingdoms alike. The entire world by now must know of the Queen’s bodyguard, who sticks to her side like glue and wipes out anything that even thinks of creeping into her path. His reputation proceeds him once more, yet now, he is proud of who he has become. He is proud, now, that he is killing for the good that is you, a woman deserving of every goodness that comes to her in this world, instead of for his own survival.

You do not marry. You refuse once you gain the power to deny the visiting of any more suitors, much to Toji’s relief. He had never been a fan of watching men kiss your feet, take your pretty hand in theirs and look you in the eye with a bent knee. He would have killed them all if you had not frowned upon so, for he did not believe anyone to be as deserving of a woman working to rebuild the economy for the sake of Toji’s village and all those who suffered along with him with such compassion and selflessness, not even him - as much as he cared for you.

Somehow, Toji’s duty to you triumphs over his desire for you. While he struggles, he respects you more than he has respected any human being in his life. His job is to make sure that you live, and that you do so peacefully and happily. You have transformed him into a noble man, and how you did so, he barely knows. What he does know, however, is that he loves you as much as he honors you. You are his Queen, he is your bodyguard - your right hand. He would never interfere with the boundaries set between the two of you, with the responsibility he has to you.

Consequently, he stubbornly pushes away the telling looks that you share with him, your eagerness to jest, to press your touch to him and feel you near him, to remind yourself that he is still there.

He knows. He sees it in your eyes, the unspoken yearning, the reason why you do not wish to marry anyone else, and you know that he knows, but he says nothing. He breaks his gaze away, he guides you back with a gentle hand to your waist and upper arm, and he leaves you every night, redrawing the line, keeping you at such a close distance.

It’s been two years. The two of you now know one another better than you’ve known anyone, and Toji has been with you through thick and thin, through the death of you parents, the conflict with the council over the uncertainty regarding a future heir, your silent fatigue that only shows itself at the end of the day when no one else is looking and it is only you and him as he bids you good night. He’s seen it all, and you have seen him just as clearly.

Tonight is no different as you enter your room sluggishly, sinking into the edge of your bed as you gaze ahead, an emptiness in your eyes. Toji stands at your door, examining you sternly. You look beat, aged by the years and the burden of ruling. The veil of composure lifts from you, and you slump, gown crowding over the floor and your aching feet, which dangle over the bed.

Wordlessly, the dark haired man sighs and closes the door behind him. Within a second, he is kneeling before you, calloused hands grazing over the many layers of your gown to delicately cup your ankle. His touch pulls you back to reality and you look down, brows curling ever so subtly.

Toji cradles the back of your ankle and grips the stem of your glass heel. He slowly glides the cramping footwear from your foot, setting it to the side once it is free from its confinements. You watch him with ardor swelling in your gaze, his hands so rough when handling others, smoothing over your skin as though you are fragile.

He moves to your other shoe and glances up when he catches you staring in that way that makes his heart ache. “What is it, doll?” he murmurs, the nickname he bestowed upon you once condescendingly having stuck in a sweeter, more genuine manner.

You don’t answer. You only gaze gratefully, tiredly, while Toji sets your other shoe to the side. He stays down on his knee, looking up at you.

“You alright?” he asks and you sigh deeply.

“You are the only person in this world I feel I can be myself with,” you eventually say earnestly, gently. Toji blinks, shifting slightly and nodding slowly.

“Back at ya,” is all he can manage to say under your loving stare. He almost feels suffocated by the way your eyes swallow him whole. “I get what you mean.”

“Everyone is just so-” you lift your hands in an attempt to physically depict what you want to say, but the words fail you and your arms stall in the air. “So-”

“Shitty?” Toji fills in with his own words for it, and you smile with a light giggle.

“Yes,” you drop your hands to your lap. “Shitty.”

Toji chuckles, the sound of you cursing still so funny to him. “Don’t I know it,” he agrees. He looks over your gown before back into your eyes, preparing to stand. “I’ll go call for the maids so they can’t get you outta this thing. You need to sleep.”

“Don’t,” you shake your head the second he moves to get up. He stops, sinking back down. “Not right now. I don’t want to see anyone else but you.”

Toji clenches his jaw, your words so sweet it kills him. “Don’t you wanna change? You get cranky in this thing after dark,” he jokes.

“I know,” you say. Something flickers in your eyes as you look over his figure, a hint of desire swirling into weariness. “You do it.”

Toji furrows his brows. “What?”

“I want you to help me out of my dress instead,” you whisper. The green eyed man thinks he must have heard you incorrectly, his eyes going wide as he registers your request. “There’s nightgowns in that dresser over there. Bring one to me.”

“(Y/n),” he warns, heart fluttering and skin flushing over his chest. “I’m not gonna do that. It’s not right.”

“Why not?” you press. “As your Queen, I am giving you a task.”

“Yeah, but-” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna strip ya. That ain’t… I won’t do that.”

“Toji,” you lean forward, lids heavy over your eyes. You call his name sternly, yet still so quietly, and he can not help but bide by your will each time his name slips from your tongue in such a way when you need him. “I am asking you to help me. It is not wrong if it is what I want.”

“It’s wrong ‘cause I’m your bodyguard, not your-”

His words die in his throat before he can finish his sentence. “Not my what?” you mumble.

He gets lost in your gaze, in your scent, and he is struggling to find the words. His face is tense, brows knitted and lips curled, his scar creasing along with them. “I’m not in any place to do this stuff. You know that.”

“You are because I say that you are.”

“Anyone ever tell ya you can be a little cocky?” he smirks lightly to sway the mood.

“Yes,” you roll your eyes. “You have.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he snickers. “Well, you are.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Help me out of this dress.”

“Doll-”

“Now.”

Toji exhales, for he finds that he has no other choice once you have made up your mind about something. He pushes himself to his feet and stands over you, holding his hand out to you. “C’mon,” he mutters.

You slip your dainty handy into his palm and allow him to pull you up gently to your feet. Your face meets his chest, his height never failing to shock you up close, and when you look up he’s already peering down at you with heavy eyes.

“Show me how to undo this thing,” he says impatiently under his breath, and you can tell by his hastiness that his nerves are jumping.

“I will, but you need to take your time. It’s fragile,” you whisper and he nods slowly.

“Alright.”

“Can you remove my jewelry?”

He inhales sharply. “Alright,” he says again.

You turn slowly, moving your hair out of the way to expose your neck to him. He grits his teeth, seeking some sort of self control as his fingers move to unclasp your many chains of expensive necklaces. His knuckles brush your skin, and he watches as bumps ghost over your neck after he has touched it.

Your scent invades him as his hands lower over your shoulders to bring your necklaces down from your chest. His chest bumps against your back accidentally, brushing over your shoulders, and you both twitch at the contact. God, he feels like a teenage boy, losing himself over breathing you in.

You tell him to go place the necklaces on their stand on your armoire, then to find a nightgown for you to wear. Toji feels weak, rifling through your clothes as though it is a sin to even be seeing them. Your silk fabrics smooth over his fingers before he pinches one into his hand and brings it to lay out on your bed.

“Now, see the string tying my corset in the back?” you ask over your shoulder, Toji humming distractedly when he locates it and stands behind you again. “Unravel it.”

As though entranced by your demand, he does, despite every voice in his heading screaming in protest. He should not be with you like this, the Queen, so privately in your room lit daily by the kiss of candlelight and swarmed by the scent of patchouli incense and your damned perfume. Toji’s head feels hazy, thick digits tugging at your string and drawing it out slowly, watching as the ribbon unfolds and drapes down your train.

“Now what?” he murmurs.

“Loosen it so I can take it off.”

“Heh?” he scrunches his brows, looking over the weaving of the lace between your corset.

“Just peel either side of the corset back,” you clarify. “Now that it’s untied, it will come apart.”

He obliges with uncertainty, cautiously tugging back either side of the thick fabric, the lace stretching and pooling over your back. “Okay, I’m going to raise my arms so you can pull it over my head.”

“Jesus, this thing is so damn extra.”

“Be quiet and just do it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You lift your arms into the air and Toji catches the way your curves peak out. His eye twitches as he pulls the corset over your head, off your arms, and from your body. A second corset, thinner and more form fitting, graces your waist and exposes your bare back to him, as well as the healed burn on your right shoulder that you told him about so long ago.

He clears his throat, setting the outer corset onto the bed with his fingers stilling on your hip. “What now?” he asks.

“Do the same with the rest. This one’s connected to the bottom part.”

“...What about your… uh…”

“There’s another layer under it, don’t worry,” you assure him. “Why? Is my fierce and scary bodyguard nervous?”

“Don’t even,” he grumbles and your shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

The ruffle of your clothing fills the air as Toji works his fingers through the second set of lace, loosening it and pulling it from your body. You slide your arms from the thin straps of this layer and allow Toji to drag the fabric down. His eyes train on the way it smooths over your frame, a nude colored set revealing as he pulls, pulls, pulls until the fabric is pooling around your ankles.

All that you are covered in now is a hoop cage over your hips and sleeveless underwear the same shade as your skin tone that holds you sinfully tight. Toji’s heart is in his ears and the blood in his body is surging out everywhere, including toward his crotch. He’s biting down on his teeth so hard as he holds your arm and helps you step out of the net like framing for your gown, breaths labored.

Your dazzling (e/c) hues catch his as his hand lingers on your waist and your arm, his figure now before you again. He keeps a tough facial expression, but his eyes yet again give him away as he coolly takes in your body, the way your cleavage pools out of your garments and your skin milks into a breathtaking glow.

You feel his thumb swipe over the curve of your back, experimentally caressing the space as his other hand slides up your arm and over your shoulder. His thumb touches your chin, reels back hesitantly, then touches again, sliding delicately over your cheek. You welcome the contact, your hands raising to press against his lower abdomen as he lingers over you, so closely, so intimately. You can feel his abdominals, rigid and tense, contract beneath your palms though they are barely touching him, and you look down at how small your fingers look pressing into the wall of his stomach.

“Doll,” he murmurs, voice gravelly and husky as it breathes out. You hum, lashes fluttering when his hand slides to hold the entire side of your face. He melts before you, your beauty so striking that it almost scares him, and nothing has ever scared Toji Fushiguro before. “You need to get to bed.”

“In a bit,” you mutter, gaze wandering over his lips and back up to his eyes. You sink into him, inching closer until he’s surrounding you, swarming you. “Stand with me like this longer.”

“I can’t stay here much longer. You know that.”

“What I say goes. I say you can.”

“(Y/n).”

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head as he looks over your features softly. “I do not care.”

“Well, I do,” he says, brushing a piece of hair gently from your forehead. You lean into his palm, a soft pout on your lips. “I’ve got one job, and that’s to keep you safe, y’understand?”

“And that is all this is?” you murmur, eyes darting over him. “That is the only reason you protect me? Because it is your job?”

He tilts his head slightly, smoothing his hand up and down your spine as you push yourself closer to him. Against his better judgment, against his instincts, he allows you. Even if just for a moment. Even if he never gets to feel you this way again, so plush against him, yearning and wistful.

“You know that ain’t true,” he tells you.

You bring your hands up, smoothing them up to his chest and you coo. “So stay,” you beg. “Please.”

“You’re killin’ me, y’know that?” he exhales, his nose brushing against yours as you close in on him, just centimeters away from his lips.

He holds you, shares the same breath as you, and in this moment he forgets about the barrier between you. He forgets where he came from, he forgets what your role in this world is, he forgets his duty to you and how complicated it is that it has now molded into some emotional connection. He forgets that you will need to marry one day to continue your legacy, that he himself is not a King nor a man of royalty, that he was born of hate and abandonment while you were born to be something. He forgets, as your warmth consumes him and the taste of you is so close he can smell it, that he could never take your relationship beyond what it already is. That he is not, and never has been, a man made for love yet somehow you have fooled him into believing that he is made for loving you.

“Why are you fighting me,” your eyes close, fingers inching over his shoulders and arms wrapping around his neck.

“‘Cause I can’t let myself do this to ya,” he grumbles.

“Why?”

“Stop asking me questions.”

“Do you love me?”

The question is a heated gasp against his mouth, and Toji, no longer harboring the willpower to push away from you, can only respond honestly.

“Y’know I do.”

Your fingers tangle into his silky black hair and his hand brings your faces together. “Then stay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips feel like a fluff of cloud melting into his, the rich, sugary taste of your mouth clashing into his own. You’re soft against his hard body as you crush into him, swooning and sinking as though you no longer have the strength to stand and he is catching you, bringing you to him as though it is the last time he will ever touch you in such a way, the last time he will ever have the privilege of tasting your sacred mouth.

Toji is a rough man, but he handles you gingerly, gradually as he savors you for everything his life has ever been worth. You overstimulate him with your mind numbing squeezes and the gentle sounds of satisfaction that slip from your throat into his. Toji thinks he can die blissfully happy as he encircles you, ravaging your lips with hard brows and a fuzzy mind. He crowds over you, so tall and big that you have no choice but to succumb to all of him in his embrace. He overpowers you, and you adore it, ruffling messily through his locks as his hands wander your hips generously, appreciatively, lovingly.

He guides you back, leaning over with his hand firm to your back to ease you onto your bed, lips still locked. His body is thinking for itself as his lips swarm you, tongue gliding into yours and searching every space of your cavern. You arch into him needily, sensually, and Toji pushes further though remaining mindful not to hurt you. He wouldn’t dare.

Your thighs lift to crowd his torso as he curves down into you, hovering over your gorgeous body. His lips crash into your cheek, over your jaw and down your neck, sliding his tongue hungrily over your skin with heady groans. Your lips part and your head tosses back onto your sheets, hushed gasps and contented sighs spilling from you, and even the noises you make are as angelic as you are.

His large hand cradles your head as he ducks down to care for your chest, hot lips sucking over your skin like he is enjoying a meal. Your hands tighten in his hair, his mouth easing you into astounding pleasure before his lips are back on yours, more desperate, more lustful.

“Toj…” you moan and he grunts into you, arms caging you beneath him and lower half pressing into your own. Your blurry eyes peer past strands of his hair as he consumes you, kisses you, worships you.

“Yeah, darlin,” he exhales into your mouth as your bodies writhe against the barrier of clothing. “Talk t’me. What is it, my girl?”

“Do not… mmm, don’t leave me. Not tonight,” you plead in between weighted kisses.

Toji pulls back to look you in the eyes, hands exploring all over you. “Nothin’ could take me from you now, doll,” he swears, pupils enlarged and shrinking the green expanse of his eyes. “I’ll take good care of ya, promise. I swear on m’life. I got you, baby, I got ya.”

You whimper and his lips find yours again, kissing into you his promise of devotion.

Toji swaddles you with love for hours on end, into the early morning, molding marks of his loyalty over your stomach and down your legs, kissing over your scars, and pulling release after release from your core. He’s tender, firm but soft as he makes love to you and molds the shape of him into your essence. Imprints of your fingernails into his skin and your teeth marks into his shoulder encourage him to drag every moan, every ounce of fluid from your body. And god, you feel better than Toji could have ever envisioned. You’ve ruined him with your passion, with your pretty entranced gazes and your loving kisses, your insatiable need for him to give you more and for yourself to give him more. You’re sweet. So sweet, and Toji loves you more than himself, therefore he promises to give you what you want tonight and to return to his responsibility tomorrow.

It is his duty to you after all, to protect you, to love you from afar.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fandom #jjk fanfic #anime #jjk #jjk season 2 #jjk x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fluff #toji x you #toji zenin #toji headcanons #jjk au #jjk au x reader

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soapssuds · 3 months ago

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stubborn heart ch. 3

yan!capitano x wife!reader

summary | or in which capitano is told he needs a wife. and he begrudgingly agrees.

previous | next

After your “wedding” of signing marriage papers and Capitano’s disappearance after taking the documents away, you found yourself alone in the mansion. The blanket still engulfing you in a tight embrace as you sat in a momentary silence at the table.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

You posed the question to yourself when you looked around the massive dining room. Your eyes scanning the walls, the paintings, the decorations and even the windows. Capitano had stated that working or doing any sort of maid duty was unneeded.

“Am I really going to be doing nothing for the rest of my life?”

You shook your head at that, no way! You absolutely refused to be bored.

Standing up from the chair you decided to head back to your room and get ready for the day. Luckily you still have some money left from when you worked diligently at the hearth, so maybe it was time to go on a little shopping spree, but…

You stopped suddenly once you got to the stairs at that thought.

“That’s right… he said I need to inform him when I leave this place…wait a second.”

You immediately brightened just then, a smile stretching across your lips as you hiked up the blanket and started up the stairs, “he said I just needed to notify him when I leave, not to get his permission!”

It was a loophole, but a way to at least do your own thing. Though, how to notify him? You didn’t exactly know where he went. He either left the house to hand deliver the documents or went to file them somewhere in the house. Honestly, you weren’t sure who the documents the went to after their signed. All you knew was how weddings worked, not the wedding documents.

Finding your room, you quickly went in and towards the closet. Opening the door, you froze. Your clothes were in there, but were hanging next to someone else’s as well.

“We- we’re sharing a room,” you whispered yelled to yourself as you briefly went over Capitano’s clothing, “well- I guess since we’re married now it will only make sense that we share a room,” you muttered. Though, you were sort of nervous. Does that mean you both will be sleeping in the same bed tonight?!

Hastily grabbing some of your own clothes to throw on, you were careful not to accidentally pull one of Capitano’s down along with your own, then heading out fo the closet you went to dresser and pulled one of the drawers open before shutting it closed a millisecond later.

THAT IS DEFINITELY NOT MY UNDERWEAR-

Calming yourself for a moment as you still couldn’t believe that you were living in a time where you would actually see Capitano’s underwear, you started going through the other drawers before finally finding your underwear and bras all neatly sorted.

“I sure hope the maids were the ones to put these here,” you said sadly to yourself. Because despite being part of the House of the Hearth you never actually lived a life of luxury much like the others who were maids or the ones who joined the fatui. You were paid, of course, but not enough to afford luxury clothing. So a lot of your panties and bras were … very very plain. Definitely not something sexy that a wife would wear.

You paused at that thought, “wait, why am I worrying? He said not to expect anything so it’s not like I’ll be dressing up for him…”

You grabbed a clean pair of underwear and a bra, “so I have nothing to-“

You looked over when you finally noticed a presence by the doorway.

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

Why must he always catch me doing something stupid?! Will I never give the man a good impression of myself?!

“Not- not always,” you mumbled as Capitano entered the room. Noticing his stair, you hid your undergarments under your other clothes that you were carrying.

“Are you planning on going somewhere?”

Luckily he decided not to dwell on your embarrassing moment much like last time. (Thankfully.)

“Yes, I was… going to let you know that I was going to go to town.”

“For what purpose?”

“I want to buy some new books.”

He regarded you for a moment before pulling something out his cloak and holding it out to you. Tilting your head to the side, you looked up at him quizzically.

“Mora. For your shopping.”

You instantly shook your head, “what- no! I can’t take your money!”

“You no longer work at the hearth, nor do you have an income now. So I have already expected that you will be needing this-“

You cut him off which surprised you, “I- I don’t need your mora, ok? I have my own, and I plan on looking for a job in town as well.”

It felt like you just annoyed him, but you were insistent. He told you not to expect anything, so you weren’t going to expect any mora from him as well.

“As you wish,” he finally said when he didn’t detect any sort of wavering in your stance. The bag of mora disappearing behind his cloak as he most likely hung it back on his belt, “though, if you do find a job I expect to be-“

“Notified of it,” you finished.

“Hmm, you’re quite mouthy.”

“I- I was only finishing-“

“My sentences. I got that. Now, I will be leaving also. I have some business to attend to with the other harbingers.”

You nodded, still a bit lost on the exchange you both shared.

“Would you like to leave together?”

You shook your head at that, “no Lord Capitano. I still have to get ready, and I don’t want you to have to wait on me.”

He nodded, but before he turned to leave, he spoke to you once more, “there is no need to refer to me as Lord anymore.”

“Alright… Capitano.”

taglist

@nas-ha @simp-simp-no-mi @emmathecouchpotato4583 @sendria @riotakire @littlekohai77 @lvtuss @kreishin @floffytofu @nastylilcvnt @mikoslightnovels @feral-childs-word @barbatoss-bitch

some say "no blogs found" </3

#genshin impact #genshin #capitano #yandere capitano x reader #yandere capitano #yandere capitano x you #yandere capitano x y/n #yandere capitano x wife reader #capitano x reader #capitano x you #capitano x y/n #genshin capitano #capitano genshin

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gremlingottoosilly · 11 months ago

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The Horror and The Wild (emperor!Konig x fem!Reader)

A day after you and Konig's wedding. Who knew that evil emperors could be so romantic. Tags and TWs: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator Word count: 3256 AO3

— Lift your hips up, princess. You don’t want to waste my seed.

You whimper, trying to get your legs down, so he can’t force you to spread them anymore – but you feel the hot seed getting back in the swell of your well-used maidenhood, and it makes you whimper only more. What a woeful sight indeed – a fake princess crying over having to take the seed of the strongest person in the whole continent. You know a thousand of women who would beg for an opportunity to have the Emperor’s hands on their hips, guiding them down to admire the look. You know that the real princess – your princess – would never agree to this ordeal, no matter the begging and the bribery. So, you don’t agree too. — In m…my culture, a bride should wait at least a month after the marriage before the…conception, Your Majesty.

You lie through gritted teeth like it could change anything. Like it could magically force all the seed from your womb to the ground again, to the silk of the sheets under you. Like the mere tradition that you gave birth to the idea of a minute ago would stop you from being König’s breeding mare. Still, you refuse to lift your hips, a small resistance that puts a small chuckle to his lips. He is amused by you – or your stupidity. Princesses are supposed to be spoiled and bratty, right? Yours certainly was.

— Does your culture also make the bride lie to her husband?

You lick your lips, forcing them closed. No another quick witty word from you – your lies already got you on the edge of…something. After König announced he knew who you were this entire time, he got you on your back, on your belly, with your hips up and down, your head silly from lack of air as he choked you until you begged for your life – only for him to kiss you over and over. Feeding your womb with his seed until there was a bump, not giving any chance that the baby wasn’t there yet. If anything, he conquered your body the same way he did your country – and left your bruised hips as a reminder. The handprinted bruises covering your skin like the finest fabrics of the gown he got you.

— If you wish to order me dead, your majesty.

— Death doesn’t mean anything here, meine Liebe.

— Then banish me. For the lies and the betrayal of a royal…

He laughs – it’s a nice sound, still, something in your deprived mind likes the way you make him laugh and chuckle. Something in your head makes you feel as dizzy as you did when he cut off the air in your throat, every time that cold eyes of his look at you with warmth. heated obsession, whatever that is – you refuse to believe it was genuine, as you were borrowing your princess’s identity, but now, when he laughed and spoke about his true intentions, you weren’t sure if a pathetic and lowly lady-in-waiting is as safe in you as you thought.

— If being as stupid as you are is a punishable crime, then I’d finalyl have a good reason to kill off most of my harem. He laughs again, a hand in your hair – getting out all of the fancy pins and bows and dead flowers that were forced to be held in your crown and on your head. You groan in pleasure as the pins scraping your scalp are finally removed – and try to get back at his hand immediately when he comes to squeeze your breasts again. Not for any reason – simply because you happened to have the aspects of your body that he could touch.

— Would be much safer to get a woman from a harem, sir. Not…not me.

— And if I wanted just you?

König looks at you – trembling, loved out completely. Covered in his marks, as many bites as a princess could take. Even being a servant, you’re almost as gentle and reserved as a real deal – but gods, if you weren’t the cutest thing he ever saw in that damned ugly country of yours. Hating nobility as much as he hated speaking to his troops not as their commander, König never particularly enjoyed the idea of having to marry some bitchy royal daughter…you, however, were the loophole in the god’s contract. A gift, just for him.

— Your council would make me disappear for deceiving you in the first place.

— No one would dare to leave the empire without heirs.

— You could have another one. There are plenty of princesses out there, Your Highness.

— And I don’t have enough patience to entertain you trying to sell me the idea of your freedom. Do you know what relief I felt when you were the one to meet me?

You don’t answer, instead prompting to just listen. You have good ears for listening – for allowing others to talk, so you wouldn’t be made to fill in awkward silences. König loves that and appreciates that. Finally, someone who can just be silent – even if he also has nothing to say, at least you’re scared and angry enough to dismiss him anyway. At least your unwillingness is making him less awkward at participating in the conversation.

— You knew who I was all along?

— Princesses are pampered. Even the poorest kingdom would never have a princess with hands as hard-working as yours, Schatz.

He takes his hands in yours – no matter the healing creams you rubbed in them, no matter the lack of actual physical labor, even the smallest tasks you performed for the princess, the tiniest exposure to cleaning supplies that would make the toughest skin crack, left a small traces in the skin of your palm. Fingers with clean nails – short, practical, indicating the need to have your hands in working order all of the time. Indicating your lack of a servant who would do everything – opening buttons on clothes, embroidery, and washing oneself’s body. indicating that you were said servant.

You look embarrassed that he pointed that out. Scared, almost.

— Are my hands too ugly for you, sir?

He can see the tremble in your fingers. He traces them with his – large, calloused hands keeping you in place. Rough skin and multiple ridges of scars over the darkened skin made you shiver from the contrast of the sensation – those are the hands of a ruler who isn’t afraid of taking a sword in his hands. Who almost got his arms chopped off for this altogether.

Then – he kisses them.

One finger at a time, every ridge and bump in your skin deserves a graze of emperor’s teeth as he tugs on rough skin around your knuckles. Your hands are soft, softer than a normal maid would have – but changed from the work you had to put. Every kiss and lick doesn’t make them gentle, doesn’t remove the experience you had – in braiding hair, in washing clothes, in cleaning up after a royal mess. It doesn’t change who you were, but with every little praise he whispers – crude language, really, but the affection in his words scares you more than any foreign insult could – with every toss of his lips over your palms, he is changing who you are. Who will you become in just a week or two.

He calls your hands beautiful – in North tongue, with a smile on his face. König loves to explore, and your body is a beautiful place for him to be. Your hands are the best place he could have been in the morning.

Some historians are already saying he has done more to this country than any other ruler ever could. But oh, the emperor knows that the most important thing he did here was kiss your fingers. Over and over.

You snap your arms back when he finally breaks down, starting to bite – the softer skin of your palms falling victim to his sharp teeth. Emperors aren’t supposed to have sharp teeth but for all he knows, he was born from a dog and raised by one. A wolf in wolf’s clothing.

— Your hands belong to an empress.

— Thought I was a regent.

— You are, mein Schatz. Can’t trust you with a country, ja?

You laugh, but there are tears in your eyes. Loss of whatever authority you could have as the princess's personal maid – her friend if he knew anything about royals and their habits. Scheisse, he was the emperor for 10 long years and still didn’t get a hang of it. Might be something he had to be born with – such a shame, really. Should have told his mother to never give birth to a rat that would usurp the throne once out of the crib.

He loves to see you weak, trembling like this – like a proper bride should. Like a real princess, the one whose manners should be enough to fool the people and the dumbest of his court. The smartest ones could always agree to put their tongues up their behinds – if they don’t want to get their heads chopped off by his blade, without even bothering an executioner to do it.

— But you can trust me with your children?

— This empire needs an heir. As much as I can rule forever.

— No one is immortal.

— Ach. Did Sebastian forget to visit you before the wedding, little princess?

He is mocking you, again and again – he laughs with death and you hate it, you hate yourself, you loathe him and his laughs and his crooked smile and the scars covering his skin and…he kisses your hands again, then – dips your hands up in that mask of his. Lets you feel the skin, involuntarily trace your fingertips all over everything hidden – you touch his teeth, his fangs, and you gasp in shock. So, the monster has lips. So, the monster has thin lips and wet mouth, and he dips his tongue all over the traces of knuckles and…

König knows you’d never agree to be his in a way that he wants you too – but this is fine. He can work you around. He can break you. He can please you. What a wonderful job would this be.

— Your court would soon find out I’m not the one.

— They know how to keep their mouths shut. You would, however, have to deal with my harem personally.

— Did you intended to add my princess to your harem too?

— If I knew that you wouldn’t take her place? Of course. I never visited the place for the exact reason I didn’t bother to find your patron.

— Are you really satisfied with the scraps?

Oh, his poor, dumb girl – he was feeding off scraps since he was ripped away from his mom’s tit. You were the only fancy meal he ever liked in his life – and gods, if he wouldn’t give up anything to taste you again.

On the other side, however, he can do just that.

König dips his head down, the traces of his hood laying on your labia. You whimper.

— I never ate anything as exquisite as you, little princess.

— I’m n…why do you keep calling me this?

— You will be my princess. Forever trapped on my lap, on the floor, chained to my throne like a…

With each word, his tongue laps on the glossiness of your lower lips. He gives your maiden a little kiss all over, he digs down like it’s a fancy meal indeed – the scrawny hairs of his stubble make you whimper every time they graze your clit. König has a fleeting thought of eating his cum out of your poor, sore body – that it wouldn’t be wise, that it would make the process of impregnating you slower. Then, he thinks – he can just fill you up with his seed later. And in the evening. And tomorrow.

He pushes his tongue down, deep – you gasp, you get your hands on his hood, not trying to tear it apart, but laying there like a scared maiden. You were one – you are one, after all. Gods, he could just keep you here forever if it weren’t for the country needing its empress.

König kisses you all over – you’re still smelling like rose water, like fragrances that were forcefully rubbed on your skin right before the wedding. A proper lady, you were bathed in salts and oils like a kitchen in poor man’s soup – but weren’t you looking beautiful in that dress of yours. Too bad he had to rip it eventually, stepping on it accidentally quite a few times as he was getting you water. Your little trick with the herb did make you thirsty in all possible ways.

You don’t know a lot about royal weddings, but you’re pretty sure that the emperor shouldn’t be sprawled on his giant bed like this, eating you out like you were the roasted lamb served at yesterday’s feast. You moan when the material of his mask is getting tricky with your gentle parts when the rough fabric is scrapping your thighs in a way that is far from arousal – and then he leans in, a head laying on your tummy. Your princess parts are swollen from his actions – and lack thereof. You almost think you could buck your hips up like a… König takes off his hood.

— Wh…what are y… You don’t master enough words before he is forcing his face against yours before his lips finally lay down on yours properly – and gods isn’t this a beautiful sight. The emperor, the vile conqueror, your biggest enemy, and your husband – smiling like a boy when he got free candy, like a cat who got the cream – like a man so in love, it makes him unable to stop smiling while looking at his wife.

He isn’t pretty in the sense that some of the rulers can be pretty – he isn’t hideous either. A rough face doesn’t look like something that belongs to a royal family – big nose, small lips, chiseled chin and not a sight of inbreeding. You try to see if his ears are wrong, at least, but they are fine – not caring about a bit of chopped-off bits, probably from old battles. He is rugged and handsome and rough and you hate that red stubble on his chin and his gorgeous ginger hair – if you were forced to see this face every day, you might give up and like him. It’s a good thing he wears the mask most of the time, isn’t it?

— You don’t like how your emperor looks, little princess? He laughs again, then – cups your face in his hands and kisses you all over. Again and again, his lips fell on yours making you feel dumb, making you feel dizzy and just a bit charmed – like the potion you drank yesterday hadn’t fully worn off. You can taste your own pleasure on his lips and it makes you embarrassed – a proper lady should never enjoy a process as dirty as making love – your lower parts should only exist for him to take pleasure in ruining it, and for you – to birth little princes.

But König bows down before your lower lips, but König presses his tongue against your special spot again and again, and it makes you wonder if he recites the anthem of the empire on the little swollen bud between your legs – for his actions are filled with devotion that should only be reserved for one’s country, not for just a poor, dumb handmaiden whose only job was to lie and to protect. But…is it really all you want to do now? Just lay here and let him take him, without a chance of enjoying him playing with you if only for just a bit longer? — I…I believe you look fine, Your Majesty.

— Just fine?

He smiles and kisses you down there again – the aftermath of your pleasure makes his lips feel too hard on your swollen parts, the climax had taken everything from you left only feelings, as naked and trembling as you are right now – and, by god, if you aren’t feeling like sold and set in pieces. You are selling your dignity right now, the loyalty to your kingdom is getting grazed by each new stroke of his tongue. You close your eyes and moan – for you can’t hold off your pleasure anymore. For you don’t see a reason in trying to pretend you don’t enjoy being treated like a princess after a life of servitude.

— You are fine for an emperor, my…my husband. You struggle to say it – but you do have to say it eventually, at least in front of the servants. If he isn’t intent on keeping you locked away in a tower, pumping out babies like his little servant – maybe he wouldn’t want to keep you open for the world to take. You were a secluded princess kept in shadows before he discovered you, after all. You served the one, at least.

— Trying to cover the harsh words with honey, ja? I killed for less, mein Schatz.

— I assume you won’t kill me before the first son, at least?

— Wouldn’t kill you even if you’d be barren. I’d rather leave the empire to rot without an heir than choose someone else in your place.

— That is awful news for your empire.

— Our empire can rot without you, Meine Liebe. Never wanted the damned crown in the first place.

— But you’re fine with putting it on the head of a commoner?

— I was a commoner once. Know better than anyone else that a princess would never make a good wife.

You never studied his rise to power – the latest politics were hidden from you and the princess, the king never wanted to taint his daughter with such silly things as rising stars of the political arena – and he failed to mention the empire that was once rotting from its head getting a ruler who would take half of the continent and a daughter of every kingdom in his harem as the spoils of war.

He lays down beside you, taking you in his arms again. his hair flows all around you – he smells like blood, still, even after so many hours spent bathing in your shared musk. You wonder if everything he had done with the forbidden rituals made him like this – face torn and stitched back together again, harsh scars that can only be made from a blade or claws of a giant animal – and he pushes you down to press your face against his chest, taking in the feeling of laying beside your husband.

— Don’t you have something that needs to be done, Your Highness?

— The most important thing I need to do is lay between your legs, little princess. And you’re too swollen to be doing that.

You press your forehead against his chest. Taking it him and the light tan of his skin – you wonder where he could get it, if he almost never took off his armor. His face is as pale as it can be, and it makes him look a little silly when naked – but you refuse to smile and make him angry. — I thought you wanted me to meet your harem.

— They can wait. We need to give them time to prepare the poison for you, right?

He laughs and you don’t find anything better to do than to press your head against his chest and close your eyes. The royal visits really can wait until tomorrow.

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