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saberlight1 · 11 months ago

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oaths & songbirds — coriolanus snow

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

warnings: slight tbosas spoilers, mentions of violence and ptsd, trauma, slight toxic and possessive snow, Y/N usage, standard hunger games warnings.

authors note: hiii!! i’m glad you all enjoyed part 1 to this story, it is linked here, and part 3 is here. i loved the ballad and coriolanus & lucy gray’s chemistry and relationship was so beautifully displayed, i had to write about it. also, the song Y/N sings is linked here, the girl singing is how i imagine her to sound. anyways, i hope you enjoy!

masterlist

The bright blue sky had faded into orange and pink, you and the Covey all now scattered around the land. Maude and Lucy Gray sat on the dock, feet in the water as they sang random melodies they came up with, Issac sitting behind them drumming along with a beat.

That left you and Coryo, who were laid together on a blanket under a tree, in each other’s arms. You laid in his lap, his arms wrapped around you, a warm feeling in the both of you chest’s. You softly sang a song to him— one you had recently came up with.

In the time of the harvest, the leaves fallin’ down.

I held what my true love could reap from the ground.

But the bounty of a garden can all rot away,

Without love and protection and a hard will to stay.

I’ll never have a garden again.

Where I fall to my knees and work with the land.

Now I’m just prayin’ with two dirty hands.

I’ll never, no, never have a garden again.

You finished the song with a breath, your hands going to nervously fidget.

“Your singing is beautiful.” Coryo whispered. “Did you write that?”

“Yeah, I did.” You softly smiled. “It’s not done, but I came up with it the other night.” You looked up, hearing the mockingjay’s repeat the melody you had sang.

Coryo followed your gaze. “I’ve never seen those type of birds before.”

“Mockingjays, as we call ‘em, or as Lucy Gray does.” You explained, smiling at the thought of your beloved cousin.

“Well, I like it so far. Your songs are always beautiful.” He smiled, leaning down to kiss your nose.

You giggled, your hand going up to grab him to connect your lips. You exchanged a passionate kiss, the boy always kissing you like you were his air. He slowly broke apart, leaving small pecks on your lips before he pulled you closer.

“I wish it could be like this all the time,” You sighed.

“Me too, baby.” He brushed some hair out of your eyes, studying you for a moment. “It could be… if you came to the Capitol—”

“No, Coryo.” You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “I mean out here. In nature, away from it all. I don’t want to go back to the Capitol ever again. I don’t belong there.”

He deflated, shaking his head. “Y/N, you know I have to go back eventually..”

A breath of air left your lips, his words leaving you frowning. “I know,” your eyes casted downwards, away from his.

He bent down slightly, leaving a kiss on your lips. “I’m not gone yet, my songbird. I’m still here,”

His actions brought a small smile to your face, as your hands came up to grip his lovingly. “I.. I’m sorry I make things difficult. I’m torn, Coryo. I don’t want to be without you, but I refuse to live that life in the Capitol.”

“You don’t make things difficult, my love. I understand. You were brought up out here, it‘s your home.” He muttered, staring into your eyes with a loving gaze. “I will figure it out— We will. Don’t worry, baby.” He left another kiss on your lips, this one longer and washing all of your worries away. When you pulled back for air, the boy turned to dig in his bag, turning back to you with an orange shawl in his hand.

“What’s this?” You asked, sitting up and turning to him.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, passing it to you. “It was my mother’s, and I’d like for you to have it.”

“Oh, Coryo,” You smiled, clutching it. “Thank you, really.” You brought up to your nose, inhaling deeply. “Mm, still smells like roses.”

He smiled down at you with adoration.

“I’ll take good care of it, I promise. Thank you, sweetheart.” You said, your accent showing. “You must miss your family so much out here.”

“I do.” He answered. “I worry about them all the time.”

“…Would you really go back, though?” You met his eye again. “If you could,”

“I have to, it’s where I belong. Like how you belong out here.”

You nodded, breaking your eye contact. “Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry.” Your gaze turned back to the water in front of you.

“Hey..” He scooted closer to you.

You shook your head. “What if this was our life, Coriolanus?” You asked, and his attention was immediately on you with the use of his actual name. “Out here, waking up whenever. Catching our own food, living out by the lake— I mean, would you still feel the need for the Capitol even then?” You further went on, urging him to listen to you.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Lucy Gray called with a giggle, causing the pair of you to break apart. “C’mere! CeCe and Issac caught dinner!” She waved, as Issac held up some fish they had caught.

You sighed, shaking your head once again at Coryo before you stood up to join them, Coriolanus on your tail.

As the night went on, the previous worries were now in the back of your mind as you sang a song with Lucy Gray, a smile on your face.

However, as Coriolanus watched you, the same worries were front and present in his mind. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything else. He knew somehow, someway he had to convince you to come with him. He couldn’t leave you behind, not again.

He didn’t know if you’d still be here when he got back.

‘What if this was our life, Coriolanus? Would you still feel the need for the Capitol, even then?’ Your past words ringing in his ears as his smile dropped. If he didn’t lure you in soon, you’d fly away with the mockingjays into the wind, never to be his again.

He couldn’t have that.

#coriolanus fanfiction #tbosas #coryo snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coryo x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fluff #the covey #corio snow #coriolanus angst #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #y/n #coriolanus x you #coryolanus snow

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veronicaphoenix · 2 days ago

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zutto — chapter twelve | wc: 3k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Noah finds an old family album in Grandma's living room. Noah and Lia explore a nearby village that leads to a guarded sanctuary.

Reading time: 12mins aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: established relationship, very slight angst, mostly fluff and happiness, no trigger warnings, just lia and noah being the cutest couple ever. (This chapter is mainly a filler, but do let me know if there's sth that definitely needs to be added here).

‼️ THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF MY OTHER FIC THE UNMAKING OF A WARRIOR ‼️

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

Noah stirred awake with his face nestled in the tousled cascade of Lia’s hair, which lay strewn across their pillows. Still foggy with sleep, he brushed her hair back, freeing himself from the comfortable knot of her arms and legs. Lia’s face, serene in slumber, bore the same gentle innocence she’d had since childhood—soft features and a hint of a smile that made her look so small, almost fragile.

As he shifted to leave, she murmured something in her sleep, and all he caught was the word “cold”. He reached for one of the fluffy blankets Emi had handed him the day before and tucked it around her and over the duvet, leaving only her eyes, nose, and a tuft of hair peeking out. He knelt on the futon and leaned down, pressing a light kiss to her forehead, and was rewarded with the sight of her nestling deeper into the blankets, her contented smile widening slightly. The sight made him chuckle.

A few minutes later, Noah found himself downstairs in the dimly lit living room, where the quiet of early morning was still present. The world outside was barely touched by dawn, and there was a chill lingering in the house. Deciding that coffee could wait, he sank into the couch, raking a hand through his hair as he reflected on the events of the previous night. He and Lia had stayed up late, mulling over his grandmother’s words, everything she’d said and shared with them, all she’d known for years—the connection he and Lia shared and had been skirting around for so long. This morning, waking up beside her, limbs tangled, he couldn’t help but regret the many sunrises they’d missed together.

Sighing, Noah let his gaze drift across the room until it landed on an old chest of drawers, cluttered with various albums and keepsakes. Curiosity getting the better of him as he crouched down and slid open one drawer. He pulled out a couple of albums, their corners worn with time and use. As he lifted them, a gentle voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, dear.”

Startled, Noah nearly lost his balance, clutching the albums as he turned to see Hana standing by the doorway. She was wrapped in a beige shawl, her hand clasping it at her chest as though savoring the warmth.

“Morning,” Noah replied, regaining his composure and standing to his full height.

“You’re up early,” she observed, stepping into the room with her gentle, knowing smile.

“Yeah, my sleeping schedule is still a bit all over the place.”

“Lia?”

“Still asleep.”

Hana’s eyes dropped to the albums in his hands.

“Have you looked at those yet?” she asked, gesturing for him to sit beside her on the couch.

Noah shook his head no.

She took one of the albums from his hands, opening it on her lap. The first photo that met their eyes was a candid of Noah as a toddler, his cheeks chubby and his eyes wide. He didn’t recall ever having that hair, but now he hoped he’d never find himself with that haircut again.

As they turned the pages, Noah glimpsed snapshots of his childhood—him at home, for Christmas, for his birthday, scenes from parks, zoos, even a shrine his grandparents had taken him to in Los Angeles. Then, there was one of his mother, Eve, cradling him as a baby. Hana traced her fingers over Eve’s face, her daughter. Her expression immediately softened with a hint of sadness.

“Your grandfather took this just a few months after you were born,” she murmured. “There aren’t many more of her, I’m afraid.”

Noah stared at the picture in silence, feeling a quiet pang of loss. But he simply shook his head, flipping to the next page.

“It’s okay,” he said, as though reassuring himself.

Then a photo of six-year-old Lia appeared, her small hands clutching a bouquet of flowers picked fresh from Hana’s garden, her bright smile and eyes full of wonder and joy. That day, she’d insisted on helping Hana with the gardening, and Noah’s grandfather had decided to document the occasion. Noah remembered his own enthusiasm, persuading his grandfather to let him try out the film camera, capturing that exact photo of her he was looking at right now. Lia looked so cute, offering the bouquet to him with so much excitement and innocence. Noah made a mental note to have a copy made of the picture to keep it in his wallet.

They continued flipping through memories, watching him grow from a boy to a teenager. The photos became scarcer as they reached his teenage years due to digital storage slowly replacing printed albums. Near the end, something slipped from one of the plastic sleeves, fluttering to the floor. Noah picked up the yellowed paper, examining it. It was a drawing of a family: Two adults and two children standing side by side, flowers drawn in colorful scribbles around the figure of the mother. Noah thought the drawing was pathetic, for the supposed adults looked more like children (only taller), and the choice of colors was quite horrible. He imagined what Lia would say if she saw it; she’d probably be horrified.

Hana, peeking over his shoulder, said, “You did that.”

“I did?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

Hana nodded with a hum of confirmation.

Noah studied the drawing for a moment before a smile tugged at his lips.

“Let me guess. It’s me and Lia, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” she confirmed, her eyes twinkling. “You drew a little family. You, Lia, and two kids.”

He held the drawing, a pang of nostalgia hitting him as he thought about what it might have meant back then, even if he hadn’t understood it. Lia had always meant home, even from the beginning. He glanced at Hana.

“Is this related to some folklore story, too?” He asked, giving the paper a little shake.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied with amusement.

Noah hummed thoughtfully, a soft chuckle escaping him.

“I guess I’ve always been a little obsessed with her, haven’t I? Surprised she didn’t run away from me by now.”

Hana chuckled, patting his shoulder. “Oh, she’s always enjoyed your attention. Still does.”

Noah looked down at the drawing once more, then carefully slipped it back into the album.

“Well, I don’t think we’re ready for this yet,” he said lightly, though the thought of a future with Lia brought a warmth to his chest.

“There’s a time for everything,” Hana countered, her hand resting on his shoulder with quiet reassurance. “I’ll go prepare some coffee and get breakfast ready.” She stood up with a stretch.

She adjusted her shawl as faint footsteps creaked above them, drifting down the staircase like a quiet echo. Pausing, Hana raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Looks like Miss Flowers heard the word coffee,” she teased, her eyes crinkling with joy.

“She’s probably been dreaming about your tamagoyaki.”

“Well then, I’d better get started with the cooking.”

She turned to head for the kitchen, but Noah’s voice stopped her.

“Hey, Grandma?”

“Yes, darling?” She looked back at him, sensing something thoughtful lingering in his voice.

“I was thinking of taking you and Lia out for lunch today. Is that nice restaurant still open? The one owned by that fisherman downtown, by the river?”

“You mean the one by the harbor? Oh, yes! Kaito still runs it with his family. Wonderful man, that one. He’s been there as long as I can remember, serving the freshest catch you’ll find for miles.”

“Perfect. I figured it might be nice… Spare you and Emi from doing the cooking and spoiling us. We’re going to be here for two weeks so…”

“So?” Hana raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue. “Noah, you’re my Grandchild—and so is Lia. I’ve been waiting to have you back so that I could spoil you day and night. Taking us out for lunch sounds wonderful, but having you here, seeing you and Lia so happy… that’s all I need. No need to be so decorous, all right?”

As he nodded, Lia appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing her eyes with a sleepy smile. She was wearing one of Noah’s hoodies and leggings, her hair messy and still carrying that softness from sleep.

“Did someone say coffee and tamagoyaki?”

After lunch at the chosen restaurant by the river’s harbor, the three of them strolled through town. The cobblestone streets bustled with life: shopkeepers arranging their displays, locals chatting by the open-air markets, and the occasional cat winding lazily through the clusters of legs. Noah and Lia lingered here and there, pointing out shop signs and admiring the architecture, their joy and excitement filling the quiet spaces between Hana’s stories about the town.

But after a while, Hana slowed her pace, her steps growing more deliberate. She paused at the corner of a small park, resting her hand on a wrought-iron fence.

“I think my legs are ready for a good sit,” she admitted with a warm smile. “But you two go on—explore a bit.”

Noah stepped closer, concern flickering across his face.

“Maybe we should head back together. Don’t want to tire you out.”

Hana waved a hand dismissively.

“Nonsense. Just walk me home, and you two can go off on your adventure. I’m perfectly fine, dear.” She adjusted her shawl and motioned to the familiar path leading back to the house.

They fell into step beside her, walking in silence until they reached the front gate.

Before heading inside, Hana turned to them.

“If you’re up for a nice walk, you should head over to the neighboring village. There’s a path that winds through a small forest—lovely at this time of day.” She pointed toward a narrow road leading away from the town’s main street. “If you don’t mind the hour’s walk, it’s a cozy place I think you’ll enjoy. And just outside the village, up in the hills, there’s an old sanctuary. It’s guarded, so you won’t be able to go in, but the approach is breathtaking and it’s full of deer roaming around. Lia will enjoy the variety plants and flowers growing here and there. You’ll see the torii arches leading up to it, painted bright vermillion. They stand like quiet guardians on the hillside.”

Lia’s eyes sparkled at the mention of the animals and flowers. She exchanged an excited glance with Noah.

“That sounds beautiful. Let’s go!”

With Hana safely settled at home, they retraced their steps down to the town square, setting off on the road she had pointed out. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, the light over the fields and forested hillsides warm and comforting. As they walked, the noises of the town faded behind them, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas.

Noah and Lia set off down the winding path toward said neighboring village. After ten minutes of chatter, Noah plucked a small flower from the roadside and held it up in front of Lia.

“Alright, Miss Flowers. Let’s make this hour-walk count,” he said, walking backward with a mock-serious expression. “Identify this specimen, and tell me something interesting about it.”

Lia’s eyes sparkled with the thrill of the challenge, her smile growing big.

She barely glanced at the flower before answering, “That’s Hepatica asiatica, commonly called Japanese anemone. It’s known for thriving in early spring, but has a kind of magic because it also flowers in autumn. It symbolizes endurance.”

Noah pursed his lips, pouting slightly as he assessed her answer with approving nods. Then, he placed the flower in her hair and continued the game, snatching up every wildflower he found, confident he could stump her with at least one.

He spotted a cluster of yellow flowers by the edge of the path, their delicate petals stretching toward the sunlight. He plucked one and held it up for Lia to see just like he’d done with all the previous one that now adorned Lia’s hair, making her look like a woodland spirit.

“I bet you don’t know this one. Yellow, cute, uh… squishy-looking. What’s it called?”

Lia glanced at it, raising an amused eyebrow.

“That’s Ranunculus japonicus, the Japanese buttercup. They usually bloom in spring and early summer. They’re actually mildly toxic, but they represent charm and attraction in Japanese flower language.”

Noah’s jaw dropped in exaggerated astonishment.

“Toxic and charming? Sounds like a dude from a dark romance novel,” he commented, letting the flower slip from his fingers. He wasn’t about to place a posinous flower in Lia’s hair. “How on earth do you know all of this?”

She laughed, catching up to him and brushing his shoulder.

“I read a lot about flowers.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if I can stump you,” he muttered. Walking backward again, he eyed the path until he spotted a patch of dainty white blossoms, their clusters hanging delicately on thin stems. He picked one. “Okay, smarty-pants. Bet you can’t name this one.”

Lia was enjoying this too much. She licked her lips before answering.

“Galium odoratum, also known as sweet woodruff. They used to use it for tea and perfumes. And it’s supposed to bring good luck.”

Noah threw his head back in defeat, groaning loudly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me! Good luck, she says,” he mumbled, sticking it in her hair. “Alright, now I’m officially impressed… but also determined.”

“Bring it on."

He narrowed his eyes, scanning the path and its surroundings as they walked. He spotted a stem of tiny purple blossoms swaying in the breeze. Plucking one, he raised it high with a triumphant flourish.

“Ha! This one. There’s no way you’ll know it,” he declared, lifting it dramatically like he’d found a rare gem.

Lia giggled, trying not to laugh too hard at his enthusiasm. She squinted at the flower and smirked.

“Veronica persica, or Persian speedwell. Common around here, and often seen as a sign of spring. They’re one of the first flowers to bloom in the year. They symbolize loyalty and friendship.”

Noah gaped, flopping his hand over his heart in mock despair.

“Are you kidding me, Lia? Persian speedwell? Is that even a real flower?”

She only laughed, nodding.

“Completely real, I promise.”

He sighed dramatically, defeated, as he placed the speedwell beside the other flowers in her hair.

“How are you this smart? Who just casually knows Persian speedwell?”

Lia shrugged, feigning innocence. “A dedicated flower nerd, apparently.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Noah groaned, though he couldn’t hide his smile as he adjusted her floral crown. “It’s like your brain is a flower encyclopedia. You could’ve made something up, and I’d have been none the wiser. I’m almost afraid to try again.”

By the time they arrived at the village, her hair was crowned with flowers of every shade, making her smile as radiant as she looked. They strolled through the village, stopping to explore charming little shops that sold everything from handmade pottery to delicate fans painted with mountain scenes. They bought a few trinkets, small souvenirs of their day, and stopped to sample the village’s street food—sweet roasted chestnuts, steaming dumplings, and crispy fish skewers that Noah insisted on trying despite Lia’s comments on how spicy they looked.

As they continued up the main street, the scent of sakura blossoms in full bloom greeted them. The path led to the entrance of the sanctuary that Hana had mentioned, marked by the striking vermillion torii gates rising from the hillside. They paused in awe at the sight, but just off to the side, beneath the wide branches of a sprawling sakura tree, stood a weathered memorial stone, its base framed by clusters of fresh wildflowers left by visitors.

Intrigued, Lia leaned in to read the inscription, tracing the carved characters with her finger. “It’s a collection of stories from the people that’s lived in that sanctuary for years and centuries,” she murmured, her voice quiet with reverence. “Hear this one,” she mentioned, calling to Noah by sending a look to him over her shoulder.” It’s about a Samurai who fell in love with a Princess…”

Noah rested his chin on top of her head, listening as she read aloud, her voice weaving the tale of the samurai who had defied his fate to protect the woman he loved. Once a noble warrior, he’d become a ronin, a masterless samurai, after fleeing with the princess in order to save his life and to protect her. They’d come to the sanctuary for refuge, and in return, they had dedicated themselves to it, helping it flourish. Together, they built a life there, raising three children and even adopting a wolf who guarded their family and the sanctuary with fierce loyalty.

When Lia reached the end, a smile played on Noah’s lips.

“Hmm,” he mused, his chin still resting comfortably atop her head. “Sounds like something I’d do for you.”

Lia tilted her head back to look up at him with a glint of amusement. “Protect my life with a katana, slicing down anyone who dares threaten me?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, attempting a noble tone as he puffed out his chest. “Honor above all else.” He tried to imitate a stoic samurai expression but couldn’t help the grin breaking through.

Lia giggled. “I’d love to see that. Would you wear the armor too?”

Noah placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep consideration. “Only the best armor for you, Princess. And when I finally wield my katana, you’ll see—no force could keep me from keeping you safe.”

Melting at his sweetness, Lia took his hand and pulled him back to her as her eyes went back to the memorial stone.

“The names of their three children were Levi, Sakura, and Jasmine. How cute is that? They named their daughters after flowers!”

“That’s something you would definitely do,” Noah remarked.

She held her breath as Noah’s warm breath brushed her face, a sequence of images running through her mind before she quickly dismissed them.

“Do you think they’d let us bring a katana home through airport customs?” She asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

“Oh, of course,” Noah replied, completely straight-faced. “I’m sure it’s considered a cultural souvenir.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” she replied thoughtfully, “but let’s go check the ones on display in that shop we saw on the way up.”

“I’ll follow your lead, ma’am.”

A tiny sneak peak at chapter 13:

Her words trailed off as she entered the bedroom, only to freeze in place. She stood there in her bra and panties, and Noah, instead of holding her sleeping shirt, had something else entirely in his hands: the pair of kitty ears and the choker she’d impulsively bought in Osaka. One in each hand, he lifted them slowly, inspecting them with raised brows.

“What... is this?” he asked, looking up at her, intrigued.

Lia’s shoulders slumped, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

— prev. chapter | chapter thirteen 🌶️

Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@chey-h | @ferduttini | @dominuslunae

#noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah x lia #the inevitability of love at second sight #noah sebastian fic #bad omens #bad omens fic

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year ago

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Meddle About

Summary: A birchin sounded like a good idea to Elain...that is, until she finds Lucien Vanserra already occupying it in nothing but a towel.

This was inspired after seeing @krem-does-stuff's amazingly HOT art of Lucien (NSFW version here) | Read on AO3

WARNINGS: SMUT

“Achoo!” A loud sneeze tore out of Elain’s lithe body. Being sick had reverted her back to human-level senses, which was absolutely abysmal. At least her particularly violent sneeze cleared her nose a bit. Elain sniffled, wiping her nose with a handkerchief.

Elain had been fine, two days ago, when she and her sisters visited their father’s headstone. Now, she felt like she was at death’s door. She couldn’t smell anything. Her ears felt clogged. She sneezed every other minute, and had curled up into a ball under thick blankets in hopes of feeling warm again.

Gods, she had carried Nyx for a good portion of the outing. Elain was nearly in tears when she informed Feyre and Rhys of her illness, so afraid was she of passing the sickness unto her newborn nephew.

“Don’t you worry, Elain. Nyx will be fine,” Feyre had repeatedly told her. “Fae children are far more resilient than human babies.” After Feyre’s assurances calmed her down, Elain only hoped she would recover in time for Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony next week.

Aside from her sickness, another reason Elain was holed up in her room was because Lucien Vanserra was visiting with new reports. The Winter Solstice had been the last time her mate had visited Velaris. What was Lucien up to outside of emissary duties? Elain could hardly say. If her mate inquired about her, Elain wasn’t aware of it either. Every other day, she half-wondered if Lucien’s prolonged distance was because he knew of what happened between her and Azriel during Solstice.

Not that it mattered. She had barely acknowledged the shadowsinger in the months since, the hurt of being called “a mistake” still raw in her heart. Graysen had offered her his hand, then rejected her. Azriel had given her a beautiful necklace, then rescinded his kiss.

Two rejections in a row.

Men—males—truly sucked. Elain didn’t have much faith in “third time being the charm” with Lucien…no matter how many times her thoughts lingered on the handsome cut of his jaw, the striking slash of his scar, and the brilliance of his long hair over the last few months. She reminded herself that she barely knew Lucien, and he seemed content to keep it that way given how far away he stayed.

Elain shivered more violently, her body racked with chills. At that moment, her eye caught the newly-built birchin in the budding River House garden. The wooden structure beckoned her, promising hot air that would clear her congestion and warm her up in no time.

Chills were her body’s way of fighting fever, but Elain’s muscles and joints were aching so, so painfully. She glanced out the window again. A brief respite from the suffering wouldn’t hurt her, right? Elain clambered out of bed, wrapping a shawl around herself.

Surely Lucien would have left already—it had been two hours. The River House was utterly silent when she opened the bedroom door. She ventured down the hall on tip-toes, avoiding the route that would take her past Rhys and Feyre’s study. Elain exhaled a sigh of relief when she made it to the garden without seeing that tell-tale flash of red hair.

With its quaint size, thick wooden panels, and steam drifting from the small chimney in its thatched roof, the birchin was the most inviting thing she had ever seen. Elain stepped through and she sighed contentedly, the warm embrace of the air already working magic on her chills.

It was dim inside, for the only light came in from small glazed windows on the roof. There wasn’t much she could see in front of her. Elain had never been inside a birchin before, but vaguely recalled Feyre saying nudity was necessary for the optimal experience. So she took off her shoes, placed her wool shawl on the bench, and fumbled with the buttons of her linen dress in the low light.

Elain turned her head around furtively, a casual act that was second nature before taking off her undergarments, and froze. Her sharp gasp came half a second later.

Lucien Vanserra was in the birchin, utterly naked save for a towel draped over his lap.

Elain whirled around fully, her eyes adjusting well enough to take in tousled Lucien’s hair. How could she have missed it earlier? Shoulder length strands hung loose, glowing orange like hot coals. Lucien sat on the stone bench at the opposite wall, his broad shoulders elegantly slanted as he leaned back on one hand. Another noise of surprise slipped out of Elain’s mouth when she glimpsed the sculpted lines of Lucien’s chest on full display.

A corner of Lucien’s full mouth curved upwards slowly, his mismatched eyes shamelessly drinking in what was in front of him.

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” her mate chuckled lowly.

“Y-you!” Elain sputtered, backing up until the backs of her knees hit her bench. Her heart pounded. “How long have you been in here?”

Lucien shrugged irreverently, his foxy smile deepening.

“Only a couple minutes. How kind of you to join me today.” He’d always spoken to her in a reserved tone, but today, his voice had taken on a sarcastic edge. Was this Lucien’s true personality?

“You need to leave.” Elain crossed her arms across her chest. She was still wearing a plain white pair of panties, and a strappy undershirt over her lilac bra, but she might as well be naked. Lucien was actually naked. She felt faint, like she couldn’t quite catch her breath at how much of his alluring brown skin was exposed.

“I don’t recall this being your house,” Lucien raised an eyebrow. His arrogant expression grew more infuriatingly beautiful with each passing second. “Besides, I was here first.”

“I am sick,” Elain shot back, “and I require some time in the birchin to recuperate.”

A brief expression of concern flashed across her mate’s handsome face, before being replaced by a gleaming smile. It was all teeth, no friendliness to be found. It was a struggle to maintain eye contact with the male, especially when his form invited attention elsewhere.

“Well, maybe you need to learn to share,” Lucien retorted, gesturing with his free hand. “There’s plenty of space in here. Make yourself comfortable.”

Elain glared at him with all the heat she could muster in her sickly state. To put her clothes on and walk out would be admitting defeat. She needed the birchin, and would not be made to leave! Besides, part of her was intrigued by the brazen attitude that seemed so far removed from the reserved, polite courtier she knew. So Elain stubbornly sat down.

Lucien’s eyes gleamed with no small satisfaction.

“You are a pervert,” Elain accused, “watching a lady undress from the shadows. You wouldn’t have said anything until I caught you.”

Lucien snorted. “When you walked in, you looked directly at me and began to undress, no? You also should have been able to scent me before you even entered the birchin. All signs pointed to your enthusiasm—”

“Do not put this on me,” Elain snapped. “It is dark in here, and you know it. And must I remind you again that I am sick? My senses are dulled…besides. How vain of you to assume I would know your scent—because I don’t.”

That was a lie. She knew Lucien’s scent like the back of her hand, with the notes of crisp apple and sun-warmed skin that lingered in her memory long after they faded from the jacket he’d given her.

Lucien smirked, “if you’re unfamiliar with it, you could come closer to find out.”

Elain’s heart skipped a beat. No male had ever been so forwardly flirtatious with her before. Perhaps Lucien had fallen ill himself, if he was acting like this.

“I am perfectly fine where I’m at,” she muttered, scooching until her back leaned against the warm panels.

“Suit yourself.” Lucien stretched his arms up slowly, breathing in deeply. Elain’s wide brown eyes followed his every movement, entranced by the fluidity of muscles and brown skin.

Lucien shifted to the side and propped a leg up on the bench, revealing a chiseled calf and length of muscled thigh. Elain held her breath when the towel over his lap moved accordingly.

It was a dangerously small towel. The edge of it had slipped slightly, revealing a thin trail of hair that extended from his navel past the hem. If she had just sat one more foot to the right, she might be able to see…to see—Elain’s blood thundered in her ears. She realized a split second later she was holding her breath in anticipation.

Lucien laughed softly, and Elain tore her eyes up from his lap to meet his mirthful gaze. The roaring in her head only grew louder when she realized he had adjusted his position on purpose. Cauldron boil and fry her.

“Lech.”

“You seem to enjoy it.” Her mate inclined his head, russet and gold eyes glittering with amusement. Elain met his gaze with equal parts challenge and indignation. Unfortunately, it became the perfect opportunity to notice how the scars running down the left side of his face were a shade paler than his brown skin. The raised marks were so brutally beautiful that Elain’s breath hitched slightly.

It was only now that Elain realized her chills had evaporated, thanks to a combination of the birchin’s temperature and the growing tension between her and Lucien. For her mate sat across the all-too-small birchin with the casual grace of a god, all sharp lines and powerful stillness.

Having never seen Lucien shirtless before, Elain absent-mindedly chewed her bottom lip as she drank in the rounded biceps, corded forearms, and chiseled abdomen. To think those muscles had been hiding under fine clothes the entire time!

She wondered if Lucien had ever considered unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirts come summer. The style would expose a nice patch of his chest for her appreciation. And he had to be training regularly to maintain such a physique…her mouth watered at the thought of his powerful thighs flexing and pumping as he exercised.

Elain’s attention was drawn to Lucien’s chest rising and falling more deeply, his nostrils flaring. Her arousal. He could scent it. Fuck. Her cheeks grew hot.

“Do you mind?” he grinned at her again, sharp teeth gleaming. “Who’s the pervert now?”

“I think you need to get your nose checked,” Elain bit back, feigning nonchalance even though all she wanted to do was run her hands across his bare chest. “Because I don’t feel anything for you.”

From the moment she stepped into the birchin, Lucien sought to fluster her. Two could play this game: Elain was determined to gain the upper hand. Her fingers shook slightly—this time from nerves—as she tugged her strappy undershirt off. Would Lucien like what he saw? Her pale stomach, her small breasts?

From the way his russet eye darkened, he certainly did.

“Is that so?” Lucien murmured, his eyes trailing down her body with blatant hunger. “The removal of clothing usually precedes…other…activities.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve just b-been feeling a bit—a bit h-h-hot,” Elain stuttered as Lucien spread his thighs a tad wider. Gods, when was that towel going to fall off?

It was half-true. Small beads of perspiration were now forming at her temples, mugging her exposed skin. The air was also visibly shimmered from the heat. Perhaps staying in the birchin for a prolonged period of time was messing with her good sense.

Elain leaned back, quietly observing her mate. He mirrored her as well, blinking slowly with a satisfied twitch of his lips. The flame of desire in his eyes tingled her skin with anticipatory goosebumps as his gaze traveled down her body.

With a discreet sniffle, Elain’s nasal passages finally cleared up. Lucien’s arousal hit her like a tidal wave. Oh fuck. The musky scent, mixed with his signature warmth, brought forth a series of reprehensible urges. How the hell did Lucien still sit there, all nonchalant, even after scenting her arousal? Elain was ready to jump his bones after one whiff of his. Wanted to lick the gleaming rivulet of sweat on the side of his throat, wrap her legs around his sculpted waist, and nip the tip of his pointed ear.

The Mother herself would blush at Elain’s unholy thoughts.

She needed to see Lucien more visibly affected. Perhaps more drastic measures were needed to elicit a stronger reaction from him. Elain had never been particularly skilled in the arts of seduction, having relied on proper courting behaviors with Graysen and the other human men. But she had to try.

Praying she didn’t look like a fool, Elain slipped a bra strap off her shoulder.

Lucien blinked rapidly, straightening with renewed alertness.

Elain slowly moved the other strap down, fluttering her eyelashes for an added measure. She paused her fingers before she unclasped the hook.

Lucien growled, almost inaudibly.

Elain unhooked her bra but didn’t remove it yet.

“Don’t be a tease.” His voice was nearly guttural.

“You think that’s teasing?” It was Elain’s turn to smile as she dropped the garment. Lucien’s loud groan at the sight of her bare breasts thrilled her with its brazenness. “Just wait.”

She had lifted those lines straight from a smutty book, but if Lucien found them cheesy, he did not show it. Elain trailed a hand up her stomach, up the valley of her breasts, around their curves. She squeezed the soft mounds and sighed, like she always did in the privacy of her own room. Except now, she was putting on a show for Lucien.

A male she hardly knew. Yet, the sheer reverence in his eyes and the sensual parting of his mouth made it seem as if they’d been intimate many times before. Elain felt no oily shame in expressing herself like this—in fact, his smoldering expression only emboldened her to show all the parts she’d hid away before.

“Yes.” Lucien’s voice was little more than a low rumble. “Touch yourself for me.”

Elain tipped her head back, exposing her smooth throat slightly, and let out a moan. Lucien’s golden eye turned molten at the sound. He ran his tongue over his lips.

“Fuck,” Lucien growled. “How rude of me, to only watch and not offer anything in return.” He reached for the towel in his lap, slow enough for Elain to deny him if she wanted. Elain’s heart cracked a little at how Lucien held himself back. As if he did so because of all the times she’d spurned him before.

So she reached deep within her, to where that golden thread lay coiled around her, and sent a small pulse of encouragement. A willing signal to her mate.

The towel was fully off now.

Elain’s doe eyes widened into saucers. The v-shaped grooves of Lucien’s hips narrowed into a trimmed thatch of red hair, and then a fully erect cock. Her mate leaned back, running his thumb over his cock’s rounded head, swiping the glistening precum.

Her mouth parted slightly, when she realized his already large hand did not quite cover the entire length of his shaft as he moved his fist up and down. Gods…he was truly beautiful.

It was hard to believe that this wasn’t a dream. hHer mate, sitting mere feet away from her, was stroking his cock while watching her. Slowly, luxuriously, as if he had all the time in the world to do this. And she was the reason for his arousal. Wetness pooled at Elain’s core, dampening her underwear.

She’d gotten Lucien to groan and swear. Had seen him entirely naked. Had him pleasuring himself to her. But Elain still selfishly wanted one thing: to hear her name on his lips. Elain shoved down her pride and got up, quickly crossing the distance between them before she could change her mind.

Lucien’s brows raised in surprise when she stopped a half-step away from him, brown curls cascading over her breasts, her cheeks flushed prettily. Elain glanced down at his cock and swallowed nervously. Later. She could touch him later. Right now, she wanted Lucien to say her name.

“Come here,” Lucien murmured, his voice soft. Elain didn’t move, so he reached out, his large hands encircling her waist. She shivered at her mate’s solid touch, the small circles he rubbed with his thumbs making her impossibly heady.

“This could be part of my grand plan to get you sick,” she said breathily, her knees weak.

“Mmmm, well aren’t you being cruel?” Lucien’s fingers hooked her panties at the hip and gently tugged her closer. “I don’t think I would mind.” His finger brushed her slit through the fabric of her underwear.

“You’re so wet for me.” Lucien sounded a bit dazed now, as if he couldn’t believe he was touching her. Elain blushed. “Come here, Elain,” Lucien said again.

That was the final straw. Elain obligingly lowered herself then, spreading her legs to straddle Lucien’s muscular thighs. Lucien’s erect cock rested against her bare stomach, precum smearing across her skin. But she didn’t mind, instead, she snaked her arms around his neck to pull closer.

Elain found herself having to look up at Lucien’s chiseled features, the charged mix of emotions in his russet eye. “I want to kiss you,” she breathed, her rosebud mouth just inches away from his. “I want to kiss you, Lucien.”

Her mate shuddered underneath Elain when she uttered his name.

“Who am I to deny you, my lady?”

Their kiss, fraught with years’ worth of longing and built-up tension, was the release Elain never knew she needed until now. It was like coming home at last. She let out a small noise—a mixture between a sob and a moan—and pushed up against him for another one.

“Shit, Elain,” Lucien groaned. “Your mouth...gods help me.” He pulled her closer by wrapping an arm around her, fingers grazing the underside of her breast. His other hand supported the back of her head, tilting her up to kiss him better.

Elain only threaded her fingers through his silky locks, shifting her hips rhythmically to grind against his thigh in response. The noise Lucien made was unapologetically obscene.

She felt like she was burning up now, the birchin’s steam and the little breaths they shared blurring the passage of time. How many times did she kiss him, did his hands brush her body sweetly? Elain couldn’t remember. She arched her back, brushing her peaked nipples against his broad chest. They both groaned.

Her core tightened deliciously, like a band ready to snap.

“Elain,” Lucien rasped, pulling away. Elain ignored him, trying to meld herself to the heat of his body.

“I want you, Lucien,” she mumbled, rolling her hips against him. “Please…I’m so close.” Elain craned her neck up and made a disappointed noise when her lips failed to find his.

“Elain, Elain,” Lucien repeated, his hands tightening around her waist with some urgency.

The fact that he wasn’t kissing her anymore was like a splash of cold water on her face. “I’m sorry.” Elain stopped, disentangling her arms from his neck. She braced herself for rejection again.

“No, don’t be.” Lucien’s face was pained, his breathing still a bit ragged. Color had stained his high cheekbones, his mouth now swollen from her kisses. He still held her in his lap, a bit possessively, and Elain took some comfort in that fact.

“Believe me…I want to keep going. But our first time shouldn’t be in a birchin.”

Elain’s heart quickened, the reality of their situation sinking in. Gods, what was she doing? She had stripped until nearly naked, and proceeded to ride Lucien’s thigh in the River House birchin, of all places.

His cock grazing her navel was considerably larger than Graysen’s, yet…Lucien seemed to have full confidence that it would fit. Her core tightened again at the possibility of what he intended to do with her.

“I was so close,” was all Elain could say ruefully, still staring down at her mate’s cock.

Lucien tilted her chin up. “I know, Elain,” he replied, voice laced with remorse. “But…soon.” His long fingers absent-mindedly trailed up and down her waist, sending tingles down Elain’s spine.

“You’re not helping,” she said faintly. Lucien’s hands regretfully stopped moving.

“Sorry, sweet pea.” Sweet pea. Her heart swelled at Lucien’s pet name for her.

“Will…will you be at Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony?” Elain asked after a moment’s hesitation. “What…what about then?”

“Is my lady inviting me to her bed?” Lucien teased with a roguish grin. “Or do you wish for me to take you in a more unconventional location?”

“Don’t be so scandalous.” Elain scrunched her nose at him.

“And riding me in a birchin isn’t? My, my, I look forward to seeing what you consider scandalous.” Elain grumbled with annoyance and tried to shove his shoulder, but Lucien quickly caught her hand and pressed a chaste kiss against her inner wrist. His soft smile was like the sun breaking through rain clouds. “I’m a flexible male. We’ll continue our fun next week.”

#elucien #elucien smut #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #acotar #acotar fanfic

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phoward89 · 5 months ago

Text

Based on this ask

Coriolanus Snow, for as long as he could remember, had always linked the scent of roses to his mother, Demeter Snow. His mother was too sweet for this world. She was very beautiful, but vapid. She didn't have a grasp on the hardships of life, being sheltered from them due to her standing as a young lady from a wealthy Capitolite family. And, of course, Coriolanus' father, Crassus, kept his wife with a heart of gold and who enjoyed singing love songs and playing the piano at his Corso penthouse with his mother while he served in District 12 as the Commander.

Coriolanus' vaguely remembers how his mother always sang him love songs from the days before Panem. Oh, how she sang to him all of the classics, ballads, and operas she enjoyed. She would also pick him up and sling him on her hip, singing to him while helping her mother-in-law tend to the rooftop rose garden. A garden that she always smelled like.

But one day, when he was 5, tragedy stuck. Coriolanus was going to be a big brother. His mother, Demeter, was expecting a baby girl. It wasn't planned (at least it wasn't on Crassus' part) but the new addition was going to be a little bit of newfound joy in the Snow family. Much needed joy considering the rebellion breaking out in the districts.

Demeter had gotten Coriolanus all excited about becoming a big brother to a little sister. So excited that he couldn't wait for the baby to come. His mother said that her name was going to be a floral one. Calla. Like the calla lily. Coriolanus wondered if his baby sister would smell like lilies when she was born since she'd be named after them.

But Coriolanus discovered one fateful night that his baby sister would not smell of lilies, but of the stench of death and blood when she was born. That she'd struggle to breath with too tiny lungs and struggle to stay warm with her translucent skin covering her nearly 2 pound body. That his baby sister would die wrapped in a blanket as he held her in his arms, sitting by the roaring fireplace as his Grandma’am and the cook tried to save his mother, who was hemorrhaging in the birthing bed.

Sadly, Demeter Snow bleeds to death in the birthing bed after going into premature labor at 7 months due to the sudden bombing by the districts. Yes, the official start of the war between the Capitol and their allies and the Districts had triggered off a premature labor that had proven deadly for the delicate woman that was too softhearted for this world. The woman who smelled of roses, always powdered her nose with rose scented powder, and enjoyed singing love songs and playing the piano.

As the war drew on, the Snow family had to make sacrifices to eat and stay warm. Since the Capitol was under siege for a few years, food was scarce and so was fuel. The Snow family, thankfully, had their neighbor Pluribus to help them acquire lima beans from the black market. He was also able to give Grandma'am Snow some cabbage seeds to grow in her garden.

Fuel was hard to find, but thankfully the Snow penthouse has a fireplace. And in order to keep the flames fanning, Coriolanus had to sacrifice his beloved picture books to the flames. The books his mother always read to him and to be burned to stay warm. Just like his mother's prized baby grand piano had to be chopped up for firewood. It was either freeze to death in the bitter winters in the valley of the Rocky Mountains or sacrifice sentimental items to use us fuel for flames of warmth

The latter was the choice Grandma'am Snow made for her family. Of course, she had help from the neighbor, Pluribus with chopping up the piano; she even shared the wood from it for his help.

After the loss of his mother's baby grand piano, the only thing Coriolanus had left of his mother that was tangible was her silver compact full of her rose scented powder, her bright orange shawl, and a picture of her with him slung on her hip as a baby.

Coriolanus took to smelling his mother's compact for comfort whenever he was feeling anxious. The smell of roses, his mother's scent, always seemed to calm him.

And it was like this as he grew into a young man.

Until one day he's sitting in the front row seat of his morning class and in walks Dean Casca Highbottom with a new girl in tow.

You.

“Class, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Y/N Halvir.” Dean Highbottom waves his hand towards you while informing the class, “She's the daughter of Colonel Javani Halvir, the war hero, and she's just transferred here District 2 where her father was stationed at PK Base- The Nut.”

You're nervous, standing in front of the entire class. Everyone's eyes are on you, scrutinizing you; judging you. But a pair of icy blue eyes that belong to a boy with a prominent nose and light golden curls makes you feel like the air has left your lungs as they pin you with a look you can't distinguish.

“Mr. Snow, I'm assigning you the task of showing Miss Y/N around the Academy.” Dean Highbottom told Coriolanus, who just gave the dean a curt nod. Dean Highbottom turned to you, only to say, “Please have a seat between Mr. Snow and Mr. Plinth.”

But before you could even ask who those boys were, a broad boy with dark curly hair smiled warmly at you and the icy eyed boy, who made you feel a bit uneasy from his gaze, subtly nodded to the empty seat next to him.

You walk over to your newly assigned seat and place yourself in between your new classmates, Plinth and Snow. The dark haired boy, Plinth, smiles and introduces himself as Sejanus.

“I’m from 2, but I moved here right after the war when I was 8.” Sejanus informs you before asking, “How long were you in 2 for? Do you miss it?”

“I was there long enough and no, I don't miss it there.” You tell your classmate.

Coriolanus can't help, but stare at you in awe. For one, you couldn't wait to leave the district your father was stationed in for the Capitol, but the other reason- the real reason he was in awe over you was because of your smell. Your scent was one he hasn't had the luxury to smell in a long time.

You smell like roses.

“I'm Coriolanus Snow; I'd be honored to become your friend.” The blonde boy smiled, extending his hand out for you to shake.

“I think I'd like that.” You smile, shaking Coriolanus hand before turning your attention to the lesson being taught.

And during the entire class Coriolanus finds himself drawn to your rosy scent instead of paying attention to the lecture being given. Roses fill his nostrils faintly and it's intoxicating. All he can do is fall into a feeling of comfort, since the scent of roses always eased his anxiety. He's positive that you'll be a warm, gentle soul like his mother was because you smell like roses- just like she did.

And because you smell like roses, Coriolanus is determined to make you his girl; his one true comfort in a life of anxieties and unknowns.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @lady-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

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green-eyedfirework · 7 months ago

Text

The singing is louder when the sounds of fighting die. Not loud, it's still quiet, barely more than a whisper, but in the absence of other sound, it's starkly evident. Eerie, the way it echoes off the walls, not joy but grief.

Slade keeps his sword out as he advances further. Six guards dead, because they wouldn't surrender, because they were loyal to Ra's al Ghul's heir and determined to protect him. Slade can understand that loyalty—not condone it, but understand. It's a pity that war draws lines between the like-minded.

The song grows stronger as he enters the cavern, his men at his back. There's only one person inside, sitting against the cave wall, hunched over, and the rest of the men fan out to cover any possible exits and entrances as Slade heads for the figure.

The rug draped in his lap is thick and well embroidered, the shawl covering his chest fine and luxurious. Slade can see movement behind the shawl—a tiny fist knocking at the cloth. The singing is hoarse and melancholy.

Richard al Ghul, former Prince Consort of Nanda Parbat, does not look up.

Not when Slade crosses the stone floor. Not when Slade stops in front of him. Not at Slade's cleared throat.

The sword tip underneath his jaw makes him stop singing though.

Slade's first look at Richard is....underwhelming. This is the omega that Ra's risked a war with Gotham to ensnare? There are dark shadows around Richard's eyes, his skin is faintly gray, and his blue eyes are dull. What little Slade can see of his skin between the blanket and the shawl is stretched taut across protruding bones.

"Typically," Slade says evenly, "A subject bows before their king to swear their fealty."

Richard's eyes are rimmed with red. As Slade watches, a tear traces down a sweaty cheek. Richard does not bow, or acknowledge Slade in any way. He merely drops his gaze to the stirring movement underneath his shawl, and begins singing again.

The sheer arrogance freezes Slade for a moment. To turn his back on Slade, as though Slade isn't a threat, as though Slade hadn't slaughtered his mate and taken his country and hunted him down—it renders him speechless.

The lullaby is the only sound in the cave.

"Prince Richard," Slade snarls once he finds his voice. He supposes he should've expected Ra's' mate to show him defiance, but this was beyond defiance. "Prince Richard."

The prince doesn't even lift his head.

Pressure on the swordpoint forces his head up, though, and further pressure breaks off his voice. Richard stares at him with blue, glimmering eyes as Slade glares back.

Richard opens his mouth. Slade expects further defiance, but what he gets is a cracking rasp. "Please," Richard whispers, "Just end it."

Slade isn't fool enough to untense his grip, but he does narrow his eye. "End what?"

Richard glances at the mouth of the cave—no, at the guards, at the bodies lying in spreading pools of blood. When he looks back at Slade, Slade cannot see defiance or rage in his eyes.

Only despair.

Slade takes a step back, lowering the sword. Richard screws his eyes shut, making a sound almost like a sob, before he begins to sing again, voice scratchy and weak. Slade doesn't recognize the words, but the tone is one of mourning.

The unseen baby wriggles a little fiercer. Slade can hear its muffled cry.

Slade sheathes the sword before dropping into a crouch. Richard makes no move to stop Slade from yanking the rug away, or the shawl. The baby—dark-haired, tanned skin, wrapped in a soft swaddling cloth—is busy drinking at its mother's breast.

Without the concealing blankets, it's evident how terrible Richard looks. He's far too thin, especially for someone that’s just given birth, skin sallow and bones protruding. He's dressed in silks too sheer for the chilly cave, but he makes no motion to cover himself. Only raises his knees to curl around the infant as he keeps singing.

There's blood on the stone beneath him.

"Get up," Slade snaps. Richard slowly looks up at him, but Slade is impatient, and a hand on the prince's arm yanks him upright easily enough.

Richard makes a startled cry, hands tightening on the newborn, and stumbles in place. He's swaying in Slade's grip. That is blood on the floor, fresh, not dried.

"Please," he says again, begging with his eyes.

"Move," Slade snaps in response. He'll drag Prince Richard back to the castle if he must.

The scattered belongings in the cave are packed away and his men follow him out. Prince Richard has stopped singing. His breathing is harsh and choked.

~#~

Dick finds himself dizzy before they've even reached the woods. The jagged terrain of the mountains is harsh on his feet, and most of his energy goes to holding Damian. Luckily, Lord—King?—Wilson's pace isn't too fast, and in the brief halt to check the integrity of their path down, Dick managed to strip the outer layer of silks to form a makeshift sling.

It leaves him in less clothes than he's ever worn around Ra's' court—Dick has no doubts as to what Ra's' vicious vipers thought of him, and the only thing that saved him was that Ra's was a possessive man—but Dick can't bring himself to care about that. There's only one thing in the world that matters, and he's nestled against his chest.

When King Wilson spots him, the alpha's gaze grows narrowed and tight. Dick doesn't care about that either. He doesn't understand why the man hasn't killed him already, unless it's to make a point. Unless this is truly to be an execution.

Dick imagines a crowd of people baying for his newborn son's death, and suppresses the sob. Damian isn't Ra's' son. He's Dick's, and Dick wishes so badly that he can protect the innocent bundle in his arms.

He stumbles when the world goes shifting around him, and recovers. The next time he stumbles, he falls to his knees, curving protectively around Damian. The rocks are sharp and his knees are stinging.

He tries to get up, but his legs are trembling. He doesn't entrust his weight to them. Dick tries to take a breath, tries to calm down—the palace is a half-day's ride away, there's absolutely no way he can make it on foot, not a day after giving birth—and fails at both when he hears booted footsteps.

He doesn't need to look up to recognize King Wilson.

"Get up," the man snaps impatiently. Dick hunches over further. Ra's' favorite instrument was the whip, and several lash scars decorate his back. It wouldn't make a difference if there were more. "Get up.”

Dick cannot get up. "Please," he repeats for the third time, looking up at the new king, "Just end it.”

King Wilson's countenance is forbidding. "You want me to kill you? The pup?"

"You won't let him live," Dick croaks out with cold certainty, "Please don't—if it's information you want, I will give it. Please just end it now." Dick strokes a hand over his baby's hair. Damian is peacefully asleep. Better if he never woke up at all.

King Wilson stares at him. Dick cannot read the expression on his face.

"Give him to me."

Something in Dick's heart goes inescapably cold. His chest tightens, his mind screaming as he stares blankly up at the alpha, trying to process what he just heard.

Dick begged, and the alpha answered. That was all.

Dick considers begging to be killed first, so he doesn't have to watch his baby die, but he can't leave Damian alone in the world, not even for a second. He carefully unwraps the sling, holding the pup like the precious, precious thing he is, and delicately scents the infant.

The last thing he does is press a kiss to his pup's hair before raising him up with trembling arms.

King Wilson takes the infant with a practiced hold. Dick wants to look away but he can't, he's frozen in place as the alpha examines the sleeping newborn.

"What's his name?"

Dick stares before he realizes it's a question. "Damian," he says hoarsely, "Damian Grayson." Ra's is dead, Dick can have this one thing.

The alpha makes a displeased sound. "No," he says, implacable. He bends and Dick can see him bare his teeth. "Damian Wilson."

The words take a moment to process through the fog of he's going to rip his throat out and the shriek of a displeased infant. Dick doesn't fully understand what's happening even when a squalling, furious Damian is deposited back in his arms.

King Wilson crouches in front of him. "I defeated Ra's," he says, slow and sure, "That means everything that was his is now mine. Including you."

Dick doesn't have the coordination to jerk back before the alpha leans forward and sinks his teeth into Dick's neck. The pack bond snaps into place, and the strength of it is overwhelming.

He doesn't remember closing his eyes.

#my snippets #royalty au #omegaverse #consort/general au #childbirth #claiming

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