#did they spar with him when he was cleared???? did they cook a feast when law finally cleared him???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chocosvt · 5 years ago

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⚬ pairing: prince!seokmin x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 12,690 ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, teasing, some slowburn romance, superfluff toward the end.

✧✎ synopsis: the time has come for prince seokmin to meet his arranged marriage, which forces you to confront a strange predicament: if you truly hate the prince, then why does the thought of him being with someone else hurt this badly?

✧✎ a/n: yeah... i’ve wanted to write some prince!lsm since his excalibur pictures. evidently, i am very late! i hope u enjoy nonetheless :-)

Hiking up the long, heavy layers of your dress, pale and coloured like lilacs, you retrieved a small carving knife that had been clandestinely strapped against your outer thigh. Buried a few feet away from you in the grass was a smooth, palm-sized piece of beech wood, which you quickly picked up before walking back to the bench. You sat down horizontally, stretching out your legs and taking up as much space as possible whilst you started carving down the edges of the beech wood, flicking away the occasional shavings.

It was only to kill time as you waited for the royal gates to open. That night, the King and Queen were hosting an annual, celebratory dinner to commemorate the newest anointment of pages, otherwise known as the fresh grouping of students who would serve the knights and learn about their duties, specifically how they protected and served the kingdom. It was a true honour: you had been requested to cook in the royal kitchen, and the younger apprentice your mother hired at the bakery, Chan, was going with you.

He was notably excited and couldn’t sit down, instead pacing in front of the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds. This would be his first time seeing the royal family’s abode from the inside, and if he was particularly lucky, he might get to meet the Prince. To him it was a big deal, but you couldn’t care less. At even just thinking about the Prince, you started pressing your knife harder against the beech wood, gritting your teeth as a larger piece curled off and fell into your lap. Lee Seokmin, he was the Prince.

You absolutely hated him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, child?”

The sunlight that glinted against your face was interrupted by your mother, who had her hands sternly placed on her hips, glaring down at you in sheer disapproval.

“Give me that.” She quipped whilst scowling at the blade. “This instant.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up properly on the bench and dusted the cream-coloured shavings off your lap. She never let you do anything, and when you were in close proximity to the castle, she became even more rigid and hawk-eyed. You gave her the knife which she hastily folded up, watching her pocket it inside a pouch on the front of her white dress.

You still held onto the beech wood.

“There is no reason to bring a weapon into the King and Queen’s home. I should not have to reprimand you like this once more. Behave in the way I have taught you.”

Suddenly, there was a loud command you heard echo from the turret, and the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds began pulling apart. You heard the clink belonging to the iron chains and the cracks in the elderly oak. Chan stumbled backward, leaving sufficient room for the gate to open. Unlike the apprentice whose eyes were glimmering in awe, you had to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth and put on your fakest, most convincing expression of content. It was going to be the longest night of your life – even longer if you had to eat supper with the Prince.

Just before you were guided into the royal family’s abode by the caterers, you swiftly pulled up the side of your dress and tucked the piece of beech wood between the garter belt at your thigh. Then, you rushed to stand beside Chan.

“Excited, are you?” You asked him.

He tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, practically bouncing in his place. “It is my biggest wish to sit down with the Prince! To cook for him is already a sure pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but huff at the apprentice’s enthusiasm. He should consider himself lucky he didn’t know Seokmin the way you did.

Time passed quickly, and it was almost two hours into preparing the onslaught of fruit, meat, vegetables, and grain required to make the celebratory supper. The royal kitchen was much larger than the small, quaint space you operated back at the bakery, where everything was tightly shoved together and you knew each crevice like the back of your hand. You were working up a sweat as you kneaded a large, thickening dough. Once you were satisfied, you floured a wooden roller and began flattening it out, using a tin can to cut perfect circles.

You told Chan to put the tray in the clay furnace and keep an eye on the rising bread.

“Where are you going?” He immediately inquired upon watching you untie your apron, hanging the splattered fabric on a hook jutting from the stone wall.

“It’s quite hot. I’m stepping outside for a few minutes. No more than that.”

The young boy nodded and proceeded to follow your orders, keeping a watchful eye on the dough that would soon become crispy, warm pieces of bread. You slipped into the long corridor that led outside. There was still a noticeable heat in the evening air, though it was much less overwhelming compared to the kitchen, packed with fires and bodies and steam. A soft, glowing pink tinted the sky, and you were surprised at how little clouds there were.

Just to be certain, you felt underneath your dress for the piece of beech wood, relieved to brush it against your skin.

A distant sound captured your attention, somewhat like the noise of steel slashing against steel. Walking along the side of pillaring cobblestone, the noise grew louder, accompanied by indiscernible, muffled shouting. You stepped around the small wildflowers sprouting from the grass, keeping as silent as possible upon approaching the corner that ended at an iron gate.

Sparing a cautious glance between the bars, you looked into a large courtyard covered with sand. There were two young men sparring against each other, competitive but lighthearted in their expressions and the nature of how they operated their swords.

It was none other than the Prince himself, Seokmin, against his lifelong accomplice, Jeonghan.

You plucked your head back and inhaled delicately. The unique airiness of Jeonghan’s laughter reverberated into the evening, summer air, joining hymn with the sharp steel. You peaked through the iron bars again. Seokmin was still buried in his hefty silver armor, a layer of chainmail hanging from his shoulders. Expertly, he caught the underside of Jeonghan’s sword with his own and twisted the weapon from his friend’s hands, which dropped against the sand with a soft thud. Jeonghan stumbled backward, panting heavily.

“For God’s sake, I surrender!” He laughed, dusting off his shiny armor.

Seokmin slid his sword back into the sheath at his waist, smiling triumphantly.

“You squander each attempt at defeating me. Have you just lost another bet with my blacksmith?”

Jeonghan bent down to pick up his sword and huffed, “it could be so.”

“You are inclined to become a beggar,” the Prince teased, “thankfully, tonight’s feast shall leave you with plentiful portions to take to the streets.”

There was a small, stone fountain bubbling beneath an overhang in the courtyard. Seokmin allowed a generous cup of water to form in his hands before splashing it along his face, the droplets streaming down his amber skin that had been caked with dust. Once he cleared away the grit, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the long, black curls.

He smirked at Jeonghan and uttered something to him you couldn’t decipher as they removed their chainmail. You studied him intently, feeling the warmth in your chest welt into disdain and anger.

“What are you doing all the way down there?!”

You jumped, sensing your flesh bristle. Turning around, you saw Chan standing at the doorway with his brow furrowed, probably wondering why you never returned to the kitchen. Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you hurried toward him and away from the courtyard, praying that neither the Prince nor his friend heard Chan’s shouting.

“Was there somebody out there? Who was it?” Chan immediately pestered you with questions.

“There was no one.” You told him whilst entering the kitchen, heaving a great sigh of relief upon seeing your bread removed from the clay furnace, the bread perfectly golden and risen in small domes.

Chan seemed skeptical, but he knew you were infamously defensive, so he didn’t investigate.

“Have you started the pastry for the cherry pie?” You asked him after setting the grain aside.

“No,” Chan replied, “I heard it is a favourite of the Prince. We must prepare it attentively.”

“Of course. Now, ask that lady over there if we can use her pie pan. We will start immediately.”

In complete honestly, you’d rather prepare any other dessert – even the chocolate soufflés, which were arguably difficult to perfect. However, you yet again bit your tongue and helped the eager apprentice remove the pits from the ruby red cherries, which landed in a wicker basket just at your feet. Every moment or so, you were tempted to leave behind a pit, entertaining the tiny thought that it could be inside the slice served to the Prince. You knew if that happened, neither you or Chan would be allowed to return to the castle.

It wasn’t so much skin off your nose, but Chan would definitely be disheartened.

You made sure to thoroughly clean all the cherries.

The dining hall was absolutely packed. There were rows of young pages standing at the table, hardly able to contain themselves as they stared glossy-eyed into the fresh cooked meals and desserts. No one had sat down yet, not until the King and Queen took their seats.

The Queen, swathed in the long, shimmering silk of her violet robe, observed the hungry crowd gathered before her. She was an alluring beacon, just like a porcelain doll, and the sapphire gems embossed in her crown glinted against the central chandelier. As you were specifically requested by the royal family to cook, you were granted a seat at the table, in between your mother and an anxious Chan who kept stealing glances at the Prince, standing next to his father. You refused to look at Seokmin, even when you felt his gaze trace the side of your face.

Suddenly, the Queen grabbed onto a sumptuous chalice and lifted it high in the air. She began making a toast to the newly appointed pages, congratulating the start of their journey. You copied your mother and reached for a silver goblet next to your plate, which had been prefilled with cold, dark purple wine. Everyone applauded her speech. Then, the King took over.

It was hard to pay attention, until you heard a particular name leave his mouth.

“As we continue the great customs of our ancestors who built this impenetrable kingdom, a new fate has arrived for Prince Seokmin.”

You flicked your gaze toward Seokmin, your heart hammering in your chest. His father set a hand on his shoulder, covered by a velvet, royal blue robe.

“Our son is at the rightful age to marry. After ample negotiation with the neighbouring and prosperous village of Markarth, their Lord has granted permission to his daughter, Lady Adelaide, as a possible contender. She will visit us on the summer solstice. I am prideful, and honoured, to announce this marvellous news alongside the blessed anointment of our pages.”

Instantly, you felt lightheaded, and you had to place the goblet back down on the table in order to avoid spilling the expensive wine. You knew this day would come eventually, but to hear that an arranged marriage was already brewing left a horrible taste in your mouth. The King shook his son’s shoulder with an honest pride, though Seokmin simply pressed his lips together and dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the announcement. You felt sick to your stomach. The thought of eating your beef wellington rendered you unable to even look at its outer pastry.

“Let us not dismiss the efforts of our valuable cooks, who prepared this rustic meal.” The King continued, staring in your direction.

He then praised the name of your mother, you, and Chan in specific. Everyone’s goblet remained in the air. Their gazes smeared across your flesh like wet ash.

“Is there anything you would like to say before we commence our feast?”

Your mother was ready to speak, though you managed to cut in before her.

“P-Pardon me, your Majesty, I am unbelievably humbled to cook for you tonight, but at this time I wish to be excused from the dining hall. May I part?”

Chan turned to look at you as though your hair were entangled in flames, and your mother grew notably tense. The atmosphere in the room was awfully palpable, like a thick balm that made it difficult to breathe. You could feel the pulse in your fingertips. The King then lowered his head to the Queen, and they briefly exchanged a whisper, seemingly coming to a verdict they both agreed on. Asking to be excused from a royal supper seldom occurred, if ever.

“If that is your wish,” the King said, his voice stern, “then you may part.”

You stepped away from your chair, making sure to bow toward the royal family. Seokmin was staring directly at you, his face looking hardened, cold.

“Thank you,” came your tiny response, “I hope you are delighted by the food.”

In the centre of the royal garden was a magnificent water fountain that came alive at nighttime, small, paper lanterns floating in its pool and glowing a solacing orange. You lay on your back, atop the fountain’s wide stone ledge, listening to the gushing water and staring up at the crescent moon. Everyone was still eating inside the dining hall. When you listened very intently, you could hear the faint notes of the live music. You didn’t regret leaving the supper, but you did regret not stealing a tiny bread loaf or even some fresh blackberries from the fruit baskets.

Your stomach was aching, hungry.

Reaching down to tug up the side of your dress, you pulled out the beech wood you spotted in the grass that afternoon. You had wanted to carve something into its surface with your knife, though you weren’t sure what, and it definitely wouldn’t be possible until your mother returned the blade to you. As you held the smooth nature above your face and pressed your thumbs into its cream face, you were overcome by a new, frothing wave of anger. Seokmin was preparing to get married. The beech wood nearly split in two from your iron grip.

You hated thinking that at one point in your childhood, you genuinely liked the Prince, and harboured this flat-out embarrassing crush on him. So did everyone else, but Seokmin certainly didn’t help your malleable heart in pretending that he liked you back. You remembered it clear as day: Jeonghan, who was much smaller at the time, came bounding up to you, teeming with excitement and using his squeaky voice to tell you that Seokmin wanted to kiss you, and that you needed to meet the Prince by Peace River in the forest.

Of course, you obliged without even having to think, and your friends spent the whole morning twisting small bluebells and buttercups in your hair. When you arrived at Peace River, Seokmin was waiting for you, standing in a patch of sunlight that cut through the trees, wearing a long, silk red robe in addition to his silver crown. It was the most nervous you had ever felt in your entire life, and you remembered feeling dizzy as Seokmin gazed down at you with a sweet look in his honey eyes. The two of you leaned in closer, closer, closer…

And right when you felt his lips ghost yours, Seokmin took a step back and you heard a huge fit of laughter erupt from the thick brush in the background.

Seokmin’s friends came stumbling from their hiding spots, some holding their stomachs with how hard they were cackling, others wiping a tear from their eye, all whilst you experienced a shock bottom out in your gut. The realization that everything had been a ruse gave you a tough, metaphorical slap across the face. Jeonghan had to lean against a tree trunk as he gripped his stomach, and a familiar burn stung your cheeks upon remembering the words he coughed out, something along the lines of, “you truly thought the Prince liked you?!”

The worst part was that Seokmin didn’t say anything, he just looked at you sadly. Since then, your contempt for Seokmin blossomed, and he didn’t hesitate to bite back.

Not wanting to break the beech wood, you lowered it from your face and slid it back between the lace garter hidden beneath your dress. When you glanced at the moon, you noticed that a small, orange ball was floating above you. Sitting up, your eyes widened at the sight of numerous orange dots, glimmering all throughout the garden. You recognized them as fireflies, which had always been one of your favourite things about the night. Occasionally, you and Chan would catch the small bugs in mason jars and release them by Peace River.

One fluttered close to your face, so you stuck out your finger hoping it would land. But, out of nowhere, you heard someone walking in the grass and immediately plucked your finger away, instead peering through the moonlight where you spotted a silhouette. Once the figure came into the aurora of the water fountain, you felt your stomach drop. It was none other than the Prince himself. He was no longer wearing his royal robe, just a white poet shirt with the deep, v-shaped collar left unbuttoned, and some black capris. He wasn’t even sporting any jewelry apart from a silver bulb through his right earlobe.

“Why must you act with such blatant disrespect?” He was quick to scold you for leaving the dinner. “Could you have not sat down? Stayed out of honour and given your untouched portions to the beggars?”

You scoffed. “Do not ridicule me like one of your pages. I was asked to cook, and so I did. No more, no less.”

Seokmin huffed, blowing the black curls away from his eyes. “You were invited to eat as well.”

“I fulfilled my principal duty. There was no reason to stay.”

“You could have at least eaten something. A wedge of pie, a peach clove. For heaven’s sake, there was bread at the entryway.”

Unwilling to stay seated and argue, you stood up from the fountain and brushed off your dress, no longer paying attention to the fireflies that illuminated the garden. Of course you wished you took some food; your stomach was collapsing in on itself, though you would not admit it.

“Why are you so concerned with my meals?” You snapped. “Should you not return to your private quarters and get well rested for the summer solstice?”

After mocking his arranged marriage, you couldn’t bear to look Seokmin in the eye. For some reason, a lump got caught in your throat and you felt a hot surge push against your tear ducts.

“Judging by your poor temper, it is you who needs more rest than I.” The Prince shot back.

You couldn’t stand there any longer. Biting harshly into your bottom lip, you attempted to brush by Seokmin and exit the garden. Instead you would find the gateway and wait until your mother and Chan arrived before leaving the castle grounds. There was food back at the house anyway, you assumed maybe some milk pudding, or sunflower seeds. It wouldn’t satiate you, but at least quell the hunger pangs until morning. However, when Seokmin grabbed your elbow you immediately flared, releasing a sharp yelp as he held you in place.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” Seokmin growled, lessening his grip on your arm and leaning in close to your face. “Come with me. I must give you something.”

Peering into the Prince’s dark brown eyes, you snarled, “what?”

He was close enough that you could see the tiny scar on the bridge of his nose from when he and Jeonghan had chased each other with fireplace pokers. You thought about looking at his lips, pretty and pink, but refused to break eye contact. The Prince didn’t say anything, just tugged you through the garden, between the thorny rosebushes, the intricate strings of bleeding hearts, and huge pots of pastel, cotton hydrangeas. To your surprise, Seokmin guided you back into the kitchen you had occupied just a few hours ago.

Then, he opened a wood cupboard and pulled out a polished, bright silver tin, which he thrusted into your arms. You peeled the lid open and saw that the tin was filled with raspberry glazed Danishes, to which the fragrant smell of flaky pastry and berries caused your mouth to water.

“S-Seokmin, I—,” you were going to reject him.

“I am not doing charity work for you. It is the custom of our celebratory suppers to not let any guest leave unfed, or pained by hunger.”

He looked at you with a cold expression, and his tone deepened. “Now, you may wait at the front gate for your companion and mother. It is not your place to wander around my castle. I could have you arrested.”

You welcomed his threat. “I anticipate such a drastic measure if it ensures I’ll never have to see your face again.”

Seokmin didn’t look half as amused. He moved in close to your ear, his breath hitting your skin as he uttered inimically, “leave.”

During the walk home to your village quarters, Chan had already shoved an entire pastry into his mouth, licking the raspberry jam off his fingers. Your mother was eager to know who gifted you such an expensive tin alongside the Danishes. Not wanting to admit your confrontation with Seokmin, you churned up a white lie about how they were a present from another cook.

“Certainly?” She seemed quite surprised. “That is a rare gift. To my knowledge, tins with that level of embroidery are only seen inside the castle. Perhaps that cook quite liked you.”

At the early stretch of dawn, you felt someone grasp your shoulder and shake it roughly, until your eyes pulled open, groggy and blurred. You were sitting up in bed, looking bitter. Chan was next to you, and whilst he wore an apologetic expression, you could sense there was a degree of urgency to his actions.

“What’s the matter?” You hummed, digging the heel of your palm into your eye.

Just outside the windowpane, you could see the calm sunrise and feel the morning, serene warmth through the glass.

“Your mother told me to wake you, that we should head to the bakery immediately.”

As you stumbled around your bedroom, fitting on a pair of degrading, sandalwood slippers before patting your face down with cold water from the well, you were wondering why it was so important that you attend the bakery, that your mother would need to send Chan to fetch you. Still dressed in your nightgown, you left the house alongside the young apprentice and hurried down the quiet road, passing all the tiny markets and apparel shops. As soon as the bakery came into view, you gasped, for a pearl blue carriage was stationed outside, paired to a stallion with silk, white hair. It grazed at a patch of grass and honeysuckle.

There seemed to be a crowd gathered inside the bakery, which only further piqued your curiosity. Chan couldn’t help but stroke the horse’s brilliant fur, which glowed like an amber pool due to the sunlight. You had only taken a measly step or two inside the bakery until jamming to a halt. Right before your eyes, speaking to your mother across the counter was perhaps one of the most pristinely-dressed, elegant girls to ever grace your kingdom. Her dress was long and flowing, a dark green forest jade, accented with gold lacing and a slim pair of gloves that stretched high up her arms.

Chan appeared equally stunned, for he thudded into your backside and stood staring at the girl like she was a rare type of crystal. Almost immediately, you noted the petit, twinkling tiara sitting on her head. Before she could even introduce herself, you knew exactly who she was.

“Lady Adelaide.” You heard Chan whisper to himself.

It immediately dawned on you that the summer solstice had finally arrived. The second she noted your presence at the door, her congregation of guards stepped back, allowing her to approach you. Without a second thought you bowed your head politely. She smelled like fresh clusters of jasmine and her voice was harmonious.

“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to startle you or your apprentice,” (Chan’s face flushed a shy pink) “I heard from a guardsman of mine that your mother’s bakery is nothing short of wondrous, and I knew I had to stop here before I meet with your kingdom’s Prince.”

You stuttered straight through your teeth, “t-that’s wonderful. P-Pleased, we’re absolutely pleased to serve you, Lady Adelaide. We will prepare anything you desire.”

“Certainly.” Chan agreed.

“I’ll have to spend some time looking over the pastries,” she said jovially, “right now, I am truly awed by how delicious everything appears. My decision will come shortly.”

“Of course.” You responded, rubbing your clammy palms against your dress.

Whilst Lady Adelaide carefully inspected each pastry through the glass, your mother had pulled you and Chan into the kitchen, where she made sure it was clear you show your utmost respect toward the kingdom’s potential princess. Chan still wore a sticky blush on his cheeks, and you could tell he would be about as useful in the kitchen that day as a rock.

“No matter what she requests, we shall honour her needs and prepare it.” Your mother said. “Remember, this could be Prince Seokmin’s wife.”

You felt a streak of envy and wanted to slap yourself.

Once Lady Adelaide made up her mind, your mother re-entered the front shop with a wide smile. Chan started washing his hands in the pail of fresh water.

“Why was I not born the Prince?” He huffed petulantly. “She is truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Does everyone in Markarth have such a face?”

“Oh, cool it, would you?” Came your sharp response. “Our duty is to operate a bakery, not fall in love.”

You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, and you tried desperately to bite your tongue as you fastened on your apron and pulled up the sleeves of your nightgown. The young apprentice wasn’t lying, she was a true and glorious spectacle, one that would surely appease the King and Queen once they saw her next to their son. However, you weren’t keen on entertaining such a sight, and you dismissed it from your head whilst Chan went to the house front and helped your mother collect Adelaide’s dessert.

A week after Lady Adelaide’s arrival at the kingdom, you happened to find your pocket-sized carving knife inside a bakery drawer. You were absolutely relieved to discover it, and took advantage of your mother’s recent departure to slide it back against the garter belt wrapped around your thigh. For the time being, she was occupied at a different village, visiting her sister.

Chan worked on kneading a mound of sourdough, his sleeves rolled high up to his elbows and a cloth tied around his head, pushing back his growing brown hair. You decided to take a break from the kitchen heat, patting him on his shoulder just before you disappeared.

“Huh?” He mumbled, not bothering to look up from the dough, “where will you be?”

“Peace River.” You told him. “I will be taking a short swim.”

The piece of beech wood was already slipped inside your sleeve. Ever since Seokmin gave you that silver, embroidered tin, you placed it on your bedside table and stored the wood inside.

“Shall I fetch some extra help in the mean time?” Chan asked, lobbing the dough onto a wooden serving board.

“Sure. Why not ask your companion from the academy? Seungkwan is it?”

“Yes.” Chan nodded.

You picked your way through town until you arrived at the pathway that lead into the forest. The dirt was padded down by a century of footsteps, animal paws and wagon wheels, though the soft grass that grew next to it tickled up past your ankles and bloomed with small, purple flowers. You loved walking through the forest, hearing the noises of the village become increasingly muted, replaced by tree branches that gently rocked against each other in the breeze as well as the sweet songbirds.

Upon reaching the river, you sat down on a rock just in front of the grassy bank and pulled out your carving knife. The river created a bubbling waterfall, and whilst you took hold of the beech wood, deciding what to carve, you listened to the trickling sounds. Still unsure of what to scratch in the wood, you continued shaving down its edges until the piece lost its rectangular shape and became more oval. Once you were satisfied with its rounder appearance, you brushed the wispy flakes from your lap, deciding it was time to test the river.

You removed the layers of your dress until you were in nothing but your undergarments, the sunshine that rained between the leaves warm against your skin. After wrapping the beech wood into your clothing, you set the fabric behind a strawberry bush, though left your carving knife folded and sitting on the rock. The river water was cold, but not freezing, and for a few moments you stood knee deep with your eyes closed, allowing the quiet breeze and sunrays to mellow your heartbeat. Then you proceeded to wade in further, until the water lapped up against your chin.

As much as you longed to enjoy the cool river, there was one problem that arose after a few minutes of swimming.

You heard distant galloping becoming closer and closer, accompanied by the rattling of metallic armour and conversation. Not wanting to make your presence known, you paddled beneath the overhanging rock that created the waterfall, the downpour completely soaking your hair whilst the heavy scent of moss stuck to the stone. You were curious as to who could be arriving at the river. Carefully, you peeked around corner of the overhang.

You felt your blood turn to ice.

It was Seokmin and Adelaide. Her arms were wrapped around the Prince’s waist as he held onto the reins of his beautiful, caramel horse named Apple. You remembered the mare’s name because you were the one who suggested it as kids. Seokmin shook the reins once more, and Apple walked closer to the river, already beginning to graze at the sweet grass lining the bank. Seokmin seemed to be educating Adelaide about the river, though you really had to strain to hear what he was saying. He hopped down cleanly from the horse before assisting the Lord’s lady.

She was no longer wearing her jade dress, but a white gown with many ruffles at the skirt. Her eyes were wide and sparkling whilst she examined the forest. Seokmin set a hand on her waist, gesturing to something in the trees you couldn’t see. The Prince was standing in a patch of sunlight just like he did on that summer day when you were children, waiting to kiss you—well, more like humiliate you, but his amber skin still shone the same, and the way the light reflected off his broad, silver armour depicted just how much he’d grown since then.

Closing your eyes, you listened intently for his words.

“Everyone who visits this river is known to experience a beautiful sense of peace, and calm, hence, why it is known as Peace River.”

Adelaide pressed a kiss to Seokmin’s jaw. “I have never seen such a tranquil sight. Oh, Prince Seokmin, it’s beautiful!”

Whilst Apple continued nipping at the grass, Adelaide squatted down next to the river and let the water gush between her fingers, covered in opal and amethyst rings. She was crooning about how pretty the gems looked beneath the current to Seokmin, though you noted the young Prince wasn’t exactly listening. Something caught his attention – your carving knife, which you left sitting on the goddamn rock. Gulping heavily, you watched as Seokmin picked up the blade and inspected it closely. Immediately, you swam away from the corner when he began squinting around the clearing, as though he were attempting to spot the knife’s owner.

The worst part: Seokmin knew who that carving knife belonged to. He knew it was yours, for he offered it to you, a gift from his blacksmith, a few days before the horrible kissing incident.

When you gathered the courage to peer around the corner again, you saw Seokmin help Lady Adelaide back onto Apple’s saddle. He still had your blade in his hand, to which you watched in complete shock as the Prince ordered his horse onward, deeper into the forest. You cursed him relentlessly under your breath. That bastard, he just took your carving knife! When you only discovered its whereabouts no less than half an hour ago! Boiling with fury, you left the river, threw on the clothes over your wet skin, and marched back into town with your beech wood.

The next time you saw the Prince, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

It was the night of the Super Moon Festival.

Raised high amongst the depths of the vast, black sky was the crater itself, bright, shining, and larger than ever. A chilly wind had turned the air quite nippy, and whilst Chan sat next to you, tentatively sipping a warm jar of gold, apple cider, you were simmering in complete bitterness. You had always embraced each festival, especially the Super Moon Festivals, which promised ample fortune unto the kingdom in addition to a prosperous summer; however, that night you couldn’t force even the slightest elation.

Prince Seokmin still had your carving knife.

A great deal of folk had concentrated to the village square, where the celebration was most vibrant. Certain people had linked arms, dancing to the live music, whilst others were releasing paper lanterns of different colours and shapes into the night sky. There were plenty of drinking games, festive food, and buzzing conversations entangled throughout the square. You were shaking your leg, watching intensely as the Prince and his friends were gathered by an old wagon in the far corner, drinking tall tins of frothy ale, laughing loudly into the crisp, cool air.

Suddenly, Chan nudged your shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. “Why do you continue staring at the Prince?”

You peeled your gaze from Seokmin, though the contort of your features remained. Lady Adelaide was nowhere to be spotted. There were rumours that she would be arriving later, that the band would play a special slow song, just so she could share a dance with the Prince.

“I must speak with him.” You replied.

Chan wrapped his cold hands tighter around the apple cider, casting you a peculiar glance.

“Why is that? Has he done something?”

You knew you couldn’t wait forever. Seokmin’s tightknit ensemble didn’t look like it was going to thin anytime soon, and if you allowed the night to end, you would have missed your chance.

“Be right back.” You uttered sharply to the young apprentice as you rose from your chair, leaving Chan to sit alone with his drink.

He could only gaze after you in a thick confusion. It was definitely nerve-wracking to approach the Prince so boldly, especially when he was swathed by his closest friends, all whom lived inside the castle or carried high profiles in the upper scale village. You almost walked straight through a dancing couple on your march across the large square, though you tried not to let any crumb of doubt or intimidation thwart you from retrieving your carving blade. Without a word, you shoved your way between the muscular bodies, ignoring their surprised scoffs.

Seokmin’s eyes were almost as wide as the moon when you stood before him. He stopped leaning against the wagon’s tall wheel and left his half-finished ale on the ledge.

“Return it to me.” You stated simply, holding out your palm.

“Who the hell is that?” One of his friends chided, clearly not amused that you just pushed through their private celebration only to speak rudely at the Prince.

Seokmin’s brow furrowed. “Return what?” He responded.

His acting utterly irritated you.

“Do not behave so obliviously,” you barked, “come with me, now.”

Wrapping your fingers through the collar of his shirt, you attempted to pull Seokmin away from his companions. Understandably, they were not willing to lose their royal member so easily, which prompted Jeonghan to grab your arm. It came as a slight surprise to you when Seokmin snapped, “do not touch her,” causing him to withdraw his grip, his expression paling. The Prince ensured his companions that he would return soon, only to follow you down a quiet alley, away from the colourful celebration and boasting music.

Folding your arms over your chest, you glared at the boy.

“I want my knife returned.”

Straightening out his collar that you had noticeably crumbled, the Prince scoffed, a smirk trudging across mouth.

“You should not leave any personal property out where it could be discovered.”

“You knew it was mine and yet you still took it.”

“So you were watching me, is that it?” He had the audacity to smile.

In order to contain your fulgurant anger, you clenched your fists tightly at your sides.

“Indeed I watched you take it! Now give it back!”

“Do not get so ahead of yourself.” Seokmin flashed a devious smile, one you wanted to wipe clean from his snide expression.

He reached into his pocket, and beneath the frosted moonlight, you saw him reveal your precious carving knife. You traced his fingers as he unfolded the silver blade and admired the mahogany handle, etched with the smallest, intricate embellishment. If you were swift enough, you could snatch the knife from his hand, but you weren’t sure if the risk was calculated. The Prince gently pressed the pad of his finger to the point, hardly issuing any pressure.

“This did not always belong to you.” He stated simply.

“I know that,” you quipped, “but you decided to gift it to me. So it no longer falls under your property.”

Seokmin blatantly ignored your rebuttal. Instead, he folded up the blade and dared pocket it right before your eyes. You gaped at him.

“Why were you at Peace River?”

“What?!” Feeling completely bewildered, you couldn’t help the loud air of your gasp.

He asked again, “why were you at Peace River? Were you hiding somewhere?”

“That is not your business!” You barked.

Seokmin seemed to adapt your hue of disproportionate awe.

“It is not my business?” He took a step forward, though you didn’t shy from his advance. “I am your Prince. You shall answer what I ask of you.”

“Why do you care why I was there? Should you not focus on the wonderful time you had showing around your dear lady?”

The young Prince’s face didn’t exactly soften upon your reference to Adelaide, rather there was a subtle shift in the nuance of his gaze, where something murky tinted the surface. It was difficult to pinpoint, but you almost swore that mentioning Adelaide had made Seokmin unhappy. To make the matter more confusing, he was clearly examining your features, from the curve of your lips to the arch above each cheek, you were like a memory he could never lose.

Your heart started beating faster, and you felt dearly flustered.

“I-I was only swimming,” you answered him, “that’s all you must know.”

You hated your body for betraying you, for submitting, for twirling itself in a moonstruck loop at the mere thought of Seokmin needing to commit your face to memory. Wanting to feel angry again, you tightened your voice.

“Now, I answered your question. I have pulled you away for one thing and one thing only: my knife. I do not care that your blacksmith crafted it for you, that it was once yours before it was mine. You gave it to me. I want it back.”

“Mind your manners,” the Prince scolded, his eyes turning icy, less forgiving, “I cannot oblige when you create such a fuss.”

Digging your nails in deep to the fabric of your dress, you exhaled shakily.

”I am going to lose my temper, Prince Seokmin. I want my blade, now.”

He took a step toward you, so close you could smell the rich ale on his clothing. His voice had lowered an octave, to which you swallowed coarsely and had trouble locking eyes with him.

“First, you rudely interrupt my friends and I. Second, you speak to me informally, with no respect, not even bothered to fake it. Third, you drag me to this alley and refuse the command of your Prince to summon an ounce of manner. Clean your mouth, or forget the knife.”

Your jaw clenched, and you started to grit your teeth. Seokmin was not exactly fond of the fact that you wouldn’t make eye contact, therefore he placed a light hold on your chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting your head toward him.

“Look at me when I speak to you.” He growled.

A concerning heat infiltrated your body; however, gulping back the rage that burned against your throat, you pulled down his hand, looked straight into his eyes and hissed, “you do not deserve my manners, but for the sake of the situation, may I please have my knife returned, Prince Seokmin?”

He reached into his pocket.

“I am shocked someone so ill-mannered is permitted to live in this kingdom.”

Cocking your head to the side, you watched the boy reveal your carving knife.

“I could effortlessly say the same for you.”

Seokmin handed you the blade, studying you intently whilst you picked up the side of your dress in order to return your prized possession between the thigh garter. Even in the darkness, his cheeks had noticeably pinkened.

“Enjoy the remainder of your night.” You gave him an exaggerated, distasteful bow before walking down the alley, away from the village square. “Do not keep Lady Adelaide waiting.”

The young Prince didn’t bother responding, only chewed into his bottom lip as you disappeared from his sight, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

Somehow, you and Chan had ended up back in the royal kitchen.

It was in light of a specific request pitted by the King and Queen, in which they desired you to cook a delicious dinner for Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide as they enjoyed their umpteenth date together. You attempted to avoid the situation last minute by faking a dry cough and sore throat, though your mother was far too intelligent to let any elementary performances fool her, resulting in yet another attendance award at the castle. Chan was excited as usual, evident in the small curl to his lips whilst he cleaned his hands in a bucket of well water.

“I never understand you,” Chan said, “why are you never content to visit the castle?”

Tying an apron at your lower back, you simply huffed in response to the young apprentice, not willing to reiterate the whole spiel about your childhood mishap as well as the years of hatred that nurtured it. You knew you seemed ungrateful, stuck-up, but it wasn’t anyone’s business.

“It is not something to concern yourself with,” you told Chan, taking his place at the bucket of cold water, “I am going to cook their meal, and that is all. No more, no less.”

“When do you think we will receive their menu?” Chan asked.

“Whenever it is given to us.”

The royal kitchen was indubitably stocked with produce that could cater to any dish, it was just a matter of awaiting the particular meals Lady Adelaide and Seokmin were keen on eating. Still, you had to agree with Chan, there was an anxious density to the room whilst you prepared your stations, hoping that at least some form of authority would enter the kitchen to update you.

Chan opened a cupboard and found a burlap sack of cherries. He grinned, “do you think Prince Seokmin will want to eat cherry pie again?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged, “maybe he’ll desire a pineapple upside down cake.”

“That sounds complicated.” Chan admitted with a frown.

You chuckled, “he’s complicated.”

“Who’s complicated?”

Suddenly, the Prince appeared in the entryway to the kitchen, dressed in a long, garnet cape that draped around his shoulders, embroidered with a dazzling gold thread. His hair, usually left in its black ringlets, had been groomed neatly from his forehead. His crown looked heavy, precious and incomprehensibly expensive. Both you and Chan were stunned by his abrupt appearance, to which the apprentice dropped a pile of tins he’d been removing from a cupboard. They clattered across the stone floor, and his cheeks turned red.

Whilst the young boy quickly picked up each tin, you cleared your throat.

“N-No one. We were speaking about no one.”

Chan hurried to stand beside you, and he bowed immediately.

“Greetings, Prince Seokmin. Must I say it is a complete honour to cook for you and Lady Adelaide tonight. I shall put forth my best effort.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Seokmin said, commending the boy’s display of respect, “I have arrived to deliver the menu Lady Adelaide and I would like to eat.”

The Prince then handed Chan a scroll, which had been tied shut with a tasseled, red string. As Chan busied himself in opening the paper to glean its request, Seokmin glanced you over from top to bottom. You shot him a transient glare.

Folding your arms over your chest and titling your head to the side, you announced, “we will bring your food as soon as possible.”

“Is everything well with you?” Seokmin inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Chan looked up from the unwound scroll nervously, clearly noting the palpable tension.

“Yes, Prince Seokmin. I feel brilliant.” Your tone was drier than chalk.

Some twisted part of you hoped that the Prince would pull you into the corridor, scold you for behaving so blatantly disrespectful, lean in close to your face with a fire that turned to glistering copper in his eyes. You wanted him to grip your chin like he did in the alleyway and demand you meet his gaze. In a bizarre sense, you craved to argue with him. However, Seokmin didn’t engage in anything of the sort, and a vacant feeling encompassed you whole.

“I must return to Lady Adelaide. We will be seated on the outdoor terrace, second level.”

“Yes, of course,” Chan chirped, “I will bring your appetizer shortly.”

“May it also be known that the furnace next to you Chan has not been properly cleaned from a previous service. Do not try to light any fire, or the residue could burn you.”

Chan glanced at the stove warily whilst you released an impatient sigh.

“You should really get going, sire. It’s never polite to make your lady wait.”

The Prince chuckled, and a bold smirk illuminated his face.

“Have you ever been left to wait, darling?” He asked, biting his bottom lip.

After blowing a tuft of hair from your eyes, you folded your arms over your chest and caught the young Prince in a piercing stare.

“Why must you know? I don’t kiss and tell.”

Chan had not a clue as to what sort of exchange was unpacking before him, he only knew that his presence seemed unbelievably trivial, like a dust mite. You couldn’t deny how satisfactory it felt to wind Seokmin tighter than a wire spool, attempting to snap him somehow, hoping he’d bite back brazenly.

His professional composure was teetering, you could see it. And yet, the Prince was able to sweep away his desires to bicker with you.

“Aren’t you such a well-behaved little girl?” He dug slyly, the backhanded compliment imbuing a strange rush in your blood. “I have no further business here. As I said, we are seated on the second level terrace.”

The second Seokmin parted, his beautiful cloak fluttering behind him, Chan nudged your shoulder with a big pout on his lips.

“Are you trying to get us banned from the castle? If so, you might just succeed.”

Stealing the scroll from his hands, you urged him to relax.

“Trust me,” you sighed, “I would get banned before any other soul here. Even before the cook who caused a fire hazard.”

You had great trouble focusing in the kitchen, and it seemed like your brain contained no interest in cooperating with the rest of your body. Chan noted your lack of composure and intervened on multiple occasions, a concerned expression covering his face.

It was stupid, shameful, but for an unbeknownst reason you could not stop envisioning Seokmin and Adelaide enjoying their supper together on the pretty terrace. You imagined his soft, attentive eyes tracing her lips whilst she spoke, his hand reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear’s cusp, the evening sun dappling the sky golden and peach-rose. It lit a terrible feeling within your lower gut, a feeling that upset you beyond belief, made you want to run from the kitchen and bury yourself beneath mounds of bedsheets.

The thought of Seokmin marrying Adelaide, sliding that white diamond ring upon her finger, having to watch them parade around the kingdom completely and utterly in love; you hated it, and you kept losing your concentration as that bitterness consumed you.

“They seem to be enjoying everything.” Chan confirmed with a satisfied smile toward the end of service. He just returned after collecting their dishes. “At last, we can begin dessert!”

However, the boy quickly picked up on your temperate, distracted face.

“What’s the matter?” Chan grabbed your shoulder gently. “You look so upset.”

“I’m fine,” you dismissed him with an apathetic air, brushing his touch away, “will they be eating the cherry pie as you assumed? I have already prepared the crust.”

“Yes…” Chan leaned in rather close to examine your face whilst he hummed in response.

“For heaven’s sake, child—what are you doing?”

“S-Sorry,” he immediately backed away, “I-I thought—your eyes just looked so glassy.”

“I have already stated my wellbeing. Now, please get to making the filling so we may get this pie in the furnace.”

Chan grabbed the burlap sack of cherries from the cupboard and dumped them into an apple basket. He then submerged the basket in a water pail, making sure to clean the fruit until they were glistening and shiny. Together, you removed the cherry pits in order to create the sweet, sticky filling which smelled exactly like summer. Chan let you tend to setting the furnace flame whilst he leveled out the pies; however, you’d forgotten about the unusable furnace.

As you got down on your knee and reached into the underbelly of the oven with the starter flint, it was too late for Chan to make a reminder. Once the bright spark touched that mysterious residue, a gigantic flame bloomed forth and licked up the furnace walls. The second your hand felt such an incredible singe of heat, you released a loud cry and crawled away from the glowing oven, your chest heaving at the intense, searing pain that sizzled deep into your flesh. Chan was gobsmacked. He dropped the small butter knife in the pie filling and bent down whilst you tossed your head back, cursing at the pain.

“Oh God!” Chan looked paler than a snowflake. “Y-You have been burned! O-Oh no… this- this is awful! What should we do? H-Here—”

The boy helped you to your feet and brought you close to the water pail.

“Submerge your hand in this,” he offered anxiously, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead, “I need to alert someone of this. Are you okay? Do you believe you might faint?”

“N-No…” you gritted between your teeth whilst heavy tears streamed down your cheeks, “just get somebody – anybody. I-It hurts terribly…”

The boy rubbed your back as a sweet gesture before he left the kitchen.

“I shall return as quickly as possible! I promise!”

Unfortunately, Chan had sparse luck encountering anyone from the castle. The sole person he could think of alerting was Prince Seokmin. Whilst he was not eager to interrupt his dinner with the kingdom’s potential princess, Chan was far too concerned with your agonizing pain as well as the poor condition of your hand. He knew you needed medical assistance immediately, therefore he burst through the doors in a panic and stumbled onto the terrace, where Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide gave him a puzzled, somewhat undesirable look.

The young apprentice steadied his breath. Once he began informing them of the situation, he couldn’t help but note the overwhelming concern that engulfed the Prince’s face.

“I must know where the nearest nurse is located. She needs assistance and I promised I would return quickly!”

Lady Adelaide wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth, and looked to Seokmin. Her eyes, brushed with a shimmering, metallic gold, widened beneath the evening light as the Prince stood from his chair and threw down his cutlery.

“You have left her alone? Where is she?” He questioned the apprentice.

Chan licked his dry lips. “P-Please, stay with Lady Adelaide. I-I just need to know wh—”

“Does she remain in the kitchen?” Seokmin interrupted him.

He stepped fairly close to Chan, the young boy tilting his head back in order to meet the serious gaze of the Prince. Admittedly, he felt rather intimidated.

“Yes, she is. But you mustn’t abandon Lady Adelaide. I can—”

“I will take care of her,” Seokmin replied sternly, “stay with the Lady if you wish.”

Without another word, the Prince pushed Chan aside and disappeared quickly through the terrace doors, leaving him alone on the beautiful terrace with Adelaide. She didn’t appear entirely thrilled to be abandoned in the midst of a romantic dinner, indicated by the uncomfortable expression that coloured her face. Instead, she tucked the hair behind her ears and pressed her smooth lips together tightly, staring out into the flossy, pink clouds, a calm breeze blowing through the air. Chan swallowed the rock in his throat, squeezing his hands nervously.

“I-I’m sure the Prince will return in due time.” He stuttered.

Lady Adelaide nodded, stiffened, unamused.

“I guess I will just have to wait.”

Standing at the pail whilst your marred flesh scorched beneath the water was a sensation unlike any other. Your bottom lip kept quivering, and your whole body trembled in an attempt to digest such an intense pain. Footsteps reverberated outside the kitchen, to which a hope flourished that a medical professional would be arriving alongside Chan – yet, the person who entered the room was completely disproportionate to what you’d been expecting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want his help, it was just going to be difficult to accept it.

Seokmin left his crown behind on a countertop and stood next to you.

“Let me see it.” He urged as your hand twitched in the water.

Rubbing your tears off on your shoulder, you rasped, “w-why are you here?”

“Because you’re hurt,” Seokmin replied firmly, “and whether you like it or not, I am going to look after this. You should have your hand beneath running water.”

“W-Where is Chan? I w-want him here t-too.”

“He remained with Adelaide.” The Prince sounded impatient.

“W-Why did you not stay with her? Why did you even come when you cannot stand me?”

Choosing to ignore your questions, Seokmin grabbed your wrist, pulling you to the back of the kitchen where he knew there was a well. Suckling back the thick tears and runniness in your nose, you let Seokmin guide your injured hand beneath the cold water he started pumping from the ground. It splashed onto the stone floor, trickling in all directions.

“S-Seokmin—,”

“Just keep quiet for one minute,” the Prince snapped, “I know that is strenuous for someone as verbose as you, but right now, allow me to take care of you, alright?”

For an unprecedented time in your life, you legitimately heeded Seokmin’s words and kept your mouth shut, deciding it was not worth the energy to act so bitter. Whilst the running water succeeded in cleaning any sediment from the wound, the sensitive flesh stung and flared to a degree that was impossible to ignore, leaving you unable to suppress any small sobs and whimpers. If not for Seokmin holding your hand beneath the water, you would have withdrawn it immediately.

You pushed your face into his chest, your tears wetting his clothing. Seokmin shushed you softly, attempting to keep you calm.

“I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well, okay? A minute longer darling, I promise.”

You felt Seokmin’s chin sit on top of your head, and you only pushed your cheek in further against his strong chest, smelling the faint concoction of a luxurious perfume on his amber skin. Somehow, the pain became more bearable when his honeyed voice touched your ears.

“H-Has it been a minute now?” You sniffled.

The cold stream of water that once gushed from the spout diminished. Whilst the floor was rippling with a wide, wet circle, your hand felt less seared, less like a piece of charred meat.

“Mmhm, it’s been a minute,” Seokmin said, “how badly does it still hurt?”

Glancing at the wound imbued an intense cloud of nausea.

“I-It’s throbbing, a-and stings. Should we not wrap it?” You blubbered.

Seokmin brushed his fingers along your warm cheek, removing the new tears.

“Not immediately, angel. If the flesh is too fragile, the cloth might pull up more layers of tissue when it is removed. There should be an ointment station, over here—,” the Prince placed his hand against the small of your back, and you followed him toward a counter, “if the correct gel is in here, my hope is that it soothes your skin. Afterward, we will wrap it cautiously.”

Your injured hand was shaking too much, so you had to grasp your wrist tightly in order to centre it to one place. Seokmin opened a drawer filled with small, glass ampules. He picked between them carefully until coming across the correct ointment, a clear gel that had a strong, plant-like scent when he pulled out the tiny cork. Smearing the glistening gel onto his fingertips, the Prince then asked to see your hand. Knowing it would sting, you clenched your teeth.

“I’m not being too rough, am I?” Seokmin asked, concentrating on softly massaging in the vital ointment.

Exhaling stiltedly, you shook your head. “It’s getting better, I believe.”

“This is quite deep,” he remarked, scooping up more of the gel, “why on earth did you use the furnace upon my instruction not to?”

“I was not thinking about the furnace.” You admitted, biting down into your cheek.

Seokmin couldn’t help but chuckle.

He had just finished applying the cool gel, which gleamed on your skin and sunk into the damaged tissue. Additionally, stuffed somewhere in the drawer was a compact spool of bandage that the Prince started unraveling, until he tore a perfect strip to delicately wrap around your hand. Your heart began racing and heat stippled your face as the boy finally looked up from the injury. His eyes were so unbelievably gentle, his lips the colour of roses. It reflected a painstakingly familiar memory, in which you could almost hear the river running in the background and feel the pleasant sunlight warm your arms.

“Then what was on your mind?” Seokmin questioned.

His voice was low, and he stared unabashedly at your mouth.

You didn’t think – you didn’t want to.

Instead, you pushed to the very back of your skull every malevolent thought you once harboured toward the Prince and shut your eyes, envisioning yourself within a dream. You pressed a short, soft kiss against his mouth.

There was a moment’s pause where Seokmin realized the situation.

Suddenly, he cupped the sides of your face in his tender hands, urging you forward again, his lips brushing yours in such a gentle manner that a shiver tingled down your spine. It was far from a single, fleeting kiss. Each time your lips pressed together, you would linger for a moment longer and fall deeper into the other, losing all sense of the world around you. A molten warmth expanded in your chest as you felt Seokmin’s tongue make a soft prod at your bottom lip, encouraging you to sigh blissfully into the kiss. He smiled at your quiet noises.

What was happening to you? You struggled to control your own functions. Seokmin was eliciting a powerful feeling that yearned for you to continue kissing. His slender fingers drifted from your face to your hips, and he pulled you tighter against his body, each kiss revealing the other’s burning want and secret desires. As you suckled slowly on Seokmin’s tongue, listening to him purr, there was a rich, unique taste of cider. It prompted you to think about dinner, about Chan who’d gone looking for a nurse, about Lady Adelaide.

As soon as her face entered your mind, something switched off inside you and your blood transformed into cold liquid.

“S-Seokmin,” you murmured, disconnecting the sweet pressure of your mouth to his, “I-I... I don’t think we’re in our right minds.”

Your eyes began filling with water whilst you gazed at his pink cheeks and the pretty swell to his lips. The boy grabbed both your hands with a concerned expression, holding them against his chest where you felt his heart beat.

“What do you mean, angel?” Seokmin whispered. He then planted a kiss much too affectionate against your forehead, in which your eyes only grew more watery. “I haven’t anything to drink if that’s what you’re implying.”

“N-No.” You shook your head and looked into his eyes, swallowing back the dreadful taste of pain, of a relationship you could never have, of a boy you could never have. “We cannot do this... t-this is not just...”

“Wait—” Seokmin stuttered when you pulled away from him, “where are you going? We can talk about this.” His voice trembled slightly, heavy with sorrow.

“Stay with me, please.”

But there was nothing he could say or do that would cement you to your spot.

An overwhelming wave of emotion surged through your body, and you knew you had to leave the castle grounds unless you wanted the royal family to see you explode into a mess of hot tears and incoherency. Whilst you slipped through the kitchen door, you bumped into Chan who just returned from the second level terrace, his eyes growing wide when he noted the dreadful shadow that hollowed your countenance. The boy swallowed thickly, for the next person to enter the hallway was Lady Adelaide herself, who did not look pleased at the wait.

“A-Are you o—”

“I cannot stay here,” you told Chan in a quick jumble, “I am going to the house. Please, take care of the dessert if you can manage.”

Lady Adelaide stepped aside, allowing you to escape the corridor.

Everything felt like it was collapsing around you.

It was nighttime as you sat in your bed, a candle flickering on the windowsill whilst you examined the neat bandages that enveloped your hand. You couldn’t sleep. Chan was sent home early from the castle by Prince Seokmin, and he attempted to check on you with plentiful knocks to the front door; however, you didn’t possess the right spirit to answer him and instead covered your teary face with the bedsheets until he left. You were infuriated at yourself for kissing the Prince. Inside, your heart felt mercilessly torn up and shredded.

Continuing to look out the window, you were intrigued by a fluttering, orange orb that eventually paused on the leaves of a tall sunflower. It was a firefly.

Quickly, you reached for the silver Danish tin on your bedside table and pulled out the carving knife in addition to the small, smooth disc of beech wood. It was difficult to make incisions in the wood with an injured hand, though you simply bit your lip and didn’t allow the pain to phase you. Making tiny scratches with the fine, sharp tip of the blade, you spent the next hour, maybe more, carving a tiny firefly into the beech wood. When you looked back into your drawer, you spotted a silver-beaded chain, and an idea instantly shaped in your head.

You decided to make the wooden emblem into a necklace.

From the kitchen, you could hear Chan speaking with a new ensemble of customers who entered the bakery, the sound of their abundant coins rattling across the countertop and the apprentice’s cheerful tone as he wrapped their food in wax parchment. You hadn’t spent much time behind the counter that day, for your mood was no better than a cat who’d just been stuck in a thunderstorm. Chan advised you to stay in the kitchen instead. Since that morning, you’d either been making loaves of banana bread or staring into space.

There seemed to be an unsettled atmosphere about the kingdom. Most if not always, it indicated there was a problem at the castle, some sort of dispute amongst the royal family.

Whilst you waited for the loaves in the furnace to rise, you put your head down on the work bench and gazed at the stone floor. You had never felt so off-kilter. The fact you couldn’t do much more than mush bananas and whisk together a batter only added to your melancholy. After burning your hand, you were rather useless in the kitchen, though Chan had a much politer way of wording it whenever you attempted to help him with anything the least bit complex. You wouldn’t be surprised if he replaced you with Seungkwan in the near future.

Once the aromatic, sweet scent of the banana bread thoroughly encompassed the kitchen, you checked on the tin and decided it was time to remove it. Letting the bread sit next to an open window, you heard more muffled conversation through the door.

Suddenly, Chan had slipped into the kitchen. His expression was awfully nervous, to which an unpleasant feeling began brewing your lower gut.

“Your presence is needed at the counter.” Chan said flatly.

“Why is that?” You smiled. “I thought you preferred me locked up back here until closing.”

When the apprentice didn’t return your warmth, you knew there was something wrong.

“You are really needed at the counter.” He urged. “I will cut the bread, okay?”

“O-Okay…” You responded in a puzzled manner, allowing Chan to slip around you and grab a butter knife from the drawer.

Walking out from the kitchen was equivalent to getting a slap in the face, a splinter between your toes, a hard poke in the eye – basically anything undesirable constituted the situation you just introduced yourself to. Prince Seokmin stood on the opposite side of the counter. It appeared as though he recently returned from a valley trip with a congregation of other knights, for he was dressed in his heavyset armour and Apple was tied to a post outside shop.

Seokmin brushed his hair back and smiled at you.

“I know you are surprised to see me, but—,”

“No no no,” you shook your head and gripped the counter tightly, your legs feeling like thin jelly, “you cannot be here, y-you cannot—”

“I have to speak with you.” Seokmin said.

Your eyes flitted toward a metal bucket sitting in the corner.

“Not right now,” you spluttered quickly, “I have to refill the water, for our kitchen.”

The Prince frowned. You were surprised he wasn’t swathed in his usual entourage, that his closest companion, Jeonghan, was nowhere to be seen. Whilst you scooped the bucket from the floor and rushed toward the bakery doorway, Seokmin knew you were only using it as an excuse to avoid him. What else could you do? Your heart was far too fragile.

“This is just as much an inconvenience to myself as well as you,” the Prince announced very staidly, “you know this conversation must happen. Why bother avoiding it?”

Seokmin followed you through the doorway, where Apple was grazing at a patch of honeysuckle in the grass. You refused to look back at him.

“Exactly! It is an inconvenience that can easily be avoided if you return to the castle.”

Marching behind the bakery, you threw the metal bucket on the ground and kicked it under the well, pumping it full of cold water. .

“I refuse to return. Not until we talk about what happened!”

“Maybe I do not want to entertain that idea!” You let go of the handle, instead whipping around, facing the persistent Prince. “It was a mistake! That’s it!”

Seokmin shook his head. “Why are you so hostile? Why can you never discuss anything without starting an argument?”

You didn’t bother suppressing your scoff. “Have you ever noticed the only person I treat with such hostility, is you? Has that ever crossed your mind, Prince Seokmin?”

“Of course I know!” He quipped whilst frustratedly dragging a hand through his curls. “It has always been that way! That is why I always have to scorn you, since you behave so bitterly!”

“There is no one but yourself to blame.” You hissed, sensing the water prickle at your eyes.

The Prince looked stunned, for his mouth dropped open. “You still hold onto that memory so vehemently?”

At even the slightest reference to that humiliating, summer day forever engrained in your past, the heat flooded your eyes and you were completely helpless to stop the first tear from rolling down your cheek. There was no doubt, since that incident your hatred for Seokmin had completely blossomed, and in response to your poorly controlled anger, the Prince was left no choice but to respond with just as much belligerence. The ground between you grew terribly thick brambles and spikes, until it was impossible to even be in the same space without getting hurt.

Yet, if your hatred was exactly what you claimed it was, then your kiss with Seokmin should have never happened. Hatred was merely a dark, sinister form of passion, and no matter what circumstance, passion always lived inside your heart.

Wiping the tears away with the sleeve of your dress, you shook your head. “You humiliated me in front of half the royal’s children! How could I ever dismiss that?”

The Prince furrowed his brow. “That was ages ago. We were exactly that: children. Children can be stupid and say stupid and do stupid things!”

“I just don’t understand why you pretended for so long,” you whimpered to Seokmin, tightly clenching your fists, “if you never even liked me from the start…”

“I-I wasn’t pretending… I just couldn’t… I-I…” The Prince struggled to elaborate.

Suddenly, he could no longer look you in the eye, and a raspberry tint flooded his cheeks. You gulped, a dizzying sensation infiltrating your head as you willed your heart to stop beating so vivaciously.

Seokmin took a step closer toward you, an anxious colour to his face.

“If you just let me explain what I came here to tell you,” he murmured, “then perhaps we wouldn’t be at each other’s throats so adamantly.”

You folded your arms over your chest and pressed your lips shut. The silence was daunting, but at the same time you realized the bickering would lead to endless circles.

The Prince summoned a breath of courage and met your wet stare.

“I refused the marriage to Lady Adelaide. She will return to Markarth before the sunset. I only told my mother and father this morning.”

Slowly uncrossing your arms, you blinked at Seokmin in complete shock.

“S-Seriously?” You stammered, sweat tainting your palms.

“I had to,” Seokmin sighed, his eyes trailing the grass, “because of what happened with u—”

“I did not ask you to refuse her as a bride!” You hiccupped, salt glimmering at your tear ducts. To be the reason the kingdom’s next marriage crumpled apart, you couldn’t bear it.

“I know you didn’t!” The Prince retaliated, his voice booming. “Do you not think I am already aware of the great misfortune and trouble my decision brings to our kingdom? I did not refuse Lady Adelaide because we kissed – I refused the marriage because I do not love her, and it would be an utter disservice to both of us if we cannot reciprocate our own hearts.”

You bit down strictly on your bottom lip. It absolutely boggled your mind that Seokmin felt no love toward Lady Adelaide, when everyone who saw her fell head over heels. Whether it was her beauty, wealth, or the perfect sweetness of her character, everyone in the kingdom had something positive to say in regards to their potential princess. Maybe you had not gelled with her in the same manner as everyone else, but you knew this marriage had been anticipated since the day Seokmin was born, and the fact such a monumental celebration would have to be pushed back created a recipe for tension.

The Prince set his hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“That is what I had to tell you,” he spoke in a much gentler tone, “it was not my intention to anger you, or make you this upset. But I have to remain honest with myself…”

“W-What are you saying?” Sounded your trembling, unsteady breath.

The sunlight splashed into Seokmin’s eyes, igniting them in a blazing copper. You felt swelteringly hot as the boy brushed against your cheek with his fingers before he leaned in close to your face, still damp with tears. You couldn’t concentrate on anything apart from the low velvet of his voice and how sincerely he admired you.

“I’m saying that I’m in love with you.”

Just before you entered the cool balm of the river, you spent a few moments stroking Apple’s caramel mane and picking berries from the nearest thicket to feed her. For such a strong, firmly-built horse, she was delicate in nature, just as you remembered her from your childhood. You ran your palm along the coarse side of Apple’s fur, scratching lightly so her ears would twitch, before hearing Prince Seokmin lilt your name. When you looked to the river, you saw him grinning at you, his black hair soaking wet and pushed back from his forehead.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand there for an eternity?”

“No,” you replied, “I was just looking after your horse.”

“Trust me, Apple gets pampered more than I do.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally grabbed the pale lilac hem of your dress, peeling the material over your head and letting it fall into a ball on the grass. In nothing but your undergarments, Seokmin gazed at you fondly, watching how you carefully waded deeper and deeper into the river until your toes could hardly scrape the smooth pebbles. Afternoon sunlight spun between the canopy of leaves overhead, which dappled the calm peaks in the water, making them sparkle. Seokmin swam closer to you. He was truly breathtaking as the rays caressed his amber skin and danced in his eyes like a honey fire.

The boy’s fingers brushed your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist and drape your arms over his wide shoulders. He held you tightly, his lips forming a lovestruck smile.

“Will your anxious mother not worry as to why her son has been out for so long?” You couldn’t help but tease him.

“I told her I would not be back for supper. At worst, she’ll send Jeonghan as my scout.”

“Do you think he could keep his mouth shut if he saw us together?”

Seokmin titled his head back with laughter, and you could see his perfect rows of teeth. “I have little certainty,” he admitted, “but Jeonghan would keep a secret if I forced him to.”

“That is reassuring to hear.” You replied with a smirk.

It was best to give the kingdom ample time to recover after the displeasing news of Seokmin’s cancelled marriage with Adelaide rapidly spread. She was supposed to be his first choice, his destiny as the King and Queen preached with every ounce of their souls. Furthermore, the royal family would definitely not be mirthful to discover that Seokmin had rejected Adelaide because his heart beat for a childhood crush from the lower village. That was unheard of, unfathomable, and rather unorthodox, which caused you and Seokmin to keep your relationship a secret.

At times there was pressure, there was great difficulty and frustration, but neither you or him could keep away from each other. You didn’t have to be married, or live in his sumptuous castle where everything was either expensive silk or encrusted with some sort of precious gem. It was quite simple: you just wanted to be with him – the environment wasn’t important. When you began seeing each other, you realized that on the summer day of your childhood where the Prince had humiliated you was a shtick orchestrated by his friends.

In actuality, Seokmin always had a crush on you, though at the time, the tender strings of his heart were easily pulled by them, and what could have been the start of a relationship ended up in years of bickering, unnecessary hatred, and repressed emotion. Cupping a hand against Seokmin’s damp cheek, you leaned in to kiss him softly. You smiled against his mouth upon feeling his hands squeeze your thighs.

“Can I give you something?” You then asked in a quiet voice.

The Prince nodded, allowing your feet to touch the pebbles again.

“Of course, angel.” He complied.

Together, you left the river. Whilst Seokmin started petting Apple’s shimmering coat, you picked up the dress on the forest floor and reached into one of its pockets, brushing the beaded chain with your fingers. When Seokmin turned around and saw you holding a necklace, his eyes lit up in a marvelous fashion and an endearing smile beamed from one corner of his mouth to the other. It was the beech wood necklace, in which you had carved a small firefly in order to complete the pendant.

“I carved this from a piece of wood I discovered outside your castle, on the day Chan and I had to cook for the pages. At first, I had no idea what to make of it, but then I decided on a firefly.”

Seokmin admired the pendant up close. It felt wonderful to see him examining it with such an appreciative light in his gaze. The Prince connected the chain around his neck, to which the wooden oval sat between his prominent collarbone.

“I-I thought I should gift it to you. And, whenever we must be apart, you can just think of this necklace, and the comfort that comes from a firefly’s glow.”

Suddenly, the boy’s hands were atop your hips. He pulled you in close against his body, still gleaming with water droplets, and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. You could sense just how much ardour and warmth was laced into the contact, and a dense heat scattered beneath your cheeks. He tasted like the sugar powder and strawberries you ate before visiting the river.

“It’s beautiful.” Seokmin whispered.

He pecked your mouth again sweetly whilst you felt a gentle breeze blow throughout the forest, causing the tiny hairs on your damp skin to stand sharp. You cozied yourself closer into Seokmin’s chest, smiling like a foolish romantic at his words.

“Thank you, my love. I will hold onto it forever.”

✧✎ a/n: okay when i started writing this i THOUGHT it was going to be so short, like at most 4-6k, but then i was at the 6k mark, only halfway done, and i realized it was going to be another ‘wish’ situation lol. i’ve never written a royalty!au before so i felt like i was reaching into the dark a little bit jsefhwef but i hope it was still pleasant! as always i treasure all ur guys feedback so pls don’t hesitate to leave ur th0ts!! i haven’t written for seok in ages and it felt super nice to give him a lengthy fic! contrary to nobody’s belief - this was not inspired by owl city lol.

#seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen seokmin #seokmin scenarios #lee seokmin #seokmin angst #seokmin fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt x reader #enemies to lovers

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dangerdangerhighvoltage · 3 years ago

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Night Off (MC x Kojuro x Tsunamoto)

MC and Kojuro are trying to navigate their relationship after finally hooking up, only for Tsunamoto to crash the party with his chaotic ass. it's double daddy duty featuring one of supporting cast's finest. nsfw!

You never were one to concentrate on one thing at a time.

As you scooped porridge into a bowl, you mentally listed all the letters that were awaiting a response from Kojuro. You carefully laid the soft doughy orb of mochi on top of the porridge while noting you needed to track down that retainer to get his report on how the crops were faring this season. As you attempted to remember the name of some Western book Lord Masamune had requested, the boiling water you meant to pour into the teapot had instead landed on your hand.

“Ahh!” you hissed. Chastised by your own folly, you finally focused on the task at hand, assembling the tray for Kojuro’s afternoon tea break including an extra tea cup for yourself. It had been a few weeks since the incident, and you were relieved that things were starting to feel normal again, if not a little awkward.

The month before last, the clan embarked on a particularly brutal campaign. Upon their return, an abnormally shaken Kojuro promptly made love to you, after a year of working closely late into the night, nursing each others’ hangovers, confiding in each other different ways to help Lord Masamune not be so hard on himself. Kojuro fucked you on his desk on the heaps and heaps of his letters and notes and then again in his bedding, drawing from you something he had left on the battlefield. You were genuinely surprised Kojuro had made good on the attraction between you, but the next day, you could have sworn you overheard Shigezane distributing to a handful of retainers what sounded like payouts for a bet.

You and Kojuro decided that while you both enjoyed yourselves that night and were clearly well suited, it was not the best time to pursue something real, not with the Ashina acting up as they were. The others teased Kojuro endlessly about making an honest woman out of you, and for some reason, a part of you believed he actually wanted to. But the thing about Kojuro was he would never be forced to make a decision about you so long as he had that endless pile of work on his desk to hide behind.

It’s not as if you wanted to be an honest woman anyway.

And so it was as though you started your relationship from scratch, relearning boundaries and reacquainting yourself with some professional distance. The only acknowledgment of your intimacy—other than the fact that he ceased referring to you as his “precious girl”—was the fact that you had started to join him for his afternoon tea every day. And that’s exactly what you were looking forward to doing when you walked back into his office, tray in hand, only to find a brawny, effortlessly disheveled, scar-faced sight sitting in your spot.

“Look what the winds blew in,” Kojuro said to you mischievously.

“Lord Tsunamoto!” you exclaimed, shocked to see the handsome man before you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Whereas Kojuro was seated rather formally at his desk, Tsunamoto sat back outstretched, his chest peeking through his signature, generously loose robe. You’d always been a bit nervous around the man, his lingering eye contact, and general aversion to modesty. You dismissed him as not your type more as a form of self protection, like a chest of gunpowder dodging a spark. Despite being polar opposites, he and Kojuro were thick as thieves when reunited, Kojuro bringing a calm patience out in Tsunamoto, and Tsunamoto reviving a roguish edge in Kojuro.

“Surprised to see me?” Tsunamoto declared more than asked. Why did everything about him seem flirtatious?

“Did you send a letter?” you asked, knowing he hadn’t. “I’d have planned a feast if I knew you were visiting!”

“No need for the fanfare. I’m just passing through for a few days.”

"Too late, I already have a menu in mind,” you said, picking up the teapot. Tsunamoto’s eye locked on the second cup as you poured the tea. Your face heated up as you watched him realize the second cup wasn’t meant for him, that maybe he was interrupting something. You wondered if from just one mundane piece of ceramic, he deduced everything about your and Kojuro’s past. Tsunamoto cocked his head, and directed an inquisitive smile toward Kojuro who was suddenly couldn’t seem to drink his tea fast enough.

"I suppose there’s no point in trying to stop you,” Tsunamoto relented, graciously accepting the cup you offered.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Kojuro quipped.

“Uh huh.” Tsunamoto noted. His gaze flickered to you.

“Let me bring you some oshiruko,” you said with a firm smile and a desperate need to catch your breath.

“No need,” Kojuro waved away. “Bring him his favorite dessert.”

You cocked your head at him in confusion. The two men looked at each other in a way that made your cheek tingle.

“Sake,” Kojuro said slyly.

The next morning, you arrived at training, where Tsunamoto had stepped in to lead. After sparring one-on-one with every retainer, he finally approached you.

“Solid form,” he offered as your wooden swords cracked against one another. You had been on the defense the whole time, allowing him to gain ground or at least think he was. Luckily for you, his strength made him slower, and as his body twisted to strike at you, you quickly maneuvered under his swing, striking him in his side in a full low lunge. He let out a laugh as you smiled shyly to yourself.

“I’ve taught her well, huh?” Kojuro called out from afar, who had apparently stopped by to observe training.

“Technique was always your strength,” Tsunamoto called back to him.

You resumed sparring, Tsunamoto hitting a bit stronger and moving much faster than before. With every step you took, he met you there, almost predicting your movements. The confidence you gained now sputtered out as you barely dodged his attacks. Running out of ideas, you tried a new gambit Kojuro taught you but as you spun around, you felt yourself caught in a vise-grip, your back to Tsunamoto’s chest as if he was simply waiting for you to fall into his trap. His arms easily restraining yours, he brought his lips to your ear and lowered his voice, looking directly at Kojuro who was watching the two of you intently.

“See, I know a few of Kojuro’s weaknesses as well,” he said, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Besides, who do you think taught him?” He let you go and jogged back over to the rest of the retainers as if nothing happened. Straightening out your hakama, you looked over at Kojuro who hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

After a full day of cooking and preparing, you tried to make yourself scarce during that night’s feast. You spent the evening running back and forth between the kitchen and main hall, hauling food and empty dishes until someone, you weren’t sure who, grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit between Kojuro and Tsunamoto. Despite your initial protests, the two of them finally convinced you to stay and enjoy your own handiwork. You relented, and jovially ate, drank, and chatted with the rest of them, until you remembered something.

“Hells, I never spoke to Shiroishi about the crops today,” you confessed with a grimace.

“Yeah, I'm not sure Shiroishi is in any state to discuss much of anything,” Tsunamoto said. Across the room, the retainer in question was somewhere between laughing drunk and falling asleep drunk.

“What kind of master am I?” Kojuro bemoaned. “My own page sitting here thinking about work when she should be enjoying herself?”

“She learned from the best,” Tsunamoto joked under his breath.

“Milord,” you started, “You’re a good ma—”

He turned to you, his face serious. “I want you to forget about all your work. Take the night off and just have a good time, okay?” Since you and Kojuro slept together, “good time” had become something of a loaded term.

“But Milord,” you teased. “Who will keep your desk clear?”

“I can keep my own desk clear for one night, thank you very much!”

“You didn’t even clear it when we—”

You cut yourself off abruptly and bowed your head in embarrassment, suddenly realizing how much you had drank. Tsunamoto let out a satisfied laugh, and you thought Kojuro would strike you down then and there for your slip up. But he merely smirked at you, amused. It’s not like anyone else had heard outside you three—by now all the retainers were completely intoxicated and Lord Masamune had excused himself long ago.

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time, precious girl,” Kojuro fired back with a small, unbearably winning smile. You were at once delighted and flustered by Kojuro’s familiarity and Tsunamoto's presence. You didn’t know what to make of him playing witness to this charged tête-à-tête.

Sensing the tension, Tsunamoto spoke up. "That’s our Kojuro, always with the last word.”

“You see what I have to work with every day?” you fussed, turning to him with a big smile.

"You poor thing,” Tsunamoto said, playing along and touching your cheek. You were surprised by the gesture, but played it off well. You happily sipped your sake, oblivious to the glance Kojuro and Tsunamoto shared, an entire unspoken conversation transpiring above your head.

It was late into the night when the last of the retainers drunkenly shuffled off to their quarters for the night, and Kojuro asked you to bring a jug of sake to his office. When you arrived you were astonished to find the two of them seated across Kojuro’s desk boisterously engaged in a heated match of arm wrestling of all things. Only Tsunamoto could convince Kojuro to engage in such nonsensical activities.

“So these are the brilliant, visionary advisors of the Date clan,” you huffed as they cheerfully welcomed you. You sat down at the edge of the desk and looked back and forth between them before pouring the sake. With great effort, Kojuro finally pressed Tsunamoto’s knuckles into the wood.

“Damn,” Tsunamoto grumbled. They downed the sake and immediately put their elbows back on the table, ready for another bout. You poured more sake and sipped on your own. "Alright, this is the tiebreaker,” Tsunamoto said, flexing his fingers.

“And what is the prize?” you asked.

“A kiss from the beautiful page,” Tsunamoto cracked.

“And smart,” you added.

“Right, a kiss from the beautiful and smart page,” Tsunamoto beamed.

Kojuro looked up at you, concerned. “[Y/n], you don’t have to—”

“Okay,” you said simply. Kojuro was dumbfounded.

“What?”

“I said okay. I will kiss whoever wins this stupid competition,” you said with a shrug. Did those words just come out of your mouth? The two men looked at each other again, and again you felt that tingle in your cheek.

“You heard her, Kojuro,” Tsunamoto said.

“I suppose I did.”

The two readied themselves on Kojuro’s desk, grasped hands and began, but this round was different. For the first time since Lord Tsunamoto arrived, the two men went silent as they strained to defeat the other.

“Kojuro, finally putting up a fight. Desperate for a kiss, old man?” Tsunamoto jeered.

"Put as much effort into training as you do into talking shit and you’d have unified Japan yourself by now,” Kojuro taunted back.

Unable to fathom the scene playing out in front of you, you simply took another shot of sake. It was a total deadlock for minutes until suddenly with a loud crack, both men were sent to the floor. Apparently Kojuro’s poor desk gave out from the pressure of the match or perhaps it had simply lost the will to live after years of neglect and misuse. The three of you devolved into a fit of laughter as you pieced together what had occurred.

“A draw!” Kojuro howled.

“We both lost? How pathetic!” Tsunamoto asked, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and trying not to laugh again, though you sensed he was relieved at the outcome. The two men sat up on either side of the broken desk, looking down in amused pity.

“Or maybe,” you said timidly. “You both won.”

You couldn’t believe what you had just said. What you had just implied. The two men froze and looked at you, waiting for the catch, for you to burst into laughter and exclaim, “Gotcha!” and tease them endlessly for thinking twice. But you didn’t.

“[Y/n]?” Kojuro asked softly with a nervous smile.

With the latest shot of sake taking effect, you leaned over to him and gave him a firm kiss. His body froze before you, and you instantly cursed yourself for being so stupid and so forward. What were you thinking? You expected him to pull back, graciously reiterate the need for professionalism, and dismiss you for the night, but to your surprise, he dug his fingers in your hair and deepened the kiss. His tongue grazed your lips hungrily and bit your lip the same way he did when you first kissed just weeks ago, and you felt the same rush of sensual relief.

The two of you parted with a small, uncertain smile. You took a breath and looked deep into the torrent of Kojuro’s eyes.

“I’m going to kiss him now,” you said. “Is that alright, Milord?”

“Of course,” Kojuro said with a genuine smile. “He earned it just as much as I did.”

Kojuro watched as you leaned over to Tsunamoto. For perhaps the first time ever, Tsunamoto looked thrown off, almost nervous, which exhilarated you. You lips brushed over his. He looked over at Kojuro questioningly, and Kojuro nodded encouragingly. Satisfied with this, Tsunamoto closed his eyes and drew you closer, hungrily lapping at and biting your lips. You expected him to be an aggressive kisser compared to Kojuro, but there was also a sweetness about the way he gently swept his tongue against yours.

Tsunamoto broke the kiss before you were ready. You hadn’t even noticed that Kojuro had moved the broken table aside and moved closer to you. The two men stood up and pulled you up between them.

“Are you sure you want this?” Kojuro asked. You looked at the dizzyingly handsome men on either side of you. “Want us?”

“Yes,” you panted as you kissed Kojuro again, grabbing his collar. You felt Kojuro loosen your obi as Tsunamoto stood behind you and began to kiss your neck, his hands loosening your collar. You reached to grasp at both of their hair as Tsunamoto opened up your kimono, exposing your breasts.

Kojuro leaned back and took the sight in before leaning down and taking your nipple into his mouth. From behind, Tsunamoto took your other breast into his hand and possessively turned your head to kiss you.

“Nghgh,” you moaned as both the men worked your breasts. Kojuro finally removed your obi and your body was completely exposed. He licked his fingers and placed them between your legs, where he began stroking you. You were already wet, but you had to admit you missed his touch. Tsunamoto slid the kimono completely off your shoulders, his hands trailed down the sides of your body and he grabbed a handful of your ass.

“Fuck,” Tsunamoto exhaled. “You have this parading around your office all day?” You caught a glimmer of pride in Kojuro’s eyes as you set to work on Kojuro’s obi, freeing him of his robes. You were pleased to find he was already hard. You grasped him, and looked behind you to find Tsunamoto removing his own robe.

“Come here,” Tsunamoto said as he lowered himself to the floor and lied down. Kojuro guided you to Tsunamoto’s head and gently pushed you down onto your knees until they flanked Tsunamoto’s ears. You could feel the warmth of Tsunamoto’s breath on your slit. Kojuro stood in front of you, his member in hand. You grabbed it and held it to your lips, teasing his tip with your tongue as Tsunamoto ran his fingers in and out of your folds, spreading them. You finally took Kojuro fully into your mouth just as Tsunamoto pulled you down fully onto his lips and eager tongue. You immediately felt a pulse of pleasure shoot from Tsunamoto’s tongue to your extremities, and you let out a loud moan around Kojuro.

You started to squirm, but Tsunamoto held you in place like a clamp as he lapped you up. There was clearly no escaping your own pleasure—the only thing you could do, really, was take it out on Kojuro. You furiously swirled your tongue around him. Cursing, Kojuro ran his fingers through your hair and pushed further into your mouth, which in turn, made you grind your hips harder on Tsunamoto’s face, who moaned as he sucked on your clit.

“Ride him,” Kojuro growled and you looked up. “I want to see.” He was wearing the same face he was when he watched you at training earlier that day. Feeling your climax start to build up, you began to ride Tsunamoto’s face harder, thrusting your hips back and forth whimpering, his fingers clenched deep in your hips, his tongue unabating. You started to lose focus and could barely hold onto Kojuro, abandoning his pleasure in search of your own. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, captivated, as you grabbed your own breast and unraveled before him on Tsunamoto’s face with a full-throated sigh.

You got off Tsunamoto and collapsed as he got on his knees. "God I hope she feels as good as she tastes,” Tsunamoto said, licking the corners of his mouth.

“He would know,” you said boldly staring down Kojuro.

“Find out for yourself,” Kojuro said. The two men looked at you and you nodded.

Tsunamoto pulled you to him. He sat back on his heels and guided you into his lap, wrapping your legs around him as his tip teased your opening before pushing himself in.

“You feel incredible,” Tsunamoto uttered in amazement. He stretched you out gently.

You surveyed the scar that trailed down Tsunamoto’s brow and onto his regal cheek. Your gaze locked on his other eye and as he began thrusting in earnest, it suddenly became so clear why Tsunamoto carried himself with endless confidence. You watched him roll his hips tantalysingly slow and deep into you, hitting all the right spots.

“How does he feel, precious girl?” Kojuro asked. He was stroking himself at the sight of you.

“He feels so—uuuunnnh!” Your response was interrupted by a particularly deep plunge Tsunamoto took.

You looked back at Kojuro and reached for him, but he leaned back just out of reach with a mean grin. “You need to learn to focus on the task at hand,” he said lovingly. He watched as Tsunamoto drove into you harder and faster, his strong arms essentially keeping you floating as he slid in and out of you. Kojuro was completely entranced, savoring the way your eyes glazed over as his oldest friend in the world fucked the woman he loved if only he'd let himself, wondering if the most precious things weren’t meant to be shared.

Tsunamoto slowed down in an attempt to stave off his own climax. Kojuro kneeled behind you, steadying you as Tsunamoto pulled out of you and you got your bearings.

“Are you alright, precious girl?” You nodded, catching your breath.

“Good. All fours,” Kojuro directed. You did so, swaying your hips in an attempt to further tempt him. Kojuro sidled up behind you and caressed your back, kissing the dimples on your lower back. Your eyes met Tsunamoto’s as Kojuro positioned his cock between your folds and pressed in. You let out a long, lusty moan that bloomed more for every inch he filled you. He hadn’t taken you from behind before, and you wondered how you’d be able to work alongside him anymore after this.

You lost yourself in Kojuro’s languid thrusts and found yourself again, grinding back against him. He whisked you up on your knees, pressing your back against his chest.

“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you,” he professed softly into your ear. “That I haven’t dreamed of feeling you like this again.” He wrapped his arm around your torso to keep you in place as he dove in and out of you. Tsunamoto crawled over to you and bent down, pressing his tongue squarely on your clit.

“Ahhnn!” You cried out as he raked his tongue up and down from your clit to your opening where Kojuro was thrusting into you.

The sensation was too much too soon, so you grabbed Tsunamoto’s hair, pulled him to your face, and gave him a frantic, sloppy kiss as you took his cock and stroked him. You felt Kojuro lean over your shoulder, and you pulled away.

“She taste as good as she feels?” Kojuro asked as Tsunamoto approached. You watched as the two men took each other by the lips. You joined in, the three of you licking, biting, sucking each other as you pumped Tsunamoto to Kojuro’s rhythm.

Tsunamoto stood up in a frenzy and placed his cock on your lips. You knew he was close, and you took him into your mouth. “You are taking us so well,” Tsunamoto said as you devoured him. As Kojuro devoured you. You whined as you felt the electricity build up in your core.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded. “I’m so close!”

Kojuro managed to fuck you even faster and harder. He brought his hand between your legs, his fingers fluttering on your clit as Tsunamoto all but fucked your mouth. Kojuro groaned as you screamed in pleasure around Tsunamoto’s cock.

“I’m coming,” Tsunamoto rasped as he ejected into your mouth. You did your best to take it all as you reached your own climax. You felt feverish, heat tearing through your body and cracking you open.

“Come for me my precious girl,” Kojuro snarled in your ear.

You let out a cry as the pleasure rushed through you, leaving you trembling. You tightened unbearably around Kojuro’s cock, and he finally released into you with a curse.

The three of you collapsed on the floor, sprawled in a heap of pleasure and exhaustion and a giggle or two.

“If only every trip to Oshu was this fun,” Tsunamoto simpered. You sighed a chuckle in response.

Kojuro reached up for his kiseru. You caressed his back, muscular by training, worn by war. “You know, [y/n],” he panted. “You should take the night off more often.”

You and Tsunamoto shared a knowing look, both helplessly endeared by the precious, precious man.

#slbp sasuke #slbp smut #slbp kojuro #slbp tsunamoto #katakura kojuro #oniniwa tsunamoto #tsunamoto

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shards-of-divinity · 4 years ago

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"Bone-Weary" a WenZhou Word of Honor fic.

Summary: "A'Xu...Haven't you traded massages with a martial sibling after long hours of training or travel?"

Before he can stop himself Zhou Zishu takes his discarded sash and holds it up. “Blindfold yourself and you can do what you want to do.”

He watches Wen Kexing’s throat bob before he quickly rallies himself, flicking his fan out and cocking his head with a slow smile.

“So we’ve switched to this type of play? A’Xu, you continue to surprise me and I only want to know more. The last thing I want to do is over-tax you in your condition--”

Or, in which Wen Kexing takes care of Zhou Zishu after their impromptu swim.

(Find me here on AO3)

He forces himself not to shiver in the night air, energy depleted still from the toxin that lingers in his veins. Not for the first time, Zhou Zishu hates the nails that restrict his internal force and how long it's taking to bounce back even with the tincture he had on hand.

Pushing aside the thought, he tries to focus on his meal. The rabbit meat is stringy and burnt in places but still hot and Zhou Zishu forces himself not to eat too fast. Any food at this point would aid in rebuilding the energy he is expending to heal.

"A'Xu, you flatter me with your enthusiasm for my cooking!"

Zhou Zishu glances at Wen Kexing out of the corner of his eyes; hiding a huff of laughter at the slender fingers trying to make work of the ruined meat. As if he could feel Zhou Zishu staring, Wen Kexing's laughing eyes meet his and he leans in closer.

"If you had followed me back to my boat there would have been a much better meal for us."

"This is enough," Zhou Zishu says, ignoring the pout sent his way. How a grown man and (very likely) accomplished martial artist can look so pitiful and still have any face is beyond him.

"At least try to lie a bit better than that, A'Xu. One can only do so much with only this fire and no kitchen or spices. After the feast at Sanbai Manor--especially those delightful prawns--this is unseemly."

Zhou Zishu's face reddens slightly at the memory of Wen Kexing boldly placing the prawns on his plate as if they were close and anything other than reluctant travel partners. He takes another bite and hopes the firelight hides the color lingering in his cheeks.

"Surely with such a well trained and graceful form you're used to finer things than this poor meal. Your attempt at a disguise and demeanor can't hide the elegance in your every move, A'Xu."

Again with the excessive compliments! Zhou Zishu slowly lifts his head from his food and stares. Wen Kexing is watching him, chin propped on his hand again. Once again he wonders if the man is trying to throw him off balance, enjoys teasing him or…

Or.

The final option just isn't a possibility.

Before he can think of a reply, a cough forces its way out of Zhou Zishu and the food tumbles from his hand to the ground.

"Zhou Xu!"

As he's wracked with a coughing fit, suddenly all of his senses are invaded with Wen Kexing. His vision is full of the man's robes, he's surrounded by the scent of the river and wet hair and clothing, those things covering the faded smell of hair oils and tonics. The other man's warmth feels almost smothering as he leans in to try to steady Zhou Zishu through his coughing fit. He braces his hands on Wen Kexing's forearms, meaning to push him away but gripping tightly as he coughs harder.

Zhou Zishu forces himself upright and folds his body into a lotus pose, closing watering eyes. A second later Wen Kexing's energy flows into him and bolsters his own and Zhou Zishu ignores how compatible it feels.

"Will you follow me back to the boat now?" Wen Kexing is leaning over his shoulder too close in his ear and Zhou Zishu pulls away with a sigh. "You can't hide the way you're hunched into yourself and hurting; not from me."

"Of course, my form is so distracting to you I'm sure you've studied and memorized my every move, Lao Wen," Zhou Zishu quips back between more coughing, and there's a moment of silence between them.

"A'Xu you are shivering, soaked to the bone from our impromptu swim, and lacking energy. Please see reason?"

Zhou Zishu takes in a deep breath and turns to fully face Wen Kexing. "Who is partially to blame for my condition, Lao Wen?"

Wen Kexing sighs loudly. "Alright, alright. Let me make it up to you? On. The. Boat."

It's bone-deep weariness that finally forces Zhou Zishu to give in. In the nearly three years since he's left he's used to sleeping outdoors or in other uncomfortable places, but the excitement of his condition and last few days demand a proper rest.

He finds himself settled at a low table, a flavorful spread in front of him with heated wine. The two maids smile and sneak glances at him in curiosity as they bring more food. There's pea shoots with garlic, sweet sesame buns. Flavorful rice and tender white fish that is savory instead of overly bitter, and other foods placed before them. Zhou Zishu wonders again who exactly Wen Kexing is to just have such opulence at his fingertips, but doesn't hesitate to eat his fill as midnight creeps ever closer.

"So much better than charred rabbit, isn't it."

Wen Kexing pulls back his sleeve with extra flair as if they're at another banquet, serving Zhou Zishu first and then himself. Zhou Zishu tracks the movement, and feels the sudden (irrational) urge to bite at Wen Kexing's wrist.

There must have been something in the water, too, if Zhou Zishu can't control his thoughts.

"Who have you run into now, Master!"

Gu Xiang rises from below deck, bouncing forward; and settling herself between them both at the table. Zhou Zishu watches her face slacken in surprise while Wen Kexing smiles in amusement.

"Aiyah, it's you! Sick Dude!" She waves her finger in his face before rubbing at his cheek in wonder. "Master, you saw through the disguise and were right after all!"

Zhou Zishu leans back, smirking when Gu Xiang squawks loudly as her actions earn her a rap on the head from Wen Kexing's fan.

"Did you ever doubt me? You can see what I've always known, that A'Xu is truly a treasure."

Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes but smiles before returning to his meal. His thoughts drift between the clatter of his chopsticks against the plate, lulled by the savory food and energy of Xiang and Wen Kexing's bickering in the background.

It doesn't take long to finish the meal and round it off with fresh fruit and more wine and then Wen Kexing brings out his flute to play. The music slides smoothly from more refined pieces to local, jaunty tunes that might be more familiar in a tavern before finally returning to the Bodhi Meditation Song. Zhou Zishu watches Wen Kexing’s eyes flutter shut as he plays, and he only stops when Gu Xiang sighs and rests her elbows on the table.

“Will you only play when this dude is around?”

The music continues, only a slight curl of Wen Kexing’s lips showing acknowledgement of the question. Zhou Zishu listens a few moments longer before clearing his throat.

“You don’t need to play all night for me again, Lao Wen.”

The Bodhi Meditation Song finishes after repeating once more and the look Wen Kexing levels him with after makes Zhou Zishu’s mouth go dry. It’s too assessing before his face softens to a playful smile. “Maybe you’re right, A’Xu. I am a bit tired...let’s get settled and start out fresh tomorrow!”

...

Zhou Zishu lets himself be led below the deck where a large, yet cozy room awaits, a small desk with texts stacked neatly rests against the corner along with a room divider and a bed just large enough for two people sits at the opposite wall. Paintings cover another wall and the final holds a small window. He wonders again who exactly Wen Kexing is to have this much at hand yet pursue him so relentlessly, trailing his fingers along the finely crafted wood of the desk.

“Does my modest room meet your tastes?”

He stares as Wen Kexing rummages through a clothing chest and pulls out two sets of inner robes for sleeping. He turns and hands them out with a flourish to Zhou Zishu, who stares blankly.

“My robes are fine--”

“A’Xu, if you won’t change for your own self preservation at least have pity on my bedding. How rude to sleep in a clean bed with wet and travel-soiled clothing, not to mention the blood or did you forget so easily?” Wen Kexing is suddenly in his space again, hand on its way to his brow. “Are you running a fever?”

Zhou Zishu smacks the offending hand away, and then he and Wen Kexing are sparring again, Wen Kexing’s delighted smile growing when he twists to avoid knocking into his desk; advancing and forcing Zhou Zishu to avoid hitting the end of the bed. They come to a stop when Zhou Zishu wavers a bit and he finds himself gently but firmly pushed to sit on the low bed.

“Enough play; you need your rest if we are to continue tomorrow.”

“Who says I was playing,” he grumbles, hissing softly when pain flares down his back and the ever-present ache in his body from the nails in his chest. He watches Wen Kexing take the Glass Armor from his sleeve and produce a key, putting it inside of his desk before locking it inside.

“Alright, A’Xu. Let me take care of you. A massage imbued with internal energy should help ease your discomfort.”

Zhou Zishu pulls away when Wen Kexing tugs on his sleeve, schooling his face into something that isn’t shock. “That’s not really needed. You played the meditation song, I’ve eaten. I can sleep--”

“Come, A’Xu...Don’t you have a long journey ahead of you? Do you want your disciple to worry when he sees you in such a sorry state?”

His sleeve is pulled at again and Zhou Zishu peers into Wen Kexing’s face; taking in his wide eyes and open expression. There’s not a hint of teasing in sight.

"Haven't we shared multiple nights slumbering together under the stars? In a woodshed? Why be nervous now? Haven't you traded massages with a martial sibling after long hours of training or travel?"

Before he can stop himself Zhou Zishu takes his discarded sash and holds it up. “Blindfold yourself and you can do what you want to do.”

He watches Wen Kexing’s throat bob before he quickly rallies himself, flicking his fan out and cocking his head with a slow smile.

“So we’ve switched to this type of play? A’Xu, you continue to surprise me and I only want to know more. The last thing I want to do is over-tax you in your condition--”

Zhou Zishu’s head aches with how hard he rolls his eyes. “Will you do it or not?” he holds the sash up higher, watching Wen Kexing’s smile fade into a thoughtful look; setting down his fan and taking the sash from him.

“Despite what you think of me, I am a virtuous man. However, if it would ease you I’ll wear this."

While he doesn’t think Wen Kexing would truly violate his space, he still doesn’t want anyone who doesn’t need to see the evidence of the nails in his chest. It’s one of his most closely guarded secrets and he’s too tired for questions. He’s too tired to think of this massage as a poor idea, and leans against the wall to wait.

Wen Kexing brushes his hair over his shoulders before making quick work of putting on the impromptu blindfold. Once he’s situated, Zhou Zishu waves his hand in front of his face to make sure he truly cannot see before settling on the edge of the bed.

“Go ahead then, Lao Wen,” he murmurs, waiting and feeling oddly exposed somehow. There’s no reply and then hands come to rest lightly on his arms.

His robes are pulled down from his shoulders and pushed aside until they're pooled at his waist. Broad hands sweep along his shoulders before they begin to knead at the tense muscles, heated with internal energy and Zhou Zishu forces himself to not groan in relief. He allows himself to curl forward and Wen Kexing’s touch follows him.

There's no sound other than the light creaking of the boat and soft laughter and the clatter of dishes above them. Wen Kexing is--for once--blessedly silent, and Zhou Zishu glances over his shoulder to make sure the blindfold is still in place.

"Are you rendered speechless, Philanthropist Wen? No poetry or literature in honor of my flexibility or 'well-trained waist'?"

The hands pause on their journey, and Zhou Zishu can practically hear the smile he can't see. "I can be serious, and taking care of my A'Xu is an important task.”

Zhou Zishu settles again. He lets himself drift in the thumbs rubbing at his shoulders; Wen Kexing careful to avoid the injury and touch around it. His fingers digging into the right muscles in his biceps to help them loosen. His entire back is explored and given the same thorough treatment, even his arms; Wen Kexing learning in close enough that Zhou Zishu can hear him breathing steadily in his ear.

“‘...elegant and graceful is the lord; and fine match for the gentleman.’[1]--”

The soft words startle Zhou Zishu back into awareness. “I should have known better than to think you could stay quiet for longer than a half a dian[2]...”

A huff of laughter stirs the hair at the nape of Zhou Zishu’s neck and he suppresses a shiver. “You seemed disappointed that I didn’t compliment you earlier…” Wen Kexing’s fingers dig in deeper, the heat intensifying at the small of his back and Zhou Zishu feels restless; trying and failing to notice the new heat building in his belly and the need to arch back into that touch.

It’s been much too long if such a simple massage is drawing a reaction like this from him. He wonders what Wen Kexing would do if Zhou Zishu gave in to his body’s urges; turning around and pressing the man to the bed beneath him. Tangling his fingers in Wen Kexing’s hair and dragging that smiling mouth into a deep kiss. Rendering him breathless, but probably never silent. Would Wen Kexing battle him in his usual way for the upper hand or would he stretch out and take whatever Zhou Zishu gave him?

He thinks of pulling away his fine layers and seeing if the skin underneath is as pale yet strong as the wrist Wen Kexing flashed at him while pouring tea. If he’d laugh as much and smile while Zhou Zishu tasted the skin at his throat and trailed further downwards. He wonders what other tricks the man had hidden under the mask of elegance, and if his broad hands would take as much care exploring the rest of Zhou Zishu’s body.

Zhou Zishu’s thoughts cool down and turn to leaning back; letting his head fall onto Wen Kexing shoulder. How those soft lips would feel pressed to his own and of Wen Kexing��s hands coming forward to encircle him gently. When was the last time Zhou Zishu had been embraced by anyone? Much too long and the ache of loneliness pushes aside any unwanted arousal that he might have had.

“What are you thinking about?”

Zhou Zishu takes another breath, letting it out slowly. Wen Kexing’s hands have traveled during his errant thoughts, kneading back at his shoulders again. Zhou Zishu feels light, much better than he’s felt in months. The heat of Wen Kexing’s internal energy making him nearly boneless.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, and he hears Wen Kexing shuffle a bit behind him. “Thank you, Wen Kexing.”

“So formal when we’re like this,” Wen Kexing tsks, spending a bit more time before the energy fades until it’s barely warmer than the room around them. His fingers trail lightly down Zhou Zishu’s spine just to rile him up, and it breaks the moment. Zhou Zishu huffs and shifts forward to stand, but Wen Kexing follows; pulling his robes back up as carefully as he rolled them down.

“There, now we are done.”

Zhou Zishu stands and turns to look down at where Wen Kexing is seated perfectly; his robes settled around him as neatly as if they were at a banquet instead of in bed. His head tips back and a soft smile quirks his lips the longer Zhou Zishu stares.

“Unless you’d like more,” he laughs, reaching out and wiggling his fingers with a playful grin. “My martial siblings always said I had the most talented hands.”

Zhou Zishu shakes his head. “Boring.”

Wen Kexing’s delighted laughter rings around them. “Come now, A’Xu; laughter is also key to healing. Either way, may I remove this blindfold?”

“You’re finished aren’t you?” Zhou Zishu tosses over his shoulder, glancing back as Wen Kexing rises from the bed and removes the sash in one smooth movement. A pout overtakes the full lips and Wen Kexing is back to crowding into his space. “My sadness at not seeing more of your handsome form is soothed by the memory my hands will have of your soft skin and lovely shoulders.”

Wen Kexing tosses a lingering look over his shoulder before setting up the room divider to change and Zhou Zishu takes a deep, fortifying breath before undressing quickly.

“Come sleep, Zhou Xu,” Wen Kexing calls when they’re both dressed for bed, voice firm. Zhou Zishu steps closer and settles on the soft bed; sparing a look at Wen Kexing who looks softer than he’d think the man would in dove gray sleeping robes, hair braided over his shoulder and stretched out on his side.

“The floor would have sufficed.”

“Please, A’Xu. I would never let you sleep that way in my presence, and do you truly think I would sleep on the floor? You’re arguing just to be contrary! This bed is large enough after all and it’s for one night. Sleep.”

Zhou Zishu shakes his head but gets into the bed anyway. He glares half-heartedly at Wen Kexing’s smug smile, and rolls onto his good side; pulling the blanket over him. His skin prickles at the feeling of eyes watching him before the bed shifts and Wen Kexing rolls to face the other wall before settling down.

His last thoughts are of the piece of Glass Armor sitting in the locked drawer of Wen Kexing’s desk and the sound of the man’s slowing breathing behind him.

…

Zhou Zishu wakes feeling refreshed, blinking away half-remembered dreams of lips pressing against his shoulder and a soft smile before focusing on the soft light that stretches across the room and the gentle sway of the boat. Footsteps clatter above, likely the maids or Gu Xiang and Zhou Zishu bites back a groan as he arches his back in a long stretch. His energy feels more stable if not as strong as he wishes, and the lingering pain from both wounds is gone. He slowly drags his arm up and pushes the sleeve aside to see healed skin.

A soft sigh draws his gaze to Wen Kexing where he’s much closer than he was the night before, practically sharing Zhou Zishu’s body heat and pillow. The dawn light casts the other man in different shades of pinks and reds and Zhou Zishu is struck with the odd urge to capture him with the same reds as the flowers he painted in what feels like a lifetime ago.

He wonders about a different life, where he could completely let down his guard and confide in someone in waking hours instead of wishing while the world is asleep. A life where he is whole and able to reach out to trace the sleep-slackened face of a lover or train a smiling and eager disciple. To belong again in a place and not wander in guilt and feel a weariness down to his bones.

“I thought I was the shameless one. Here you are watching me sleep, A’Xu.”

“No one alive could match your levels of shamelessness,” Zhou Zishu quips back, his voice hoarse from sleep. He blinks, focusing on the indentations on Wen Kexing's cheek from the pillow instead of his lips.

Instead of deterring him, Wen Kexing rolls onto his side and props himself up so he’s looking down; eyes sweeping over Zhou Zishu’s thankfully blanket clad form.

“The only shame is I was denied the view of you waking. I keep missing it!”

He rolls onto his back, draping his arm over his eyes; secretly grateful for Wen Kexing waking when he did. Zhou Zishu has no right or reason to try to imagine a life that is impossible or including the man at all. Despite the short amount of time they’ve known Wen Kexing has invaded the cracks of his defenses, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it other than foolish and yet sad he’s not got enough time to see what might happen.

There's a sharp rap at the door and Zhou Zishu sits up quickly, pushing himself up from bed and moves until he’s halfway across the room. Gu Xiang opens it with a basin full of steaming water, not hiding her curiosity as she looks between him and Wen Kexing who is standing just behind him.

"A'Xiang, have you suddenly become so disciplined that you're bringing the bathing supplies so early in the morning? Are Yun Cai and Hong Lu still unwell?"

She sets the basin down and rises slowly.

"No, Master. They're well...but you did sleep longer than you usually do,” Gu Xiang says with raised eyebrows and Zhou Zishu huffs a laugh as Wen Kexing takes the basin from Gu Xiang, setting it down on the table before waving her out of the room

"How could you criticize such a dedicated servant, Lao Wen?” Zhou Zishu teases. “One who is also a cute young lady?"

"A'Xu. You hurt me...dropping so many sweet words to everyone else but me." Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes as Wen Kexing snaps his fan open and steps closer. "Besides, that 'cute young lady' is as nosy as any old grandmother."

"Maybe she's protective instead?" Zhou Zishu shrugs, turning away.

Wen Kexing hums. “‘Protective’? I think I’d enjoy whatever you’d have planned for me, Zhou Xu.”

That startles a true laugh out of him, and Zhou Zishu lets his head fall back in amusement. If only Wen Kexing knew. When he finishes laughing and turns around, Wen Kexing is watching him in a way he can’t read. Zhou Zishu would almost say conflicted and maybe even enthralled and Zhou Zishu shakes his head; setting up the room divider between them to break the charged energy in the room. Wen Kexing pushes it aside a second later.

"Not so fast, A'Xu," and Zhou Zishu steps back as Wen Kexing invades his space with a mountain of robes.

"How could you possibly continue in those old robes now that you are not wearing your disguise? I’ve got plenty more here for you to choose from." Wen Kexing begins to pile robes over his arm until the riot of colors makes Zhou Zishu dizzy.

"Alright, alright. At most I'll take these," he relents; grabbing plain robes in the softest blues, grays, and cream and turning around before Wen Kexing can do more. An irritated scoff meets his back and Zhou Zishu smirks, setting them down before putting the room divider back up.

He washes in the heated water quickly, ignoring the rustling of Wen Kexing doing the same. Zhou Zishu finishes his absolutions quickly, and emerges to see Wen Kexing standing there in deep turquoise and vibrant red.

"You look even more beauti--gallant, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing drawls, moving too close as usual and Zhou Zishu smirks back as the other man’s eyes linger.

“Here!"

He glances down at the wooden comb and guan in Wen Kexing’s hand, and takes them slowly. Their fingers touch briefly and Wen Kexing pulls away with a smile.

"Consider it a little gift."

"You're so generous, Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu says, taking time to brush his hair quickly and secure it before pushing the door aside ascending the steps.

“It’s only fair after you gave me the privilege of touching your naked flesh in my bed last night, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing purrs, and Zhou Zishu shoves him aside at Gu Xiang’s wide eyes and laughter combined with the two maids who hide their smiles behind their sleeves.

“You--!”

“Won’t you stay for another meal before you leave?” Wen Kexing rolls over any reply Zhou Zishu might’ve had and his protest dies in his throat. He rolls his eyes, ignoring all of the eyes on him and shakes his head; taking in the sun’s placement in the sky. “It’s later than I want it to be; it’s best to start out now.

“I’ll see you off then!”

Zhou Zishu gives up trying to shake him off, instead handing the comb out to Wen Kexing. “Thanks for lending this to me...and everything else.”

Wen Kexing’s hand folds over his, thankfully the angle of his body blocking the gesture from being seen. “It’s rude to refuse a gift and someone’s hospitality,” he says waving his fan at Zhou Zishu like he would an unruly child. “As for the rest, I’ll always be willing to care for you, Zhou Xu.”

Zhou Zishu turns Wen Kexing’s words over in his head, the weight of them too much to analyze at the moment. He stares at their hands for a moment before stepping away. He shares a long look with Wen Kexing before offering him a small smile of thanks.

He puts the comb in his money pouch and tucks it into his sash before jumping onto the cool, morning air; Wen Kexing's fond laughter ringing behind him as they travel towards the shore.

#word of honor #shan he ling #tian ya ke #wenzhou #wen Kexing #zhou Zishu

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daylightisminetoconsume · 4 years ago

Note

So I’m absolutely OBSESSED with Morgunmar. Do you have any more headcanons about them?

Do I have Morgunmar headcanons, yes. as many as I want? No.

Honestly I would absolutely LOVE more of them, especially from other people. I want to hear the headcanons others have about these two I need more love for this pairing. That being said...

Gunmar’s love language is touch, and Morgana’s is a blend of quality time and acts of service. she’s not used to people CHOOSING to spend time with her, or doing things for her on principle. To Gunmar, acts of service are just thing a self-respecting husband does. Rally the troops, organize a feast, send away changelings when she has a migraine, make sure Morgana’s not interrupted when she’s having seances with her undead siblings, that sort of thing.

Gunmar, meanwhile, is a touchstarved bloodshed abomination, so any chance he gets he likes to take Morgana’s hand, or kiss her cheek. One of their favorite things to do is sit together, either Morgana using gunmar as a self-heating piece of furniture, or Gunmar leaning against her with his chin in her lap. (this can be dangerous, her gentle eyebrow strokes have almost gotten her crushed when the Warlord started dozing off.)

Morgana has absolutely pushed Gunmar out of his comfort zone. She will not tolerate changelings being mistreated in front of her, now that the wars over. She’s also forced him to accept bathing twice a month. This became much easier once they gave up on coaxing him into a natural hotspring, and instead had a massive turkish bath installed in the castle. The Gumm-gumm king can, very reluctantly, be lead into the water, but only by his Queen.

Morgana, being the sadist she is, delights in scrubbing the sulking warlord down with coconut oil and unscented, home-made soaps.

Gunmar, in turn, shows his defiance by shaking the water off the instant he steps OUTSIDE the bathroom.

Many tapestries have needed replacing.

They go apple picking together. their home plane of Avalon is also known as the Isle of Apples, and the orchard is so thick that a troll can walk among the trees and never fear sunlight. While Gunmar isn’t fond of fruit, he does enjoy lifting his wife so she can reach the golden apples on the highest branches.

Morgana also grows garlic, roses, and cooking herbs.

the two of them often spar, usually brute force against magic, and while Morgana usually wins, the contests aren’t as clear cut as expected, especially since Trollmarket’s Heartstone helped Gunmar regain his youth and strength.

Gunmar taught Morgana how to cook a meat pie. It was actually one of the first things they did together. The Eldritch queen never had to learn to cook for herself, and Gunmar, as a soldier, needed to learn good ration recipes. One of their first times truly touching was him placing his claws over her hands to show her how to pound out the dough.

They have separate bedrooms in the castle, but usually sleep in the same bed two or three times a week.

Gunmar still does not quite understand breasts, and Morgana is not interested in explaining it to him.

#she will still inspire me

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wellthatjusthappend · 5 years ago

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Hi! May I request a sequel to A Love So Soft? Dick has run out of ideas to break Slade and Jason up, so he recruits Alfred. Alfred's master plan is to invite the happy couple to diner at the manor. Thank you!

Cute! I switched around Dick recruites Alfred to Alfred recruits himself, but it still works. Enjoy!

Man, Tumblr has decided to stop alerting me to anything, I totally didn’t see this come in.

****

Dick had officially run out of ideas.

Or well, he’d run out of ideas that wouldn’t end in absolute disaster. Every time he told himself that Jason’s safety was the most important part of all of this, he would imagine how badly Jason would react to him interfering. How angry and hurt he would be. How much he would hate Dick, even if Dick was doing it out of love.

Worse, Jason would probably be more determined to stick with Salde just to spite him.

So he did the only thing he could at this point and stalked Slade.

Which ended up being stalking both Slade and Jason, far more often than not. There were no words for how angry that made him. They were so sweet and gentle with each other, and every time Dick thought about what a cruel lie it all was, he wanted to strangle Slade.

Dick learned Jason was easy to fluster, and quick to blush, especially over romantic gestures.

He wished he couldn’t have found that out first hand. He wished that those looks could be because of anyone but Slade bloody Wilson.

Slade himself was almost never alone, but one day he broke his routine and headed out to the richer side of town.

Heart beating quickly, Dick followed him discreetly as he could. He was sure that Slade was finally showing his true colors. He’d finally be able to catch Salde red handed with his employer and have proof that Jason would have to believe.

To his surprise, Slade pulled up to the back of the lessor known Wayne properties and walked inside like he owned the place. Dick quietly parked behind him and snuck quietly to the door.

Maybe Slade was really using Jason to get at his connections to the Waynes? Unfortunately, this residence had almost no bugs because it was a private property Bruce had gifted to-

“Master Dick, stop skulking at the door like a criminal and come inside.”

“...Alfred?” Dick said in disbelief.

“Indeed. Now that you’ve demonstrated your staggering deductive skills, come inside and sit down. Tea is almost ready,” Alfred said, not even letting Dick get a word in before he was ushered in the kitchen where Slade was already lounging at the table with another man.

It looked like a small feast was being prepared and it smelled wonderful.

“I do wish you had informed me that you were bringing Master Dick along tonight, and early at that,” Alfred said bussing himself once more, “I will have to make some adjustments to the menu.”

“Got tired of the kid acting like my shadow,” Slade said, sipping his tea cooly.

“You- you’re here for dinner?” Dick spluttered in disbelief.

“Of course he is,” Alfred said briskly, “He’s Master Jason’s first serious relationship in a while, and I demand at least a monthly dinner from such prospects. You know that, Master Dick.”

Dick tried not to gape at him. From the way that Slade was smirking, he didn’t think he did a good job.

“How can you be ok with this?” he finally demanded, “he’s clearly using Jason.”

“Like he’s not totally whipped for the kid,” grumbled the man Dick recognized as Slade’s associate Wintergreen.

Slade sent him a withering look.

“Don’t give me that, the boy is much too good for an old man like you,” Wintergreen said bluntly.

“And you’ll be first in line to give me hell if I do wrong by him, yes, yes,” Slade huffed.

“Perhaps not the first,” Alfred said blandly.

It was probably a coincidence that he was sharpening knives.

“Duly noted,” Slade grumbled.

“We’re not doing this here,” Dick grumbled, grabbing Slade’s arm and towing him out of the room.

“And what, exactly are we ‘doing’, Grayson?” Slade drawled.

“You’re up to something,” Dick said, rounding on him.

“You’ve made it clear that you think so, yes,” Slade rolled his eye.

“Don’t forget I know you. I know you are with young people,” Dick snarled, jabbing his finger at his chest, “You’ll say all the nice things and string him along until you’ve gotten what you wanted and then you’ll screw him over. I’m not going to let that happen on my watch.”

Not again. Not to his- not to Jason.

“I can see why you’d come to that conclusion, but you’re dead wrong this time, kid,” Slade huffed, “believe it or not, I’m playing for keeps with this one.”

How dare he-

“Whatever your employer is paying, I’ll triple it,” Dick snapped.

“There is no job,” Slade growled, the slightest hint of real anger showing through.

“I don’t believe you,” Dick hissed.

“At least I care enough about him to actually be there for him when it matters. When’s the last time you bothered to check in on him for something not related to your so called ‘Mission’?” Slade said, using his height to loom over him fully.

“Don’t pretend you know a thing about us,” Dick snapped.

“Yeah? When’s the last time you asked him how he was? What are his hobbies? We’ve been together for almost a year and you’re just now figuring it out- and don’t even pretend you’re someone he could tell something like that when the first thing you did when found out was try and pay his partner into leaving him,” Slade said.

No one ever accused Slade of pulling his punches.

“You’re trying to use him to get at the family,” Dick accused.

“You know what I think? I think you’re jealous,” Slade said.

“You-”

“Jealous I get to have your sweet Little Wing while you get nothing but scraps,” Slade taunted, “Jealous that you were too much of a coward to risk making daddy Bats mad and I wasn’t. Jealous that you can’t make him happy like I can.”

“I- I’m not- you-”

“Or maybe you’re just jealous that you don’t get all my attention anymore,” he said thoughtfully.

Slade ran a thumb over Dick’s lower lip, and Dick was ashamed to say his thought process stuttered to a complete halt.

“You had your chance to be mine. That’s past, now. What hasn’t is your chance to be there for your dearest Little Wing. Are you going to fuck that up again?”

“Fuck you,” Dick choked.

“Tempting, but Jason has asked me to be exclusive. In the end, his opinion matters more to me than you.”

Ouch. Fuck- that really wasn’t something that should hurt like that. Dick knew it was all over his face, that Slade was seeing too much-

“Sorry I’m late, some fucker decided the I-90 would be a great place to-” Jason cut himself off, jacket hanging part way off his arms as he stared at Dick and Slade standing in the entryway, his face paling before turning closed and guarded.

Dick hated that.

“You haven’t missed anything,” Slade said abandoning his place next to Dick help take Jason’s jacket from him, “Those layabouts give you any trouble today?”

“Wh- no, they were- Slade.” Jason put a hand firmly on Slade’s chest as the older man tried to pull him close, sparring a quick alarmed look in Dick’s direction.

“He knows,” Slade said dismissively, not waiting any longer to draw Jason into a kiss.��

Dick couldn’t watch that so he turned on his heel and left the room.

He couldn’t process any of it. He couldn’t. It was all a trick Slade had cooked up. Maybe to turn the family against each other. It had to be a trick.

He headed towards the back door where his bike was parked and was stopped by Alfred on the way out.

“Master Dick… I want you to think carefully about the bridge you are about to burn by leaving this way,” Alfred said quietly, “Even if he denies it, your opinion matters to Master Jason. If you reject him now, I fear you may never get another chance.”

“Alfred- I can’t,” Dick pleaded. He couldn’t pretend to be okay with any of this. Couldn’t watch the softest between the couple in the other room and just- just-

“Is that so?” Dick could hear the disappointment in alfred’s voice and that hurt in a whole different way, “Well then, I shall go finish preparing dinner for our guests.”

He left him there alone in the hallway, and Dick wanted to scream about how unfair this all was. He stared blankly at the doorway for another several moments.

So goddamned unfair.

Dick turned around and walked back to the dinning room. Alfred had already set out a place for him, probably knowing he would come back. Wintergreen was keeping his thoughts to himself. Slade raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t comment because Dick didn’t know what nasty thing he would have said to him if he did.

Jason was looking at him with a deeply wary look that hurt somewhere deep in Dick’s chest. But there was also some horribly vulnerable hints of hope around his edges that made Dick know he had made the right decision by staying.

“If you ever hurt him-” Dick gritted out, glaring at Slade.

“Then you’ll help Jason maim me in some horribly creative way, yes. Overprotective threat duly noted,” Slade said boredly.

“Jesus fuck, you two are so-” Jason growled under his breath, but his ears were pink and Dick could tell he was gripping Slade’s hand under the table.

Dick sat down.

#requests #sequel requests #fic: a love so soft #my writing #sladejay #Anonymous

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elstine-harboson · 6 years ago

Text

Heaven and Hell.

Elstine stood proud, arms crossed over his chest and his hip popped back into a relaxed stance; his gentle caffeinated gaze focused on the two young children ahead of him. Each in their tenth summer, they shouted and swung about their makeshift wooden swords. Of course the young girl was easily overcoming her brother's attacks, having been specifically tutored in the art of combat by her Mother. Elstine's lips curled into a smug grin as he watched his son fall to the grass, the clear victor's blade pointed to his throat. The boy reminded him much of himself, perhaps not as physically astute as some of the soldiers and mercenaries within the Alliance ranks... But the boy was intelligent, wise, and quick of wits. Together, there was a feeling of satisfaction that burned into the center of his chest, a sensation never before felt... Elstine knew the Empire would continue and flourish as long as they both found partners as enchanting as his own.

Like a snow leopard, Scassira stalked over the dense foliage of their forest home; predatory gaze peering at the exposed throat of the Patrician, ready to feast. Pouncing, Elstine could feel the lithe arms wrapping around his torso, before being submitted to a series of gentle kisses along his jawline - the vicious huntress had struck her prey.

Elstine's satisfied smirk grew into a toothy grin, wrapping his arm around the shade's waist and drawing her closer. Providing a soft kiss to her pale forehead before both settled in together to watch the final bout between their children.

"My bet is on the boy." Elstine stated in confidence, giving Scassira a tight squeeze.

"Oh? Have you been giving him some private lessons too?" A sly, knowing grin curled onto her lips - knowing full well that she had taxed many hours of training into their daughter.

"No," Elstine began, shaking his head a bit.

"But the boy's back is against the wall, and he's had two engagements to learn her movements." Elstine leaned towards her a bit, pressing the side of his head to the top of her crown.

The children clashed, testing the distance of their blades and getting used to the distribution of force - each moving in caution, afraid to lose to the other. They traced around one another in steady steps before finally engaging. The boy feigned weakness, drawing her attacks into careless aggression and overconfidence; a weak point that was gladly exploited. Drawing on the reserves of energy, he pushed forward - throwing an undercutting fist to lower her guard, completing with a solid -wop- as his wooden edge smacked into her shoulder, drawing her down to a knee. Finishing his flourish with a harsh knee to her lowered chest, dropping her onto her back.

"Mm, a cheap move like that certainly does remind me of someone." Scassira purred through her remark, looking knowingly up to Elstine as she nudged his side playfully.

"He won, that is all that matters... It's just like our own engagements, I could never best their mother in open combat... She's far too fierce. I always had to resort to cheap moves, like grappling." Elstine chuckled dryly, shaking his head at the memories; sparring sessions in the rain, rolling about in the dirt, becoming concerned at the blood drawn. Elstine reached to wrap around her hip, drawing Scassira close for an endearing hug before providing a kiss to her cheek.

The epicenter of happiness had become this. The farmer that desired to be king had become rather fond of lazy Sunday mornings, cooking breakfast for the children in the mornings before class, and providing the weekly date night for the love of his life. It was true he was no King, and he likely never would be... But as far as he was concerned, he was king of the world.

Elstine closed his eyes and he could smell the noxious sulfur plumes sprouting from the red hellscape at his feet. The air was scolding, lashing at his exposed flesh and threatening to melt muscle from bone; each gust of air acting akin to boiling water being thrown at his body by the bucket full. He didn't want to open his eyes, he knew what he would see... Just a few more seconds he wanted to spend seeing what could have been, what should have been.

Alas, he forced his eyes open and revealed his reality. There was no calming, isolated forest of gentle greens and soft fall winds. There was no family to hold onto and cherish. There was no love to fight and to die for. There was only him, that is how it always was - how it would always remain for eternity. Instead of pillars of aged bark, and dancing leaves there were towers of brimstone and flying embers that drifted in the air, carried from the lake of churning lava nearby. Every day he woke up to this, every day he fought through this world - this hell... But with each passing day he wondered why he fought at all.

This was the punishment of a man that wanted it all and more. This is the punishment for those that cannot find satisfaction in their mortal lives and chase after mad dreams.

Elstine lowered his gaze, looking near the toes of his boots; taking the time to consider his faults. How he wished he could go back, how he wished he could just have one more day with her. How he traded his potential time with the woman of his dreams for power and influence. His chest tightened, the pit in his stomach feeding off the pain in his broken heart. Elstine did what he did best, raising his head, shoving his self loathing to the back of his mind and focusing on the tortures to come.

Just as the last hundred days, the ground rumbled like a hungry beast. Rocks suddenly splitting and shattering as clawed hands ripped through the earth; red-fleshed demons with fangs made of serrated steel forced their way from their underground lairs and stood a towering height on their hooves of blackened iron. Snake like tongue slithered past the dagger sized teeth, tasting the air for mortal blood and human flesh. Their eyes were sewn shut with ragged leather strings, constantly contorting in agony to rip at their own flesh creating fresh streams of sickly green, fel-tainted blood to run down their broken and warped faces. Their arms rippled with unending muscles, the slightest of movements threatening to rip open the flesh that seemed to barely contain their strength; scars from thousands of battles created sickening grooves and masses of repeatedly healed skin. Their knees seemed to struggle holding the weight, each stride forward producing a symphony of snaps and crackling as the sinews stressed and splintered.

These monsters, Elstine had faced time and time again in this hell. Each time he had lost. Each time he was forced to watch them mutilate his body, ripping his legs from his hips, splitting his stomach and twisting his organs into knots, snapping each little bone they could find, and watching their teeth burry into his sides and rip away strands of bleeding meat.

Sometimes he wondered what would happen in victory, but he knew such thoughts were as far fetched as his dreams of children.

This was his punishment now. To see the life he wished he had, to see the life he gave up, to be tortured, mutilated, and violently killed over and over... Each time he faded to black, he would seem the dreams. He would see her face, feel her lips, feel her love. And then when he opened his eyes, he would be torn apart.

It was not so different from his mortal life. It was a suitable punishment, he couldn't deny that - even a fair one. There was a hope deep beneath all his fears, that someday he wouldn't have to wake up. That the dream would become a reality... That this was the dream, the nightmare. A hope that he would wake up in his bed, sweaty and breathing ragged from the horrible night terrors of the evening, but beside him would be a beautiful, pale minx. Asleep, curled up, and drooling on the pillow.

What a wistful dream.

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hail-the-storm · 6 years ago

Text

Heights

My first attempt at a one-shot for SLBP, featuring Nobunaga and one of my OCs. Please, if you have any constructed criticism, feel free to help me out!

Nowadays Katsumi knew Owari Castle just as well as she knew her childhood home, despite the missing comfort. No more rolling eyes when she asked for directions, or bumbling into Lord Nobunaga, running late with his deserts. That, she thought, had happened one too many times, and neither his irritation or his laughter ever served to lighten the mood.

However, hunting down the Lord of Hell was not how she envisioned spending her newfound knowledge. And despite not caring where he decided to spend his time, since it saved Katsumi a hell of a lot of trouble, she did it for Mitsuhide’s sake. It was heartbreaking enough watching him work himself to death every day, and the man in charge vanishing on a whim did nothing to make anyone’s job easier. Nobody except Nobunaga himself did more than sweet Mitsuhide. Katsumi thought for a moment that she should cook him up something as thanks.

As her mind wandered, Katsumi also played with the idea of scolding Nobunaga. Doubtful that she would get away with her life if she did, she decided it was worth a try. If Nobunaga didn’t kill her first, something else in this foreign place would. Besides, it’d at least be a bit of fun.

The longer she searched, the harder Katsumi chewed her lip. After finding herself on the veranda, the cook heaved a sigh, shook her head, and made herself a promise. She would not resort to calling out for the bastard.

The only places left to check were the courtyard and gardens. Just outside Inuchiyo sparred with a few young retainers, and with no other ideas, Katsumi strode into the yard towards them.

It was hardly a match at all, with Inuchiyo swinging one contender around on his shoulders while the others scrambled to escape before they were clobbered to the ground once more.

“Inuchiyo!” The samurai spun around, his grin an intriguing sight while another man struggled over his shoulder.

“Hey, Katsumi! Come to see what the new recruits can do? A few of the men looked fearfully up at Inuchiyo. Katsumi smiled wryly. She often forgot how terrifying some people found her boyish childhood friend.

“If only. I’m looking for Lord Nobunaga.”

“Have you tried his room?”

“Obviously.”

“The stables?”

“Mitsuhide looked there earlier, and his mare is still here as well.” Katsumi crossed her arms, unconsciously chewing her lip once more.

“I’m not sure then. I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Hn. Well, thanks anyway.”

“Yeah of course. Good luck.”

Katsumi turned her search elsewhere, venturing farther away from the castle. The grounds were less well kept, but the scenery was exquisite. Vines tangled their way towards the sky upon ancient, twisted trees. Wildflowers poked up through baby blue eyes and creeping phlox. This would be a brilliant place to relax, Katsumi imagined.

With him, maybe someday… She shook her head, chocolate locks landing in her face until she then blew them away with a puff. When did I become such a romantic?

Katsumi took her time strolling around the grounds. It wasn’t often that she found this kind of solitude. Something was always stealing her time, whether it was cooking up feasts, tending to Nobunaga’s insatiable appetite for sweets, tending to wounded soldiers, or simply dealing with the constant castle antics.

Developing affections for the Lord of Hell himself topped the list. Katsumi knew that he would never reciprocate her feelings, not in the way she ached for. Yet, it had been impossible for her to help herself.

Well aware that she would never be anything but another challenge of attrition, Katsumi still obsessed over that steely glint in his eyes. His dream, no, his destiny to unite Japan under peaceful rule captivated her. And time and time again, she relentlessly sought out his ghost of a smile, soft and pained, accepting but determined, the kind of light which appeared then vanished just as quickly with Nobunaga.

Katsumi dreamed about running her fingers through his auburn hair. It would be soft, and boyish before the start of their day. It tickled at her collar while he kissed her chest, warm and she laughed-

Sighing, she attempted to forget about still another reverie. If Katsumi were to ever give in, if she were to allow herself into his bed, it would all be over in an instant. She saw it in the way he so quickly dismissed his vassals, the abrupt mood changes. Nobunaga was a man easily bored. He had already made it quite clear that he’d like to sleep with Katsumi. Afterward, it would be only a matter of time until he’d send Katsumi away, or worse.

Of course, she was also sure he’d soon tire of her stubbornness.

Katsumi began to voraciously chew her lip and snatched a handful of red flowers from a nearby bush. With all the tenderness of a stray dog tearing through garbage, she tore the petals away one by one, crushing them before they floated down to the ground.

It would only result in her pain if she continued to think so far ahead.

C’mon. This is only temporary. I’ll be home before I know it. Enjoy yourself, don’t think about what’s going wrong. Think of it as a mandatory vacation. Where you have to work. And worry about the next war. And you fall in love with the most hated and most powerful man in Japan. Easy!

“Ow!” Katsumi stumbled back, rubbing her forehead where she had walked into a large tree.

Her knuckles turned white as they curled into fists.

“This isn’t fair…” Why should I have to sit idly by and wait for him to just get sick of me?! Why is everything always so difficult with him?!

Frustration with Nobunaga, the world they lived in, but most of all herself, boiled over. Katsumi punched the closest available surface.

“Dammit!” Recoiling in pain, the young woman brought her fist to her lips. Gaze locked in the ground, she wondered.

How could she have been so stupid?

“Are you done assaulting my gardens?” Katsumi’s head snapped up. And there was the Lord of Hell himself, lounging amongst the tree branches above her. Despite her best efforts, Katsumi’s cheeks flushed. “I always suspected that you had a crazy side, foolish girl.” He smirked. Not the same as his smile. “I guess now we know.”

“I’m tired, that’s all. Tired of chasing you around all day! You’re being a real pain in the ass for everyone, you know.” Nobunaga rolled his eyes. Steely, unwavering eyes.

“Don’t care. And, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget you saw me.”

“Hm. Like you can make me.” Nobunaga glanced down scowling. Katsumi smiled smugly back. Her heart was fluttering dangerously around in her chest. She needed to end the sensation. “Anyways, you really should get down from there milord. We’d all be so devastated if you were to fall.” She winced at her own voice, dripping with sarcasm. However, the Lord of Hell only huffed, a meager response from a man usually so assertive.

Nobunaga was staring into the distance, his presence suddenly very, very far away. His voice was soft.

“You’d see the appeal if you were up here.” Katsumi’s brows drew together.

“I very much doubt that, N-, Lord Nobunaga.” She corrected.

With a sigh and a shake of her chocolate brown tresses, Katsumi turned away.

Little did Katsumi see her Lord's face brighten once her emerald eyes were elsewhere. She did not know that anything was up until Katsumi felt what she sincerely hoped was not Nobunaga’s muscular arm wrapped much too loosely around her waist.

And then her feet left the ground.

Katsumi sucked in a painful breath before wailing.

“Nobunaga put me do-ooooown!”

“Relax, I’m only proving my point.”

“I-I mean it, put me DOWN!”

“Stop struggling, idiot! Do you want me to drop you?!” Katsumi immediately ceased all movement, clinging to Nobunaga with all of her strength as he hoisted her the rest of the way up the tree.

Katsumi, terrified to look anywhere else, buried her face as far into Nobunaga’s chest as was allowed by the laws of physics. She was oblivious, or else unconcerned about their closeness. His sturdy chest.

“Please let me down!”

“No.” Katsumi whimpered pitifully. Nobunaga sighed. “Just turn around will you?” Her fists clutched at the fabric of his hakama, wrinkling and ruining it just like her dignity.

“I can’t!”

“Who knew the brazen serving girl could be such a scaredy-cat too?” Katsumi’s cheeks flared at the rumble in his chest as he laughed. Her fingers dug in deeper. “We’re not even that high up. Relax.”

“How?! If we fell-” Her breathing halted when she felt his warm hand plop down on her head. So sure of himself, so sure of what he wants.

Nobunaga stroked her hair soothingly, while at the same time chiding Katsumi for her childish fear.

“If you just looked, you would thank me.” His voice, hardly a murmur above the rustling leaves, nearly had Katsumi’s heart leaping out from the branches for him. She pursed her lips, face remaining hidden. His ghost of a smile, a gentle light vanishing.

She wanted to look. But then, it would disappear again, wouldn’t it? Just like each time before.

“...You swear that you won’t let go of me?” Katsumi’s attempt at a threat came out shaky and unsure. Nobunaga tightened his arms around her, and Katsumi did the same in an uncertain embrace. Just to be sure though, Katsumi raised her hand, pinky out towards the man keeping her from a surely inelegant fall.

“Just turn around, idiot.” He muttered in annoyance. However, his pinky curled around her own as she raised her head. Katsumi did not acknowledge the promise. She was afraid that he would pull away for more than one reason.

Katsumi cautiously pushed back her curtain of chocolate hair, scowling, and reveled in the Lord of Hell’s softened features, just inches before her own. He regarded her coolly and still, those gunmetal eyes had her melting.

“Turn around.” If only to hide her fuschia cheeks, Katsumi complied, pinky still linked with Nobunaga.

Over this side of the castle walls stretched the surrounding farmland, with a colorful village in the distance, smaller than the city on the other side of the castle. The fields came to a startling end further over, where a thick, lush forest sprang to life. A river flowed from the forest and across the land, streaking the landscape with a bright crystal blue.

“Well?”

“It… It’s fine.”

“‘Fine’? After all that it’s ‘fine’?”

“You’re the one who dragged me up here!”

“If that’s all you have to say then you truly are a fool.” Katsumi didn’t mind his irritated tone. She was too busy enjoying the warmth against her back, his arm wrapped around her waist, and the opposite hand still entwined by just the pinky with hers. She had only really even glanced over the walls; terror still gripped her over the height at which they sat.

The Lord of Hell may never be hers. But at least she’d have moments like these to remember the future Divine Ruler of Japan by, once she’d left Owari behind forever.

#slbp #samurai love ballad party #oc #nobunaga #oda nobunaga #oneshot #katsumi #hiraga katsumi #fluff #Heights

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guarding-rose · 6 years ago

Note

Glad you liked the merlin-magnus switch idea. Usually I have tons of ideas but not enough time or inspiration to write it, so I'm honestly glad you liked it and want to write it

Link Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15354291

Keep Reading to well…keep reading it here! Thank you so much, I had a blast writing this!!!

“Merlin, hurry up! We’re going to be late to our own feast!” Arthur dropped his head back against the door to their quarters, glaring at the guard next to him who tried to stifle a laugh. “I will leave without you!”

He sighed when no reply came and turned around to head back into their room.

“You’re not Merlin.”

“Astute observation. Honestly, should have realised where I was as soon as I saw the colour scheme. Nice to see you again, Arthur.”

Alec was exhausted. Bone deep weariness was causing everything to ache. Even his Angel-damned toes were aching and he hadn’t even known that was possible. It probably shouldn’t be possible. He dropped his bow onto his desk and slumped into his chair, sighing in relief as he leaned back. Soon enough Magnus would arrive to take him home to have dinner. Maybe he’d ask to put a film on, one that he could fall asleep listening to whilst curled up with Magnus on the sofa. That’d be nice.

He smiled to himself, playing the evening out in his head as he took a minute to breathe.

“Alec!”

Alec groaned in protest but stood up as fast as his legs would allow and opened the door just as Jace reached him. “What is it now?”

“I uh- well, you see, it’s a bit complicated.” Jace’s brows were pulled together, Alec had known his parabatai long enough to know when he was trying to paint a prettier picture than reality presented.

“What have you done now, Jace? Do I need to grab a weapon?”

“Woah, what’s with the instant assumption that it’s my fault?”

“Is it?”

“No!” Jace cried, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically before grabbing Alec by the wrist and all but dragging him to the training room.

“Jace,” Alec came to a halt in the open doorway and pulled his wrist back, hand paused halfway to the hilt of the dagger strapped to his thigh, “who’s that?”

A man, roughly the same height as Magnus with similarly coloured black hair stood against the far wall with Izzy seemingly frozen in place, whip caught mid-air. He wore a brown jacket over a purple shirt, complete with a neckerchief of all things and no shoes; his blue eyes darted over to take in Alec, who was quickly trying to decide how best to diffuse the situation. The man was familiar in a strange way, like Alec had seen him in the streets often but never bothered to introduce himself, but also clearly a warlock, without any obvious warlock mark.

“Where am I?” The man asked, golden eyes flicking between the three Lightwood siblings.

Jace threw an arm out, as if to say ‘see-what-I-mean’. “One minute me and Iz are sparring when Magnus waltzes in asking where you are, all normal and then poof, Magnus is gone and this dude is freaking about! Izzy tried to uh…well, you can see how well that went.”

Alec nodded, squinting at the stressed Man’s face. There was something familiar about his clothes as well, that combination of colours maybe? He shook his head, it would have to wait.

“Let my sister go and we can talk. Peacefully.” He held his hands up in a show of surrender and took a couple of steps into the room, Jace at his back following Alec’s lead.

“Tell me where I am first. Where’s Arthur?”

“Arthur?”

Realisation hit Alec like a brick. “Oh for the love of- you’re Merlin Emrys, aren’t you?” Magnus had a couple of photos up around the apartment of himself and Merlin and a blond man Magnus had named as Arthur. “Magnus told me some stories about you, I met Arthur once too. When you were in Magnus’ study working on some spell or something.”

He’d walked into their apartment to find a stranger fixing himself a cup of coffee, a second mug filled to the brim with tea next to the kettle. Alec was used to coming home to find Magnus still occupied with clients but normally his boyfriend would give him a bit of warning. Alec had put away his gear before introducing himself. He remembered how he’d been struck by how old his eyes looked compared to the young body and face, those eyes had held centuries of pain and wisdom and life. Magnus had poked his head out of the study upon hearing Alec’s voice and beckoned him over for a hello kiss, thoroughly distracting him from asking anymore questions.

“You know Arthur? How? Who are you people? I don’t know a Magnus.” Merlin seemed wary still but less like he wanted to freeze them all on the spot.

“Alec, you know him?” Jace asked, voice pitched just that little bit higher than normal belying his intimidating facade.

“Let our sister go, and we can fix this. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin looked over at Izzy again at last, he looked a bit surprised to see her there still. They watched as he muttered something and his eyes flashed a darker gold before fading to blue. Izzy’s whip dropped to the floor and she stumbled forward a step, swearing a mile a minute in outrage.

****

“How do you know my name? What have you done with my husband?” Arthur thought about shouting for help, alerting the guard outside, but the man currently standing out like a sore thumb in his maroon jacket and extremely tight fitting trousers didn’t seem like much of a threat.

He was adorned with more jewellery than he’d seen any man wear and his hair… Arthur assumed it must be magic that had coloured the tips of his hair an almost matching dark red.

“Oh goodie, this is going to be fun to explain.” The man murmured to himself before walking past Arthur to sit on his table. “I- who’s Merlin to you currently, husband did you say?”

“What does that matter to you? Tell me who you are and what you’re doing here before I draw my blade.” Arthur dropped his voice low, threatening.

The man rolled his eyes. “My name is Magnus, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arthur. Again. I can’t explain why I’m here until you answer my question.”

“You do realise I’m your King? I don’t have to answer any question unless I see fit.”

“Oh, god. I wish Merlin was here to have heard you say that.” Magnus said with a chuckle, seemingly unaware, or at least unconcerned, with how thin Arthur’s patience was starting to run.

“I won’t ask again.”

“Nice to know you’ve always been a bossy prat. I think, and I can’t say this for certain, that Merlin and I had a little magical mix-up and have managed to swap places.” He waved a hand, complete with what looked like dark blue nails, dismissively. “It’s fine. I’ll figure out how to swap us back in no time, or Merlin will first.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re a sorcerer. You mixed up a spell and now Merlin is trapped in some other world?”

“Ah, no. No. I know you two in the future, which leads me to believe that this is more of a…time travel incident as well as an issue with having moved in space too. And trust me, my boyfriend is not going to be too happy about this either. We were meant to have dinner. I was going to cook and everything.”

“I-…You- What?” Arthur let himself be helped into a chair, a headache was beginning to stop him from even trying to wrap his head round the situation.

“What are you all dressed up for? Had a date with Merlin?”

****

“Arthur is going to kill me.”

Alec frowned at Merlin’s distressed statement, yet again thrown for a loop as the man buried his head in his hands. They had moved to Alec’s office for some better privacy; Izzy stood by the door, prepped to send anyone who came knocking away whilst Jace had been pulled away by Clary.

“Um. I’m sorry about that?”

“No, I’m sorry, I know that I should probably start focusing on getting back and getting your…?”

“Magnus. My boyfriend.”

“Right, getting Magnus back. But I was already running late, I’m not even dressed yet!”

“You look pretty dressed to me, sadly.” Izzy commented, throwing a wink his way causing her brother to roll his eyes.

Merlin flushed, coughing loudly before clearing his throat; Alec shot Izzy a reproachful look before offering to fetch their guest a drink.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Merlin waved him away. “And um, thanks I think for the uh interest, miss, but I’m already married. Happily. Well, maybe not so happily now I’m so utterly late for my own anniversary.”

“Anniversary of what?”

“Oh, just my coronation.”

****

“Why don’t you just go to your feast or whatever, Arthur. I can’t focus with you flitting about over my shoulder.” Magnus grit his teeth as Arthur sat down again. Then stood up to restart his pacing.

“I can’t very well turn up to a celebration for Merlin’s coronation without Merlin.”

“Isn’t it also your wedding anniversary then?” Magnus asked, giving up on trying to get some peace and quiet.

Arthur froze near the window. “Ah, right. Well, it is as far as the people know.”

“Arthur, how long have you lied to your kingdom? I never thought you’d have it in you, Merlin definitely but not you with your ridiculously royal responsibilities.” Magnus teased, clicking his fingers together to produce one of the spell books he knew Merlin had kept since his time in Camelot.

“We aren’t lying! How dare you-”

“Oh you’re threatening now, there’s the Arthur I know.”

“Merlin and I are married! We did get married in front of the kingdom this day three years ago. We just, were married by the druids a bit before that.”

“How long before?” Magnus asked, genuinely curious.

“We’ve been married for five years, together for seven. Happy now? How long until you can,” Magnus’ eyebrows rose as Arthur did a very good impression of Alec’s own gesture for his magic, “get Merlin back?”

****

“How long until you think you can get Magnus back?”

“You’re almost as bad as Arthur! Go talk to your sister or something. Your little glass thing keeps flashing so that’s gotta be important.”

****

“I can’t cast the spell if you’re standing looking over my shoulder, Arthur.”

“Oh, right right. Sorry.”

****

“Well, it was lovely meeting you, Alec.”

Alec shook Merlin’s outstretched hand with a smile. “The same to you, I’ll be sure to ask you about this next time we meet.”

“I’m sure I’ll like that. That’s such a weird thing to say.”

****

“Goodbye Arthur, hope your evening looks up from here.”

“Thanks.”

Magnus rolled his eyes at Arthur’s crossed arms and skeptical frown and started the spell.

****

Alec didn’t actually see Merlin disappear or Magnus appear. In the blink of an eye they’d switched. Magnus slumped back against the coffee table, only stopped from sitting on the cluttered table by Alec’s supporting embrace.

“I missed you.” Magnus whispered, curling into Alec’s body without a moment’s hesitation.

“We can just order takeaway tonight, I think we’ve done enough to deserve it.”

“You are an actual angel, darling.”

“Says you.” Alec said shyly, pulling Magnus into a soft kiss.

****

“You aren’t even dressed?” Arthur cried, albeit after practically squeezing the life out of Merlin.

“What a pleasant reunion this is. Remind me why I came back?” Merlin griped but couldn’t and didn’t try to stop from smiling as he wrapped his arms behind his husband’s neck.

“You love me really.” Arthur murmured, pressing soft kisses across Merlin’s cheeks.

“Mhmm, maybe.”

#merthur #malec #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #merlin #arthur #fanfic #fanfiction #Guardian_Rose #prompt #reply #anon #anon ask

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valorant-reverie · 7 years ago

Text

Fireside - The Herald and the Inquisitor

Also available to read on Archive here! Please drop by to give us any thoughts or kudos, as it all means the world to us - http://archiveofourown.org/works/13799823

Written by @thursdaysshepard and myself, about our slightly canon-divergent characters Arahiel and Mahinnah Lavellan. Hopefully there will be more little doodles like this to come, sooner or later.

The clan they had found past the outskirts of the Exalted Plains was far more approachable than anyone had been expecting. Dalish here tended to keep to themselves, Mahinnah told the Inquisition. In a place so crowded with history, most of it tainted by anguish, many of the elves still couldn’t see beyond the ghosts of Orlais’ long-gone march. Bitterness lacing the infrequent transactions of elves and shemlens was not uncommon across the scarred landscape. In recent years fewer Dalish wandered the Plains in favor of lands with more profitable resources; those who stayed here were hardened, their trust not easily given.

It had taken months of careful approach to win the acceptance and eventual admiration of the clan. Small favors led to bigger endeavours in an effort to prove reliable. After a time, the approach of their party would be met with a welcoming gleam in the eye of the clan’s Keeper. There was little motive to their interactions, save for a chance to forge new connections where none had been in such a long while.

Mahinnah and Arahiel saw it was a chance to breathe easy among familiar settings for the first time in just over a year. The human’s Herald and their army’s Inquisitor were not regarded so highly in the beginning, but stilted honorifics gave way to softer adorations in the elvish tongue after a time. The clan wasn’t as large as the one they knew best, yet it still felt homely.

Some weeks after the final foray into the abandoned forts of the dead, the party were nursing new wounds around the Dalish campfire. The corpses they had fought were not the only concern. Bands of Freemen still roamed the Plains, apparently having nothing better to do than attack whatever and whoever they came across. A surprise ambush of eleven to four had left them all in a sour - but otherwise glad to be alive - mood.

Mahinnah takes a sweeping look around as he slips between the aravels. The sun is finally beginning to set overhead. A pleasant smell of something unidentifiable cooking in the near distance fills the air. At this point, it could be roast mabari and he’d still eat it.

“Lethallin.” he says quietly as he approaches Arahiel and the others around the fire. He sits gingery on the earth beside his clan mate, favoring his left shoulder. Healing magics from the Keeper here had taken most of the sting away but a dull ache lingered.

“Still won’t let you take that off?” he says, gesturing to Arahiel’s face with a poorly concealed smile. A bandage wrapped around the other’s head, covering most of one eye, definitely should not have looked as funny as it did, especially when the vision of Arahiel getting whacked in the face with a blunt club was fresh in his mind.

Arahiel hums, adjusting the wrapping where it’s clearly annoying him. “Awful lot of fuss over a little head wound. I’ve done worse to myself sparring. Still, it would have hit Varric if I hadn’t leapt in, heroically as always.”

“I appreciate it, Snowflake.” The dwarf himself replies, looking up from a letter in his lap, from the Merchant’s Guild probably, or one of Hawke’s other associates.

Arahiel shifts his gaze from Varric to Mahinnah, smiling warmly, even though only one eye is visible in the expression. “How’s your arm, da’len? Has the bruising gone down any?”

“Greatly,” he says, thankful. “It’s a shame Varric had to be the dwarf in distress, otherwise you could have leapt heroically in for my sake.”

Varric grunts in disapproval, though a smile flickers about his face in the firelight.

“I would argue our Inquisitor’s leap could be viewed as reckless,” Dorian says from the otherside of the circle. He sits with his staff across his lap, an assortment of books beside him. No one could quite gather where exactly they had been procured from.

“Then again,” he adds cheerily, “recklessness only adds to the odd charm you Southerners seem to have.”

Mahinnah rubs his arm, glancing away from Dorian’s not so discreet wink.

“You should be more careful, you know.” he says to Arahiel. His concern was not reproachful, but still plain to see.

“Don’t you worry, Hinnah. I’m made of sterner stuff than most - namely our squishy, though undoubtedly attractive, northern companion.” Arahiel replies, grinning back at Dorian playfully, “Besides, as long as there is a Herald to serve and an ancient blighted magister to overcome, I’ll be around. That’s what necromancy is for, after all.”

“I’d rather it didn’t come to that. After a while you’d start to smell dreadful.” Dorian says, cringing at the thought.

“And you wouldn’t be nearly as charming with half of your face starting to rot away, Inquisitor.” Varric chips in as he adjusts the reading glasses on the end of his nose.

Cassandra makes a quiet noise of disgust as she nears the fire. “Must you all be so morbid? I’d rather avoid conversation of death, even if only for a while. We did well today; we must remember that.”

“Our Lady Seeker is right, as always.” Arahiel agrees, smiling with delight as a blush fills her sharp cheeks. “We did very well indeed. The Freemen are starting to hold back. We’ll teach them not to mess with the Dalish, or the Inquisition. Or in our case - both.”

“I feel a little guilty.” Cassandra admits, “If I had been there to help—“

“Nonsense.” Arahiel insists, “We left you to defend the clan. You did just that, and quite impressively. The Keeper has assured me that they’ve never felt so safe, even surrounded by shems.”

He casts a mischievous look at Mahinnah; somehow referring to humans as shemlens to their face always gave him some kind of childish thrill, like cursing had done for them both as young boys.

“Easy,” Mahinnah leans in to whisper in elvish, his humor obvious. “Cassandra still takes some strange offense to that one.”

“Not so much anymore,” Dorian says with a lazy flip through the pages of one of his books.

In the odd silence that follows, Mahiannah stares, incredulous, across the circle.

“You’ve learned elven?”

“Learning,” Dorian corrects with a snort. “How else am I to keep up with Andraste’s Herald and Inquisitor in all their adventures if I can’t eavesdrop on their little private conversations?”

He leans up to accept a small bowl of steaming stew, offered by a younger elf. Amidst the small circles clustered throughout the camp other members of the clan were distributing dinner among themselves.

“I’m full of many marvelous and hidden talents,” Dorian adds, raising a brow as he takes a sip of the stew.

Mahinnah accepts two bowls for himself and Arahiel to the tune of Cassandra’s quiet, disgusted huff.

The conversation comes to a companionable lull as they each focus in on their food. The warmth seems to settle into Mahinnah’s skin, easing some of the soreness from earlier, and the taste is simple but familiar. After meetings with dukes and the associated feasts therein, or bare rations foraged from fruitless battlefields, he had begun to miss flavors like this, of home.

Around the camp the overall noise begins to fall as well. Everyone was enjoying the meal in earnest; save for two small figures at the edge of the furthest campfire, sequestered off in the fading light. Curious, Mahinnah gently bumps his arm against Arahiel’s, motioning in their direction.

A human or dwarf would perhaps have to squint in the dark to make out the figures, but elves with Ari and Hinnah’s keen eyes saw more than others. The two people are different in size on further examination; a mother and a child, it seems. The young boy, sits sniffing at his mother’s side as she strokes his hair, their still-steaming bowls of stew forgotten momentarily.

It is not immediately audible, but it soon becomes clear that the boy’s mother is humming a lullaby under her breath as she caresses her child’s head tenderly. The boy stops sniffing and leans into his mother where they sit away from the clan’s fire. As Arahiel and Mahinnah watch on, experiencing a strange familiarity from this exact scene, more mothers drift from the glow of the flames to the shadowy spot away from them. Following them are children, mostly young girls; daughters and sisters. That’s when the voices lift through the dark, reaching the ears of those seated at the fire in a haunting, soothing choir.

Arahiel goes rigid as Mahinnah’s body shrugs into relaxation, his head turning from the sight of the clan singing their soothing lullaby to the glowing embers at the base of the crackling fire. His uncovered brown eye stares, unseeing and unfocused, his mind lost in the rising voices of the clan.

Countless years, it seemed, had passed since they last heard that song. It was old, but not uncommon. Mahinnah could remember his own mother singing it to him during moments like these, past sunsets and calm nights he could no longer visualize with any perfect clarity. Nostalgia runs deep in the pained look he hides behind a quiet dip of his head. The ancient words come easily to his lips, but this moment doesn’t belong to him, and he restrains them in favor of listening without interruption.

Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian watch with interest, eyes narrowed as they peer through the evening dusk. Cassandra looks strangely touched as the chorus progresses, such a soft expression rarely seen on her features. Varric sits completely still, another rarity in itself. He faces away from the gathering, a curious smile barely visible in the low light.

Dorian stares neither at the clan nor towards the fire; he meets Mahinnah’s gaze instead, both wondering and reverent. On any other man, one might have called it humility.

It takes a long moment for him to look away.

“Ari.” Mahinnah says softly, the nickname almost unfamiliar for how long it had gone unused aloud, “I’d almost forgotten what that lullaby sounded like.”

“So had I.” he replies, barely more than a whisper, his focus still lost in the base of the fire. He no longer felt comfort from the warmth of its flames. Instead visions came to him - a sight he knows he could not remember, of burning aravels, the heat of vicious and unforgiving fire. The screaming and crying of innocent elves rattles around in his brain, and somewhere among it all, a woman’s voice that he is sure he knows echoing the self-same words of the lullaby, like a mourning spirit wailing over the site of a massacre.

Arahiel is overwhelmed by the sudden urge to get away, before this strange pseudo-memory consumed him. His stew flies from his lap as he suddenly stands and marches away. He has no direct goal from this point; nearby the rushing of a river calls to him. The water is shallow - the Plains have a longer dry season than most temperate areas in Orlais - but he wades in until the water laps at his knees, his bare feet consumed in the icy dark stream.

Voices call for him, urging him back, but he ignores them. Conflicting desire gnaws at him; one half of his brain clutches to these parts that he thinks is memory, and the other forces it away out of his reach, begging him not to go near, almost in the sound of Istimaethoriel’s own voice when she was younger, when she used to plead for Arahiel to concentrate or behave…

In frustration, Arahiel yells and kicks the water. The camp behind him falls silent. Many stare on at him, and he can feel the weight of their gaze on his back like the survivor’s guilt he had almost forgotten which now bares down on him all at once.

It is Cassandra who reacts first, rising from the fire, her own stew forgotten and going cold at her feet. Across the way Mahinnah sees her fingers flicker instinctively towards her side where a sword is not currently present, as if the cool touch of a weapon would allow her some means to fix whatever is wrong. He is familiar with the feeling, as unproductive as it might currently be.

One or two murmured conversations begin to pick up as he stands, holding a placating hand out towards the Seeker. She looks to the lone figure in the water. Confusion echoes through her and in the faces of their other companions, but neither Varric nor Dorian speak.

After a brief moment of hesitation Cassandra nods and stiffly takes her seat once more, abiding by Mahinnah’s silent request. He mouths a brief ma serannas and begins to pick his way across the landscape towards the water glinting in the rising moonlight. Behind him, he hears the lullaby pick up once more, fainter this time.

Arahiel is still, unmoving as the statues that loom over old Chantry sites in the Emprise. Mahinnah wades through the gentle current to stand beside him, shutting out any lingering eyes of the others following his progress.

“Lethallin?”

“I’m sorry.” Arahiel murmurs, and it’s not immediately clear even to himself if he means those words for Mahinnah. As he turns, his attempt at an embarrassed smile is tampered by the fact that it does not meet his unwounded eye. He drops his head and stares at the ripples around their ankles. They bump and glide over one another, making room for each other. Much like he and the other elf at his side. Accommodating, part of the same whole. It restored the sense of belonging he had lost for a moment.

“It was too much.” he admits as he continues in a lower voice than his apology, so only Mahinnah can hear him. “We used to hear it as children, I know, which ought to have been a good memory. But there was something else, a different version underneath it all. And that, with the fire, and the fighting today, it was just…. too much.”

Arahiel glances up, focusing on his companion now, his expression drawn into a confused and frustrated frown.

“I thought I heard her voice, Hinnah. I thought… I thought I heard my mother. My real mother, from before the Lavellan clan found me. Perhaps it’s because the Veil is thin here, but that’s never happened before. It scared me, lethallin.”

How could you hear what you hadn’t ever known, Mahinnah thinks, but doesn’t dare speak it. Arahiel was a Lavellan in everything but birth and the topic had gone largely undiscussed for most of their lives. There wasn’t anything to discuss, really. Most clans adopted city elves and foreigners often enough for it to become widely accepted without question. Few had circumstances as strange as Arahiel’s, however.

“It’s possible you could have.” he says thoughtfully. “What we know of the Veil encompasses very little of what we could hope to understand.”

He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “What exactly did you hear?”

“Screams.” Arahiel says bluntly, once again not meeting Mahinnah’s eyes, “”The crackling of fire, but not from the camp. I saw burning aravels -- I felt the heat of them on my face. And over all that, just audible in the chaos, a woman’s voice, and that lullaby.”

It sounds ridiculous, he is well aware. After all, even if it was because of some sort of connection to the Fade, Mahinnah was the one with the Anchor. It’s true that Arahiel had felt more connected to the other side of the Veil than he had been aware of before the Conclave, but that didn’t explain his visions. Perhaps he was just tired. The day had been stressful for everyone, for a multitude of reasons. Perhaps it would be best if he just called it a night, settled into his tent to sleep, and see if the vision lingered on him come the morning.

“Solas or Dorian might have a better answer than I.” Mahinnah offers after a long moment of silence. Nothing was worse than the sensation of helplessness, especially when concerning someone close, but he truly could offer little explanation. Shouts through imaginary fire were clouding his conscious. If he listened hard enough, perhaps he would hear the lullaby too.

“I know that probably isn’t helpful,” he adds with a weak smile. “We could always leave in the morning, if you wished? Or now, in fact. The others could catch up with us tomorrow. Unless you’d fancy to see shems blindly following us in the dark?”

Arahiel turns over his shoulder to their friends, who are trying their best - and failing - to not seem as though they are watching on with concern. The frown lines fade from his brow and his expression is replaced with one of amused and grateful appreciation for their fellows. Cassandra had not always looked kindly upon the two of them, but she had grown into a close companion over time. Varric had hit it off with them right away. And then there was the mage Dorian - Mahinnah had found love in this charismatic man, and Arahiel himself a good friend as well.

“No, we’ll stay the night. It’s been a tough mission for everyone. I’ll be alright, da’len.”

He pats Mahinnah reassuringly on the shoulder and leads them both back to the fireside, clearly wearied by his experience but determined as ever to not let the cracks show. They knew the stakes placed on them; any sign of fragility or weakness, even in front of those who did not believe that they were chosen such as the Dalish, could affect the strength of the Inquisition as a symbol for all in times like these. They had to maintain strength and determination, and the dedication of the Inquisition would follow. In time, they might come to believe it of themselves too.

#arahiel lavellan #mahinnah lavellan #arahiel and mahinnah #the herald and the inquisitor #herald of andraste #the inquisitor #my ocs #ocs #dalish inquisitor #dai #inquisition #dragon age #lee #zeke #wildredrose14

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theloverofdragons · 7 years ago

Text

Steamy

Written for Day 3 of @zutaraweek

Disclaimer: I own as much as Jon Snow knows

“The doctors are happy with how your surgery went,” Katara informed Zuko, as she pulled him by the hand down the streets of the Northern Water Tribe in the direction of the house the Gaang were staying in.

“Then how come they insisted on keeping me in the healing huts for an extra three days?” Zuko grumbled.

Katara rolled her eyes. “To give you sufficient time to recover from the immediate effects of the surgery somewhere they could keep an eye on you if anything went wrong. But everything went fine, and you only have to wear them for four weeks so your eyes can adjust, and everything will be fine.”

Zuko scowled and pushed the frames of his new glasses up his nose. “I get the necessity of having this operation to decrease the damage my scar will have on my eyesight, but I was not told that I would have to wear glasses as a result of it!”

“Oh stop whining,” Katara opened the front door of their temporary quarters. “Besides, I think you look cute in them.” She grinned at his blush, and pulled him through the doorway.

“Welcome back, Sparky!” Toph lunged for them as soon as they entered the spacious room which they had decided to be the leisure area. “Did ya miss me while you were recovering?” She landed a solid punch on Zuko’s arm.

Suki rolled her eyes good naturedly at the earthbender and the firebender, who was wincing and rubbing his arm. “He just got out of the healing huts Toph, don’t put him back in. In all serious though, Zuko, welcome back. Did the surgery go alright?”

“We made you a small feast!” Aang burst out in excitement, as he and Sokka stepped aside to reveal a table laden with dishes. “We were even able to persuade the cooks to make Fire Nation delicacies!”

Katara smiled. “Yes, the surgery went fine; he’s got a few more weeks of recovery but then back to normal. And thank you so much Aang, this all looks wonderful! Doesn’t it Zuko?”

“Just give me a second,” Zuko replied meekly. Frowning, Katara (and the others except Toph) turned to face her boyfriend, only to find that the lenses of his glasses had completely steamed up. His cheeks reddened further.

“Oh,” Katara blinked. “Well. That happened.”

“It’s probably the change in temperature,” Sokka nodded wisely, helping himself to a skewer of turtle-seal meat. “He went from the freezing outside to the warm inside, which will have caused his glasses to fog up. They should go back to normal in a couple of minutes.”

“And I don’t think that blush is helping either,” Suki added.

In the following weeks after his surgery, Zuko had to not only adjust to wearing glasses (which he was fine with), but also the lenses’ tendency to steam up (which he was not so fine with). Even when they returned to the Fire Nation from the Northern Water Tribe (where the mere act of walking inside would have them steam up like a sauna), it didn’t stop; resulting in Zuko donning what Katara referred to as his ‘Royal Pout’.

(A name he, of course, disputed. No matter how much the waterbender insisted, he did not pout.)

It didn’t help that they steamed up at every damn thing, whether it be cooking or doing the dishes, exhaling into a cup of tea, or even just putting them on in the morning, when they had cooled and his naturally increased warmth as a firebender did him no favours.

He was kind of on the fence in regards to the impact sparring with Katara had; the new challenges in the increased lack of vision from steam helped in keeping his other senses sharp. As Uncle Iroh would say, ‘if a man becomes too dependent on one flavour of tea, he loses his appreciation for the others, just as vital’…or something.

Katara, of course, was delighted. Zuko pouting was cute, Zuko in glasses was cuter; and so Zuko pouting while wearing glasses was a whole new level of adorableness that she was determined to make the most of while it lasted (fortunately for her, it occurred quite often).

Fair to say, Zuko was relieved when the four week post-surgery adjustment period ended, and the palace physician cleared him to not have to wear glasses anymore, prompting him to put them in their case, hand it to the nearest guard and order him to lock them in a safe far away from him.

Katara raised her eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an overreaction?”

“Nope,” Zuko sat down next to her on the futon. “Don’t get me wrong, for the most part they were fine, but I could not handle them constantly steaming up at the littlest thing, and then having to wait for it to go so I could see again. Agni, I think I’m sick of steam.”

Katara pouted. “Sick of steam? But that’s our thing! Team Liquidy-Hot! You’re fire, I’m water; together we make steam! You like it when it things get steamy between us…in all senses of the word!”

Zuko sighed. “Yes, I know it’s our thing. I’m not saying I don’t like our thing. I’m just saying I think I need a bit of a break from too much literal steam.”

Katara continued pouting, before an idea popped into her mind, and her eyes took on a mischievous glint. Standing up from the futon, she grabbed her boyfriend’s hand, pulled him up after her and began marching him down the corridor.

“Uh, Katara?” Zuko’s eyebrow rose as he realised they were heading in the direction of their bedroom. “What are you doing?”

Katara smirked. “Restoring your faith in the advantages of steam.”

#zutara #zutara week #zutara week 2017 #my writing

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joyfullynervouscreator · 7 years ago

Text

The Devil is in the Details

Chapter 9 of the Fíli-Ficlets, a series of vignettes all about Fíli!

Fili and Kili try to do something special for Dis

Art by Mintnatt on DeviantArt!

It was ultimately Balin’s fault, Fíli thought.

Standing in the epicentre of destruction, he followed the chain of events in his head, and it was definitely Balin’s fault.

Earlier that week…

“Amad says there’s a celebration of Amads in her Amad’s old Mountain,” Gimli proclaimed, during their break from Balin’s lesson on the Orocarni, which Fíli had found somewhat interesting, and Kíli had mostly slept through. Gimli had his lessons with Balin’s younger apprentice, Ori, learning his letters, but he joined his cousins for break time and caught the tail end of Kíli’s moaning about the customs of the Orocarni.

“A celebration of Amads?” Kíli asked, interrupted in his rant; a habit clearly passed down from Thorin’s side of the family, though Fíli didn’t bother to listen to more than half of it. He had surmised Kíli’s current frustrations regarded their tutor’s long monologue about the importance of astronomy – specifically the Moon – in Orocarni customs in combination with Balin’s insistence that Princes ought to remember these kinds of fact for future diplomatic relations. Fíli was not quite convinced that held true for Princes in Exile in Ered Luin; the only Orocarnul Dwarf he knew was Irak’amad Vár, and she was just the daughter of an Orocarni Dwarf who’d ran off to marry a miner from Ered Luin. Vár’s amad had never cared to observe any of her family’s customs, however, as far as Fíli knew, but when he had told Balin that piece of information, the Uzugbad had made him stand in the corner for five minutes for cheek. Sometimes, Balin was mean.

“It’s called Nurt Amadu,” Gimli replied, the smugness of knowing something his older – and somewhat idolized, Fíli had to admit – cousins did not clear in his voice and his tiny face shiny with poorly hidden glee. Fíli – considering himself the wiser, older cousin – pretended to ignore the smugness, though Kíli scowled. Fíli elbowed him swiftly, making Kíli yelp and shift the target of his glare. Wee ‘Gimmers’ – Fíli had called him that as a pebble and the name had stuck as an inside joke between the brothers – looked a little perturbed, but when Fíli smiled at him, he continued bravely in the face of his other cousin’s displeasure. “Amad says you’re supposed to do nice things for your Amad and Irak’amad and Sigin’amad on Nurt Amadu to show them that you ‘preciate all the things they do for you on other days. She says it should be a thing here, then she wouldn’t have to cook for a full day… but I don’t really want it to, because Adad makes all weird food.” Gimli added the last as an afterthought, though Fíli silently had to agree. Having been subjected to Glóin’s cooking before – rock cakes were not actually meant to be made of rocks, he was sure – Fíli then spent several minutes on horrified imagining of the situation in their own home if neither Amad nor Amadel were allowed to do the cooking… he hoped Dwalin would be home if this celebration ever happened in Ered Luin. Uncle Thorin had managed to burn water. Amad said so, the last time she shooed him out of the kitchen, and Fíli didn’t doubt Dís’ truthfulness on the matter; Dwalin had simply laughed his booming laugh and pulled Thorin’s temple braid, which made Uncle Thorin scowl at him and wonder why Dwalin wasn’t leaping at the chance to defend his Prince’s honour. Dwalin had laughed harder at that, though Fíli hadn’t heard whatever he replied that had made Uncle Thorin look all funny and storm outside.

“We should do that!” Kíli exclaimed, his earlier annoyance forgotten in its entirety. Fíli was startled out of considering whether Thorin was worse than Glóin at cooking, and felt a foreboding sense of trepidation at the sight of Kíli’s bright smile.

“Do what?” he asked, having missed his cousins’ actual conversation in full being lost in increasingly terrifying visions of Thorin and Glóin challenging each other to baking and cooking competitions.

“Nurt Amadu, Fee, weren’t you listening?” Kíli bounced on the balls of his feet. Fíli knew it was only a matter of time before he’d begin poking his arm too and sighed. “C’mon, let’s ask Balin! I think it’s more fun than whatever moon-related feast he was going to be going on about next!” dashing off – Kíli never did walk if he could do anything but – the younger Prince of Durin’s Line left his older brother shaking his head with an indulgent smile on his face and his tiny cousin waving a somewhat ink-stained fist after him. Fíli kindly steered the younger dwarfling back to his lesson, before running off after Kíli’s disappearing dark locks himself.

“Yes, Kíli, Nurt Amadu is indeed an Orocarni celebration of Amads,” Balin was saying when Fíli re-entered the study where he lectured them about the long history of their race – with emphasis on Durin’s Line, as was proper, of course, for the Heirs of Thorin Oakenshield, Prince of Erebor. “However, it has never been formally recognized by the other six Clans, and is exclusively a Blacklock celebration in the Orocarni as a whole as far as I know.”

“That’s daft,” Kíli rebuffed Balin’s attempt – it was a poor effort in Fíli’s opinion, and Balin should have known better – at dissuading him, “Longbeards and Firebeards and all the other Clans also have Amads. We should all be doing nice things for them!” Fíli couldn’t argue with that point, and neither – it seemed – could Balin, who gave Kíli one of those sighs that meant he would argue but couldn’t see the point and thus he’d give in and maybe complain to Uncle later. Fíli winced at the thought, but Kíli breezed right past Balin’s unvoiced admonition, probably not even noticing it, to be fair. “Gimmers said we should cook instead of Amad, but should we also do other things?” Again, Balin sighed. Fíli added his own gaze to the persuasive power of Kíli’s hazel eyes – which always seemed to work better than Fíli’s at getting him out of trouble, to the elder brother’s constant vexation. Balin crumpled before the unstoppable onslaught.

“The celebration involves a number of things, Kíli.” Balin listed the items on his fingers, “Firstly, you should wake your Amad with a meal prepared from all her favourites. Then, you are supposed to give her a small card, perhaps decorated, with a poem or short note about how much she means to you. In some Blacklock families, the dwarflings will do all the chores usually done around the house by their Amad, and then you should cook dinner for the family.” Kíli nodded along with the list, and Fíli felt slightly uplifted. He was decent at drawing and more than passable at fancy letters, while Kíli had already learned how to make bread. They could clearly do the first parts of the day, with little trouble, even if doing chores was duller than sparring with Fat Hargo, who usually tripped over his own feet due to his large belly and cried when he got bruised. Fíli had often wondered why Hargo’s Adad paid for him to remain in Dwalin’s class, the lad clearly did not wish to learn. On the other hand, Fat Hargo was a brilliant baker, everyone thought so, and that gave Fíli an Idea. Normally, Ideas were Kíli’s specialty, but sometimes, Fíli’s brilliant mind came up with something so jaw-droppingly perfect that he had to implement it right away. With Hargo’s help, they could make Amad’s favourite cake! Cinnamon swirly cake! Fíli could almost taste the sweetness.

Earlier that day…

“The bread is done!” Kíli said, gravely, making Fíli struggle to keep his composure. Uncle Thorin had sounded just like that during the last council meeting when the nobles once more tried to make him declare Sigin’adad Thraín dead and officially accept the mantle of King. They tried that once every three years or so, it seemed, but Uncle Thorin didn’t budge. Fíli didn’t know whether it was foolish or brave, considering Thorin was the only one who believed Thraín would return to the Folk of Durin. “Now we wait for it to cool a little.”

Raising his recently finished knife – he had used the occasion as an excuse to finish his newest creation with a partially serrated edge – Fíli cut into the still-warm loaf, a couple of thick slices landing on the plate Kíli had artistically drizzled with orange jam. A mug of weak cider and a cup of tea finished the tray; they had drawn lots to determine the privilege of serving, and Fíli had won ‘Afternoon Cake’, so Kíli picked up the tray carefully, walking determinedly out of the kitchen.

Dís did a credible imitation of waking up when Kíli walked into her bedroom with his carefully balancing tray. Kíli’s attention was on his balancing act, trying to make sure the mugs didn’t spill, but Fíli noticed the hastily concealed paper she had been reading before he opened the door.

“What’s all this, lads?” Dís asked, far too alert for having just woken up in Fíli’s opinion.

“Happy Nurt Amadu!” they chorused, making her laugh. Kíli put the tray down with a flourish.

“It’s a Blacklock thing,” Fíli explained. Dís nodded. “Balin told us about it.”

“We’re supposed to do all your chores and cooking all day!” Kíli exclaimed. Dís chuckled, pulling him down to knock her forehead gently against his.

“Well, badgith[1], that sounds nice,” she smiled, making Kíli beam like a small sun.

An hour earlier…

“Hargo said to whisk it,” Fíli said stubbornly. Between his hands, a large bowl of eggs was failing at turning white and frothy like Hargo had shown them earlier that week, borrowing a space in his uncle Kjalarr’s foodhall-kitchen to teach the young princes how to make their Amad’s favourite cake. Kíli hadn’t paid much attention, though Fíli had believed himself more than capable of mixing together the ingredients at the end of their lesson. Kíli had spent the time entertaining the mining crews who ate in Kjalarr’s Foodhall and spreading the word about Nurt Amadu. While it had seemed like a good idea at the time – and made several greybeards call them adorable, which both Fíli and Kíli had later agreed never happened – now Fíli wished they had prioritized differently.

“Maybe you’re whisking it wrong,” Kíli suggested, looking at the yellow gloop dubiously. Fíli silently had to agree that he had certainly done something wrong, but his pride wouldn’t let him admit as much in the face of Kíli’s earlier success with the bread. “Think we should ask Amadel?”

“No,” Fíli replied, though he really wished Frís would come through the kitchen doors and save them. “We’re supposed to do it ourselves, Balin said!”

Kíli conceded the point, nudging Fíli’s elbow companionably. “Maybe we should just add the flower and the cinnamon.”

“I still don’t know why we have to add a flower,” Fíli complained, staring at the small white one they’d found after three hours of scouring the surrounding mountain slopes.

“Cos it’s for a lady? Think Amad said the cake was invented by Men, lady-Men like flowers.” Kíli replied, but Fíli knew the confidence was faked; Kíli had no more idea about the necessity of the flower than he did. “I think Amadel usually pounds the cinnamon into powder first,” he added, just in time for Fíli to yank back the hand holding two pieces of fragrant rolled up bark.

“You do that, then, go find one of Uncle Thorin’s spare hammers.” Feeling better for re-establishing himself as the one in control of this venture, Fíli returned to his bowl. Hargo had given them some very finely milled white powder, and Fíli remembered him adding quite a lot of it. When he opened the bag, however, a cloud of white rose from the depths, giving him a clear view of what he would look like in 250 years. Fíli shuddered, trying to brush the whiteness off his clothes and into the bowl. Grabbing his spoon once more, he gave the gloop a vigorous stir.

“Found it!” Kíli exclaimed, holding Uncle Thorin’s largest hammer aloft in one hand. That turned out to be a miscalculation, when he slipped on some of the white stuff Fíli had covered the kitchen with and fell down with a yell. Shortly thereafter, he yelled once more, louder, as the massive hammer landed on his foot.

The present:

“What in Mahal’s name is going on here?!” Dís cried out, staring aghast at the scene that met her eyes when she walked into her kitchen. Fíli looked like he’d lost a brawl with Time itself, covered in flour, which did explain some of the state of her kitchen floor.

“We were..” Kíli began, but Dís held up a hand for silence. Turning on her foot, she left the kitchen. The brothers stared at each other for a long moment of silence. Fíli sighed.

“I think… we should probably clean this up,” he muttered, Kíli nodded.

“Thorin, you have to come see this!” Dís could hardly contain her laughter, pulling her brother away from the pile of paperwork he was attempting to get through. Thorin threw a final glance at the stack, but followed her with a shrug.

Entering the kitchen, the Prince and Princess of Durin’s Folk shared an incredulous look, before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

Fíli was staring at what ought to have been a nice cake, brown in colour and decorated with ribbons of white frosting. It was brown, which was the best compliment Fíli could give the result of his labours. It was also burnt, harder than rock, lumpy, wonky, and part of it seemed to have exploded, which was the reason for the gloop slowly dripping from the hot stones of their oven. That description did not even begin to cover the rest of the kitchen, nor the two brothers, who were both streaked in white, making Kíli resemble a small badger, his dark hair turned grey when he ran flour covered fingers through the strands. Fíli was mostly covered in the stuff, looking like he had spent time in a very localized blizzard – the rest of the kitchen supported this theory, with flour dusting almost every horizontal surface. The laughter of the suddenly appearing parental figures did not make Fíli feel better about his current predicament.

“It’s all Balin’s fault!” Fíli blurted, panicking. Beside him, Kíli nodded vigorously.

“I think your Heir has inherited the cookery style common to the dwarrow of Durin’s Line,” Dís stage whispered at Thorin, who was startled into another involuntary chuckle as the two dwarflings stood frozen before them. Thorin scowled at his unrepentantly grinning sister, until the corners of his mouth began to turn up, becoming a fond smile. Just before Kíli’s large eyes would begin glistening, Dís pulled him into a one-armed hug, catching Fíli up in her embrace. Pressing a bristly kiss to each batter smudged cheek, she hugged her sons. “I appreciate that you tried to do something special for me, lads, it was kindly meant. I love you, my wee lads,” she whispered, wiping a single tear from Kíli’s cheek when he sniffled. Fíli remained stoically expressionless, though he couldn’t stop himself relaxing into almost boneless relief when Thorin joined the hug, wrapping his thick arms around all of them, his hum a wordless tune of comfort sinking into their bones.

“We are not angry, lads,” he promised solemnly. “Though you will be cleaning this mess up before Amadel returns!”

Fíli winced, feeling his Amad’s low chuckle reverberate through her chest and into his own. “Come on, my little kitchen-terrors,” she chuckled, “let’s get some water on. Kíli, go fetch a broom. Fíli, the cleaning rags. Thorin…” she looked up, smiling wryly at her scowling brother, “do see if you can get that… substance… off my ceiling.”

[1] Little dream (I totally headcanon that Dís would use terms of endearment a lot)

@life-is-righteous

#fili #kili #thorin #dis #hobbit #pre-hobbit #fili ficlets #life in ered luin #mother's day #young fili and kili

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genkirou · 8 years ago

Text

A Third Party (Masamune X MC X Yukimura)

They insist so vehemently that they hate each other, but when your Lord Masamune and his famed Sanada rival collide, a fiery spar turns a different kind of heated, with you caught in the crossfire…

WARNING: Kind of NSFW-ish(not fully smut but maybe I’ll write it someday) and OOC a little bit I guess

Also, tagging @thedaydreamingotaku, sorry if my writing’s disappointing lol but I hope you like it^^

Seven hells, who could be training in the middle of the night?, Masamune asks himself as he walked the halls of Tsutsujigasaki Palace. The Date clan had come over to negotiate trade alliances with the Takeda in the dead of winter(not the best idea, in hindsight), and had been invited to stay with them while it was too snowed in to navigate out of Kai. Kojuro had left the evening feast early in search of Lord Takeda Shingen. “He probably just wants to discuss wrinkle treatments or chronic back pain or whatever it is old people like to talk about,” Shigezane had helpfully supplied before leaving to flirt with a maid who caught his eye. You had accompanied him for a while with your comforting presence and sweet smile; he was grateful for you, your acceptance of all of him, the person who showed him things he never knew of. He was contemplating this, unaware that he was blatantly staring at you, when Kirigakure Saizo had asked to borrow you for a bit, to which he had agreed in a fluster, snapping out of his thoughts. Masamune had excused himself shortly after you had left, feeling a bit awkward all alone in the main hall. Now, having been woken up in the dead of the night, he wanders about, looking for the source of all the noise. He spies a lone figure training in the courtyard, against the light of the moon. Of course it’s him, he thinks to himself with a grudging fondness. No one else is diligent or stupid enough to be out here practicing at midnight.

A loud, “hey, Date!” snaps him out of his thoughts. The idiot that was on his mind mere seconds ago is now in front of him, holding out a wooden practice sword with that customary shit-eating smirk on his face. Sanada Yukimura.

“What do you want, Sanada?” he demands rhetorically, already knowing the answer.

“Spar with me. You’ve been sitting around all day; your lazy ass could use the exercise.” So he did notice. Masamune takes the wooden bokken with a small smirk, already feeling the adrenaline singing in his veins.

“When you lose, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Yukimura barks out a laugh.

“Ha! Sanada Genjirou Yukimura doesn’t lose! If anyone’s being warned, it’s you, Date,” he retorts. With wicked anticipation sparking between them, the match begins.

The thrill of the fight soon turns all his attention on his opponent, and Masamune finds himself honed in on Yukimura’s every detail: the blazing fire in his ice blue eyes, the stretch and pull of his muscles, the sweat that runs in rivulets down his neck, even with the winter weather, disappearing into the hem of his too-loose hakama… wait, what-

Masamune gets the sword knocked out of his hands and the wind knocked out of his lungs as Yukimura disarms him and pins him down. It’s much too hot all of a sudden, in a way that’s not quite uncomfortable, as the blue-eyed man presses him into the ground. He feels the heat bloom in his cheeks, silently grateful the moonlight can’t entirely capture his blush.

“See, Date- I, ah, warned you that- that you’d lose,” Yukimura manages to say, gasping for air. Masamune’s had enough of this. Damn you, Sanada, what are you doing to me?

“Get off,” he replies shortly, not really having the physical or mental capacity to say anything else at the moment because there is a sweaty, panting Sanada Genjirou Yukimura on top of him and it’s doing things to him that it really shouldn’t be-

“Hmm? Why? Could the one-eyed dragon possibly be surrendering?” Yukimura gloats at him, and his voice, oh god his annoying damnable voice, he really can’t take any more of this-

Masamune reaches up, grabs the spearman’s face, and crushes his lips against the other’s. He tries to pull away, really he does, but Sanada’s lips are just the right amount of chapped and he tastes salty and sweet and so Sanada Yukimura that he can’t bring himself to stop.

It’s only when he feels, rather than hears, the man above him gasp that he pulls away, immediately regretting whatever the fuck he just did. Yukimura’s face is bright with his blush, blue eyes full of shock and Masamune, you’re an idiot, what were you even thinking-

He nearly bites Sanada’s lips so hard they bleed when he feels them on his again, and feels his resolve shatter. He sits up, sending Yukimura toppling off of him. “We can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. Yukimura blinks, fixing him with a glazed stare, mind hazy with the events of just a few seconds passed. Masamune sighs. Gods, why him, of all people? “Where’s your room?”

I wonder who could’ve been causing all that commotion, you think to yourself as you walk the halls of Tsutsujigasaki Palace. You had been accompanying Lord Masamune at the feast, until Saizo pulled you aside to ask if you could take a hammered Lord Yukimura back to his chambers. Puzzled as to why he would ask you of all people, you agreed nonetheless. You giggled to yourself as you recounted the stark contrast of the Sanada spearman’s blush to his sky-blue eyes as he begun to insist he could make it back himself, avoiding your inquisitive gaze. He had been so adamant on escorting you back to your room before returning to his own, claiming that a lady shouldn’t be alone at night. When Saizo had teased him about the implications of his statement, you could’ve sworn one could cook an egg on his cheeks. Lord Yukimura can be so cute. You had smiled and thanked him, stopped in the doorway of your chambers. The young Sanada had stared at you, seemingly transfixed, before shaking his head and practically running off to his room. Frowning, you try to discern why he did that. Does he not like me? Your heart sinks at the thought. You hadn’t given him a reason to dislike you… Clearing your head of these thoughts, you notice a light at the end of the corridor. Hm? Who could be awake at this time?

Your curiosity wins out over rationality. Inching ever closer, you hear muffled voices coming from the inside of the room, one significantly louder than the other. Stopping in front of the door, you peek though.

And almost faint from the shock of what you see.

Two bodies sprawled out on the bedding, a tangle of limbs belonging to none other than your lord and his rival. You watch with shameful captivation as Lord Masamune’s hand tangles in his partner’s hair, causing Lord Yukimura to let out a strangled gasp. He retaliates, slipping his tongue into the other man’s mouth and swallowing the heated moan from Masamune’s lips. You gulp, feeling a lustful heat spread between your thighs. It’s so so wrong to watch them, you know this, so why can’t you look away? At a particularly loud groan from Lord Yukimura, you try desperately to hold in your own, but to no avail. The desperate noise slips past your lips, and both men freeze at once, slowly turning cornered gazes to the doorway. Shit. You stare at the both of them, and they at you, for what seems to be an eternity, none of you able to process what in the hells is happening.

You realize, jolting back to your senses, that they both look mortified, every inch of skin almost crimson from their blushes. It could always be from something else, the dirty, lustful voice in your head whispers, and you mentally berate yourself for thinking such impure thoughts about you Lord and his- Rival? Lover? You aren’t so sure anymore, but one thing you are sure of is the fact that you’ll probably go jump off a cliff in shame afterwards if you don’t die of embarrassment first. Ohmygod what have I done whathaveIdone-

“AAA-mmph!” Lord Yukimura barely manages to let out a scream before Masamune’s hand is over his mouth. He can’t look you in the eye right now; you wonder if his face will ever revert back to its original colour.

“Please do not speak of this to anyone,” he whispers, voice low and ashamed, but you blink, because you can still hear the arousal thick in his voice, the way his eyes rake down your body, even as he looks down in embarrassment. Milord Masamune… likes getting caught? This new development is not good for your filthy mind, the thoughts running through it enough to put even the most erotic of novels to shame. Smirking, you feel a sudden confidence simmering in your veins, and speak, without any mental filter, a sentence that would have resulted in offing yourself any other time. Now, you feel unabashed, if only for a moment, for what shame is there in voicing what you really want?

“Mmn, well, I’ll only truly be able to keep a secret if I’m an accomplice, no?” Your eyes widen as you finish saying it, realising what the hell you just said. The bloom of your cheeks, though, haven’t even a second to heat in response before you hear the muffled moan from your right. A turn of the head meets your eyes with hazy blue ones. Once, they were as clear and blue as the summer skies; now they’re dark and veiled, twilight over the silhouettes of restless bodies. His face is flushed, his breath heavy, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything sexier than these two beautiful men in front of you, staring at you as if drowning in your eyes and body. Yukimura is the first to speak, barely managing to get his words out through his stuttering, voice husky with conflict and desire.

“B-b-but won’t you- I- we… we don’t want to hurt you; i-if you end up regretting this, I’ll take full responsibility, but-” you giggle and approach him, pressing your lips to the back of his hand. He gapes at you, a mix of adoration and voracity simmering beneath the thin surface of his crimson skin. You smile at the two men before you, so caring and considerate, always thinking of your well-being before anything else.

“How could I regret this?” You lovingly kiss Masamune’s eyelid, the one so often hidden by his eyepatch, and feel a shudder of excitement run through his body.

“But are you sure-” you press a finger to your lord’s lips.

“Yes,” you say, drawing the word out, making it clear: you want this. “Very sure. There’s no one I’d rather be with than you two.” You lean into Masamune, feeling his eyelashes brush against your cheekbones. “Milord… may I kiss you?” He swallows, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, vaguely wondering how its skin would taste between your teeth, on your tongue.

“Please…”

Masamune’s mouth is soft and pliant under yours, tasting of mandarins and summer. Your lips glide against his, parting his lips and slipping your tongue into his mouth, eating up his moans, as soft as summer breezes. There’s another taste, not his, but Yukimura’s, mixing in your mouths and it’s enough to make you dizzy. You try to pinpoint what exactly this flavour is, but Masamune, noticing your expression, pulls back. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, milord, but this taste…” You glance at Lord Yukimura, lust clear in his hazy eyes from watching you and your lord. His face catches fire when he registers that you’ve caught him staring, but before he can stammer out an apology, you claim his mouth with yours and swipe your tongue across his slightly parted lips. It tastes like… dango? Briefly, you contemplate who else he might have been kissing with a taste like that, but he groans and pulls you into his lap, taking your lips with passionate desperation, and whatever rational part of your mind disappears.

His kiss is so different from Masamune’s, with a searing intensity that leaves you breathless. His hands run all over your body, seeking out every inch of your skin. You moan and feel the heat pool between your thighs when you feel him press against you through the hindrances of clothing, rocking you with his hands splayed on you hips. Through the heavy cloud of lust lingering in your mind, you vaguely sense a hard chest against your back and lips against the shell of your ear. Lord Masamune traces down your throat with his fingers, whispering a rough, husky “may I?” and all you can do is nod, your moans and gasps muffled by Yukimura’s lips.

Masamune presses his lips to your throat; gently at first, growing bolder with each sound you make. You can’t contain the soft mewl that escapes you when he laves his tongue down your throat, and he moans in response. Yukimura chuckles against your lips; you huff and draw his bottom lip into your mouth to shut him up. You feel your lord mirror the motion, teeth sinking gently into the base of your neck , sucking a bloom of red into soft, sweet skin. You hiss at the slight sting, though not in displeasure. He offers silent apologies by teasing at the mark with his tongue. It’s at this moment that Yukimura pulls away from your lips, and you almost whine at the loss of contact until you see him lock gazes with the man behind you, whose lips rest at your throat.

“You think you can best me, Date?” he pants, a smirk spreading across his face. Masamune merely raises an eyebrow at the comment, but you can see the flicker of challenge rising in blue and green irises.

“I don’t suppose it’d be hard,” he murmurs, his breath fanning your skin. Both men turn to you, timid anticipation in their eyes.

“May we?” They ask in unison, Yukimura’s hands on your hips while Masamune’s wander your torso. Two voices, undemanding, but with a hint of pleading to their voices to which you can’t help but give in. It was never a hard decision, not when you had started this, wanting to see where you ended up. You smirk, watching the two men’s faces warm with heat, and give your resolute reply.

“Please.”

#samurai love ballad party #hahah i'm going to hell #date masamune #sanada yukimura #tenka touitsu koi no ran #slbp #samurai love ballad #tenka touitsu love ballad #dabbling drabbling #pls come save me I need jesus #datesana

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fyeahwonderbat · 8 years ago

Note

I have an idea for a prompt: some of their “firsts” together. First kiss, first date, first I love you, first fight, first baby etc. Thanks xoxo

First Kiss…

If only she didn’t know what his civilian identity is.

That was all Bruce could think about as he watched Diana entertain Mr. Faraday, dancing with their liaison to the UN at yet another government party that all publicized members of the Justice League and benefactors were forced to attend, just so the powers that be could feel as though they had some form of control over the gods and demons and aliens that guarded them from their base in the sky. Scoffing to himself as he threw back yet another drink, the Batman counted the number of times he had saved either a facility that Agent Faraday had been occupying or the two times he had rescued the man himself from certain doom.

And yet he hadn’t asked him to dance.

How incredibly rude.

“Another, sir?” Offered a much more cordial waiter, tray extended, ready to take his empty glass in the very instant that he had lowered it from his lips.

Effortlessly did the persona of Bruce Wayne comfortably fall into place; grinning as if he had ordered a whiskey instead of his ever popular ginger ale, he rambled on in response, “What? Huh? Another… oh, drink! Woo, I think…if I want to be allowed back to one of these things, I better slow it down, right? Hey, you know who might need his glass topped up? That gray-haired geezer dancing with that pretty young thing on the dance floor – hic – right there. See ‘em? Yeah, go get ‘im a whiskey neat or something just as fancy, ha ha.”

The poor young man seemed lost as to what he should say in response to one guest poking fun at another, but given that he had been asked to complete a drink-related task, the waiter nodded his head shakily and hurried off towards the bar. Some of the poise he had shown in his prompt service was diminished when he skated towards the bar tender—

“Bruce,” the elegant, bewitching voice of none other than Diana Prince chilled him, forcing his spine to straighten before he was stunned, “do you have something you’d like to say to me?”

Attempting to play off her sneaky approach, he replied teasingly, “I didn’t take you for the type, Diana.”

“The type of what?” Her voice was challenging. When at first he refused to answer her – refusing to finish his sentence, implying she was the type of simple woman needed a compliment or two to make or break her night – Wonder Woman took no time at all in securing his elbow in her hold and jerked it towards her retreating form; with a pleasant smile plastered on her beautiful face, she dragged the Dark Knight out into the knight, bringing him out onto one of the many balconies that decorated the ballroom that they had previously partying in.

“You know they’ll begin to panic if we leave for too long.” Bruce pointed out.

He barely managed to finish his warning before his toes were nearly stepped on by an unhappy Amazon. “That gray-haired geezer I was dancing with is more than comfortable if I take my inebriated friend out for a breath of fresh air.” Her accusatory gaze was nowhere near as intimidating as she thought it was, but her crossed arms allowed for the night to outline the muscles in her biceps, triceps, providing Bruce with a visual warning if there was ever one to heed.

Clearing his throat, Bruce stood tall when he unintelligently chose to say, “You know we are supposed to keep our civilian identities separate!”

“How can I do that when you continue to chastise and insult King whenever we see him at these parties—”

“I’m sure King can handle going toe to toe with Bruce Wayne.” His tone was just as mocking as it was challenging. Nevertheless, he genuinely hoped that his words were true. After all, this was the man assigned to coordinate the Justice League with the United Nations, to defend them when they were unable to attend meetings or when they were forced to make reckless decisions for the sake of the greater good. The man who believed he could take Wonder Woman’s hand and—

A pair of lips were just as gentle as they were forceful as they came to rest upon his. It was a dusting of a kiss, a mere graze instead of something much more empowering, but soul-searing, it still held the power to be.

Against the skin of his cheek as she slipped away from him, Diana murmured, “But Bruce Wayne won’t be able to handle Diana Prince if she has to come out here and scold him yet again.” Then, she disappeared, rejoining the party as if he had been alone the entire time, as if he had made the conscious decision to step out onto the balcony and had merely fantasized about…

She kissed him.

Diana kissed him.

Bruce fidgeted more than he realized; he fixed his suit in every which way, cleared his throat, rested his palms on the marble railing before him, dropped his head and then looked up to the sky. He stared into the overwhelming brightness of the full moon for quite some time before a chuckle escaped him. Was he not normally being romanced and seduce at these sorts of things? This was such a common occurrence, and yet…

A kiss with Wonder Woman herself? Now that was something that Bruce Wayne could definitely have another of.

First Date…

She was no stranger to what it meant to be ‘wined and dined’. Not only did she find herself entertaining some of the world’s wealthiest people – long before she encountered the Gothamite socialite – but Dionysus, the god of ecstasy in many forms, was a pertinent figure in the history of Ancient Greece.

If anyone knew how to celebrate, it was someone with a rich Greek heritage.

However, Bruce was doing quite well for himself when he carried out a silver platter from the kitchen aboard his yacht, balancing the massive tray in one hand while the other handled an ice bucket stuffed with an expensive-looking bottle of wine.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Bruce sheepishly stated rather than asked, the sea breeze tossing his hair about playfully as he set the table to his liking.

Wrapped up in her shawl, back to the wind, Diana was forced to tuck a few wayward strands of her own behind her ears before answering him. “I’m always in the mood for Alfred’s cooking.”

A stale expression was shown to her, before it was immediately replaced by an overdramatic show of offense taken. “Are you saying that I cannot make a meal for my own date?”

“I’m saying,” Diana couldn’t keep her smile from reaching her voice as she reached forth and picked up her wineglass off the table. “I know what Alfred’s cooking tastes like, so I will know if this is a meal he made.”

Bruce hiked up his Parasuco jeans before taking his seat, a cloth napkin falling over his thigh while he defended himself. “That’s not fair, princess – he taught me everything I know about food.”

“My mother taught me everything she knew about men, and I still developed an opinion of my own.”

That managed to stall Bruce while he focused on opening their chilled bottle of wine. It was a momentary lapse though, before he sniggered in reply, “But your mother was right all along, wasn’t she?”

“You think so?” That answer had surprised the Amazonian, and it showed in both her expression and her tone.

Smoothly did Bruce begin to make his case, “She warned you that we are stubborn?”

“Yes.”

“Led around by our wants and needs, and not by what we know is right?”

“Yes.”

“That we will steal a woman’s girdle if we so desire it?”

“Yes.” That time, her voice was firmer. How dare he bring up her mother’s humiliation in the wake of Heracles’ trials! Had they not been flirting? Was he not trying to woo her, after months of avoiding their intimacy after that kiss she had stolen from him, many moons ago? Perhaps she had misread the so-called romantic date that they were on – whisking her away on his yacht for a feast that he allegedly prepared himself was supposed to impress her, was it not? So how could he—

The wink that followed helped her to realize that he wasn’t talking about that girdle.

Dumbfounded, impressed, and all together amused, Diana held up her wine glass, waiting for it to be filled a tad bit more than what should have been an appropriate amount. As the beautifully reddened liquid filled her crystal-like cup, the Amazon who’s history had been poked at knew that she was much too prideful to let her date win any sort of verbal sparring.

With the desire to see him knocked off of his pedestal within his own mind, Diana informed him, “Well, it is thanks to such warnings that I didn’t wear a girdle tonight.”

The fire that ignited in Bruce’s startled eyes went off simultaneously with a gust of wind rushing across the sea, and it carried her Aphrodite-like laughter across the table to the man who she knew would become the most challenging, utterly amusing lover.

First “I love you”…

“BRUCE!” Diana’s voice sounded pained, like someone had cut up his name on her tongue with glass. Or perhaps with his own batarang, similar to the one that had been plunged into his bare chest by…someone. Any of the villains on the battlefield that had become Rodeo Drive had the capability to use his weapon against him, after Bizzaro had broken his usually impenetrable armour with one destructive punch. The fight had been going on for hours, the relentless number of enemies from all walks of life showing up out of the woodwork and pledging themselves to the mighty Darkseid before it was too late.

Before the monster simply incinerated the planet that human and Metahumans alike called home.

All of the men and women they had been fighting were ruthless, intent on showing their power, and what better way could they prove themselves than by murdering a Justice League member?

The blood that had squirted out of the massive wound on his face had been worrisome; his body was in shock as he fell to the ground slowly, shakily, and the blood flow was sporadic at best as it flew out of his chest. His thoughts were just as chaotic.

‘The people…of this city! Like…Gotham! Alfred… Alfred has my will—Dick, a-and Tim! I lost Jason… who will stop the Joker!? W-Who will protect Gotham!? N-Need the League to�� to… D-Diana…’

“D-Dian…a.” Her name flew from his cut lips as if it was the last word he would ever mutter. His body began to lurch forward on bruised and beaten knees, yet he never hit the ground. Who else would be there to catch but the very woman who had been his pillar of strength for so many years? The only person who he wanted with him in those last few moments. Dazed and weak, Bruce tried to look up at her as she flew high into the sky, and his weary mind wondered if it would be her responsibility to take him to Heaven’s Gate for his soul to be judged.

Instead, he found himself gazing up into her panicked eyes after she had laid him down on a rather smooth surface, somewhere safe, he imagined. “Bruce, I need… I need to get you home.”

“N-No, don’t…here…” He was trying to tell her to stay here, to stand and fight with their League, but if he wasn’t already losing his strength to stay awake, the sight of his blood splattering onto her signature armour surely stole the wind from his sails.

Somehow, she understood him. She always did, Diana did. She understood him in a way that no one else ever had and he had been shown the first glimpse of light in a rather darkened world the day he had spotted her at Luthor’s party.

God, was he grateful to Luthor for something?

He had to be dying.

“Wonder Woman?” An unknown voice sounded as if it charged towards his lover in the same moment when the world began to disappear in blackened blotches from his sight, sounding a great deal like an approaching noise from inside of a funnel. He watched her turn her head and just as quickly turn it back in order to speak to him.

“Bruce, the Green Lanterns are here to help!”

That…should have gotten some sort of reaction from him, but it didn’t.

“They are going to stand and fight with us.”

A light moment of bliss bubbled up inside his otherwise cold chest.

“Bruce? …Bruce, please!”

He wanted to answer her, truly he did, but he did not even possess the strength to ward away the darkness for the first time in his entire life. He was cold, he was weak, he had Diana to watch over him as he went – that was all Bruce needed, in his final moments.

Or so he believed, until Diana graced him with the touch of her forehead to his and whispered a gut-wrenching, “Please…I love—”

The world disappeared before he heard the last of her words, but it gave him peace all the same.

First Fight…

Diana pretended not to notice Bruce when he entered the BatCave, despite it being the place he went to when he wanted to hide away from the world. “What are you doing here?” Long gone was the sincerity in which he once addressed, currently replaced by the hardened tone he used whether they were in a group or on their own.

“I needed to cross-reference something we once looked into for Ares.”

“The League’s database would have the same information.”

“The League didn’t exist when we interviewed Dr. Sandsmark, and I doubt you transferred all of your intel onto the League’s computers.” Usually, Diana could retain her composure with the heavily guarded bat. After all, she had had a year of practice before they had become lovers, and the motivation to spurn him after he broke her heart could produce a rather unique elegance that she had not known she possessed. However, there were moments – always small, always private – where her tone would sound clipped on a word that could be misconstrued as accusatory or simply mean.

Calling his professionalism into question was yet another dagger she’d dig into him, just like that damned batarang that had nearly killed him, the very one that had changed him from the man she had known.

Thinking about the very man who had wronged her nearly distracted her from his approach; Bruce was behind her in a matter of a dozen heavy steps, his voice just as rough. “You have two minutes.”

That got her back up. “Excuse me?” Diana turned and straightened herself as she stared at the man who dared to tell her what to do. “I tell you I am looking for information on the God of War, and you give me a time limit for my search?”

Bruce looked unprepared to hear her opposition to his disagreeable ways. He was dressed in the latest, sturdier model of his Batsuit, which supported his excuse for his rudeness, “I need my computer for a mission of my own.”

Diana knew that her decision on how to respond was paramount in that moment. If she chose to battle it out with Bruce, they could finally discuss the cruelty he had shown her in decimating their romantic relationship the moment he had awakened after she had worried just to see him live through the coma he had fallen into. If she chose to turn away and take her information with her, there was the chance that they would never recover, never move beyond their tense, bearable relationship, enduring the mere shadow of what they once had.

Settling with the fact that she was no longer anything more than a colleague to him…

“You sound like a child, which is appropriate, given your behaviour.”

A startled light went off behind his hooded eyes, but Bruce inhaled such a deep breath, he looked like an animal ready to pounce. “If you don’t like it, then take your information and go.”

“And this is the way we are meant to function from now on? The founding members of the Justice League, who make harsh remarks at one another and refuse to move forward?”

“I am moving forward!” He raised his voice at her as if it would somehow prove he was correct.

Diana wanted to scoff but withheld from doing so. “You are moving inside yourself! You can be brave and face off against any villain who threatens this world, but you are still nothing more than a stubborn man, doing whatever it is you want and ignore the consequences.”

“What consequences!?”

“Me!” The way Diana slapped her chest reverberated throughout her body and sounded as if she had hit the floor. She did not shake or sway, though, merely carried on. “You destroyed what you had with me in order to protect yourself, and you expected me to comply with your wishes willingly.” Hearing the way she spoke of their relationship, it dawned on Diana that she had indeed done just that – allowed him to dictate the rules, and obeyed him without question. She had bowed down to what he wanted and sulked off to nurse her wounds, refusing to fight against the formidable Batman when she had told him once, long ago, that he could never best her…

As if he was reading her mind, Bruce blurted out as a poor excuse for a defence, “But you did.”

“Yes, I did…but know this now, Bruce,” With two heavy stomps of her own, Diana invaded Bruce’s personal space with grace and strength. He would not have tried to back away from her, but her hands found his shoulders regardless. “I will not let you defeat. I will not let you steal something so precious from me without putting up a fight. Remember that.”

Then, she released him and turned back to her work, almost as if she expected him to both acknowledge her threat and forget that it ever happened. Bruce remained still the entire time she completed her search on his computer and when she left, she did not bother to look at his hopefully dumbfounded expression.

Knowing that she had shut him up had been enough of a prize, for now at least.

First Baby…

Bruce heard Diana walking all over the upper level of the house, but he didn’t have the heart to call out to her. The Manor was a noisy place and it surprised him that Alfred hadn’t said anything, made a disgruntled face, or even reached for his cellphone to text Bruce to keep it down. Perhaps he knew it was Diana making all that noise – he always had favoured her.

Still, Bruce would have done the very same thing, if he was in the butler’s shoes.

After another minute or two of frantic searching, he finally heard his princess racing down the main staircase, hunting for something else this time around. When she spied him, he made sure to lift a pointed finger to his lips.

“Bruce—!”

“Shhh,” warned her husband from his casual pose of leaning against the doorframe she found him lurking in. He felt Diana approach him – the warmth of her body targeting him even from the other end of the hallway – and his arm reached out to welcome him into her hold.

“What are you doing, standing here?” Her inquiry was well-warranted, but he refused to answer. All she had to do was look into main floor study, and she would fully understand his pause.

After all, he wasn’t about to disturb his daughter while she was having her lunch.

“There she is.” Diana whispered as she maneuvered herself into his hold until they were perfectly placed in each other’s arms. Bruce dropped his head against her and let silence accompany them momentarily, just so he could hear the strangely adorable sound Penelope made when she sucked on her bottle. Those big brown eyes of hers were staring up at Alfred the entire time she feasted, and in turn, the butler smiled back at her as if she was his own flesh and blood.

“You were looking for her?” Bruce mumbled softly. “I thought you knew Alfred said he’d feed her lunch.”

Diana huffed, “I know that if I can’t find her, she’ll be with her grandfather, but he keeps popping up all over the manor so I can’t find him easily. I think he’s trying to steal her away from us.” It was clearly a joke, but her tone was a tad sulky. If anyone had been a proper parent to their daughter, it was Diana – she was a picture perfect mother in his eyes, and even managed to convince him that he could be a father when there were moments of doubt – and though she would not ever admit it, she still managed to become a tad jealous over Alfred’s honed experience with children.

The breath of fresh hair that was a baby, and a female one at that, was most likely the reason the old man could never stop smiling.

“I don’t think he’d risk it.”

“Because you’d threaten to fire him again?”“Because he knows he can’t hide from you forever.” Bruce chuckled into her bangs as he kissed her forehead.

Diana laughed into his chest and he could have sworn that her joyous giggle commanded the beat of his heart for a few moments. “You mean he can’t go toe to toe with me?”

There it was – the key phrase that had followed them the entirety of their relationship. Whether it was over a hard drive from Luthor or the jealousy he felt for King Faraday or the way she fought to keep them together even when he tried to foolishly tear them apart, it was always a challenge for them. There was always some sort of battle to be fought for them, but they seemed to have found their peace in the house he had lived in when life had been peaceful once.

It was as if he had a snapshot taken of his life as a child, and he found a way to create the dream life that his younger self had given up dreaming for all those years ago.

“No one can go toe to toe with you, Diana.” Bruce dared to admit as he turned her to face him, ready to kiss her with all of the tenderness he had inside of him in that one moment—

Just then, Arthur’s voice ruined the moment as it blared in their ears.

“Aquaman to Batman and Wonder Woman! Attack on the Atlantean Embassy! All Justice League members, do NOT use the transporter inside! I repeat, don’t—”

“Let’s test that theory.” Diana quipped before she stole the kiss Bruce had intended to bestow her with, then headed off to the BatCave in order to suit up.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin despite the warning of chaos he was being called to face, as his gaze swooped inside of the study one last time. Alfred, finally looking up from the precious baby in his arms, nodded to his oldest charge with a promise to look after Penelope while he was ‘busy’.

Penelope Martha Wayne, the daughter he had had with Diana Prince, the child he had to come home to, threw one of her small arms up into the air as he began to step away, as if to wave him off.

The way his heart was swarmed by a newly acquired warmth made Bruce selfishly wonder, when could him and Diana have another?

((A/N: Every couple needs a story like this – all of their firsts! I tried to tie them all together so they don’t feel as chaotic, and I hope it shows~ Yes, that little baby girl is the very baby Diana talked to Alfred about in another ficlet I did on this blog, called Penny! A lot of people seemed to like that one so I made sure to reference that for the First Baby portion. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and feel free to prompt me whenever you’d like! ~ Maiden))

#maiden writes #post-bvs #fic: from first to last #firsts #wonderbat

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