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reidmarieprentiss · 11 days ago

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I have a request that I know you’ll write 100% better than me! Spencer leaves his girlfriend at the altar without giving a single reason. And disappears for months. Then he comes back and it is revealed he did it because Reader's life was at risk. When he goes to apologize, Reader doesn't let him speak. Spencer crawls on his knees for forgiveness and tries to figure out how to improve the situation. The ending is up to you: angst, happy ending or not. You choose! I know you’ll do a great fic!

Sadly Ever After

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt, angst

Warnings/Includes: no happy ending, being left at the altar, just general sadness after a breakup, small crime talk

Word count: 5.6k

a/n: hiii i hope this is sufficient lolol i am in a very angsty mood

main masterlist

You had never felt so beautiful in your entire life. The dress—the dress—was everything you had dreamed it would be. Layers of soft tulle cascaded down your frame, the delicate lacework etched across the bodice molding perfectly to you, almost as if it had been made for you alone. Each step you took sent the fabric swaying around you like whispers of movement, ethereal and romantic.

Penelope had outdone herself with your hair. Loose waves tumbled, glowing in the golden light of the early evening, held in place by a sparkling hairpiece that caught the glow of the string lights. Every curl seemed to be perfectly placed, not too styled but effortlessly enchanting, as if you had stepped out of a fairytale. JJ and Emily had tag-teamed your makeup, ensuring that every stroke and brush was precise and delicate. The soft blush on your cheeks, the shimmer of your eyeshadow, the perfect tint of color on your lips—it was understated perfection.

And Rossi, ever the consummate host, had given you and Spencer the most breathtaking backdrop for your wedding. His sprawling backyard had transformed into something magical. An altar of wooden beams, wrapped with soft draped fabric and overflowing with flowers—roses, peonies, and wild blooms—stood like a gateway to forever. Twinkling fairy lights criss crossed above, their soft glow turning the clearing into a dreamscape. The grass, still cool from the afternoon, added an earthy softness to the air, grounding the magic in something real.

Then there he was—Spencer.

Your heart stuttered at the sight of him standing at the altar, hands nervously clasped in front of him, the slightest smile pulling at the corners of his lips when his eyes found you. His suit was sharp and clean, a dark shade that contrasted beautifully with the delicate tones of your dress. The bowtie, a small nod to his usual style, somehow made him look even more endearing, his charm on full display. His curls fell just perfectly, framing his face and softening the seriousness of his features.

But it was his eyes that caught you—the depth of them, brimming with unspoken emotion, raw and honest. The sight of him struck you in the chest, stealing the air from your lungs. The tears you had tried to fight back began to prick the corners of your eyes.

Each step down the aisle felt slower, deliberate, as though time itself had stretched just for the two of you. You took in every detail—the warm breeze rustling the leaves above, the distant chirp of crickets, the way the light filtered through the trees, creating golden halos around your guests. As you approached Spencer, standing tall beneath the altar where Aaron Hotchner waited to officiate, your heart swelled with so much love you thought it might burst.

Aaron’s voice, steady and clear, had been a comforting hum in the background—his dry wit laced through the ceremony brought a lightheartedness that had the guests chuckling softly at all the right moments. He was a master at balancing sincerity and charm, even as the formal words of the ceremony unfurled.

The vows had been the pinnacle of it all. Spencer’s, with their perfect blend of sentimentality and poetic elegance, had left you breathless. Every word was carved with precision, so achingly him that it made your heart feel both full and fragile in the best way. Your vows, equally personal and unflinchingly honest, had drawn a few tears from the crowd. For those few minutes, it felt like it was just the two of you—completely alone in your little world, pledging yourselves to each other.

But then Aaron’s voice broke that perfect little bubble.

“Spencer, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

It was a question Spencer had to be expecting. One he should have answered without hesitation. The words hung in the air like a held breath. Waiting.

You smiled softly, fingers intertwined with his, but that silence—the silence that followed—was deafening. The longer Spencer stood there, unmoving and unspeaking, the weight of the moment became unbearable. You felt the shift in the energy around you, a sudden drop in the warmth that had enveloped the ceremony just moments ago.

The guests began shifting uncomfortably in their seats. A murmur rustled through the crowd—quiet and confused. It was subtle at first, the furrow of brows and exchanged glances, but the longer Spencer remained silent, the more palpable the tension became.

“Spencer?” you whispered faintly, trying to ground him with the sound of your voice. Your hands squeezed his gently, searching for reassurance in the way his thumb brushed against your skin. But that was the thing—his thumb wasn’t moving at all. His hands were still, stiff even, as he stared at you.

And his eyes—oh, those fucking eyes.

They weren’t full of the love you had seen all evening, that awe-struck admiration that had made your knees weak when you first stepped down the aisle. No, they were hollow now, distant, as though he was somewhere far away.

The silence stretched so long you felt it wrap around your chest like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs.

“Spencer,” Aaron prompted gently, his calm, officiating voice now laced with quiet concern.

Finally, finally, Spencer moved. The slightest tilt of his lips into a soft, almost apologetic smile. The kind of smile that said everything and nothing at the same time.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. The words were so soft they barely reached your ears, like a secret meant just for you.

Your brows knitted together as confusion bloomed across your face. Sorry? Sorry for what?

But before you could say anything, before you could even process the sound of those three words, Spencer’s grip on your hands loosened. He let go—he let go—and turned.

One moment he was standing in front of you, your almost-husband, and the next he was running. The sound of his shoes hitting the wooden platform of the altar was jarring. Sharp.

“Spencer!” you called after him, panic rising in your voice, but it was too late.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The murmurs grew louder now, confusion turning to shock as everyone watched Spencer disappear through the open back doors of Rossi’s house.

You stood frozen, rooted to the spot where he had left you, your hands still hovering in front of you as though you could still feel the shape of his in your palms.

The string lights above twinkled innocently, the flowers framing the altar swayed in the evening breeze, and the guests remained seated, staring, waiting—hoping this was some sort of terrible joke.

But it wasn’t.

Aaron, steady as ever, took a cautious step forward, lowering his voice as he gently spoke. “Y/N… do you want to sit down?”

Sit down. Right. You felt like the earth beneath you had cracked wide open, leaving you teetering on the edge. How could he run? How could Spencer Reid—your Spencer—leave you like that?

Your lips trembled as you looked back toward the house, the place where he had vanished. You felt the eyes of everyone on you, their collective disbelief pressing down on your shoulders like an invisible weight.

You swallowed thickly, the tears you had been holding back earlier now threatening to spill for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t…” you started, but your voice faltered.

Because you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what had just happened or why.

All you knew was that Spencer Reid—the love of your life, your almost-husband—had left you standing alone under the twinkling lights of Rossi’s backyard, with nothing but a hollow whisper of I’m sorry lingering in his wake.

—

Months had passed, yet time felt like it moved at a crawl. The day Spencer ran from you—from your wedding—remained an echo that refused to quiet. You thought that eventually the sting would dull, that the confusion would lift, but it clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

You had packed up your life together in silence, alone in the home you once shared with him. The apartment was eerily still without the sound of his voice murmuring about a book or his soft humming while he made tea. It had felt haunted, as though every room whispered why? at you, taunting you with memories of what you thought your life would be. You didn't even see him again during those long days you spent packing—only once did Penelope call to let you know he had gone home to see his mother.

“Just so you know,” Penelope had said softly over the phone. She sounded hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was making things better or worse. “Spencer’s not in D.C. anymore. He went back to Vegas. I think he wanted to… I don’t know, give you space.”

You’d thanked her out of politeness, even though the words stung. Give you space. Was that what this was? Him running, abandoning you at the altar—was that his way of giving you space? You didn’t ask for space. You had asked for him. Well, actually, he had asked for you.

So you moved back into the apartment you had sublet without any real trouble. It was strange to see your things there again, familiar but foreign, as though they belonged to a different version of you. You kept most of your life in boxes for a while. Unpacking felt like admitting that this—this emptiness—was permanent, and you weren’t ready to do that yet.

The team tried to reach out in those first weeks.

JJ had sent you messages that were simple but heartfelt: “Thinking of you. I’m here if you need anything.”

Emily had tried to call you once. She left a voicemail, her voice kind and gentle: “Hey, it’s me. I know you might not want to talk right now, and that’s okay, but I just wanted you to know we’re all thinking of you. You’re not alone.”

Penelope was the most persistent. She sent texts, little gifts, even a handwritten letter because she knew how personal that would feel. But every text, every call, every kind gesture just reminded you of him. Spencer had been the thread that connected you to the team, and now every single one of them felt like a painful reminder of what you’d lost. Of the way he left.

So you shut them out, one by one.

You didn’t hate them. You couldn’t. JJ, Emily, Penelope, Derek, Hotch and Rossi—they were good people, your people once. But being around them, talking to them, made Spencer’s absence feel louder. It was as though his ghost lingered between every conversation. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t separate them from him.

Penelope’s messages stopped first. You imagined her sitting in her colorful office, fidgeting with a pen as she debated whether to text you again. She was the kindest soul you knew, and you hated the idea that you were shutting her out, but you couldn’t face her—or any of them.

Then came the loneliness. It wasn’t the kind that was born from an empty room or quiet nights alone. It was deeper, sharper. The kind of loneliness you only felt when you lost someone dear to you.

You sat on your couch one night—your couch now, not Spencer’s, not yours and his, just yours—and stared at the stack of boxes you still hadn’t unpacked. The light from the kitchen spilled into the living room, casting long shadows across the floor. It was silent except for the hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the clock on the wall.

You wondered if Spencer was in his childhood home now, back in Vegas, sitting with his mother. Did he talk about you? Did he think about you?

Or was he like you—alone in a room that used to feel like home, wondering how everything had unraveled so quickly?

It didn’t matter, you told yourself. You weren’t going to chase answers you might never get. If he wanted to explain himself, he would have. But he didn’t. Instead, he ran. He left you there, at the altar, in front of everyone you loved, and didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them as you stared at the faint glow of your phone screen on the coffee table. Another message from JJ, one you wouldn’t open. You knew she would stop eventually. They all would.

You had been close with all of them, almost like family. But Spencer’s absence had burned through those bonds like fire through dry wood. And now, months later, all that was left was ash.

And the strangest part of it all? You missed them. You missed JJ’s motherly warmth, Emily’s strength, Penelope’s relentless kindness. You missed Derek teasing you, Rossi’s wise words, Hotch’s steady, grounding presence.

But missing them also meant missing him.

And missing him? That was something you couldn’t bear to feel any more than you already did.

—

The bullpen was quieter than usual that morning. The team was settled at their desks, heads ducked over files and reports, but there was no mistaking the shift in energy. Spencer was back. After months of leave, months of silence, months of wondering—he had walked through the glass doors of the BAU like nothing had happened.

Except something had happened. Something none of them could make sense of.

Spencer didn’t look any different on the outside. His suit was pressed and neat, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder in that familiar way. But there was a tightness in his jaw, a heaviness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He had always carried the world on his back, but this time, it looked like the weight might crush him.

The air hung thick as he settled into his desk, quietly unpacking his bag. No one spoke at first, though they all exchanged glances, unsure of how to broach it—of how to demand answers.

It was Derek who cracked first. Of course it was Derek. He had been simmering with frustration for months now, trying to make sense of Spencer’s sudden disappearance and his refusal to talk about it.

“You want to tell us all what the fuck is going on?” Derek’s voice broke through the stillness, sharp and pointed.

Spencer froze, one hand halfway to his desk drawer. He didn’t turn right away, but everyone else did. All eyes turned to Derek, who sat leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tone was accusatory, sure, but his expression—underneath the tension—was concern.

Spencer swallowed, closing the drawer with a soft click before finally turning to face the team. JJ looked at him with something between worry and hope, her brow slightly furrowed. Emily’s gaze was harder to read, but her eyes were pinned to him, waiting. Penelope, standing in the doorway with a coffee in hand, looked like she wanted to speak but thought better of it. Even Rossi, ever the patient one, had his head tilted slightly as he studied Spencer.

Spencer took a breath, his hands curling around the edge of his desk.

“I…” His voice cracked slightly, unused to addressing so much weight at once. He steadied himself and tried again. “I owe you all an explanation.”

“Damn right you do,” Derek shot back, though his tone was a little softer this time.

Spencer nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line as he gathered his thoughts. He looked down for a moment, fingers drumming idly against the wood of his desk before he spoke again.

“I left because I needed to,” he said simply. His voice was low, not quite weak, but careful—like every word was fragile, like he was afraid they might break apart. “I needed to… figure things out.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as the team sat gathered around the conference table, all of them watching Spencer intently. The blinds were drawn, the overhead lights humming faintly above them, but it did little to dispel the weight pressing down on everyone.

“Figure what out?” JJ had asked softly, her tone teetering somewhere between exasperation and hope.

Spencer had sighed then, a breath so deep it looked like it pained him. “Yeah, um… can we go to the conference room?”

No one argued.

Once they were all seated in the conference room, Spencer remained standing, gripping the back of one of the chairs like it was the only thing holding him upright. His knuckles turned white as he stared down at the polished table, gathering the words he had spent months trying to keep buried.

“Someone was threatening me,” Spencer said finally, his voice low, steady, but carrying the weight of something dark and unspoken. “Threatening her.”

The pronoun lingered like a slap, and no one needed clarification to know who he meant. You.

JJ sucked in a sharp breath, her hand instinctively reaching for her chest as though she could feel the impact of those words. Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression hardening as he processed what Spencer was saying.

“What do you mean, someone was threatening you?” Rossi asked, his voice calm but firm, coaxing Spencer to keep going.

“They found Y/N because of me,” Spencer continued, his voice quieter now, almost ashamed. “Because of my job. I… I put her in danger. They used her as leverage, made it clear that if I told anyone—if I told any of you—that they would kill her.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Emily glanced toward Derek, her expression darkening as she began piecing things together.

“How long did this go on?” Derek finally asked, his tone a low growl.

Spencer didn’t meet his eyes. “Months. I started getting letters, then texts. Pictures of her—ones that no one else could’ve had. They knew where she was at all times. When she went to work, when she was home, when she was with me.”

Penelope gasped softly, her hand covering her mouth as tears threatened to well in her eyes. “Spencer…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Spencer shook his head, jaw tightening. “I couldn’t let anything happen to her. I couldn’t. So when the threats escalated—when they said they’d kill her if I stayed here and didn’t cooperate—I left.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” JJ asked, the hurt in her voice unmistakable.

“I couldn’t,” Spencer said, his voice nearly cracking. “If I told any of you, they said they’d go through with it. So I had to work the case alone. I did things I… I don’t want to talk about, but I found them. I stopped them. I made sure they could never hurt her again.”

The room fell silent again as the weight of his confession sank in. No one spoke, no one moved. Spencer’s breathing had grown uneven, like the memory alone was clawing its way back to him.

It was Rossi who finally broke the silence, his voice calm and measured but tinged with quiet curiosity. “Why did you wait until the wedding to run?”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at the table, his gaze unfocused, like he couldn’t bear to look at any of them. “I… I thought I could marry her. I thought if I could just get through that day, I could disappear. Take her somewhere safe. Run away with her before they could do anything. I wanted to give her something good, something beautiful, before I ruined everything.”

His voice faltered, and he shook his head, his grip tightening on the chair. “But when I saw her standing there… looking so happy, so perfect… it was like I was transported into my worst nightmare. I saw her—bloody and dead—because of me. Because of what I do, because of who I am. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being hurt because of me. So I ran. I thought… I thought it was better to break her heart than to get her killed.”

The room was deathly quiet now. No one knew what to say. Derek rubbed a hand over his face, trying to process it all, while JJ blinked away tears that had started to gather in her eyes. Penelope was openly crying now, her quiet sobs muffled behind her hands.

“You should’ve told us,” Emily finally said, her voice soft but firm. “We could’ve helped you, Spencer.”

Spencer looked up then, his face hollow, haunted. “And what if you couldn’t? What if I told you, and it still wasn’t enough? What if she died because of me?” His voice broke on the last word, and he quickly looked away, his shoulders trembling slightly.

No one had an answer for that.

Rossi sighed, leaning back in his chair, the understanding settling on his features. “So you’re back now because it’s over?”

Spencer nodded. “It’s over. I made sure of it.”

“And Y/N?” Derek asked quietly, though the question lingered like a punch to the gut.

Spencer’s face fell, his voice a whisper. “She doesn’t know. She just thinks I… left her.”

JJ’s brows furrowed in disbelief, her voice sharp now. “And you haven’t told her? Spencer, she deserves to know—”

“I know!” Spencer’s voice rose suddenly, a flash of frustration breaking through the cracks. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. “I know,” he repeated, softer this time, the anguish bleeding through. “But how do I explain it to her? How do I look her in the eye and tell her I let her believe I abandoned her because I thought I was saving her life?”

The room fell silent once more, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning.

No one had an answer for that either.

—

Spencer stood outside your apartment building, his heart hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears, like a drum echoing through a cavernous void. His hands trembled at his sides as he stared up at the familiar brick, the windows glowing faintly with light from the rooms inside. You were home. He knew it, and yet his feet felt like they were glued to the pavement.

His breathing came fast, shallow, uneven—panic building like a wave rising up from his chest and crashing against his throat. He bent over slightly, hands braced on his knees, trying to steady himself, but it wasn’t enough. The air felt thin, insufficient, as if he was sucking in nothing but emptiness.

Not here, not now, he thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. You have to do this.

He pushed off his knees and leaned back against the cool brick wall, his spine pressing into it like it could somehow ground him. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to focus on something—anything—other than the guilt gnawing at him.

Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

He silently counted, forcing air through his lungs, slowing the frantic rhythm of his breaths. He repeated the process over and over until the tightness in his chest began to ease, just enough for him to move again.

His legs still felt weak as he pushed away from the wall and crossed the threshold into the building, each step heavier than the last. The stairwell yawned before him like an unforgiving climb, the kind that felt insurmountable despite its simplicity. He clutched the cold metal railing as he ascended, pausing halfway up the flight to press his forehead against the wall and whisper to himself under his breath.

“You can do this. Just knock. Just say it.”

The words sounded pathetic to his ears, hollow in the stillness of the stairwell, but they were all he had. After all these months, after everything he’d done—or failed to do—it came down to this. He had to face you. He had to tell you the truth, no matter what it cost him.

When he reached your floor, Spencer stopped outside your door, staring at the familiar brass numbers that suddenly looked foreign. His heart began to race again, beating faster and faster, drowning out every rational thought. He hadn’t been here since… since before everything. Since you had been his, since he had woken up to the sound of your laughter, since he had memorized the smell of your shampoo and the feel of your hand in his.

The memories hit him all at once, clawing their way out of the recesses of his mind like ghosts—mocking him with what he had lost. What he had taken from himself.

Spencer’s hand shook as he raised it, hovering inches away from the door. He felt paralyzed again, the nausea rising in his stomach like a sick promise. He could turn back. He could leave now, before you opened the door, before you saw him standing there. Maybe you hadn’t moved on yet, maybe you still hated him, maybe you didn’t even want the answers he had brought.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose.

No. She deserves this. She deserves the truth.

His knuckles brushed against the door—softly at first, a timid, ghostly sound. Then he knocked, the noise louder than he intended, the echo of it reverberating down the hall.

Spencer froze, his breath catching in his throat as the moments stretched endlessly. The only sound he could hear was the faint buzz of the overhead lights and the blood rushing in his ears.

And then, from the other side of the door, he heard it.

Footsteps.

The shuffle of movement, the creak of a floorboard.

Spencer felt his pulse spike again, his palms growing clammy as the footsteps approached. His body tensed, and for one horrible second, he thought he might turn and run.

But then the door opened.

And there you were.

You froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob as your eyes met his. Spencer’s heart lodged itself in his throat as he took in the sight of you—your expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable, your lips parting slightly as though words had caught there, unable to escape.

You looked the same and yet different, somehow. Your hair was a little longer, your face softer, but your eyes—those eyes that had once looked at him with so much love—now held something else entirely.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, so loud it was deafening.

Spencer’s throat felt dry as he finally managed to whisper, “Hi.”

It was so small, so simple, but it was all he could get out before his voice cracked.

You blinked, the mask of composure you had thrown on beginning to fracture. Your voice came out quiet, wary, almost disbelieving. “Spencer?”

He swallowed hard, trying to find the words he had been practicing for weeks, for months. They were all jumbled now, falling apart in his mind.

“I… I needed to see you,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I need to explain.”

Your hand tightened on the doorknob, your knuckles going white as you looked at him—really looked at him—and the pain he’d left behind resurfaced in your eyes like a wave crashing over jagged rocks.

The second the words left his mouth—“I need to explain”—something inside you snapped. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal that had been simmering beneath the surface for months came roaring to life like a fire you could no longer control. Before you even realized what you were doing, your grip on the doorknob tightened, and with a force you hadn’t known you were capable of, you slammed the door.

The sound was deafening, the crack of wood against its frame echoing through the hallway. It felt final, like a gavel coming down to deliver a sentence. And for a moment, all you could hear was the rapid pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

On the other side of the door, you heard nothing.

No knock. No footsteps. Not a single sound.

For a long moment, you stood there, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Your hand was still on the doorknob, fingers trembling as though the residual shock of what you’d done was finally catching up to you.

Spencer Reid.

The man who had left you, abandoned you in the cruelest way possible, standing you up at the altar without so much as a word. The man who had disappeared from your life, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a heart he had shattered. And now, now, after all these months, he had the audacity to show up at your door and say he needed to explain?

Explain what?

How he left you humiliated and broken? How he had walked away from the life you were supposed to build together, without giving you the decency of closure?

Your jaw clenched, your hands balling into fists at your sides as you turned away from the door. A bitter laugh escaped your lips—short, hollow, and humorless. You felt like screaming, like throwing something, like letting out all the pain you’d been holding in since that day.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you walked away, forcing yourself deeper into the apartment. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and that door as possible. Your mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next, until all that was left was a whirlwind of anger and grief that threatened to consume you whole.

And yet…

You stopped in the center of your living room, your eyes drifting to the door as the silence stretched on. You wondered if he was still out there, standing on the other side, stunned into silence.

You hated that part of you cared enough to wonder.

What did he think was going to happen? That he would knock, say a few words, and everything would be okay? That you would just forgive him? He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve you.

But the thought of him still standing there, heartbroken, made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Slowly, you sank onto the couch, dropping your head into your hands as the weight of it all settled over you like a storm cloud. You took a shaky breath, then another, trying to ignore the tears that were threatening to spill.

On the other side of the door, Spencer remained frozen.

The door was still vibrating faintly from the force with which you’d slammed it, and he stood there, staring at it like it might suddenly open again if he just waited long enough. His breathing was shallow, his face pale as his mind tried to process what had just happened.

He had expected anger. He had expected hurt. But the door slamming—so final, so absolute—hit him harder than he thought possible.

His hand hovered in the air, just inches from the wood, as though he might knock again. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he exhaled shakily, leaning forward until his forehead rested lightly against the door. His eyes squeezed shut as a wave of nausea washed over him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, though he knew you couldn’t hear him.

After a few long moments, he forced himself to straighten. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, turned slowly, and walked away—each step heavier than the last.

And inside, you sat alone, the sound of that door slam replaying in your head over and over again, louder than any explanation he could have given.

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382 notes · View notes

ssahotchnerr · 1 year ago

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Hey love, could you pretty please do an Aaron x reader where it’s there wedding day and she starts getting real bad anxiety about marrying him. Not because she doesn’t want to but because she feels like he is surrounded by so many amazing people who uplift him that she could never compare. Just in the mood for fluffy comfort Aaron 🥹

enough

cw; fem!reader, a LOT of angst but it's comforting??, heavy 5x9 references (i'm sobbing actually), anxiety descriptions, aaron cries 😭, comfort and a happy ending don't worry!!!! wc; 2.4k

"nervous jitters?"

"you could say that." you replied - while staring off into space, while bouncing your crossed leg, while kicking your slipper on and off your heel. your head moved downward as your fingers clutched onto the seat of the chair you were sat in, harshly enough for your knuckles to turn white.

jj pulled the curling wand away from your face an inch, "careful, try not to move."

"sorry."

yet another wave of guilt rippled through you, as this wasn't how you should feel on your wedding day.

last night, you were surrounded by the people you now consider family, celebrating a new chapter. or rather, a beginning. aaron's permanent grin was engraved in your mind; you've never seen him so carefree, happily conversing with his colleagues, gazing at you as if he'd won the lottery (to him, he had). you were positive there wasn't a second where his arms hadn't been wrapped around you.

before parting ways for the night, he had pulled you to the side, to a more secluded area. he gave you long, sweet, deep kisses, holding your body close to his, as you weren't going to see each other until the two of you officially, and finally, became one.

just as him, you had been on a similar high, more than ready for this next adventure, in pure disbelief that in less than twenty-four hours, you'd be a hotchner. so now, whatever this was, had quite literally come out of absolutely nowhere.

when you awoke this morning, rather than the excitement you had expected, you were greeted with an empty, terrifying pit in your stomach.

as the day carried on, pre-wedding activities in full motion, it followed, and the void within only grew and grew. it was gravely unsettling; you were more fidgety, on edge, you hadn't been your usual talkative self. and despite being surrounded by your newfound family - jj, penelope, and emily more specifically - you couldn't help but choose to remain alone in your thoughts.

jj studied your face through the mirror, before securing your hairpiece in place. "there." her hands found your shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. "sit tight, i'll be right back."

you nodded, blinking your eyes to prevent the budding tears from slipping - and to not ruin penelope's handiwork, mascara sure to stain your cheeks. she left, leaving you alone.

but as promised jj returned no more than five minutes later, only she remained at the doorway, her head peeking in. "someone's here to see you."

after giving you a consoling smile, as if she knew - profilers - she vanished, leaving door slightly ajar.

your hand had only just touched the knob when the door moved a centimeter back, slight pressure holding it still to refrain from opening fully.

"don't open it all the way."

"aaron?" at the sound of his voice, you fought the instant urge to sob. but the utmost amount of comfort filled you too. it took a second, but you found your voice, "you're not supposed to be here."

"well technically, i just can't see you."

"still." you insisted. your tone was flat, rather than being full of giddiness due to your future husband sneakily paying you a forbidden visit - like it should've. "they're going to be looking for you."

"then let them." aaron answered simply, not concerned about that in the slightest. "are you alright?"

you immediately fell silent, and aaron patiently waited a minute, but still - nothing. the extended period of quietness, scared him, given the day's event.

please, not cold feet.

and given the current circumstances, there was only so much he could do. aaron dropped his hand to his side, weaving through the small gap. "here, give me your hand."

your hand quickly found his, the promptness allowing aaron to breathe. the familiar weight felt like home; your hand always fitting perfectly within his. your hands always cold, his warm. yours soft, his rough.

his thumb drew circles on the back of your hand, an invitation to open up. "what's on your mind?"

you bit your lip in thought, taking a heavy enough breath aaron could hear it without straining his ears.

"honey?"

"first, i want to preface this that i do want to marry you. i don't want you thinking otherwise." your voice was firm, meaning every word.

"okay..." here was a brief hesitancy in his voice despite your promise; a tinge of worry, some question. however, he managed to keep his voice steady, for the most part. you, however, still recognized the waver of uncertainty.

"just," you released a breath, your voice small. "i envy you."

aaron was quiet for a moment, and when he did speak, the confusion was obvious in his voice. "you envy me?"

"you have," you took a breath, gripping onto his hand. "so many wonderful amazing people around you... i don't even know where to start. they've been with you, stuck with you, for far longer than i have. how do i compare to that? god, dave's practically paying for this whole thing. because of you, for you. no matter who you would've married, he would've done exactly the same. i'm not special."

"sweethear-"

"i want to be enough for you." tears pinched at your eyes, your hold on his hand lessening - which frighteningly felt like you were letting go completely. "you deserve," you took another breath, and this one rattled through you. "everything. and i'm afraid i never will be."

aaron only clutched onto your hand tighter, refusing to part. his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, taking a silent, deep breath. "are you wearing your dress yet?"

after all that, you weren't too sure of how he would respond, but you certainly hadn't expected that. "no? once-"

aaron released your hand. and after looking in both directions of the hall to be certain he was in the clear, he swiftly entered, the door clicking shut behind him.

"aaron." you stared at him, your eyes wide in alarm. you barely had the time to process him in his tuxedo, or have the thought to push him out. "you can't be-"

"enough?" aaron looked at you, baffled. exasperation, pain, and love all present in his eyes. "how can you say that?"

"i-"

"you... are everything. my everything." he moved to your left, pacing away for a moment, quickly internalizing a way to get it across solidly, so you wouldn't dare question otherwise again. he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "did i ever tell you, what haley told me before she died?"

you blinked in surprise, but shook your head. while you knew the story, offered reassurances after nightmares and the topic of haley had never been off limits, aaron had never gone into detail over... the final moments. you never pushed, never asked - if it was something he chose to keep to himself, to have that part of haley close to him and only him - of course you respected that. they were vulnerable, painful memories, not easy to relive.

he sobered, his posture and expression changing before you, alight with a ghost of the past. a tender, solemn fondness was in his tone as he recalled the line. "'love is the most important thing.'"

your eyes studied his face, silently urging him to continue.

"and while our relationship had it's hardships, she wanted jack to believe in it - love - and had me promise her that i'd show him."

"aaron..."

"he believes, because of you."

"i-"

"i believe," his eyes found yours, full of a sincereness you've never seen from him. "because of you."

you opened your mouth to speak again, but no words came out.

"haley was right." he chuckled softly, with a small shake of his head, "honestly, and while i understand why now, for a long time i was furious she made me promise that. because i wouldn't be able to keep my word. before that... day, i'd already given up. lost hope that i could find it again, that it was even possible, or whether i deserved it. haley and i were together for a long time, you know that. being with her was all i knew, what i was used to, and part of me thought maybe someday, we'd manage to work things out. and suddenly, she was gone. it was too late - i was too late. i failed her, and i'd continue to fail her."

"and then you came into my life, and turned my world around completely. never did i think i would love again, let alone get on one knee and ask someone to marry me. but here we are. here you are."

aaron took your face into his hands, as delicately as he possibly could - as if he feared he would break you.

"because of you, i kept my promise to haley. jack knows, he sees the love i have for you every day. and although he 'ew's' at the sight of us kissing here and there, he'll grow up understanding. he'll know the importance, as promised."

"and you saved me. you saved from a looming downward spiral. i saw it happen to gideon, it's happened to countless others within the bureau, and i could've been the next. i told someone once; it's consuming, this job will eat you up if you let it. but instead of letting it, instead of ruining my relationship with jack, you managed to pull me from that impending darkness i was headed toward."

tears were continuously trickling down your cheeks, utterly speechless.

"you're enough. god you're more than enough. and if that doesn't... i'll prove it to you everyday if i have to. if you'll let me." a broken exhale left his lips, choked up. "i promise."

still unable to find the words, and actions speaking louder, your fingers grabbed onto his tux, pulling his body to yours and wrapping your arms around his middle, burying your face into his chest. in the back of your mind, you made a mental apology to penelope, and hoped you weren't soiling aaron's dress shirt too badly.

aaron's shoulders dropped at the contact, in relief. he pressed his lips to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and holding you close. next, he's the one who took a shaky breath.

"so, i'm the one who should be afraid."

"what?" your voice cracked, peering up at him, your chin on his torso.

"baggage." aaron sighed, tearing his eyes away from yours, his hands running along your back soothingly - or rather, to soothe himself. "i'm the widowed father. i'm the one who's never around. i'm the one who's scarred, in more ways than one. i don't want to limit you, to keep you from a life you've always imagined for yourself. like i did with haley."

"don't say that."

"every day, i wonder why i'm the one you chose to be with. wonder why you love me. i think that it's too good to be true, that i'll wake up. or someday, you will."

"aaron."

he sighed, tears sliding down his cheek.

"you are not scarred, aaron hotchner." you cupped his face and angled him so he was looking at you, wiping the droplets away with the pads of your thumb. "far from it. the life i imagine, is with you. this is it." you found it in you to let out a small laugh, refreshing after the morning you've had. "that's why i was so worried."

he also couldn't help but laugh gently through his tears. "you shouldn't be."

your hand slid to the back of his neck, winding your fingers through the nape of his hair. "you've, very unfairly, dealt with the unfathomable. the unimaginable. but that doesn't make you broken. i find it admirable actually, and it's one of the things i love about you. you're strong aaron. to go through something like that, and come out on the other side of it, both the tragedy and the recovery part of it. a lot of people wouldn't be able to do the same."

aaron looked at you, listening, his head tilting as he leaned into your touch.

"despite what you think, you're a good father. i adore you with jack. and with the horrors you see, every day, you still come home with a calm face. you never fail to give us your all - your sweet loving self. you're always present, even if you're physically aren't here. because you're out there making this world a safer place for so many others. for jack, for me. you really don't give yourself enough credit."

aaron remained silent, his gaze beginning to tear away from yours. but you stopped him, with a finger under his chin to direct his focus back to you.

"you may have scars, but they aren't you. they may contribute, but they aren't you."

"are you sure?" his voice fell to a whisper, eyes desperately searching yours, his own dampened.

you nodded earnestly, your bottom lip quivering a small amount. "i've never been more sure of anything. i promise."

and with that, aaron's lips found yours, kissing you even more deeply than he had the previous night. from the urgency that soon developed, it was clear just how needed this conversation was, on both ends. providing closure, clarity. the kiss sent a buzz right through you, instantaneously making up for the all the lost time you had spent brooding.

you forced yourself to pull away - only when air was needed, and to simply stop. you would've gladly kissed him longer, and aaron likewise, but the two of you were on a schedule.

his forehead fell against yours, a rather boyish, adorable smile on his face. "so, are we good?"

you nodded, your lips pulling into a smile as well, the giddiness you've been missing finally present. you reached up, gently blotting away any lingering tears of his. "we've always been."

"wedding still on?"

you rolled your eyes, gently smacking his chest and making him laugh. "duh."

"okay." he grinned, pecking your lips gently. "i better go. if someone catches me in here-"

"-you'll be in trouble."

"big trouble." he grinned, pulling your hands forward to bring you in for yet another kiss. "i love you. you never saw me."

you chased his lips - just one more. "never did."

aaron laughed, his brown eyes just sparkling. "i'll see you soon. you know where to find me, i'll be waiting."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

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phyx-m · 2 months ago

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Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 1: A Walk In The Forest With The Devil

Content warning: dubious consent (Sukuna touching reader. This chapter is quite stressful, please read with care), gore, implied cannibalism, panic attack, description of a dead body

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Heir - Public Memory Feral Love - Chelsea Wolfe

* * * * *

Prologue | Chapter 2

* * * * *

The day of your wedding felt uncomfortably hot. Everything stuck with humidity, creating a hellish, suffocating atmosphere.

Considering the situation you faced, it fits perfectly.

Fidgeting with your silk gloves, you eye yourself in the mirror, clothed in the most ridiculous kimono you've ever seen. Your sister, a calming presence behind you, has spent hours meticulously assisting with your wedding preparations.

You notice she has been babbling on about something; however, a persistent buzzing in your ears distracts you, rendering her words unintelligible. You watch her lips move rapidly, hands gesturing excessively, yet you hear nothing. She is like a vibrant river, flowing and gushing with life, while you feel like a dead animal—rotting on the ground, forgotten.

A bead of sweat threatens to escape from your hairline, and you worry it will ruin your sister's efforts. Although you don't particularly care, she has been working on this for quite some time.

You blink twice, staring at your gloved hands, wringing them as you gather your thoughts.

"Sorry, Yuna, what did you say?" you ask as you snap out of your daze.

Your sister briefly pouts before returning to secure the final piece of your garment. She seems to believe this is a genuine wedding, oblivious that her safety hinges on your compliance. All she knows is that your father has arranged for you to marry Ryomen Sukuna, aiming to secure peace between your clans, which is a lie.

"I said, if it's worth anything, you look beautiful right now," Yuna remarks, stepping back to admire you. She licks her thumb and smooths a few stubborn strands of hair that refuse to cooperate in the heat.

Beauty is the last thing on your mind.

"Thank you. I feel lovely," you manage to say through gritted teeth, swallowing her compliment and forcing a smile. All you want is to reassure her until this is over.

Your sister smiles warmly and moves around you, ensuring every detail is perfect. You observe a slight furrow on her brow as she focuses on enhancing your beauty. In your mother's absence, she's taking on this role admirably, which breaks your heart. Thoughts of her bring a lump to your throat, so you turn your attention back to the task at hand.

You fill your mind with the plan to assassinate your future husband. Knowing it won't be simple.

The King of Curses is a powerful adversary, and you lack combat skills. Remembering your father's strict instruction to avoid publicly killing him so as not to dishonour the attending clans, you opt for seduction as your strategy. The plan is to make him vulnerable and catch him off guard. Perhaps you can end it all with some batting of your eyelashes, a few chaste touches, and a kiss or two.

"What do you think he will be like?" Yuna asks as she fusses with some gaudy ornament in your hair.

You pause to consider several possibilities: a psychopath, a cannibal, a fiend. Which description would comfort her more?

"I'm certain he will be the perfect gentleman," you reply flatly, making sure not to reveal anything as you observe your sister in the mirror's reflection. You notice her tongue poking out in concentration as she arranges your hair.

"Do you think he will be gentle, with all those hands and mouths of his?" she asks, blushing as she adjusts the hairpiece.

You freeze. Did she really have to bring that up now?

"You're asking me about that?" you give her a pointed glare.

You had never met Sukuna and had only heard stories of his unusual physical abnormalities. You understood her curiosity, but still...

She shrugs and laughs. The sound is light and airy, reflecting her carefree nature.

“I was curious what you thought was all,” she casually remarks before continuing her task.

You won't experience being with him like that because he'll be dead, or at least you hope so. You've never seduced a man before, but you understand how men operate. They appear to desire anything that moves, and you know you'll look stunning today. How could he possibly resist?

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in!" you and your sister say simultaneously. The harmony warms your heart.

Your father enters the room, and your mood instantly sours. You glare at him in the mirror before turning away as he approaches.

"My lovely girls!" He says with a smile that feels more cutting than warm, his arms outstretched. You avoid his gaze, nervously fidgeting with your hands again, tempted to pull your sister closer but restraining yourself.

"Father!" Yuna exclaims cheerfully, moving towards him and linking her arm through his. You want nothing more than to get up and shake some sense into her. "Doesn't she look beautiful?"

As they approach, your father scrutinizes you in the mirror while you return his glare. He examines every detail, clearly expecting you to look impeccable and behave respectfully to charm the monster.

Through your eyes, an unspoken conversation unfolds. You watch as he places a firm hand on your sister's waist and another on your shoulder. His fingers dig into you.

You flinch.

Don’t touch me.

You despise being touched, especially by your father, whose grip is always too tight, too forceful. And at this moment, the threat is unmistakable. You swallow the lump in your throat and resist the urge to pull away.

"Beautiful doesn't even begin to describe her. She's positively glowing like a dying star just waiting to burn out," he remarks with a hint of irony.

The smile you force in response is like bitter poison.

Meanwhile, your oblivious sister moves to the corner of the room to fetch something.

Your father leans in close to you as you face the mirror.

"Remember, if you dare to disappoint me, her body will be the punishment," he whispers ominously before straightening up. You maintain a composed expression as your sister returns with a stem of wisteria flowers.

She stands before you, delicately placing the fragile blooms in your hair to complete the look.

"There," she announces, stepping back next to your father to assess her handiwork. "You look perfect." You're almost tempted to appreciate your appearance, but really, what’s the point?

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in!" Your sister calls out alone this time while you and your father exchange hostile glances.

The door opens, and standing there is Onishi, your father’s chief advisor—a man known for his vile reputation. Now that you and your sister are adults, his lecherous looks only became more pointed and invasive, causing your stomach to knot. You remembered all too well how he used to stare at you both as young girls with a shameless hunger that made your skin crawl.

“Lord Kasai, the wedding procession is ready to depart,” he informs your father. After a bow, he quickly leaves the room, briefly glancing at your sister on his way out.

Time to go.

Your sister squeals with excitement, making you wrinkle your nose. She can be so clueless sometimes.

"Well, my darlings, let's not keep Lord Sukuna waiting," your father says, pulling you both close under his arms. You resent this display of control he's asserting, and you lean away from the embrace. "I'm certain today will be unforgettable."

* * * * *

The Kasai clan compound, your home, was a three-day ride from where you had prepared today. By midday, everyone departs on horseback.

Your sister and father lead the procession. Behind them, you follow closely, flanked by several attendants who occasionally offer you means to cool yourself. A large contingent of clan members trail behind.

The road stretches southward, guiding your journey toward the shrine where the wedding celebrations would soon commence. It will also become your new home, which won’t be permanent in your mind.

Riding a horse in your elaborate multi-layer garment is challenging, especially compounded by the relentless sun that seems determined to wreak havoc on your appearance. You are certain your hair is unravelling, and your makeup is smudging down your face. Your sister will be upset when she sees you dismount.

As the procession moves deeper into the forest towards its destination, you can’t ignore your horse's peculiar behaviour. Its ears stand upright, constantly swivelling as if attentively listening to an unseen presence. A low whine emanates from its throat, and its tail twitches nervously. You can feel the tension in its muscles beneath you, as though it was on the verge of bolting away from whatever was unsettling it.

"Easy now, girl," you whisper soothingly, placing a calming hand on the horse's neck. Despite your attempts to quiet her, she exhales sharply through her nostrils, betraying her fear.

Lifting your head, you let your gaze sweep over the packed dirt road and the dense forest flanking it on both sides.

Nothing.

Then, suddenly, a murder of crows erupts from the treetops ahead, their harsh caws muted over the pounding of hooves. They scatter out of the forest, their black forms stark against the hazy sky.

People say animals can sense danger before it strikes, alert to the presence of a predator.

Your eyes dart to your sister and father leading the group.

"Father!" Your voice rings out with urgency.

"Quiet!" he snaps, the word sharp like a point.

Both of them immediately pull hard on their reins, bringing their horses to an abrupt halt. You tug on your own, urging your horse to stop. The rest of the group follows suit, halting in a rippling sequence behind you. Adjusting your position on the horse, you straighten up and scan the surroundings again, looking for any clue as to why you had suddenly stopped.

The sun seems to be almost burning now. Sweat rolls down your back, soaking your garment. A soft breeze blows through the trees, initially refreshing as it cools your sweaty skin. However, it carries something else with it.

The acrid scent of blood assaults your nostrils. It’s thick, drying out your mouth.

Then you hear the sound of flesh tearing under teeth.

Fear snakes through your bones before you notice the presence of the man—or rather, the monster—crouching near the forest's edge. Partially concealed by the tall grass, his body was tense and flexing as he held a woman—who appeared to be dead—in his lower pair of arms.

You've witnessed plenty of violence and brutality in your time. But nothing could have prepared you for witnessing this. No one was ready. You were acutely aware of the attendant behind, muttering in panicked whispers. You can’t bring yourself to turn and face her, not wanting to give this anomaly your back.

With a horrific crack and a pull, an arm was torn off and flung somewhere unseen. There was more sick, wet pounding of flesh before it eventually quieted. It became unnervingly quiet. Too quiet. Angling his head slightly, he was no doubt aware of your group’s presence. You notice two red eyes on one side, studying everyone while simultaneously looking elsewhere.

Finally, he stood to his full height.

Massive. He is massive.

Even from this distance, his intimidating presence was unmistakable.

He turns, his enormous strides carrying him out of the tall grass. In one of his lower hands, he clutched the dead woman by her forearm.

Your stomach drops as you realize this is your first glimpse of your soon-to-be husband.

He was dressed in only a loose-fitting hakama, which you had initially thought was white but now appears dark and flecked with blood stains. Blush pink hair glints in the harsh sunlight. You've heard rumours about his dual visage, but seeing it in person makes you uncertain where to focus.

Blood drips from his mouth and chin, which he refuses to wipe off. The dead woman he clutches bears wounds on her neck and shoulder that he seems fixated on. A torn flap of skin hangs loosely from where he had been feasting and sways with his movements.

At that moment, a horrible thought crosses your mind: you feel tempted to turn your horse around and flee, which would doom your sister. The fact that you even entertain such an idea bewilders you.

You notice your father's horse taking a few steps, effectively snapping you from your daze.

"Sukuna Ryomen," your father's voice falters as he utters the name. Inwardly, you laugh, pleased to see your father humbled. "As the patriarch of the Kasai clan, I am here to fulfill our agreement to unite our clans through marriage."

Sukuna remains silent. He stands motionless, letting his ominous energy roll off him in waves that make you feel like you are drowning. His four red orbs survey everyone calmly, calculating every detail.

With a subtle scoff, he begins to approach the procession.

Holding the woman tightly in a lower hand, he drags her flaccid body across the ground, allowing the lolling face to scrape over rocks and clumps of dirt. Her hair, which was once a deep copper-brown, is matted with blood, and bits of foliage cling to tangled strands. What used to be a cream-coloured robe is stained red and torn in certain areas.

As he gets closer, the horses' unease swells. They snort and puff outbursts of hot air while their hooves paw at the ground, creating a rhythm of nervous energy.

The monster fixes his gaze on your sister and father. Upon reaching them, he intently studies her. You struggle with every ounce of restraint to keep from intervening.

A muscle feathers in his firmly set jaw, and then he opens his mouth to speak.

"Is this my bride?" he drawls.

His voice is deep, rough, stern, rattling your insides.

You're surprised your sister maintains her composure, betraying no reaction. However, you do notice her shoulders subtly giving way.

"No. This is my other daughter, Yuna." Your father turns toward you, giving you a challenging look to step forward and begin your task.

It’s time to introduce yourself to the King of Curses.

Nudging your frightened horse forward, you begin to approach. The sound of your heartbeat fills your ears, a steady thump that reverberates through your chest and settles heavily in your stomach.

Sukuna lazily drags his attention to you, gaze picking you apart from head to toe, keenly noting the signs of weariness from your journey. He’s displeased. His expression betrays his feelings, darkening with disgust as his upper lip twitches.

"Wait! My Lord, you're not supposed to see the bride yet. It's bad luck," Yuna's voice rises, making you blanch.

Bad luck? This entire cursed nuptial was bad luck.

Ignoring your sister, Sukuna moves forward. His bare feet thud against the packed earth. He drags the mangled woman behind him as if unwilling to let it go. You approach each other until you're face to face.

Even sitting on horseback, you're just barely at eye level with him. The absurd height difference is evident. Tilting his head slightly, he picks you apart with the same intensity he used to pick apart the body he holds.

A prickling sensation radiates beneath your gloves, tingling from your palms to your fingertips as anxiety creeps in.

Movement on his navel draws your attention away from his face. A slit appears, slowly widening to reveal a large, grotesque maw lined with teeth. As you watch in horrified fascination, a tongue unfurls from the opening, wriggling out and licking the air. Repulsed, you look away.

How can you possibly charm this thing?

Your horse shifts nervously, making you tense as you tightly grip the reins in your hands.

"Easy, girl," you soothe her with a pat before bracing yourself to speak to him for the first time.

“Lord Sukuna, my name is—”

"You're even uglier than I expected," he interrupts harshly, lips curling back in a sneer, showing teeth stained with blood.

The audacity. You clench your teeth, hard, resisting the urge to insult him back.

"My Lord?" you manage to grit out.

Sukuna stares for a moment before bursting into deep, unrestrained laughter.

"My Lord? " he repeats, mocking you. "Oh, she has been trained, how delightful," His laughter edges towards manic as he drops the body, letting it slump beside your mount. "What other tricks did they teach you, little bitch? Tell me."

It takes everything you can to resist the urge to retaliate to his provocations. Your gaze flicks to your father, who shoots you a stern look, silently warning you to behave. You understand that provoking Sukuna could endanger everyone, which you don’t want, especially with your sister present.

“Nothing else to say? How disappointing,” Sukuna hums, crossing his upper arms over his chest.

Oh, how you want to cut him down.

“My Lord, I would—”

"Daughter," your father interjects firmly before you can finish your sentence. "Lord Sukuna, we would be honoured if you joined us for the rest of the journey to your shrine," he adds, adjusting his posture slightly to assert control.

Sukuna appears deep in thought, maintaining unwavering eye contact with you. It feels like a tense, silent standoff. You make an effort to keep your expression neutral and as charming as possible.

You still feel like you're drowning under those red orbs.

"Hm, no," he says flatly, lifting the body from the ground.

Keeping unbroken eye contact with you, he grips a fistful of the woman's dirtied hair, fingers digging into the skull, his muscles tense. Slowly, he begins to pull. You watch with horror as the flesh stretches until, gradually, it tears. There's a snap as the muscle fibres finally give way and a plume of blood spurts. The head comes off, neck and all.

You gag.

Vomit crawls its way up your throat. You lean forward, gripping your horse for support as you fight the urge to retch. Several unsteady mutters ripple through the rest of your group.

Sukuna, pleased with your reaction, casually discards the body onto the ground. You watch as blood and gore soak into the earth. He then proceeds to stroll toward your father and presents him with the severed head. Your father accepts begrudgingly and without uttering a word.

Is this some kind of power play between two men vying for control?

Sukuna murmurs a few words to your father, casting a final glance in your direction before calmly striding toward the edge of the forest. You watch as he takes measured steps, his figure gradually disappearing into the dense canopy of trees, leaving a tense silence in his wake.

You exhale.

What just happened?

Your father, still holding the woman’s decapitated head, lets it fall to the ground with a wet thud. He then shifts his attention to you, motioning for you to approach. Guiding your mount closer, you position yourself beside him.

"He is wretched," you spit out, glancing over at your sister, whose eyes widen in alarm at your dishevelled state.

"You look awful," she exclaims, her voice filled with concern. "I will need to fix everything once we arrive."

"Why is that your priority at this moment?" you ask incredulously, taken aback by her apparent lack of concern for the situation. The expression on your sister's face in response makes you immediately regret your words, but the scene you've just witnessed is now carved into your mind. That poor woman’s body. Mutilated, torn apart, and discarded on the road to dry up in the sun.

"It doesn't matter now. There won't be time for that," your father interrupts firmly, dismounting his horse and striding towards you.

"Father?" your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Sukuna requests you accompany him back to the shrine. We will meet you there shortly to commence the ceremony," he emphasizes, pulling you down from your horse, the folds of your kimono cascading around you.

The idea fills you with unease. You weren't prepared to be alone with him yet.

"Is there any way to refuse?" you inquire tentatively.

"No," your father snaps abruptly, gripping your forearm tightly as he steers you towards the tree line. You manage to wrench your arm free, earning a stern glare from him as he steps closer, his face before yours.

"Use this to your advantage," he whispers urgently. "If you find an opportunity, seize it. You might not have to go through with the wedding."

Your throat constricts as you swallow hard.

“But you saw what he just did. What if he tries to kill me?”

The scowl on his mouth deepens, shifting the cartilage in his nose. His lips purse into a thin line, making the creases and wrinkles on his face appear sharp and unkind.

“He won't. He relishes his power over our family now that we have given you to him. Now get in that fucking forest before I have Onishi slit your sister’s throat or worse.”

Your upper lip quivers at the threat. "Okay," you respond nervously.

"Good, now get going," he says harshly, spittle flying from his mouth. He shoves you into the thick undergrowth.

Stumbling slightly, you manage to turn back for one last glance at your sister. Her anxious gaze meets yours, and you silently mouth, "I'll meet you at the shrine."

Taking a deep breath, you gather the edges of your kimono and step into the dense forest.

The reality of being alone with Sukuna for the first time begins to settle in, causing your palms to sweat inside your silk gloves. You steel yourself, knowing you must find a way to turn this situation to your advantage.

Time to confront the monster yourself.

* * * * *

You continue beyond the tree line. The sound of hooves stomping into the earth echoes behind you, indicating that the procession has resumed its journey toward the shrine.

After a few careful steps, you come to a halt. Sukuna is nowhere in sight. You listen intently for his heavy footfalls, but are only met with silence. You are completely alone out here, which gives you pause, remembering how all the animals reacted in his presence. Your fingers twitch nervously at your side.

You exhale.

Should I call out to him?

“Lord Sukuna?” Your voice echoes.

Silence.

Glancing around, something catches your attention—a spattering of blood on foliage. Perhaps a trail left by him. With no other leads, you decide following the bloodstains might guide you to him.

Lifting your kimono to prevent tripping, you cautiously navigate around a cluster of rocks and tree roots, tracing the path marked by blood. You mutter under your breath; you feel slightly anxious that he might be compelling you to search for him.

With each step, you delve deeper into the forest.

The rising humidity envelops you in an uncomfortable embrace, and a stray strand of hair falls across your vision, adding to the growing disarray. "You are even uglier than I expected," his cruel words rattle around in your brain. Letting out a strained sigh, you realize this isn’t going to be easy.

As you continue to walk, your mind drifts to the dead, partially eaten woman rotting on the dirt road. What if your father’s judgment is wrong, and Sukuna ambushes you? Can you truly consider yourself safe from his wrath merely by your title as his bride? What will become of your sister should anything happen to you? Struggling to quell these unsettling thoughts, you make a concerted effort to regain your focus.

After some time, the blood trail ends, leading you to a flowing stream. The surface sparkles in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Sweat pools at your lower back, prompting you to pull the fabric away in search of relief. Eyeing the water, you are tempted to wade in to escape the stifling heat. You lick your parched lips and decide to at least dip your toes in.

You step towards it, and the air changes. An ominous energy glides up your body, making you stop.

He’s here, and he’s watching you.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Your eyes dart around the area until his large frame catches your attention. He stands beneath the shadow of an oak tree by the water’s edge, watching you intently, pinning you down with those red orbs. As soon as he sees you've noticed him, he steps away from where he is standing and approaches.

Why must he be so enormous? Every aspect of his presence commands attention. You cannot look or breathe without wanting to crawl away and cower.

A slight tremble in your legs keeps you rooted to the spot as he deliberately takes his time approaching you. His pace is unhurried, as if he possesses all the time in the world while you are the one left waiting.

Tightness knots low in your belly.

At last, he reaches you, towering like a monolith and casting a dark shadow with his presence. You had been looking down, but self-consciously, you lifted your head, straining your neck to look up at him.

You won't deny it. Sukuna is striking in a harsh and cruel sort of way. His features are strong, with a straight nose, an angled jawline, and a defined brow. His neck is thick, all corded muscle, and it’s clear you wouldn’t be able to wrap both of your hands around it if you wanted to strangle him. His blush pink hair is pushed back, set in a way that seems like controlled chaos. The right side of his face, with that mask and its larger orbs, pulls at you the most. The texture of it appears rough, with grooves that jut out slightly. You wonder why or what it even is. The rest of him is dense, with prominent tendons and fibres.

Upon closer inspection, you observe that his face, hands, and chest are now free of blood. A subtle sheen suggests he has recently cleaned himself, likely explaining why the trail led you to this stream. Several beads of water trickle slowly down his neck, outlining paths over his exposed chest.

Your throat dries as you realize you've been staring for too long. You lower your gaze, unable to endure the silence any further, and clear your throat.

“You asked for my presence, my Lord?” you ask nervously.

Without responding, he begins circling you like a predator, each step resonating with the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot. Unnerved, you keep your eyes fixed on him, striving to maintain your composure as he examines you from every angle. This scrutiny continues several times, with him circling, examining, and deliberating. Finally, he comes to a halt in front of you.

“How old are you?” he probes.

“Twenty-five,” you reply quietly.

“Hm.”

Leaning closer, he reaches out a hand towards your face, compelling you to flinch instinctively. He notices your reaction, which causes him to grin, contorting the black tattoos on his face. Running his fingers through your smudged makeup, his touch is deliberate and firm, leaving impressions on your skin. You bite down on the inside of your cheek. As he pulls his hand back, you notice streaks of makeup staining his fingertips, which he rubs together thoughtfully.

“When we arrive, take that shit off your face,” he remarks curtly.

You clench your fists.

“Of course.”

With a vacant stare fixed on you, he extends his fingers towards you again. This time, he plucks the wisteria flowers that survived the journey and removes them one by one from your hair. Thoughtlessly casting aside the delicate adornments your sister had carefully placed, he then moves away from you. You observe in silence, gazing down at the fragile purple petals strewn upon the ground.

A sharp ache seizes your chest.

“Come,” he orders over his shoulder, beckoning you with two fingers and starting to walk with an air that suggests he expects you to follow like a dog called to heel. Despite the demeaning manner, you gather your hem to hurry after him.

Deeper into the forest. Closer to the shrine.

The walk continues in disquiet, the forest enveloping you with its silence. The canopy above provides scant refuge from the brutal sun, and the thick humidity lingers. Bringing your hand up, you attempt to fan yourself, hindered by the discomfort of your damnable kimono.

As you trail behind Sukuna, you continue assessing him, searching for any weakness or exploitable detail. Your gaze fixes on his four muscular arms, noticing the black ink adorning his skin. Next, the sinewy movement of his back muscles captures your attention.

He looms large and solid. A huge target.

Narrowing your eyes, you focus on the space between his lower shoulders, tracing the lines of his back tattoo. Beneath your silk gloves, your fingers itch uncomfortably, the urge to reach out and end him growing stronger.

With his back turned to you, this could be your chance.

With trembling hands, you peel off one glove and grip it tightly in the other. Moving cautiously, you edge closer to Sukuna, careful to avoid making excessive noise. As you extend your hand, you must concentrate hard to reach your gift. Finally, you sense its faint hum beneath your fingertips. Your heart pounds in your chest, drowning out all other sounds as you prepare for this pivotal moment.

End this before it even begins—

"What the hell are you doing?" Sukuna abruptly halts his steps and turns around, staring down at you.

No!

You retract your hand in a panicked blur, hastily shoving it back into your glove. His lower eyes fixate on your hand while his upper pair scrutinize your flushed, heated face.

“N-nothing,” you mumble, voice barely audible, feeling the space around him growing hostile.

A serious crease forms above his nose.

“You were about to touch me with your vile little fingers. Did I say you could touch me?” His voice turns cold, laced with aggression.

“Well, no, I—”

“Then what the fuck were you doing?” He steps closer, gripping your chin, preventing you from looking away. “I don’t appreciate being touched by mutts.”

Nervously, you wring your hands together, fingers intertwining in a familiar gesture that surfaces whenever you are anxious.

His grip becomes harsh. Dull nails dig into your soft skin. You frantically search for an explanation.

"I apologize," you somehow manage to say, your voice shaky. "I... I wanted to... to see your tattoos up close," you blurt out, immediately regretting the feeble excuse.

“Tch. You wanted to see my tattoos,” he says, tone heavy with disbelief.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have done that.” You soften your voice, hoping to diffuse the tension.

“Are you that needy that you felt the necessity to touch me before we are wed?”

Your skin bristles.

“What? No. That’s not it at all.”

Sukuna releases your chin and crosses his arms, staring intently at you as though lost in thought, reflecting deeply on something. You find yourself disliking this demeanour of his. It makes him less predictable and more cunning, as if he’s devising new ways to toy with you.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” he asks suddenly, throwing you off guard.

Irritation and embarrassment flush your face at the intrusive question.

"Excuse me?" You attempt to keep the bitterness out of your voice, though it rises an octave.

“You heard me.” A smirk breaks across his lips. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

Another flush of irritation races up your spine, leaving you peppered with more sweat than you can handle.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” The words slip out before you can consider their consequences.

The smirk that was there a moment ago is now gone. Sukuna's upper arm snaps out, his fingers engulfing your entire neck. He pulls you close, pressing your clothed chest against his bare one, effectively preventing any swift retaliation. You feel your heartbeat pulsing against the flat of his palm.

Fear worms its way into you.

Looming into your face, his breath washes over you.

“Are you an imbecile? Do you need me to repeat the question?”

“No,” you breathe as his grip tightens slightly.

He looks down at your face with disdain, waiting for a response.

A heartbeat passes.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, feeling exposed. “I’m a virgin.”

Casting a haughty look, Sukuna smacks his lips together. His grip loosens on your throat, and then it falls away.

He scoffs.

“Of course, look at you. You're pathetic.”

You hold your tongue, casting him a slight frown that you swiftly erase, though he catches it.

"Don't look at me like that," he laughs, the noise lacking any warmth. “Now I see why you wanted my attention." His expression shifts again to something indiscernible. His mood swings are starting to grate on you. "I can address that issue for you sooner, perhaps even immediately."

You take a small step back.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord?" You respond respectfully, uncertain if you heard him correctly. He lifts his eyebrow and steps forward, returning your nervous gaze with a more contentious expression.

“You seem to be hard of hearing. I've had to repeat myself, and it's becoming tedious." His voice is low, the words wrapping around your throat as if they’re his hands.

You step back again.

He moves closer.

Your heart races as you realize you’re not prepared for this moment. You planned to lure the creature and catch him off guard, but now you find yourself caught off guard instead.

"I don't think that's appropriate,” you murmur, edging further away. “Let's wait until after the ceremony.”

"I think I’ll have a taste of my bride before she becomes my wife." His mouth rolls up, flashing a bit of canines that appear all too sharp, while his eyes widen with hunger.

That look tells you everything. You've glimpsed it before, fleetingly on other men but never so intensely.

He’s ravenous.

Your instincts scream at you to run, but fleeing will only cause more trouble. As your father put it, this is an opportunity. Fine, you’ll take it—use it. Find another moment to place a hand on the monster and end him.

Forcing yourself to freeze in place, you watch through your lashes as he approaches slowly, like you're a forest animal he’s afraid of scaring off. How deceptive of him. This thing is not gentle. He’s fucking toying with you.

Reaching down, you subtly pinch one of your silk gloves, preparing to slip it free while he distracts himself with your body. But before you can act, one of his lower hands clamps around your wrist.

You tense, eyes snapping to his.

Shit.

A crooked grin widens across Sukuna’s face, and suddenly, he’s maneuvering you.

Turning you, he pulls you into him so hard that your back thuds against his chest. The impact fuses both your bodies together, your softness to his cutting muscle. Swiftly, he grasps your other wrist, holding both firmly at your sides, while the top pair presses down on your shoulders, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his red gaze.

“Let's see how sensitive your body is.” His voice deepens as he leans over your shoulder and slides his upper hands down the front of your garment.

Don’t panic. Do not panic.

Two hands dip into the panels of your kimono, and he takes his time while his hands find their way into your undergarment. Massive palms splay against your breasts, cupping them firmly, making you whimper as your body grows warmer.

Sukuna bends, lowering his head next to yours.

"Already whining?" There’s a smirk in his voice, and as he speaks low against your nape, his breath gently stirs your hair. The heavy dampness in the forest, mingling with his warm exhale, threatens to overwhelm you.

Saliva pools then dries in your mouth, and when you try to respond, no words come out.

Pushing up on your sensitive breasts, Sukuna begins to knead and poke his fingertips into the soft flesh. You pant as his left hand comes up to the place where your pulse thrums wildly in your chest.

"Your little heart is beating so fast," he chuckles. "There's no need to be afraid."

That ever-present condescending tone makes your face scrunch up, and you shift uncomfortably.

His right hand clenches reflexively on your breast while the other withdraws from the stuffy garment. You watch nervously as it ascends to the neckline of your kimono, his fingers curling possessively around the delicate fabric.

He stills. You swallow.

“What are you do—”

He rips it open in one smooth motion, exposing your swelling chest and nipples to his eyes.

“There you are,” he hisses.

In shame, you slam your eyes shut. This man, this creature, is the first to ever see you.

“Open your eyes!” The command cuts sharply, but it's softened by something gently brushing the crest of your ear.

Shuddering, you reluctantly obey, only to observe his large fingers circling your areolas, moving lazily, tauntingly.

Your breathing increases, and you become lightheaded. Turning your head slightly, you attempt to focus on anything—a tree, a rock, anything to distract from the moment.

"Don’t look away.” He tightens his lower hands on your wrists to the point of pain. Your head snaps back, and you look down at your heaving chest. "Better."

Leaning closer, Sukuna’s mask comes into view as he presses it against your face. Your soft, damp cheeks rub against it, allowing you to feel its rough texture and protruding edges. His lower eyes fixate on your breasts while his upper eyes cut to the side, locking on you, drinking in every expression.

Your head swims dangerously.

As Sukuna’s hot breath hits the side of your neck, a solitary bead of sweat trails its way down, gliding past your collarbone, tracing the path to your sternum, and down between your breasts. He pauses the circling of your nipples, as both of you stare, transfixed, captivated by the droplet's unhurried journey until it finally disappears into the fabric of your torn clothing.

A low growl rumbles in Sukuna’s chest, a primal sound that signals his imminent action.

After a moment, he makes his move.

The fingers that have been slowly circling your sensitive flesh drawback. Swiftly, he flicks your nipples. Your breasts sway slightly. Then he does it again. Then again. And again. The feeling is acute and sharp. They harden. Your mouth drops open, and you let out a traitorous groan.

“Already?” he chuckles.

Already what?!

Your mind struggles to comprehend what's happening. And he only makes it worse when his fingers latch onto the sensitive tips, pinching and rolling them, making your back arch against his chest.

“Look at you,” he grunts, watching your spine bow and curve.

The forest is gone from your vision now. Heat is everywhere, crawling over you, seeping into your pores.

Another harsh tug makes your whole body tremble uncontrollably.

"N-no more," you mumble, squirming in his grip, face turning into a sticky mess of sweat.

Ignoring you, he applies more pressure to the hardening nubs, rolling them between his thumb and index fingers with no regard for your words.

He flicks your nipples again, earning him a low whine. Leaning in, he drags his sharp canines across your neck, leaving red marks, followed by a swipe of his rough tongue. You freeze, remembering how he used those teeth to rip flesh from the woman on the road. Panicking, you squirm, shuffling your feet in the undergrowth. Sukuna huffs in disapproval and shoves a knee between your thighs to halt your movements.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gaze fixed downward, reflecting an intense concentration as he continues to torment your nipples. Sharp pinpricks dance across your skull, intensifying the pulsing in your head. You’re certain you are going to blackout. The overwhelming warmth, the blurred vision, the relentless onslaught—it’s too much.

Letting go of one—now sore—bud, he lets that hand drop down to your navel. The descent is slow, pushing through the torn fabric with ease. He presses his fingertips into your damp skin, rippling it and mapping it out with his touch.

“What else are you keeping from me?” His voice becomes impossibly deeper.

“Please. Lord Sukuna,” you rasp.

"Please, what? It seems you’re having issues with speaking and listening.” His hand comes to a stop, splaying just above your cunt.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You aren’t ready. Not like this. Not with him.

A sudden sensation startles you. On his palm, it’s as if something has opened up unexpectedly, though all you can discern is the sensation of a wet tongue emerging and intimately licking your skin.

Your eyes close as you struggle to breathe, gasping for gulps of the muggy air.

“Please—”

The damp muscle on his palm licks harder, slathering you in a thick coat of saliva, pulling you back so your eyes open again.

His fingers trail lower… lower, then suddenly pause before withdrawing slightly. It’s as if he’s trying to push you over the edge. See how far he can unravel you. But it doesn’t matter. You’re fighting to stay focused, to stay upright even.

“I’m—I’m going to—”

Your words fade as your vision blurs.

Despite Sukuna's solid frame supporting you from behind, your body slackens under the weight of it all: the forced marriage arrangement, your overwhelming responsibility, the looming threat to your sister's life, the oppressive heat, the monster at your back.

Suddenly, you feel nothing holding you up. You're weightless. Sukuna has seemingly let go of your shaking body, and you’re falling, sinking, eyes closing.

As soon as you hit the forest floor, you faint.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 2

#true form sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk fanfic #beneath the silk #heian sukuna #dark content #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #dark fantasy

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bespokevintagecastle · 7 months ago

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A Spring Elopement in Paris

A pretty Paris Elopement…

Once upon a time

Back in April 2018 before I knew I would be living in the city of lights just 2 years later we did a photoshoot in Paris

3 months after having our little baby Victoria

I took a trip on the Eurostar over to Paris with other wedding industry creatives for an Elopement Wedding Photoshoot.

At the time; it took months of planning and We got the timing of our trip just right as the pretty blossom trees were in full bloom and the days were long and full of light.

We planned some locations for the shoot like the Place du Trocadéro with views of the Eiffel Tower, Musée du Louvre and Jardin des Tuileries amongst other places. We wanted to show iconic buildings of Paris as well as the little side streets and general Parisian vibe. There simply wasn’t enough hours in the day or days in the trip!

We created a beautiful, romantic and stylish picnic setup for our elopement couple in the shade under a tree in Jardin des Tuileries. The colours were soft pastel shades with pinks, greens and a hint of lilac and rose gold. You can see some of these Parisian images in UNVEILED magazine in Issue 10. Here is a little look below. I hope you will be inspired by this beautiful shoot in the most romantic city of Paris!

Accessories: Bespoke Vintage Castle

Images: Jane Beadnell photography

Gowns: Eliza Jane Howell

Styling: Ambience York

Cakes: Poppy Pickering Cakes

Flowers: Frenchie Loves Flowers

Feature: Unveiled Magazine 10

Location: The city of Paris

#wedding hairpiece #wedding trends #weddings 2021 #covid19 bride #covid wedding #lockdownwedding #elopement wedding #covid elopement #covid19 elopement wedding #paris wedding #france #paris #paris bride #covid19 paris bride

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fanaticsnail · 11 months ago

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Chapter 5

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

@i-am-vita, thank you for the beautiful banner

Word Count: 8,910

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow "Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it" Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail

(FanaticSnail Note: I did not get every element I wanted to into this chapter, but I didn't want it to go for too long. Much more to come!)

Song Suggestion: Nocturnal Waltz

The air was siphoned from your lungs at the firm tug of satin ribbon at your back. You hung your head low, eyes closing as you braced yourself against your bedframe with your palms and forearms. A small giggle rose from the woman behind you, continuing her incessant tugging and cinching with all her might.

“Not quite so tight, Perona,” you winced, focussing on stabilizing your voice as you firmly directed her. A small whined groan of disapproval was called from her throat as she began to lessen her firm grip.

“But you have such a pretty waist, my lady,” she complimented you while weaving the dual strands into each other, “Of all the times to show it off, now would be the time to display exactly what Mihawk signed up for.” She concluded her knot tying, ballooning the satin out into a delicately knotted bow and tucked it within the laced corset to hide it from view.

Huffing out a final breath of exasperation, you placed your right palm beneath your breasts to rest atop your diaphragm and elevated to a formal posture. The gown felt spectacular to wear; the material feeling lighter than air while giving you the comfort and security of having the object melt into your figure. The dress was black, an option you did not choose for yourself. In fact, none of this dress was what you would have chosen for yourself.

The black material clung to your chest, a single triangular sash attached to your left shoulder that was pinned to the middle of your back and waterfalling down your frame to pool behind you at your feet. Your bust was an interesting choice. The material was bunched in a fashion to mimic feathers, stitched above a heart-shaped cup to carry your breasts within it. The deep cut in the middle of the gown accentuated your cleavage and stopped just below where you would deem it tasteful to halt its descent.

You sighed in defeat as you stepped over to your vanity, looking at the assortment of jewelry you were tasked with placing atop your body. The dress flowed as effortlessly as the veiled tailfin of a betta fish; imprisoned within the pool of its owners’ design. You had never felt more like a fish on display, the glass sheet of clarity distancing you from the expectant audience.

“Are you okay, my lady?” Perona’s voice uncomfortably close to your right hand side caused you to jolt at her squeaked question. You snapped your head over to greet her wide and innocent eyes, staring unblinkingly at you. Her lips were elevated into a smile, although concern was written on her brows.

“I am perfectly well, Perona,” you stated automatically, turning once again to fixing your collection of ear and hairpieces atop your head. All emeralds, golds and platinums sparkling with an assortment of topaz stones in their deep amber hue. You elected to ignore how close Perona drew herself against you, her face now perpendicular to your cheek as she continued to gaze her unblinking eyes directly into your face.

You growled beneath your breath at her proximity, finally clasping your right earring to your lobe. You reached down to open your vanity draw, raking your fingertips over an assortment of glass vials of fragrances. You halted your hand over your usual scent, rising it from its space in the drawer and beginning to uncork its steel top from its glass canister.

“Are you really going to wear that one?” she whined at you, her hands floating down to the wooden drawer and brushing her hands along the variety of bottles, “what about that one that you wore when we walked in the garden? The one that smelt like bitter honey, and it had that intoxicating woodiness. The one that screams: ‘I’m a sultry mistress, take me by the hips and guide me firmly onto your-.”

“-Perona! Halt your vulgarity!” Your disciplinary voice cut through her train of thought, prompting her eyes to upturn into a mischievous twinkle.

“...I was going to say ‘dancefloor’, Governess,” she giggled, raising a bottle of her suggested fragrance and thrusting it into your hands while simultaneously removing the one you had opened prior. You inhaled deeply, rolling your narrowed eyes at her before apprehensively uncorking the vial and spraying the fragrance on your wrists. You circled the vial around yourself, placing the scent on the sides of your neck, the point between your shoulder blades and began to place the glass bottle back into the cabinet.

Perona snatched the bottle from your hands, quickly sprayed the lowest point of your cleavage and laughed as she dropped it back into the vanity draw. Hastily, she floated her ghostly body away from you and made her way towards the door - as far away as she could be with a feigned surprise expression; reveling in how cross she had made you. Your jaw hung open at her audaciousness, eyes wide in fury only briefly before you sighed out a laugh at your ward.

You glanced at yourself one final time in your mirror, checking to see if there was a single manicured curl out of place before you nodded to your reflection and turned to exit your chambers. As you opened the door, you were greeted by Zoro with his arm elevated in front of him. His fist was balled, his knuckles about to begin their descent to alert you of his presence beyond the wooden barrier.

His hazelnut eyes met yours, his breath halting in his throat as he took in your formal attire. You smiled at him, dancing your eyes over his attire before your brows furrowed at the stretched satin vest firmly clenching his wide torso. In the light of the black material, accents of green were patterned within the embroidered material. The relinquishment of a pale shirt beneath it being a final firm act of defiance at squeezing himself into the mold of the upper classes, but remaining incredibly attractive to the eye regardless.

“Woah,” Zoro sighed, using his surprise to examine your attire while you continued to take him in. You met his eyes once more before your eyes darted up to a single sprig of his moss-coloured hair hanging in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, immediately bringing your bangled and jeweled hand upwards and claiming the lock into your fingertips and tucked it backwards into his combed hair.

“You look very handsome, Zoro,” you praised him, slowly drawing back your hand as you searched for more out of place elements of his outfit to correct his frame with. You noticed a small amount of fray of satin on his left pectoral, prompting your fingers to delicately pick at the material to remove its strand.

As you were distracted by searching over Zoro’s frame for more irregularities in his attire, Perona shot Zoro a teasing look; her lips curling upwards into a broad smile. Zoro’s frown deepened as his blush continued to dust his nose, ears and cheeks. His top lip sucked into his mouth, his bottom lip curling into a deep pout in embarrassment as he continued to ignore his elevated heartbeat as you praised him.

“What a gentleman,” you purred at him, Perona laughing gleefully behind him at his tense stature. As her taunting giggle, you spun to chastise her. Her dark eyes were complimented in the accents of black in her tulle and taffeta skirt, her own corset accented with a pink so deep it almost seemed red in the candlelight.

“That’s enough mischief out of you, young lady,” you reprimanded her, her giggle halting with a gasp. She bowed her head to you, eyes closing and pouting with her lips. Shaking your head, you drew your hand away from Zoro and claimed her chin beneath your fingertips.

“You look beautiful, Perona,” you praised her, meeting her large doe-eyes as her eyelashes parted. Her pout softened into a smile as she reached forward to interlace her hands into your own. You crinkle your nose at her, an action reciprocated with the pink-haired debutant, allowing a moment of playfulness to fall between you and your ward before you turn back to the young gentleman.

“Are you ready to go?” Zoro asked you, his brow arching up in question. You inhaled as deep as your corset would allow you, before nodding along with your slow exhale.

“You seem nervous, are you sure you’re okay?” Perona asked, eyes holding concern while searching your face. You lulled your neck back, looking up into the ornate ceiling and taking a moment to notice all of the intricate carvings drilled into its mastery. Placing your hands up to cradle the back of your neck, you allowed your professionalism to slip in front of your wards for the first time; speaking to them as you would friends, rather than pupils.

“I usually have no qualms in attending formal galas,” you admitted, not yet bringing your head back down to meet with your wards, “but this-... this is not just a formal gala. This is a ball thrown to announce the intentions of unifying myself and a lord. I-...” you trailed off, finally meeting the patient eyes of your wards. Perona’s expression was full of empathy at your confession, brows creasing at the center while Zoro’s face remained unmoving and firm. You allowed your lips to twitch up into a small smile, nodding briefly and slowly blinking your eyes at them.

“-I am ready,” you ushered them with your hands in front of you, shooing them with your fingers. Perona was the first to turn from you, interweaving her hand within the crook of Zoro’s elbow and tugging him away. He continued peering at you over his muscular shoulder, shooting you a pointed look to wordlessly ask you if you were truly comfortable with them leaving you to make your entrance. You warmly smiled at him, eyes soft and delicately reassuring him. He finally turned away, revealing the dark satin knotted pattern vertically cinching his waist and straining under the pressure of his broad chest.

Zoro was wearing a corseted waistcoat. Someone had to cinch in his corseted waistcoat. You narrowed your eyes at them, watching how proud Perona looked as she raked her eyes over his assembly of attire. You allowed a silent laugh to fall from your lips as you drew the conclusion: Perona cinched Zoro into his corseted waistcoat.

As your pupils disappeared from your sights down the hall, you began your own trail down the halls towards the uproar of lively strings in jovial melody. Knowing the protocall, you waited by the partially closed doors for your formal announcement. You peered through the crack of the door, noticing how extravagantly the ballroom was decorated through this small window into your future.

Dracule Mihawk had spared no expense in adorning the walls and halls with an intricate display of his vast wealth. The walls had ropes of golden cast vines dripping from the ceiling, leading down their intricate spirals in spirals towards the guests with bushels of crystalline rose-shaped flowers. The assortment of guests were freshly decorated in clusters of frills, furs and feathers; their pearls and gems glistening under the candlelight.

That is where Mihawk caught you, breathless as he took in his beautiful intended bride to be. You were a sight to behold: wonderment dancing without restraint behind your eyes as you took in the celebration occurring beyond the door. He stuttered in his movement, opting to remain in the shadows just a moment longer as he continued looking over your body firmly secured within the material of his own design. If you got to choose three outfits for yourself to adorn on your wedding day, he wanted just one to suit his own interests. And within that singular choice he made, you were pure perfection incarnate.

He straightened his shoulders, rotating them within his pale sleeves below his own cinched vest to rid himself of any final nerves as he approached you.

“My Betrothed,” Mihawk’s purred voice broke you away from your stooped position; your body responded immediately by fixing your hunched posture upright. You turned, eyes meeting with the amber hued orbs shrouded in shadows.

“Betrothed,” you responded, dipping low into a deep curtsey with your head bowed. The small dip of your head bounced your curls and jangled the intricate headpieces within your manicured locks. Mihawk clicked his tongue, stepping away from the shroud of darkness to finally grace you with his presence.

Mihawk’s signature hat was no longer attached to his head; his hair displaying their natural curl and wave beneath a dark, embroidered tricorne. The usual white of his feather was replaced with a blackened ostrich feather, ombre with a deep crimson accentuating the tips. He paid extra attention to his grooming, ensuring not a single sprig of his facial hair was out of place. A pale shirt with ballooning sleeves was tucked beneath a tight black vest. The boning running down his torso catching your attention and forcing his built chest to display; the way it tightened him was sinful and made his shoulders look that much broader.

As you continued to shamelessly rake your eyes over his slowly approaching body, Mihawk’s yellow eyes were hyper focussed on the small gap in your plump lips as they parted. He couldn’t help the tingle that shot up his spine, knowing how you truly felt for him from your unwitting confession earlier. He relished in being an object of desire, not feeling this form of flattery for quite some time.

By the time your eyes met, you noticed a small twinge of a smile threatening to break through the honey-coloured irises. You tried as you might to remain professional and stoic, knowing within your heart that this match with him was never something to occur naturally between you. You closed your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself as you attempted to regain your composure. He was intoxicating, every ounce of the lord of Kuraigana was simply-.

“-So beautiful,” he spoke in a voice above a whisper, reaching down to adjust the darkened satin strap clinging to your shoulder by the pinch of his thumb and index finger. You looked down at your dress, noticing his eyes continued to linger on the satin sashes and interwoven pieces attached to your bodice.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” you smiled, watching the way his fingers danced atop the material to smooth over the dress. Mihawk’s eyes drew themselves quietly over your neckline, dancing at your jugular and slowly seeking residence on your lips. He watched as your breath rose and fell between the two rose-coloured borders framing your mouth, fixated on every crevice and divet atop them. He watched them begin to dance as you uttered to him in question.

“Am I everything you hoped I would be?” he heard your voice ask him, breaking him away from his thoughts and snapping his intense eyes upwards to gaze into your own.

“What was that, Betrothed?” he asked, desperately hoping for you to say those words once more.

“Is this everything you hoped it would be, my lord?” you restated your words, blissfully unaware of Mihawk’s mind fluctuating words and unspoken intentions between the lines of your question. You gestured to the dress and fixed your posture once more, waving over your diaphragm to rid the material of any gathered lines from your prior stoop.

He huffed out a small breath of exasperation briefly before gesturing with his right index finger in a circular motion, indicating his desire for you to twirl for him to view it in its entirety. You sighed out your own exasperated breath and skillfully stepped backwards and twirled the pooling skirts of the intricate dress. The slit on your right thigh split to reveal your sheer, black stockings beneath your sharp, pointed heeled shoes. He raked his eyes over your slow turn, looking to each of the elements he had chosen to include: the boned corset with the laced back, the embroidered satin with feathered details and the plunging neckline to mimic his own.

You were perfect. Everything, perfect.

As your twirl halted its crescendo, your skirts fluttered before falling back into their waterfall position by your feet. Looking up into his face, his stoic expression was completely unreadable. You had no idea what thoughts plagued the eyes of your betrothed, nor did you ever assume it would be your place to ever ask.

“We never did choose a title to address each other with, did we?” Mihawk’s left eyebrow elevated as the corner of his lips twitched in question, “Although I do remember stating that you lowering yourself into your subordinate default was no longer appropriate.”

“We initially discussed referring to each other as ‘betrothed’, my-,” He shot you a warning look, forbidding you to say a final utterance to the formal title. You rotated your neck to rid it of its agitation as the two of you began circling each other. Each step Mihawk took, you mirrored it with a step of your own, “But I suggested that was no longer appropriate and sounded too rigid.”

“And have you thought more of it?” Mihawk questioned, allowing his body to be danced with yours a few steps in front of the door where you were to make your grand entrance. He halted his rotation, opting to step forward and bring your bodies all the more closer to each other. You refused to allow him to intimidate you with his presence.

“Have you?” You quipped in return, stepping closer to him and almost pressing your torso against his. He almost cracked a small smile, the ghost of its presence whispering over his mustached lip as he continued to stare his unmoving gaze into your eyes.

“When I introduce you to our guests; I will refer to you as my bride,” he declared, choosing to press his right hand an inch above your hip; slowly dragging it to fall into the mid of your back, “But as you’ve plagued my thoughts of late, my heart calls to you by another name.”

His eyes held a firmness to them, desiring for you to understand your place as his intended, but also harboring more affection for you than you once realized. You were drawn back to your conversation earlier with the Farm-Hand of Kuraigana, your heart singing the praises of the eyes and the voice of the man in front of you. That voice now referring to you almost akin to the prospect of ‘beloved,’ both had you reveling at the notion of affection being possible between the two of you, but also frightening you with the aspect that this could all be due to the suspicious curse that haunts the ring on your unity finger.

“I am your bride,” you whispered, dancing your eyes between his briefly while placing your right palm atop his heart and pushing against it firmly, “and I am fine with being introduced as such, as I would introduce you to our guests as my beau.”

As your heart began to drum frantically, and anxiety nipped at your neck at your approaching confession; a loud fanfare began its call to introduce the lord and intended lady of Kuraigana to the guests below the marble staircase. The shock of the interruption broke you both from your trance, eyes snapping from one another and jolting to the awaiting audience below.

You felt the left arm of Dracule Mihawk reach forward and claim your right arm within the crook of his elbow. Stooping down, he gently voiced a small utterance, “We will talk more on this later. For now, know this,” He leant down to whisper a small secret within your ear, lips brushing gently with the outer shell as his breath danced over your skin, “I’m here by your side, and I will not drop you.”

Your mind immediately began swimming with circling thoughts of the dirt, twig, fur and feather-covered Farm-Hand who has spent his morning with you. He journeyed with you, educating you on interests throughout the land belonging to your betrothed you clutched with your arm. He carried you, allowed defenses to break down between you and confessed to his own romantic ailments.

You refused to let your displeasure be shown on your face by the knowledge that this man you called ‘friend’ had spilled your secrets to your intended beside you: opting to falsify a pleasant smile as Mihawk chaperoned you to the balcony. This would be a conversation to be explored between you the next the two of you should meet.

Applause erupted below as you stepped in tow with your fiance, his face stoic and unreadable as it was moments prior. He guided you down the steps, slowly making your descent below with the mable clicking pleasantly with yours and Mihawk’s formal shoes. As your feet concluded its journey down the steps, the room had once again sprung to life with the merriment of your guests and the uproar of melody drawn from the small orchestra at the corner of the room.

Perona and Zoro were off to the side, opting to stare at the amount of guests within the large ballroom while drinking wine together. You raked your eyes over to several members within the upper class you had trained from youth; a broad, warm smile drawing itself to your face as your eyes met with your former gentlemen and debutants. Each of them you locked gazes with, stooped to a low and perfect curtsey and bow. Your pride in their tutelage swelled your heart and greatly improved your prior disgruntled mood.

That was, until, you caught the whiff of the choking scent of a sour cigar. The nicotine-woven smoke spurred towards you, drawing over your hair and face and dancing with the perfume you had meticulously applied against your skin earlier. You snapped your head towards the position the intrusion was occurring, narrowing your eyes as they met with the purple irises of an incredibly tall and broad gentleman.

Your beau beside you was no short individual, his height far greater than yours. But this man in his broad stature eclipsed the two of you with his presence. His beady eyes held a dangerous, cold-blooded and reptilian stare as it met with your own. You refused to look away from his intimidation, choosing to feign your practiced kindness against your features.

“Sir Crocodile,” Mihawk curtly addressed the man in front of you, “allow me to introduce my bride.” He carefully unwove your hand from within the crook of his elbow, prompting you to automatically step your body between Mihawk’s and this ‘Sir Crocodile’ to formally greet him. He had a cigar clutched between his teeth, his brows upturned in boredom but his eyes holding nothing but complete intrigue. He removed his bitten cigar from his lips by stabbing the tip of a golden hook attached to his left hand and moved to collect your right within his.

Stooping low, he drew up the back of your hand to press his lips against your knuckles with his eyes closing in respect. From this angle, you had the brief opportunity to study his face; noticing a large scar separating his eyes from the bottom half of its face that looked to be particularly painful in origin.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” His raspy voice rumbled at you, the air of danger being omnipresent in the air and surrounds, “I have heard many wondrous things about you.” He opened his eyes at you while his face remained close to your knuckles, looking up at you through his eyelashes with narrowed eyes. Opting to mimic his response and mirror it back to him, you responded in a similar likeness.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” you uttered in return, a smirk now pulling at your lips in lieu of your false smile, “And I truly wish I could say the same in return.” The rumble of his voice was now ignited with a small chuckle thrust from his lips as he ascended back to full height.

“The Hawk of Kuraigana has not spoken about me to his blushing bride?” Sir Crocodile quipped, his brow raising as his eyes snapped over to Mihawk’s, “My, my. And here I thought we were friends.” Mihawk attempted to contain his composure, not allowing the Crocodile’s suggestion get the better of him.

“I do not recall making much mention regarding my bride’s achievements to you either, Crocodile,” He uttered through a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. You continued to hold your gaze firmly on the man in front of you, watching his nonchalant amusement dance over his eyes. His jaw continued to hold a bored and exasperated expression, even as he returned his cigar to his lips on the pointed tip of his golden hook.

“I did my own research on such a woman. A governess, Mihawk,” he inhaled a deep breath of nicotine-lace smoke and turned his jaw away from you to relinquish its presence in his mouth while his eyes remained on yours, “And a talented one at that.” You felt the tension between the men rushing between them like the rapids of a river of cloudy water.

“I am an exceptional governess, sir. May I confess to you a trade secret?” you smiled, stepping closer to the larger man and putting a greater distance between you and your fiance. You smirked as he stooped lower, using his pointed hook to smooth a stray hair from his forehead back.

“Please,” Sir Crocodile’s eyes narrowed and humor danced behind his darkened pupils.

You angled your chin upwards, looking down your nose at him through your elongated eyelashes and holding your face stern, “One of the greatest joys in my line of work is finding the stubborn ones,” you stepped closer into him, his smile creaking at the sides, “breaking them in,” your own smile continued to pull upwards, mirroring the playfulness now depicted between you, “and taming them.”

In an instant, Sir Crocodile’s eyes snapped over to meet the intense amber gaze of your beau behind you; an unreadable darkness contained within his purple hue. You witnessed the pointed gaze reflected in the irises of the crocodile, the deep amber hue of your betrothed honing in on the man in front of you; eyes narrow and jaw clenched tight as a steel vice.

“And what a fine job you will make of him yet, my lady,” the rumbled laughter of the crocodile ran through his chest, finally returning to his great height and releasing your hand from within his. He returned his eyes to meet yours, curtly nodded his head in a polite manner and uttered a simple, “Congratulations to the both of you,” before turning back to Mihawk.

“After you conclude with the pleasantries, you will both meet me in the foyer to view the item I have made for you,” he ordered, a smirk pulling at his lips as Mihawk’s frown deepened, “As we agreed, Mihawk. A hundred hands have sewn it.”

Your eyes widened only slightly at the thought, remembering the words Perona had uttered while in her trance; “a crocodile has the moon.” So this is how he is doing it. A wealthy man with the world at his beck and call, commanding those around him by the curt snap of his fingers. Sir Crocodile’s smirk broadened, nodding again and adding a simple; “Lord Dracule,” and a further utterance of, “my lady.”

Mihawk’s presence once again found itself by your shoulder, an elbow extended for you to weave your own through it. As you took his left arm, you found his dominant hand atop your right hand and held it firmly in place. You turned your head to gaze up at the man beside you, his eyes fixed firmly on the back of the retreating figure of the reptilian man from earlier.

“You managed him quite effortlessly,” he uttered in a voice only available to your registry, “But heed this warning,” Mihawk turned his head, his eyes meeting yours and depicting complete seriousness within his face, “Sir Crocodile is not a man you can trust, nor would I want you to ever be left alone with him.”

You nodded your head to him, your gaze fluttering down to focus on his lips moving so beautifully beneath his tailored mustache as he so eloquently spoke. Mihawk followed your eyes, your eyelashes fluttering as they continued to hold firm to his lips. He furrowed his brows, watching as your eyelashes fluttered up to meet your eyes against his amber orbs.

“Consider your warning received,” you uttered breathily, angling your chin up to look down your nose at him, “Are there any further guests I should be equally fearful of, or is it just the crocodile being cause for concern?” He hummed, beginning to chaperone you throughout the grandiose ballroom; all the while continuing to hold his dominant hand over yours within his arm.

As Mihawk opened his mouth to begin disclosing information about his other unruly guests, a loud commotion was occurring within the lounging area of the room. Muffled yelling, angry voices and clashes of wood slapping and scraping against marble echoed within the halls; the musicians electing to continue performing their serenade despite the interruption.

“Can’t you do anything right? No! Over here, here,” the scratchy and hoarse voice barked, prompting the steady shuffle of feet and another loud crash of plank on tile. Mihawk released your hand from within his, continuing to link his elbow with your arm as he hastily drew himself closer to the sound.

As guests parted, your eyes could not seem to form rhyme or reason as to what you were truly looking at. Your eyes were initially drawn to the train of thick, blue locks that veiled down the back of the brightly colored jester in front of you. Clasped firmly around his neck, an off-white ruff with a tight crinkle spiking off with its horizontal diameter incredibly large in size. You raked your eyes down his back, noticing a pale shirt ballooning out and tapering at the wrists beneath a gold, blue and red diamond-printed and patterned vest. Leather pants of the same pattern clung to his body like armor, accenting every muscle beneath it as he stomped his boot-clad feet against the marble floor.

“You idiots,” he growled, folding his arms over his chest briefly before flailing it out in front of him, “This is for Mihawk’s bride! Do you want to lose your heads? Because, so help me, if you drop that box one more time, I’m gonna-!” He turned away from the people in front of him, locking his teal eyes against yours.

All words fled from the mind of the blue-haired clown-captain as his teal eyes danced with your own irises. His lips opened and shut, nothing forming within his painted mouth as his throat struggled to produce coherence.

“Buggy,” Mihawk curtly snapped, bringing the clown’s attention over to meet Mihawk’s warning face, “May I introduce you to my bride to be?” Immediately Buggy’s entire body was fixated on taking you in. His arms gesturing out in front of him, his right heel extended and bending his left knee in a deep bow. He held unbreaking eye contact with you, taking in your every expression and response you gave to him: from the softness in your smile, the reprimanding presence in your eyes, to your manicured curls, to the way your breasts were perfectly displayed in the tight bodice of the-.

“-A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” your melodic introduction broke his attention away from staring at your bodice, drawing his eyes up to once again meet with your own.

“Believe me, Starlight. The pleasure is all mine,” Buggy’s voice rumbled, a small quiver detected in his throat. Mihawk’s sharp cough drew the clown’s eyes back to meet with the lord of Kuraigana with a winced grimace-like grin forming over his painted lips.

“Mihawk,” He elevated his voice in a loud greeting, leaning forward and clapping his left hand over his right shoulder, “I have the thing for you,” he cocked his head over to the large wooden chest, the smallest sliver of pale chiffon jammed within the iron brim of the frame. Your eyes darted over to the material, your legs carrying you far enough away to no longer hear a hushed conversation between your intended and the jester.

“Fuck me, Mihawk,” Buggy hushed out his breathy exclaim, choosing to fix his gaze on your stoop as you looked at the box with curiosity, “She’s spectacular. And you’re telling me you didn’t want her as soon as you laid eyes on her? If you still feel that way, by all means I’ll take her off your hands-.”

“-No.” That verbal warning was all it took to have the clown-captain sucking his lips into his mouth and eating his words. The two men continued to stare their unwavering eyes over your body as you rose from your stoop.

“Is this-,” you began, attempting to hide your unease at the notion that two of the three requirements were potentially presented to you in the same night, “-Is this one of the-?”

“-This is starlight for you, Doll,” Buggy chimed in, a broad grin decorating his painted face as he stepped closer to you, “If I may?” he asked, presenting his right hand out to collect your own. You danced your eyes briefly over to meet with Mihawks, an unreadable expression once again remaining stoic against his face.

You placed your left hand within Buggy’s, his grimace-grin softening with his eyes as he brandished your arm open to take in your whole appearance. He started with your feet, drawing his eyes up the slit of the full bodied, satin skirt and stopped his gaze at your waist. Holding it there a moment, he stepped closer to you and continued slowly looking over your figure, small hums exiting his large, red nose at each point he drew his attention to.

“You. Oh, you,” He exclaimed, stepping closer still to your body. He hovered his left hand in front of your waist, his right still claiming your left within its caress, “You are going to look so radiant in that dress. You’re going to want to kiss me, Mihawk. Your bride- you, Doll,” he hovered his hand over you, eyes watching yours as you held your attention fully on reading the flashy individual in front of you, “The stars are going to envy your radiance. Fuck, you’re gorgeous-.”

“-Enough, Clown,” Mihawk’s bored vocal warning hand Buggy’s embrace immediately flees from your arms and holds them up to display defenselessness. Mihawk made eye contact with one of the members of the household staff, wordlessly directing them with a small gesture to remove the wooden box and move it elsewhere, away from prying eyes.

You took that small moment to look over to where your former students were gathered, each taking to the dance floor with ease and gliding along the surface with practiced precision. Your heart swelled, the feeling of pride rising to adorn your cheeks with a content smile. Mihawk turned away from Buggy and the staff, his lips parting as he began to relay something no longer deemed important as he stood in awe. He wanted to commit the way your face lit up to memory: the upturn of your eyes, the shape of your lips as they rose in glee, the way your eyelashes partially shielded your twinkle in your irises.

“You danced with your bride yet, Hawkie?” Buggy quipped at Mihawk’s ear in a tone and pitch low enough to only be heard by the swordsman. Mihawk looked through the corner of his eye, narrowing his pointed gaze at the clown by his side.

“We are greeting our guests, Clown,” he spoke through his scowl, his voice warning the clown to desist with his incessant line of questioning and lewd comments regarding his intended spouse. Buggy’s eyes widened with an enthusiastic twinkle, his pearled teeth baring into a large smile.

“Well, hop to it, bird-boy,” Buggy jested at the broody lord, pressing his gloved hand down to clap over Mihawk’s left ass-cheek. If Mihawk were not indebted to the clown for creating a prominent piece to save his mortal soul, he would have had him drawn and quartered for such an action.

The curt sound of a slap drew you away from your students to seek out its source, only to find the clown with a triumphant smile plastered on his face while your betrothed bore his eyes into him with a burning hatred. Sensing a small amount of tension from the two, you nodded your head to the clown with a polite smile and wove your right hand within the crook of Mihaw’s left arm once more.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir Buggy,” you meant every word spoken through your lips; your smile genuine for the flashy fool, “And I thank you for aiding my beau with his task in completing an impossible task. Truly, sir.” Buggy’s face beamed up at you, his body now crouched in a flamboyant bow to humble himself before your feet.

“My lady,” he uttered in a hushed whisper, rising once more to his full stature; his frilled collar bobbing beneath his lengthy blue hair, “I am just a clown. I aint worth all that-.” You shook your head, elevating your voice to cut off his train of thought.

“-And I am just a governess, sir,” you nodded your head, pursing your lips and smirking up at him, “We are worth far more than the titles that make us, do you not agree?” Mihawk continued to lay his face stoic, attempting to disguise his rise of adoration through clenching his jaw. He gave a short nod to the clown, dismissing him as he led you further within the crowd.

You stood silently at his side, nodding politely as he continued to guide you on to make the acquaintance of several more lords from nearby lands, and notorious pirate captains he felt obliged to extend a formal invitation. He could not fault your ability to navigate the room, carefully balancing and reflecting energies and intentions back without fault nor flaw.

That was, until, your eyes met with the intense and playful glint of a redheaded captain Mihawk truly thought would pose no threat. Standing amongst several close members of the Red-Hair pirates, all dressed in tailored suits with their weapons tucked in tasteful spaces amongst the belts and ribbons. As Mihawk began to form words to introduce you to his former rival, the Redhead immediately shot a wide and winning grin pulling at his lips, with surprise written in his chestnut eyes.

“Vile Exterminator!” Shanks exclaimed with glee, his eyes meeting yours with enthusiasm. Mihawk’s face paled, shock written all over his face at his introduction to you. He snapped his head over to meet with your face, meeting only with playfulness depicted within your eyes

“Red-Haired Rat!” you responded back with an equal amount of surprise. You unwove your arm from its place hooked within your betrothed as Shanks stepped forward and circled his one arm around your waist. He hoisted you off your feet, circling you around within the air as his eyes danced between yours.

“I thought that was you in the announcement,” Shanks uttered affectionately into your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss upon the skin, “Could recognise the disdain in your eyes anywhere, love.” He placed your feet back onto the floor, giving you an opportunity to place a gentle reprimanding slap against his chest.

“Charming as you ever were, Rat,” you uttered, stepping away from the redhead captain and politely bowing to the silver-haired first mate beside him, “Beckman, always a pleasure. Keeping the Rat away from the henhouse?”

“Always, Exterminator,” Beckman smiled, inhaling a deep breath from his cigarette and exhaling it away from your face.

“Good boy,” you praised him, watching the corner of his lips tick into a small smirk at the verbal reward you offered him. The lord of Kuraigana followed the exchange like a hawk examining a potential kill. He was not amused.

“It appears you have history with my bride, Red-Hair,” Mihawk stated with narrowed eyes, warning written in his unspoken expression. Shanks’ grin only seemed to grow further, if at all possible. Shanks danced his eyes between the two of you, taking in your appearance as you stood beside the broody former-warlord beside you.

“I have been known to bump into her from port to port,” Shanks confidently declared, shooting a winning wink from his tri-scarred eye. You rolled your eyes at the movement, returning back to your prior position beside Mihawk and interweaving your arm within his.

“One or two of my prior debutants had an affection for sailing men,” you spoke slowly, training your eyes on the pirates smirking with pride in front of you, “It was my job to chase them out.” Mihawk released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, slow enough to not draw your attention away from your stare in front; but not subtle enough to escape Shanks’ knowing glace.

You turned to the man at your side, noticing the tension arising in his jaw as he continued to look at the redhead captain in front of you. Placing your palm firmly on his bicep while circling it, you gave his arm a small reassuring squeeze, drawing his attention back down to you. Your left brow quirked up at him, a small purse of your lips as your gaze drew down to his mouth.

“I have also been known to acquire passage aboard the Red Force if I am in dire need,” you commented, floating your eyes back up to hear the amber hue of your intended’s eyes. He stooped down, turning his head away from Shanks’ teasing expression. His breath tickled your neck, his scent intoxicating as he purred a gentle reprimand in the shell of your ear, “And you said you were a lady.”

The hue of a warm blush rose in your chest, flushing your cheeks with its radiant heat. You clenched your jaw tightly closed, your brows furrowed as Mihawk pulled away from your neck with his lips twitching up into a small smirk. Shanks raised his right arm out defensively, a huffed laugh exiting his mouth with a grimace-grin akin to one the clown presented earlier.

“I assure nothing untoward has ever occurred between myself, my crew, and your intended, Hawk-Eyes,” he laughed, prompting a rumbled chuckle to gather within the chest of the smoking first-mate beside him. You snapped your pointed gaze back to the red-head captain, narrowing your eyes at him and wordlessly chastising him to hold his tongue.

“Rat,” you nodded your head, dismissing yourself from this conversation while unlinking your arm from within Mihawk’s.

“Exterminator,” He nodded in return, training his eyes after you as you made your way unchaperoned within the ballroom. Mihawk stood in place, turning back to glare at the red-head in front of him. He again opened his mouth to begin a lengthy verbal battle with his former rival, only for Shanks to immediately speak over his words.

“I have almost completed your request: so close I could almost see the vision. Mihawk-...” Shanks paused, stepping closer to the swordsman and turning him away from his crew. Both mens eyes fell over your form as you smiled and conversed with your prior students; introducing them affectionately to both Perona and Zoro now at your sides. All smiles, all beautiful and lovely smiles capable of having the highest of highs stoop to the lowest they’d become under the majesty of your smile.

“-Mihawk,” Shanks again spoke breathily, “I hope you are truly aware of how much of a lucky bastard you are,” He wrapped his arms firmly over the lord’s shoulders, the feather atop Mihawk’s hat bobbing under the swift movement. Mihawk sighed, closing his eyes and feeling a rise of agitation forming as the redhead continued to keep his one remaining arm hooked over his shoulders.

“I am fully aware of how truly amazing she is, Red-Hair,” Mihawk began, clicking his neck in an attempt to rid himself of such agitation, “And I can admit to you, as my oldest rival, that I have begun to develop a fondness for her. I would never give in to such an emotion, but rather shield her from how much I adore her.” He turned to face the captain once again, baring his eyes fully into his with a blinding and furious intensity; remaining blissfully and shamefully ignorant to your slow approach behind him.

You heard the next words of their hushed conversation, each word twirling like a dagger to the heart; but no context of the prior words spoken between them.

“I would have never chosen such a woman for myself,” Mihawk confessed to his rival, “I never wanted to marry, to take a wife, and to open myself up to the prospect of love. I am hating every minute I have to continue leading this facade.”

Your face fell, hearing the swirl of those words echo within your mind falling from the lips of your betrothed to your oldest acquaintance. Your heart shattered, hearing the words formed with a man you had begun to harbor affection for - a man who you were set to marry as soon as the final demand was met. You bit back the rise of bitterness within your throat and opted to not respond or react to the hurtful words spoken from the lips of your betrothed, but rather clear your throat and stilling your expression by flipping back to your prior state of pure professionalism.

“I am glad we agree on our mutual displeasure at the prospect of joining together in matrimony,” you attempted to mask your heartache by allowing your rage to bubble to the surface, “Perhaps after we conclude with this sham, we could ask Red-Haired Shanks to process a speedy annulment? He is a captain, after all.” Mihawk snapped his face over to meet with your own, watching as your lips drew into a thin line and chin drew upwards into the air.

“Would you excuse us, Shanks,” Mihawk stated suddenly, immediately reaching his left hand forward and grasping your right within his palm. Rather than to react by pulling your hand out of his grip and stomping away like the young teenager within you screamed at you to do; you allowed him to lead you away from the soiree of guests and out onto the quiet balcony overlooking the moon-dusted garden.

You held your surliness prominently against your face, not speaking nor listening to the amassment of voices laughing merrily together within the ballroom. As soon as you both marched through the threshold of the balcony, Mihawk immediately shut the doors behind you to shroud you both in darkness. Without turning to face you, he uttered darkly with his voice dripping in unrestrained ferocity.

“Is that how you truly feel about me? About this?” Mihawk growled, balling his fist and placing it on the wall beside him. You remained expressionless, choosing to vocalize your answer. You compartmentalised your emotions, boxing them away as you had trained yourself through the years to do so.

“Answer me,” He whispered, turning to finally face you. His brow was deep, his lips parted and eyes brimming with fury.

“What good would gracing you with an answer do here?” you asked him, shaking your head at him. He stepped forwards, prompting you to dance away from his rapid approach. His footsteps stuttered, his arm halting its reach for you as you continued to hold your face stoic and expressionless.

“Was it all a lie?” Mihawk whispered accusingly, “Everything you told me: was it a lie? My eyes, my voice - all of it?”

You furrowed your brows into the middle of your forehead, attempting to recall a conversation you had with him regarding those aspects of your adoration for him. Your eyes held a seriousness to them, the private moment you shared with the Farm-Hand being the only time you had ever confessed to such a thing again dancing into the forefront of your mind.

“You were eavesdropping on me? Ensuring I was behaving as your intended should? Watching me with the Farm-Hand as a parent would hover over an undisciplined child?” Your fury began to rise and elevate your voice within your throat, “I can assure you, my lord,” that final title had another growl free itself from the throat of the lord of Kuraigana, “I have never behaved in a manner unbefitting a lady-.”

“-That does not answer my question, Governess,” his voice roared with passion, his hair being freed from its confinement beneath his hat as his right hand removed it and cast it to the side, “Was it all a lie?” You backed away from him, your fingertips finding the coarse cement of the marble barrier behind you. You sighed, huffing out your agitation and allowing the moment to suspend your rage as you glared at him.

“Was what a lie? Articulate your words, sir, and I may yet grace you with the answer you so desperately seek,” your passion flared, your correcting reprimand strict and firm in your voice and stature.

At that small challenge, Mihawk was on you in an instant; his hands seeking out your waist and pulling you flush against him as his lips bruised yours in a vicious caress. The intensity of the oscillation dizzied your head, swelled your heart and confused your mind with this degree of unrestrained affection.

He raked his hands over your ribcage, drawing them behind your back, his fingertips slowly raking up each of the divots of the corset behind you. He hooked his arms between your shoulder blades, as your hands found themselves entangling within his raven curls. The brush of his silken mustache grazed your gradually swelling lips as you returned the kiss with equating intensity. You felt his teeth take your bottom lip between them, biting with fury as he drew you closer within his firm embrace. You gasped into his mouth, feeling a groan siphon itself from his lips into your own.

He broke his lips away from yours and began to place open mouthed and heated kisses against your jaw, relishing in the way your skin felt beneath his lips with the cries of surprise propelling him onwards.

“You have ruined me,” he growled into your cheek, raking his teeth over your jaw and up to your ear, “Look at what you’ve made of me.” He drew his lips away from your earlobe and began trailing hot and desperate kisses down your neck, inhaling the sweet perfume Perona had so subtly sprayed on you earlier. You whimpered as he placed a kiss on your pulse, soothing over the rapid beat with his tongue as he felt your breath hitch.

“Mihawk, stop,” you whispered, his actions immediately halting as he snapped his head away from your neck to gaze up into your eyes. Wide and worried was the expression he was met with, his desperation seeping out of his eyes and weeping down onto his face. He sighed, pressing his forehead onto your own, his eyes closing as he felt your anxiety roll off of you and onto him.

“I would never hurt you. You are my bride, my belov-...” his words trailed off as his throat closed them painfully between his tonsils. Your eyes widened as his remained closed, watching the pain draw up onto his face at his unspoken confession. You closed your eyes, leaning into his affectionate touch and inhaling deeply.

“I would never allow myself the luxury of harboring affection for you should you desire severance,” you admitted with a soft smile, drawing your forehead away from his as his eyes reopened to meet with yours. He sighed, both removing your arms from one another while remaining a whisper away from each other.

“And I would never find myself willingly breaking away from you, my lady,” Mihawk quipped in return, his lips threatening to break into a curled smirk beneath his mustache. You were the first to smile, reaching up your right hand to caress his left cheek beneath your palm.

“Perhaps we should return to our event, my lord,” you uttered, dancing your eyes between his before reaching your thumb down to remove some of the lip paint that had passed onto his face from your own, “I may even provide you with the dance you asked me for those many years ago.”

A sound fell into the air that you didn’t realize your heart yearned to hear fall from the parted lips of the lord of Kuraigana. His lips broke upwards, eyes cracking gently at the corners and his heart poured from his mouth in a small uproar of hearty laughter. This laugh felt so familiar to you, yet the sight of his face depicting such a sound was the most beautiful thing to take into your sights. He sighed, leant into your palm and pressed a gentle kiss into your flesh with his eyes briefly closing.

“I would want nothing more, beloved.”