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sweetpascal · 5 months ago

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— 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

pairing: knight!marcus acacius x princess!reader

pinterest board inspo

summary: an arranged marriage in the works. one on one jousting for your honor. celebratory feasts and extravagant dances. it all seemed exciting. however, as a princess with your mind on becoming a Dame, along with your father's main knight making sure you are always on your best behavior, some dreams are just meant to be crushed.

warnings: MINORS DNI, big age gap [reader is 19 and marcus is 54], slowwww burn, medieval times au, possible historical inaccuracies [maybe ??], reader has hair long enough to braid, father-daughter relationship issues, first kiss, forbidden love, non-sexual touching, flirtatious banter, allusions to sex, sword fighting, TW: major character death, TW: blood and gore, angst angst angst

wc: 21.6k (i maayyyyy have gone a bit overboard with this one)

notes: this is my submission for @almostfoxglove 's angst writing challenge (beautiful moodboard created by her). i'm not gonna lie, this is gonna be ANGSTYYYYYYY. so please, grab your tissues and hold on for dear life. sword divider by the wonderful @saradika-graphics ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

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Wiping the sweat from your brow, you exerted yourself once more. Swinging the heavy sword almost the same length as your body and slamming the blade repeatedly onto the side of the wooden post right by the outskirts of the woods. Blisters had begun to form on your palms from the improper protection needed, but the care you had for gloves was thrown to the back of your mind. Little grunts heavily exhaled from your throat each time you swung the sword down and around, further adding slice and slice into the mangled wood post. Feeling the burning sensation in your chest intensify, you had decided now would be a good time to rest.

You placed yourself on the nearest rock and laid the sword across your lap. Gently stroking your blistered thumb over the engraved markings of your older deceased brother's name towards the handle. He lost his life like a true knight in battle. His death was so long ago but it felt like yesterday. You remembered the morning he left. He had hoisted you up into his arms with the promise that he would return. When Marcus Acacius, your father's knight, returned back to the castle with your brother's bloodied sword in his hands, you knew. Almost a decade long feud with no success or improvement. With your brother's sword now in your possession, even though your father doesn't approve of a princess having such a manly hobby, it was your goal to finish what he started. Whether your father, the king, liked it or not, you would rather die fighting than be married off.

"Why am I not surprised that I would find you here, princess?"

Turning at the sound of the distinct voice that is of Knight Acacius, you observe the way his lips quirk into a tired grin. One of his arms lays limp at his side while the other rests on the handle of his sword attached to his hip. He wears only his chest plate with the yellow markings of your father's castle, as well as an engraved crow. It was the same as the flags that hung around the interior and exterior.

"Why am I not surprised that you would follow me out here, Marcus?" You retort, nose scrunching at the sound of his deep laughter from your sassy question.

He comes closer now, eyeing the wood post that has been abused from your sharp sword. Marcus has been your father's knight since before you were born. He had started as an esquire when he was just a teen boy. Your grandfather had been king at that point. When the title was passed down to your father, he deemed Marcus as worthy of getting a ranking higher. He earned the title, of course. Knight Acacius was a hardworking man. He did what needed to be done in a timely manner. He kept you and your father safe. He did everything to keep the king happen, and you could see that it was paying off.

"Your father sent me to get you. It's time for you to get ready for the tournament," he tells you quietly, already knowing your opinions on the matter.

When you let out a scoff at his words, Marcus nods to himself as if to say 'Yep, there it is.' There's a long beat of silence as he waits for you to gather your thoughts and express them through words. Unlike your father, Marcus has always been a patient man, which works perfectly with his title. There have been long nights after hours where you've poured your heart out to him; your unhappiness, your fears, your worries, your dreams. He always lent you an ear and shoulder to cry into you.

"Tournament," the word was bitter on your tongue. With an eye roll that made Marcus hold back a chuckle, you stood up and made your way back to the post. "You mean the sad excuse of a competition where men compare whose cock is the biggest for me to suck?"

Marcus choked on his spit at the vulgarity of your words. When you looked over your shoulder and gave him a teasing smile that expressed your youth, he took a half step back with widened eyes. He shook his head at himself and cleared his throat to make it feel less constricted. Why is his heart beating so fast? Why is he sweating? Why are his hands trembling? All of which had happened after you shot him that teasing little smile if yours. Oh, this was bad.

Wincing once again as one of the maidservants snagged your hair accidentally, you couldn't help but to grow annoyed. Not at the older woman, but at the idea that princesses are supposed to always be prim, proper, and innocent. She apologized softly with a guilty smile at you in the mirror. Like Marcus, Celeste had been in your family for a long time. You saw her almost as a mother figure. Closer to your father's age, Celeste had stepped up in helping your father raise you and your brother after the death of your mother. She had succumbed to her injuries during your birth, and you always felt like your father harbored a deep animosity towards you.

"I know you're not fond of these braids, princess," she tells you quietly, her wrinkly eyes glancing at you briefly before looking down at her fingers in your hair. "But it's just for today."

Letting out a small, soulless laugh, you tell her, "Father always has a trick or two up his sleeve, Celeste. You know that. Marcus knows that. The whole castle knows that. He may say one thing and mean another. That's just how he is, I guess." The little shrug you give her makes her tut.

"I do know," she says quietly, reaching over your shoulder to grab a few flower stems to slide them into your braids, almost creating a delicate flower crown. "And I also know that this is not the life you see for yourself."

You look at her in shock through the mirror. She gives you barely a nod and cascades the rest of your hair behind your back to comb through the wavy strands. There are a few beats of silence as you sit and wonder. Has Marcus gone behind your back and told her your secrets? Has she overheard one of the nights where you and the knight sat in seclusion? Has she read your diary? All of these questions are rushing through your mind before you could stop them. What if she tells your father? What if he isolates you permanently?

"I know what you're thinking and it's not true," she speaks up when she sees your eyes darting back and forth frantically. She feels your shoulder deflate with relief. She stops brushing your hair and rests her chin atop your head. You both look at each other in the mirror. "Your mother was a very intimidating woman. That's what drew your father in and made him fall in love with her. He sees so much of her in you, and that's why he's trying to hold onto you as tight as he can for the time being."

Feeling a tickle in your nostrils and a lump forming in your throat, your eyes shut before you could let tears spill over the bottom lid.

"I... I can't go on like this, Celeste," you whisper brokenly, finally turning in your seat to look up at her. Your breathing becomes shuddering as the emotions begin to overwhelm you. "I wasn't born to become a wife." You started to become angrier the more you spoke. "I'm not a child anymore! No man shall tell me what to do! Not my father, not Marcus, not any other king or prince! I was put on this earth to fight like William!" Uttering your brother's name from your trembling lips finally let the dam break.

Celeste was quick to bring you into her arms, hushing you softly and tenderly holding your head against her chest. Your shoulders shook with each sob that wracked through your body. You were exhausted and honestly, scared. Maybe this was really it. Maybe your dreams will always be dreams. You're going to die as a wife and not as a warrior.

"Oh, dear child," Celeste whispers and pulls your head from her chest to gently hold your cheeks, her thumbs swiping away the tear tracks so as to not ruin your light makeup. "You are going to do great things. And you are going to be a great woman. It will take time, but you will see it happen. Now, give me a smile."

Hearing her encouragement and reassurance, feeling the safety in her arms, you were finally able to calm down and steady your breathing. As she swipes a knuckle under your eye to wipe away a lonesome tear, you give her a little smile and laugh to yourself at your outburst.

"There she is," she smiles as well, her wrinkles much more prominent. She fixes your makeup and turns you back around to face the mirror. Your hair falls over your shoulders on either side, the ends curled elegantly. You really do look like a true princess. In another world, you would've been happy. But you didn't look, nor did you feel like yourself. However, the proud look on Celeste's face silenced those thoughts. "You look just like your mother when she was your age."

There was a gentle rapt at the door. Celeste called out for them to enter, and it was Marcus. He gives the older woman a nod before he sets his eyes on you. When you make eye contact with him through the mirror, it feels like time has slowed down. It feels like all the air had gotten knocked out of him, and he has half a mind to grab his chest as his heart nearly beats out of the flesh. Your cheeks warmed at his obvious attention to you. It was rare for him to see you looking like this. You never wore makeup, your hair was almost never done prettily, you loathed dresses. But sitting here right now looking like a princess, having his eyes on you made you feel beautiful for once. He didn't leer. Matter of fact, he never leered at you as though you were a piece of meat. Some of the feasts that your father has thrown in the past made you uncomfortable with the amount of unwanted attention you would get from men that were desperate to court you.

But it never felt like that with Marcus. He respected you. He respected how you perceived yourself, he understood your ambitions and what you can see yourself doing down the line. You were an inspiration to him. Princesses at your age are already married and having their second child by now. Never would a princess touch a sword. But you handle one like an expert on the battlegrounds. Marcus would never admit it aloud, but he would love to see you fight. With your years of training, he knows for a fact that you would put up one hell of a fight. He only wishes your father was more accepting of that matter.

When you stand from your seat in front of the mirror, Marcus swallows down his gasp of awe. You wore a soft pink, floor length gown with white gold trimming that accentuated your curves. The neckline was low and tasteful, but nothing too extreme that would be considered inappropriate as a princess. The candlelight makes you glow like an angel. The flowers in your hair as well as the soft makeup adds to the delicacy. Celeste stands behind you to clip on a pearl necklace and some dangly earrings that match.

"Please, don't make fun of me," you give Marcus a small, embarrassed laugh as he still hasn't said anything upon seeing you. "You can make all the jokes you want after the feast, yes?"

Celeste tuts and lightly swats at your arm. The knight hasn't looked away from you. Even as you cross the other side of the room to grab your soft pink slippers with sewn beads that match the colors of your gown. You preferred your calf-high leather boots.

"Do you need a glass of water, Marcus? You look like you've seen a ghost," Celeste says behind your back as you bend down to slide on the surprisingly comfortable slippers.

He clears his throat when you look at him once again with a bashful smile. He takes a step forward to you. Without even realizing it, his hand reaches up to your hair to fix a flower stem that was out of place. It was until Celeste obnoxiously cleared her throat that he realized what he was doing. You both broke eye contact, both feeling like you were caught doing unspeakable acts. She stares at you with squinted eyes, then at Marcus. He shifts uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze. He clears his throat again.

"The king, uh, requests your presence, my princess," he briefly stutters when you make eye contact again, but he looks away before it could reach two seconds.

My princess. He always called you 'princess,' or occasionally your name. But he never included 'my.' It caught you off guard, and you feel like Celeste noticed because she nods at Marcus and shoos him away. He gives her a brief nod and leaves the room. Now, it was just you and the older maidservant. As she gives you one last touch up, she looks at the door and then at you.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't."

And with that, she ushers you out the door.

Your cheeks were hurting from the number of fake smiles you were giving all the guests. Your arm was aching from shaking all the hands of other kings, queens, princes, princesses, and all the like. In the corner of the dining hall was a small band playing music. They each looked at peace playing their music. They looked in their element, doing what they enjoy. Envy clawed at your chest. Looking away with a scowl, you focused on your chalice filled with the finest wine brought specially from one of the kingdoms visiting for the feast. You can hear your father's boisterous laughter across the hall as he sits with one of the king's. His face was flushed, and you knew he's had more than a few cups of wine.

You sit on your designated throne and observe the party before you. One of the jester's stops in front of you. He does a little dance, the bells on his shoes and hat jingling. It brings a smile to your lips, and then you start laughing. Jesters were one of your favorite people to witness during these times. They offered a temporary distraction and left you feeling lighthearted. Upon hearing your laughter, the jester stops dancing goofily and reaches a hand up to you. Your hand enters his and he gently kisses the top before dancing away to entertain the other guests.

"Looks like you have an admirer," you hear from above your seated position.

You look up and see Marcus leaning against the top of your throne, his arm stretched across it with his thumb tapping at the carvings. He rests his other hand on the handle of his sword. You've noticed that it was a habit of his, even when there was no danger around. Grinning up at him, you shake your head.

"Well, it's better than having a spineless prince as an admirer," you tell him half-jokingly, taking a small sip of your wine and looking back to the crowd.

Marcus also observes the crowd silently. The king was talking to one of the queen's and her son, the older man motioning behind him in your direction. When the prince looks at you, Marcus can see you recoil. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Having been in the family for decades, he's grown fond of you. Being able to witness you grow into the beautiful young woman you are today was a blessing. Your personality shines even brighter. Your quick wit and sharp tongue often deemed him speechless. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the other princesses he has met in his lifetime. You weren't like the others.

"Well," he clears his throat to capture your attention once more. "At least you get to see these spineless princes joust for your honor and courtship. The one in the blue tunic looks like a starved lamb."

The insult causes you to choke on your wine, some of it spitting out and landing on your dress as you break into a bubbly fit of laughter. Marcus muffles his own laughter by biting down on his bottom lip. Your father claps his hands loudly and makes a motion for the band to ease their music completely.

"Attention, guests! As you all know, my dear daughter, the princess, is up for courtship. It is my duty as her father, the king, to ensure that she has a safe and fulfilling marriage. Which is why we are holding this tournament!" There was a round of applause, and you find it so hard to not roll your eyes. "For the one prince to earn the honor of courting my daughter, you must fight valiantly, live honorably, and go forth courageously!" There was another round of applause, some even whistling. "Now, please make your way out to the field and get comfortable while the princes get ready to joust!"

The crowd cheered one last time before some of your father's knights led them out to the roped-off enclosure outside of the castle. Marcus held a hand to you, gently grasping and pulling you up from your seat. The distance between your bodies was short. He can smell your sweet perfume and see the shimmering of your eyeshadow. He prays to the gods above that you couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating. If only he knew that you were feeling the same way. From how close he stood in front of you, the gray in his beard was much more prominent and his thick hair looked curlier than usual. He smelled like a mix of leather, musk, and a woodsy, scented oil he must've purchased from one the markets along the outskirts of the castle. It was overwhelming, having him so close to you. Your lips parted, and you caught the way his eyes darted down to look at them.

"My daughter," you hear your father's footsteps coming closer, and you step away from Marcus who quickly broke eye contact to greet your father. "You have stained your gown!"

You looked down and noticed the dark wine droplets. Giving your father a sheepish smile, you offer him a kiss on the cheek as an apology. He claps a hand on Marcus' shoulder, both men now falling into a conversation about the tournament for your hand in marriage. Celeste ushers you down from your throne, her left hand holding your right as her right arm is around your back.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at Knight Acacius," she tells you in a hushed voice. You look at her in shock, your lips parted to disagree. But when you see her pointed look, you decide to keep your mouth shut. Sighing quietly as you both round the corner of the stone halls, you speak up.

"It's not like that, Celeste," you tell her. "Marcus just... He knows how I feel about... all of this. It's all so overwhelming. There's nothing I can do to change my father's mind, so I might as well play the part as the obedient princess."

When you both reach outside, you can hear the faintness of Marcus' voice a few feet away from you with your father's voice in tow. You and Celeste stand beside each other in silence as you scan the crowd sitting in their seats around the dirt pit specifically for when the knights are training.

"You know," Celeste began. "Your mother never wanted this life for you either." You look at her with interest. She nods at the curiosity in your eyes.

Giving you her typical wink, she motions for you to climb the steps to sit in your throne. You were high up now, the pit directly in the middle of your view with the crowd on either side. Your father sits beside you with a huffed groan and affectionately pats your knee.

"We have quite the rally, don't we?" He sloppily drinks from his jeweled chalice. You cringe and look away. Marcus stands to your father's left with his arms crossed in position, his back straight and broad with authority. He feels eyes on him, and he turns to face you, dropping his right eye in a wink before looking straight ahead again. You look out into the crowd with warm cheeks as you bite down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from spreading.

Two of the esquires blew the fellow buisines to start the tournament. The crowd silenced as well as your father. Two princes on two horses came out of the small tunnel and stood on either side of a horizontal wooden post, both on opposite sides of each other, facing one another. Both men were dressed head to toe in armor with the feathered colors of their kingdom on top of their helmets. In their hands were wooden lances. There was a tense silence in the air as the princes readied themselves. When the buisines blew once more, both men charged at each other on their horses with the lances pointing at once another chest level.

There was a booming clang of wood against metal as the lance from the prince on the right slammed into the chest of the prince on the left. Some of the wood splintered and nearly exploded from the force. The crowd gasped and proclaimed with shock. The left prince fell off his horse and landed hard on the ground. The crowd clapped for him as the right prince galloped around the pit in a celebratory manner. His arrogant gloating was a turn-off. It worsened when he lifted his helmet and looked at you up above, blowing a kiss in your direction with his hand. You let out a scoff of disgust. Marcus hides his laugh by coughing into his fist.

There was another hour of this jousting. Then, there were the top two princes – the Prince of Ehnkhart and the Prince of Ivanard. Both princes were unappealing to look at and had the personalities of a wet rag. You'd rather marry one of the jesters.

When the Prince of Ivanard was deemed the winner, you almost had to fight back a gag as the bile grew at the back of your throat. You certainly were not going to marry that yellow-toothed, spineless bastard. Your father bellowed in his seat happily as the crowd roared with delight when the prince threw his fist into the air and pointed at you. Glancing at Marcus with an expression he could only describe as horror, his face morphed into something grim. He bit his tongue to stay silent. He couldn't say anything, even if he wanted to. That was not his duty as a knight. And one of the main priorities was to never go against the king under any circumstances.

"My dearest daughter," your father lets out a full bellied laugh as he takes both of your hands in his. "You are now going to be an Ivanard!"

When the buisines blew in a celebratory manner, the crowd cheered louder as your father clapped. Everything was booming and overwhelming. You can feel it all closing in on you. Your ears began ringing and your breathing became shallow and unsteady. Sweat dotted along your hairline. Your eyes frantically scanned the crowd for Celeste, needing her kind eyes to lay upon your frightful ones and her motherly touch. The vibrations of the crowd stomping their feet could be felt underneath your own.

"My daughter, come and meet your husband! He is most excited to see you!" Your father yanked you up roughly before you had time to register what was happening.

"Your daughter is even more beautiful up close, your majesty," the Prince of Ivanard tells your father as he snatches your hand and kisses your knuckles with his dry lips. The feel of his thick ginger beard had you snatching your hand away. He looks at you with surprise and offense.

Your father laughs awkwardly and roughly pats your shoulder. "She's just a bit shy. Aren't you, my dear?"

The prince laughs awkwardly as well, shifting on his feet and accidentally bumping into Marcus. The knight stares down at him sternly with hidden disdain. The prince grips your shoulder and tries to lead you away as he says, "Well, princess, why don't we get to know each other one on one before we further our courtship, yes?"

Upon hearing that, you've had enough. You yanked your shoulder away from his grimy grip and backed away from the men crowding in on you. Your father's white eyebrows furrow and you can practically feel his temper rising. Marcus steps a foot closer to him in case he would need to intervene.

"No," you spoke through clenched teeth. Your fists tightened at your sides as your breathing grew heavy and fast with each passing second.

Your father looks at you, then at the prince, then at Marcus, then back at you. "No?" He mocks your answer. As he takes a step towards you, you take another step back.

"You heard me, father," you shakily spoke as your voice wavered and grew weaker. "You will not marry me off to a swine." You spit the word at the prince who scoffs in offense. "You will not force your values onto me as though I am a lesser woman to you. I will not live an unhappy life and ignore my capabilities."

The crowd's cheering gets quieter and quieter until they stop completely upon noticing the tense atmosphere around you and your father. Marcus feels pride and fear bubbling in his chest. He knew just how much you were holding in when it came to your father. He never expected now would be the time for it to spill out all at once. You harbored a different kind of courage that he admired. Any other princess would have kept their mouths shut and gone through an unhappy marriage. Ever since you were a child, you were always independent and following your eldest brother's footsteps, wanting to be just like him when you reached adulthood. Being a woman in this life wasn't easy, that's for sure.

"Capabilities," your father scoffed and waved you off with a hand as though you were a fly. He half turned away and glared at you. "And what capabilities might you speak of, my dear daughter?" The way he speaks to you was demeaning and you've never felt so belittled in your entire life.

When you glanced at Marcus over your father's shoulder, he subtly shook his head disapprovingly. That was his way of silently telling you to not poke the bear and make the situation worse by adding more coal to the fire. To be honest, he was terrified of the outcome. Your father was not a violent man, but he was a scary man when he was rage filled. Looking back at your father, he raised his eyebrows at you.

"I want to be a fighter," you tell him quietly, like a little mouse. "I want to continue William's legacy and ride into battle with his sword and finish what was started."

There was light, gossiping chatter that was faintly heard between the guests who observed everything. You had almost forgotten that you stopped the courtship celebration. Your father stood frozen in his place. His jaw ticked and his hands trembled. Marcus stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, about to speak into his ear but your father held a hand up, further silencing his knight.

"You listen to me, girl," your father spoke lowly as he stepped closer to your frozen frame. "You will never be like my son." Hearing those words had you choking on a heartbroken gasp. "You will never have the strength of a man to become a powerful fighter like my son." He steps closer and closer. "You will never be nothing more than a dutiful wife that will bear children to continue your husband's legacy."

Smelling the wine on his breath had you recoiling. Each cruel word spewing from his lips adds a crack to your heart. These were the words you were afraid to hear. Having them told to your face in front of the public added to the crushing embarrassment. You couldn't break down. Not now, especially not in front of your father and Marcus, who stands behind with a somber look on his face.

Staring into your father's wild eyes, you brokenly whispered, "He may have been your son, but he was my brother and my greatest friend, and I will continue his legacy whether you like it or not."

He swallowed thickly and realized you weren't going to back down obediently like he thought.

"Marcus!" He barked, causing the shoulders of his knight to jump. "Take her to her chambers and lock the door. She will stay there until I believe that she is ready to come out."

"Absolutely not!" You shouted in his face, the fire in the pit of your stomach growing heavier as you hear those words. "You will not imprison me!"

"And you will not disrespect me in front of our guests, child!" He all but bellowed in your face, some spittle landing on your cheeks and nose. You flinched your head away but didn't move a step back as he got into your space. "You will follow your orders as a princess and do as I say!"

Marcus finally creates space between you and your father. Celeste had run up the wooden steps of the viewing post to step in front of your father to place her hands on his chest. The Prince of Ivanard stood silently as he didn't want to get in between a family feud, especially since the angry king was his soon-to-be father-in-law.

"Let's go, princess," Marcus speaks softly in your ear, his large hand tenderly holding your arm to usher you away from drama.

As he finally, and successfully, pulled you away, you passed by your father and shouted over your shoulder to let your final words hurt him. "God damn you!"

There was a collective gasp amongst the crowd, and you were finally ushered away in the hands of Marcus.

It had been almost three weeks since the argument between you and your father. He had followed through with his promise of locking you in your chambers. You thought it was to scare you, but once you heard the lock click and you attempted to open your door, you stepped away in shock. Marcus tried to get your father to change his mind, to change his ways, but it was no use. Your father was a stubborn, stubborn man. Celeste even tried to talk your father out of this harsh treatment, but she too was waved off. The only time you were allowed out was for dinners in the dining hall which only consisted of you and your father sitting at opposite ends of the long table. Dinners were awkward and tense. Neither of you opted to speak to one another. Stubbornness runs in the family.

When it reached day twenty-six of isolation, you were growing more frantic over the prospect of never feeling freedom. All you had were your books and your diary. Celeste and Marcus were both instructed to not interact with you. If they were to go against the king's wishes, there would be severe consequences. You knew it was all talk considering the maidservant and the knight were the only two people your father cared about deeply. You thought he cared about you too, but you were wrong.

Tonight wasn't any different than the others. Sitting on the balcony that overlooks the garden, you had a quill in one hand with your diary resting on the smooth stone parapet of the balcony. It was Celeste that had taught you how to write in elegant cursive. She was your teacher for, essentially, everything.

Looking up at the stars and all the beautiful constellations, you couldn't help but to think of what life would be like if you weren't a princess; what life would be like if your mother was still alive, if William was still alive. You had a feeling that your brother would've secretly trained you after hours whilst your father slept. The thought pulled a smile on your lips, and you made sure to write it in your diary.

"Princess," you heard a hushed voice from down below. Your hand froze and you strained your ears, assuming you were only hearing things from being isolated for so long. But then you heard it again. "Psst! Princess! Down here!" You leaned over the edge of the parapet and glanced down, your eyes widening when you see Marcus standing atop one of the stone benches.

"Marcus!" You hissed quietly before you scanned the perimeter. There was a full moon tonight, which meant that everyone in the castle was dead asleep, aside from you and Marcus, obviously. "What on earth are you doing down there?"

He holds a finger to his lips. Suddenly, he throws a bundle of rope up to you and it plops down beside your feet. Completely and utterly confused, you leaned over the edge again.

"Tie the end around one of the pillars! I'm going to hoist myself up to you!"

The idea was absurd. The more you stood up there staring down at him, the more antsy he became.

"Princess, please!"

Without saying another word, you did as he asked. Tying one end of the rope around one of the pillars into a double looped knot, you tossed down the rest of the rope. You watched curiously as Marcus grabbed the rope with both hands and began hoisting himself up. He lets out a hoarse grunt with each pull up, no doubt struggling under his body weight. His arms were exposed from the tunic he wore, his biceps bulging from exertion. When he finally reached the top, he panted heavily and swung his long legs over the edge and hopped down onto the balcony. He was now face to face with you.

"Why couldn't you unlock my door instead?" You asked him with arms crossed and a tilted head that made his heart flutter.

Marcus shrugged. "I didn't want to possibly disturb your father's slumber by the obnoxious creaking of your door."

Squinting at him for not providing any further explanation, you offered him the other empty chair on the other side of the balcony. As he takes a seat, you take the time to really observe him in the moonlight coupled with the candles lit around your room. The tunic he wore showcased his broadness. Without his armor or casual chest plate and arm wear, as well as his sword always attached to his hip, seeing him in all his normalcy was definitely a change. A good change, if that. He looked comfortable and relaxed. No longer was he standing as straight as a rod. When you caught him curiously peering at the open pages of your diary, you were quick to push his head away with your pointer finger before shutting the book.

"That is for my eyes and my eyes only, Knight Acacius," you tell him in a teasing tone, a gentle smile on your lips that had him smiling as well.

"I'm no longer Marcus to you, huh?"

"Well, that depends on if you're going to be on my good side tonight. I really don't want to add you to the list."

He scratches at his scruffy jaw and chuckles quietly at your sassy answer. You briefly retreat inside your room to safely tuck your diary under your pillow. When you go back outside onto the balcony, Marcus sees the small wooden bowl of green and purple grapes in your hands that Celeste had left outside your door. He nods at you in thanks when you motion the bowl over to him. He plucks a few grapes from the stem and watches as you lean back in your seat with the bowl on your lap. The nightgown covering your body made him feel like you looked like a goddess under the moonlight. The delicate skin of your shoulders, collarbones, and arms were exposed. He noticed a distinct scar just above your left breast.

"How did you get that scar?"

You looked shocked at his question. Of course, you forgot just how exposed you were to the older knight. But you didn't feel uncomfortable under his inquisitive gaze. Looking down at the scar as best as you could, you touched the tip of your fingers onto the mark.

"Uh, it's a funny story," you let out a small laugh and looked at Marcus with crinkled eyes that caused a dimple to form on your cheek. "I was only a small child when it happened. I believe I was nine years old, and William was nineteen. He was outside in the pit practicing. I was curious as to what he was doing, you know? I stepped too close just as swung his sword back and the tip of the blade sliced right through my dress." Bursting into a fit of giggles, you remembered the horrified expression on your brother's face and the number of apologies spewing from his lips. "If I was just a few inches shorter, he would've gotten my throat."

Marcus shuts his eyes and shakes his head at the thought. When he opens them, he notices the melancholy, faraway look in your eyes at the mention of William. He quietly cleared his throat, causing your eyes to shoot up at his own. There was a moment of silence. He licked his lips and tried to form the correct words without ruining the mood.

"He would've been a good king," he tells you softly. He rolls a grape between his fingers. "He would tell me all of the ideas he had for the kingdom." Marcus laughed at a particular incident where he had stumped the young man. "He also would've been a good jester."

That was what made you cackle. You slapped your mouth with both hands and Marcus covered his own with his fist to keep from laughing. The two of you shook your heads and eased the laughter until a comfortable lull washed over. As he looked down at the grape in his hands, he mulled over the 'what if' questions that continuously ran through his head. Suddenly, he felt a thump on his forehead. A purple grape landed on his lap. As he went to lift his head to look at you, another grape hit him on the head and bounced off, landing a few feet away on the ground. You giggled behind your palm at his perplexed face.

"You are a child," he tells you in a joking manner.

"If I'm old enough to be married off to a prince, then I'm old enough to play games with my favorite knight," you tell him with that teasing smile again, the same one that always gets his heart beating fast.

"I'm your favorite knight, huh?" He throws a grape in your direction, the small fruit bouncing off your chest and landing between his feet.

"Not anymore if you keep antagonizing me," you joke as you go to throw another grape at him, but Marcus was quick enough to react and moved his head back to catch it in his mouth.

You throw him a thumbs up and he winks. The action was so charming. It was weird that it came from him. Again, not a bad weird. It was a good type of weird. It made you feel warm and fuzzy, and tingly. Although Marcus was much older and much more experienced, you can't ignore the undeniable attraction you have towards the man. A delusional part of you hoped that the feeling was mutual.

As the silence grew longer, Marcus took it upon himself to break it. "Well, since you gave me a confession that I am indeed your favorite knight, then I guess you deserve my confession that you are my favorite princess." His tone held something you couldn't add up. It was a mix of adoration and something possibly stronger. It had your cheeks and neck warming. The butterflies in your stomach went wild at his boyish grin.

"I'm your favorite princess?" You asked him quietly, too shy to look at him as you fiddled with the bowl of grapes. You couldn't embarrass yourself, not now, not like this. Maybe it was the loneliness and the possibility of never falling in love with the right man. But all fingers keep pointing to Knight Marcus Acacius.

"You are my favorite princess," he repeated more slowly and gently, bending his head to try and catch your eye. "And it's only ever going to be you, my princess."

It had been a full two months since the falling out between you and your father. Your dinners have now been delivered to your door rather than your father having Celeste escort you down to the dining hall. There was no complaint though. If anything, you preferred it that way. You've grown comfortable with being alone. Well, not entirely alone. After midnight, you and Marcus had fallen into a routine of him sneaking up onto the balcony and the two of you sharing stories of your past lives. Sometimes, he would bring a gift or two to surprise you.

A few days ago, you had mentioned that you wished you had red ink to go with your quills. That same night, Marcus had instructed you to hold out your hand and to shut your eyes. You were skeptical at first, assuming that he was going to play a joke on you.

"Do you trust me, my princess?" He had asked you softly, tipping your head up with his forefinger curled under your chin. You meet his eyes and almost feel hypnotized by the emotions swirling in them.

You nodded. "I trust you... with my life, Marcus Acacius."

Then, he laid a small item in the palm of your hand. You looked down and read the label, looking back up at him with a wide smile that made your eyes crinkle that your eyes disappeared. He was stunned when your body collided against his in a hug that felt like home. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around your body, one hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you pressed against him.

"Oh, Marcus," you had sighed softly and sniffled the tears away from the overwhelming feeling of finally being seen.

Tonight was a different adventure. Rather than Marcus climbing up, he instructed you to climb down. The idea was absurd, and you verbally expressed that when you stared down at his awaiting arms. It was at least a fifteen-foot drop without the rope. You couldn't risk breaking a bone because how else would you explain it to your father?

"Do you trust me, dove?" He hushed, staring up at you with those deep brown eyes of his that make it hard to say no.

You sighed to yourself and looked over your shoulder at the locked door of your bedroom. When you looked back down at him from over the balcony, you couldn't help but to smile at his eagerness.

"I trust you with my life, Marcus Acacius," you tell him earnestly. He smiles at that, his dimple deepening the wider his smile gets.

As you swing yourself over the edge, you make sure to fix your sleeping gown so as to not give him a sneak peek. Marcus never tried any advances on you. Although you wished he would at least touch your thigh or something, he always kept his hands to himself and was a respectful gentleman. The both of you would share intimate hugs and held hands on occasion, but that was it. There was an unspoken tension between the two of you. Whether the fear was your reputation as a princess, the arranged marriage, or the age gap between you and the knight. You were unsure of how to go about this. Whatever it was, you didn't want to ruin it. As of this moment, this routine, it was just two people spending time together and forming an intimate bond.

"There we go, darling girl," he tells you softly, his arms stretched up high to catch you if you fall. "Now, hold onto the rope with both hands and slowly lower yourself down." When you let out a small whimper, Marcus hushes you softly by saying, "I got you, darling. I got you."

Lowering yourself down to the ground was surprisingly easy work. It was harder for Marcus, most likely because he was twice your weight. Either way, you didn't embarrass yourself by falling on your backside and making a complete fool out of yourself in front of the man you have questionable feelings for. The two of you greet each other quietly and share a long hug. He had been unable to visit you for a few days, so this was your reunion back in each other's arms.

"I have a surprise for you, princess," he speaks quietly in your ear, the both of you swaying gently in each other's arms. "Are you up for adventure with your favorite knight?"

Pulling away from his chest, you rest your hands on his broad shoulders and look up at him. He spots the skepticism in your eyes, and he rolls his own jokingly.

"It's nothing extreme, I promise," he makes an X across his heart. "If it's something you are not interested in, then you say the word and I shall bring you back to your chambers safe and sound."

Marcus sounds sincere, and almost nervous. Curiosity got the best of you as you were eager to see what he had planned. When you give him a nod, he gives you one of his boyish grins and takes a hold of your hand and holds onto the lantern he had set aside to pull you into his arms. You follow him silently through the gardens, casting your balcony one last look before it disappears from view. It was another few minutes of walking until you realized what direction you two were heading in.

"Are we... going out to the lake?" You finally asked him, looking at the back of his head before peering around his shoulder. When the lake comes into view, you see a blanket laid out on the ground with another lantern resting atop it.

As you got closer, Marcus ushers you in front of him so you can get a better look of the layout. On the blanket was a plate of dried meats, cheeses, pieces of bread, and fruit; two chalices and a bottle of wine; and a single flower. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words were able to come out. Marcus had deemed you speechless, for the first time ever. It was usually always the other way around.

"Now," he gently pushed you closer with a hand on your hip. "I know how imprisoned you've felt in your chambers. And I know things have been hard for you for the past few months. I figured, maybe, you'd want a relaxing time away from your chambers. Now, this is, uh, not something of courtship, I promise you that." The sentence had you laughing quietly. "Think of this as, um, a friend helping out another... friend?" He sounded unsure, mentally kicking at himself for using those choice of words.

"Well... friend," you purposely drew out the word in a teasing manner to make him squirm. "This was definitely a surprise, and it's a beautiful surprise. Thank you, Marcus." He can hear your voice waver with emotion. "I cannot believe you went out of your way to do this for me."

"It's the least I can do for a princess like you," he spoke in a hushed tone, watching you closely as you bend down to lift the stem of the flower and sniff the petals.

Sliding off your slippers, you wiggled your feet in the plush grass, giggling to yourself at the texture between your toes. It had been so long since you felt grass under your bare feet. It was slightly moist from the fog that very slowly made its way across the hills and just barely kissed the lake. Standing at the edge of the lake, there was a moment of spontaneity that washed over you. Maybe it was a bold move or an act of rebellion. The more you stared out into the lake, the more desperate you were to feel the water on your naked skin. As you slid the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders, Marcus was quick to stop you from undressing any further.

"What... uh... What are you, um, doing?"

Why couldn't he form a coherent question? He sees the princess' bare shoulders and he suddenly feels like a virgin boy again. He forces himself to turn away with his hands on his hips when he hears the faint splash of you swimming further into the lake. When he hears your contented sighs, he finds himself turning without realizing. His arms dropped to his sides and his shoulders sagged from the forceful breath he exhaled due to the sight before him. You stood in the lake with the water just below your collarbones. Your hair was wet and slicked back when you dipped underneath to get used to the cold. With the droplets on your skin and the two lanterns creating more than enough light, Marcus would be convinced if you told him you were actually a nymph. Whatever it is that you would tell him, he would hang on to every word as though it would be the last time he would hear them.

"Come on, Knight Acacius!" You swim deeper into the lake, dipping back underneath and popping back up, blinking away the water and swiping a hand down your face to look at him with a sweet smile. "Don't leave me swimming all alone."

He knows it's a bad idea. This was definitely crossing an unspoken boundary of your whatever-your-relationship-was. Once that line was crossed, there was no going back. Marcus knew that. You knew that. Maybe you wanted for him to get in the water as an invitation. He didn't know. The two of you danced around the obvious for three months. Touches got longer and lingered the more time spent together. Goodbyes got harder after spending hours whispering secrets to one another in your bed – nothing ever got past innocent cuddling. But looking at you now, swimming about in your carefree spirit that he feels he lost so long ago, he can no longer ignore his attraction to you. Glancing off to the side in the direction you two came from, Marcus looked at you again and he can see the reassuring smile on your face, silently telling him that it's okay, it's just the two of you.

You watch as he reaches a hand behind his neck to pull off his tunic. Seeing his bare chest for the first time made you look away with a gasp. The lanterns made his skin look so golden and warm to the touch. There was more movement in your peripheral. Your brain screamed at you to not look, but your heart screamed even louder at you to take a little peek. So, you did. Lips parted on their own accord as Marcus slid off his bloomers. From the position with the way he bent over, you weren't able to see his lower half. But as he pulled his bloomers free from his legs and stood back up, you turned just in time to avoid seeing his exposed, private area. You wanted to give him the same respect he had given you when you had undressed in front of him. Whether he took a peek or not, you knew he was respectful about it.

With your back facing the field, you stared further down at the lake. With the moonlight bouncing off the gentle ripples of the water, it really did look like it was sparkling. It had you smiling in awe as your hands gently carded through the water. There was a distant splash from behind you, and then silence. You almost held your breath when you felt Marcus' presence getting closer and closer. It was nerve-wracking, and also almost exciting and taboo. Then, you felt it.

Two large hands gently grip your hips from behind. Your stomach muscles tightened at the feeling before your entire body relaxed. Slowly turning in his grip, a smile pulled at your lips. You and Marcus stood at least a foot from one another. The two of you stood with the water just below your collarbones. His hair was damp and slicked back, the ends looking a lot longer from the added wetness to them, but they still curled no matter how many times he ran a hand through them. Your hands started at his wrists, Then, they slowly slid up his forearms where you felt his arm hair. The coil in the pit of your stomach tightens as you've come to a realization that this was all happening, and it wasn't a dream. As your hands slide further up his strong, thick biceps and rest onto his broad shoulders, you couldn't mistake the sigh of content spilling from your lips for something else. You hoped it was quiet enough for Marcus to not hear, but the little grin on his face says otherwise.

Your hands slide up his neck, briefly brushing over his vein, and your thumbs can feel the hammering of his pulse. When they finally settled on his scruffy jaw, you were at a loss for words. Marcus can see your eyes on his lips. Experimentally, he licked at his bottom lip with barely a poke of his tongue before pulling it back between his teeth. Almost in a trance-like state, you do the same with your own bottom lip. Upon hearing his laugh, you broke out of the hypnotization he had you under and released your bottom lip from between your teeth.

"You are a foul man," you giggle at him, lightly pushing him away and splashing water in his direction. "In all seriousness, Marcus, it's nice seeing you like this."

"Wet, naked, and vulnerable?"

"No!" You laughed a little hard at his annoying answer, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him as his smile grew wider. The two of you start swimming in slow, calm circles. "I mean, it's nice seeing you not so serious all the time. I like seeing you happy and... relaxed, to say the least."

"Are you sure it's not because I'm wet, naked, and vulnerable?" He teasingly asks, reaching underwater to poke at your stomach. You rolled your eyes at him again and leaned back to use your foot to nudge him away. "I know what you mean, dove. There are rare moments where I can unwind, but you've helped me in the process of doing so."

His answer piqued your interest. You stopped swimming in slow circles and looked over at him as he slowly bobbed up and down in the water. There's a ghost of a smile on Marcus' lips when you look at him with those wide, curious eyes. He clears his throat and looks away, hoping that pointing his attention on something else would help the words come out smoothly.

"The time I've spent with you, my princess, has been the most serene I have ever felt in my entire life of being your knight," he tells you in a low voice, afraid to speak any louder to where the moment is ruined by his gruffness. "With you, I am able to not worry about... anything. You make it quite easy to forget about my worries. I could be having the most troublesome day, but the second I look into those eyes of yours, it all disappears and I'm able to be Marcus with you and not Knight Acacius."

You carefully swim closer to where he stands. The emotion is heavy on his face, from the way his eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes are darting back and forth as he tries to use the best words that he could think of in order to convey what he's feeling as to not confess too much too soon. Marcus shakes his head and laughs at himself.

"I'm making a fool out of myself, aren't I?"

Hushing him softly, you lean in close and tenderly wrap your arms around his shoulders to further pull him into your chest. Marcus' hooked nose lovingly caresses your jaw and then lowers down to your neck where he inhales deeply, your sweet scent filling his nostrils, further easing the anxiety that was threatening to burst. You card a hand at the back of his head, fingers gently tugging at his damp curls. He was polite enough to keep his hips a distance away from your own as his arms find a home around your waist.

"You are no more a fool than I, Marcus Acacius," you tell him so quietly, your voice cracking when you say his name. He lifts his head from its place in the crook of your neck. Eyes meet eyes, then forehead meets forehead. Noses brush against one another and his hands find your cheeks. You tenderly hold onto his wrists and shut your eyes, wishing there was a way to capture this moment.

Then, Marcus tells you in a tone that borders between heartache and awe, "I guess we are both foolish beings, my princess." And just like that, a lonesome tear rolls down your cheek, one that he lightly kisses away. His lips on your cheek left a warmth that you wished you could feel all over. But at this moment, right here with him, you will take all that he could give you.

"Princess." There was a knock on your door, followed by the latch unlocking. The door opens quietly, the unmistakable creak causing you to wince and bury your face deeper into your pillow with a groan. "The king requests your presence in his chambers." The blanket was yanked off your warm body, the cold, crisp air of your room causing you to shiver and groan even louder in your pillow. "Come on, princess. You know your father is an impatient man."

Celeste busies herself by picking out your morning gown and laying it on your bed by your curled legs. She does a once over at your body and then does a double take. When you hear nothing but silence, you remove the pillow from your face and look over your shoulder. She stands over you with a peculiar look on her face. Her wrinkled fingers gently pinch at the hem of the dark maroon tunic covering your body. It was a men's tunic, one that fell just above your knees.

"Oh, dear child," she tuts quietly, looking up at your eyes and shaking her head disapprovingly. "Please, do not tell me this belongs to you-know-who."

There was a moment of panic on your face. You leapt out of bed and made a mad dash to your bedroom door to slam it shut. Celeste still stands as stiff as a tree with her hands on her hips. Never has she ever looked so disappointed at you. It makes you want the ground to swallow you whole. Timidly striding across the room, you let out a tired sigh and sit on the edge of your bed, your fingers playing with the ends of the tunic.

"Nothing serious happened, Celeste," you speak under your breath.

She rests a hand on her head in distress, her eyes wide and worrisome. "Knight Marcus?!" She hissed. "Do you not know what would happen if your father ever found out about you two?"

"Celeste, there is nothing to even find out about," you pleaded with her, tears already brimming along your waterline. "We... We're just two people that formed a companionship after hours. That is all. Nothing more, nothing less." The words burned your tongue the second they left your mouth. "You need to believe me when I say this, Celeste. Please, I beg of you. Do not tell my father of this, please."

The older maidservant looks at you with pity, her pursed lips in a frown at the sound of your helplessness and fear of what could possibly happen if word were to spread throughout the castle. With another sigh, she takes a seat next to you on the bed. Her left hand grabs a hold of your right one, and you immediately rest your head upon her shoulder. She rests her chin on the crown of your head, sighing once more. The two of you sit in silence, listening to the faint laughter and commotion happening within the garden through the ajar windows in your room.

"Do you love him?"

The question caught your attention. Celeste's tone sounded melancholy, but you couldn't place a finger on it. You didn’t want her to take your silence as a definite answer. Truth be told, you don’t understand what it is that you feel. Were they platonic feelings? Romantic? Sexual? You do know that Marcus is three times your senior. He has a reputation to uphold as your father’s main knight. He has led the other knights into battle between the other kingdoms and always came back unscathed. Marcus Acacius was a frightening man to some and a dangerous man to others. But you never viewed him as either. He’s a passionate man with many ideals that he would hope to spread. Marcus has a sensitivity to him not a lot of men have, which is why he kept himself guarded as best as he could, only showing you the vulnerable parts of him knowing there will be no judgment.

“This is a dangerous game you are playing, dear child,” Celeste tells you in a somber tone. “You do not know what you are asking for, nor do you understand what it’s like to love someone like that.”

Pulling your head up from her shoulder, you rip your hand away from her gentle grip. With a fire in your eyes, you stand up before her, glaring down at the old maidservant with betrayal.

“Of all the people, Celeste, I thought you would be the one to understand me the most,” your voice breaks. "I may not be wise beyond my years, but I know what it is like to love someone. Now, I don't know what it is that I'm feeling. Maybe it's love. Maybe it's not. All I know is that I treat Marcus exactly like how he wants to be perceived. If that's wrong of me as his friend and as the king's daughter, then... damn you all!"

Shockingly enough, Celeste laughs. Not a small, polite chuckle she would give to a guest or to your father. But a full-bellied laugh that had her doubling over. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Don't... Don't laugh at me! How dare you make a mockery of me!"

She only laughs harder, frantically waving her hands as she tries to catch her breath. Her face is flushed as she dabs her fingers under her eyes to wipe away the tears. Still standing in front of her, confused and offended, you cross your arms and look away from her with a shake of your head. Much to your surprise, you let out a small oof when she hugs you tightly. You stood frozen in her embrace. Arms still crossed between your bodies; you eyed the side of her head. But then, you heard it. Celeste was crying on your shoulder, tenderly stroking the back of your head. You hesitantly wrapped your arms around her waist, pressing yourself closer into her front. The woman held onto you tighter, one hand still stroking the back of your hair as her other arm crossed over your shoulder blades.

"Gods, you remind me so much of your mother," she lets out a watery laugh. "She was a spitfire, that one."

Stepping away from Celeste when her arms dropped down, she was quick to cup your cheeks in her cold hands. Her thumbs stroked the apples of your cheeks, smiling weakly when you won't meet her eye.

"Before your mother passed, she made me promise that I would take care of you and your brother," she tells you quietly, gently tipping your head up to look into her cloudy eyes. "I may not be your mother, but I will always love you like my own. Do you understand, princess?" You give her a jerky nod. "It is my duty as your caregiver to ensure that your happiness will never wander. And it is my duty as your mother's oldest friend to keep my promise." You open your mouth to question her, but she hushes you softly. "Whatever it is that you may feel for him, do not let it go, understood?" She gives you a pointed look that tells you to not disagree with her. As she sees the tiniest smile forming on your lips, she gives you a wink and informs you to get dressed in your gown.

There was a gentle knocking at the door.

"Celeste? Princess?"

The door creaks open and reveals just who you were talking about. Knight Marcus trudges inside, his lids heavy from exertion but they brighten the second they're laid on you. Celeste doesn't miss the way his shoulders sag and the soft smile that takes over his face. She also doesn't miss the way your own smile turns into one of affection, the confusion and anger on your face now washed away. She hums under her breath, quiet enough so only she could hear it. Marcus clears his throat and gives the older woman a polite nod. She squints.

"The king requests the princess' presence urgently," he tells you both. His eyes sweep up and down your appearance, silently wishing you two were alone so he could take you into his arms and obsess over your beauty and to feel your cheeks warming under his lips. There are a lot of things he wishes he could do with you without facing any consequences. He wishes the life you two share wasn't one of secrecy. His only hope is that you also think the same of him.

Celeste fussed with your hair and did a simple style with a small braid tied behind the rest of your hair that lays against your back. When she's about to pass Marcus, she eyes the both of you once more before leaving the room, most likely to give you two some privacy.

"Do you know what it is that my father wants to talk about?" The question comes out weak, the jitters never once settling as the dreadful questions and 'what if's' are never-ending.

Marcus shakes his head as his hand tights on the handle of his sword. "I'm not sure, princess. But I wouldn't worry much about it. He didn't seem... on edge." Giving him a nod at his answer, he could still tell that it didn't ease your nerves. It's been a while since you last faced your father. He steps forwards, just a hair away. "Dove, you have nothing to worry about, okay?"

The two of you walked in tandem to your father's chambers. As you turn down the long, stoned hallway, Marcus' hand barely brushes along the shape of your hip when you step in front of him. Glancing at him over your shoulder with a barely-there smile, his silent reassurance was something you didn't know you needed, and now you crave it more than ever. As you knocked on the door and entered upon hearing your father's voice, Marcus' hand laid on the handle of the door to pull it shut to leave you and your father alone.

"Uh, Marcus," the king raises a hand to stop the knight from shutting the door. "It is better for you to be here as well to hear what I have to say."

The moment was filled with panic for both you and the knight. With your father's back turned, you glanced over your shoulder at Marcus, your eyes wide and lips parted as your breathing grew frantic. He raised a hand just above his waist, subtly shaking his head, silently pleading with you not to panic. Had your father discovered what you and Marcus had been doing after hours? With Marcus defying your father's orders, you dreaded the punishment that might await you both. Despite never going beyond hugging and handholding, you and the knight continued to dance around the topic of your relationship, fearing that reality would ruin it.

The tension in the room is palpable. Marcus stands by the door, his silence a testament to his understanding of the king's authority. Your father, with his hands clasped behind his back, gazes out the window, the sunlight catching the glint of his rings. You follow him closely, waiting for his words, and cast another glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment.

The weight of his words hung in the air, filled with sorrow and regret. "Ever since your mother passed, I've felt like I've failed you, both as your father and as king. You remind me so much of her. She truly was an extraordinary woman," he said, his voice tinged with a sad, melancholic laugh.

It was unusual to see him in such a vulnerable state. Often, it was hard to understand his thoughts or emotions. He usually maintained a facade for the villagers around the kingdom. The only mask you had seen him wear was the one he donned after your mother's death. Listening to him talk about her felt almost therapeutic. Unsure of where the conversation was headed, you remained silent and let him continue.

The atmosphere was incredibly tense as he spoke, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "I understand that you believe yourself capable of being more than just a wife, perhaps even a queen. But it is quite selfish of you to ignore what this kingdom needs in terms of allies and protection," he said, turning to face you fully. Shocked, you couldn't help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it.

"Selfish?" you echoed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and determination. "Explain to me how pursuing my own happiness is selfish, father. How is my desire to ride with the knights and fight for our people selfish? Go on, explain!" Your breath came in rapid, shallow bursts, but you no longer cared about the repercussions of your defiance. "Were you ever going to tell me that this isn't the life mother envisioned for me?"

The shock on his face was laughable.

"I beg your pardon!" His cheeks flushed with rage. "You don't know what you are talking about, child. You have no idea what your mother wanted for you, and you should not ponder it while you are in my care."

The laughter that bubbled out of your chest was uncontrollable. Marcus, standing by the door, watched the tense scene unfold. He knew better than to intervene or place himself between you and the king. However, as the king's expression grew increasingly stony, Marcus began to worry for your well-being, sensing that you were on the verge of crossing a line from which there would be no return.

Gazing at your father, any sympathy for his struggles vanished, as he remained tethered to his past. Marcus and Celeste offered no assistance, and now, neither could you. The king received no pity. If William were still here, he would undoubtedly strive to alter your father's views on your life choices. Sadly, in this moment, it felt like you were alone against the world. As stubborn as your father was, you now wished you weren't cut from the same cloth.

Now seething and unable to hide it, you stood closer until you were damn near toe-to-toe with your father. "In your care?" The question was spat in his face. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't Celeste been my caregiver since I was born? Hm? Wasn't it my mother that granted her full guardianship because she knew of the ideals you would bestow upon me, and she didn't agree?" Hearing about Celeste had your father shutting up instantly, and he looks away in shame. "Don't you dare try to act like a caring father, after all these years! When it comes to me being married off to a prince with no values, that is when you decided to step up." Lowering your head to try and catch his eye, he only turns away to point his back at you.

The weight of his words hung in the air as he gazed out the window, his voice barely above a whisper. "You do not know what this marriage could do for us, for the kingdom, and for our people," he said. "You are a princess, and I expected you to act as such."

Marcus lowers his head, his heart aching at the sound of your soft sniffles. He wishes he could cross the room, pull you into his arms, and take you far away from all this pain. He would do anything for you, if only you would ask.

"I know I am not like the other princess', father," you cried softly and hesitantly stepped over to the same window he looked out of, silently begging for him to look at you. But his jaw clenches and ticks, a telltale sign of agitation. You want to lay a hand on his forearm, but you'd rather not poke the bear. "I know I don't have the same ideals a woman such as myself may have, but what about me?"

When you don't get a response, you continue.

"What about what I want for the kingdom? Have you ever, for one second, thought about my own happiness instead of your own?"

The silence stretched on, heavy and unbroken. Neither of you uttered a word, except for your quiet sniffles as you struggled to hold back your tears. Marcus despised the look of desperation on your face. The anguish was unmistakable. It only worsened when you reached out to your father, and he stepped away as if a peasant had stepped on his shoes. When he looked at you, you could hardly recognize the man you once knew as your loving father. Now, he was in his kingly mindset and looked at you as though you were a problem.

The king continues to look down at you as if you were nothing more. "You do not want to marry a prince? That is perfectly fine with me," his voice was void of any emotion, making it impossible to decipher what lay hidden beneath. "There will be a carriage waiting for you tomorrow morning at sunrise. I am sending you to a convent where you will live the rest of your life as a nun. If you wish to rebel against me and ignore your duties as a princess, so be it. I will not be made a fool from your disobedience and disrespect."

"What?" Both you and Marcus exclaim, the shock of the situation melting into terror. Your heart races, and you can feel the panic rising within you. Marcus notices your distress from a distance and quickly comes to your side, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. His presence is a small comfort, a reminder that you're not alone in this moment of fear.

The knight looks at the king. "Your majesty-"

"Enough, Marcus." The king gives him a pointed stare, raising his bushy, white eyebrows, silently telling the knight to not cross the line and make matters worse. "You will make sure she is gone by the time I have woken."

The tension in the air was discernible. You struggled to find the right words, but they seemed to vanish before you could speak of them. Beside you, Marcus was seething with anger, his frustration almost tangible. Among all the scenarios he had considered, the princess being sent away to a convent was the last thing you expected.

"You are making a grave mistake," Marcus tells him, his voice no longer quiet, but more authoritarian. "Sending her away is going to make matters worse for the kingdom. Please, think about what you are doing. You are going against Maryann's wishes. Think of the heartbreak you are going to bestow on Celeste."

The mention of Maryann, your mother, brought a flood of emotions you could no longer contain. You turned and buried your face in Marcus' chest, clutching the short sleeves of his tunic as you sobbed. It felt like you were submerged underwater, unable to hear the knight and the king's conversation. All you could perceive was Marcus' faint laugh echoing in your mind, Celeste's nurturing smile, and the warmth of Marcus' hands tracing the contours of your body. Those cherished moments are now lost, and you can no longer fulfill your mother's wishes as she had hoped before she passed.

Marcus whispers your father's name. They lock eyes, the silence only broken by your heart-wrenching sobs. Marcus feels a lump forming in his throat, his nostrils tingling and eyes stinging. He repeats your father's name, his voice trembling and barely audible.

"Please," he pleads for you. His arms tighten around your body, wishing you could crawl inside his ribcage and rest upon his beating heart that you have unknowingly called home. Each whimper you released was like a stab to his chest with a poisoned dagger.

The king's frown deepens as he witnesses you trembling like a leaf in the arms of his favored knight. He swallows thickly and turns away once more, unable to face the damage that has already been done.

"My decision is final, Knight Marcus. Now, escort the princess back to her chambers."

The tears had long since dried up, leaving you as a mere shell of your former self, numb and devoid of feeling. The future seemed bleak, both for you and the kingdom. The king's rash decision to send you away to a convent was perilous and reckless. Consumed by his own fury, he had likely set the stage for the kingdom's downfall. The thought of Celeste and Marcus being put in harm's way filled you with dread, as if claws were tearing at your heart. You couldn't bear to think about the consequences of your banishment, knowing it would shatter you all over again.

The sense of helplessness is overwhelming. Celeste's anguished cries in your father's chambers still echo in your mind, a stark reminder of the pain she's enduring. She always saw you as the daughter she never had, and now, with your banishment, her heart must be breaking. Your father's silence in the face of her fury was telling. He deserved every bit of her wrath after all these years of loyalty and care she has shown your family.

And Marcus, Oh, goodness. With a slow, unsteady hand, you grabbed at your chest as the pain in your heart intensified. Being able to grow close to each other the way you've been doing the past few months has felt like a fairytale straight from the stories Celeste would make up when you were just a child. In another world, he was your prince, and you were his princess. Meeting in secrecy wasn't ideal, but it was perfect. Getting to see him become his most vulnerable was one of the greatest accomplishments you've endured. The lingering touches and longing glances given to one another around company always made you ache. The burning heat in your lower half never once weakened around him. He had grown confident in his touches and the occasional kisses that would start at your jaw and trail down to your neck where he would feel the hammering of your pulse under his lips. Knight Marcus Acacius was a man. And now, he will be a man that you would never have.

Enough was enough. There would be no more wallowing, no more pondering over what could have been, and no more drowning in tears. You needed to act, and you needed to act fast. A brief moment of panic struck as you leapt out of bed and hurried around your room. Think, think, think. Cursing to yourself, you finally got to work. Grabbing one of your gowns, you turned it into a makeshift sack by cutting and tying the ends with the small dagger Marcus had given you long ago when you were becoming a young woman.

"A princess is never really a princess without her dagger," he had told you, carefully unsheathing it and showing you the sharp blade with your initials engraved right by the handle. "This was given to me when I was your age, and now I want you to have it. Under any situation where you feel the need to use it, think about me and I will be right there with you."

Oh, Marcus. Not a minute goes by where you're not thinking about the older knight. There would be no more flirtatious banter, no more whispered secrets, no more tender touches. It was now, at this moment, that you've come to a realization your feelings for him are too intense to ignore. Maybe it's because of the desperation you feel or the terrors you're going to face after sunrise. Either way, you can't shake the unmistakable feeling away.

The reflection in the mirror is unrecognizable. The once bright eyes are now dim, and the skin is dull and dry from countless tears. This woman feels like a stranger, and the thought of living as her is unbearable. The idea of being someone you're not, confined by false worship and seclusion, is suffocating. But then, a spark of realization ignites. Not all is lost. A plan forms: escape before sunrise and head north. Whether you go alone or not is up to you, but finding solace elsewhere is better than being imprisoned by faith.

Just as you were getting a head start, a small clack sound came from the balcony. When you turned around to face the wide-open doors leading outside, you saw no one. As you were about to shut them, an object on the ground that hadn't been there before caught your eye.

It was a stone, almost the size of your palm. As you inched closer, you saw a paper wrapped around the stone, securely tied with wool string. Curiosity got the best of you, and you leaned over the edge of the parapet, but saw no one. You had assumed it was Marcus, but when he wasn't standing on the stone bench, looking up at you with that charming smile of his, your worry began to grow.

You bent down to pick up the stone, carefully retreating back into your room as you gave another glance towards the outdoor darkness surrounding your balcony. Untying the string and finally unfolding the paper, a smile slowly formed on your lips. In messy penmanship, it read: Meet me at our spot.

The rope that has been used during your secret little adventures has been kept hidden underneath your bed. After tying one end of the rope around one of the pillars, you hoist yourself down exactly as you've done the many times you snuck away with Marcus' hands held tightly in your own. There was a rush of excitement and nostalgia upon remembering those times. It felt like yesterday you two were on your balcony alone for the first time, tossing grapes at his head and essentially calling him your favorite person and vice versa.

When you reached the ground and adjusted your gown, you noticed a small lantern sitting beside the bench. It was the typical gentleman thing for Marcus to do, not wanting you to travel in the dark. It was very telling of his character and who he is as a man and as a companion. With the lantern held at arm's length from your chest, you never realized just how terrifying it is traveling alone in the dark. If you were going to leave before sunrise, you would have to get over that fear and think like a Dame, not a princess. An owl hooted in the distance, causing your head to sharply turn towards the noise.

Upon reaching the lake, you gently swung the lantern around to cast a glow around the area. There was no blanket on the ground. There was no other lantern in sight. There was no Marcus. In a hushed voice, you called out to him. Crickets chirped in the bushes as another howl hooted close by. In another hushed voice, more frantic than the last, you called out to your knight. When you reach the looming tree, an arm reaches around and yanks your body back until it collides against a sturdy chest.

With a shriek, you drop the lantern and struggle against the arm around your waist and the hand covering your mouth. You kick at the man's shin and jab your elbow into his stomach, eliciting a grunt from him.

"It's me! Princess, it's me!" The man hisses.

"Marcus?!" You whisper-shouted, allowing him to press you against the tree and observing the wince on his face as he sits up the lantern - thankfully the fire hasn't dimmed from your frantic motions. "You are a foolish, foolish man!" Although you did hurt him, accidentally, that still didn't lessen the smile on the knight's face. Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his shoulder and leaned more comfortably against the tree.

With the low lighting of the lantern on the ground and the full moon glowing behind his head, Marcus looked like a dream come true - your dream come true. His thick curls almost form a halo atop his head, making him look more angelic and heavenly than the rugged fighter he claims to be. You weren't a religious woman, by all means. But if heaven looked like this, you wouldn't mind getting down on your knees and praying to the gods above, begging to be put in a heaven where Marcus will look like this for eternity. It almost brings a tear to your eye.

He looks down at you with an unreadable expression. Both of your smiles disappear and transform into something softer and more intimate. Your eyes take in his features carefully, heartbroken at the fact that tonight will be the last night you will be with him again. No man's brown eyes could compare to your Marcus'. No man's hooked nose could compare to your Marcus'. No man's smooth, timbered voice could compare to your Marcus'. At the realization that no man will ever be the same as your knight's, and that he has ruined everyone else for you, you let out a shuddering breath as the tears fall.

"Oh, Marcus," you wept quietly, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, allowing him to lower his upper body down to your height to make it more comfortable. His eyes shut as his own emotions take over. His own arms find their home around your waist. He clings onto you desperately, scared that if he were to let go, you'd suddenly fade away like mist right through his fingers. "This... This is all too much."

He hushes you softly, caressing a hand through your long hair, burning the feeling in the back of his mind of how soft and thick your hair was. His nose curves around the shape of your neck, smelling your sweet scent one last time and feeling your pulse against the tip. When you whimper from him pulling away, he eases your sorrows by using his curled forefinger to tip your head up in order to wipe away your tears of heartache. Neither of you speak, only gazing into each other's eyes lovingly.

"You are the most... beautiful woman I've ever known," he tells you quietly, silently begging for his voice to remain steady. "Your heart, mind, and soul are mesmerizing and addicting." Your lips parted at his words, your arms sliding down his shoulders to gently hold onto either side of your neck. He continues, "When I spend my time with you, it feels as though I'm floating through the clouds, and nothing can pull me back down to earth."

The intensity of the moment made you feel dizzy and lightheaded. Marcus' hands gently cradled your cheeks, and his warmth and masculine scent made your mouth water. You could see his lips moving, but the words were lost to you. Gazing back into his eyes, you pulled him closer. Marcus paused, his eyes flicking down to your parted lips before meeting your sorrowful gaze again.

There was palpable tension in the air as you whispered his name, your heart heavy with unspoken words. "Marcus… I…" you breathed out softly, your voice trembling. "I never told you… how… how much I…" The words caught in your throat, refusing to come out. You shook your head, the confession lingering on the tip of your tongue, frozen and waiting.

He takes that final step, your chests now pressed together, hearts pounding in unison. When Marcus lifts his hand to gently brush away some stray hairs from your face, you notice a slight tremble. You can't help but wonder if he's as nervous as you are, if his mind is racing with the same thoughts.

"Oh, my sweet darling," his voice trembling with emotion. His jaw tightens and relaxes, betraying the storm of feelings within him. The intensity of his gaze leaves no room for doubt—he understands your thoughts, your emotions, and the unspoken words hanging between you. He knows exactly what to do, even without uttering the forbidden words.

A surge of electricity shot through your entire body when Marcus' lips touched yours for the first time. You breathed in deeply through your nose and squeezed your eyes shut, your hands clinging desperately to his shoulders as he kept a steady grip on your face. The scruff of his beard scraped your upper lip and chin deliciously. This was what you had been waiting for, what you had been dreaming about for months, and now you finally had it, even if only for a short while until sunrise.

The two of you kissed like famished beasts. There was no holding back when it came to the knight. He kissed you as if your tongue was wine and he wanted to drink up the last few gulps. He kissed you as if he was drunk off of your taste and needed more, more, more. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to, now that he tasted you for the first time. His addiction to you worsened when your lips parted more to take his tongue into your awaiting mouth. The groan he releases had your entire body buzzing with heat.

With one hand gripping his curls at the nape of his neck and your other hand braced between his broad shoulder blades, you pulled away to take in big gulps of air as you forgot to remember to breathe. Marcus chased your lips immediately, his hands tightening on your face as he lips landed on yours again, and again, and again, until they were raw and swollen with passion. The whimper you elicit against him, the vibrations tingling on his mouth, drove him crazy.

This time, it was Marcus who pulled away.

He licks at his bottom lip, not wanting to waste any of your taste lingering on his eager tongue. Your breathing is heavy and desperate. Your lips tingle and buzz. The heat between you two intensified, no longer able to ignore as you two officially crossed that line that you cannot return from. He kisses you again, seemingly unable to go seconds without the feel of your lips on his and tongues intertwined.

The first kiss was everything you imagined it to be. You had expected it to be frantic, desperate, and consuming, and it was. It wasn't tender or gentle. He didn't kiss you like you were going to break apart. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed in order to breathe. Marcus was a trained fighter and killer. There has been blood drenched on his hands as others on the opposing side have died on the end of his sword.

After a few more minutes of nearly swallowing each other's tongue--maybe even an hour--Marcus pulled away for a moment to allow you a minute to regain composure and recollect yourself. The fogginess in your eyes fades away and you feel less like you're underwater. You can hear the faintness of crickets chirping again. There was a moment of embarrassment of losing yourself in the kiss, but you didn't care because Marcus also lost himself. He brushes away a small sheen of saliva at the corner of your lips with a sheepish, almost shy smile.

The moment slowly transformed when you held onto his forearm to keep his hand against your cheek. With eyes closed and lashes resting prettily on your cheeks, you kiss his palm so gently that he could barely feel it--just a tickle. Neither of you spoke. You didn't know what to say, and he didn't either, but that's okay. Everything that you wanted to say was expressed through your touches.

"Marcus," you whispered his name as your heart was about to leap out of your throat and land in the palm of his hand. He looks down at you with his beautiful, half-lidded, kiss-drunk eyes. You could no longer hold in your secret. "I'm leaving before sunrise."

His brows furrowed before they straightened. "I know you're leaving, sweet girl. Don't you mean at sunrise?"

Gently shaking your head, you release your embrace and lean back against the tree, gazing out over the lake. Marcus notices the struggle you're trying so hard to conceal on your face.

"No, my love," you tell him in a tearful voice. "I mean, I'm leaving before sunrise, getting through those gates, and heading north. I'm going to take myself far, far away from here and settle by the mountains."

Marcus can't hide the shock on his face. He takes a half step back, swipes a hand down his mouth, and distractedly rubs the back of his neck. Emotions swirl rapidly across his face. He doesn't know what to think or feel. An uncomfortable knot forms in the pit of his stomach, the kind he usually gets when something bad is about to happen.

"Absolutely not," the words come out of his mouth without holding back. He realizes his mistake when you jerk your head back and look at him with surprise.

"I beg your pardon, Knight Marcus?" Using his rank as his name was a way to distance yourself from him, to not let your emotions bubble over the surface in a way you'll regret. He sees right through your facade.

"Don't give me that 'Knight Marcus' shit like I'm going to buy it," he sternly tells you, making sure to point a finger down at the ground rather than disrespect you by pointing it in your face. Tensions were currently high, and he doesn't want to make matters worse by accidentally offending you. "You heard what I said, and I'll say it again, slowly. Absolutely. Not."

The silence between you felt almost tangible. You had seen him address the other knights in this manner when they faltered in their training or when a guest made a disrespectful comment about the kingdom. He had a knack for putting people in their place, but you never imagined it would be you on the receiving end.

Marcus took your silence as an opportunity to express his anxious thoughts. He hesitantly cupped your cheeks in his large hands, which easily dwarfed your face. Your eyes fluttered shut at the calloused warmth. He gently tipped your head up with both thumbs placed under your jaw. "Look at me. Please, open your eyes and look at me." He breathed out a sigh of relief when you did just that.

The wavering in his voice was unmistakable as he warned, "Do you know what would happen if the king ever found out that you went off north? Hm? He would find a way to get you back, or worse--kill you." The last part is spoken with such strain, as if uttering it might make it a reality. The horrifying image of your public execution flashes in your mind: your delicate body hanging from a rope, wrists bound behind your back, or your head placed on a wooden block, awaiting the fatal blow of an axe.

You knew there was a possibility of that happening. Your father was an ignorant man, but he was a dangerously intelligent one. Ignorance, the root and stem of all evil.

Your hands slowly slide up his forearms until you're holding onto his wrists, your thumbs tracing the dark hair and veins. Despite his firm grip, you try to shake your head, but he tuts softly, mirroring your motion. As he begins to speak, urging you to stop ignoring the possibilities, you gently place your fingers over his mouth, silencing him with a tender smile and a soft stroke of his jaw.

"My love," whispering to him and doing your best to remember his facial features. "I would rather die by the hands of my father than live a life that I do not want." Marcus' eyes shut tight, and he knocks his forehead on yours, sniffling quietly to keep his tears at bay. "Oh, my dear knight. I wish for a life where I wake up beside you in the mornings and fall asleep beside you at night. I wish for a life where you can kiss me in front of guests and twirl me around in my extravagant gowns." Marcus lets out a watery chuckle and allows his tears to fall onto your cheeks. "I wish for a life where I can fight alongside you to keep our kingdom safe from the enemies that lurk outside these walls. Whatever it is that I wish for, although they may never come true, I need you to know that you will always be a part of them, for you are the greatest wish of them all."

His trembling lips meet yours once more. His breathing is unsteady, punctuated by sniffling. The warmth of his thick tears mingles with your own on your cheeks. Fates of two, entwined. The two of you pull away, snapping the thin string of saliva that stays on your kiss-bitten lips. When your eyes open, you find yourself peering into his own. The confession was stuck on your tongue. You couldn't tell how you really felt. Leaving him with such a goodbye and further breaking his heart would do you both no good, so you thought.

"I, um... I should head back to my chambers, Knight Acacius," you softly tell him, hoping he can hear the teasing lilt in your voice as you speak his title. The barely-there grin on his lips showed that he did catch on to your teasing--just like old times.

"Foolish girl," he whispers, the smile never once fading as his eyes take in the rest of your features, permanently engraving your beauty in his mind to come back to.

"Foolish man," you whisper back, using one hand to brush his curls from his forehead, slowly sliding your hand down the back of his head, down to his neck, and finally curling your fingers through the curls that rest there.

Hand in hand, Marcus leads you both back to your balcony. The rope hangs limp, still tied around the pillar. You stand there for a few seconds, just looking up at your balcony and remembering all of the private conversations and shy touches you and your knight have shared. Turning in your spot, never once letting go of his hand, you kiss his frown away. His other hand cups your cheek again, your jaw now familiar against his palm. Pulling away one last time, you wipe at the stray tear on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Marcus Acacius," you whisper brokenly.

The moment is heavy with unspoken words as he whispers a goodbye, his hand lingering in yours until the distance pulls you apart. You watch his broad form retreat, his hand lifting to his face, likely to wipe away tears. As he disappears around the castle, a sense of finality settles in. Glancing up at the balcony, you do what you've done for the past few months. Climbing up the rope for one last time and steadying yourself onto the parapet, it was bittersweet.

As you stand in the room you grew up in, thinking of all the memories shared in here, there was a small set of knocks on the door. You pause, heart racing, as the knock echoes through the room once more. Who could it be at this hour? You quickly glance around, ensuring everything is in place. The makeshift sack is secure, the rope is still tied and ready for your departure, and your mind races with possibilities. Taking a deep breath, you move towards the door, each step filled with anticipation. As you reach for the handle, you can't help but wonder if this unexpected visitor will alter the course of your journey.

With your hand on the handle, you do an experimental tug. Surprisingly enough, it was unlocked. It wasn't unlocked before you snuck out to meet with Marcus. You pull the door open wider and wider, wincing at the obnoxious creaking and hoping it doesn't wake your father. As you finally pull it open, your mouth drops, and your eyes widen at the man that stands before you.

"What..." You had no time to finish your sentence before Marcus is charging inside, his large hands grabbing your face and kissing you as ferociously as the first time. He kicks the door shut with his boot and shoves his body deeper into the room, your feet desperately trying to keep up with his long strides.

Marcus forces himself to pull away from your lips. There's a metaphorically magnetic force that keeps pulling him back. He stands before you, skin flushed and hair wild. His breathing was fast and heavy. "I just..." He tries to explain himself. "I just... I needed to see you one last time. I needed to... to say goodbye... just one last time, my princess."

The intensity of the moment is blinding. Desperation and longing fill the air as you lock eyes with him, unable to resist the magnetic pull. His gaze, filled with an unfamiliar hunger, grows more intense with each passing second. The tension is almost tangible, and you've made your decision. With a firm grip on his neck, you draw him closer for another passionate kiss.

One kiss turns into two. Two turns into five. Five turns into hands grabbing at clothes and sneaking underneath to grasp at naked flesh. What happens afterwards is a memorable blur. You only wished you could have yourself a private artist to paint yours and Marcus' naked bodies in acts of pleasure. You would've hung it up proudly in the dining hall above your designated throne.

The haziness of sleep enveloped you as you shifted, feeling the comforting weight around your waist and the solid presence of a broad body behind you. His strong chest pressed gently against your back. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you snuggled closer to Marcus, seeking the warmth radiating from his naked body. He was like a furnace, a quality you found endearing. Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed the sky had turned a deep blue—your favorite "blue hour." It wasn't sunrise yet, so you still had time to savor this peaceful moment.

Marcus shifts behind you with a hoarse groan. His arm tightens around your waist, a gentle reminder that he wants you close. As you roll over to face him, the tranquility of the moment envelops you both. The room is peaceful and quiet, with Marcus' half-lidded, puffy eyes reflecting the intensity of the night before. You can only imagine that you look just as marked by the shared experience.

"You look so beautiful," his voice low enough to almost sound like a hum. It slowly brings a smile to your kissed lips. Laying almost nose to nose, you let out a small sigh as the heartache returns after the momentary distraction. "I know, my darling."

His thumb brushes across the apple of your cheek before gently gripping your chin to place a lazy kiss on your lips. Marcus Acacius was intoxicating. After just a taste, you found yourself craving more, longing to quench your thirst for him. The breeze gently blowing through the sheer curtains had you shivering. Marcus glides a hand up and down your arm, further warming you with his natural body heat.

"Wherever you may end up, my darling, be sure to write to me every once in a while, yeah? And let me know where you stay so that I can visit you whenever I can," Marcus' words, spoken softly, carried a promise of connection despite the distance. His eagerness to stay in touch after your secret departure sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The thought of your relationship possibly growing in the future filled you with excitement and hope.

The confession was pursed on your lips, words ready to be spoken. Marcus could see it on your face, the light in your eyes brightening along with your smile.

A boisterous horn suddenly blew from the outer walls of the castle, followed by another, and another. Marcus sat up with lightning speed, the sheets pooling around his waist. Faint shouting echoed from the halls and outside the castle. Both of you jumped out of bed, sheets wrapped around your bodies, and ran to the balcony to see what was happening. Behind you, Marcus hurriedly dressed, his hair a mess and his clothes wrinkled.

"Marcus, what is going on?" Worriedly asking him and rushing over with furrowed brows. You redress into your gown, watching with wide eyes as the knight makes a mad dash to the balcony once again, cursing under his breath as he sees smoke rising from beyond the trees by the main gate.

The urgency in his voice was unmistakable. "The castle has been infiltrated. We need to go. Now!" he barked, though you knew he didn't mean to be harsh. The blaring horns and escalating shouts only fueled your rising panic, making it harder to stay calm.

As Marcus led you through the chaos, the clamor of the knights' armor and the echo of their hurried footsteps filled the halls, creating a symphony of urgency. You clung to Marcus, feeling the strength and determination in his grip. His protective stance gave you a sense of safety amidst the turmoil, as you both navigated the perilous path ahead.

One of the novice knights spotted you both and hurried over, his close helm lifted slightly above his head to speak clearly. His skin was flushed and sweaty.

The urgency in the young knight's voice was evident. "Knight Acacius! Princess!" he called out, his breath quick and eyes wide with alarm. "The Prince of Ivanard and his army have breached the walls! We must act swiftly!"

Marcus's panicked expression morphs into something far more sinister. His jaw clenches, and a vein in his neck bulges noticeably. He gives the young knight a stern nod before dragging you up the stone spiral steps to the chambers where the other knights sleep. The shouting outside grows louder, and your head darts back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse through the stone windows. Marcus pulls your arm harder, nearly wrenching it from its socket as he slams his shoulder into the door of his chambers.

"You said you wanted to become a Dame ever since you were a child, yes?" He hurriedly asks you as he slides on his armor with urgency. He's throwing a number of clothing items over his shoulder, metal clanging against metal and glass breaking onto the ground. He shoots you an impatient look as he hurries over to his closet.

"Yes, ever since I was a child," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady despite the chaos around you. He nods, his eyes filled with determination as he continues to prepare. "Then let's make sure you get that chance," he says, his tone resolute.

He slides out a rather large chest. It creaks open, revealing a set of armor that mirrors his own, but in a size that fits you perfectly. As he hands it to you, your heart races with a mix of surprise and anticipation. This armor, crafted with care, is meant for you.

"Marcus," you shakily began to speak but the words died on your tongue, fingers sliding over the piece of metal. Attached inside the body armor was a byrnie, with interlocking iron rings. The small-looped chains drooped to cover any open areas. The intricate detailing of the metal molding had you staring in awe for a split second before you remembered the probable battle happening around you.

Looking back up at him, Marcus gives you a singular nod and reaches an arm out to you. Glancing down at what was being held in his hand, tears pricked at your eyes upon seeing it was William's sword. Your father had taken it from you prior to locking you in your room. His focus remains unwavering as he watches you slide on the armor over your gown. You must've looked like a fool, but Marcus looked at you with a proud glint in his eye, though his face doesn't show it. It was difficult to snap back from Knight Acacius to your Marcus during a time like this.

Holding the sword firmly, you feel its weight settle in your palm. You glance at Marcus with a look that speaks volumes. He recognizes that look—the same one you had before the blaring horns interrupted you both. He knows you want to express your gratitude for everything he's done for you and your family, even though you've always considered him part of the family.

There was an intensity that was hard to ignore as he steps closer, his gloved hand gently caressing your cheek before pulling you into a passionate kiss. The kiss conveys all the emotions he has been holding back. As you both pull away, breathless, Marcus places a tender kiss on your forehead and whispers, "You can tell me after we have won the battle."

With that whispered promise, you give him a determined nod and slide on your dirtied boots, which he also snagged from your father. As you both rush out, darting down the steps, turning corners, and navigating the exhaustingly long hallways, you think about Celeste for a split second. As if she could read your mind, she turns the corner and nearly crashes into you.

"Oh, my dear child!" She cried out helplessly, looking back and forth between you and Marcus, her hair disheveled and tear tracks staining her cheeks. You see her face change as she notices the armor adorning your body and William's sword in your hand with your other hand tightly clasped in Marcus'.

The silent understanding was evident in the way her lips parted and her eyes subtly widened. She cupped your cheek with a wrinkled, shaky hand, then looked at Marcus, giving him a nod before doing the same to you.

"You come back to me; do you understand?" The tremor in her voice was unmistakable. Celeste had always been a strong woman. She never once allowed anyone to see her break down. At a time like this, seeing you, the closest thing she has to a daughter, fully dressed in the armor you dreamt of wearing when you were a child at knee-height, made her feel like the proudest mother ever.

Holding onto her forearm, you give her a hasty kiss on the cheek before being hurried away by Marcus. You hadn't thought to ask Celeste about the whereabouts of your father. Considering she was all alone and running around like a chicken with its head chopped off, you assumed your father was hiding like the coward that he was.

"Once we step outside, you follow my lead. Is that understood?" Marcus's command echoes in your ears. With a firm grip on your sword, you mirror his readiness. His reassuring glance and the gentle release of your hand signal the gravity of the moment. Stepping onto the castle grounds, you exchange a final, resolute nod. Together, you advance towards the main gates, where Marcus' knights stand vigilant, their swords and shields at the ready.

The Prince of Ivanard stood opposite your kingdom's knights, exuding arrogance. His smug expression was infuriating. You gripped your sword tighter, remaining steadfast beside Marcus, who straightened his back and took his place in front of his own knights. There was a tense stare down between the two men.

"You have no business here," Marcus declared sternly, his voice resonating loudly and clearly to ensure that everyone nearby and at a distance could hear. "Do not begin what you cannot end, Prince of Ivanard."

The prince's expression contorted as his title was uttered with disdain. The urge to laugh bubbled within you, but you suppressed it, rising to stand tall, fixing a steely gaze on the man destined to be your spouse. Noticing your stance beside Marcus, the prince approached, flanked by his knights, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword.

"Oh, but my business is here, Knight Acacius," he sneered, uttering Marcus' title with the same disdain he had shown him, yet Marcus barely reacted. "I have journeyed far for the princess to become my wife, and I shall not depart without her. Although, it seems like I am looking at a little girl playing dress-up instead."

Stepping forward, you positioned yourself before Marcus. He made a slight move to halt you but restrained himself, remaining behind. This moment was yours, the one you had been anticipating. You faced the prince without a trace of fear.

"As the princess and heiress of this kingdom, it is my duty to announce that you are not welcome here, Prince of Ivanard," you spoke loudly and clearly, silently applauding yourself for keeping your voice steady and stern. "Like Knight Acacius has previously stated, do not start something you cannot finish."

The atmosphere was charged with tension. Neither of you spoke. You and the prince exchanged silent stares, his body practically radiating anger. Despite the thick swallow you forced down your throat, your eyes remained fixed on him. A movement caught your attention from the corner of your eye. The familiar scent told you it was Marcus. In a moment like this, his presence was everything you needed.

"Come with me now, and I won't take any drastic measures. Or continue this little charade and face the consequences," the prince says with a nonchalant shrug. "I advise you to make a wise decision, princess," he adds, elongating the title in a way that causes you to frown.

Taking a steady breath, you turn to look at Marcus and find him already watching you. He has been observing you the whole time. He sees the turmoil in your eyes and the hesitation in your gaze. In a hushed tone, he reminds you, "Remember your promise."

That was enough to light a match under you. Giving him one last determined nod, you faced the arrogant prince once more. "Prince of Ivanard," you announced loudly. "You are nothing more than a fat-kidneyed, crooked-nosed fool." Some of the knights on your side chuckled underneath their breaths, and even Marcus did too. The prince's facial expression grew red with fury. "Now, I advise you to put up a good fight rather than pretend your cock is bigger than most."

A prolonged silence ensues. The prince lets out a chuckle, devoid of any real mirth, as he nods to himself. His grip on his sword's handle tightens before he draws it from its scabbard. Lifting a hand into the air, he locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing through you rather than merely meeting your eyes. Abruptly, the unmistakable sound of metal-on-metal rings out as all the knights, both allies and adversaries, draw their swords in unison.

The prince offers an emotionless smile. "May God rest your soul," he declares. Then, with a swift motion of his hand, he signals the commencement of the battle.

Battle cries echo from both sides, including you and Marcus. As allies and enemies clash, Marcus disappears into the throng. You raise your sword overhead and bring it down forcefully across the chest of an adversary knight. He emits a guttural squelch and collapses into a bloody heap on the ground. It feels as if everything around you is moving in slow motion. The only sound you can hear is the heavy, rapid thumping of your heart resonating in your ears. Your limbs ache from the effort as you push through the throng of people.

Swords clash against each other, against armor, and against flesh and bone. The battlefield echoes with the roars of men and the cries of agony as lives are lost. Marcus is known as a formidable warrior; his reputation as Knight Marcus precedes him. There is no doubt in your mind that he will emerge victorious.

Battling through the opposing knights, you weave and dodge until at last, you spot him: the Prince of Ivanard. With a swift motion, he cleaves through the abdomen of one of your knights, then kicks the fallen warrior away to free his sword. The knight's blood stains the sharpened blade, darkening under the glint of the rising sun.

He gazes down at the mangled body, a grin spreading across his face. Sensing a presence, he looks up to find you there, breaths coming heavy and wild, the sword in your hand trembling from the strain of fatigue. As your eyes lock, an unspoken understanding passes between you; you both know what must happen next.

With a battle cry, you charge at each other, swords clashing. Emitting a grunt like a wild beast, you push him back forcefully and swing your sword to the left—he parries. A swift slash from left to right catches him by surprise, and for a moment, as the blade arcs toward his face, he's off guard. He jerks his head back just in time, but not before the blade grazes his cheek.

"You are no more a man than I am," you say to him, your voice quivering with adrenaline and sheer fury. "You are a fool, and I would be an even greater fool to marry someone like you."

With a roar of anger, the prince raises his sword and charges towards you. You swiftly dodge to the side, rising to your feet with your sword gripped firmly in both hands. A glance at William's initials engraved on the blade fills you with a wave of determination to honor his legacy and become the warrior he believed you could be.

The battle with the prince is fierce and draining. Your muscles scream for relief, and sweat stings your eyes as it drips down your forehead. Thoughts of Knight Acacius, your Marcus, flash through your mind. In the distance, you can just make out his voice, yelling commands and fighting with unparalleled vigor, knowing his strength comes partly because you are in the fray as well.

Suddenly, as your attention falters for a mere half-second, your sword is knocked from your grasp. You gasp, watching in a trance-like slow motion as it arcs through the air and lands yards away on the blood-soaked, dirt-strewn ground. Turning back to face the prince, a searing pain blazes across your abdomen, eliciting a piercing scream of agony.

With wide, unfocused eyes and an open mouth, your hands clutched the prince's shoulders. Your bloodied fingers slid down the metal, soon grasping his forearms, tense as he thrust the sword deeper into your abdomen, undoubtedly driving the end through you. Emitting another agonizing wail, you glanced down at the gruesome sight.

Your blood, dark and viscous, spills forth, tainting the prince's hands and your soiled dress. The agony is beyond comprehension, leading you to ponder if William experienced this torment before his demise. As you attempt to utter a word, the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. The prince shows no remorse; instead, his expression reveals a disturbing satisfaction in your suffering. With each turn of the handle, a grotesque sound escapes, and you find yourself beyond the point of vocalizing your anguish.

He leans in close, his breath acrid, almost making you gag—if not for the blood trickling down the corners of your mouth. "You were fated to be my wife," he hisses. "And now, you will meet the same fate as your dear brother, at the hands of my father."

With a feeble, blood-stained smile and your body gradually succumbing to unconsciousness, you teeter on the brink of collapse. As you draw near to the prince, the sword lodged in your abdomen sends waves of searing pain through you. Each cough is a wet, gurgling effort, spattering clumps of blood onto the prince's chest plate.

Gazing into his eyes, your weak smile vanished as you told him in a faint voice, “You’re a coward… and history will forget you.”

The look of contentment on his face shifted to a grim shadow. His forehead creased, and the smile he wore flattened into a grim line. Emitting a guttural growl, he thrusts you back, wrenching his blade, now smeared with your blood, from your midsection. You collapse, the sensation of pain fading into a distant echo. Numbness overtakes you, your senses dulling as your heartbeat echoes, slower and slower.

"Tell William my father sends his greetings," the prince commands, hoisting his sword aloft as blood trickles onto his armor. Through half-closed eyes, you glimpse the blade's gleam, your own heartbeat resounding in your ears. Thoughts of Celeste, William, Marcus, and your mother flicker through your mind in mere seconds. With closed eyes, you resign yourself to your destiny.

Suddenly, a sound like the crunching of bone filled the air. Breathing shallowly, you clear the fog from your vision and look up. The prince hadn't brought his sword down on you as he intended. Instead, a sight unfolded that you wished to etch into memory forever. A sword had been thrust through the prince's chest from behind, piercing his armor with such force that it passed clean through. His eyes were wide in disbelief, and his throat worked spasmodically, spewing thick gouts of blood that darkened his ginger beard to a deep crimson.

A deep, wild scream erupted from behind the prince. Suddenly, his body was hoisted into the air, the sword still impaled through him. His body rose higher and higher until the figure on the sword's other end came into view. The armor was unmistakable. Marcus' arms, now exposed without the protection of his armor, swelled and trembled from exertion and adrenaline. He unleashed another roar, a battle cry of pure fury. His expression was unrecognizable; he was no longer the Marcus you knew. This was Knight Acacius, the fearsome warrior known for his savage prowess in battle and his unwavering leadership in protecting his people. The prince's twisted, lifeless form was now suspended above Marcus' head as he continued to scream, his body almost quivering with the rush of adrenaline.

"Deliver a message to William," he snarls, his voice thick with fury, "Knight Acacius sends his regards." With a forceful motion, he casts the prince's body aside, the sword remaining impaled within.

A sudden rush of emotions swept over Marcus' face. It was evident in the way he gazed down, shaking off his persona as Knight Acacius. His lips moved frantically, yet their words were nearly lost beneath the pounding of your heart. Collapsing to his knees, his hands trembled violently as he placed a gentle hand upon your abdomen. Though he knew no aid could be rendered, the helplessness he offered supplanted the anger with profound heartache.

"No, no, no, no," he wailed, his face contorting as he failed to hold back his cries of despair. He shakily cradled your cheek, now ice-cold against the warmth of his blood-flecked palm. "Oh, my sweet princess. No, no, no."

"Mar…" you struggled to speak, the blood in your throat surfacing repeatedly despite your efforts to swallow it. Breathing became increasingly difficult; each inhale exacerbated the bleeding, soaking Marcus's hand further. "I… I'm…"

He silences you softly, stifling his tears as your breaths become shallower and your limbs grow feeble. He observes your hand dragging across the ground towards him. With a sorrowful heart, he reveals your injury, averting his gaze as he tenderly takes your hand and presses it against his cheek. Your lips quiver into a faint smile. The ongoing battle fades into obscurity; in this moment, there is only you and Marcus.

A lonesome tear trails down your temple. Marcus tenderly wipes it away, maintaining eye contact with your half-closed eyes. He recognizes your effort to stay awake for him. With one hand still cradling your limp hand to his cheek and his other cupping your own cheek, he exhales a shaky breath, the ache in his heart intensifying with each torturous second.

As he gazes down, observing your eyes roam over his features as they always did, he reflects on every shared moment from the past few months. He realized he loved you from the start. Yet, he never found the right moment to declare it. Now, Marcus is burdened with the regret of his silence, only breaking it as you lie before him, on the brink of your end.

"I…" His voice falters as he begins to speak. "I am a foolish man, my princess. I should have told you… how much… how deeply I…" Tears hinder his words, the floodgates of his emotions opening as he watches the light of life dim in your eyes.

The realization that you will no longer be together brings more tears to your eyes. You long to cry out to him, but the fear that your wails would force blood from your mouth, leaving a haunting image for him, holds you back. You do not wish for that to be the last memory Marcus has of you before your agonizing death.

"Come," you whisper hoarsely through the gurgling of your blood. You must tell him before the darkness engulfs you forever. You must tell him before he is left to roam the earth aimlessly without you.

Marcus gently lowers his head and turns until your lips graze his ear. The rattling sound of your breath causes him to close his eyes, his lips pressing a kiss to your wrist against his jaw. He listens intently, deciphering your hushed whispers, understanding at last what you're attempting to convey.

"Love…" you whispered in agony, your lips quivering against his ear as you coughed, inadvertently staining his golden skin with your blood—a skin you would no longer caress with your fingertips or savor with your tongue.

Marcus feels his heart almost cease to beat when he hears the single word that escapes your lips. Your last word, a confession of your feelings for him, irrevocably breaks his heart. He realizes he will never whisper those words against your skin as you both lie beneath the moon's glow, lost in bliss. Nor will he utter them against your lips in a kiss, as if you were the finest wine ever tasted. And he could never whisper them to another, for no one could ever evoke the emotions you stirred in him.

Marcus looks down at you, his expression shattered, knowing it's the last thing you'll see before darkness engulfs you in its icy hold. He kisses you, the blood from your lips staining his. He kisses you one final time, aware that the moment he pulls away, you'll slip into the void.

Finally, he forces himself to break away from your lips. With one last gaze into your eyes, he whispers tenderly, "Now I must remember you for longer than I have known you." Upon hearing his final confession, your vision blurs, speckled with black dots. The roughness of his scruff under your palm fades away. You no longer feel the wound or the blood seeping out, soaking the earth beneath you.

And as your eyes close for the final time, Marcus' anguished scream is the last sound you hear before slipping deeper into the embrace of death.

#general marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #general acacius #marcus acacius #knight!marcus acacius #general marcus acacius x fem!reader #marcus acacius x fem!reader #general marcus acacius angst #marcus acacius angst #almostfoxgloveangstchallenge

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muzansfangs · 1 year ago

Note

Sharing a threesome idea real quick

Byakuya x reader x kenpachi

Belladonna.

Starring: Byakuya Kuchiki x f!reader x Zaraki Kenpachi;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, post Aizen’s betrayal, sparring, hair pulling, choking, language, degradation kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, slut-shaming, face slapping, rough sex, double penetration, anal sex, scratching, marking, creampie, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, brat taming, oral sex (Kenpachi!receiving);

Plot: When you went to an old bar in the Seireitei to celebrate the beginning of your new career as a Captain for the Gotei 13, you did not expect to bump into you hot-headed former Captain, Zaraki Kenpachi. Your mutual hostility and rivarly made him challenge you into a fight that soon escalated into something more. Caught in the middle of the pouring rain, you ended up finding shelter in a nearby cellar, only to stumble in Byakuya Kuchiki. Insults, resentement and passion made you three lose your shame and composure as you promised yourselves not to talk about that ordeal anymore.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

When you walked into an old bar in the outskirts of the Seireitei, the white haori fluttering around your form surley drew some curious glances from the drunk men chugging down low-quality saké at the large counter on your left. You were used to people murmuring at the sight of your persona and it did not bother you at all. You were quite the controversial character and your name was well known by the upper class as well as by the delinquents inhabiting the Rukongai.

Now, as the chattering around you intensified, you did not even glance at the lower ranks glaring at you and, keeping your chin up in a arrogant demeanor, you strode straight towards the battered table in the back of the bar. You were a usual there. Yet, this time, something was different. You were not a simple member of the Eleventh Division anymore, you were a Captain. The black number sewed on the back of your haori made some of the recruits shake.

Nine.

You had taken the vacant place as a Captain of the Gotei 13. After Kaname Tosen's betrayal, you had not hesitated to step up and claim what you believed was yours. Feared, respected, honored, full of yourself, you were proud to be finally free from the orders of your now former Captain.

"A bottle of saké. The best one you got, thanks" you spoke out, tossing a good amount of money on the counter on your way to your favorite table. The sound of the golden coins clattering onto the wooden surface made the waiter whip his head towards you, his hand already reaching up for shiny medals before his eyes. Apparently, it was his lucky day.

Plopping down onto the bench, granting you a clear view of the whole bar, you rested your feet over the table as you waited for your order. Unhinged, reckless, rude, cruel. Those were just some of the adjectives people picked to describe you. Overall, a rogue. But those who really knew you, oh dear, they called you the classy doll, the rebellious noble, the rich brat, or the capricious princess.

And the worst part of it was that they were right.

Just the idea of being forced to marry him, the stoic heir of the Kuchiki clan made you want to barf. Therefore, not only you had refused to give yourself to him, but you had literally abandoned your family and the glorious position you had in your clan. Enrolling at the Academy was your only choice back then. Soon enough, you found out you were exceptionally skilled at wielding a sword and no woman or man in your year could make you bend the knee.

Obviously, you were a good match for the infamous Eleventh Division and that was how you ended up fighting alongside the bloodthirsty Zaraki Kenpachi. He taunted you for your grace, pointing out how you were even more obsessed with yourself and composure than your comrade Yumichika. This probably contributed to bring out the worst in you.

When the waiter finally settled the bottle of saké in front of you, a smug grin graced your lips and you triumphantly proceeded to pour yourself some of it to start the night with a bang. As soon as you brought the cup to your lips, though, you widened your eye in irritation at the sight of the tall man entering the bar, his heavy footsteps echoing in the now silent area.

Zaraki Kenpachi.

You gritted your teeth, your free hand reaching up to remove the black eyepatch on your left eye as you made sure to let your reiatsu clash with his one, when he made eye-contact with you. Some recruits faltered, some others even scurried out of the bar, sensing how the air had gotten exponentially denser, gloomier. Your hands slammed over the table, the saké spilling out of the cup, splattering on your uniform and the dark wooden surface.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you blurted out, glaring at him as he finally stopped a few feet away from you.

"What an insufferable brat you are. Calm your tits, princess. — Zaraki croaked out, tilting his head to the side, sizing you up with an unreadable face before continuing — So it's true, I see. You've made it, in the end".

You narrowed your eyes at him, blood boiling in your veins at the sound of that nickname you loathed with every molecule of your body. He knew you did not want to hear anyone hinting at your noble lineage. The gold and the parades belonged to your past. A past you did not want to talk about anymore.

"What is it? Didn't you trust the rumors enough to believe them? Did you really come all the way here to ascertain whether I was the new Captain in charge of the Ninth Division, or not? It's a wonder how you've not got lost in the process..." you sassed, your words dripping haughtiness and bumptiousness.

Zaraki sighed and unsheathed his chipped sword, causing some drinkers to freeze, eyes darting on you two in anticipation. They perfectly knew what was about to happen and you did too, a devious smirk making its way on your lips as you reached for the hilt of your sword almost instinctively. You were honestly up for some fun. This fight, actually, was long overdue. After decades spent in bickering and taunting each other, it was only fair to let one of those spark igniting a great fire.

"Bring your ass out of this place, princess. I am here to fight. I believe you make a poor excuse of a Captain" he stated in a raspy voice, staring you down in disdain.

Nobody around you dared to talk. Your malicious grin, however, spoke volumes as you unsheathed your sword and laisurely walked out of the bar. The hunger for glory and a bloody, exciting fight, typical characteristics of your former Division, were now kicking in again. You yearned to taste blood on your teeth, to slash and stab your opponent once and for all to show him you were not the frail little princess in distress who had found shelter in the Academy.

"Are you so sure about it? Maybe I'm just going to chop you up and steal your title. Perhaps, I will become the real Kenpachi" you provoked him, your tone of voice infuriatingly mocking as you located a good spot to fight without causing too much trouble to the citizens.

The way he laughed made you falter, though. Your grip on the hilt of your zanpakuto tightened significantly, your eyes locking with his ones as you adopted a defensive stence to prevent a possible attack from him.

"Look at you. Haven't I taught you to act instead of wasting your time in meaningless talk with your opponent? That's a duel, not a chit-chat. But I guess I shouldn't get too mad about it. Some royal ass like you would have never fitted the Eleventh Division anyway" Zaraki bitterly retorted, a wave of his reiatsu washing over you in a intimidating manner.

Your right eye twitched, his words hitting a nerve, and trusting into your abilities blindly you sprinted towards him. You swung your blade towards his neck, aiming for his pulsing jugular, enjoying the air whipping your face harshly. The adrenaline was immense, joy and fieriness burning in your eyes, but the sound of your swords clashing brought you back to reality. You were close now, maybe too close considering his immense physical strength, distancing yourself from him would have been a wise move but he clearly had other plans.

His free hand snapped up towards your wrist, his iron grip making you wince out in pain, as he tossed you far away into a dark alley. The impact of your back against the wall knocked the air out of your lungs temporary, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you slumped down onto the ground. The pain was immense, but you had endured worse wounds and blows in your career.

Groaning out in pain, you rolled on your side, you hand reaching out for your balde hastily until he stepped over it and towered over you. His shadow loomed over your frame as a hollow and you felt your mouth going dry. That was going to he a problem.

Zaraki grinned down at you tangled his tick fingers in your hair, yanking your hair back to make eye-contact with you. His breath was hot against your cold skin, as he pinned you up against the wall once again. Your feet kicked the air aimlessly in a futile attempt to kick him between his legs.

"Pathetic. Not even Kurosaki had such a poor performance at our first match" he mocked you, earling a spit on his face that left him totally unfazed, albeit he snorted and pressed you harder against the wall with his massive body.

Both of your hands gripped his large wrist, clawing at his flesh to somehow get him to release the painful grip on your hair. He was literally holding you up as if you were a weak kitten. Your scalp stung, your teeth were gritted as you lashed out at him "Leave me alone then! Why wasting your time with me?" you shouted at his face, earning a scornful glance from him.

"Maybe I don't wanna fight. Maybe I just feel this urge to tame you and your bratty ass once and for all" he hissed at your face, the hand holding your hair now wrapped around your neck and making you choke on your own words, throat contracting to suck in some precious air he was depriving you of.

You narrowed your eyes, your leg wrapping around his hip as you planted your hand over his chiseled abs. The only chance you had to escape this deadly grip was probably using a kidō. Grinning up at him, although your face had turned purple, you whispered some soft words that made an explosion between you two.

"Hadō 31. Shakkahō" you said, earning a groan from the masthodontic man before you.

The red flame cannon exploding between you two made him retreat of a few steps. His grip on your neck loosened, as you slumped down on the dirty ground with a grunt. Panting, you squinted, trying to scrutinize the area in search for him. The greyish smoke, however, was still too thick for you to discern anything more than the pebbles underneath your feet. Your breath was still uneven as you picked your blade back up, twirling it between your fingers with expertise as you tried to follow his reiatsu.

It was crazy how you could still sense his iron grip on your neck even now that his fingers were no longer wrapped around your throat to squeeze the life out of you. The was your heart was thumping into your cheeks, making you feral, searching glory and letting your heart follow the basic, animalistic desires, was incredible. It was as if he had awakened a dark side of you caged in the depths of your mind.

The loud thunder exploding above you, heavy and tenebrous clouds obscuring the once limpid sky, contributed to the crescendo of anxiety enveloping your heart. What did you want? Him, at your feet. Now. You wanted to defeat him, just like he wanted to break you.

Inhaling sharply, your detected his blow and you swung your blade up above your head to block his lethal slash. The metallic clash of your swords made you whip your head towards him, the smoke finally clearing out as he now was so close to you. His superior physical strength made you stumble back for the impact, only fueling the primordial desire to prove yourself.

"Did you honestly believe I was going down so disgracefully? That's not my style" you cooed, standing back up, dusting away some dirt from the once snow-white haori embracing your figure.

"You've been lucky. Those knees of yours will eventually bend before me. — Zaraki said, pointing his sword at you menacingly — Look at you, still bothering to clean up your clothes instead of focusing entirely on me. You need to improve your concentration instead of yapping and playing the princess in the middle of a duel" the Captain of the Eleventh Division pointed out, making you glare at him in disdain.

He never praised you. Not even once. Not in your entire life. Maybe that irked you more than you liked you admit and that feeling of not being enough to make him proud of you surely played a major role in makinf you push past your limits, work harder to accomplish your goals. Your ambition and determination came from years of starvation.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a cool droplet splattering on the tip of your nose not making you flinch at all. You were too far gone to care about it. The sound of the rain pattering on the desolate street, on your clothes and blade, drenching your hair and making goosebump raise on your body did not nothing to sooth your nerves

You both decided to move in the same exact moment. Your faces were only a few inches apart, when your swords clashed again, a strained scream of fury echoing around you as you engaged a close-up battle. Your uniforms soon were torn in various parts, skin exposed as the blood from the small cuts mingled with the pouring rain washing it away. Your breath was uneven, as you ended up in a blind alley. Admitting your defeat was an option you were not contemplating, but your muscles ached, your breath was too shallow to go ahead and, much to your dismay, you were running out of stamina.

With a last blow, Kenpachi made your grip on your zanpakuto loosen and your back hit the wall behind you. The jagged edge of his blade pressed up against your neck, water dripping down your face, a defiant glare gleaming in your eyes as he towered over you.

"Pathetic" he barked out, earning a groan of frustration from you as you lolled your head back against the wall to distance your tender neck from the dreadful blade piercing it.

You gritted your teeth, back flattened against the cold surface behind you "Why don't you kill me then?" you asked him plainly.

Zaraki lowered his sword, his hand replacing it once again as he pressed you harder against the smooth surface at your back "Because I told you I was going to make you bend the knee, not kill you" he snarled, hitting the back of your knee and loosening his grip on you. The impact of your rotula against the asphalt made you yelp, eyes shooting up in contempt as you watched him undo the white knot keeping his pants up.

Your blood ran cold. The defeat on your tongue suddenly tasting better than the awarness of being out in a semi-public place in such a compromising position. It was not like someone could see you there. It was still raining pretty hard, this area was hardly patrolled anyway. As much as you wanted to tell him to go to hell, you had to admit this whole situation was making something stir within you.

"What's up now? Is the princess too uptight to let loose? Or is it the fact that you probably lack the talent to please me?" Zaraki taunted you, as your eyes widened even so slightly, hand reaching up to wipe some water off of your face.

No, you could not let him believe that too. You were too proud for that.

"Fuck you" you fired back, exhaling through your nosetrils in exhasperation, before taking action. Your head whipped to your right, checking out if someone was turning the corner, then you reached both of your hands up to tug his pants down his thighs.

And, obviously, you were not disappointed in the slightest. Your mouth parted, a small, inaudible gasp escaping your lips as he gripped your hair tightly to catch your attention. Grimacing in pain, you flicked your gaze up to meet his restentful and arrogant one.

"Eyes on me. Show me that you are closer to be harlot rather than a princess" he challenged you, only for your hand to wrap around his cock and giving it a few firm and languid stroke.

Kenpachi groaned softly, amused by the fact that your hand could barely wrap around his whole girth. You wondered if you were going to make it fit in your mouth, but you also knew that he was not going to let you have the command of the situation. Not at all, not even for a second.

"You're going to choke on your words pretty soon" you hissed, mouth parting as your tongue darted out to livk and tease his pinkish tip.

The way he thrused his hips forward, fingers tangled in your hair to keep you in place though, made you regret your words and your eyes widened for the sudden intrusion in your mouth. He showed no mercy at all, your throat almost contracting as you breathed through your nose. You had littel time to adjust as he drew back before snapping his hips forward again, setting up a rather relentless pace to literally fuck your mouth.

The gag reflex at first made it so hard for you to relax, eyes squeezed shut as his cock bullied the back of your throat. Your warm mouth was perfect for him. The pleasure and satisfaction it provided him was immense, his feral grunts filling the air around you as he hoarsely chuckled, looking down at the way your nails dug into his thighs for support.

Drool was running down your chin, his cock disappearing into your stretched mouth making him realize how good of a girl you could be if someone like him took the reins.

"Look at you. It looks like you are the one choking now" he groaned out, giving a few last thrusts before pulling out of you.

Coughing, you fell forward as he stepped away from you. Your hands preventing you from falling face first as you panted, tears still making your eyes burn. Your throat was definitely sore now, speaking was not something you could do right away.

A large hand wrapping around your forearm and pulling you back on your feet made you jolt, Zaraki's mouth capturing your lips in a fervent kiss bringing you back on Earth. You did not protest, your hands cupping his cheeks, as he hooked his hands underneath your thighs and lifted you up. The cellar at your back could provide you some shelter from the rain and the right amount of privacy for continuing what had started.

As he kicked the door open, he roughly let you down. You did not have enough time to talk, his calloused hands gripping your hips and spinning you towards the wall. The palms of your hands flattened on the wall, eyes closing, when he dragged your pants and underwear down your legs.

"Spread your fucking legs" he roared in your ear, fingers already slipping between your thighs to torment your throbbing clit. It was not a surprise for him feeling how wet you already were. His rough digits had no problem at all in slipping past your folds, plunging deep into your core to prompt strained moans from you.

"You better hurry up and not be a disappointment, Kenny" you breathed out, back arching as you rested your forehead against the wall. His fingers thrusting in and out of you sent shivers down your spine, your thighs quivering as you closed your eyes in bliss. A bliss destined to vanish abruptly as a familiar reiatsu dawned on you two.

How? How was he there?

Your head turned to glance back above your shoulder, greyish eyes boring judgementally into yours. Byakuya Kuchiki, the standoffish man you had refused to marry back then, was standing a few feet away from you two, his neat clothes giving him his typical regal appearence that made your blood boil into your veins.

"I'm not into exhibitionism. Move away" you blurted out, soft whimpers falling from your lips as Zaraki kept on curling his fingers into you relentlessly. You were close, sweat beading your forehead as you tried to restrain your orgasm.

The lewd squelching sounds echoing into the room made you blush, as Zaraki stared down at Byakuya in contempt "What is it? Are you envious or are you a virgin? Don't you know how to handle a woman? No wonder she refused your hand back then" he sarcastically commented, making you roll your eyes as he slipped his fingers out of your aching cunt.

Everyone knew it. The entire Seireitei knew that you had decided to turn your back on your family and choose to get your hands dirty instead of getting married to him. Albeit Byakuya never allowed his fragilities and emotions to slip past his stoic façade, you knew your stunt had hurt his feelings.

As Zaraki forced you to get on all fours on the floor, groans of protests erupting from your throat, you locked eyes with the noble man standing tall before you. His eyes were seemingly reduced to slits, as he watched the way Zaraki latched one of his hands behind your neck to keep you in place, while the other lined his cock to your opening. You were going mad. The anticipation of hearing Byakuya venomously retort something paired with the burning desire of feeling Zaraki split your walls apart, fill you up the brim, were making your body tremble.

“I would have never married a whore anyway” the Captain of the Sixth Division broke the silence again, stepping forward until he knelt right before you.

You felt your blood pump fast in your veins, rage and wrath blinding you as you opened your mouth to clearly make him regret his words. But the smack on your face, the way your head snapped to the side, even if it was not meant to truly hurt you, made you shudder. You had not seen it coming, too distracted by your irritation and the way Kenpachi’s cock dragged up and down your slit to collect your juices on his length.

“You never wished to be treated like a loved wife, did you? That is the kind of treatment your cunning heart ardently craved? It would be just direspectful of me not to be indulgent with you now, right?” Byakuya calmly said, his words ringing in your head like a death sentence, lips parted in disbelief, when you watched him unfasten his robes.

“You are a freak just like the others, Kuchiki Byakuya. Let’s do this then. I have nothing to lose. But you have factually lost my respect and admiration” you pointedly remarked, whining softly as Zaraki squeezed your left rear to catch your attention again.

With your eyes transfixed on Byakuya’s chiseled abs, on his bulge, you simply got the hint of what he wanted. Raising up on your knees, you let Byakuya help you to straddle him, the tip of his cock pressing into your warm cavern. As he gradually let you sink down onto him, a strained moan left your throat as you gripped his shoulders to adjust to his size. He stretched you perfectly, your walls clenching onto his length so deliciously that even his composed self was forced to let out soft groan.

“Really now? You think you can just walk in and steal my bitch like that? I’m fucking sure it’s mine the name she’ll scream while coming” Zaraki growled, his tick fingers now trying to prep your puckered hole for what was yet to home.

The soft grunts of Byakuya, the pleasure coiling in your lower abdomen made you relax a little, despite the slightly uncomfortable feeling of being stimulated in such a delicate spot. Your shallow breaths mingled with Byakuya’s ones, forcing you two to make an intense eye-contact.

It was weird remembering how much you loathed him right now, or how you thought you would have never let him touch you even with a finger. It was almost degrading, humiliating, your eyes squeezed shut as he reached your g-spot with a particularly hard snap of his hips. Your movements were meeting his thrusts, high-pitched moans now piercing the ears of the two men feasting on you.

There was passion, hate, aggression between you two.

The moment Zaraki finally pulled his fingers out of you to replace them with his cock, your nails scratched down Byakuya’s back hard enough to leave crescent moons marks onto his flawless skin. It hurt quite a bit, your muscles struggling to relax as the air seemed to be knocked out of your lungs.

The stretch was immense, unbearable, your wobbling lips brushing against the ones of the noble man you were riding. You did not think he would have showed you some mercy at this point, but when he kissed you passionately, his hand gripping your jaw roughly to keep your head in place, you knew he was finally letting his mask slip off to let his emotions take over.

You let out a strained moan he gladly swallowed, Zaraki’s thrusts being firm and steady as you gradually allowed your muscles to relax. You had never in your life experienced anything like that. You felt about to explode, the feeling of being stuffed to the brim, of being manhandled like that was overwhelming.

“So tight! Shit, I’ll stuff you full of my cum” Zaraki growled in your ear, his mouth latching onto your neck, biting, sucking, bruising you to remind you of how miserable you were in his hands.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, the groans and moans coming from the three of you would have made anyone passing by turn pale, their ears bleeding in disgust. You were not people in that moment. You were animals.

“Come” Byakuya whispered in your ear, observing the way you shuddered, your walls clamping down onto him as you felt them both twitch into you.

And you did. The moment you came, Byakuya thrusted upwards sloppily, his seed painting your insides white, as you released a ragged breath and your back flattened against Zaraki’s sweaty, firm abs. You felt it, the way the Captain at your back cussed before keeping his promise to fill you up too.

Panting, still stuffed up with their now softening members, you found the strength to say something they obviously agreed with.

“Not a word with anyone”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there!

I am going to be ashamed of myself for a few hours after this. I honestly hope you are going to enjoy this piece because I literally have poured my whole heart into it. It’s my official second threesome, being the Shinobu x reader x Giyuu one the first one I have written! Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreaciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @shonen-brainrot @electronicwitchcollection

#byakuya kuchiki x reader #byakuya x reader #kuchiki byakuya x reader #zaraki kenpachi x reader #kenpachi x reader #bleach smut #bleach x you #bleach x reader #kenpachi zaraki #byakuya x you #byakuya smut #zaraki kenpachi #kenpachi smut

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wordsvomit101 · 9 months ago

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That awkward moment when you realized that your big bro got laid with the person you tried to kill.

Author Notes: Credits to @eternal_auditor & @jazeswhbhaven, I got this idea for this shameless worldbuilding headcanons for Heaven and Angels thanks to both of them and the latter's "Angel Bros Headcanons: Michael Flips" post. I also just want to write the scenario in general. Warnings: Raphael is a caution flag himself, depictions of violence, thoughts of brutalizing and eating someone (being directed at MC) by Raphael, a lot of name-calling from Raphael directed at MC

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

(Heaven - Time of Councils and Assemblies)

In the tranquil embrace of Heaven, evening descends like a gentle caress, casting a soft golden hue upon the timeless realm. As the radiant sun dips below the horizon of ethereal clouds, the celestial landscape is bathed in hues of pink, orange, and purple, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colors that stretches across the vast expanse of the heavenly domain. The sky is like a canvas painted lovingly by the hands of God, with the colors of a thousand sunsets, each stroke a masterpiece of divine artistry. The clouds, like celestial brushstrokes, dance across the canvas, their forms ever-changing, their edges illuminated with an ethereal glow.

Amidst the celestial splendor, angelic beings gracefully glide through the sky upon the archways of purest gold span the thoroughfares of Heaven, their graceful curves reminiscent of angelic wings in flight. Beneath these archways lie crystal atriums, their transparent walls revealing the celestial wonders of Heaven in all their resplendent glory. Their iridescent wings shimmer with divine light, flying gracefully as if they dance and pirouette in ethereal ballets, painting radiant trails of luminescence across the sky.

The lower-ranking angels engage in celestial chorales, their melodious voices intertwining in harmonies that resonate throughout the Heaven. The soaring soprano of archangels blends seamlessly with the velvety alto of cherubim, weaving a symphony that would uplift the soul and transport the listener to realms of pure bliss. The music reverberates through the celestial expanse, like a cosmic symphony conducted to worship the Almighty.

For middle-ranking angels, their beloved duty during the Pilgrimage to the Mount of Revelation to commune with their dear creator has to be despairingly pushed to merely Contemplation of Sacred Texts and attending to the Halls of Eternal Wisdom, a lesser, but an honorable duty nonetheless.

Even higher above, amidst ethereal spires and resplendent palaces that grace the heavenly expanse, angelic artisans toil diligently within the Halls of Artistry. Their deft hands sculpt magnificent statues and weave intricate tapestries, each a testament to the wonders of creation. They yearn for the day when their divine creator will bestow upon them a glimpse of their artistry, even a millisecond of recognition for their unwavering dedication to him would be more than enough.

While other angels tend to the flourishing celestial flora in the Gardens of Eternal Bliss. Radiant blooms burst forth in a splendor of colors, their petals shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence. The angels nurture these heavenly gardens with love and care, a single damage to a petal of these beautiful flowers is enough to have their heads roll to the disgusting pit of Hell, however making a mistake in God's favorite garden is an even bigger sin.

It is a mundane day for all of them.

Bang!

"Sir-!"

Creak!

"AAAAAA-!"

Crunch!

"I have yet to finish my prayer-!"

Snap!

However, it wouldn't be a normal day if there wasn't a Raphael brutally tearing and eating fleshes of every angel on his path to the Chamber of Divine Counsel to meet with other Seraphs. His blood-caked shoes thundering over polished marble as he swaggers through the vaulted corridors of Heaven, his crimson-smeared wings unfurling like banners of carnage. Red marred his short blonde hair and white attire. With each wrathful step, he leaves a trail of dismembered angel carcasses, their alabaster feathers floating like ethereal snowflakes in his wake. His crimson eye fully emits an aura of violence and fury.

Thump!

Bursting into the Chamber of Divine Counsel with enough force to make the office tremble, the room was bathed in an ethereal glow, and the other Seraphs present, Gabriel and Michael, sat in their resplendent chairs, their expressions inscrutable. Raphael's form, however, drenched in the gore of his victims, stood in stark contrast to the pristine surroundings. He only has one thought of personally feasting upon that purple hair wench's flesh when she is still alive and making her watch herself being devoured alive and cut off her tongue so she couldn't even voice out her pain.

"Why... Why is it always her...! That bitch!"

The pure white chairs, crafted from the finest celestial ivory, bore the brunt of his rage, splintering and crumbling under his kicks. Yet Gabriel and Michael, their faces devoid of emotion, paid him little attention.

"If you insist on throwing a tantrum, I implore you to do so in a realm more suited to such sorrowful displays. Hell would accommodate your temperaments more appropriately."

Michael stood tall over the intricately designed long table with a mindmap and countless brainstorming notes. Standing in a place Brother Lucifer used to stand in each council meeting. His glare locked on the furious blonde seraph before him. A frown, as if carved in stone, creased his handsome face, adding an air of solemnity to his prideful demeanor. Around his neck, a regal purple choker, embellished with ornate gold rings and shimmering gemstones, encircled his throat. At its center, a prominent gold ring held a solemn cross pendant, its gentle clinking accompanying his every movement.

In a swift motion, Michael tilted his head to the left, displaying effortless grace as he dodged the flying chair hurtling towards him at high speed. The chair collided with the wall, its impact leaving a deep dent in the panel, a testament to the force behind the throw.

"Shut that shitty mouth of yours! Maybe try to go down there yourself to ask why our dear brother is entertaining trash!" As Raphael spoke, his voice trembled with anger and frustration, his words dripping with venomous accusation. A few veins already popped on his crazed, striking appearance. Filled with unrepressed anger that led him to kill his spies who reported to him and fly from the dungeon up here.

Yet Michael continued to look at his notes, his face blissfully indifferent. His right hand continued to write on many of his papers on the white table.

"He has simply strayed from the right path."

Brother Lucifer’s footstep-less feet headed for the vile tiny red devil.

'Stop it.'

However, he couldn't say the same about his head. Memories he had been trying to wipe from his mind for years served only to haunt him. Taunting him of the gut-wrenching event more than a hundred years ago.

In the silence, pure white hands pushed through the grass and preciously held up the rotten red thing.

'Don't dirty your hands.'

His brother stroked that thing's body so softly with his hands so similar to how he once did with Michael's face. Those strong, beautiful hands that once held his face so tenderly to wipe his tears away. As he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

'Brother...'

"I remain confident in my ability to guide him back to the right path."

His brother's hand was holding Michael’s ray of light. The light in Brother Lucifer’s hand had stopped in front of the disgusting beast's chest, unable to advance further. He was again protecting worthless things that didn't deserve his grace.

'Why did you save it?!'

When his brother finally stood before Michael on his third step, black energy, not white, began to flow from his body.

'No-NononononoNONO-'

From his beloved brother’s head, the gorgeous head of the Morning Star, bright red horns that were the same color as the vile thing that tempted him began to grow.

'Brother- Brother Lucifer please!'

"You shall witness it in due time."

"I love you, my brother. Which is why I will give you one last chance. Return."

Crack!

The force of Michael's left hand left a massive crack in the opulent crystal marble table that trailed down to the other end of it. Effectively bringing clarity back to Raphael as the blonde gazes at Michael's hard knuckle gripping the table painfully, ignoring the blood pooling down to the marble floor and further dirtying the former pristine chamber.

Michael's abrupt actions were met with an air of knowing silence from the two. It wouldn't be far-fetched if they possessed a secret understanding of his motivations that would elude outsiders.

"Hmph," a scoff rang out and pierced the silence of the room, originating from the slender man with platinum blonde hair seated to Michael's right. His face, though classically handsome with a pale complexion, remained stoic and emotionless, belying the arrogance that dripped from the single syllable he uttered.

"Then you better live up to those words."

Gabriel's lean was a graceful movement, his body sinking into the chair as if it were a throne. His arms crossed over his chest, the crisp white of his shirt contrasting sharply with the gleam of the gold chain that adorned his white jabot ruffle shirt. The fabric of his sleeves rustled softly against the delicate filigree, creating a symphony of subtle sounds that echoed through the silent room. His eyes, deep and enigmatic, surveyed the scene before him, his expression a mixture of amusement and quiet contemplation.

"Furthermore, even in his current state, Brother Lucifer still demonstrates a reverence for God. It is conceivable that his actions are merely a symptom of his yearning for God's divine presence."

In this timeless realm, where Gabriel proudly proclaims to reign supreme as the epitome of seraphic obedience, there exists but one for whom he would willingly surrender his esteemed position: Brother Lucifer. The firstborn of God's creations, Brother Lucifer's devotion to his Maker surpassed all others, earning him the title of Morning Star. His brilliance illuminated the heavens, casting an unrivaled radiance that even Gabriel's wings could not obscure.

It was Brother Lucifer who instilled within the celestial choirs the rituals and observances that expressed their gratitude to the Almighty. Yet amidst his unwavering piety, Brother Lucifer adhered to a solitary discipline known only to himself. Only a select few had glimpsed this secret regimen, elusive even to those who had followed his every step for countless eons.

Solitary would not be said without Brother Lucifer's name being attached to the word. He found solace in his own construction of hallowed sanctuaries. These Majestic Temples of Worship at odd places in Heaven served as his solitary refuge, where he could commune with the divine without the distractions of others. His devotion ignited a spark in other angels, who, inspired by his example, crafted Halls of Artistry. They sculpted countless colossal statues of the Almighty, their grandeur exceeding the limits of mortal imagination.

No one dared step one foot into his havens, they were for Brother Lucifer alone, and death would be upon those who broke that unspoken rule.

Yet there were times he allowed Gabriel to join him during Celestial Meditation in the secluded Garden of Eternal Reflection, a sacred sanctuary hidden deep within the heart of Heaven. Here, amidst the fragrant blossoms and tranquil pools, Brother Lucifer let Gabriel join his silent meditation and prayers. It was one of the highlights of Gabriel's day when his brother was still around.

"Not if he is messing with the descendant of Solomon."

Raphael's voice now had the former rage in it that reminded him of what he came here for, to be in these two insufferable presences. He could barely believe it when one of his spies uttered those words out of their useless mouth. That Lucifer? The Morning Star? His brother who despises Solomon as much as any other angel and the one that would bite another head off if they recklessly touched him even in the rendezvous night at the sacred Eternal Flame at the heart of Heaven where they allowed themselves to let loose for a bit?

It sounds fucking unbelievable, but when they show him a picture of that purple-haired vixen bumping parts with his brother, it sends him off the reels. He kills most of the spies and storms out of his favorite dungeon to here.

"Pardon?" Michael's mismatched eyes bulged, his neck creaking and twitching as he stared up at Raphael in a frenzy of incomprehension, his falsely composed display gone. The mere hint of the truth was liable to send the black-haired Seraph into a rampage and murder them all.

"Are you suggesting..." Gabriel's face, previously etched in stoicism, crumbled into a mask of horror. He couldn't believe the words that had escaped Raphael's lips, but he couldn't shake the realization that was slowly creeping upon him. He desperately wished that the words that came out of Raphael's mouth were nothing more than a cruel jest, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

"I said, he's with the descendant of Solomon, that purple-haired harlot...that traitor....that cheat- That tempting trash!"

It pissed Raphael off even more as he raised his voice volume, veins now appearing on his throat, especially at the reminder of his text with that two-timer. The sheer self-satisfied energy radiating off his phone screen almost makes him fly down to Hell to choke that bitch until her brain pops out of her head himself.

"This is preposterous...impossible..." Michael's jaw hung slack, his eyes wide with disbelief as Raphael's accusations cut through the air like a madman who had just been cheated on. His normally steady stance faltered, replaced by a palpable sense of hysteria that made his body tremble. He stumbled backward, his back colliding with the cold, unforgiving wall as if seeking solace from the onslaught of emotions that threatened to consume him. The wall provided no comfort, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the turmoil raging through his body.

"I'm not joking. I heard her talking about Lucifer, his scar, his... 'thing'," The mere mention of his beloved brother's private part sends shivers down his spine as his voice quivered. The thought of that conniving bitch taking full advantage of the trust Brother Lucifer had placed in her made his blood boil with simmering rage. And that she dared to go against her promise to him as if those moments they shared in the poisonous sky of Hell meant nothing.

"She knows his exact measurements!- You know what, look at this shit yourself!" With a resounding slam that echoed through the room like a thunderclap, he unveiled the damning evidence: a collection of photographs frozen in time, capturing moments of intimate interaction between Lucifer and the individual in question.

The images fell upon the table with a heavy thud, causing the fragile surface to tremble under the weight of their revelation. Despite the force of impact that threatened to shatter the fragile table beneath them, the pictures remained intact, their unspoken truth radiating from their glossy surfaces like a painful revelation begging to be acknowledged.

Michael's face contorted with a ghastly twitch as if he were attempting to conjure laughter, but the sound that escaped his lips was more akin to a hollow echo in the thick, suffocating atmosphere. "Shut up," his mind struggled to piece together the unthinkable truth that lay sprawled before him like a macabre revelation. Denial, a feeble shield against the onslaught of evidence, crumbled before the weight of reality, leaving him quaking.

"I swear before Thrones of Heavenly Majesty I will make her rue the day she even touched him. She corrupted him and brought him over to the side of temptation. God would never-" As Gabriel's solemn vow echoed through the room, the air crackled with the intensity of his conviction, thick with the gravity of impending retribution for the sinner.

His words struck a nerve, exacerbating Michael's fraying composure. The gravity of the situation bore down upon him like a suffocating weight, his anger bubbling to the surface in fervor.

"FUCKING SHUT UP! IT'S NOT REAL! IT'S NOT REAL!" Michael's voice cracked with anguish and insanity, his outburst sending shockwaves through the chamber. In his distress, the chamber was engulfed in an inferno, casting eerie shadows that danced upon the walls. In the distance, the echo of Michael's despair mingled with the desperate prayers and curses of those trapped within the blazing office. The once-orderly chamber had become a scene of utter chaos and destruction.

"O, Almighty Creator," Gabriel's voice trembled with urgency, his words a fervent entreaty to the absent God above. "Grant us clarity in this hour of darkness, illuminate our path with Your divine light."

Meanwhile, Gabriel's attempts at prayer offered little solace as he grappled with the implications of Raphael's revelations.

His murmurs grew more frantic with each passing moment, a desperate attempt to find solace in the face of unsettling truths. "Guide us through this tempest, O Lord, for we are adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Let Your wisdom be our compass, and Your mercy our salvation."

But despite his fervent appeals, only shrieks and flames answer back, echoing throughout Heaven from the burning chamber they're in.

"She said she'd only do that with me..." Raphael’s voice cracked with bitterness, each word laced with venomous resentment. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to contain the seething anger threatening to consume him whole. "...she lied...she lied..."

The weight of betrayal hung heavy in his heart, suffocating him with its oppressive presence. Raphael's chest heaved with each labored breath, his heart aching with the sting of betrayal. "Fucking cheater..." His words dripped with venom, the bitterness of betrayal poisoning his soul.

With a primal snarl, Raphael's control shattered like glass, shards of rage cutting deep into his consciousness. He lashed out blindly, his teeth sinking into the flesh of a passing stupidly brave angel that came to check on the three Seraphs, the taste of blood a bitter reminder of his own foolishness.

"I hate her..." The words escaped his lips in a guttural growl, each syllable dripping with raw fury. His grip tightened around the angel's trembling form, nails digging into flesh as he sought to vent his pent-up rage on an unwitting victim.

"I'm not sloppy seconds..." Raphael's voice cracked with rage, his crimson eyes ablaze like a firestorm. He tore into the angel's flesh with savage ferocity, his actions a grotesque display of his inner turmoil. "...I'm no side bitch!"

Boom!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Hm?", in the dim recesses of his grandiose office, Lucifer, who was engrossed in his craftsmanship of carving the statue of the divine, lifted his gaze from his artistic endeavor by the sudden but subtle yet discernible disturbance in the island above the sky of Hell.

His pure white eyes shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Despite the plaster and pigments that adorned his once-pristine garments save for his bloody back that had his broken wings. His form radiated a timeless beauty, marred only by the grim expression on his handsome visage.

The sensation he felt was like a creeping up from above, like a ripple in the placid waters of a celestial lake.

'What are those three getting angry at right now?'

Raon, who was perched upon the plush velvet couch that adorned his office, her tall form immersed in the pages of an ancient tome, looked up swiftly at Lucifer's voice, a rare occurrence after hours of silence.

Once she raised her gaze from the text, her curious eyes meeting Lucifer's form with silent inquiry. Normally, she would wait until Lucifer is willing to tell her what is on his mind, but currently, she is bored and needs a break after reading several magic grimoires Lucifer gave her and practicing with them for almost a whole day.

'Let's just hope he will at least give me a short answer.'

"Um, Lucifer, is there something wrong?" Raon's voice, soft and tentative, carried a note of concern as she awaited his response, her gaze fixed unwaveringly upon him.

Lucifer's answer was measured, his words carrying the weight of foreboding. "I feel there's a disturbance. There would be a storm soon," he left out the part that it was most likely his brothers being angry about something again.

"Is it related to the angels?" Yet the young woman still managed to catch onto the hidden message, her question not directed at ordinary angels but at his brothers as she nervously tightened her grip on her grimoire.

Lucifer nodded solemnly. "Very likely," he confirmed. His gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon but his voice relaxed to ease the lady's tension as he contemplated the unfolding events in the celestial realm.

"Oh, then I will get back to my training-", with a subtle shift of his form, he turned his attention back to Raon, his gaze meeting hers with a serene intensity as he stood up to clean himself with a swipe of his finger. He tidied himself with a cleaning spell and put his tools and statues back into their orderly places without doing so himself physically—a casual display of his magic that Raon wishes to get to one day.

"It's fine," Lucifer assured her, his tone gentle yet authoritative. "Let's take a rest. Care to join me for a walk to the observatory room?" Quietly, he held out his right arm for her to hold on to if she wanted to accompany him.

Raon's heart fluttered at the invitation, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to contain her excitement. "Really? I-I mean, of course! Please lead the way." Her words spilled forth in a rush of eagerness, her eyes shining with anticipation as she rose from her seat and she excitedly but carefully walked over to Lucifer's spot.

As Raon raised her gaze, a silent query lingering in her eyes, she studied the handsome devil's countenance for the slightest hint of unease. Finding none, she shyly reached out and clasped his arm, a silent agreement passing between them. Together, they embarked on a leisurely stroll, the pace unhurried yet purposeful.

Lucifer, typically swift in his movements, slowed his steps to accommodate Raon, pausing whenever she expressed a desire to linger and marvel at the exquisite white blossoms that adorned Paradise Lost, a sight reserved only for the privileged few. The air was filled with a sense of tranquility and reverence as they meandered through the garden, each step bringing them closer to their destination, yet allowing them to savor the beauty that surrounded them. Unbothered by the chaos that is currently exploding in Heaven.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb worldbuilding #whb michael #whb gabriel #whb raphael #whb lucifer #whb mc #minors dni #these 3 are so silly/jk #i will act like the christmas event didn't happen and just let mc girlbossing in another way #let homegirl be magical #lucifer is literally God's first fan boi #guess who these three got there habits from #it would be funny if lucifer was the wild one that contain himself to be a role model to his brothers but it failed anyway #they still love him tho and that is all it matter

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finchly-tintinnabulation · 1 month ago

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- Scout's Honor -

Original Ultramarine (Aristaeus) x GN!Reader

Next>>

Tags: Dubious consent, space marine not knowing his own strength (blood), rutting behaviors, gets a bit spicy but the clothes stay on

First time posting my writing here as a newer WH40k fan (and possibly my first time writing 2nd person), this one being heavily inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond's The Bellowing, @jaghatai-khock's Rutting Season, @kit-williams's Space Marine Husbandry Bonds, and general rut/bond dynamics. This will probably become a series oops

- - -

The 10th company barracks had been unusually quiet for days with the absence of the more experienced scout squads, those who were no longer neophytes with the completion of their bio-augmentation but lacked the rank of battle-brother, still on the proving grounds of combat. With your assigned squadrons away, you had to admit it was a lot more boring to walk the halls performing your duties.

You were not the most efficient or devout serf, and while that quality had protected you by keeping your head down upon the slaver ship, you had worried your rescuers would not take so kindly to those qualities. To your surprise, however, you found your place serving the Scions of Ultramar to be comfortable. Even if the recruits had forgotten whatever previous human life they had, they were rowdy and playful as any young man would be, and the centuries old officers were of a patient temperament. Listening to the chatter of the Astartes was the most interesting part of your day, their jests and discipline alike.

There were only a handful of neophytes milling about and polishing their armor, so you decided to take advantage of most of the company’s absence to clean the barracks without getting underfoot. The thing that may have tipped you off to something out of the ordinary was the lack of other serfs as well, but at the time you paid it no mind, especially when there was nobody to fuss at you for not wanting to haul around a stepladder to reach the corners of Astartes-sized living quarters.

Room to room you scrubbed away the soot left from long hours of burning candles and incense, climbing precariously up onto the edges of cots to wipe film from the walls and ceilings. Humming to yourself let you pass the time in peace, methodically going about your work and restocking incense where it was needed.

That was until you were reaching up for a particularly stubborn stain and you were suddenly crushed to the wall you were supporting yourself against with the force of being run over by a tank.

Your head smacked hard against the metal and your knees buckled, eyes watering as white hot pain shot through your nose, some huge growling mass huffing hot breaths into your ear. Panic quickly overtook you, uselessly squirming against the beast enveloping your form. Defying an angel would surely get you punished, but that didn’t cross your mind when acrid animal fear clouded your thoughts.

“Hey! Down!” You barked with all the air that hadn’t been pressed out of your lungs, tone scolding and authoritative with the memory of your family’s dogs from long ago. To your shock, it seemed to work. The weight retreated and you crumpled to your knees on the cot, heart jackrabbiting as you turned to see what manner of creature had jumped on you like prey.

A scout marine perched on the edge of the bunk, still clutching your calves and looking like he’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, apparently freshly showered judging from his wet hair and fatigues. How someone so large could ambush you so silently was no longer a mystery. You recognized him as a member of Sergeant Telion’s squad though his name escaped you, a familiar face as one of the men whose belongings you tended to, a sniper with no small amount of talent praised for his composure and calmness. And you were in his room.

“Oh sh— I’m so sorry, my sincerest apologies sir— my lord angel, I must excuse myself—“ Frantically you looked to the floor for the rest of your cleaning supplies to grab and make a break for it, but your plans were halted by a loud, forlorn whine.

The scout’s brown eyes were huge and wet, taking on a glassy quality from shame and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Some unfocused desperation as he looked pleadingly up at you, his hands retreating to give your ankles a squeeze.

“Uh— easy, there… I’m not mad.” More than a little bewildered, you ever so slowly turned to sit on the cot to face the man, feeling a twinge at the pathetic look on his face as if he hadn’t just pounced on you. Did he want to be comforted or something?

Just as slowly you reached out, and things were a bit more clear when he met your hand halfway by leaning in to nuzzle against it, chuffing happily. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity. Sure, there was some arguably pack-like behavior amongst the squadrons, but this marine was practically a puppy.

“That’s it, you’re okay.” Petting his damp scruffy crew cut, you listened to what could be mistaken for the distant rumble of thunder grow into a purr that vibrated through your whole body. You thought that perhaps you had appeased the beast for a moment before he climbed up onto the cot and into your space, shoving his face into yours with superhuman speed.

Lips and tongue intruded on your mouth and nose, making you sputter in shock as the scout lapped at your face, making you taste something metallic. You gasped and tried to wipe away the saliva, making the marine retreat long enough for you to see him lick blood off his teeth. Where did… oh, your nose had been bleeding from the impact. Fuck.

“Is this your way of saying sorry? Hey, gentle.” Gingerly scratching at his scalp, the licking eased up to something more like dog kisses on your cheek as the scout crowded his way practically into your lap. Fear almost entirely forgotten, there was something pleasant about the warm solid presence once again pinning you in place. “…Good boy.”

Physical affection was something you assumed to be a thing of the past. There was little time for it amongst the serfs when so much was taken up by work and prayer, you couldn’t help but bask in it even as the scout shifted to practically laying on top of you, wrapping his arms around your chest. Warmth and presence and deep breathing, comforts you had almost forgotten.

The marine’s warm tongue traveled downwards, lingering on your jaw before his face was abruptly stuffed into the crook of your neck, drawing a breathless and undignified yelp from your throat. Lips and teeth sank into your trapezius, undoubtedly worrying dark marks into your skin between desperate huffs of hot breath. That also drew your attention to his meaty thighs straddling yours, and the jerky movement of his hips.

How would this look? Remembering yourself and your station you wriggled experimentally, breath ragged and face heating from the movement and teasing mouth. It was no use; there was no escape from underneath a fully grown Astartes. If you called out for someone to get this brute off there was a good chance of you being implicated, possibly blamed as some sort of corrupting force to the future of the Ultramarines. It was probably best to ride out the scout’s affections.

Honestly… in that moment you didn’t quite feel like complaining. Touch starvation could be a potent thing, and despite his size and weight the marine held you tenderly, his body enveloping yours in warmth and the smell of fresh linens and something… strange and syrupy. Your head spun, small clipped groans slipping from between your teeth as the man atop you bit and sucked the flesh between his, the ache it left feeling tingly and… pleasurable. There was a heat low in your gut, the friction of your trousers rubbing against his becoming dizzying.

You hadn’t been touched like this in so long… sweet purring sent a rumble through your chest that made your limbs feel numb… you couldn’t properly clamp down on the noise you made as his hand pressed down on your stomach…

“Aristaeus, what do you have?” The scout froze, finally pulling away from your neck to cover you with his body, apparently trying to hide you from the booming voice about where you remembered the open doorway being. “Let me see.”

A drawn out whine reverberated through your chest but his mass retreated, allowing you to tip your head back and try to make out the fuzzy upside down figure behind you.

“Se-Sergeant…?” You croaked, blinking dazedly as you recognized the elderly Astartes. He raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose

“Brother Aristaeus, give them to me.” Another whine. Despite the terrifying sensation of being caught, you realized the tone Sergeant Telion used; handling a disobedient dog. “Now, please.”

The weight holding you in place lifted at the same moment you were grabbed by the back of your tunic and hauled into the air, carried away by a speed walking and very miffed Scout Sergeant.

“I’m— I’m sorry my lord, I was cleaning the scouts’ quarters and—“

“Were you not told?” Sergeant Telion muttered, fixing you with his mechanical eye.

“Told what? I mean, no sir— my lord, I wasn’t.” You floundered, limp as a scruffed kitten.

Telion sighed wearily, pushing open the door to what you vaguely remembered to be the debriefing room. “To stay out of sight.” He set you on the table to better fix you with his stare, steady and unwavering as any master marksman would be.

“…No, lord angel. I was unaware I wasn’t permitted to go about my duties as usual. Most of the serfs here are— what I mean to say is, I may not be inundated with everything, as I arrived a few months ago.” Undoubtedly there were already marks blooming on your neck that the Sergeant had seen, but you clasped a hand over your throat, self conscious and feeling just as trapped as if he had been holding you there.

“Mm. I will have to discuss this with the Master of Reconnaissance. Unfortunate, we haven’t had such complications for a while.” Stroking his beard, Telion began to turn away.

“Please my lord, I apologize for any complications I have caused, forgive my transgressions!” Complications. Ice ran down your spine as you imagined any number of punishments you could face, clasping your hands to try and disguise your trembling. Going back to the Drukhari was a preferable fate to becoming a servitor.

“It’s alright, this is the result of oversight, not you.” His bushy white brows furrowed. “Although I regret to inform you that your role as a serf will be changing. A first rut bond must not interfere with training.”

#warhammer 40k #my writing #fanfic #x reader #gn reader #ultramarines #aristaeus #space marine x reader #ultramarine x reader

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aloysiavirgata · 4 months ago

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Skinner POV on post-S5 MSR. I trust this to no hands but yours, empress.

It was in Baltimore. Kidnapping victim, some Congressman’s girlfriend dredged from the Harbor and up they all went, silent and shifty in a big Bureau Suburban.

***

He’s been touching Scully obscenely for years, Mulder has, but what’s always shocked Skinner is that Scully lets him. Her femme-fatale looks and her clear willingness to pistol whip the disrespectful have left him a bit at sea with her tolerance for Mulder’s wayward hands and gazes.

Mulder, like a half-trained Weimaraner. Mulder endlessly sprawling and sniffing and hunting and brilliant and exhausting.

Scully, like a tortoiseshell cat. Scully with half-lidded topaz eyes and eternal, quiet patience.

***

They’re dockside at the USS Constellation, Scully squinting with her hand curved along her brow. Mulder’s obnoxious black Burberry trench flapping like some kind of bespoke fruit bat. Mulder’s rich-kid arrogance.

Scully crouches over the weighted net the girl was wrapped in. There’s a clump of hair snarled in the mesh; it has been cut away to release the body. The girl floats upwards like a mermaid in a nightmare, crab-gnawed and a marbled green.

Mulder wrinkles his nose.

Scully’s hair more stylish now, Scully’s suits trimmer and her blouses more fitted. Everything about her is sleeker and shinier and more polished. She is beautiful, astonishingly beautiful, and it startles him sometimes that she should choose such a small life. That she should choose Mulder, frankly.

Mulder kneels beside her like a dark guardian angel. He skims a hand over her head nearly too fast to see. He thumbs her scrimshaw clavicles, her fine jaw.

Skinner knows, in an abstract sense, that Mulder is beautiful too; that Scully is justified. He still, in his deepest heart, does not feel that Mulder is justified.

He’d traded himself for her life that once because he was a Marine, because she is a rare creature, because he and Mulder had made her thus. Because, on more than one lonely night, he’d flashed on her white throat and bee-stung mouth behind his clenched lids.

Shamed, looks away from them, into the west.

***

He’s in love with Scully in a chivalric way. He’d lay his coat over a mud puddle for her ridiculous shoes. He’d challenge someone to a duel for her honor. But he couldn’t do what Mulder does; he couldn’t love her properly while she weeps and bleeds and dies of a thousand tiny cuts.

Couldn’t bury her daughter and keep sane.

Scully sighs, thumbs half a Subway bag from the corpse’s melting face.

***

The ME’s office at Penn and Pratt, because rank beats jurisdiction, because Skinner commandeered the decomp room when Scully asked. Scully’s regal face like the prow of that ship, Scully’s hair like Diogenes’s lantern.

Her hands like pale garden spiders moving lightly over the body, her steady voice speaking as he and Mulder watched and listened.

The girl was pregnant. Of course she was pregnant, of course she -

Mulder’s hand at Scully’s Bettie Page waist, somehow sinuous even in those boxy scrubs. Scully flinches, breathes, proceeds.

Scully dying, hypovolemic, hating him. Scully translucent as the votive candles she surely lights in her dark church, pale and flickering and full of temporary light.

Skinner looks upwards, at the cheap paneled ceiling, at the bad fluorescent light. He looks at the way Mulder’s hand is spread across her back with only support and not an ounce of possessiveness. He realizes, then, that it has never occurred to Mulder that Scully could belong to anyone else.

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #msr #prompt #inbox #autopsy #3rd person pov #walter skinner

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nightunite · 29 days ago

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oh i just remembered a question! thoughts on the two main weirdos meeting for the first time? by that i mean fuckass mohawk duke johnny and executioner veiled baron konig? first thought was in some kind of party in duke johnny's estate since konig is more reclusive. maybe maid!reader is part of the serving crew on the sides?

(ty for the acknowledgment in the master post btw. i feel honored 💖💖💖)

-- 📖

Of course, my lil anon! You guys help me feel confident enough to post this!

I love the way you described both of them, and I like the idea but I'm gonna tweak it slightly (gonna save that serving crew idea for latter inspiration though, it's tasty!)

Without further ado, the first time Konig and Johnny 'meet':

The first time Konig makes an appearance in high society, he goes only because he is forced to, a demand upon his station to at least pretend to be interested in the comings and goings of his fellow nobles. He would rather do anything else than show his 'face' at a gala in the heavy heat of the summer evening, but needs must and all that.

He sticks to the edge of the venue, a drink in hand he sneaks small sips of when the prying eyes of onlookers find something else to gawk at besides the shrouded foreign man against the wall. Besides the shroud, the ordinary pattern of his attire leaves him almost underdressed compared to the more lavish coats of the higher ranking nobles. Black on black on white, the uniformity broken up only by his pristine shirt. He cares not for his fashion, merely that it actually fits him and lets him move without fearing he busts a seam. His attendant, his head maid Annika, stands primly at his side, her dress simple as well, something light but not scandalous, a midnight blue that she has always found pretty.

"Duke Price is at the table with the amaryllis, my lord." She whispers to him, his eyes finding the man and assigning a face to the name, a short nod from him following. The only downside to refusing to mingle is not knowing who is who when encountering them directly. He much prefers letters.

"On his left is Earl Garrick, and on his right is Marquess Riley" Konig found his lip curling at the last name, a scoff hissed out under his fabric.

He had heard much about this group of men, notably that of Marquess Riley. All single men with rumors abound, albeit Earl Garrick had the cleanest reputation. Duke Price was of a middling ground, nothing unexpected of the typical blue-blood, but Marquess Riley...

Now there was a man he would sooner spit on than do business with.

These men made up a roving bachelor group, some silly name of the one-for-one or something like that. Always loyal to one another, dealing with one generally meant dealing with all four. And speaking of the fourth member-

"Oh, my lord! How do you come up with these tales?"

Looking further to his right, past the milling aristocracy, he spots an unruly head of hair attached to an equally unruly man. His outfit bold, colors vibrant and the cut of his clothes the latest in season. He holds a young lady's gloved hand in his, dark blue eye closing in a wink at her while she fans herself.

Ah yes, Duke MacTavish. The infamous flirt and eccentric elite. Boisterous and charming, his name on the lips of every woman both princess and penniless. Yet to be tied down, even his staff finds him more boyish than strange, the ladies cheeks rosy when speaking of how his arms looked that day when they passed him in the market.

Konig settles in to watch the men as they all gather at a table while he remains settled in his alcove, no desire to try and force conversation or, he shudders, try and find a lady to court. No, he'll stay right here and watch the festivities.

And watch he does. All through the night, he watches as his 'fellows' cheer and dance and drink themselves merry, spreading inane gossip and chittering about the latest trends. Annika alternates between wandering the floor and making idle chat, referring to herself as a dear friend of his to sidestep her profession, and returning to his side with whatever bits of information she found useful. Part of it he knows is simply because she loves to gossip, always one for a good scandal, and the other part is to protect him and his place in life.

His eyes mainly remain on the quartet though, an interesting set of men. Garrick is fine he supposes, Konig mostly losing track of him compared to the others, alongside Price who for his part stays in one place, rarely standing to dance unless directly asked. Riley he watches preen and bask in the presence of the shy, young ladies who hover around him, hoping he will be who asks them for the next turn round the floor. The sight makes him grind his teeth slightly, and so he turns his gaze elsewhere lest his mood take a more severe downturn.

MacTavish is an entirely different sort of beast, one so loud in all sense of the word that he couldn't ignore him if he tried. Laughter follows the man as he weaves his way around the room, making sure to fluster every woman in his path, including any staff he sees ensuring the night remains joyful. Yes, Konig watches, hand putting more pressure on his glass though taking care not to shatter it, as Duke MacTavish works his charm like it's his profession.

It leaves him feeling mildly ill, all too reminded of events back home, before he earned his position in full. A man content to play with women like keys on the piano, all while bearing an innocent smile as though he is not to blame should they become hurt by him and his fickle nature.

With a sigh as he watches Duke MacTavish find his dozenth partner to dance, he sets down his glass and steps from his place of peace, studiously ignoring the way those closest to him startle when realizing he hadn't left yet. Annika follows behind him, bits of information concerning business and drama tucked away as they make their way into their carriage, the first to leave. He helps her up and into her seat before climbing in himself.

"Well, not bad for a first outing." She says in their native tongue.

"No, just disappointing. I suppose no matter the land, all nobles walk the same trails." With a gentle knock to the roof of the carriage, the wheels begin to turn, and they make their way back to the estate.

#Baron Konig AU

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sweetcherrybmb · 8 months ago

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HARMONIES // DR3\\ part two

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x doctor!reader

Summary: Over a break in Croatia, Daniel falls in love with the ... culture...

faceclaim: Maria Rutkis; various pinterest girls

doctor_y/n posted a story

danielricciardo posted a story

klapa_lanterna

liked by user1, danielricciardo and 23,747 others

klapa_lanterna In the past few years, a lot has changed... Our voices went from pitchy to pitch perfect and our hair color has done a 360... But our passion has never lessened. At 14, we dreamed of coming on this stage and preforming with others, at the time, way above our rank... And now, we out-did them. 7th year in a row of being Regional champions, going for our 5th national! Thank you everyone for staying by us for all these years and supporting us till the end!

See ya'll soon in Split for the National Accapella competition!! <3

user1 ughh, you guys are so perfect, wish I could come and see you guys live

user2 how do you even know about them, not many people know of our traditional music user1 i found them over y/n y/n's yt and insta, fell in love the moment i heard them user2 finally somebody appreciating our tradition

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danielricciardo

liked by landonorris, klapa_lanterna and 645,116 others

danielricciardo cheers to an amazing evening that was last night! i was honored to meet so many talented people last night as well as everybody else! can't wait to see what the rest of this trip has in store for me

landonorris so you listen to classical music now??

danielricciardo traditional* and might as well, they sound amazing!! landonorris yeah ok, but don't you dare blast it in the paddock

user3 UGHHH, DANIEL RICCIARDO THE MAN YOU ARE

user4 do you need a dog sir?? i can bark

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doctor_y/n

liked by klapa_lanterna, danielricciardo and 522,465 others

doctor_y/n ništa kontra splita

klapa_lanterna lookin' pretty boss!!

doctor_y/n mwah! <3

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danielricciardo

liked by doctor_y/n, landonorris and 985,962 others

danielricciardo checkpoint no.2: Split ☀

user6 DR3 in MY city!? can't wait to meeet youuu!

landonorris you better bring me along next time

danielriccirado sure, mate

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#daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo imagine #doctor!reader #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #social media #social media au

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catboyfics · 1 year ago

Text

How to be a Hunter [part I]

ALRIGHT!!! finally getting this going! I know i've gotten some notes n stuff on my posts for sung jinwoo x m reader so come get your cake (and eat it too, if you want). this is going to be cannon compliant (with maybe a second part) and WILL contain spoilers for solo leveling. I will also be spelling sung jinwoo without the hyphen throughout the fic. hope you enjoy it!!

You're Go Gunhee's grandson, and Korea's only secret S-rank hunter. After his death, you became the assistant of the new President of the KHA so that you could learn about the position you may be succeeding. While helping out, you meet Sung Jinwoo.

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

𝑭𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑴: Solo Leveling

𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮: Sung Jinwoo x m!reader

𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑹𝑬 & 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: fluff, slight angst; male reader; major spoilers, death, slightly ludicrous timing

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺: 4k

The room was somber, silent as people filed in and filled the seats of the table. You sat to the left of the President's chair, the only chair in the room which would stay empty. You fought to keep the tears in your eyes from spilling, needing to stay strong. You could not be suffering at a time like this, a time when the world was in grave danger.

You grandfather's words replayed over and over in your head. 'I would like to pass the KHA on to you, but you need to be ready.' He had said, his crows feet wrinkling sincerely. But you knew that you were not ready.

Finally, the grand doors slammed shut and the room was plunged into silence like no other. A man cleared his throat, the man sitting across from you. The KHA's vice president. His voice sounded out through the room, though it was shaky and filled with sadness.

"The seat of the Korean Hunter's Association has been empty for a week now. Now, we need to choose someone to assume the position. Before we start, I feel it necessary to read out an excerpt of Mr. Go Gunhee's will to honor his wishes. Paraphrasing, it says that he wishes for his grandson, Go (name), to become the next head of the Korean Hunter's Association if Mr. Go (name) feels that he is ready." His voice was unsteady, hands shaky as he lifted the paper from the table. He squinted as he read over the page, his face contorted into the expression of a tortured man.

The eyes of the room turned to you, sitting silently at the table. Nobody was particularly surprised, it seemed, but the Vice President's voice rang out once more.

"Go (name), do you believe that you are ready to take on the responsibility of this position?" He asked, looking you in the eye. You looked up, returning his gaze through your tears. Shaking your head no, you spoke with a hollow voice.

"No, I don't believe that I'm ready." It was quiet, and you weren't sure if the Vice President heard it, but he nodded solemnly.

"If that's the case, I will continue reading the President's will. I'm paraphrasing, but he wishes for Go (name) to act as the assistant for the new President until it seems he is ready. From here, we have the power to choose who will assume Mr. Go Gunhee's position." The man said as he looked around the table, taking in the faces in the room.

"Having an S-rank hunter has been symbolic of the Korean Hunter's Association. Without a central power to control the five big guilds, they will be impossible to regulate." The VP continued.

Another man spoke up, one with a wrinkled face but equally sad eyes. "Are you suggesting that we recruit an S-rank hunter?" He asked, looking warily at the Vice President. "Despite the influence of a top-rank hunter, bringing in an outsider as the Chairman would be dangerous."

The man continued, looking to the man in the seat next to you. "After a thorough discussion, the Board of Directors and I have decided that the next President of the association would be Section Chief Woo Jinchul."

You looked to the man sitting next to you, with long blonde hair and a surprised expression. Despite the Board's decision, he hesitated as he spoke.

"But... why me?"

"Chief Woo Jinchul, as the President's closest advisor and friend in the association, you have been learning firsthand how things work. You have the power to lead the hunters." One of the directors answered.

"There is no rule that the President must be an S-rank hunter, just that he must be someone with influence over the hunters. Someone that the hunters are afraid of.

"As someone who works in the Surveillance Department, arresting hunters and helping regulate, you are the most suitable for the job."

When you looked over at the Section Chief, he seemed very conflicted. You knew of him, but never knew him well. You didn't work in the Surveillance Department, and despite your relationship to your grandfather, you didn't spend much time with him at work.

"In that respect, I am lacking in many ways. I am, by no means, the one in the highest position here, and I am also quite young. You could choose the Vice President, or any of the directors, as well as all the regional directors gathered here today."

He hesitated, glancing at you before lifting his head again and glancing around the room. "Why would you want me to be President Go Gunhee's successor when there are so many here more qualified than I am?"

There was a pause hanging in the air after the Section Chief's words. You felt that the Board of Directors' choice was the right one. From what your grandfather hand told you, he was a very sage and dedicated man, who was only a few years your senior. If he became the President, you felt the KHA would be in good hands.

"The other Directors and I don't have the power to lead the Korea's best hunters, but you do. You have good relationships with the Big Five guilds, and are on good terms with hunter Sung Jinwoo."

There was that name again. Sung Jinwoo. You swore you knew it, and you definitely remembered your grandfather mentioning him a lot, but you didn't remember exactly who he was. You had never been good with names, which was why you didn't end up in the Surveillance Department.

"We may have crossed paths often, but I'm not sure that hunter Sung Jinwoo would feel the same way." The Section Chief interjected, looking down at his hands. He was clearly very affected by your grandfathers death, and you resonated deeply with him.

One of the Directors sighed. "We cannot force our decision on you, but will you please consider this carefully?"

The Section Chief nodded slowly, and the meeting was over.

After the meeting, you ran slightly to catch up to the Section Chief. You had already forgotten his name, but you figured it would be fine if you just addressed him by title.

You tapped him on the shoulder, feeling slightly guilty as he flinched. You spoke quietly, with a somber voice and much respect.

"Section Chief, sir..." You trailed off, finding your words. "I know it is not my place to say this, but I think you would be a good fit as the President of the KHA."

He looked at your gratefully, though you noticed the crease between his brows. To him, you probably seemed like some weak B-rank hunter as it was marked on your Hunter's License. Very few people knew that your grandfather had insisted you keep your true rank a secret.

He thanked you quietly before returning to silence. You hesitated for a second, but walked off in the end. If there was anything more that you wanted to pursue, you would have to wait. So, you exited the KHA building and returned home.

You had been resting at home for a while when the home phone rang. You picked up, hearing the voice on the other end asking for you.

"Yeah, I'm him. What is it that you need?" You asked, a smile in you voice as you tried to be polite.

"This is the Korean Hunter's Association. Please go to the President's office tomorrow at 8:00. Thank you very much." The attendant said before hanging up promptly. You wondered why you had been called, but you planned to go.

You walked into the living room, planning to tell your mother that you would go to work early tomorrow morning when you saw her staring at the TV with tears streaking down her face. On the TV, the Korean news station was talking about the new President of the Korean Hunter's Association.

Woo Jinchul. Your new boss, the one who replaced your grandfather. You didn't know how to feel, but you knew that it was the right decision.

You mother turned around and looked at you, eyes full of betrayal as she pointed at the TV. On the screen was none other than Woo Jinchul, who you'd just been thinking about. Your mother's voice broke through her spilling tears as she cried out.

"They're replacing your grandfather! Replacing him with some useless youngster!"

You tried to calm her down, to console her, but nothing was working. She couldn't understand that Korea would not function if the KHA had no president. She kept babbling about how they were replacing your grandfather, taking away his pride and joy.

You walked back to the house phone, dialing your father's number. You told him what was happening, with your mother, and that you had to go to work tomorrow. Your voice was empty and sad as you spoke, and he only replied with a sigh, muttering a quiet, "okay..." before hanging up.

What had happened spoiled your appetite for dinner, so you told your mother that you were going back to your room from across the house and shut the door heavily behind you.

You needed to think about work, though. It wouldn't be easy, and you would eventually need to reveal that you were actually an S-rank hunter. Now that your grandfather was gone, even fewer people knew your secret. It made you feel guilty using your connections to falsify your rank, but Grandpa had wanted to protect you from a life of publicity. You figured you probably wouldn't have been able to continue your education if it was revealed that you were an S-rank hunter.

The night was, tense. You father eventually came home and comforted your mother, but she was too distraught to do anything but go to bed. You were worried about what would happen at the Association, and you father worried for your mother. It was a night very full of worry.

The morning was hardly any different. You father worried for your mother, enough to stay home from work. Despite your father being Go Gunhee's biological son, your mother had a better relationship with your father's father than your father himself. You, on the other hand, to a shower before forcing on a relatively plain suit. You always hated the Association's dress code, but it was one of the few things Grandpa insisted on.

You didn't live far from the Association, living a few blocks away. You mother always wanted to stay close to Grandpa, and you father worried for his health. It ruined them that even though you were so close, they couldn't do anything to save him before it was too late.

You walked through the summer heat, sweating down your back as you tore your blazer off. It was too hot in the summers to wear suits. After about five minutes of walking, you arrived at the building. You had been going to the Association's building since you were a kid, so it was a very familiar building to you. It felt different, though, now that your Grandfather was no longer there.

You made you way up to the top floor, stepping into the elevator and greeting the people in there. They waved politely, but the ride was otherwise silent. They all got off before you did, hurrying to their respective desks, and eventually, you were alone with your thoughts. Sadness clouded your mind, but you were determined to push through it. You had duties you needed to complete.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, bringing you to the top floor. It consisted mostly of meeting rooms where the Board of Directors would meet, as well as a few higher ups offices. That's also where the President's office was. You walked down the hall, slowly making your way to the very end. As you approached, you lifted your hand to knock on the door, but it swung open without you even touching it.

Standing in the doorway was Woo Jinchul, the new President. You bowed your head to him, greeting him.

"Hello, I am Go (name), your new assistant." You introduced, looking up as he chuckled softly. There were bags under his eyes, though he looked cleaner. His cheeks were hollow, as if he had been forgetting to eat.

"No need for such a formal introduction, welcome in." He said, gesturing for you to follow him. The inside of his office was decorated with a grand desk on one side of the room. In the middle, there was a large table with many seemingly comfortable chairs. He stepped around the table and sat down in one of the chairs at the head of the table, and gestured for you to sit down opposite him.

You sat down, and the man cleared his throat. He crossed his legs and set his hands in his lap.

"As you know, right now, Hunters all over the world are in great turmoil because of the killings of the most powerful hunters. Korea is no different. I will be having a meeting with hunter Sung Jinwoo, and you will be there as my assistant."

You nodded. Sung Jinwoo again. He must've been quite famous if Grandpa and Woo Jinchul both talked about him. Though, there was something else you wanted to ask.

"May I ask what my responsibilities are as your assistant?" Though it seemed simple, you didn't exactly know what your new job entailed. You knew you would be helping out around the KHA, but you didn't know what your explicit responsibilities were.

"Organizing my schedule, speaking with reporters on my behalf when necessary, and giving me advice are mostly it. There are a few other things, but they hardly matter and would make me feel guilty if I had you do them."

It seemed like a rather menial job. You were fine with that, though. There was a reason you didn't want to become a hunter. Thinking about it, though, now that you had finished university, there wasn't anything stopping you. You sighed and shook your head, waving it off when Mr. Woo Jinchul asked you what was wrong.

After a bit more talking about your new job, you discovered you also had an office on the top floor and was lead there. It was a nice office, quite big with a few arm chairs and a nice desk. You thanked the President before he left, and started your day.

It was no wonder he needed an assistant, his calendar was a mess. You had to make a lot of phone calls about timings to clean everything up. After a few hours of work, there was a notification that popped up on your desktop.

"Hunter Sung Jinwoo is arriving in 20 minutes. Please come to Meeting Room #1803 as soon as possible." The email had been sent by Woo Jinchul. You nodded to yourself, planning to go there very soon.

Ah, yes, Hunter Sung Jinwoo. You would Google him. You felt it would be important to know who he was. When the search results did pop up, you were a bit surprised. They said he might be the strongest hunter in Korea. Apparently, he even beat Thomas Andre. You let out a big sigh. You couldn't believe you forgot who he was.

You sat up, turning off your computer and grabbing your blazer from the coat rack by the door before making your way down the hall to the meeting room.

As you stepped inside, you said hello to the President and taking your place behind his chair.

"When he comes in, the front desk will phone the room and I'll need to you get him from the first floor, if you don't mind." You nodded contently as he spoke. You wondered what it would be like to meet him. Despite being with the association, you had never actually met another S-rank hunter except for your grandfather, so you weren't sure how they carried themselves.

Suddenly, the phone rang and you walked over the the small table to pick it up. "This is Go (name) speaking, what do you need?" You asked, expecting that hunter Sung Jinwoo would be arriving.

"Hunter Sung Jinwoo is here. He has an appointment. Can someone come down to pick him up?" The voice on the other end of the phone asked. You nodded, saying that you would be down in a second before nodding meaningfully to Woo Jinchul and making your way to the elevator.

The ride down was quiet, most people working without moving between floors. It was at most a minute before you arrived at the first floor, the elevator doors opening with another ding as you stepped out. You had a clear view of the lobby but you couldn't see the President's guest until you walked further in.

"Hunter Sung Jinwoo, please come with me. I will take you to President Woo Jinchul." You said firmly, seeing a black haired man stand up. He was wearing a black jacket over a pristine white shirt, and a black pair of slacks.

Despite his skinny appearance, his presence was overwhelming. You could hardly breathe standing near him, but you struggled through it. You cleared your throat gently as you started walking to the elevator. You cheeks dusted with pink from embarrassment. You were a grown man, but he still towered over you. You were even an S-rank hunter!

"My name is Go (name), I'm the President's assistant." You introduced, turning towards him but not looking him in the eye. This guy was seriously powerful. It would be difficult to have to be in the elevator with him all the way to the top floor.

He nodded, remaining quiet but for a few words.

"Sung Jinwoo."

You cleared your throat as the elevator doors opened and you stepped inside, looking back to make sure he followed you. You looked up to his eyes and looked down to the floor again, letting out a defeated sigh. You felt his gaze bearing into you and you tried to stammer out something, anything at all.

"Uh, so, um, we're going to meeting room #1803." You forced out, cringing internally at yourself. You had never been good in awkward situations. Hunter Sung Jinwoo must've found you funny, or something, because he looked at you with a strange expression.

After what felt like a lifetime in the empty elevator, the doors finally opened and you hurried to step out. You could feel Hunter Sung Jinwoo's gaze on your back as he followed you, albeit slower. You paced down the hall to the meeting room, almost feeling sick with the amount of power swirling through the air. He followed behind you, not struggling to keep up but wondering why you were walking so quickly.

You emerged through the large wooden door and inhaled a deep breath. Finally, somewhere where he was not. And then, he followed right after you and your mood was soured right again. You gestured to the chair across the from the President before muttering a few words.

"Excuse me." You choked out, footsteps rushing to exit the room and get a break from the power flowing through the air. Finally, as the door shut behind you, you took a deep breath and let the fresh air fill your lungs. So that was Hunter Sung Jinwoo. He seemed to be deserving of the title of 'best hunter'.

After a few seconds standing outside the door, you heard them start talking. So far, it was nothing important, just greetings. They interacted like friends, and you recalled that President Woo Jinchul knew the hunter quite well.

Then, you heard the topic of their conversation shift to you.

"What was up with him? He seemed really uncomfortable?" You heard Sung Jinwoo ask and you cringed. You tried to come off as calm and collected, but you always had trouble around other S-ranks. You found their overflowing power suffocating.

"Oh, Go (name)? He's... sensitive around S-rank hunters." The President answered, hesitating as he came up with a word to describe your aversion to them.

"So he's Mr. Go Gunhee's grandson..." Sung Jinwoo trailed off, the tone of the conversation turning darker with the sorrowful edge to the S-rank's words.

"Yes, but he has been handling the former President's death quite well." Woo Jinchul answered back, managing to maintain his professional air despite the personal turn of the discussion.

Eventually, the conversation turned back away from you and you heaved out a sigh of relief. Even if it wasn't bad, it embarrassed you when people talked about you.

After a few more minutes of waiting, letting yourself recover, you walked back into the room, that overwhelming pressure crushing you again. You choked on a breath but slowly made your way to the wall at the back of the room. President Woo Jinchul turned around to look at you, brows furrowing with concern at your pale face.

"Are you alright?" He said quietly, looking you over to make sure you weren't sick. "If you're sick, it's okay to go home."

You shook your head, leaning down as you answered. "No, I'm alright. Thank you for your concern."

He nodded, though the wrinkle between his brows didn't disappear before returning to his conversation. It wasn't exactly a necessary conversation, more of a cordiality to introduce assets of the KHA to a new President.

It wasn't long before the conversation was over, but during the entire time you had to focus on controlling your breathing with a pale face. The intense pressure in the room that only you seemed to be able to feel pushed the air out of your lungs at every chance it got. You wondered why it never felt this way with your grandfather, despite him being an S-rank. You could still feel his power, but instead of forcing you down, it welcomed you. It felt... like a warm hug.

The power of the other S-rank hunters... whenever you were in the same room as them, it felt as if some otherworldly being was trying to force you to your knees. It was suffocating and engulfed you entirely. You could only withstand it because you, too, were an S-rank.

As the President's guest's footsteps echoed down the hall, you let out a breath.

"So that's Sung Jinwoo, huh?" You chuckled, color slowly returning to your face as you let your eyes close. You were leaned back against the wall, reveling in the weight off your shoulders. It felt like you had been born anew.

Woo Jinchul nodded, smiling gently to himself.

"He's quite something." The man agreed.

"He's incredible. I've never felt an aura like that before." You muttered under your breath, looking up at the ceiling with bewilderment. "As suffocating as it is, I'd like to meet him again."

Then, the President said something that made you pause.

"You know, it's weird that you're so sensitive to power. I've never seen a hunter as sensitive as you are. Even in S-ranks, they can usually only feel it if there's a fight."

You flinched, slightly, chuckling as you scratched at your nose.

"Don't worry about it. It's just some weird anomaly."

He accepted your answer, nodding disappointedly. Before long, you were back in your office, working away at fixing his broken schedule.

Suddenly, a huge influx of calls rang to your phone, overwhelming you. Apparently, a huge gate appeared over the skies of Seoul. You walked to your window, looking up at it with wonder.

You didn't know yet, but you would be seeing a lot of Sung Jinwoo in the coming days.

Whoo! Finally finished. There is going to be a second part of this, and quite possibly a third, but that will come in a while. If you would like me to put you on a tagging list in the coming parts, leave a comment please!

I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. I think I captured Sung Jinwoo's character pretty well, but let me know what you think. I hope you guys like this shot! Remember to drink water!

reblogs > likes <3

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#sung jinwoo #sung jin-woo #sung jinwoo x male reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jin-woo x reader #sung jin-woo x male reader #male reader #x male reader #reader #x reader #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling #solo leveling x male reader

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darlingggdearest · 1 year ago

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Genya and fem!reader who thought his fighting style and determination was really admirable and cool and wants to get to know him more, but everytime she tries, he's just too flustered

Genya with Fem! reader who thinks his fighting style is really cool

OMG I love this so much! thank you for requesting.

WARNING: None! enjoy!

+ You were a demon slayer, just one rank lower than Genya. Genya had always caught your attention, from the way he looked to the way he held himself. One thing in particular caught your eye though, the way he fought.

+ You had tried to become friends with him a multitude of times. Finding him cool and admirable for the way he fights, but whenever you tried to walk up to him to introduce yourself, he'd walk away.

+ At first you thought he hated you, what you didn't realize is that the exact opposite was true. he'd run away from the sight of you not because he hated you, but because he really liked you. He liked you a bit too much, and in the world of the demon slayer, liking someone in a sense more than friendship is emotional suicide. He knew this, so it was ok right? He just had to keep his distance and- DAMN IT- you are too damn persistent!! He saw your figure emerging from the trees again. That damn perfect figure. With that damn perfect smile. And that damn perfect hair. And- he stopped his thoughts. BE GONE YOU AND YOUR PELVIC SORCERY. (I really hope people get that reference)

+ You waved your hand in the air. "Hey, Genya! What are you talking about?"

+ His face heat up, great- he accidentally said it out loud. To save what was left of his dignity, he turned around and hightailed it out of there. And that's what he kept doing, for a while.

+ Until you guys got paired up on a mission.

+ Now he couldn't run away, so instead, he came up with the best option he could think of: staying perfectly silent. That lasted about 15 minutes.

+ You started the conversation by telling him your name (he already knew because he asked his older brother about you) and he mustered up the confidence to shake your hand. Your skin felt so soft and warm to the touch, he defiantly held onto your hand a good 2 seconds longer than he should have, embarrassed, he overthought it the rest of the day.

+ The mission went well, after a few hours of fighting, the demon's head came off with a satisfying slice. And you got to see Genya fighting up close, which is always a good thing.

+ You felt overexcited from all the fighting, adrenalin most defiantly still flowing through your veins. So without thinking you let all of the things you had thought of Genya out. The way you thought he was so cool for fighting with a gun and a sword, the way he holds himself, and of course the "I am so honored to be able to fight by your side Genya!" At the end of your rant you had to take a big deep breath, realizing you hadn't been breathing through any of it. You look up, Genya stares back.

+ He is in complete shock. He had no idea that you thought these things about him. He feels proud? Embarrassed? Happy? Flustered? oh yes most defiantly flustered. His blush has not only causes a sheet of sweat across his face but it also stretches down his back and chest, even his fingers are blushing a bright crimson glow. His stomach is doing cartwheels. He can't quite focus on anything but you. Right now. Right in front of him. One side of him would do anything to not be in this moment, and the other would do anything to be in this moment forever. Both are fighting to the death inside of him. And before the second side could claim its victory, Genya faints.

+ He wakes up in a bed at the butterfly mansion with you sitting right next to him.

+ "Oh! You're awake!" you exclaim. "Shinobu said you'll be fine, it was just a tumble, she thinks that you stretched yourself too thin during the battle and you just need to get some rest."

+ That's it. He's excepted his defeat. He loves you. And now he's in trouble.

Should I post a part two??

#genya x reader #genya kny #genya shinazugawa #genya headcanons #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer headcanons #kny #hashira #kimetsu no yaiba #shinazugawa brothers

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rosethornewrites · 4 months ago

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 25-6

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations, Self-Sacrifice, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi, Bugs & Insects, Adoption, Ancestors, Ancestor Veneration, Golden Core Reveal, Top Lan Wangji | Lan Zhan/Bottom Wei Wuxian | Wei Ying, First Time Blow Jobs, Multiple Orgasms, Switching, sex-related injury, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Stays at the Burial Mounds, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī is a Wèi, Good Sibling Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming Niè Huáisāng, Disabled Character, somnophilia

Summaries: The swearing of brotherhood and other fluff. Their guests leave, and they get started on the next phase of the plan.

Notes: See end of each chapter

AO3 links: 25 | 26

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

---------------

While his husband and son sleep, Lan Wangji tidies the alcove, putting anything unnecessary into a qiankun pouch for storage. While true cleaning would be more involved, with walls and ceiling stone and the floor dirt-covered stone it is impractical at best. He then settles with another bundle of Wei Ying’s notes, deciphering the messy tangles of thought in rather the same way he tidies Wei Ying’s oft-tangled hair.

He knows Wei Qing expects that he stay close to support Wei Ying, and he’s rather relieved to have an excuse not to need to be present as Jin Zixuan is shown the evidence of his sect’s crimes, as well as the reasons Wei Ying wields resentful energy. Jiang Yanli’s husband is an honorable man, and will no doubt respond favorably, but he doesn’t want to see pity for Wei Ying, or have it directed somehow at him, as though his marriage and Wei Ying himself are somehow lesser for his husband’s suffering. It may well be different; he was stationed elsewhere during the war and thus has little personal knowledge of the Jin heir, but he well remembers the many slights against Wei Ying by ranking members of the Jin sect.

Lan Wangji knows the reactions—the way people look at him differently and Wei Ying’s own swirled mess of emotions about the decision to give Jiang Wanyin his core, is likely why his husband kept it secret. He can’t regret urging him to tell his brother, though, not with Wei Ying looking physically healthier than he has the entire time he’s been here, and that transformation in part because of it, but he wishes others would see Wei Ying for the wonder, the genius he is.

Wei Ying is the first to stir, snuffling a bit in his sleep, and Lan Wangji waits quietly for him to fully wake. When he does, his eyes search the alcove before settling on him, and Lan Wangji is pleased that his husband relaxes upon seeing him.

“You’re probably the only person who could decipher my terrible calligraphy,” Wei Ying says after a moment, his voice fond. “Even me—I think I’ve finished more of my projects because you rewrite my notes!”

While Wei Ying is correct, Lan Wangji knows he is distracting himself from A-Yuan from the way he glances at the boy, as though afraid they might wake him, and afraid that he’ll still be terrified when he wakes. In truth, he is as well, and he’s not certain they have the ability to help their son, short of simply being with him and helping him feel safe. Wei Qing, being a healer, may have more expertise to share later.

“You no longer fail to sleep and forget to eat. You needed balance,” Lan Wangji responds, allowing the distraction for the moment, “and I am happy to help my husband in any way.”

Wei Ying blushes, and he realizes his husband has caught on to his ploy of tiring him with sex to ensure he sleeps.

He is very happy to help him with that, to be fair, even if it wasn’t what he meant this time.

“You bully,” he murmurs, his face flushed fetchingly and what Lan Wangji hears is ‘I love you.’

He can see there are things Wei Ying can never bring himself to say, too affected by sentiment, but he knows anyway. Lan Wangji knows his husband likes to be cared for, that for him physical acts of affection are important, though the words are too much. He knows Wei Ying also likes to show love in this way, giving him what trinkets he can make himself, such as the carved bunny guan, but also with the nontraditional dowry of his talisman inventions, wanting him to feel his worth equivalent to Xiongzhang’s gift of money.

When Wei Ying beckons, Lan Wangji is happy to set aside the work he has done and join him and their son, aware that A-Yuan will likely be fragile when he wakes, that their presence may help him feel safe. Neither of them know how the boy will react, given his earlier terrified meltdown, or whether he can handle the sight of Jin Zixuan even without the zhushazhi.

In truth, Wei Ying also likely needs him, already frazzled as he was with being bared as he was, not only to those visiting the Burial Mounds, but also to all of the jianghu through the yuefu.

Lan Wangji can offer little more than his presence to his husband and son, and hopefully that is enough.

A-Yuan murmurs unintelligibly when Lan Wangji joins them, sandwiching him between them, his sleep momentarily disturbed by the movement, but he doesn’t stir immediately. While they wait, Wei Ying leans his head against his husband’s chest and whisper-babbles about new ideas for inventions, distracting himself as best he can, and Lan Wangji is happy to listen.

Eventually their son wakes, letting out a sound of protest at leaving slumber and burrowing adorably into the area between them. He flails as he wakes enough to remember the circumstances under which he fell asleep, crying about the bad man.

“I’m here, Baobei, you’re safe, I promise,” Wei Ying murmurs, stroking his hair comfortingly. “And your baba won’t let anything happen either. That’s Guma’s husband, remember, the good one I told you about?”

The look A-Yuan gives them is full of doubt, and then he scrambles toward the end of the bed.

“Guma and Popo and Gugu and Bobo—” he rambles, clearly afraid for their safety before pitching off the bed, kept from hitting the hard floor only by Lan Wangji’s quick reflexes.

“Bobo will protect them, and Qing-jie has needles,” Wei Ying tells him, not able to help an involuntary shudder. “No one can beat her and her needles, and I pity the fool who tries.”

A-Yuan still looks uncertain, and Lan Wangji lifts him into his arms.

“We will join everyone shortly, after we straighten your clothing and hair, and you will see they are safe, A-Yuan,” he says, keeping his tone calm and measured.

The boy considers that before nodding—he still looks worried, but he allows them to tidy his hair and put him in new robes, these more formal than the disciple robes, more ornate in a way that seems appropriate for the sworn siblinghood that will hopefully occur.

“He listens to you more than me!” Wei Ying exclaims, looking oddly delighted.

Wei Ying nearly leaves the alcove in his underrobes, stopped only by Lan Wangji, and they find his prior robes marred by snot from A-Yuan’s earlier meltdown. His husband points out he is also similarly afflicted, and they both change, Lan Wangji donning a soft blue robe from the qiankun pouch Xiongzhang brought, while Wei Ying selects another robe Jiang Wanyin sent from his wardrobe, a black robe with purple accents that make it appear as though it shimmers in the dim light of the cave. They tidy each other’s hair, Lan Wangji gently combing Wei Ying’s to some semblance of smooth after his nap, A-Yuan helpfully pointing out places it’s mussed. Wei Ying sighs when he straightens his crown, and Lan Wangji recognizes that this is a day where the hair sits heavy on his head and he would be more comfortable in a braid.

“I will braid your hair tonight,” he murmurs, and Wei Ying pulls him close to share a kiss.

When they rejoin the others in the main hall, they find them all waiting, the positive atmosphere implying Jin Zixuan’s answer, and Lan Wangji lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The swearing of siblinghood will take place shortly, offering Wei Ying and the people here more protection.

A-Yuan hides behind them, peering out at Jin Zixuan suspiciously, and it’s clear the man can tell the boy is still frightened of him and is unsure of what to do; were they in Yiling market, he could do as Lan Wangji had and buy him toys, but the Burial Mounds don’t offer such luxuries. He would recommend such a recourse, and has no doubt Jin Zixuan will send many toys for A-Yuan if he thinks it would help.

Jin Zixuan generally looks overwhelmed, and he’s not quite able to look at Wei Ying, which is preferable to looking at him with pity—his husband does not regret giving Jiang Wanyin his jindan, but he doesn’t like to be seen as piteous, even as he suffers still.

Nie Huaisang takes it upon himself to greet A-Yuan and give him another fan, distracting him by telling him about the motif, and then he manages to coax the boy to sit near him and his brother, who immediately sets the boy on his lap.

“Wei-xiong, Wei-xiong, your shijie brought her whole wedding banquet for later!” the Nie heir exclaims once A-Yuan is settled, ever the one for distraction.

Jiang Yanli giggles at Wei Ying’s incredulous expression.

“It’s not the banquet itself, but I cooked the same dishes for all of you so you can celebrate with A-Xuan and me. It just wasn’t right without my Xianxian.”

Though nothing can make up for missing the wedding, Lan Wangji can see how overcome his husband is by her attempt to bring the wedding feast here to the Burial Mounds.

Jiang Yanli comes to Wei Ying and hugs him, tweaking his nose in a way that makes him laugh.

“Let’s do the ceremony, and then you must call me Jiejie,” she says. “Wei Qing will be Dajie.”

Wei Qing nods in acknowledgement, clearly trying not to smile at their interaction and failing, then tweaks her own brother’s nose almost experimentally, laughing as he blinks, startled.

“It will be a chore to look after our collective didimen,” she says in a voice of exaggerated long-suffering, and Jiang Yanli giggles.

“And yet a fulfilling one,” she adds with a smile, her eyes twinkling even in the dim light. “This meimei will seek to learn from her jiejie.”

Wei Qing can’t hold back a chuckle, looking surprised at herself, to the amusement of Wei Ying.

“Wangji’s sworn siblings are, of course, mine as well,” Xiongzhang announces.

To Lan Wangji’s surprise and relief, Nie Mingjue agrees.

“A-Sang’s as well. You may call me Dage.”

“And me, Erge. We cannot speak for A-Yao on the matter...”

An uncomfortable silence falls, the reminder that Jin Guangyao may be complicit in the treatment of the former Wen. Jin Zixuan looks particularly unsettled, and Lan Wangji has the uncomfortable feeling he knows the identity of the smiling man that one of the remnants mentioned as having taken people who never returned. He hopes the man was doing the right thing, but he’s learned not to assume the best of people.

Nie Huaisang clears his throat and gestures to the decor, as though to remind them of the reason for their gathering. By this time, the new Wei clan has trickled in to serve as witnesses, tired from their day in the fields but also likely from reliving the trauma of the camps for Jin Zixuan, and there isn’t room for concern about Jin Guangyao.

While they no longer need the harvest, the idea of wasting the food is an anathema after going without for so long, and so they will cultivate this crop and discuss the future afterward. The radishes can be given to the needy in Yiling, if nothing else.

When Popo arrives, A-Yuan leaves the safety of Nie Mingjue’s lap to run to and cling to her, clearly still affected by his own reliving of trauma. She smiles sadly and sits down with the boy, letting him climb into her lap.

The ceremony is made elegant by the bunting and newly-hung lanterns, otherwise a simple swearing to the heavens and earth to honor and cherish each other as siblings, never to be rent asunder. As they bow, Lan Wangji is filled with relief that they have finally reached this moment, thankful for the protection it grants Wei Ying, the family it gives him.

Afterward Jin Zixuan approaches, his expression troubled. He seems very aware of A-Yuan’s eyes on him, staring from Popo’s lap as suspiciously as a toddler can manage.

“I will quietly seek records on the disposition of the other remnants, and look for ways to help. I hope A-Yao isn’t involved, but he likely feels a debt to our father, though he should have been taken in to begin with. I’ll do what I can to find out more.”

Wei Ying takes a breath before he responds, aware of how valuable that help will be.

“Just be careful. I don’t want Jiejie to become a widow. She… she needs you, too.”

Jin Zixuan nods, his expression making it clear he knows what sort of viper pit his sect is. Lan Wangji hopes he can navigate the murky waters successfully.

“A-Li and I have something to ask of you later, privately,” he says after a long pause, his eyes seeking his wife, who nods.

Wei Ying looks perplexed at what they might want, but he just nods, and Jin Zixuan takes it as a dismissal.

The conversation is awkward, but Jin Zixuan is earnest and so is Wei Ying, both wanting good outcomes. Given their past interactions, the stilted awkwardness is a welcome change compared to coming to blows.

Jiang Yanli enlists several people to help with bringing out the food, including a massive tureen of lotus root and pork rib soup that only Wei Ning is able to carry. The meal is a combination of the umami richness of Lanling cuisine with the spicy dishes of Yunmeng, and Lan Wangji can’t deny the aroma is mouthwatering. He can see from where he stands several dishes hued red that he knows to avoid, but is sure Wei Ying will enjoy, including re gan mian (hot dry noodles). Other dishes include shuijing zhouzi (stewed pork hock), whole Peking duck, and desserts like sweet doufunao (tofu brains) and basi pingguo (toffee apple fritters), among traditional wedding fare like cold jellyfish salad, roast suckling pork, whole steamed fish in soya gravy, peach sweet buns, and hot red bean soup with lotus seeds. Rather than serve the food in courses, Jiang Yanli has set the food out, the hot food on talisman-warmed platters, for people to serve themselves.

“Thank you for bearing witness. It’s been a difficult day for the Wei clan, and I believe they should eat first,” Jiang Yanli announces.

No one protests, and the refugees do so shyly, nervously, under the eyes of the gentry.

The swearing ceremony and the path to it has impacted them perhaps more than anyone but Wei Ying, Lan Wangji realizes. They’ve had to reveal their painful experiences, and they have gone from facing certain death, either from malnutrition or an eventual attack, to being tenuously protected via a sworn brotherhood with the sole man who sought to protect them, a home to be found at Lotus Pier in the near future, and full bellies. Given those selfsame sects involved in the brotherhood were complicit in their near-extermination, including himself, allowing them to eat first was the very least they could do.

He wonders if Jiang Yanli has also realized this or if she acts from instinctive kindness.

“Eat with Baba and A-Die,” A-Yuan insists, drawing Lan Wangji from his thoughts with a tug to his sleeve.

“She said Wei, and you’re still family,” Popo explains, taking Wei Ying’s arm before turning to Lan Wangji. “And you count, too—you married in.”

Lan Wangji can’t be certain whether he should be embarrassed as Xiongzhang fails to hold back a chuckle, but he’s oddly reminded of his mother’s gentle teasing and so he feels only a wave of fondness for his family, old and new, gathered here in a place of death that his husband carved life into.

Notes:

“To fail to sleep and forget to eat” is a chengyu about being focused on something to the exclusion of all else. Didimen is the plural of didi. Yes, there’s a reference to Mr. T. I’ve been referred to an outpatient long Covid unit, appointment in September because they’re packed all the way out. They’ll likely work to rule anything else out. But the timeline fits, so I might have an explanation, however unpleasant it may be. Today is my birthday. I’m 41 now. I had this done yesterday but decided to post it as a birthday gift to myself. In comments, please let me know what you like about this fic, if you don’t mind. Glossary: a-die - dad baba - dad baobei - baby bobo - father’s older brother dajie - eldest sister didimen - younger brothers gugu - aunt guma - father’s older sister jianghu - cultivation world jie/jiejie - older sister jindan - golden core meimei - younger sister popo - grandmother shijie - martial older sister xiong - brother xiongzhang - older brother yuefu - a style of poetry zhushazhi - cinnabar dot on the forehead

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The banquet has long since wound down, having ended with the rest of Jifu’s fruit wine consumed, mellowing the atmosphere nicely. Most of the Wei clan have started cleaning up and readying for sleep. Dusk has fallen, and someone has lit the red lanterns near the living area, casting a soft glow on the Burial Mounds settlement. The air has a hint of chill in it and the smell of coming dew.

Nie Huaisang, when they left the great hall, was arguing that the bunting should be left up to lighten the atmosphere, and Wei Qing looked rather resigned to it—A-Yuan has fallen sound asleep on a piece of bunting, and so it was a losing argument; his timely exhaustion is the only reason they were able to leave without him panicking.

The five of them—Wei Ying, Jiang Yanli, Jin Zixuan, Jiang Wanyin, and Lan Wangji—gather in Jifu’s old hut for this conversation, where Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan will sleep, the only quarters available that don’t involve sleeping on the stone floor of the great hall with the other visitors.

As it turns out, Jiang Yanli, with support of Jin Zixuan and apparently by the suggestion of Jiang Wanyin, wants to request that Wei Ying name his coming wai sheng, an honor he’s clearly not expecting.

“I wanted to ask you when we last came to Yiling, but there wasn’t the opportunity,” she says, watching him with soft eyes.

Wei Ying rallies quickly and immediately identifies the Jin’s next generational name Ru. He considers, brushing at his nose with his forefinger as he does, taking the request seriously.

“How about Rulan?” he finally suggests, then hurries to clarify when Jiang Wanyin protests. “Not that lan, A-Cheng. Lan as in the gentleman of flowers, the orchid. After all, any son of Shi— ah, Jiejie’s is bound to be a refined young man.”

“Rulan,” Jiang Yanli says, tasting the name. “Jin Rulan. It’s perfect, A-Xian.”

“I agree,” Jin Zixuan adds. “It’s regal.”

“It’s okay, but of course you’d name him after your husband,” Jiang Wanyin grouses, ready to dodge when Wei Ying punches at his arm, blushing.

Jiang Yanli chides them gently and they take on the countenance of scolded children.

Wei Ying’s sister is clearly tired from travel and the banquet, and so they excuse themselves quickly to let her rest, assuring her that she needn’t help clean up from the banquet and swearing ceremonies, leaving her to the care of her husband.

By the time they return to the hall, Nie Huaisang has won the argument with Wei Qing, the bunting to stay at least until they’ve all moved to Lotus Pier. The Nie heir’s bedding is opulent, something Lan Wangji didn’t see the night before, and he can only again wonder about his spy ring, or if he may have corresponded with someone among the newly-renamed Wei or the people of Yiling somehow. Their other guests have largely made do with simple bedrolls, Xiongzhang’s the same as his own.

Jiang Wanyin breaks from them to speak with Wei Qing, and they help Popo move A-Yuan to her rooms for the night. He blessedly doesn’t stir. With the night winding down, their guests settled, nothing else is needed from them.

Lan Wangji steers Wei Ying toward the cave and their alcove, noting the signs he is exhausted—a fine tremor in his shoulder blades and drooping eyelids. It has again been an emotional day, one that had required his husband to engage with their guests and accept that others were taking control to help. Letting them take it, and what that help entails, has not been easy for Wei Ying.

He is unsurprised when Wei Ying falls asleep in the bath, the warmth seeping into him and making him drowse. Once he has soaked with the sachet, Lan Wangji lifts him from the tub and dresses him in a simple underrobe before tucking him in and joining him in the bed for a much-needed rest, hai shi upon them.

“Do you think this will work?” Wei Ying asks in a whisper, having stirred. “The poem, the brotherhood?”

Wei Ying sounds worried, and Lan Wangji pauses to consider.

“Mn. We have allies. All four sects, if you include Jin Zixuan.”

That receives an amused snort, then a more thoughtful noise.

“Jin Guangshan is going to be pissed… which could backfire if we’re not careful.”

Lan Wangji remembers the plan to ply Wei Qing’s trade and feed the street children, and has to admit that will be one way in which they are vulnerable. She will need protection away from the warded settlement, which will mean Wei Ying and Lan Wangji will spend their time in Yiling with her. A-Yuan as well, he suspects, as the boy is likely to become more clingy after his reaction to the zhushazhi. He cannot predict the future, but hopefully they can protect their own until they are safely in Lotus Pier.

“We will take care,” he assures his husband.

Wei Ying hums in response, already slipping back into sleep, hopefully reassured. Lan Wangji pulls him close, kissing him chastely and tucking him against his side.

Where Wei Ying was all angles when Lan Wangji first arrived, now he is softer, having gained precious weight, his bones no longer prominent. He is healthier, and Lan Wangji will do whatever is necessary to ensure he stays that way.

The next morning he wakes his husband in the best way possible, bringing him to completion with his mouth. Wei Ying returns the favor and makes a crass joke about breakfast, and Lan Wangji’s ears burn at the idea—far from finding it offensive; he finds it entirely too thought-provoking. They lie idly together for a period of time before joining the outside world, enjoying the peace of their alcove.

Their guests filter out a few hours apart after a breakfast comprised of actual rice congee, instead of the cheaper millet, and with leftover food from the banquet repurposed as toppings. They gather in the great hall afterward as their guests prepare to leave, their departures staggered to prevent suspicion.

Jiang Wanyin leaves first with two more refugees disguised as Jiang disciples. The uncle with the broken leg is one of them, as Wei Qing hopes being away from the Burial Mounds will hasten his recovery from the necessary rebreaking. The other is the woman with the peony branded on her shoulder.

The Nie leave without much fanfare, though Nie Huaisang promises tearfully that he’ll get the yuefu out as soon as possible.

“You deserve a better reputation, Wuxian-xiong,” he says, clapping his arm companionably.

They’ve decided to refer to each other not with titles, but with the honorifics xiong to refer to an older brother and di to refer to the younger, with Wei Ning being Ning-di to everyone and Jin Zixuan being Zixuan-xiong to everyone except Wei Qing and Jiang Yanli.

Lan Wangji fully intends to continue calling his husband Wei Ying, while Wei Ying will undoubtedly still call him Lan Zhan or Lan-er-gege. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan will continue referring to each other as A-Xuan and A-Li. Jiang Yanli also intends to keep calling her brothers A-Xian and A-Cheng. Meanwhile, Wei Qing and Jiang Yanli are Qing-jie and Yanli-jie to most of them, with Wei Qing using Yanli-mei.

Likely it would be simpler to use dage, erge, etc., but those are already being used by the Venerated Triad, and they know the Auspicious Eight needs to be distinct.

Being called Wangji-xiong or Wangji-di will take a little getting used to, but it isn’t a complex system.

“You have the support of the Nie, Wei Wuxian,” Nie Mingjue states, and Wei Ying bows gratefully.

Xiongzhang leaves with the promise to schedule night hunts to the Burial Mounds with the Nie and the delivery of supplies.

Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli are the last to depart.

A-Yuan has spent the morning eying Jin Zixuan distrustfully, as though waiting for the zhushazhi to reappear. They are all at a loss for how to remedy the situation.

Eventually, as they near the entrance to the Burial Mounds, the Jin heir removes the tassel from Suihua and holds it out to A-Yuan, stoking his curiosity enough that he takes it and then retreats to hide behind Wei Ying’s leg before examining it.

“Soon your guma will have a baby,” Jin Zixuan tells the boy. “He’ll be your tangdi. Can I trust you to keep that safe for him until he is born?”

The idea of more family seems to help, and A-Yuan nods after only a little hesitation.

“For Tangdi and Guma,” he says, shaking the tassel and watching it sparkle in the sun.

Lan Wangji has to admit it’s a brilliant strategy, giving A-Yuan a job and the promise of a cousin, along with the bauble itself. Wei Ying helps the boy attach the tassel to his belt next to his clarity bell, and the boy continues to play with it.

“Thank you for taking care of that for your guzhang and tangdi,” Jiang Yanli says to him, bending before the boy. “His name will be Jin Ling, courtesy name Rulan, and he’ll be happy to have you as his biaoge, A-Yuan.”

A-Yuan hugs her when prompted, then clings to Wei Ying’s leg as they watch the two step into the carriage and the carriage fade into the distance.

By the time they return to the settlement, lunch has been prepared, with Wei Ning having repurposed more leftovers into an array of xian bing, baozi, and zongzi. A-Yuan is less interested in the food than the tassel at his waist, but they manage to get him to eat with Popo’s help.

The day passes quickly, Wei Ying falling asleep to musical acupuncture treatment and napping with A-Yuan, both of them exhausted. A-Yuan in particular is fussy before he sleeps, eventually falling asleep with his fingers in his mouth, which Lan Wangji remedies afterward.

“Do you think becoming ba xiongdi will work?” Wei Qing asks, unknowingly echoing Wei Ying.

“Those who have sworn brotherhood are likely to honor it,” Lan Wangji says, “but the reaction of Lanling Jin is unpredictable.”

Wei Qing nods, her brow furrowed as she watches A-Yuan and Wei Ying sleep.

“We will need to begin fulfilling the yuefu,” he tells her, and she nods. “Wei Ying will need to grow lotuses.”

She snorts.

“He’ll manage. I’ll need to put together supplies for a clinic in town.”

“And you will need protection while you do,” Lan Wangji points out, and her lips twist in distaste.

“You and Wei Wuxian will need to adopt the street kids anyway, so I’m sure you’ll be in town with me when I go,” she says with a sigh, heading for her medical alcove. “Hopefully the Jin don’t act against us, but we’ll keep aware.”

It takes several days to prepare and make plans. They decide on baozi for the street kids, something that doesn’t require dishes, unlike Wei Ying’s idea of soup. He had to concede that the need for dishes limited them, but argued successfully for sweet zongzi in addition to the baozi, on the grounds that they would be a nice treat.

Wei Qing was hopeful she could examine the kids as they came to treat any injuries or maladies, but the first order of business was finding and leasing an appropriate stall.

Fortunately, when it is made clear she intends to treat and feed people for free, space is made in a small booth for a very small price by the Yiling magistrate. He is thrilled to have the famous doctor back in Yiling, as she previously treated patients for free if they braved the Wen sect to reach her. He even tries to offer the former supervisory office, which is a better place for them than the Burial Mounds, but it has no defenses and they regretfully decline.

If they can convince Jiang Wanyin—Wanyin-di if he had to in polite company, though fortunately it would have the benefit of irking the other man—to provide disciples for defense, they may revisit that, but it’s likely better to simply retreat slowly to Lotus Pier.

Wei Ying does not prove easy to wake early to go to Yiling, and Lan Wangji resorts to waking him carnally, which is quite effective. It takes little time to clean up.

Lan Wangji dons the blue robes he arrived in, and Wei Ying wears a black robe that shimmers purple in the sun. They debated wearing more nondescript robes, but decided on more opulent ones since they weren’t sneaking around or trying to hide their identities. Wei Qing is wearing a dress in Jiang blue and the comb Jiang Wanyin gave her is in her bun. Wei Ning is wearing the nicer robes Nie Huaisang gave him—they intend to get him another nice set or two in town—and aside from his pallor and black veins he looks as though he could be alive, his hair properly in its crown.

The preparation of food took place the evening before by Wei Ning and several aunties and uncles, who are happy with the prospect of helping children, even as they also need help. With the help of a qiankun pouch, they’re ready to be cooked up later. Wei Qing also enlisted the help of the aunties and uncles making several medicines she knew would be requested, with ingredients tucked away for medicines that could hopefully be made on-site. They even have a hand painted sign with both the character for doctor and the yin/yang symbol so those who cannot read will know the booth has a doctor.

They don’t like the idea of leaving the Burial Mounds unprotected, but Wei Ying has spent the last few days adding wards and maze arrays, as well as a talisman to alert him if the wards go down so they can rush back, and so it is as safe as it can be. Hopefully the Jin are too busy choking on their own opulence to notice.

A-Yuan insists on coming, refusing to let his fathers go away without him. Lan Wangji can see it is a losing battle, as the boy seemed primed to throw a temper tantrum at the idea. Wei Ying also seems to recognize that, and given his reaction to Jin Zixuan, it seems prudent to assuage him.

“He needs reassurance and will reassure the people of Yiling,” Wei Qing says with a shrug when they tell her. “They all know who I am, and whose company I keep. Time to rehabilitate your image, and if A-Yuan can help, so be it.”

They take him back to the cave to change him into nicer robes, and then start the trip to Yiling.

Wei Ying and A-Yuan ride in the cart pushed by Wei Ning on the way, as part of the plan for the day is to purchase some items needed to make the rest of their stay in Burial Mounds more comfortable, now that they can afford them, including talisman paper for Wei Ying, ingredients and supplies for medicines, cooking utensils, and other sundries.

“I want to cook… to cook a wider variety of food,” he said when the list was compiled, arguing for cooking utensils, and Wei Qing wrote it down immediately.

Lan Wangji agrees with her decision, and not only because it will expand their diets, something that will benefit Wei Ying. Wei Ning enjoys cooking and he deserves the enjoyment. He feels no small manner of gratitude to the man for all he does around the settlement and how he has helped Wei Ying, and he is happy to be his sworn brother.

When they arrive at the booth, almost a hut with no walls, a small throng of people are already waiting, word of mouth having already spread, and the croud breaks into murmurs. Bits of rumor, wondering which is the Yiling Patriarch, the Ghost General, who is the child? Wei Ying doesn’t react to their curious gazes, ignoring them.

Wei Qing gets to work treating the patients, introducing herself as Wei Qing, to ensure it is known she is no longer Wen. Wei Ning sets up the sign and starts a fire in the little hearth to get the food cooking. Wei Ying and Lan Wangji attend to the list, but keep the booth in view in case of problems, cautious. A-Yuan comes with them, holding their hands securely even when they come to a toy stand, clingy even as they get him several toys, whether because of the aftermath of Jin Zixuan or because he picks up on their worry.

They manage to find at least some of their purchases within view of the booth, but the rest will wait until afterward now that A-Yuan has toys to distract him the rest of the day.

Only past the shichen of the snake, when they eat some of the baozi and zongzi themselves, does the first likely street kid show up, which makes a morbid amount of sense.

“We’re new, and every street kid has heard of the stranger with poisoned food,” Wei Ying explains softly, and a chill runs through Lan Wangji at the idea of that being a risk, one his husband has faced.

The child thanks Wei Ning solemnly and keeps close to the booth while he eats, watching warily around, then disappears once the food is eaten, not even thinking to ask for more. Wei Ying watches the space the boy was in with a sad expression, and Lan Wangji takes his hand to bring him back to the present.

“It will take time, but we will wait,” he says, and is given a breathtaking smile in return, full of love and appreciation and gratitude. Of hope and happiness.

There is not much Lan Wangji won’t do to protect that smile, one not long ago he feared he’d lost.

Notes:

After I posted the last chapter, I wound up in the hospital the next day with pancreatitis caused by my gallbladder. I was admitted and had my gallbladder removed. Went home, the incision got infected, wound up back in the hospital. Never got to celebrate my birthday and spent a large portion of June in the hospital. I’m completely healed now, though! No, Wei Ning isn’t xiao didi, as that’s slang for penis. This is why they decided not to do the titles. According to my research, the yin/yang was a symbol of medicine because it was about balance and good health is about achieving various balances in traditional Chinese medicine. The shichen of the snake is the 9-11 shichen, so past that would be the shichen of the horse, as each shichen is associated with the animals of the zodiac. baozi = stuffed buns ba xiongdi = sworn brothers biaoge = cousin (mom’s brother’s son, elder) hai shi = 9-11pm guma = father’s older sister guzhang = father’s sister’s husband jiejie = older sister jifu = fourth uncle (季父) mei = little sister popo = grandmother shichen = 2 hour period tangdi = cousin (dad’s sister’s son, younger) wai sheng = sister’s son xian bing = stuffed pancakes xiong = older brother zhushazhi = the cinnabar mark on the Jins’ foreheads zongzi = sticky rice dumplings

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