#ikemen prince x you

[blissfullyapillow]

₊ ⊹Clavis always finds a way to be touching your legs because he is a leg man, after all. Not a boob man.

₊˚⊹♡Main Masterlist

“Clavis, are you even listening?” You undoubtedly sound as exasperated as you feel, trying to explain the importance of something that’s been brought to your attention.

“Dearie me, it seems I’ve gotten a bit distracted. Please, repeat what you’ve said love. I will cling to your every word as I always do.” Despite his playful yet sincere words, his fingers continue to glide up and down your inner thigh as his gaze remains fixated on your legs.

“You say that, yet you didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” You can’t help but pout when he proceeds to continue touching your thighs; this time his hand grips your thigh before squeezing it.

A sound of pleasure escapes his lips, and he appears to be more focused than ever before on the plush flesh of your thighs.

“Oh sweetheart, I always dutifully listen to every word that leaves those pretty lips. I understand. I will be sure to sort out the issue in a timely manner, but there are more pressing matters that need my attention right now.” Clavis’ words serve to not only fluster you, but make your heart quiver as well.

“..and what is this 'pressing matter' that needs your attention right now?” The words leave your lips in a tantalizing whisper; breathless and knowing. Oh, Clavis loves it when you sound like that.

His lips quirk into an all too familiar smile before his hand squeezes your thigh once more. Soon, it begins to make its descent down your thigh. 

Suddenly he leans over you, and his hand deftly maneuvers your leg, lifting it up to place it over his shoulder.

The fire in his playful gaze makes you squirm, but it seems your reaction only serves to ignite the flames within his captivating irises even further.

“My sweet little bunny already knows the answer to that question, don’t they?” Your mouth parts with the intention of retorting his very true statement, but a moan leaves it instead. 

Clavis’ fingers explore the familiar terrain of your body, starting from your legs, as his lips press slow, agonizing kisses to your thighs.

₊˚ෆ

Clavis made sure his “important business” was thoroughly and completely tended to, and true to his word the following day he made sure to address the issue you brought to his attention.

If only he didn’t tease you with that knowing smirk on his lips as he talked to the people of his Kingdom, keeping his eyes on you the entire time.

[pochipop]

＃IKEMEN PRINCE !! ♡ — THE WAY HE LIES (YVES X READER).

#. synopsis! — yves frequents your family owned bakery in the city, and he's such a pretty liar .

#. characters! — yves .

#. warnings! — very slight angst .

#. word count! — 1.6k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — is this really the content anyone wants from me? probably not! but hello ikeseries fandom, i've come to join the tumblr ranks !

There he sits again in one of the worn-out wooden chairs of your family’s bakery, —his hair glistening like little strings of golden sunlight in the dying evening rays. Many moons ago, you’d have been nervous to approach him, smoothing your apron down, dusting flour off yourself haphazardly before making your way over to take his order, minding your posture like a single slump in his presence would have set the world ablaze. These days, you know better. . . Yves may look much too sophisticated to let yourself be true around, but underneath that perfectly polished appearance, there’s a young man much like yourself.

A young man who is also painfully uncertain of it all, who yearns for a place to belong.

With two servings of strawberry mousse in either hand, you place one before him, letting the little ceramic dish clink against the table. His clear, powder blue eyes draw to your face, and he bites back a smile, forcing that same neutral arrogance to remain even as you take a seat across from him.

“Back again, I see,” you grin a bit, shoveling a spoonful of the creamy dessert into your mouth, letting it melt on your tongue.

He hums in acknowledgement, taking his own spoon between his fingers to gracefully scoop an appropriate sized bite from the top.

“I had some business to attend to in town,” he replies evenly, pausing to taste the mousse, and then to swallow it down. “I’m sure I missed dinner at the castle and was feeling pekish on the journey back.”

You know he’s lying, but you don’t ask why. You never ask why he’s often so dishonest; both with himself and others. . . It’s easier to assume that Yves has his reasons and to leave it at that.

“I trust everything went well enough then?” You inquire.

His eyebrow raises in confusion, and you’re quick to clarify: “With the business you mentioned having in town, that is.”

If you hadn’t been sure he was lying before, you certainly were after seeing his face drop for a moment as he realized he’d slipped up in his charade.

“Oh, —yes,” he answers, giving a quick, unconvincing nod. “All’s well, thank you. And I assume business today went smoothly as well?”

“As smoothly as it can go, I suppose,” you laugh, —and ah. . . There’s that funny feeling again, the one Yves has been having in his chest as of late.

The kind that mimics a dastardly mixture of palpitations and the fluttering of insect wings.

He’d really like to fix this. There’s gotta be a way to pass this over, let these feelings pass him by, —because this can’t, won’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t ever work, and he knows it. You live in a world so completely different to his own; one that isn’t tainted by royal politics and all the gossip of bordering kingdoms that always lingers around the corners, threatening to swallow him whole. There’s no place for love when it comes to people like him. Not when any compassion you could ever show him would only prove to marr your reputation. It’s why he never picks the seat by the largest window anymore, why he only comes here when the shop is about to close, and why he’s never allowed himself to sit with you without telling a lie.

So yeah. . . Maybe it is for the best that you never ask why he isn’t as honest as he could be when it comes to you. Or to anyone else. 

“You seem a little down today,” you comment. “Is everything really okay?”

It’s just the way his frown seems deeper, and the way his brows seem so set in their furrow. He never looks outwardly happy as far as you’ve ever see of him, but usually there’s little flecks of joy that swim through his eyes, whether it’s over the sweets, or the peacefulness of the establishment, or over the way you smile at him so reassuringly, as if flashing one at him for just a second should be enough to soothe his deepest hurts.

His expression drops for a moment, like he’s surprised you were paying enough attention to notice the smaller details of his sour mood. Yves does his best to wear his heart beneath his sleeve, keep it hidden away, but you. . . He fears you see him for exactly who he is, and the thought of it terrifies him. Nobody should have to see that.

“Everything’s fine,” he nods after a few moments of silence. “The mousse is quite good today. Did you make it yourself?”

You fear the compliment is little more than a distraction, a way to change the topic without having to dwell on the previous one. But that’s okay.

“Mhm,” you nod. “Just a few hours ago, actually. We’ve been tweaking the recipe a bit as of late, and I think this might be the best one so far.”

“I agree. The sweetness is balanced with the slightly tart flavor of the fresh strawberries on top, and the texture is so decadent and creamy,” he answers, words emphasized by the spoonful he ushers into his mouth much less elegantly than before.

Something about it makes you smile. Sure, he’s a liar, but his eyes are so honest, and you can always tell what he really wants to say when you read between the lines. You imagine it must be hard to be a prince in such a small kingdom. . . To have so many eyes on you at all times, to be judged both at your strongest and weakest points. The riches of it all must be nice, and that’s all well and good, —but there’s so obviously a price to pay for living under that kind of scrutiny. You can’t help but wonder if Yves ever stops to let it all wash over him, or if he goes about each day pretending to be alright for everyone else’s sake.

At the very least, you hope he feels comfortable being himself here, with you. 

“I’m glad you think so.”

Silence falls between you for a bit. The sound of horse drawn carriages padding over the gravel outside and the soft clinks of your spoons against the little ceramic bowls echo in a playful chorus.

You’re happy he stopped by today.

“There’s some leftover honey cake, if you’d like to take it back with you,” you note. “I know you took a slice to go the first time you came in, and you mentioned your brother was a fan of the flavor.”

He blinks, lips parting slightly, as if he just can’t believe you cared enough to remember an interaction from so long ago. It makes him wonder what else you’d be able to recall about him, and he looks down at the strawberry mousse sitting on the table (though it’s mostly eaten by now.)

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he answers, voice softer than before.

Yves tacks on a quiet ‘thank you,’ to which you offer him another smile. He wishes he could see that everyday, feel the way it lights him up from the inside. . . But that’s a fool’s game to play, and Yves is no court jester. He’s a prince, —a cowardly one, and he’s not the kind of man you deserve. He’s not the kind of man anyone should truly care for.

“It’s no trouble at all,” you answer. “You’ve been very generous to myself and my family’s bakery. . . Really, it’s the least I can do. I’m afraid I’m not sure how else to repay the kindness.”

Perish the thought, honestly. He’d do anything just to see you every now and again, to reach out and remind himself that not everyone in this kingdom thinks him to be some kind of humanized betrayal. You look at him with such kindness in your eyes, and it’s a welcome change from the harsh, judgemental stares he often receives on his way anywhere at all. At least with you, he feels content; like there’s no shackles keeping him glued to a place of constant scrutiny.

You see him as he is, —and you ignore everything he isn’t. And he loves you for it.

You pack up two slices of the honey cake, thinking maybe if he really hadn’t eaten that much today, he’d be able to enjoy it at some point or another. As you hand the little box over, you don’t bother to insist he keep his coins in his pocket. He’s already fumbling around in his pockets for payment likely double that of the actual price.

“We’ll have macarons on sale this weekend, if you’d be interested in stopping by,” you smile, handing him the box of honey cake slices. “I can save you some.”

Even if he didn’t want them, (which he most certainly did), he would have accepted your offer anyway. If it means he has a valid excuse to come see you for a bit, then count Yves in without question.

“I’d like that,” he answers, his fingers brushing oh so gently against your own as he takes the box from your hands. 

You swore you could see the faintest smile pull at his lips, but it was gone before you could be certain of it.

The time comes once again for him to leave, and you watch him go with a newfound longing. From the window of the bakery, you watch as his lean frame eventually turns the closest corner, and he disappears for the time being. . . He’ll be back soon enough, you’re sure, but a part of you always hates to see him go.

Maybe one day he won’t have to, but for now, you resign yourself to closing shop, the thought of him dancing around in your head.

[yandere-romanticaa]

I'm just imagining how Gilbert von Obsidian would admire the pretty engagement ring he put on your finger as you eat breakfast together.

He has you brought back to him to his kingdom, dressed in the finest midnight black silk, the scent of fresh roses still lingering on your flesh as he indulges in the softness of your neck. Sometimes he just allows his lips to linger, to tease you like the cruel man that he is.

Other times, his patience snaps like a twig and he just bites.

The bites are never gentle. They're rough and sharp, the bruise would stay there for weeks to come and don't you dare cover them up.

You would just upset him if you did that, and that is not something you want to do.

It gets harder and harder to focus on the food in front of you as Gilbert just keeps going at it, his red eye twinkling like a ruby, its sheer redness nearly blinding you with its intensity.

You are at an impasse - do you fight him? Your spirit is still intact and you have no desire to stay stuck in this gilded cage he set up for you. But you just think back to all the blood that was spilled because of you, how many people lost their lives because they helped you, none of which knew that you were engaged to the deranged beast prince of Obsidian.

Gilbert sinks his teeth into you once more and you are brought back down to reality.

There really was no fighting him anymore, was there?

You let out an accidental little yelp, much to Gilbert's pleasure. You feel him grin, his pearly whites tainted with your thick, scarlet blood, just how he liked it. He won, he knew this.

He was just happy that you finally were aware of that fact too.

[janumun]

Obsidian Retribution (IkePri Gilbert von Obsidian - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ 🌶️ Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian/Reader Words: ~4k

Tags: developing/denial of feelings, church desecration/sex, vaginal fingering, minor violence, spoilers for Gilbert’s route (chapter 9), re-telling of canon events, angst 

Summary: What happens when you throw yourself into harm’s way in a bid to protect Gilbert at one of Clavis’ covert anti-monarchy meetings? Unconsciously stirring out the whetted fangs of the Conqueror Beast. 

And you witness, once more, just how scathingly cruel his desire for monopoly over your body truly is.

A/N: I’m currently in the midst of Gilbert’s route but he’s been such a flowing inspiration and need that I had to write this indulgent piece for him, for myself and the five other Gil fans out there who would cry with me LOL.  

Characterization might not be accurate to end route Gil, as I’m at the beginning of his route still, so this is written with my understanding of an early Gilbert. ILOVETHISMANSOMUCH. 

The lethal sweep of the blade engulfs your vision entirely, the noble’s hand poised right above his shoulder — a strike you know you cannot avoid. Your life, as if you view it through the distant barrier of a panorama, right before it’s extinguished.  

The sole knowledge that you do not regret your actions one bit, your one solace, eyes drifting shut, that one moment of death stretching slow and long.  

A glacial whisper, of knelling death curls into your ears, “I do not recall allowing you permission to die by another’s hand,” His only pre-emptive warning, just before Gilbert grips a harsh hand about your neck and hurls you backwards— 

“Belle!” Into Luke’s body as he catches you against himself right before you careen straight into the ground. 

A whimpered groan breaks into the air right after; your whirling head, catching its bearings just enough to catch sight of Gilbert standing above the writhing figure of your would-be assailant, bunched at the ground. The sharp end of the perpetrator’s blade — now within Gilbert’s hand — he brings up in a vicious arc, surely in murderous intent. 

“Prince Gilbert, don’t!” Your voice breaks in terror into the air, before the knife is able to find home within its pitiful target.  

His hand, fortunately, halts just before it slits through the noble’s carotid, the latter long having fainted in mind-numbing fear, unable to bear the single-focused brutality of the conqueror beast.  

Gilbert raises his face as if operated via a puppeteer's strings, cut before it could fulfil its performance. Garnet gaze, sweeping slow, before it finds its next victim, within you. Your breath frosts within your lungs, incapable of function, the vicious weight of his terrifying visage subjecting you to his splintering displeasure, despite the cruel smile that remains even now, firm in place. “What is it, little rabbit? Are you begging me to kill you instead?”  

“Prince Gilbert!” You hear Luke entreat, as if from afar.  

A volatile shiver cascades down your spine at the look he’s giving you, thinly veiled revulsion and rage within that sole scarlet eye.  

Gilbert takes a step toward you; your breaths coming in short, staccato bursts and yet you’re unable to turn away from the hungering violence within that gaze. Scurrying thoughts unable to comprehend why exactly he seemed so incensed at you.  

“Come now, out with it. I know you wish to say something to me.” Gilbert offers you an encouraging smile, even as the murderous intent radiating from him with each step he takes forward, threatens to smother you entirely.  

You know what he wishes to hear in that moment, of no mind to hear your own thoughts on the matter. An apology, for your actions, reckless, they may have been, but you do not hold an ounce of regret for trying to protect the man that continues to disconcert your heart; sink his dark trellises deeper into your soul. 

“Prince Gilbert, I—”  

The stifling pressure in the room, cut through only upon Clavis’ interruption, just as he steps into the room to offer a jaunty congratulations to Gilbert for providing an entertaining show.  

The weight of his gaze flees entirely from you, your body — you did not realize you’d held steadfast by sheer force of will — collapses back against Luke’s comforting presence, just as he hauls you up and into his arms, to carry you back. 

“Aren’t you a lucky one?” Gilbert’s cheery voice drifts, discomfiting against your retreating back. 

“Prince Gilb—” 

 “Take care you don’t let me catch sight of you again, or I might just kill you.” Your heart thrums in confounding pain at his words, the clear line he carves in between the two of you in that moment.  

Your mouth unable to form sufficient words to try and catch his attention just as Gilbert turns away from you entirely, the soft flitter of his cape as he does, the last sight you capture of him, as Luke carries you away from the scene. 

 

The longcase clock at the end of hallway has long struck midnight. You continue to pace, restless, about the corridor. Eyes cemented upon the window, affording you a clear view of the castle gates as you stake your agitated wait for Gilbert’s return.  

Luke and you had returned a few hours back, to the castle in a private carriage. You’d run into Rio as soon as you’d alighted, almost immediately after, being carted in between the two men as they’d fussed you straight into the infirmary. The good part of the hour after, spent in making sure you were truly unhurt save for the minor scrap at your arms.  

It was only multiple reassurances later and holding Rio back from charging deep into the night after Gilbert, did you escape from the fretful affections of your friends and out, to await Gilbert’s return.  

His expression returns to your mind’s eye in vivid detail; the way that cold, scarlet gaze had zoned in on you, the shuttered intensity of violent rage underneath. It was as if you’d been looking upon a stranger.  

Now that you’d had a few quiet moments to compose yourself away from the fright of your earlier situation, bone-deep remorse was beginning to settle within, at having displeased Gilbert the way you did. A forced companionship he may have forged in between you two, but the startling glimpses of his kindness that lurked beneath the serrated edge of his cool blades, had your heart shred asunder between fear, rationale and genuine care. You couldn’t deny it, not after tonight. You had, perhaps, grown to care for Prince Gilbert, far more than was ever appropriate. 

The soft whinnying of horses disturbing the quiet of the night outside drags you out of your reverie just in time to catch sight of Gilbert’s figure descending the carriage.  

You begin your rush towards the main entrance, but instead of making his way into the castle, Gilbert’s steps veered off towards a path leading to what seemed to be, the back of the castle.  

You fly down the winding staircase and into the foyer, heart battering against your chest. Pulling open the great doors to the entrance before you dart after his retreating figure that is a mere speck in the distance, now.  

You do not want to lose sight of him. You must see Gilbert tonight and make him listen to what you have to say. Despite your fears, you do not wish to abandon Gilbert with the notion that you did not care. Even beneath the carving of a beast, he was just a human too. A man who’d come so close to bordering a rapidly diminishing line in between friend and foe.  

Up ahead, Gilbert ducks past belting cobblestone, headed in the direction of what seems to be the structure of an old church. You frown, thoughts wrought with questions you know you’d get no easy answers for.  

The tapering sweep of his cape disappears just past the great, carved wooden doors of the church, and you too follow, on tentative, urgent steps, slipping through the entrance and into the church.  

It sits empty, save for the dark figure of the man standing motionless, close to the pulpit.  

“I didn’t think you were foolish enough to come chasing after me even after I warned you not to.” Gilbert’s voice drifts eerie in its calm, down the long hallway, even as you trudge closer on careful steps. “Tell me, is it that pure kindness of yours which feels for every living being, or an empty head that has dragged you this far into the beast’s den?”  

Gilbert’s words are scathing, deliberately cruel, meant to burn. You have not heard him utilize that tone of voice with you in so long. 

“Well then,” he prods; voice, sweet poison. “Are you going to answer me or shall I make you answer me?” 

You drift further into the church on uneasy steps, the great doors behind sway shut behind you in a creak of finality, as if knelling of an ill-fated decision. Against all wise sense, however — your heart insists you do — you tread towards the man who stands waiting, at the end of the long, carpeted hallway.

A poised form; his head at an easy cant, a crinkled garnet eye fixated upon your foolish movements — you do not miss the incessant, muted tap of gloved digits across the flared bulb of his cane, an uncharacteristic agitation to his visage, you’re not used to witnessing on Gilbert. He stands, all obsidian, against the backdrop of watered twilight that filters in shafts past great, ornate windows on either sides of the quiet hallway — as though he is a devil awaiting the willing scurry of a sacrifice right into its willing maw.  

You grit your teeth against the frightening intimidation he’s settled deep into your bones, a festering cloak he’s had thrown over in between you, warning you to stop prying deeper into his affairs. “I want to speak to you, Prince Gilbert.”  

“Oh? What if I do not wish to listen, little rabbit?”  

“Then, I insist you hear me out.” The cutting streak of his blade is so swift, you only but feel the soft stir of your hair about your face before your breath frosts within your windpipe at the deadly edge of the sword he holds against the careful swallow of your throat.  

“You really do wish to die by my hand tonight. What an utterly insipid way to cut my fun short, Belle.” 

You force yourself to hold your ground, even as the first tremors of fear crumple across your limbs. “I don’t want you to kill me.” Compelling courage to rise in the face of his raw vitriolic anger, you wish to parse the reason for his distress. “I only want to know why you are so angry with me.”  

A serrated smile tugs across his mouth. “Do you ask because you really do not know?” 

“I don’t. And I don’t think I did anything to warrant your unjust ire either.” 

“Unjust...” he murmurs. “You would’ve realized it if you took but a single moment to think.” 

Your mind takes his words and works about them in a million different ways. “I realize my actions were reckless...” 

“That is a good start.” the sardonic amusement of his voice does not reach his eyes.  

“But I do not regret my actions, Prince Gilbert. I...” you swallow around words that are sudden lead within your throat. “I do not think I could bear to see you get hurt.”  

The admission uttered on soft, firm words; stews dense within the space in between you both. Gilbert's lone scarlet gaze, watches you, motionless as the terse silence stretches taut into several excruciating moments.  

Before he gathers his blade back into its secreted scabbard once more, beneath the cloak at his waist — your breath escaping you on a rush of relieved air, you did not even know how tensed you’d held your body, until its released from the grip of Gilbert’s dread, with the withdrawal of his blade. The Obsidianite prince turns on his heel, the flourish of his great, dark cape behind, as he moves to seat himself in the first pew. He does not look back at you as he instructs, “Come.”  

And you follow, without a word of complaint uttered; know that you tread in dangerous waters. A single, wrong move, and you’d miss your window of opportunity with Gilbert entirely. His emotions would be shuttered off to you, once and for all, were you to lose your nerve now and flee from him. Despite how part of your heart still tremored within his presence, how you still couldn’t help doubt each single edge of his kindness so deeply steeped within his malice; hope still sprouted within you regardless. Willing to gamble upon the Gilbert you often times caught glimpse of; one who’s consideration did not come attached with its poisonous strings.  

You shift on anxious steps once you’re in front of him, Gilbert’s gaze, mildly muted of its ire when he fixes it upon you. “Your impulsive actions could’ve cost you dearly tonight.” He begins.  

“Impulsive, yes... but even if I had stopped to think, Prince Gilbert, I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t afford to see me hurt, yes, I heard that silly part the first time you spoke it, little rabbit.” he reiterates.  

You clam up on yourself. 

“You could’ve died. Did you stop to think how much the mere thought of your demise irked me?” He angles the head of his cane, to tap against your hip, gesturing you closer.  

And just as you steal close within arm’s length, Gilbert’s gloved digits are curving about your arm in a vice, hauling you down to topple onto his lap. His murmur’s a warm caress against the shell of your ear. “I would’ve hated it if you’d died.”  

Your mind careens into a rash halt of all thoughts, blanking entirely at the quiet certitude of those words. 

“...What?”  

“Foolish, isn’t it?” His smile is wide, undisturbed across his face. Just as transient as the surface of a pond, subject to be disturbed by the slightest of ripples. “Even when I despise you so, Belle, I cannot let you go.” 

“Prince Gilbert...” 

Your mind cannot parse the meaning of his words. If this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d have understood him to mean he did not wish for his prey to be ‘impaired’ by another. Gilbert had told you so, on several occasions and in no less than explicit terms.  

However, now as you look upon Gilbert; emotions naked, unlike you’ve ever seen before. Jagged enough they could cut you through if you dared try wade in deeper. Into the insinuation barely concealed behind that sole garnet gaze.  

The arch of his cane steers a slow caress over the shirt at your chest, before it dents into a stop right above your heart. Gilbert presses in, insisting the polished head against the give of your left breast — your heart seeming to catch at the hook of it with how it seizes at the motion. “This right here could’ve stopped,” he mulls, almost clinically. The insouciant inflection of his voice disarming at the last careful barriers and inhibitions, thrown up in protection of your heart. “I am human too, you know, mere flesh and bone. I cannot be there to protect you each time that heart of yours decides it wishes to do good to all, regardless of their status as man or beast.”  

“Prince Gil—” Your voice fractures into a pained gasp, just as he seizes the fingers you reach out for him, sinking a sharp bite around a vulnerable digit. You clench back further signs of weakness with the slow, aching sweep of his tongue against your captured fingers; the teeth that worry at tender skin, pinching another warning at your approach. And reach out, again, with your other palm. Succeeding in curving your fingers about his cool cheek in a tentative touch up the line of it. Thumbing gentle right beneath the cusp of a surprised gaze, singular scarlet disarmed by the tender action. Before it crinkles in mild resignation, half rebuke, “You truly are a fool.”  

Gilbert tucks his face against your cradling palm, further allowing you slack, to temper at the beast that has — for the moment — lowered its great head to you. That is all the victory you need from him at the moment, for him to pay heed to you for the words you wish to communicate. “I’m sorry.”  

The apology rings piercing in the quiet space, Gilbert’s gaze unrelenting in the long stretch of time that seems to trudge slow in between you both, the longer he lets those two words stew.  

Pink tongue darting out a nervous path to slick moisture at long dry lips, “I’m sorry for not thinking my actions through and for not treasuring myself more in the moment. I realize that upset you greatly and I apologize for that, Prince Gilbert.”  

He remains silent throughout your confession uttered, red gaze, and a gloved hand, tracing a deliberate path across your chest, right above your heart. You know he can feel the moment it thrums faster, beneath his welcome touch — why, why do you not hate Gilbert touching you? — gliding its exploration across the space. “Will you promise not to do what you have today, again?”  

The thought of uttering a cosy lie, flitters through your mind for a split moment of relapsed judgement. Before fizzling in on itself; you know well how Gilbert despises untruths spoken, no matter how small. Would know, were you to try offer false placations. And so, you opt for the bitter truth — one you too, realize with a jolt of realization, “I... cannot promise you that.”  

His eye rolls up to meet yours, the sharp edge to it, you swallow against, as if he has a phantom blade pressed to your throat once more. “For as much as I deeply regret the trouble I’ve caused you, I know I’d hate it even more were something to happen to you.” 

“Those are dangerous fantasies to harbour for a prince of your enemy nation.” A muted smile graces his features; a dark gloved thumb he brings to trace at your lower lip, delicately disengaging it from the worrying bite of your teeth. As if he, too, hadn’t confessed so, in less clearer words, not too long before. A dangerous game you two play; you don’t wish to disentangle the throttling wad of your emotions tonight.  

“Well, that’s too bad then, I guess, because those are my true feelings, Prince Gilbert.” You stare back, resolute.  

His smile quivers in mild amusement. “I know.”  

“And I’m willing to do anything to show my sincerity, if it gets you to accept my heartfelt apology.” 

That garnet gaze shutters, taking on a hard edge at your words; the burbling shadows of darkness that catch just beneath that smiling veneer before it vanishes entirely. “You’re playing a treacherous game here, little rabbit, one that will unfortunately end in futility, no matter how hard you try.” His smile grows wider, until you’re seeing the flash of teeth in it. “Nothing you do or say can ever change the positions you and I stand in. So, tell me once more.” A firm arm curls about your waist, heaving you flush against the cold, clothed expanse of Gilbert’s chest, a stifled gasp leaving you at the motion. “You’re not silly enough to not understand the true implications of your offer, are you?”  

Your next breath quivers out of you. “...I am not.” Your fingers snag awkwardly at the regal collar of his mantle, sinking into the soft fur lining the edges. “I wholeheartedly wish to make amends.” And you pitch your head forwards, the tentative kiss you touch against Gilbert’s cold lips has you shuddering in his embrace. “I can’t promise you what you want but I can convey my honest remor—”  

His hand slinks into the catch of your hair, hauling you back towards him in a kiss of cool desire, mouth moving against yours in a manner, it leaves you flushed and breathless by the time Gilbert parts from you on a wet, sultry sound. A hand he cups about your jaw, thumb denting at your chin in measured strokes. You tip your mouth, catching the edge of his glove in between your teeth to tug, slow. Deliberate. Curving your hands about his, in aid, before you wrest the glove off his hand entirely. Moving to discard it behind, at your feet.  

Gilbert’s bared hand moves to curve about the flare of your hip; a patient squeeze he applies to the flesh beneath. His other hand he extends in silent instruction for you to de-glove before you comply without question. You tremble above him in need, his simmering gaze more than making up for the cold you feel permeating through the thin cloth of your dress. “Go on,” he encourages. “You’re going to work for it, aren’t you?”  

Your breath heaves with the slow rise of your chest, hand stealing past the stiff collar of his cape to settle your fingers at the side of his neck, tracing hesitant pads down the line of it. “You’re so cold.”  

His lashes sweep shut over his eye at your touch, canting his head further into the warmth of your palm; a figure he paints so lovely, you know this empyrean visage is what you’d always envisioned within your mind’s eye when you used to read about kings and princes within your happy fairytales, long before in a time that seems so far into the past now. “You should warm me, then. Show me you’re capable of it.” 

Sinking a vexed bite into your lip — adamant on proving yourself right — you hoist your knee awkwardly onto the narrow seat. Gilbert’s hands immediately flit to curve their supports against your behind and lift, just as your other knee too, settles by his thigh, effectively straddling him. Your breaths stopper momentarily within your throat with the expectant lift of his gaze, palms squeezing softly against your pliant flesh. Your hands fly towards the flow of your dress before you slip the material up against your thighs, deliberately exposing your bare skin to his gaze.  

Gilbert's eye flashes; molten steel bleeding into the gaze, before one of his hands steal past the edge of your still rising dress and in between your legs to glance a searing touch in between your drenched folds, right above your underwear. You gasp at the euphoric sensation, hips lurching against his hand on instinct, trying to capture it deeper into you.  

He indulges you — perhaps he feels particularly merciful in that one moment of whimsy — the pad of his forefinger re-tracing its path in between your folds. Before his thumb tucks aside the edge of your underwear, to slide index and middle in a slow, torturous path across the bare flesh from hood to base. Teasing the cool tips of them just into your entrance. Your body flares in mortified need to feel your wetness gush onto his fingers at that mere testing touch.  

His eye rolls up to meet yours, the smile that lingers at his lips, immensely pleased. “You’re very warm here.” Propelling his fingers, slow, up into your clenching walls. “It’s almost as if you’re running a fever, little rabbit.” You moan against him, with each deliberate thrust, the pads of his digits finding your weakest spot frighteningly quick, to scrape repetitive, at the soft flesh. “Do you think I’d be just as hot were I to settle deep into your place here?”  

Your hips judder against his fingers at those words, grazing the heel of his palm against the neglected bead at your apex, sending fire soaring through your body at that split moment of contact. Your soft, soughing sound of need breaks into the air, body gyrating down against that searing point of contact, in rhythm with the leisured thrust of his fingers into your spasming walls.  

Before Gilbert, cruelly, siphons the heat from you entirely at the cusp of release, fingers pried out of you to drift up against his mouth. He sweeps his tongue against his drenched digits, copious arousal dripping past his wrist to soak into the pristine cloth at his thigh. “Sweet thing,” he hums, just as you flush further underneath his piercing touch.  

And before you can manoeuvre your weak limbs for much else — mind so hazed in its lust addled state, you’re not sure what’s happening — Gilbert’s free hand is stealing about the curve of your spine. Pressing you down against the firm, hard strength of exposed flesh; the smooth head of him bumping about your nub to have you keening into the touch. Spine arching the rest of the way forwards without the coaxing of his hand, so he slips just past your entrance; fingers spasming into his shoulders at the stretch. You rock against that pleasurable almost burn for several, excruciating moments, in and out — surface thrusts — head falling back against your shoulders.  

Gilbert throws his hand about your body, fingers splaying just beneath the wings of your shoulder-blades, hauling your coasting body to hold firm, against his. “Don’t lose yourself now, little rabbit. You have yet to satisfactorily apologize.” Tempting your body down into his lap until he’s propelled, at last, into your drenched walls, a rapid sigh issued from Gilbert’s lips at the sensation.  

Your body quickly warming his into yours — the shape and stretch of him has you nearly faint with desire. “I’m sorry,” you croon on your first roll upon him. “I-I’m so sorry.” Grinding him up into your walls as deeply as you are able, the unyielding strength of him so numbing within your body. Even inside you, connected this intimately, Gilbert von Obsidian must have his own way with you.  

And you’ve let him do so, for so long; at his beck and call, thrown to his tender mercies. And yet, your mind had gone and coddled unfathomable emotions for him within its bosom. He'd gotten past your defences, just as he’d promised; crawling tendrils underneath your skin, into your frenzied beating heart, deep into your mind, until he occupied every thought along with each waking breath of yours. And your tiny victory lay in the knowledge that perhaps, you too had chipped a small chunk past that obsidian armour and carved a shallow wound at his skin, of your name.  

“I’m sorry for angering you, Gilbert.” You weep upon his length, hips driving fast towards a swift approaching release. 

“You are, aren’t you?” He breathes, hands catching at your waist to aid your movements upon him. “I’ll forgive you. And I’ll forgive you for neglecting to speak my proper title too, Belle, since I’m the one who has ruined you.” His smile is almost sweet, pleasant upon his face as he looks up at you — you drink that saccharine poison down almost fervidly. “You’re allowed to be remiss this once, because we are friends.”  

He’s driving, hard, into you — powerful enough the pew beneath you creaks with the propulsions — at an angle that has him brushing hot against your swollen nub in blinding strokes, just at the cusp of release, threatening to overflow. “So, call me Gil instead, when we are alone. I shall permit it, for you. Say it now.” 

Your body breaks, spasming into a release so violent, your entire body shudders above him. “Gil.” You sob out loud, your arms he coaxes about the strength of his shoulders. Fingers you sink into the soft fur of his mantle to ground yourself, just as Gilbert’s warmth follows soon after into your quivering walls. “I-I’m sorry, Gil.” 

A breathless, flushed grin, Gilbert von Obsidian buries against your mouth before he speaks. “Apology accepted, little rabbit.” 

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here.

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter.

[pistachiofiasco]

bathtubs, haircuts, storms

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: fluff, soft hours Words: 736 Warnings: n/a

Also on AO3!

here's another little thing for my beloved little menace man. fun fact but i wrote this before the forever with you story event but i wasn't sure about the characterisation. I cannot describe the vindication I felt at the discussion Gilbert and MC have about trust lmao

"I should learn how to cut hair, so I can trim yours when you need it." He gave a quiet hum, unresponsive for the most part.

You couldn't see his face from this angle, had expected more of a reaction, maybe one of those delighted smiles for when you showered him with attention. Rinsing his hair, letting hair as black as obsidian (hah) slip between your fingers, you frowned lightly at a sudden thought. "Nevermind actually. You probably wouldn't feel comfortable letting anyone bring anything sharp near your neck."

You'd said it mildly, as lightly as the real un-offended feelings behind it, but as you turned to reach for the next bottle, you felt him shift beneath your fingers. Glancing back, you found him leaning his head back over the rim of the bathtub, mismatched eyes locked on you.

Oh, we're veering into sulking territory.

You raised an eyebrow at him, smiling softly at the pout on his lips.

"Do you think, in this situation, that you're just anyone, little rabbit?"

"I'm not," you agreed, settling back into your seat and cupping the back of his head against the cold porcelain. "But you still don't trust me as much as you love me."

The pout slipped off his lips now. His face had the blank mask on again, the one where you always got a little too close, a little too quickly. His eyes were still locked on your face, and by now it was so easy for you to see the whirlwind behind them. He'd turn the tables soon, re-establish his control over the situation, redirect your attention, lock down the fear with a genial smile, like he has done for so many years.

It didn't bother you most of the time; you knew it for what it was. And you'd already promised to spend the rest of your lives proving he didn't need to with you. In this moment, it felt like as good a time as any to remind him of that.

Before the maelstrom could pick a direction, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his wet forehead. Lingering, you smiled against his skin as your noses bumped lightly.

"Maybe I'll learn anyway." One hand still holding the back of his head, the other brushed back the strands sticking to the sides of his face. Another kiss to his nose, you sat back up. He was still looking at you (he was always looking, always, long before you ever even knew). "So that when I prove I'm right, you'll be comfortable enough to let me."

It was like being in the eye of the storm, a momentary pause in all the chaos and confusion. You'd managed to surprise him (you were quickly becoming hooked on the thrill you got when he looked at you like that, wide eyed and lips parted, especially when what followed it was that boyish grin that you knew hadn't changed from the past, even if you'd never seen it). You smiled, grinned really. Red and blue eyes had settled. This one was your win.

You gently tipped his head back up, fingers lightly working through the soft black to scratch at his scalp, just barely grazing his ears. The slightest flinch and a hand shooting up to grip your fingers. You froze, wondering if you'd pushed just too far so soon. But he simply tugged your hand forward, pressing it against his lips in an approximation of a kiss. You took it for the acquiescence it was, smiling wider. This close, leaning forward, you laid another few kisses on his head, against his cheek, finishing with just the lightest, mildest little nip at his shoulder.

The regret was immediate. You yelped as his teeth sank into your finger, a sharp "Gilbert!" ringing out, and you saw just a flash of his grin over his shoulder, mischief in his eyes, as he pulled you bodily into the tub, clothes and all. Spluttering, spitting soapy bathwater and your own (now very wet) hair, you could hear him laughing, the sound clear as a bell, echoing in the room. Not bothering to bite back your own grin, you splashed him, trying to stand, complaining loudly as he wrapped his arms firmly around you, dragging you back into the warm water, pressing his cold nose against your neck.

And the storm came and went, like it usually did these days.

the man has trust issues and we need to work on them, slowly but surely. I just wanted to give him some pampering, maybe during his recovery period, while he's still having small fits/bouts of weakness

[wistfulwanderingone]

"The Spark of Freedom"

- Clavis Lelouch, Yves Kloss, Licht Klein, Cassandra Bellerose (Ikemen Prince)

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Characters: Clavis Lelouch, Yves Kloss, Licht Klein, Cassandra Bellerose (OC)

Pairing: Clavis Lelouch x Cassandra OC

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Clavis Shenanigans

Word Count: ~7200

Summary:

A perfectly civilized tea party. A peaceful spring afternoon. And then—Clavis Lelouch arrived.

With Clavis, Cassandra quickly learns, chaos is inevitable.

She should be scandalized. She should walk away.

Instead, she finds herself stepping into his game, drawn to the way he tilts the world off its axis with nothing more than a sugarcube and a grin.

Artwork of Clavis & Cass by @dododrawsstuff As always she does such an amazing job at bringing them to life! Thank you so much!

Thanks to spring, the palace gardens were painted with soft hues of blooms that spilled over in cascades of roses and wildflowers. Sunlight dappled the table where Cassandra sat with Licht and Yves, the clinking of porcelain teacups punctuating their quiet conversation and the fragrance of the blossoms caressing their senses.

“It’s about balance.” Yves meticulously sliced a scone in half, his movements as elegant as an artist adding the finishing touch to a canvas. “You can’t simply slather jam on without considering the structural integrity of the scone. It’s an art.”

Cassandra raised her teacup to hide her amusement. “I had no idea tea etiquette required such precision.”

“It’s not etiquette,” Yves corrected, sniffing with mock indignation. “It’s common sense. A poorly constructed scone ruins the entire experience.”

Licht leaned back biting into a cookie, his silver-gray hair catching the light. “Thought you’d have written a manual by now.” His voice was low and unreadable as ever, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the humor lurking beneath his cool exterior.

“Don’t encourage him,” Cassandra teased, grinning playfully. “Before we know it, he’ll have us all taking exams on scone assembly.”

Yves sighed, setting down his perfectly prepared scone with the air of a man bearing great burdens. “If it raises the standard of tea service, I wouldn’t mind.”

Licht shook his head and took another bite of his cookie. 

Cassandra felt warmth unfurl in her chest. Though their temperaments couldn’t be more different—Yves, fastidious and melodramatic; Licht, reserved and stoic—the rhythm of their banter was seamless, the kind of unspoken understanding only forged through shared years and trust.

She closed her eyes for a moment breathing in the scent of the flowers and Yves’ baked goods. There was an ease with her dear friends, a rare reprieve from the endless demands of noble life. Here, at this table with these two, she could simply be. Even tease a little, without fear of reproach. It was a fragile but precious thing, this balance she had found, and she cherished it quietly.

The peace, however, shattered with the sound of approaching footsteps. The confident, almost theatrical stride seemed at odds with the tranquil garden. Cassandra opened her eyes glancing around, trying to spot who was approaching.

“Ugh,” Yves groaned, his shoulders tensing as though bracing for impact. “Here we go. It was nice while it lasted.”

Licht’s smile, already barely there, vanished, replaced by a resigned sigh. “Should’ve known peace was temporary.”

Before Cassandra could ask what they meant, the source of the disruption appeared. Clavis swept into view, his presence as loud and unmistakable as a gust of autumn wind stirring through the leaves. His unrepentant grin was already in place, as though he’d planned to ruin their peace just for the sheer joy of it.

“What a gathering of noble luminaries!”  Clavis proclaimed, throwing his arms wide as though gracing them with his divine presence. Clavis flopped into the chair beside Cassandra with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, stretching his legs out like a man settling into a throne. “Ah, what perfect placement. Right beside you, dearie? My, my—how forward of you. You could have seated me anywhere, yet here I am. It’s almost as if you wanted me near.”

Yves pinched the bridge of his nose, his expression one of long-suffering patience, while Licht muttered something under his breath—perhaps a prayer for strength.

“We didn’t save you a seat,” Yves grumbled, his arms crossing as his glare cut across the table. Licht shot Clavis a flat look, the kind that required no words to convey his thoughts.

Cassandra, caught off guard by the abrupt change, rose quickly, dipping into a polite curtsy. “Prince Clavis.”

“Lady Bellerose,” Clavis purred, his golden eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a jolt through her chest, as if he could see every thought she’d tried to keep hidden. He stood up, leaning forward and captured her hand in his. The cool leather of his gloves brushed against her skin, his warm lips brushed her knuckles, lingering just a fraction longer than decorum allowed. A whisper of heat trailed up her arm, her breath hitching at the deliberate intimacy. His gaze didn’t waver, daring her to react. “How lovely to see you here, brightening this otherwise dreary gathering.” His tone was as smooth as the honeyed sunlight filtering through the roses. “I must confess, after that night in the darkness alone together, I simply had to see you again.” Without breaking eye contact, he sat back down, his hand grazing hers as he pulled her along until she was nestled beside him once more.

Cassandra’s cheeks burned instantly, the memory of their puzzling encounter on the balcony flashing in her mind. Her pulse raced, betraying her attempts to compose herself. “Oh, well, that’s—”

“What?!” Yves and Licht interrupted, their voices cutting through the delicate quiet of the garden, equal parts confusion and outrage.

“It’s not what it sounds like!” Cassandra protested, her hands flying up as she glanced between the two brothers.  

“And to think all this time we’ve been protecting you from him”—Yves gestured sharply toward Clavis, the disdain in his voice unmistakable—“has been for naught.”

Licht’s crimson gaze hardened. “Explain.” His voice was clipped, commanding. There was no room for evasion, no space for excuses. Just that single, unyielding word. Cassandra’s eyes widened.

However, Clavis remained utterly unfazed by his brother’s tone. If anything, he looked delighted, as though Licht’s seriousness was the punchline of a private joke. He leaned back in his chair with the air of a man entirely satisfied by the storm he had conjured.

“Oh, come now,” he drawled, stretching his arms behind his head. “She practically accosted me on the balcony at the ball the other night.”

The teacup in Yves’s hand trembled dangerously, his grip tightening as though it was the only thing keeping him from launching it straight at Clavis’s head. “You’re making it sound like she attacked you,” he said through gritted teeth.

Clavis nodded sagely. “Indeed, dear brother. And yet, I forgave her.”

A pause. A long, horrified pause. Yves opened and closed his mouth, visibly struggling to form words. Meanwhile, Cassandra sat frozen, face burning—not from guilt, but from sheer exasperation.

“Forgave me?!” she finally burst out, voice rising. “For what?!”

Clavis placed a hand over hers, exhaling a deep, tragic sigh. “For nearly bewitching me with your charm, of course.” His golden eyes shimmered with mischief. “But worry not! My heart remains intact—for now.”

Silence fell over the table, thick and almost menacing.

Licht, unmoved, turned to Cassandra with perfect, deadpan calm. “Kick him.”

Yves sucked in a sharp breath, his expression contorted in pure, unfiltered rage. “Oh, I knew it. I knew this day would come. We let our guard down for one second—”

Clavis clutched his chest as though struck by an unseen arrow, gasping dramatically. “Ahh! I knew you’d react this way.” He pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Two brothers, once so dear to me, now turned against me! Such betrayal! Such tragedy! Oh, the cruel twists of fate!”

Yves’s hand twitched violently, fingers curling into a fist. “Clavis,” he seethed, his voice bordering on unhinged, “I swear to every saint in the heavens—”

Cassandra gripped the edge of the table, barely keeping herself from combusting on the spot. “I—I was just trying to—!”

Clavis let out an audible gasp, placing a hand over his heart as if she had stabbed him instead. “Oh, so now you deny it?” He leaned forward, looking positively wounded by her betrayal. “How cruel! What an utter tragedy! First, you seduce me beneath the stars, and now you erase me from your heart entirely?”

“I did not—” Cassandra’s voice shot up in protest, but before she could finish, Clavis’ gloved finger ghosted over her lips, cool leather meeting warm skin, the contrast sharp enough to steal her breath. 

The touch was featherlight—too light to be a true restraint, but enough to unravel something inside her. A shiver curled up her spine, unbidden, and the warmth it left behind bloomed into something dangerously distracting. Her fingers twitched at her sides, hesitating—torn between brushing his hand away and pressing against the spot he’d touched, as if to confirm it had really happened. She had the unsettling sensation of playing a game where only he knew the rules.

“Now, now,” Clavis murmured, his voice low and syrupy, his face so close it danced on the very edge of propriety.

His golden eyes flickered with something knowing—something that sent her stomach twisting into knots. His smirk deepened, the kind of smile that said he had felt her shiver, had noticed the way she hesitated. That, perhaps, he had done it just to see what she would do. 

“Don’t worry, dearie,” he whispered, his breath fanning against her cheek. “A gentleman would never kiss and tell.”

“Kiss?!” Yves nearly dropped his teacup, looking as though he had just witnessed a crime against humanity.

Across the table, Licht calmly set his teacup down with measured precision. Then, in a tone that sent a shiver down Cassandra’s spine, he muttered, “I’m going to kill him.”

“There was no ki—!” Cassandra started, her voice sharp with protest, but she never got to finish.

Because Clavis, grinning like the devil himself, tapped her lips twice with his fingers—silent command—before slipping something unexpected between them. “Hush, dearie,” he purred. “You’re much cuter when you’re speechless.”

 The flavors hit her instantly—a jarring yet oddly intriguing blend of sweet and heat. The sharp warmth of chile danced across her tongue, mingling with the rich smoothness of chocolate.

Licht visibly recoiled, his pallor worsening. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Cassandra, undeterred, chewed slowly, her expression shifting as she processed the unusual combination. She cast a quick glance at Clavis, catching the faintest hint of anticipation in his gaze, as if he were waiting to see if she would flinch. She swallowed delicately before speaking. “That is a unique flavor,” she said, her voice calm, almost intrigued. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment longer than necessary, the corner of her mouth curving into a small, unbidden smile. “What was it? Chocolate and…chile peppers?”

The table froze. Yves and Licht stared at her as though she’d announced plans to dine on the hedges. Even Clavis, who seemed impervious to surprises, wavered for a split second. His unrelenting grin softened, his golden eyes widening in what might have been genuine surprise.

“You’re not supposed to guess that easily,” he murmured, almost sounding disappointed.

Cassandra turned to Yves, her smile bright as spring sunshine. “I’m impressed, Yves. I wouldn’t have thought to try that combination.”

“Me?!” Yves’s voice was little more than a mouse-like squeak. “I would never create such an abomination!”

Blinking in confusion, Cassandra glanced to Licht, her brow furrowing slightly. “But…then who—?”

“Clavis,” Licht interjected flatly.

Her curious gaze shifted back to Clavis. He was watching her intently now, and his grin wavered—not gone, but softened, tempered by something deeper. Fascination? Amusement? Or something else entirely? For a fleeting moment, she wasn’t sure. He had been playing with her, teasing, but now... something in his expression had changed. Just slightly.

It wasn’t the usual self-satisfied smirk, nor the smug amusement she had come to expect from him. No, this was different.

“You…bake?” she asked, meeting his golden gaze.

For a heartbeat longer, Clavis simply stared at her. Then his smile slowly widened. “Indeed I do. Why I am a man of many talents,” he said smoothly, though his voice dipped ever so slightly on the last word, a subtle gravity that pulled her attention closer. “My culinary endeavors are but one expression of my boundless creativity.”

“You mean chaos,” Yves remarked dryly under his breath, folding his arms.

“I think it’s creative,” Cassandra said softly, surprising even herself as she picked up another of his treats. Her fingers brushed his gloved ones briefly as she reached for it, the contact sending an odd little flutter through her chest. She smiled at him before lifting it to her lips, savoring the bold, unexpected flavors. “Don’t be ashamed, Prince Clavis. It’s actually quite good.”

Yves and Licht both gawked at her, as though she had just sprouted wings. 

For a fleeting second, Cassandra swore she saw it—a flicker of something unreadable in Clavis’s golden eyes, a beat of hesitation so brief she might have imagined it.

He blinked. Just once. As if he hadn’t quite expected her response. As if she had somehow stepped beyond the script he had so carefully prepared.

And yet—she had the strangest feeling he wasn’t displeased by it.

Then, the smirk returned and he tilted his head as his cat-like eyes narrowed—sharp, assessing—as though recalibrating everything he thought he knew about her.

“Lady Bellerose,” he breathed at last in an almost reverent tone. His voice had dropped, quieter now, and there was a weight to his words that made her chest tighten unexpectedly. “You may be the first person in Rhodolite to truly appreciate my artistry.”

Yves raised an eyebrow, his tone sharp with disbelief. “Artistry? She’s just too polite to say it’s awful.”

“You’re projecting again, Yves.” Clavis waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, someday you’ll meet someone with a palate as refined as this young lady’s. Perhaps in another kingdom.”

Yves opened his mouth to retort, but Clavis was already leaning closer to Cassandra, his shoulder brushing lightly against her, sending her pulse flying. His voice dipped to a conspiratorial murmur. “I must confess I hadn’t expected anyone to appreciate the brilliance of that particular creation so quickly. Most of my…culinary experiments go sadly underappreciated.”

Cassandra tilted her head, her smile soft. “There’s a certain freeing boldness in pairing such unexpected flavors. I admire that.”

Clavis feigned deep thought as he tapped his chin. “Freeing boldness,” he repeated, his tone almost wistful. For the briefest moment, the teasing spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something heavier, something far less carefree. “You, my dear, have an adventurous spirit. I like that.”

Yves exhaled sharply. “Adventurous? You mean reckless. Anyone else would have spit that out immediately.”

“Or passed out,” Licht added grimly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he glanced at Cassandra, as though trying to decipher her apparent immunity.

Cassandra only shrugged gently, the movement as graceful as a swan. “Perhaps I just have a taste for surprises.” Her gaze flicked back to Clavis, her smile unwavering. Their eyes met, and for a moment, she felt herself drawn into the quiet intensity of his gaze. There was something unspoken in the intensity of his gaze, a glimmer that felt equal parts teasing and searching, as if he were trying to unravel her right there at the table. “Thank you for the unexpected treat, Prince Clavis. It was…memorable.”

“Memorable,” he repeated, his voice low with disbelief as he looked down at the table. His fingers brushed the edge of the sugar bowl absently, but his eyes flicked back up to hers, softer now, as if searching for something more in her expression.

Yves let out a sharp snort, shaking his head. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Ah, so you admit it—you envy her courage. Understandable, truly.” Clavis’ gloved hand swept dramatically toward Cassandra. “Lady Bellerose ventures into the unknown with grace and determination, unbothered by the faint-hearted whispers of lesser critics. And that is precisely why Lady Bellerose is so utterly captivating. While the rest of you cower in the safety of the familiar,” he continued, winking at Cassandra, “she strides boldly into the uncharted. She sees artistry where others see…tragedy.”

“Tragedy?” Cassandra’s green eyes shimmered with humor as she took another bite. “I think it’s quite good. Unexpected, yes, but unique. I like it.”

Clavis leaned forward with a glint in his eye. The movement closed the distance between them just enough for her to catch a faint trace of lavender. His chin rested on his hand, his gaze fixed on Cassandra with the kind of intensity that felt more like a tease than admiration—but only just. “You, my dear, are undeniably delightful,” he murmured, his tone light, yet tinged with something more thoughtful. “A riddle wrapped in elegance. I must admit…I cannot wait to unravel you.”

Cassandra blinked, heat rising to her cheeks under the weight of his gaze. The way he said it, low and smooth, felt like a whisper meant only for her. Her hand tightened around the teacup. “I’m not sure I’m as complicated as all that.”

“Oh, but you are,” Clavis replied smoothly, his grin curving slightly as though he relished her flustered response. “You’ve managed to surprise me, dearie. And I do so love surprises.”

"I thought you were only interested in blindsiding others," Yves said, his smile cutting. "I didn’t take you for someone who’d enjoy the tables turning—how unexpectedly versatile of you."

"Ah, but isn’t it the mark of a true master to appreciate both sides of the game?" Clavis quipped, his grin sly. His fingers tapped against the sugar bowl as though considering his next move, but his eyes flicked briefly back to Cassandra. "Besides, you should know by now, dear Yves—I never lose my footing, even when the tables do turn." With that, he turned back to Cassandra, gently picking up her hand and enclosing it between his own.

“Now, my dear,” he said with a seductive smile, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles as if testing her reaction, “shall I craft another masterpiece just for you?”

"Masterpiece?" Yves scoffed, crossing his arms. "If you’re referring to whatever that was, I think we’d all survive without an encore, thank you."

“Ah, Yves,” Clavis sighed, waving a dismissive hand in his brother’s direction, but his attention didn’t waver from Cassandra. “You’re so dreadfully serious. Lighten up a bit, would you? This is a tea party, not a funeral.”

“We were having a perfectly peaceful afternoon,” Yves retorted, his voice tight with irritation, “until you arrived.”

“Dear brother, your words cut deeper than a blade!” Clavis gasped, clutching his chest as though mortally wounded. “I only sought to bring a touch of excitement to your otherwise drab existence.”

“Drab was fine,” Licht said with calm resignation, his ruby-red eyes narrowing as he regarded Clavis.

Cassandra watched the brothers’ exchange, but her attention kept drifting back to Clavis. He had a way of commanding focus, not just with his words but with the way he seemed to inhabit every inch of the space around him, drawing her in. His energy was magnetic, chaotic, yet strangely comforting—like stepping to the edge of a cliff and trusting the wind to catch her. Yes, the garden had been a sanctuary of peace before the third prince’s arrival,  but now the air thrummed with an energy that felt boundless and alive. The tranquility had been soothing, but this—this was alive, unpredictable, and thrilling. For the first time, the garden felt like more than just a retreat; it felt like a place where anything was possible.

“So,” Clavis drawled, his fingers toying idly with a sugar cube. The flicker of mischief in his golden eyes was unmistakable, as though the very thought of disruption delighted him. He rolled the cube along the table’s edge, his movements languid but precise. “This is what passes for entertainment these days? Tea and polite conversation?” He sighed dramatically, as though the idea alone pained him. “How utterly…uninspired.”

His gaze lingered on the sugar bowl, a spark of childlike curiosity lighting his expression. “Tell me,” he said, holding up the sugar cube and balancing it between his fingers. “What’s the purpose of these delicate little blocks? To sweeten tea? Or perhaps…to test one’s aim?”

“Clavis,” Yves began sharply, already bracing for chaos.His tone was clipped, but his tense shoulders betrayed the inevitability of what was coming. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what, dear Yves?” Clavis grinned, his expression the picture of innocence. “A gentleman such as myself would never engage in—oh, there it goes!” With a flick of his wrist, the sugar cube shot across the table and landed with a soft thunk into Yves’s teacup. It bobbed slightly in the liquid before sinking.

“Clavis!” Yves sputtered, snatching his teacup and glaring at his brother. “What is wrong with you?”

“You are right, dear Yves, harmless fun really is the best way to liven up a tea party. Thank you for acknowledging my finesse.” He reached out and grabbed another sugar cube.

“Don’t—” Yves’s warning turned into a frustrated growl as it landed with perfect precision in his cup. “Enough!”

Clavis beamed as though he’d just won a duel. The satisfaction radiating off him was so palpable that Cassandra found herself stifling a laugh, her lips pressing together tightly. She felt a twinge of anxiety, imagining her mother’s disapproving voice chastising her for indulging in such antics. Yet the thrill of it—the sheer irreverence—was impossible to ignore.

“Dear Yves, your dedication to tea preservation is truly inspiring. But do you think you’re ready for—” Clavis’ eyes sparkled as he reached for a rogue sugar cube. “—the next level?”

A third sugar cube zipped through the air, landing squarely against Yves’s forehead before landing into his teacup with a soft splash.

Yves stared at Clavis, his jaw tightening. “I hate you.”

“Hatred is just love wrapped in irritation, dear Yves,” Clavis mused, plucking another sugar cube and twirling it between his fingers. “And I do so enjoy being loved.” With a flourish, he tossed another cube into the air, caught it effortlessly, and popped it into his mouth. “But wait! I can improve. A prince must always be prepared, after all.”

“For what?” Licht asked flatly, his ruby-red eyes narrowing. His calm tone held the slightest edge of resignation, as though he, too, knew resistance was futile. “A sugar cube rebellion?”

Clavis sighed with mock solemnity, his gloved hand falling over his heart. “Ah, dear Licht, one must always prepare for life’s unexpected challenges. Sugar cubes are far more cunning than they appear.”

Cassandra stifled a laugh, glancing between Clavis’s roguish grin and the increasingly exasperated Yves and Licht. Her gaze lingered on Clavis longer than she intended, caught by the way his grin tilted just slightly more when he looked at her—as if she alone understood the fun. A flush warmed her cheeks, but she quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

But of course, he did.

She saw it—the way his smirk sharpened, the glint in his golden eyes turning just a shade too knowing. A quiet, wicked satisfaction flickered there, subtle but unmistakable.

Oh. He knew.

The realization sent a prickle of heat down her spine. Had she been that obvious? She had tried to school her expression, to hold on to some semblance of composure—but Clavis Lelouch was nothing if not observant. And now, he had caught her.

A thrill curled in her chest, equal parts embarrassment and exhilaration.

He had suspected she was enjoying herself. Now, he was certain.

And, judging by the way his smirk deepened, he intended to do something about it.

“Lady Bellerose,” Clavis said suddenly, his sharp golden gaze locking onto hers, catching her mid-thought. His smirk curved wickedly, challenge sparking in his eyes. “Surely, you understand the importance of strategy and precision?”

His antics were so wildly different from the restrained and polished behavior she had grown up around. There was something exhilarating about watching someone live so unapologetically, so freely. It was like catching sight of a wild flame leaping free in a carefully tended hearth—a burst of untamed energy defying the confines of its polished surroundings, hinting at a world far beyond propriety’s reach. 

“I… suppose?” she replied hesitantly, already feeling herself swept up in his energy, though unsure of where it might lead.Her pulse quickened, and she was keenly aware of how closely he leaned toward her, as though drawing her into a secret shared only between them.

“Excellent!”Clavis straightened, his posture triumphant, as though she had just sworn an oath of allegiance. Snatching a sugar cube from the table, he held it aloft like a miniature weapon. His arm swept casually around her shoulders, their heads nearly touching. 

She felt the warmth of him, an almost unnerving awareness of how little distance separated them. His arm was casual, his posture relaxed—but the nearness of him sent a thrill through her veins, something both exhilarating and dangerous. When had he gotten this close? Had he always been this warm? 

“Then you shall be my strategist,” he grinned at her. “Together, we shall dominate this battlefield!”

 Yves lunged forward, snatching the sugar bowl and clutching it to his chest like a precious artifact. “Battlefield?” Yves echoed, incredulous. “You mean the tea table?”

“Every grand battle begins somewhere, Yves,” Clavis declared with unwavering confidence. “Today, the tea table. Tomorrow, the world!” Clavis declared, leaning closer to Cassandra. “Your quick thinking shall win us this battle, my lady. Choose your ammunition wisely.”

Cassandra blinked, her eyes darting to the small pile of sugar cubes and crumbs on the table. Her lips parted, the instinct to protest rising in her throat—but the words never came.  Because the truth was, she wanted nothing more than to play along. “Are you serious?” 

“Deadly,”Clavis replied, a sly smile curling at his lips, his eyes alight with playful intent. He pointed grandly at the scones. “Behold! The perfect ammunition for long-range strikes. And these—” he grabbed a scattering of crumbs, holding them up like prized jewels, “—ideal for close combat. Revolutionary tactics, wouldn’t you agree?”

“This is ridiculous,” Yves huffed, clutching the sugar bowl tighter as though it were the last line of defense in a siege.His narrowed eyes flicked to Licht, who met his gaze with a subtle shrug, as if to say, What do you expect? It was a futile attempt at solidarity, both knowing they were powerless against Clavis’s chaos.

“Ridiculous? No, no. Visionary,” Clavis corrected, his tone drenched in mock indignation. “Future historians will marvel at our ingenuity.”

Cassandra bit her lip, her laughter bubbling dangerously close to the surface. A flicker of guilt crept in, her mother’s disapproving voice echoing in her mind, warning her about decorum and the image of a proper lady. She could almost hear the admonishment: This is unseemly behavior for someone of your station—but wasn’t that precisely what made it so intoxicating? There was something liberating in his irreverence, in the way he ignored the rules she had spent her life obeying. When was the last time she’d allowed herself to simply be—to laugh without constraint, to act without fear of judgment?

She caught herself glancing at Clavis out of the corner of her eye, a flicker of shared amusement sparking between them. Why did he make her feel so unmoored? He seemed to wield chaos like an art form, each move deliberate, each word a provocation. He was testing her—she could feel it. But was it a game to him, or was there something more behind his golden gaze, something deeper hidden behind the mischievous smile?

“Prince Clavis, I don’t think this is—”

“You’re right,” Clavis interrupted with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “This isn’t just a game. It’s history in the making.”  The way his grin deepened felt almost deliberate, as if he could see the cracks forming in her composure and intended to widen them.

Without further warning, he flicked a large crumb toward Yves. It bounced harmlessly off his sleeve, but the affronted look Yves gave him was that of someone struck by cannon fire.

“Please, my lady, quickly!” Clavis urged, leaning toward her as though they were comrades in the heat of battle. The closeness of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, his warm tone coaxing her forward. “We must defend our position!” His words felt like a dare, pulling her further from the confines of propriety.

Her fingers hovered over the scone, hesitation curling tight in her chest. This was madness—surely she couldn’t. 

And yet…Clavis’s energy seemed to draw her in like a magnet. Something inside her cracked open, just a little. The weight of propriety loosened, slipping through her grasp like silk between her fingers. It wasn’t a grand rebellion—just a breath, a heartbeat where she let herself lean into the moment instead of fighting it.

A quiet, breathless thrill rippled through her.

That was dangerous.

(And exhilarating.)

With a soft, mischievous smile, she picked up the scone. “Like this?” she asked.

“Precisely!” Clavis exclaimed, his voice brimming with approval. “Now, aim for—”

Before he could finish, Cassandra tossed the scone with surprising precision, landing it squarely on Yves’s plate.

The impact was soft—barely more than a gentle plop—but the effect was immediate.

Yves let out a strangled noise of pure offense. Licht blinked. The world held its breath.

And Clavis—

Cassandra barely had time to register the way his expression flickered, the way his golden eyes widened just a fraction before his smirk snapped back into place, sharp and wicked. But for that one impossible moment, he hesitated—like he hadn’t quite expected her to actually do it. Like she had somehow…surprised him.

(A small, traitorous thrill curled in her chest at the thought.)

Then, just as quickly, Clavis let out a low, slow whistle, his grin stretching wider, sharper—his voice dipping lower, silkier.

"My, my," he murmured, tilting his head in her direction, eyes glinting like sunlight catching the edge of a blade. "So you do have a wicked streak, dearie. And here I thought you were all poise and propriety."

Cassandra’s breath caught.

He was looking at her differently now—not just in amusement, not just in mischief. No, there was something else in his expression, something deeper, something…searching. 

For the first time since meeting him, Cassandra had the unnerving realization that she had just turned the game back on him. 

Clavis was chuckling. “You see, dear brothers? Even she understands the brilliance of creative warfare.”

“It’s not warfare,” Yves snapped, glaring down at his plate as though the scone was an affront to the sanctity of his carefully constructed world. He shot Cassandra a look of betrayed exasperation, his fingers twitched as if fighting the urge to straighten his plate, then turned to Licht for support. Licht’s lips twitched as he raised his teacup, leaving Yves to fend for himself. “Cassandra, do you realize what you’ve just done?”

“I believe I’ve hit my target.”

“You’ve desecrated the order of the tea table,” Yves said, his voice trembling with righteous indignation. His hand darted to a nearby scone, his jaw tightening. “Fine. If you’re going to abandon all sense, then you leave me no choice but to defend my dignity.”

With that, Yves lobbed the scone back across the table, aiming for Clavis but missing slightly. It bounced off the edge of Clavis’s teacup before tumbling to the ground. Yves huffed. “Exactly as intended. Take notes, everyone.”

“Despite our opponent’s pitiful display, the war is far from over,” Clavis quipped, leaning closer to Cassandra with a sly smile. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Cassandra giggled, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. This was unlike her—throwing scones, engaging in ridiculous antics. It felt like stepping into someone else’s shoes, someone freer and more confident. And yet, wasn’t that precisely the kind of person she longed to be? “I’m not sure I should encourage you.”

“Encourage me?” Clavis clutched his chest in mock offense. “Perish the thought! I am entirely self-sufficient in chaos, I assure you.”

“Cassandra,” Yves said, his voice tight with desperation as he shot her a pleading look. “Don’t continue to let him drag you into this.”

Clavis leaned closer to Cassandra, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous of your unparalleled strategic prowess and fine aim.”

“I’m not jealous!” Yves protested, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Clavis leaned back with a triumphant laugh, his grin sharp and self-satisfied as though he’d just claimed an undisputed victory. “Ah, Lady Bellerose,” he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer. “I do believe I’ve found a kindred spirit. How…unexpected. Together, we could conquer kingdoms—or, at the very least, commandeer the dessert tray.”

She couldn’t help the way her laughter bubbled up, unbidden, spilling out in waves that felt freer than they should. Quickly, she pressed a hand to her mouth, a flicker of anxiety tugging at the edges of her joy. What would her mother say if she could see this? The disapproval would be swift and scathing: A lady never loses her composure. And yet, here she was, losing herself in the moment.

“I suppose,” she said, breathing deeply, “it wouldn’t hurt to…practice my aim.”

“Spoken like a true warrior,” Clavis declared, holding his hand up for a celebratory high five. She hesitated briefly, her hand hovering in the air before she gave in with a laugh, their palms meeting with a satisfying clap. Her fingers tingled from the contact, the warmth lingering longer than it should. Clavis’s grin deepened, and she caught the way his gaze lingered—not in jest, but as though he were assessing her, testing how far she’d step out of her carefully drawn lines.

“This is ridiculous,” Licht remarked curtly, his tone clipped as he exhaled sharply. He sat back in his chair with rigid control, his hand briefly brushing over his face as if trying to wipe away the absurdity of the moment.

“Ridiculous?” Clavis repeated, his tone mockingly scandalized. His hand flew dramatically to his chest as if struck by an unseen force. “Do you hear that, Lady Bellerose? The enemy underestimates us. A fatal mistake.”

Cassandra couldn’t suppress her laughter. This time, it escaped her entirely, uninhibited and warm, shaking loose something that had been bound up in her for far too long. She reached for another scone, her fingers brushing its delicate edges. For a moment, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered caution, reminding her of the expectations she wore like armor. But then her gaze locked with Clavis’s golden eyes, his impish grin daring her, coaxing her toward rebellion—and the hesitation melted like sugar in tea. What was it about him that made her feel so alive, so unmoored, so alive?

“Very well,” she said, her voice tinged with playful defiance. “If this truly is a battle, then I suggest we aim for the most unguarded target.”

“Brilliant,” Clavis said, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he picked up another sugar cube. Slowly, his gaze drifted toward Licht, who had been sitting quietly, watching the chaos unfold with a brooding stillness.

“No,” Licht said immediately, his tone as cold and sharp as the edge of a blade. “Don’t even think about it.”

Clavis ignored the warning entirely, instead turning to Cassandra with a slow, cat-like smile. “Lady Bellerose, the enemy is rattled. Your orders?”

Cassandra bit her lip, her grin deepening as a thrill of rebellion rippled through her. This absurd moment felt like a pocket of stolen freedom, shared with the most unpredictable and chaotic prince she’d ever met. Straightening in mock seriousness, she raised her chin and declared, “Fire at will, Commander.” Her voice carried a note of cheeky authority, as if she’d truly taken command of their ridiculous campaign.

With a flick of his wrist, Clavis sent the sugar cube sailing through the air. It struck the rim of Licht’s teacup with a soft clink, narrowly avoiding toppling the contents.

Licht’s glare snapped to Clavis, his crimson eyes dark with warning. “You have three seconds to stop.”

Clavis raised his hands in feigned surrender. “Peace, dear brother. It’s all in the name of camaraderie. Surely, you wouldn’t let me enjoy the fun alone?”

Licht stood abruptly, his movements precise and deliberate as he reached for the crumb-laden edge of his plate. “You want a response?” His voice was calm, dangerously so. “Fine.”

The crumbs sailed across the table with the precision of a man who had spent a lifetime honing control. They scattered over Clavis’s jacket and into his shirt, landing with surprising effectiveness.

Clavis laughed, his grin wider than ever. “Ah, a worthy opponent at last!” he declared, producing a handful of sugar cubes from his pockets with the dramatic flair of a magician revealing his grand trick. He handed some to Cassandra, who accepted them with wide-eyed amusement.

Yves froze, slack-jawed, clutching the sugar bowl so tightly it looked in danger of cracking. “You’ve been carrying sugar cubes in your pockets?” he exclaimed, his expression turning murderous. “Like some deranged squirrel?”

Before Clavis could respond, Yves snatched a fistful of sugar cubes from the bowl and hurled them at him. “This is why no one trusts you!”

Clavis ducked, laughing uncontrollably. “A bit of sugar-coating never hurt anyone, Yves!” He straightened, still grinning. “Now then, brothers—prepare yourself! The battlefield spares no one!'"

Yves shot Licht a look, one that silently conveyed both exasperation and an unspoken agreement: Clavis was a force neither of them could control. Licht gave the faintest shrug, a hint of resigned humor flickering in his crimson eyes before he reached for a scone. “If you put this much effort into diplomacy,” Licht said, his voice dry as parchment,  “we’d have conquered three kingdoms by now.”

The phrase lingered in Cassandra’s mind, though not in the way Clavis intended. The battlefield spares no one. It struck a chord, an echo of her own life—her quiet, daily battles with expectation and propriety. But here, amidst this frivolous chaos, those invisible chains seemed to loosen.

Cassandra’s laughter rose, blending into the ridiculous chaos as her gaze flicked back to Clavis. For a moment, his expression softened—still mischievous, but almost vulnerable, as though he was quietly measuring her. Did he see the invisible chains she was shedding? Did he sense her desire for this fleeting freedom?

Clavis turned to Cassandra, gesturing grandly. “Strategist, what’s our next move?”

“Retaliate,” she said without hesitation, her heart racing with exhilaration.

Clavis’s grin widened, a spark of admiration flickering in his golden eyes, as if he relished how readily she stepped into the chaos he created. His movements were swift and calculated as one by one, he flicked the cubes toward Licht with surprising speed and accuracy. Licht dodged most with practiced ease, his expression remaining impassive, though one cube struck his shoulder, leaving a faint dusting of sugar in its wake.

“Enough!” Yves finally snapped, rising from his seat and holding up his hands as though commanding a battlefield to halt. “You’re ruining the tea party!”

Clavis turned to Yves, his expression one of mock regret. “Ah, dear brother, do you feel left out? I’d hate for you to miss the fun.”

Yves’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Clavis’s hand hovered over the remnants of sugar cubes scattered across the table, his grin widening. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Clavis,” Yves warned, his voice low.

But it was too late. A sugar cube sailed through the air, landing squarely in Yves’s neatly combed hair.

Cassandra doubled over, her laughter spilling out in waves as Yves sputtered, his composure entirely shattered.

Her chest ached with laughter, but a flicker of anxiety crept in—half-expecting her mother’s disapproving figure to emerge from behind the hedges. Then Clavis’s laughter cut through it, warm and reckless, like sunlight through a storm cloud. This was different—this was freedom.

Yves groaned, rubbing a hand down his face as he looked between Cassandra’s glowing laughter and Clavis’s triumphant grin. “Unbelievable. We’ve lost her.”

Licht let out a quiet huff, taking a sip of tea. “Mayb ee never stood a chance.”

“Don’t worry, dear Yves,” Clavis said, flicking the last crumb toward him. “We’ll save you a scone…or perhaps we’ll just use it as ammunition.”

For a brief moment, Yves’s gaze softened as he glanced at Cassandra, her unrestrained laughter echoing through the garden. He frowned, not in disapproval, but in wonder. It was rare to see her so at ease, and for all the chaos Clavis stirred, it seemed he’d managed to do what neither he nor Licht could—pull Cassandra out of the weight of her own expectations.

The table descended into delightful mayhem, scones and sugar cubes flying as Clavis sparred with Licht and even Yves, who reluctantly joined the fray. Cassandra’s laughter spilled out, wild and uninhibited, a sound she scarcely recognized as her own.

For once, she wasn’t merely a spectator in her world—she was part of it, untethered from propriety. Her green eyes caught Clavis’s golden ones for a moment, his expression sparkling.

Licht, now armed with a scone, fixed Clavis with a flat glare. “You’re lucky she’s laughing,” he said, nodding toward Cassandra. “Otherwise, I’d have ended this already.”

“Lady Bellerose,” Clavis said, plucking a cookie from the table and holding it aloft like a trophy, “your leadership has rallied even the most reluctant warriors. I salute you!”

Cassandra shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as her laughter spilled over. Had she ever laughed this much, this joyously, this freely? It felt as though Clavis had flung open a door she hadn’t realized was locked, letting in a rush of something wild and wonderful.

Clavis turned his golden gaze to her, his grin softening. “See? That’s what the world needs more of,” he said, his usual teasing tone tempered with uncharacteristic warmth. “A little chaos. A little laughter.”

Cassandra brushed a stray crumb from her dress. She knew she should compose herself, return to the poise expected of her, but this moment felt real in a way she hadn’t experienced in weeks. “I don’t know how you manage to make everything feel so…alive.”

“Ah, Lady Bellerose, such dangerous words,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “You might just inspire me to create even more chaos.”

Cassandra realized she’d been holding her breath—not from worry, but from a feeling she hadn’t let herself savor in years: freedom. It was intoxicating. She bit her lip, hiding a small smile as she looked away. “I suppose the garden could survive…a little more chaos.”

Clavis drifted back into conversation with his brothers, teasing them mercilessly. Her green eyes lingered on him, drawn to the way his laughter rang out, unburdened by expectation, his movements imbued with a carefree confidence that left her both captivated and unnerved. There was a rawness to his charm that felt dangerous, as though he could unravel all the careful stitching of her world with a single, reckless grin.

Clavis caught her staring, and a knowing smirk on his lips. “My lady,” he whispered, leaning in close to her, his tone teasing but edged with something deeper, “I hope you’re not plotting my downfall. Though, I must say, it’s hard to blame you—I’d be equally distracted in your position.”

She should step away, return to the safe, polished world she knew. But the way Clavis was watching her—golden eyes glinting, teasing but searching—made her pulse stumble. And before she could stop herself…

“Perhaps I am plotting something,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, a small smile tugging at her lips.

For a breath—just a breath—Clavis didn’t move. His smirk remained, but something in his golden eyes flickered, unreadable. Then, smoothly, effortlessly, he leaned in closer. “Ah, I do love a good mystery,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “But tell me, my dear—what’s your next move?”

Tag List:

@ithseem @chirp-a-chirp @aquagirl1978 @queengiuliettafirstlady @nyxthepixystick

@ikeprinces-stuff @kaizoku-musume @candiedcoffeedrops @missaengg @ike-garden2024

@writingwhimsey @reborn-elven-spirit @elixirofubik @avellanas-nutty-empire

[what-the-dark-has-foretold]

I just want to actually see Chevalier completely covered in blood. The written text is really good at conveying the terror the sight can cause, but then we see Chevalier's normal model and I think that really breaks the immersion. Show me Chevalier completely drenched in blood you cowards

[aphroditestempleimagines]

The Obsidianite Jewel

A fem!reader x Chevalier Michel Fanfiction

18 + !!! NSFW

Chapter 13 -> Chapters Masterlist

Words: a fuck ton

Warnings: nsfw, fingering, vaginal sex, handjob, overstim, kissing, nipple play

Summary: It all started when your fiancé, Prince Gilbert, brought you to the palace of Rhodolite. He hoped he would find the secrets of the princes. Instead, he lost your heart to the brutal beast. However, Gilbert is not going to let your heart wander away easily

A month had passed as you stayed in the fortress. Gilbert was still chained underground. You visited his dungeon every day at first, mixing his medicine with his food in secret. Despite his imprisonment, his sickness started to withdraw, although the bags under his eyes grew in volume. At some point, he asked you to stop visiting. He had his back turned on you from you when he begged you to leave him alone. You did not ask why. You did not have to. You both knew how each of you hurt the other.

After a month the negotiations for peace were seemingly going well. Jade retreated and Benitoite joined Rhodolite's side is shutting down the last of Obsidian's generals. Even so, the ebony empire was vast and far too unpredictable. Too many times in the past it had feigned defeat, only to come back stronger. You had seen nation after nation bend to their knees as they were engulfed by the empire's shadow. More importantly, your kingdom's safety depended on your marriage to the man currently in the dungeons, and your loyalty to the Obsidianite crown. If word got out that you were roaming freely in the Rhodolitian camp the rumours would not be far from the truth to start spreading about an alliance between you.

"Chevalier?", Nokto repeated your words, "I think he's already in his room"

"Oh I see", you said sorrowfully, "thank you"

You return to your room to meet your sorry bag. You had laid each one of the dresses given to you on the bed. A knight brought them to you the next day after you arrived at the fortress. They were simple but not plain, their cut clean to suit your figure but lacking any eye-drawing embellishments usually worn by royalty. You sat on the bed and run your hand over the blue fabric of the one closest to you. Blue, white and gold, those were the only colours the dresses had. It was such a subtle detail that could easily go over one's head and so it would not draw any attention. That genius idiot...

You smiled, your fingers crinkling the fabric of the beautiful dress. The one you wore paled in your eyes in comparison even though, although tattered from the fall in the river, it was adorned with jewels from all the kingdoms conquered by Obsidian. You let out a sigh. You had long decided to leave, yet kept postponing it in an effort to see Chevalier again. You had caught glimpses of him as he raced through the corridors, venturing out for scouting and coming back bloodied from top to bottom. But there was no delaying it any longer. You had to go back. Every day you weren't either publicly announced as a hostage or returned to Obsidian or your homeland as a runaway cast suspicion over your relation to the kingdom of roses. You had to leave. But you also had to see him again. At least one more time. It could have been the last.

You don't remember how you ended up in front of his bedroom's door but soon you were knocking three times on the wooden surface. There was no sound at first but as you were turning to leave you heard Chevalier's voice from inside saying "Just come in". You stood silent for a moment, contemplating what to do. Going inside would be out of the question in a normal situation; you could not risk raising questions about what was happening behind the closed door. But now? This was your last chance to see him. You looked around. There was no one. You hesitantly put your hand on the handle and opened the door.

Chevalier was sitting on his desk's chair, leaning back as he read his novel. He held the book in one hand and supported his head with the other, elbow on the desk. His sword was leaning sheathed next to him. A smell of soap and roses surrounded him, the stench of iron and blood nowhere to be found anymore.

The door quietly clicked behind you. He raised his head. He immediately put the book down the moment he met your eyes. "Princess y/n", he said formally.

"I...ah...I had to see you", you said. You tucked your hair behind your ear. You could not look him in the eyes, despite your brazen claim. You lowered your gaze. "I'm leaving", you stated, "I'm departing for Istidor come dawn"

"Why?", he stood. It was not long before his face twisted as he answered his own question.

"Yes", you replied to his thought, "I can't draw more attention. The emperor will punish my kingdom for it"

The silence was deafening. You knew in your heart you had to say it. You hated to admit how right Gilbert was but you knew you would be filled with regret if you left with it weighing on your heart. You did not expect anything to change. It was probable that you would never see Chevalier again. But still...

"I....", you stammered. You looked away again. "I love you", you finally spat, "I'm sorry, but...I love you. I know you don't feel the same way about me. But I can't help how I feel about you. And I....", at this point tears had begun streaming down your eyes, "Maybe you'll think less of me now that you know this, but..."

His shadow suddenly enveloped you. You had not taken notice of when he had moved to stand in front of you. He was so close. You looked up at his crystal blue eyes as they gazed upon your face. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb gently brushing over your skin again and again. He leaned in. His lips hesitated just an inch before they touched yours. You could feel his breath cascading upon your face. Your eyes had already fluttered closed, your heart too weak to pull you away.

And then he kissed you.

He smelled like roses and parchment and tasted like sweet tea. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers entwining between your locks. His other hand gently pulled you closer by the waist, barely touching your body. You cupped his cheek as you switched sides on your kiss. Your fingers caressed his cold skin.

His lips remained close as the kiss ended. "Why do this?", you asked against them, "I did not know you could be so cruel"

"Perhaps I could be", his husky voice was louder than ever. He touched his forehead to yours. "But not this time", he said.

You pulled away. You had to retain your logic. You could not be pulled into a place you could not return from. Chevalier's expression was as frozen as ever now that you were looking at him once again. He could not have meant it, could he? Chevalier was the most incredible person you knew. You knew he had a beautiful heart which he suppressed each day under the weight of his duty. He always acted with purpose; the only purpose he could have to say such a thing would be to weaken Istidor with a war with Obsidian, something that would probably not interest him in the slightest. But the alternative, of him having meant it, was even more improbable.

"What are you s..."

"What do you want?", he cut you off. His hand returned to your cheek as he held you, eyes locking.

"It does not matter what I want"

"If you want a new life you can return to Istidor", he said, "Perhaps you should want that. You would be the happiest"

You laughed. "I wouldn't, but I have no choice"

"Yes, you do", his voice was cold but now both of his hands held your face, "You do"

"Chevalier, you know I don't", you sighed, "The emperor..."

"Is in the dungeon of this fortress", Chevalier completed nonchalantly. You furrowed your brows. It did not take long for you to realise he meant Gilbert. Chevalier scoffed. "He did not tell you", he muttered, "Of course he didn't. He preferred to create a persona to keep you with him, the messiah."

"Gilbert is not-"

Chevalier let go of you. "I should not have told you", he said, "I have every reason to lie and therefore am not a reliable bearer of this news. But you can verify them once you reach your homeland". He passed you by and reached for the door. "Your future is finally yours", he said behind you. You heard the door open. "You should find someone who makes you truly happy before they try to marry you off again"

Maybe it was the fact that you could not see him anymore and relied solely on your ears, but you detected the slightest hinge in his voice when he said those words. An almost undetectable hesitation that was uncharacteristic of his nature. You turned towards him and pulled him so he would face you. It was the first time you saw him truly surprised; but there was something else, deeper, peaking under his expression now that you had caught him off guard. It was sorrow.

Your eyes widened. This time you pulled him in for a kiss. He reciprocated. It was much more intense than the first. His hands scrambled around your waist, needy enough to pull you close but too scared to do so with all their might. His kisses left your lips and moved towards your neck. You let out a sigh. Your back hit the door and the two of you were knocked back into reality. He looked away.

"You should go", he said coldly and walked back to his desk.

"You said the choice was mine"

"So you shouldn't waste it"

"I'm only going to ask you this once", you said, your anger evident in your tone, "How do you feel about me?"

"That much is clear"

"Do you love me?"

"Are you saying you can't tell as much?"

"Chevalier, do you love me? Yes or no?"

He rushed back to your side. His lips collided with yours in another fervent kiss. His hand pulled at your waist. Your arms wrapped around his neck. He continued kissing you again and again until he was out of breath. He touched his forehead to yours, his thumb pulling at your lower lip as he warmed it with his heaving breath. "You simpleton", he said, "You should know the answer to that already". His face was still lacking expression, yet his ice-blue eyes had caught fire, and so had his voice.

You stayed quiet for a moment, still processing what had transpired. "Then shut up and stop pushing me away", you said annoyed as tears spilt from your eyes. Chevalier raised his eyebrows in surprise. You could tell he had not planned for such a reaction.

You pulled him in once again. He pushed your bodies together against the door as he kissed you. You blindly searched the space behind you until your hand found the key and locked the door. Your other hand was still holding his white linen shirt, pulling him towards you so he would not escape even though he seemed to have no intention to. His lips were devouring every inch of skin they could find. You felt him slow down as he reached your cleavage. His hands were hesitantly hovering above the buttons of your dress. You reached behind your back and pushed his hands towards them. He played around with the first one until he was able to unhook it, then easily undid the rest. He untied the ribbons of your skirt and petticoat. You shook your dress until it pooled around your feet.

Your hands worked on his own shirt until you were able to pull it off of his shoulders. You traced his toned torso, the bandages of his wound still wrapped around it. You dropped your gaze and your head as your fingers traced the white gauze. His crooked finger hooked underneath your chin and raised your head once more. He kissed your lips, hands tracing your figure until they reached your waist. You gasped when he lifted you up, letting your legs wrap around his hips.

"Chevalier your wou-"

"I can do so much", he waved your concern away. He carried you to the bed. He let out a grunt of pain as he tried to place you softly upon the mattress, the weight pulling at the muscles he shouldn't move.

"Don't", you told him. You sat on your knees and cupped his cheeks before you kissed him. His breath relaxed, the warm air breaking on your skin. You broke the kiss and looked at the bandage. He placed his hand above yours as it passed over the wound. He moved them together towards his heart. You met his gaze. It was intense; determined. Without any words, he told you that the worst pain he had had to experience was in his heart when he was apart from you.

He slowly climbed on top of you, kissing and biting at your neck and collarbone. His fingers hooked under the fabric of your chemise and lifted it until he exposed your honey pot. He traced the lips with his digits as they grew wetter. You took a sharp inhale as his thumb pressed your bud. He raised his head. His eyes examined your face as his thumb drew circles over and over again. He leaned for a kiss when he plunged a finger inside your walls. He was slow, careful as he drank every sigh and moan he pulled out of you. You opened your legs further for him. He thrust another one of his thick fingers inside you. You broke from his kiss to let out a cry of pleasure. He stopped for a moment as he examined your face, quickly returning to his good work. He scraped your walls with the pad of his fingers and your neck with the edges of his teeth. You combed his golden hair, pulling on the strands as he picked up the speed of his thrusts.

You called his name in his ear. He leaned to your neck and planted a loving kiss. Your bodies danced together, the tears they had shed while apart were turning into a fiery passion. You did not know if you wanted to cry out of joy or out of the sheer pleasure his fingers were granting you. He pulled your corset right under your breasts to expose them and took one in his mouth. Your fingers curled. You could feel his smile as his tongue circled one of your nipples. You could feel a coil building up in your body, curling up like a spring underneath your belly. His hands were both at work between your legs, one thrusting and one circling your rosey bud. He suddenly switched breasts and the coil burst. You panted and trembled as you covered his fingers with your essence. He slowly pulled his hand away. His fingers lightly pressed on your oversensitive entrance. You shuddered at the feeling, hips both running away and moving towards him.

He brought his head to his bandaged stomach. "Dammit", he muttered. Before you could pose further questions, he sat next to you, back on the headboard, and pulled you between his legs. This position reminded you of something yet you could not name this thing even as you searched into the depths of your memory.

"Chevalier", you said before he covered your eyes with his palm. The darkness made the kisses on your neck even more intense. It made the way he cupped your breasts feel more direct. His breath was on your nape. And that was when it clicked: There were not a lot of romance stories that you read, but there was this one you knew all your female friends had read. You had jokingly mentioned it once in front of him, never expecting him to actually read it. Goodness, you hoped he would not after you contemplated further on the vulgarities contained in this particular book. But he did. And he knew. And though you had mentioned it mockingly, you did not believe there were many women who would not be turned on by the things in that book.

He nipped on your ear. "I wanted to tell you", you felt rather than heard his words, "You enjoy some pretty interesting books". His fingers held your entrance open. "But I would like to hear what you want coming from your lips", he lifted you and led you onto his length, "Personally, I would prefer to look at you while you're making that face"

You felt the kiss he planted on your shoulder as his length stretched you. He continued to kiss you repeatedly as you got used to him inside you. He helped you as you moved up and down. You called his name. You heard his grunts loud and clear with your heightened ears even though he tried to bury them in your neck. He started moving more ferociously, more passionately. Your back arched against him as you tried to keep your breath steady, with no success. Your head leaned back to lie on his shoulder. At some point, his hand slipped away and you were met face to face with the expression he hid from your behind your previously obstructed gaze. His heaving chest, his rose-coloured cheeks, his feverish forehead, his hungry gaze....his everlasting and ever-burning love. It was too late for him to hide again; he probably realised it. He caught your lips in his. One hand dived underneath your arm and cupped your cheek, keeping your lips locked with his as he thrust inside you. The other pinched and circled your bud. You moaned. His tongue was entwined with yours. Your legs wiggled at the weakness of your breath. You reached behind you and hooked your arm on his nape. You aided his fingers as they urged your release. Your cries of intense pleasure were nectar drunk by his thirsty lips.

He kissed your nose. He was panting. He was not hiding anymore. His hands held you close, begging you to stay, even if his lips would never ever express such a wish. He was not a man who would succumb to his desires, but that did not mean they were not there.

"Lay down", you said as you raised your hips. You cupped his cheeks as he fell onto the pillows on the side. Your lips kissed every inch of his handsome face. His hands held your waist, thumbs tracing the dimples of your hips. You kissed every patch of skin you could find between the bandages on his torso. He pulled you back up mid-climbing down. He combed your hair with his fingers. You wrapped yours around his length. Your thumb traced the head and he bit your lip. You moved your head up and down. He was still determined on kissing you, yet you could taste the sweet moans he himself now left, and the sway of his hips towards your hand. His hand wrapped around yours. At first, you thought he was going to stop you, but he merely urged you to continue faster.

He came, panting against your face, his warm essence shooting from his length. He cupped your cheek before moving his hand to your nape and pulling you into his embrace. His hands wrapped around you. He softly kissed your back. You pulled him close, your own arms diving underneath his. He held you as if you were the most precious treasure in the world. His thumb rubbed on your skin and you knew he was tracing the marks that he himself had left.

"I'm coming with you", you said against his chest, "To Rhodolite"

Chevalier tightened his embrace. "Good", he said.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

The Fire & The Selkie

In the ocean, especially this far North, warmth can be hard to find and harder to keep. But a spark starts on an island, far into the frigid waters. Will it flicker out, smothered by the winds and the mist? Will it ignite? Or, will it burn everything to ash?

Main character; Keith Howell

Content; Gender-neutral reader (they/them pronouns), maritime and selkie shenanigans

Content Warnings; Swearing, some fear

Word Count; 2.9K

You should have heeded the elders' warnings.

“Red sky in morning, sailor take warning.”

But you couldn’t afford not to go out on the water, and an old rhyme wasn’t about to dissuade you from missing out on earning some money from checking the crab lines and cast nets.

But now, several hours away from the safety of dry land, you found yourself fighting the waves and winds to keep your boat from capsizing. And with no crew, you were burning both from the cold, and exhaustion. You knew that if you survived this storm, you would most likely be sick if not with a cold, but also hypothermia.

It wasn’t the time to imagine the consequences of today if you didn’t live long enough to see tomorrow.

You spat out the salty water from your mouth and braved the storm. This was hardly your first one, but a dread weighed you down. The quiet part of your conscience, a part that was much older, was screaming caution.

Not caution about the storm, but of something else.

Nothing but fishing tales made larger than life. Is what the rational part of your brain argued, but it was unsure.

While there was no such thing as monsters that lay in wait under the waters waiting for a boat to devour, you did know that if you were to capsize, you wouldn’t be coming out of the water alive. The frigid water would sap all warmth from you, and you would slowly sink to the bottom. The only evidence of you being a destroyed boat drifting to some coastline.

You gritted your teeth as a particularly freezing wind blew back the hood of your coat, causing your eyes to sting from the salt in the air. You didn’t even bother trying to fix it, knowing that it would be a fruitless endeavour trying to keep it up — you could use that energy elsewhere.

You gripped onto the wheel tightly, barely being able to feel it, and pressed forward. 

Did you know where you were going? Not in the slightest. If you didn’t at least steer into the waves, the only place you would be going was Davy Jones’ locker, where many of your more reckless and overly confident community members had found themselves before.

Some would say you were reckless and overly confident as well, it was always a calculated risk. Even today.

Just today was by far the largest risk you had taken yet, but the potential yield from those traps and lines would be able to not just feed your community but also could prove to change your life from being just an errand runner, to finally running your own boat. 

To finally be a captain of a crew, and not being some lackey for the drunkard in town. To be the one making orders yet still treating your crew fairly. To be fully in charge of your own life and not be at the mercy of others.

A flash of lightning struck the horizon, providing a blinding light in the darkness that was the storm. And from that darkness, you could just make out a tall, dark mass that pierced from the ocean.

Please, please, please. You silently begged the sky to send another bolt of light to illuminate the way. Just long enough for you to figure out how to navigate there.

BOOM!

A crash of thunder. Any second now, light would follow.

As if answering your call, lightning danced throughout the sky, just long enough for you to steer the boat to face the island.

Fighting the waves, and screaming back at the howling winds, you were also laughing like a madman, all sense of sensibility — and perhaps sanity — thrown out the window. The time for that was long gone, and you were rapidly running out of both energy and willpower, but also gas. The needle tipping right above zero.

It was a last-ditch effort, and you didn’t slow down as the boat practically crashed into the rocks at shore.

Another boom and flash of lightning seemed to congratulate you on surviving and welcome you to the island. And while you were relieved that by some stroke of luck that you had made it through the storm and made it to some semblance of land, you also knew that this island — a speck in the middle of a frigid sea — was not just a lifeline, but also a death sentence if you couldn’t call for help, or someone didn’t find you.

But fighting the panic that was starting to build in your chest, and threatened to choke your breath, you hauled the boat further up shore to where the waves and the thick mist couldn’t reach, and flipped it to the side, watching water pour out. Once only a few drips trickled out, you flipped it upside down, creating an artificial cave, blocking out the roar of the wind, and the outside world.

After hours of noise, the relative quiet made your ears ring. But you couldn’t relax just yet, knowing that if you fell asleep now, you wouldn’t wake up.

Adjusting the boat — how a dingy piece of metal managed the storm avoided you — you shuffled like some absurd hermit crab to where you could place the damned (or blessed?) piece of metal so you could get some airflow. 

To survive, you needed fire, but you also didn’t want smoke inhalation to be the death of you, nor hypothermia.

You poked around in the few storage containers you had on board since they were the only dry things you had on hand. A pot, a steel wool sponge, some batteries, and a threadbare blanket, that was what you were willing to sacrifice.

“Come on,” you whispered, a white cloud escaping from your mouth, “work for me.”

You placed the battery on the steel wool sponge and mentally sighed in relief as you saw it slowly turning red before catching on fire. Gently, you placed the small fire on the blanket, anxiously waiting for it to spread. 

Soon, the cold from the hours of exposure was traded for the warmth of a fire. But the burning from the cold was replaced with shivering that shook your whole body. 

Knowing that it would take much longer for you to warm up if you kept on the layers of soaking fabric, you gently peeled away the layers until you were just wearing the slightly damp thermal leggings and top.

Scooting closer to the fire you made yourself comfortable, as comfortable as you could knowing that finding help was nearly impossible and sat there, knowing better than to fall asleep.

… 

Sometime throughout the night, you had drifted to sleep from exhaustion and the comforting warmth of the fire. The cawing of sea birds waking you from a dreamless sleep.

The storm had passed, but it had left its mark.

You had bruises, the aching kind that would definitely be an ugly shade of purple and oh so tender, and now in the weak light of day, you could see large dents on the boat, from where the waves had continuously struck at the haul.

Crawling out from your makeshift shelter, you stretched out, feeling and hearing all sorts of cracks and you groaned at feeling the tension release. Sleeping on cold rocks didn’t do you any favours, but you were thankful that you made it to see today.

But since you could actually see more than an arm's length in front of you, you took the chance to inspect the craggy island, to see if there was anything of use besides the abandoned fishing nets and other man-made debris that had also found its way here.

You walked down the narrow shoreline you had beached yourself on until it slowly opened up to a larger beach. There wasn’t much, a seabird here or there, but what caught your attention was a seal, basking in the weak sunlight.

You had seen seals before, but never for long since they would slide into the water at the first sight of humans. And you stood there, just looking at its content sleeping face.

The seal was cute, just look at them, but you kept on moving, going towards a small cliff by the water that was encrusted with marine plants. While not super appetizing, they would be enough, plus you didn’t feel confident in trying to catch one of the aforementioned seabirds currently. So the algae would be enough for now.

Happy with your collection of assorted marine plants, you started making your way back. You looked back though, hoping to see the seal one more time for an added dose of some much-needed serotonin, but they were gone, the only evidence that they were there was the slide track going towards the water. 

Your mouth twitched, nearing a frown, before you shook your head and continued back to camp, not really looking forward to your meal.

It was more or less the same when you got back, but the same feeling that you had while in the storm, to be cautious.

But what danger could be found on some craggy spire in the midst of the sea? As far as you knew, you were the only other person here. But your brain and your body were on high alert.

Ignoring your breakfast of ocean-provided greens, you carefully looked around your camp. All seemed as it was before you left, but upon entering under your boat, you found a large fresh halibut on the rocks, dead.

It couldn’t have washed up to shore, the tide didn’t come up this high. Upon flipping the fish over you found one large puncture mark.

Something had killed this fish and left it in your camp while you were gone for less than three hours. And while one part of you was grateful that you wouldn’t just be dining on seaweed, another part of you felt sick with dread.

You weren’t alone. They knew about you, maybe even have seen you, but you haven’t seen them.

You felt dizzy, and running out of your boat tent, you vomited into a rocky crevice.

“Tch,” you huffed, wiping your mouth. “If you think this is some sort of game you can fuck right off!”

Spinning around you hoped to see someone trying to hide, or to at least hear some sort of sound, but all you found was a seabird sitting comfortably on your boat, and another (or perhaps even the same) seal sitting at the tide line.

They looked at you curiously and turned their head to the side. Like they were surprised by your outburst.

You furrowed your brow, “Maybe I’m just going mad. Swallowed too much seawater.”

Shaking your head, you crept back under your shelter. But there was no denying that the fish was caught by someone and not by yourself. Your stomach gurgled, and putting aside your suspicion, you started a fire and prepared the fish. You might have not caught it, but like hell were you going to let it go to waste.

Soon, the suspicion was replaced for contentment at finally getting some hot food into you. And you looked outside, wondering when you would be getting an answer.

…

...

...

Keith didn’t have company very often besides the seabirds, so he took to sunbathing when possible, fighting away the cold of the ocean. Warmth was a hard thing to be found.

Sure, that jangly fellow visited every few months, but he hardly counted as good company. Something about him irritated Keith, but he couldn’t put a finger on it, so he just stayed polite, waiting for the man to leave. Their interactions were icey, much like the ocean waters that he knew.

But there was now a new visitor, they crawled out of the raging sea, a fire burning bright in them. Even though they were shrouded by darkness and mist, there was a warmth. Keith could only watch in curiosity as they fought their way out of the water and made a camp.

Fire was a rare and precious thing, not easily made or kept here, the cold and damp forcing it to die out sooner or later. But the new human, who was looking half drowned and half dead, was burning so brightly that Keith could only watch as orange light slowly illuminated the makeshift shelter they had made.

Humans rarely ever brought anything good with them, the litter on the beach being evidence of that, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued. Even while exhausted and barely holding on, they were fighting where some may have just given up.

In a place that was typically cold and isolated, Keith couldn’t help but think that maybe the ocean had finally answered his call for a companion.

So he watched, and took notice of their shivering form. Unlike himself, humans weren’t made for this type of weather. He couldn’t just waltz in though, not wanting to scare them away. 

After what felt like hours, the human finally fell asleep, somehow getting comfortable on the rocks even though they would definitely leave bruises on their skin. Keith slowly made his way towards the shelter, and looked curiously in, making sure that there was no chance that they were still awake.

But nope, you were out cold.

Keith slowly took off his seal coat, morphing into a man, and gently placed it on you, knowing that it would warm you up. 

A part of him was a tad disappointed that you didn’t turn into a seal like him — you would have made an adorable seal — but he felt his face warm up as you burrowed subconsciously into his coat, curling up into a ball. Warmth in his face? That was new… but not unwarranted.

And he stayed on the other side of the shelter, by the entrance, but still close enough that if you woke up suddenly, he could take his coat and high tail it out of there if need be.

Giving your coat to a human? What am I thinking?

But he also didn’t want you to die. You brought vibrant warmth to the cold landscape. While he knew the fire could bring warmth, he also knew it could burn and destroy, consuming everything in its path.

He also knew that in order for him to be bound to you, like the old wives tales told, you would have to not only take his coat, but also give it back. The tales said nothing about him lending and then taking it back without you knowing–

The rustling of the pebbles moving took him out of his thoughts and he snatched his coat back and made a beeline for the water, quickly throwing it overtop of his self. Once back in the relative safety of the sea, he peered over the waves to see you crawling out of the shelter and stretching out, much like he did when sunbathing.

And then you were making your way down the shore, heading west, towards the haul out beach. Knowing that you were headed somewhat in that direction, Keith made his way there.

Its not so I can see them, no, just trying to warm up is all.

But he usually didn’t get a flutter in his chest from the prospect of sunbathing. 

Naturally, he arrived before you did. Judging from his prior trekking experiences with that Silvio fellow, he reckoned that he had at least an hour before you stumbled your way to his haul out site. So, he stretched out, much like you did, however without the aforementioned cracking of every joint of his body.

He had a nice chat with some seabirds that were passing by, and mainly just enjoyed the weak sun that peaked through the clouds.

Then he heard your footsteps, and looked at you.

You looked back, only for a brief moment though, before continuing to the shoreline, picking up seaweed and algae. And even from the distance between the two of you, Keith could hear the gurgle of your stomach.

So, he went back into the water, into the depths, and hunted down a good sized halibut — surely a 5 pound fish would be enough for today? And left it in your shelter as a sort of welcoming/please don’t die gift.

But he wasn’t expecting you to come basically running out of your shelter and hurl into the cliff side.

“If you think this is some sort of game you can fuck right off!” You snapped, and Keith shrunk into the water.

Did you not like the gift? Did you find it offensive? Did he do something wrong?

But your ire, or what he assumed to be ire, cooled down and you went back into your shelter and Keith could smell the distinctive aroma of fish cooking. He usually preferred his meals cold, but he couldn’t help but wonder what hot fish tasted like.

He knew though that he would never have the chance, one human knowing of the existence of selkies was dangerous enough — what with the folk tales that still circled around after centuries — and while you may be intriguing, he couldn’t risk endangering everything just because you piqued his interest.

But he also couldn’t just ignore you.

You were a fire, and he couldn’t let you run rampant on his island because of the slight chance that you would burn everything to the ground.

...........................................

Masterlist

[revasserium]

Hi! It's me, I'm the problem Jazz again 🤣

Ikemen Prince ask for either Leon or Silvio with prompt number 88 please 🙏 ♥️

send me a number and a character :)

priceless (88. This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.)

silvio; 1,374 words, fluff and... fluff LOL this is only tangentially inspired by the prompt u__u whoops

01.

when you break his heart the first time, he doesn’t really know it’s real. he presses the lips of a dozen priceless wine bottles to his mouth and imagines every one to be yours — he drinks until the world is spinning, the way it spun when he asked you to dance for the very first time.

he gets drunk on the sound of your remembered laughter.

he makes a mess of the sheets, of his silk-lined robes, of all the richest furs in the corners of his closet — he falls asleep wishing that this were all but a dream.

he wakes up and has to deal with the realization that it is not all just a dream and that for the first time in his life, this isn’t something he can buy his way out of because what is the price of heartbreak? the tag on the pieces of a shattered wish — he screams into every single pillow he owns and falls asleep at noon.

02.

the second time you break his heart, he catches your arm before you can leave.

“what d’you want?” he asks, desperate and imploring, with a shudder in his voice that he’s never truly heard there before but —

you shake your head.

“i — i don’t want anything from you.”

he feels his fingers slip from around your wrist as you purse your lips and stumble back half a step. but that’s all he needs. he’s needlessly reminded of a story he’s heard a long, long time ago — about a genie and a girl who accidentally summons him. about the genie who asked the girl what she wished for and she told him she didn’t. the genie stayed with that girl for years and years and years, and in the beginning, whenever she asked him to do anything, he’d ask if that was her wish but she’d shake her head no. she’d tell him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to.

and yet somehow, he always found that he wanted to.

silvio wonders what he really wants, and the answer comes — clear and quiet as a winter stream —

he wants… you.

03.

the third time, he thinks he can get used to this.

04.

the fourth time, he’s ready for it —

“no,” you say, shaking your head, frowning at something he’s demanded of you.

“alright then,” he says, shrugging.

you blink, watching him as he turns away. watching him as he takes three steps away from you before you reach for him, tugging him back by the sleeve.

“what — that’s it? you’re… not gonna force me?”

he chuckles, “what’s the point if you’re just gonna snark at me? and anyway — i’ve got proper maids for this kind of stuff.”

“fine then,” you say, petulant, your voice sharp in a way that makes his lips twitch.

he grins, cocking his head as he watches the color wash up into your cheeks.

“fine,” he parrots back, his own voice painfully sweet and just as smug. he revels in the way your eyes flash, the way your fingers curl into fists at your side as he turns away.

so it really does take two to tango.

05.

“y’know, a million girls would kill to be in your place right now.”

“then why aren’t they?”

“hm? why aren’t they what?”

“why aren’t they here, in my place?”

silvio licks his lips, tasting salt and heat and the midnight air.

“cause… i didn’t really take to any of ‘em.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“and you just so happened to take… to me. why?”

silvio shrugs, “you’re beautiful.”

“bullshit — there are plenty of girls out there prettier than me.”

“prettier, yeah. but more beautiful? no.”

your breath catches in your chest — hook, line, and sinker. you feel the tug in the base of your belly, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“w-what? that… that doesn’t make any sense.”

silvio only laughs, casting his eyes back out at the florid lushness of his palace gardens, teaming with the world’s rarest flowers — the night blooming cereus, the elusive ghost orchids, the fire lilies, and his prized juliet rose bushes. he leans over the thick railing to tug one from it’s bed of thorns, pressing it to his nose and taking a deep breath.

“it took my best gardener 12 years to cultivate one o’ these,” he says, twirling the peach-colored flower between his fingers.

“wow,” you say, eyeing the small, unassuming bloom, “that’s… a long time.”

“yeah, sure. but the gardener was rewarded pretty damn well for his work.”

at this, you heave another sigh, leaning up against the stone banisters.

“and i’m sure that’s the only reason he worked as hard as he did, right?”

silvio traces a finger along the edge of a velvet petal, admiring the fractal-like formation of the flower’s center.

“yeah… i’m sure it is.”

06.

the sixth time you reject him, he almost laughs out loud. it really is fun pushing all your buttons after all.

07.

the seventh time, he curls his lips around the shape of your name and dares to ask why.

you tell him, “because… it’d be nice of you to ask instead of demand for a change.”

he shivers at the gentleness of your tone, at the feather-soft of your confession, the pink that kisses your cheeks like the rosy-fingered dawn.

“but… if i ask, there’s a chance you’re gonna say no.”

you laugh and roll your eyes, “i say no anyways.”

“so why bother askin’ when i know what your answer’s gonna be?”

“because… sometimes, if you give someone the choice to stay or to go — they’ll surprise you.”

08.

“can… can y’just… stay? please?”

“...okay.”

09.

“when’d you learn how to say please?”

you twist to face him in the silver light of an encroaching dawn.

silvio groans as he buries his face in the silken pillows, his hair a hallo of lingering moonlight.

“dunno — shuttup… it’s too damn early.”

you allow yourself a smile and snuggle in before drifting back off to sleep.

10.

“kiss me.”

silvio smirks, cocking his head, “no.”

you narrow your eyes, frowning even as he chuckles, his fingers tight around your waist as the pair of you spin in ever and ever faster circles to music only the two of you can hear.

“why not?”

“cause…” he bites back, laving his tongue luxuriously across the expanse of his bottom lip before tugging it between his teeth, “y’didn’t ask nicely.”

you fight down the urge to push him away but his grip on you is tight and true, strong and steady and… so very nearly sweet.

“fuck off.”

he grins a foxhole grin and you feel yourself sinking into it’s depths, deeper and deeper as he spins you beneath his arm and dips you low, low, low.

“nope — pretty sure y’didn’t ask there either. and… that ain’t proper language for a lady, now is it?”

you roll your eyes as he pulls you back up and the dance begins again.

“fine,” you bite out, sparing him a half-hearted glare, “can i please have a kiss?” you ground out the words, even as the heat crests up your chest and bubbles over into your cheeks, burning all the way to the tips of your ears.

“hm… now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

he leans in and you let your eyes flutter shut.

when he breaks the kiss, he is smiling.

“kiss me again,” he says.

you smirk, “what happened to asking nicely?”

“hn. don’t feel like it — too much trou—”

but you cut him off with another kiss, and briefly, silvio considers the merits of tugging away if only to tease you about the impropriety of interrupting a prince’s speech before he’s finished. and then the next moment, he decides that, really, he prefers just kissing you instead.

[princess-pray-a]

I love and need you

Multifandom fanfic senario : comfort

choose your character : gojo, geto , toji, silvio, clavis, shoto, chevaliar, Gilbert, vlad, comet, faust, killua ( aged up), mereum, shipouf , hisoka , leorio, mitsuhide, lou, zoro, sanji, law, tengen, bakugo, shigarakhi, aizawa, jotaro, victor, alfons, Roger barrel, kakashi, obanai

Genre: Comfort fic ! reader is insecure, gender neutral( maybe), established relationship, imagination, kisses , hugs, assurance , sfw, mention of anxiety

This may contains a lot of gramatical errors as it is not re read

My chest constricted as I felt my body tingle! Why on earth do people reach to conclusions about me so quick. Does words and rumors hold so much power that the authenticity I show in my conduct and behavior just gets washed away. Is the jealousy and hatred directed towards me so powerful that people get blinded to even consider my honesty. Tears pricked my eyes I felt powerless. I had lost everything, in a blink of an eye my dreams were shattered my heart was broken, my own lack of consistency and enough strength made me lose even the things I had.

Even if u went back in time I would have probably did the same mistake as the burden was too much for me to bear but! This lonely heart of mine craves to be seen for real! To be understood to be loved! Why oh why do I have to be dragged into the drama and hatred when I am gone, lost hiding somewhere under a shell to protect this fragile heart! Taking deep breath I close my eyes. There I feel an embrace that answers all.

It was non other than him who's strong arms held me tightly around my waist his breath warming my neck as he peppered kisses all over. “ no matter what I love you! I am here and I will not let them near you ever again “ he whispers. I turn around to face him and he instantly cradles my face in his palms. “ aww my little cute baby don't worry I am never going to leave you ok? It's a promise “ he kisses my forehead my eye lids my tip of nose and my lips. A wave of goosebumps hit me to stop myself form bailing my eyes out. His arms tug me to the bed and he cuddles me directly into his solid chest.

I am still trembling, I know he does love me a lot but I am scared, scared to be left alone, scared to be used, scared to be hated and sacred to hand over my heart to him, many came saying the same thing “I ain't gonna leave you, you are beautiful, I like you, I lovevyou, but it was only a matter of time, a single rumor, a single perspective away for them to completely go back on their words. Also to the fact I didn't want to be the one doting over an emotion less block either, someone who didn't value me at all who didn't harbour feelings for me and simply bask under the love I poured until i was drained dry while i was constantly made realize how pathetic ugly and worthless i was . Life didn't only throw stones at me it literally plunged me into the sea of decite, lies, back luck, despair and heartbreak. This made me trust no other soul but myself which was burdening. Finally nw that he was here, I.. Know now he will always.. always love me.

Tear that I had been holding soo much now trickle down from my face he kisses those tears away running his fingers through my hair he says “ shhh, it's ok love, I know you are great you always work hard to be better, you have not said bad about others don't even harbor dark emotions for others, though you don't deserve hate, I don't know myself why they do it, but no matter what I am always going to be by your side loving you ,protecting you like your shield, I won't leave and I will not even let you leave, I need you babe, because you are my world !” those words those words were what I needed! I didnt want to be a burden to anyone but I was desperately looking out for a person at least a single person whom I could confine to. I burts into a stream of tears while he wipes them ever so softly. “ I love you I love you so so much so please don't ever leaveme ok? Please I beg you, if you ever leave my heart wont survive !” finally letting those pathetic words leave my mouth I gaze at the expectantly.

He chuckled, “ haha yes yes definitely even if you fight or push me I will pull you soo tight and shower you will so much love that you can't ever leave me “ . I giggled a little “ well I ain't that pretty and all nor I have a good body! I ain't that great in brains depart either! Do you regret?” still not so confident in myself I ask him “what are you talking about! I love you with all my heart and you are so so beautiful in my eyes you are multi talented and that perfect for me no body I have seen is as bright and lovely as you! You are my cute little baby how can I leave you or even regret! You are the best thing in my life, your presence gives me strength and you have always helped me taken care of me loved me no matter what world said me and accepted and understood me you stood up for me so I can't ask for anything more love! I love you and only you !”

Finally the heavy feeling , wave of anxious thoughts and emotions leave my body as his warmth and kisses lulls me to sleep while he pulls a blanket over our bodies! Forever and always will I bask in the imaginary warmth of my comfort character unless one day it becomes real if i meet the one i could trust, until then I will cherish this warmth even if it's only made up in my head !

The end!..

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[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: small moments with rio!!!

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: i am not brainrotting oevr rio i am not i would never do that i swear im not i am not i would never i cant its literally impossible i am not thinking about him more than i should i am NOT who even is rio i dont know who that is he sounds like a total loser imagine being a man named rio i would never brainrot over you

im a liar

rio who wakes you up in the morning with a kiss on your nose and a cheery compliment, your breakfast placed in front of you. he watches you eat it with stars in his eyes, yearning for your approval. he practically jumps out of his skin when you ask him why he’s just standing there and not sharing this breakfast with you, and he’s all too eager to climb into bed and share your warmth (and food.)

rio who takes you around town while you run errands, insisting that he should be here for you in case something happens. he swings your hands back and forth, humming a tune you don’t recognize. you catch yourself staring at him and look away, even though you know he wouldn’t mind. he’s such a beautiful soul, so devoted and good to you, it makes you feel like the luckiest person in the whole world.

rio who whines when you try to feed yourself a sandwich you picked up from a vendor for lunch. his puppy dog eyes are something you can’t resist, so you sigh and give him your sandwich. he beams like you just told him you love him again, and he feeds you your lunch. if your hair threatens to fall into your face, he tucks it behind your ear with the softest brush of his fingertips against your cheekbone. it’s enough to make you pause, but he’s still smiling and motioning for you to keep eating. It's a bit embarrassing, but so long as he’s happy, you’re happy.

rio who turns bright red when you kiss his cream of dessert off his lips while you laugh. you know it’s not fair to tease him, especially when he’s been waiting for years for you to say you’d fallen for him too, but his flustered stumbling and wide eyes are too adorable to resist. he pulls you close and hugs you tightly, and for a moment you swear you can feel the yearning he stored away in his heart for you.

rio who dances with you in the streets when he hears live music, who sweeps you off your feet in a clumsy twirl (mostly on your part, though he doesn’t comment on it.) he spins you around and holds you close, reveling in your smiles and laughter. he wants to cause as many of your smiles as he can. he wants to absorb your laughter into his skin. he wants to be anything and everything that makes you happy because it’s the least you deserve.

rio who tucks you in at the end of the day to make sure you don’t get too cold at night. he stays for a few beats longer than he should, just staring at you and replaying the day’s events in his head. it’s selfish of him to want it all to happen again, but that doesn’t stop him from yearning. he leans over and kisses your forehead, only to freeze at the soft murmur of his name. you thank him for helping you to bed, as tired as you were, and kiss his cheekbone softly before smiling up at him.

and just when he thought he couldn’t love you any more, you prove him wrong.

[yandere-romanticaa]

The soft scent of fresh roses lingered in the vast room as several candles grew more dim by the second, their overly sweet scent overwhelming your senses as the Obsidian prince made himself comfortable on the plush, velvet chair. He poised himself as a gentleman, a delicate smile on his pretty, pale lips as he crossed him legs and weaved his fingers together, the fabric of his dark, leather gloves shining ever so gently underneath the flickering candlelight.

For a brief second, he looked beautiful. Ethereal even.

His military uniform which he wore daily gave him a regal air, as is fitting for a prince, the fine fabric hugging his body in all the right places as his cape scrunched up ever so lightly on the side of his makeshift throne. He tapped the floor with his boot, the pattern consistent and ear piercing due to the suffocating silence you were surrounded with.

No one in their right mind would go near the man. He was a beast, a creature of the night ready to pounce onto any unsuspecting victim, rip into their flesh with his sharp claws and fangs - perhaps even blow their brains out with the gun he fancied. You could already picture him reaching out to his weapon, his movements lazy but determined as he held you at gunpoint, his finger not even twitching one bit on the trigger. Like lightning, the sound of the bullet would roar across the room as it would come into contact with your head, crimson blood splattering all over the perfect white walls. Your body would lay lifeless on the ground, blood oozing all over, the color matching with the red roses he so fancied to have whenever you were together, the splatters almost looking like the delicate petals themselves.

With the sound of an airy chuckle you broke out of your trance and accidentally looked Gilbert in the eye, the gleaming ruby shining brightly at you, challenging you to make a move.

Do you stay? Do you flee?

That was the true terror of Gilbert von Obsidian. However, what made him so awful was precisely what drew you in the first place.

Upon first meeting him in the palace gardens, you could not help but to blush fiercely with how delicate he was, how he so carefully placed a single red rose in your hair. Everyone around you gave plenty of warnings, telling cautionary tales as if he were some storybook monster rather than a man of flesh and blood.

But oh by the heavens, it was horrible how charmed you were by him. He was odd but kind, cruel but somehow merciful at the same time, a contraction manifested in a single man.

Perhaps he was some sort of devil because why else would you be so utterly enchanted by him? Why else would you keep on enduring his madness, this agony of not knowing his next move?

Deep down, you knew that you might just be a little crazy as well. Maybe even more so than the prince. That did not matter though, it was not worth pondering on about.

Right there and then, all you wanted was for Gilbert to steal you away and wrap you in his embrace, his lips on your own, scorching your soul down to the core.

You were his the moment he put that bloody rose in your hair. It just took you a little time to realize that as well.

[articdelilah]

❤︎The subsequent calm❤︎

Keith Howell x MC(Reader)

CW-Mention of nsfw

It was one of those nights where Emma held Keith close to her chest. She combed her fingers through his ash-grey locks, finding herself fixed on the ceiling with furrowed brows; looking to find an answer to a question she didn’t have. The day has been long and tiring, a seemingly endless storm of events until a sudden wanted peace fell over the palace. The air was still yet filled with intense emotions of the minutes before it. The moments where limbs became tangled, moans laced the room and two bodies became one.

Keith’s strong arms wrapped around Emma’s waist; their breathing steady and in sync. Comforting warmth flooded Emma’s body and her lashes fluttered as she tried to keep herself from succumbing to sleep. She never wanted to let this moment slip away. Keith observed her with a soft admiring gaze, pressing a light kiss to her collarbone with a gentle smile plastered upon his kiss swollen lips. Keith took a hold of her soft hand in his rough one, looking over the engagement ring he had given Emma the day before. The calm was quietly broken when three words were exchanged between the couple…

“I love you my Flower.”

“I love you too my Darling.”

⋆˚✿˖°

Hi Doves!! This is your Mother Delilah! I hope you enjoyed this short drabble (I think this is 100 words anyways 😣) I made of Keith!! I might post something similar with Chevie too. Not Proofread since I’m writing this in the middle of the night. Anyways I love you my Doves!! If you like my work, you can always request ₊ ⊹

[dicenete]

LOOK GUYS! LOOK LOOK LOOK WHAT @dododrawsstuff drew for me for Christmas!! I love it so much! I just.-..... ARRHGHHGF <333

The last one is me looking at my phone all the time since it is now my lock screen background <33

[pochipop]

＃IKEMEN PRINCE !! ♡ — AUGUST LOOKS GOOD ON YOU (LEON X READER).

#. synopsis! — he was never really yours to lose .

#. characters! — leon .

#. warnings! — angst .

#. word count! — 1.4k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. a/n! — come join my discord server? + inspo for this fic came from this moodboard posted by @lichtluv <3 so go give her stuff some love n attention !!

You can still taste the lavish vanilla of Leon’s birthday cake on your tongue. Yves had spared no expense baking and decorating it the night before, insisting upon maximizing the freshness, even if that meant losing some sleep. To say you helped him with it would be a bit of an overstatement, —but you tried your best to be of assistance where you could (and where Yves, in all his perfectionism, would allow.) It was three tiers tall and masterfully prepared, and when Sariel sliced it open to spread the goodness around that morning, Leon hummed in delight and thanked his younger brother so profusely for taking the time to bake it in celebration of his birth.

Twenty eight had never looked so good on anyone. Not because the mere age of twenty eight was indicative of anything in particular, —but because anything on Leon was simply something spectacular, a sight to behold in every way. He was the kind of man that owned any room he set foot in just by virtue of being himself. People revered him without question, his charm winning over so many hearts (even when he wasn’t trying.) People trusted him. . . You trusted him.

Yves never did like to be the center of attention if it wasn’t on his own terms, so he begrudgingly accepted the thanks of his elder brother and then insisted they talk about something other than the wonderful cake everyone enjoyed without fail. Even Chevalier, in all his broodish angst, bothered to drop by that morning for a slice (that he only took a few bites from, granted, —but the fact that he even came at all was the real surprise.) He wasn’t exactly the leader of the Leon Dompteur FanClub, but he had a healthy enough respect for the Fourth Prinnce to give him a little nod on his way out the door. You guessed Leon had taken that as “happy birthday.”

Luke was there mostly for the cake, and because it gave him something to do that would justify (in his mind, at least), sneaking off to take a nap somewhere around noon. He scarfed down two pieces before even acknowledging what the dessert had been baked for, but Leon didn’t seem to mind the mooching. Luke was more of a stranger than a family member to him, but Leon always looked at him like he was waxing nostalgic. You always suspected Luke reminded him of someone, maybe of his younger self, —a version of Leon you never knew. . . Another part of you wondered if there was something he was making peace with when he looked at the youngest of his siblings; some shattered part of him he was learning how to live with.

You never asked, though.

Licht didn’t say much of the occasion, but paid his brother a greeting, quietly said happy birthday, and took a slice of cake even though breakfast had never been much of his thing. You guessed it was more out of respect for Yves and his efforts than for Leon’s special occasion. Nokto and Clavis each took turns slinging their arms around Leon’s shoulders, shaking him a little, and saying he was getting old. That was a little rich coming from Clavis, in your opinion, but you didn’t bother to speak up about it. Jin placed a large hand on Leon’s shoulder and bid him a happy birthday, almost offered to take him down to the taverns for a bit of fun later in the evening, then glanced to you and clammed himself up.

Sariel was more concerned about Leon fulfilling his duties than celebrating the Prince’s birthday, —to absolutely no one's surprise, and Rio poked his head in after a morning of being put to work to sneak a slice of cake away and say happy birthday before Sariel could catch him “slacking” and demand he go find somewhere to be of use.

It was a normal morning in the castle, all things considered.

He worked, even on his special day, —spent hours training his soldiers, skipped lunch (to your disapproval), and scarfed his dinner down like a famished dog. Or a lion, rather.

The sun had already begun to set when you were able to find some time to be alone with him. Up in his room, you brushed some of that unruly brown hair out of his eyes, letting him kiss you to the point of breathlessness and then some.

“Happy birthday,” you finally told him when he pulled away to get some air.

A lopsided smile spread across his features, one so infectious that it made you grin up at him in turn.

He didn’t tell you that your birthday wish was the only one he really took to heart that day, but he didn’t have to. You just knew. And call it your dastardly intuition or the sadness that lingered in his gaze, but a part of you just knew that much like Leon’s birthday, this wouldn’t last forever.

You used to really like August. Sunny days and clear skies, the sounds of children playing on cobblestone. It was warm and comfortable, and you’d stay up late to look up at the stars and make wishes that would never really come true.

These days, August haunts you like a bittersweet ghost, and it tastes just like lavish vanilla.

It’s not the sun-filled, fun-loving month you once knew anymore, —no, August comes like a phantom and it swallows you whole, eats you up inside, and spits you out at midnight on September 1st, daring you to live and keep pushing, waiting for another August to suck you under again.

I’m sorry, he said to you, and the worst part was that he meant it.

He was so sincere in the way he broke your heart, so gentle in the way he smashed you into a million little pieces and left you scattered there. Nothing had ever hurt quite like that.

 It’s safer this way, he insisted, —but for who? Certainly not for the stupid organ in your chest that seemed to wane at every syllable of his tear-filled apology and subsequent explanation of why he couldn’t promise to love you until the sun exploded.

It’s better this way. But it wasn’t.

It won’t sting like this forever. And maybe it won’t.

He was probably right. You’re sure some fifteen years from now, you’ll be happier, and you won’t sit and stare at the ceiling on August nights anymore. You’re sure this’ll pass one day, he’ll lead this little country to new heights, and you’ll stay where you’ve always belonged, down in the city, running your bookshop, waving to his brothers when you see them on the streets. You’ll find someone else who’ll kiss away your tears, who’ll hold you when you fall apart and meld you back together so neatly. . . You’ll get better. It won’t always be this way.

You’ll grow up a little more, learn to stop and smell the roses again, whether they’re planted on castle grounds or not. You’ll accept what you can’t change and it won’t hurt like it does right now. You’ll taste vanilla and it won’t make you feel so small, —it won’t arouse all the memories of Leon and his dark chocolate hair or his sunlit eyes or his strong arms holding you close enough to have tricked you so selfishly into believing that he might never let go.

For whatever it’s worth, which doesn’t feel like a lot right now, —he’s probably right. Maybe it won’t sting like this forever. Maybe time will heal your wounds, stitch them up and kiss them like a caring mother. Maybe you’ll just learn to live with how badly it hurts until it turns to white noise inside your chest.

But that’s then, and this is now, so you sit around and sniffle over a piece of cake with frosting that’s too sweet, because you’re not Yves in all of his perfectionism, and you hope Leon’s cake tastes a lot better than yours. You hope he’s safer and better and that it doesn’t sting anymore, —but a part of you can’t help but want him to be a little sorry, even now. You hope all of his brothers will come around again and say happy birthday to him in their own ways, —Chevalier with his little acknowledging nod to Clavis and Nokto’s teasing. You hope he’ll eat lunch this time, that he’ll take a few breaks between tasks, and that he’ll think about you fondly for a little while when he goes back to his room to sleep for the night.

Most of all though, you’re still sure twenty nine has never looked so good on anyone.