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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 3 months

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the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects ; suguru geto

synopsis; when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.

word count; 21.1k (this accidentally turned into a novella idk how it happened either nobody look at me 💔)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, knight!sugu x royalty!reader, royalty au (not accurate to any time period ever), technically a bodyguard au, slowburn, reader is a brat and suguru likes it a little more than he should, reader also has thinly veiled daddy issues, protective sugu :3, he goes feral in one part (descriptions of violence and bloodshed), reader gets briefly kidnapped lol, very fluffy overall though!!, includes shifting povs & time-skips, also lots and lots of devotion, knight!sugu is real & beautiful & loves you specifically <33

a/n; HAPPY late BDAY SUGU MY BABY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE this fic has been in the works for a WHILE now and means a lot to me much like sugu himself :’3 dedicated to my beloved @kissxcore for infecting me w this concept & also my dear @mossmurdock for bringing knight!sugu into my life, both of u have made the brainrot infinitely worse and i will never be free (and ofc @softgirlgonehaywire & @dollsuguru & @jtkys for being the sweetest always) I LOVE U ALL!!!!!!!!

like most things, it begins and ends with a dream.

images form in the depths of your subconscious, wild and vivid, splattering on the canvas of your mind. a dream of cold metal, dark thickets, iron-scented skin — and a knight.

(or… a wolf?)

before you is a small clearing. trees sprout from the rugged grounds, blooming proudly, clogging up the wool-coated sky. all around you lie empty, discarded suits of armor, dirty with rust and something that smells of death. wilted sunflowers stumble under their own weight, and dragonflies buzz in a frenzy, manic, driven to hysteria. in the distance you think you hear the shrieking of ravens.

and there’s a knight, just ahead, tall and imposing, covered in steel from head to toe. holding a blinding sword, facing the sky, doing nothing to stop the pitter patter of raindrops ricocheting off his burganet. you stand by the entrance of the woods, and watch him in silence.

he looks a little lonely.

and in comes the wolf. gracious, growling, big and bad, snarling and showing off the white of its fangs. dragging its claws against the ground, unruly fur ruffled by the harsh breeze; widening its maw, a silent fury on its tongue. from this angle, it looks a little like a grin.

the wolf begins to chase the knight. or maybe it’s the knight chasing the wolf — you can’t really tell. they run in circles around each other, like the sun and the moon, an orbit of violence, matching their steps. almost in harmony — almost, but not quite, because suddenly they’re closing in on you, great and ugly, beasts wearing different hides, and —

and that’s when you wake up.

”your highness!”

a groan pushes past your lips, groggy with fatigue, and your eyelids flicker open like the drawing of a flimsy curtain. a series of mismatched little blinks, until your vision clears.

above you waits a familiar face; impatient. one of the maids, your foggy brain tells you. and she isn’t pleased.

but all you do is drag your limbs up to cover your pillow-creased face, sluggishly, muttering beneath your breath. ”a wolf…”

silence.

the maid tilts her head, with a furrow of her brows.

”… excuse me?”

”there was a wolf,” you echo, a dreamy exhale muffled against the skin of your palm. stifling a yawn. ”and a guy… he was cool.”

she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. settling back into her usual rhythm. mildy berating. ”did you have another one of your dreams?” she asks, a little irritated, and for a second you think you hear a tick-tock ticking down. ”at any rate — you need to get up. the king and queen demand your presence.”

ah. of course.

a huff, displeased, even as you force yourself into a sitting position. stretching your limbs like a grumpy feline. ”demands…” you murmur, a click of your tongue. ”they think they can just wake me up whenever they want? at the crack of dawn?”

”it’s 11 a.m, your highness.”

”early as hell,” you rasp, willfully tuning out her murmur of mind your language. letting your legs hang off the bed. ”what do they want, anyway?”

following your silent cue, she hums, walking towards the edge of the room. picking up your discarded blouse, and bringing it to you. ”i was told it was of utmost importance,” is all she says, lifting the fabric as if getting ready to dress you.

”i can do that myself,” you hiss, snatching the white silk from her outstretched hands. as always, she does nothing but sigh, sigh, sigh. it’s all they ever do. ”i’m not a toddler.”

from your position, still cozied up in bed, on messy sheets and fluffy pillows — you can see the view beyond your translucent window’s glass. a sky so gray it’s almost comforting, dark clouds forming in the distance, silently ruminating. when the maid pushes it open, and a cold breeze slips through the gap, you can smell the rain; heavy, earthy, daffodils and oak wood. in the distance, sunflower fields seek shelter from the downpour.

but your eyes remain glued to the woods. far ahead, but still close enough to see — the woods you long for. the ones you’ll never get to see up close.

a bitter taste blooms on your tongue.

(spitefully, your teeth sink into the tender flesh of your bottom lip.)

”fine,” comes a heavy sigh, ruefully resigned. forcing yourself into compliancy. before you can change your mind, you hop off the mattress, running your fingers through tousled strands of hair. ”i’ll go see them.”

and she brightens, visibly, disapproving frown smoothed away with the breeze. for now. ”thank you. they are worried, i’ll have you know.”

a scoff, as you cross the threshold of your private quarters. humorous. ”i bet they are.”

”your highness,” she calls, following close behind. her tone is reprimanding, now; you will yourself not to shrink. ��we almost lost you.”

”i almost got kidnapped,” you huff. ”not the same thing.”

again, that exasperated sigh. it’s a wonder her lungs haven’t run out of air. ”do you have any idea who that man was?”

the question makes your mind still. shifting gears, a clockwork coming to life, repeating it inside your head — do you have any idea who that man was?

”… he was hot.”

sigh. you hear it before it comes, and raise your lips on instinct.

”no, i mean it!” you ensure her, throwing a fleeting glance behind you. ”he just had that rugged look about him, you know? the scar and everything…” a blissful little exhale, as you gush over your would-be killer. ”what a waste. if only he had gotten away.”

”with you in tow?” the maid quips, raising a brow. her words are steeped in irony.

”of course!” another disapproving glance. ”i mean, did you see those biceps —”

”behave.”

with a flutter of your puffy sleeves, you turn around to face her. and ah — there it is. the hardness of her jaw, those frosty pupils, the impending signs of her dwindling patience. you can see it, hear it, that eerie tick-tock signaling the breaching of her limit. all humans have one; a clockwork heart, of sorts, ticking down to the moment they run out of leftover kindness to give unruly heirs.

over the years, you’ve gotten expertly good at making the clock tick quicken. a skill you’re very proud of.

”and what if i don’t?” you bite back, just barely restraining your growing grin. delighted at the attention. ”he had nice biceps! what, am i not allowed to tell the truth?”

and the tick-tock quickens. she stills, just behind you, hands on her hips. frustration bubbling beneath her sharp syllables. ”my god, you are impossible today!”

for a moment, you stop to look at her. weighing your options. should you reel it back in, try and appease her? or keep pushing? the answer, as always, is push. it’s all you’ll ever do.

so you turn on your heel, and take a step forward, a spiteful grin curved into your lips. ”deal with it, or leave.” a beat. ”i don’t remember asking you to accompany me.”

before you round the corner, your ears pick up on one final harsh sigh. she makes no move to follow you.

(hmph.)

”where is your maid?”

in front of you stands a throne, proud and luxurious, polished marble, two seats right next to each other. the quarters of the royal pair are the same as always, vivid paintings hanging from every wall in sight, wolf pelts thrown over tables and windowsills. the scent of dried lavender seeps through the air, suffocating you.

and, of course, the king. speaking to you with the same judgemental voice as always; one you’ve grown painfully accustomed to.

”i wanted her to get me breakfast,” is the lie you decide on, finely tailored in white. just to make sure she doesn’t get into any actual trouble. ”you didn’t exactly give me time to eat any.”

the king sighs, mild disappointment laced into the breath. nothing new. when he says your name, it comes out sounding like a bad joke. ” — you aren’t a child anymore. one day you’ll be ruling this kingdom; forcing the maids to do your bidding won’t win you any favours.”

”mhm.” absently, you fidget with the sleeves of your blouse. not quite listening. ”so, what did you want? it’s not often i’m allowed here.”

an evil glint shines in your eyes, for a moment. you cast a meaningful glance at the maid by your father’s side — his personal favorite.

”don’t you have, ah…” you taste the words on your tongue. ”more pressing matters to attend to?”

he doesn’t flinch. as always, he pretends not to know that you know — that everyone knows.

yet he still gives you that cold, cold look, colder than the howls of wind beyond the castle walls, cold enough to send a shiver down your spine. it makes you want to push, push, push. break the clockwork in half.

but he’s wise enough to follow your lead. “let me get to the point, then,” he cranes his neck, showing off the fox pelt snug around his shoulders. ”the queen and i thought it best to hire a new knight for you.”

you blink. eyelashes fluttering. all you can hear is the pitter patter of rain against the windowpane.

then you groan.

”another one?” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet on the floor. ”please, no. it’s such a pain getting rid of them. you know they won’t last long!”

”we aren’t talking about any ordinary knight,” he tuts, as monotone as ever. ignoring your little temper tantrum. ”after what happened with toji zenin, we aren’t taking any chances.”

you tilt your head. confused, for a moment. ”toji?” the gears of your mind turn, clicking into place; zenin. a family of assassins, a man with a scar on his bottom lip. ”ohhh — the hottie.”

your father pretends not to hear you.

”it was a close call,” he hums, and you muster the strength not to crack another joke about his biceps. it takes restraint. ”we need someone who can protect you properly. indefinitely, from even the stealthiest of assassins. so…”

your eyes meet his. gazes overlapping, the same colour, one above and one below. he’s always, always towered over you. for as long as you remember.

that is what royalty means — absolute dominion.

(it makes you want to curl into a ball.)

”today, you’ll be meeting with the greatest knight.” he says the words with an odd sense of pride, an inner satisfaction. ”he’ll be here any moment. i thought it best for you to get acquainted as soon as possible.”

a moment passes. you’re broken out of your bout of compliance, like a rubber band snapping. a clock tick quickening. ”wait, what?” you gape. ”father —”

”your majesty.”

…

the correction is stern. gritting your teeth, you force the words from out your throat. ”… your majesty,” there’s a slight grumble to your voice, ”what the hell? now? i haven’t even —”

”you have no choice in this matter,” he cuts you off. coldly, coldly, coldly. ”behave, and there won’t be any complications.”

behave.

behave, behave, behave. it’s all they ever want from you.

(you might as well be a pet.)

the queen is silent, as always. eerily so, not saying a word, like a puppet on a string. she hasn’t looked you in the eye even once so far, not even a passing glance. not like you’d expect her to. her clockwork heart stopped beating for you a long time ago.

automatons, the both of them. making decisions for you, like there isn’t a sliver of rational thought in your brain. how irritating.

you’re just about to part your lips, when —

”… am i interrupting?”

you still.

a velvety voice. silky, smooth, tailored by the finest seamstress — tucked between the slightest raspy vowel, a hint of something deeper. it sounds like honey, wine, a molten mass of spring clouds.

the king ahead of you brightens, suddenly, lips curling up into a smile. it looks almost warm; you didn’t know he was capable of making that kind of expression. ”ah, suguru!” he calls out to the source of the noise. ”no, certainly not. forgive me for the short notice.”

when you turn around, you see a knight.

he’s beautiful. gorgeous, even. fair skin, sharp facial features, no scars to be seen. a sword hangs in a scabbard by his hip, and he’s wearing a set of armor, still glistening with the aftermaths of the rain beating down outside. his hair cascades down the metal like a black river, loose and silky, a single strand obscuring his pretty face. and his eyes are a soothing shade of brown; you’re almost certain they’d look warm, if there was any sunlight to engulf them. as it is, in the shadow of a murky spring morning, they’re a dark cedar, almost obsidian. but they look kind.

and they’re fixed on the king. he’s smiling, too, a dangerous little tilt. disgustingly charming. he hangs his head in a bow, hand on his heart — reverent.

(ah. he’s one of those knights.)

”my king,” the strange knight greets, tongue wrapping around the vowels like a dragon curling around a pile of gold. ”not at all. i’m always grateful for an opportunity to see you.”

(oh god. it’s even worse than you thought.)

”i should say the same of you,” the king echoes, with a warmth that you’re wholly unaccustomed to. your stomach churns, swirling with discomfort. ”our nation’s pride and joy.”

the knight chuckles; muffled by his closed fist. he’s feigning embarrassment, you can tell. ”you flatter me,” he purrs, words flowing smoothly from his lips. too smoothly. ”i’m simply doing my duty as one of your subjects. but, needless to say — i’m honoured to have earned your respect.”

finally, his gaze shifts to you. and you think he must notice how disgusted you are, the reproach you feel for him, that silent contempt. because you aren’t trying to hide it; it’s there, clear as day, in the crease of your brow, your frosty pupils. lips pursed, like they’re aching to bare and to bite.

but he continues to smile. warm, still, like a mellow summer breeze. a well of pizzicato drops.

you feel a little nauseous.

”ah, and you must be the royal heir?” a tilt of his head, knowing. a shimmer of recognition painted in those ashen eyes. ”or should i say…. my liege.”

he walks towards you, in long strides, slow and steady, only to get down on one knee. ew. ”forgive me; my name is suguru geto. your knight, from this day forth.” his palm unfurls, cedar eyes crinkling with feigned endearment. holding it out towards the subject of his newfound devotion. ”i’m delighted to finally meet you.”

(suguru geto. you’ve heard of him, of course. who hasn’t?)

his hand stills in the air, waiting patiently for yours; to bring it to his glossy lips. but you don’t do anything. nothing, other than studying his smile, picture perfect, tailor-made, sweet enough to melt on your tongue. so sweet you know it must be at least a little bit fake — the smile of a liar.

it’s a smile you know well.

so you mimic it, a bitter glint in your eyes, only for your hands to retreat to your pockets. and out comes a purr. ”you’re a bad actor.”

silence. the knight doesn’t flinch, not even close, but he blinks, a flutter of his dark eyelashes. like a raven taking flight. that everlasting smile never falters, but for just a second, a clock-tick or two, you swear you catch the slightest hint of something flickering through his keen iris.

interest?

”forgive them, suguru,” the king is quick to chip in, finally stepping down from his throne to join you on the floor. the queen doesn’t move, but she gives suguru a fond smile, and it makes your grimace deepen. ”they woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning. and they’re a bit of a problem child — i’m sure you’ve heard.”

that makes you snicker, silently. maybe just a little bit smug. you’re sure it must be a headache for him to deal with.

”i can’t say i haven’t,” suguru chuckles, raising himself up from the marble floor. your smile falls. ”but it’s not an issue. i understand.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and you give him an unimpressed stare. wholly disinterested. trying not to squirm under his scrutiny.

”i’m sure it must feel suffocating — being under this kind of supervision.” he gives you a tilt of his head, strands of charcoal following the movement. smooth, like a waltz, one you didn’t agree to. ”isn’t it?”

ah. the sympathy card.

before you can answer, he bows; hand on his heart. knights and their rituals. ”i’m at your service, my liege. if i make you uncomfortable, at any point, just tell me.” once more, he meets your gaze, a sincerity in his own — reserved just for you. ”really.”

… ugh.

to your right comes a pleased voice, deep and satisfied, as self-affirming as ever. ”i knew i could entrust them to you,” the king speaks, placing a palm on your shoulder. you try not to flinch. ”aren’t you grateful? this handsome, kind man is all yours.”

a sharp scoff is all you can muster, nails digging into the skin of your palm. but suguru only chuckles, good-natured.

they continue to speak, about this and that. you tune out most of it, caught up in preparing for the long headache ahead. sure, you’re an expert at getting knights to quit, but it takes time. weeks, sometimes, just to make them finally crack, push and push until their patience reaches its limit. and suguru seems resilient. more than anything, he seems thoroughly loyal to the king; that really doesn’t bode well for you.

but before you can formulate a step-by-step guide to making his job a living hell, the sound of your name snaps you out of your trance.

it’s the king, of course, as always. you hate that you still instinctively respond to his call. like an obedient puppy. ”show suguru to your quarters. he’ll be accompanying you indefinitely, from now on. don't give him any trouble.” his voice finally sounds cold again; a warning. ”i’ll hear about it.”

(indefinitely.)

a moment passes. then you sigh, deep and heavy, haphazardly hiding a roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah,” you cross your arms. ”i got it.”

suguru meets your furrowed brows with something gentle, a soothing little smile. offering his arm, for you to hold on to. knights and their rituals. ”shall we?”

but you brush past him. stubborn in your independence, in your desire to make this as discomforting for him as it is for you. ”follow me,” is all you say, a dissatisfied huff. loud enough to pick up on.

to your great displeasure, he matches your hurried pace. side by side, as you walk down the halls, the clicking of his shoes echoing against the marble. a shadow you can’t shine away; one that’ll stay with you indefinitely. you feel his gaze burn into you.

”my lord.”

”don’t talk to me,” you sigh, sharp like the sword by his hip. a low click of your tongue. ”just so you know, i didn’t agree to this.”

”that was my question, actually,” he grins, ever so slightly. fingertips tapping against his scabbard. ”i am sorry, you know. i meant what i said — i’m sure it’s difficult for you.” he casts you another one of those meaningful glances, a meaning you have no intention of discerning. ”but i have my orders.”

you bite back a laugh. ”you guys love those, huh?” when you turn your head to face him, still walking forward, he’s met with a taunting smirk. ”your little orders.”

but his smile doesn’t falter. damn.

”not a fan of knights?” he asks, instead, a playful lilt to his syrupy voice. coaxing, accommodating. infuriating.

”nope.” your footsteps quicken — but he keeps up, effortlessly. curse those abnormally long legs. ”you’re all just bootlickers. especially you.”

”oh?”

”don’t oh? me,” you snap, practically growling, ”like you weren’t seconds away from making out with the king back there. it’s all so fake.” the comment makes the corners of his lip quirk up, but you don’t turn around to see it. ”now that you’re alone with me, you’re already acting way less uptight, see?”

he hums. ”i figured it’d make you feel more at ease.”

”god, will you just cut it out?” a hiss breaks out of your throat, sharp and exasperated. tired, drained. you just want to go back to sleep. ”quit acting like you care about what i think. you’ll do whatever the king asks of you — that’s all you really care about.”

suguru stays silent, this time. matching your steps, observing you silently, out of the corner of his eye. the frown on your lips, the crease between your brows. etching them into his memory. you’re pissed, that much he can tell. and you definitely, definitely don’t like him.

(”you’re a bad actor.”)

the knight comes to a standstill. parting his lips, enough for his voice to flow through, silken sheets and molten honey. a raspy tilt he tries his best to hide.

but his words carry a sincerity he could never fake.

”from now on, i serve you.”

when the clicking of his shoes against cold marble flooring fades away, you halt. turning around, hesitantly, quirking a questioning brow. rain beats on beyond the window to your left, flicking against the glass, droplets clinging to the translucent surface. marigold petals kiss the windows in a flurry of cream and orange, fluttering about with the harsh bites of the wind, carried from the castle’s orchard. the endless hallway you find yourselves in smells of rainwater and spring.

suguru looks steadfast, where he’s standing, immovable. a little like a pillar of salt. when he speaks it sounds like he’s reciting a scripture.

”i’m loyal to the king. i have to follow his orders.”

there’s something about his words that you can’t quite pinpoint. is it guilt or pride? ”but i am at your service. certain things are set in stone, but not others. i’ll let you decide how this goes.”

the hallway goes silent. he smiles, again, smaller this time. somehow more genuine.

”from now on, i’m your knight.” the pitter patter of rain mashes with the steady beating of a clock; rhythmic, soothing, a lullaby of rust and time. ”that’s all. i won’t be anything else.”

you stare. lips pursed, awaiting a clarification, but it doesn’t come. he’s giving you time to respond.

(he’s your knight, now. indefinitely yours.)

an inhale. the clock hands of your heart begin to move. ”in that case,” you exhale, lips curling up into a taunting smile. pleased with yourself. ”i promise to be the most insufferable lord a knight has ever had. i won’t make your job easy for you.”

and suguru only chuckles. raspy, like the bark of a tree, claw marks on the ground. ”good,” he grins, eyes rich with mirth, golden pears hanging off the branches. ”i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

he looks sincere. sounds sincere. all you do is blink, a sense of frustration nibbling at your heart, but the knight before you doesn’t falter. he only offers his arm to you, once more; a silent step towards reconciliation.

you watch him, silently.

then you’re turning on your heel, swiftly, a low grumble at the base of your throat. ignoring him and his offer, walking towards your room with irritated steps that fade as you turn the corner.

behind you, suguru’s smile only grows.

”good morning, your highness.”

blinking sleepily, still regaining your ability to form coherent thoughts, all you can do is stare. studying the figure above you, towering over your half-asleep form, the deadpan expression on your face.

black hair, and amber eyes. a disgustingly charming smile.

the gears of your mind finally click into place.

a whine flows from your lips, meek and disapproving, and you roll over to your side. pulling the covers over your head, as if to protect you from the existence of your newly hired knight. so it wasn’t just a bad dream.

but he doesn’t fade away, like an apparition. he stays right by your bed, crouching down next to it. you feel the weight of the mattress shift when he rests his elbow on the cushion. ”still too early?” he asks, soft enough not to grate your sensitive ears. ”i was told you usually get up around this time…”

a muffled groan. ”leave.”

”i’m afraid i can’t,” he hums, but you don’t sense much remorse. ”i’m not supposed to let you out of my sight for more than brief intervals at a time… that’s one thing i can’t compromise on.”

”i don’t care,” you whine, petulant. tightening your grip on the blanket surrounding you, desperate to savour the leftovers of your fuzzy dreams. ”’m not getting up…”

a click of his tongue. quiet, contemplative. until he decides on a course of action.

”would you like me to bring you breakfast, then?”

…

slowly, your eyes flicker open, consciousness beginning to stir. the tasty temptation rouses you from your half-slumber, ever so slightly; because he sounds sincere. he sounds like he really will bring you breakfast, if you just give him the order.

it’s tempting. dangerously so.

(how long has it been since one of the maids actually bothered to serve you breakfast?)

”… whatever,” you croak, finally. weighing the value of your own response — putting effort into not sounding too excited. (but you are.) ”sure. do what you want, just let me sleep.”

a relieved little breath slips from suguru’s lips, as he watches the lump under the blanket stir. ”alright,” he breathes. ”what would you like, my lord?”

(suddenly, you get an idea.)

a smug grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief on your mind. ”figure it out yourself,” you chirp, awfully pleased with yourself.

silence.

then, you hear him hum — rising to his feet with a quiet groan. ”understood,” he quips. ”i’ll be back as soon as possible, your highness.”

when you hear the creaking of the door, as he steps over the threshold, you barely restrain the urge to kick your legs in victory. now he’s sure to get you the wrong breakfast; and then you can be as difficult as you please, demanding something else, over and over. an ungrateful, spoiled little brat. that’ll definitely make him quit.

— sadly, it seems you were underestimating him. just a tiny, tiny bit.

before you, on a silver tray, lays a wide variety of breakfast foods. everything from syrupy pancakes and buttery croissants to neatly cut sandwiches and porridge, slices of fruit and fresh lemonade, coffee with cream and sugar, tiny jars of marmalade and jam. sparkling, glittering, begging to be devoured. handmade, you can tell, meticulously crafted by someone who knows what they’re doing. with a gulp, you attempt not to openly salivate — you had no clue the kitchen workers were this talented.

for just a moment, you’re entirely speechless. he really went ahead and got you some of everything.

stumbling for the right words, any words, the only thing that escapes your throat is a meek huff. meant to sound displeased, but coming out just a little awestruck. ”this is… way, way too much. are you insane?”

he only shrugs. a sweet smile on his lips, sharp jaw resting on the heel of his palm. ”well, you wouldn’t give me any specifics,” he reminds you, a bit too smug for your liking. ”just eat what you like. i’ll keep your preferences in mind.”

you want to protest, want to put up a fight. want to resist his charms, his little peace offering.

but your stomach growls, suddenly. loud enough that you’re sure he hears it, but you don’t turn around to see any silent laughter — just picking up the fork, embarrassed, eager to just get rid of the ache in your gut. eager to get a taste of the delicacies in front of you. with hesitance, you cut into one of the fluffy pancakes, slathered with syrup, trying to ignore his expectant gaze. biting into it with your eyes closed.

when the sweet taste curls around your tongue, you physically feel yourself perk up. letting your eyes flutter open, your eyebrows raised, a sweetness that makes you sit up straighter. it practically melts in your mouth, honeyed and buttery, and it takes all your willpower to withhold a blissed out little sigh.

it must be evident, on your features. because suguru sounds amused when he asks; ”good?”

”... better than usual, i guess.”

despite your half-assed attempt at hiding how pleased you are, his ever-present smile extends. ”oh, really?” he leans back in his chair, right next to the bed. exhaling in relief. ”i’m glad. i was worried my cooking wouldn’t be to your tastes.”

…

you pale.

silently, both awestruck and horrified, you look up to meet his teasing gaze. ”wait. you…” a pause. silent, palpable, dreading his answer. ”… made this?”

”yes.”

another pause.

”… like. all of it?”

”mhm.”

your gaze falls down to seek solace in your lap. avoiding his own, biting down on your lip, not quite enough to sting. fuck — you accidentally complimented his handmade breakfast. not off to a great start.

wallowing in your silent loss, you simply dig in; desperate to savour it, despite the lingering taste of failure on your tongue. once you’ve sipped the last of your coffee, foamy and rich, the knight to your right speaks up.

”so, your highness,” he begins. tactful, careful. clearing his throat. ”now that you’ve woken up a bit… and, forgive me if i’m overstepping, but —” he searches for your guarded gaze, playing with the beginnings of a smile. ”i was thinking it’d be good for us to get to know each other better.”

”ugh.”

a chuckle — seriously, does nothing offend this man? — flits past his lips. ”oh, don’t be like that, your highness. don’t you think it —”

”cut it out.” you shoot him a glare, voice set to a shivering tilt. ”stop acting like some perfect servant. it’s so obvious you’re playing it up.” a tiny huff, as you pop an apple slice into your mouth. ”makes me sick.”

”… right. you called my acting bad, before.”

”it is,” you nod, a mocking imitation on your tongue. eyes fluttering shut as you bring a hand to your chest. ”oooh, look at me, i’m so humble and loyal! why, of course i don’t mind being summoned with no prior notice! would you like me to lick your shoes, my sweet king?”

and, honestly, you expect him to get at least a little bit angry. the last guy certainly was.

but suguru laughs, suddenly, from the bottom of his gut — a genuine sound. sunshine spilling from his lips, amusement laced together with the octaves. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, like the leaves of a golden ginkgo tree. ”okay, okay,” he puts his hands up, as if readying for a smooth surrender. still amused. ”i’ll try to be more… unguarded, then. would that satisfy you?”

you give him a look.

he returns it with a smile. ”i’ll take that as a yes,” is all he croons, reaching a hand out. it hangs still in the air, waiting patiently for a response. a familiar sight.

you blink. looking at it, silently, as if trying to solve a puzzle in the pattern of his fingertips.

then you sigh. ”for the last time, i’m not letting you kiss my hand, you —”

”a handshake,” he cuts you off. soft, a tilt of his head; awfully charming. reassuring you. ”no kissing involved.”

a handshake.

(come to think of it, you don’t think anyone’s ever tried to shake your hand before. it’s something you see other people do; maids, knights, butlers. people on equal ground with each other.)

after a moment of silence, you avert your gaze. there’s a slight, slight flush to your cheeks, one you hope stays hidden from his keen eyes. you grumble, intent on not appeasing him. ”… i’m not shaking your hand, either.”

suguru quirks a brow, smile yet to fall, waiting a few moments more until he gives in. ”you are difficult,” he chuckles, and it sounds almost pleased. ”kento was right.”

kento? now, why does that sound familiar…?

”— but that’s okay. i look forward to getting to know you better, either way.” his hand retreats to his lap, pliant. ”eventually.”

”that’s not happening.”

”oh?” you swear that smile of his grows, just a little. a man who enjoys a good challenge. humming, closing his eyes for a brief second, switching tactics as if shifting gears. ”then, tell me — is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

hell no, is what you want to say. and you almost, almost do. eager to move one step ahead of him, stubborn in your desire to scare him off.

but then you remember the tale.

so you still, ever so slightly, and suguru leans forward. by a hair, noticing your expression, maybe, the curiosity simmering in your veins. seeping out, little by little, and even though you know you shouldn’t — you just can’t resist the temptation to ask…

”… is it true?”

he tilts his head.

”the … you know.” you move your hands, a bit, as if hoping they’ll say the words for you. they don’t. ”your sword. did you really…” a pause, as your eager gaze trails down to his hip, the scabbard attached to his belt. and then a gulp.

”… pull it out of a stone?”

a series of silent blinks. then suguru chuckles — dripping with fresh amusement, a glimmer of teeth behind his lips. ”oh, so you’ve heard?”

and, like a pair of shooting stars, your eyes flicker over to meet his. almost gleaming with newfound excitement, a little erratic. ”is — is it true?”

”it’s an old folktale,” he’s quick to intercept. ”gets said about basically every great knight… or, what the public deems as good, anyhow.”

(ah. the humble facade slipped away.)

in a matter of seconds, you seem to deflate, slumping back until your spine meets the headboard. sulking silently. ”so you didn't pull your sword out of a rock?” you huff, mood souring again, a lemony flavour in your veins. ”lame.”

”stone,” he corrects, unperturbed. ”and i'm afraid not.” he gives you another one of his placating smiles, barely concealed amusement swimming in his amber eyes. ”i pulled mine from an oak tree.”

…

”wait, really?”

the gleam in your eyes is back. suguru almost, almost feels bad.

”depends,” he quips, shooting you a lazy grin. ”how gullible are you, my lord?”

(... oh. he was teasing you.)

an embarrassed heat crawls up your neck, rooting itself into the column of your throat, and all you can do to distract him from it is to scoff. sharply, as if hoping just the sound will be enough to cut into his smooth skin. ”whatever.”

suguru continues to smile, crows’ feet by his eyes, something deliberate in his silent stare. so you stumble for something, anything to say.

”also, can you quit the my lord stuff?” you settle on, taking a shallow sip of the lemonade. sour and sweet, nice and chilled on your tongue. ”it’s creepy.”

he blinks. a flutter of his dark lashes, fingers tapping at his bended knee. he looks contemplative, for a moment. ”does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, tilting his head. ”i can stick to my liege, if that’s better. just say the word.”

”god, you’re so annoying,” you groan, licking the lemony residue off your lips. ”just use my name.”

suddenly, suguru stills. fingertips frozen, for a moment, no longer tapping at his thigh. he traps his bottom lip between his teeth, a hesitant hum crawling up the confines of his throat.

”that….” he trails off, thumb absentmindedly smoothing over the leather of his scabbard. ”seems a little much.”

when you turn to look at him, he seems a little put off. uncomfortable, maybe — or just caught off guard? it’s hard to get a read on him. for someone who smiles so often, his emotions don’t appear very bright.

a pang of something grasps onto your clockwork heart, and a frown pulls at your bottom lip. frustration gnawing at your veins. ”you’re here to service me, aren’t you?” you ask, with a shallow huff. ”just do as i say.”

”well, i still have my boundaries.” suguru leans back, crossing his legs, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. ”and, on paper — i’m only here to protect you. the servicing is my own choice.”

a very, very judgemental look. he returns it with a tug of his lips.

”… you really do like being ordered around, don’t you?”

suguru shrugs. playful. ”makes me feel needed,” he purrs, watching you wolf down the breakfast he made.

once you’ve had your fill, he’s quick to gather the silver tray in his steady arms, and you do your very best to hold back from thanking him for the meal. it aches a little, but you can’t give in — you don’t have a choice. you can’t allow yourself to be anything other than the most ungrateful, annoying royal in the kingdom.

anything to snap his clockwork heart in half.

— a week passes with no particular developments. you try your damndest to bother him, but suguru is stubborn. stubborn enough that you’re starting to doubt he’ll ever leave you alone, no matter how much you ignore him, or hiss at him, or whine at him to make you an annoyingly specific assortment of breakfast foods.

he never stops smiling, no matter how bothersome you’re being. the tick-tock of his patience remains unbroken.

(so for now, you figure you’ll just have to adjust.)

a sense of contentment simmers in the open air, when suguru knocks at your door, waiting for a groan and a grouchy come in. it takes you a few moments longer to respond than what he’s used to, and he notes that you sound a little less irritated when you do.

as he steps over the threshold, bowing his head instinctively, he’s met with the sight of you fully immersed. holding a paintbrush between your fingers, lifting it, movements delicate, self-assured. like it comes to you without thinking. you’re seated right by the window, enough for the would-be daylight to flicker in. as it stands, the weather is still sour.

he walks up to you, as always, never more than a few steps away.

and, for a moment, all he does is watch you. silently, as you dip your brush in smeary cobalt paint, a splatter of colour on the white canvas. melting together with the indigo and obsidian. there’s a certain rhythm to it, a kind of dance between you and your mind and the painting in front of you — not even close to being finished. a dip of your brush blooms into a jaw, a flick of your wrist into a set of fangs. cobalt cream and silvery edges, an imitation of what you saw in your sleep. murky, blurry, a dream-like clearing in the woods.

as you work, a sense of relaxation smooths along your sinuses. coaxing you into breathing out, into letting your clenched jaw rest for a while. turning all your irritation into brushstrokes. into a hungry, hungry wolf.

finally, your knight opts to break the silence.

”you’re quite talented.”

it’s an earnest comment. filled with respect, not the idle flattery you’re so used to. and despite yourself, you can’t help but grin — glowing a little beneath the praise. prideful, smug, almost giddy. he watches intently as your expression shifts, as those fleeting flickers of joy dance along the contours of your cheekbones. as you lap up his praise like the chamomile tea he served you this morning.

suguru smiles. you have a cute side, he thinks. for no more than a mere moment, he finally feels as if he’s getting somewhere; getting closer to breaking that thorny, thorny shell of yours. closer to meeting the little lamb beneath the wolf’s hide.

but your mind quickly catches up to your body, realizing that your lips are curled up into a pleased smile, and you clench your jaw again. mindful not to let him see it. painting makes you far too careless, too unguarded; you have to be mean.

stuck in a bout of frustration, you put a little too much force into the motion of your fingers, a small slip of the hand. but that’s all it takes. suddenly, the smooth, calm sea of fur on the canvas turns violent, a little more unruly, and you withhold a wince. doing your best to mend the damage. flick, flick, across the canvas, as if to appease the hungry wolf.

from behind you, a tiny exhale. laced with a kind of stifled amusement, one that makes you snap your jaw in his direction. brows knitted in anger.

”what?”

suguru clears his throat. ”nothing, my liege,” he hides a smile behind his knuckle. eyes gliding across the murky smear of fangs and fur, interest piqued. ”i’m just curious… why a wolf?”

a huff. briefly, you consider ignoring him, but….

(something in his tone convinces you not to.)

”… i saw one,” you admit, absently, staring at the blue and gray of the canvas. flick, flick. violet, navy, a little more depth. ”in my dream.”

silence. your knight doesn’t respond. surely, he must think you childish; everyone else does. why would he be the exception? why did you tell him anything at all? a sense of regret mixes with the paint.

the weight of a brush in your hand truly does make you careless, doesn’t it?

”… huh.”

a clenching of teeth. you muster the will to turn your head, just to give him a questioning look, a silent aggression. biting before he can. but he’s not looking at you; he’s looking at the painting, the wolf that isn’t quite a wolf yet, just blue and gray on paper. a blur of messy motions.

then he shakes his head. ”no, nothing.”

you quirk a brow.

but you don’t say anything. falling silent, falling back into the rhythm of it all, painting until you grow bored of it. the wolf looks at you both, still thoroughly unfinished, jaw half-painted, no trees or knights to keep it company. solitary, blurry; baring its fangs towards no one at all. a sorry spectacle of teeth.

— a couple days later, as you’re walking through the castle with suguru in tow, still adamantly refusing to curl your fingers around his bicep, a loud crash breaks you out of your hushed banter.

the two of you share a look. it came from farther away, just beyond the next turn, a certain hallway decorated with delicate vases. one the castle maids desperately tried to keep you from, when you were younger, worried about your habit of jumping around while pretending to be some sort of feral animal. worried, of course, about the safety of the porcelain rather than the safety of the child.

it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the sound. and, lo and behold, what waits beyond the turn ahead is a crying boy and a broken vase.

fat tears cascade down his reddened cheeks, silent fear knit into the way his face is scrunched up. he can’t be older than six or seven; one of the maid’s children, you assume, the kind that doesn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. he looks panicked, down on his knees, holding a large piece of porcelain, painted flowers etched into the front.

what a mess.

when the clicking of your shoes reaches his little ears, he looks up at you with wide, shameful eyes. still sitting amongst the littered shards, the spilt water and irises soon to wilt. it reminds you of something, a memory you don’t quite want to recall; a different child, tiny and alone. taught to feel shame at the moment of their birth.

it makes your pace falter, a bit, but suguru moves without hesitation. long, careful strides, one foot after the other.

he crouches down in front of the boy, gentle as he takes the shattered piece of porcelain from his tiny palm. so he doesn’t hurt himself. ”hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, speaking even softer than usual, his voice like a flurry of feathers and jasmine petals. ”are you hurt?”

he’s patient. smiling comfortingly, considerate, grounding, a blanket of wool like the one forming on the border of the horizon. but the child continues to sniffle and hiccup, curling into a ball as if readying for a strike. like an abandoned puppy.

you sigh.

after a moment’s hesitation, you’re stepping forward, figure slipping from the shadows and coming into view. joining the miserable pair, the jagged shards on the marble floor.

there’s a cold, cold look in your eyes when the boy raises his head to meet them.

a flick of your wrist; you wave your hand once, then twice. ”shoo. hurry up.”

he blinks. tears clumping his lashes together, cheeks flushed from the panic of it all. he stammers when he parts his lips. ”b… but —”

”didn’t you hear me?” comes a scoff, harsh, cutting through the air. right through the fear and panic. ”that was an order. just run back to your mommy already.” you cross your arms, shaking your head in disapproval. mimicking the king, though you think it’s lost on your spectators. ”all that crying is making my head hurt, geez.”

a series of hesitant blinks. crumbling beneath your commanding gaze, the child stumbles to his feet, sparing suguru one last unsure little glance before scurrying off. the sigh that slips from your lips is quiet, barely audible, tinged with relief.

when you look down to the floor, you find that suguru is already looking at you; a furrow to his brows. angry, for once. just a tiny, tiny flicker of distaste. you reward him with a cold smile.

(so this is how you get under this skin. cruelty, aimed not towards him, but towards the defenseless.

what a picture-perfect, self-destructive little knight.)

just as the child turns the corner ahead, you hear the echo of a maid calling out from behind you. her voice is dripping with fatigue, exasperation, a flurry of sighs you’ve grown far too familiar with.

”your highness! what have you done now?”

there it is, you think; the curtain call you’ve been waiting for. with a swift turn of your heel, sheepish expression ready to go, your focus shifts onto one sole objective — act annoying.

”walked into a vase,” you chirp, proudly, just the slightest bit theatrical. gesturing dismissively towards the broken spectacle, as suguru raises himself from the floor. ”my bad. not my fault you make them so easy to break, though.”

she inches closer, with a disapproving stare, and you hear a tick-tock in your ear. sensing the limit of her patience. ”i’ll have you know these vases are expensive,” she clicks her tongue. ”do you truly think you can go around breaking whatever you please?”

”… i mean. i do kind of own this place, don’t i?” you tilt your head, faux contemplation on your features, shifting into a spoiled smile. ”or i will. so — technically — i broke my own vase. no harm done!”

”… my lord —”

”quiet.” suguru stiffens, ever so slightly, following your sharp whisper. ”don’t fuck this up.”

he looks at you, silently. not saying another word.

(there’s a shame in his eyes that you don’t turn your head to see.)

it doesn’t take long for the maid to shoo you away, pinching her brow at your carefree laughter, bitter at the prospect of cleaning up your mess. she makes sure to give suguru a sweet smile, though, and doesn’t bother to hide the sympathy in it. sympathy for him, such a handsome, well-behaved knight, forced to service such a brat.

the smile he gives her in return is a stiff one. almost, almost cold. but he bows, and follows your retreating form, until you’re all alone together.

the walk is silent. maybe just a little heavy, as you try to ignore the stare burning into your skin, trying to swallow your own displeasure. it’s subtle, something you learned to internalize long ago, but it’s there; a slight sadness. you don’t enjoy getting yelled at.

a thick silence stretches on, before crumbling into dust. you aren’t sure how much time has passed when a certain velvety voice curls around your senses.

”your highness.”

he’s come to a standstill, again. you really should just ignore him and keep walking. but you still, anyway, following his cue, turning towards him with a look that says what now? — you aren’t sure what to expect. certainly not the sentence that ends up spilling from his lips, like a spring breeze through an opened window, tinged with something you fear may be close to fondness.

(in your chest, your heartbeat tick-tocks.)

he smiles, gentle, with eyes that see right through you. and he speaks.

”you’re actually kind, aren’t you?”

…

”… huh?”

he pays no mind to your stupefied expression. continuing, unperturbed, eyeing you with a look you distinctly dislike — as if he’s trying to glimpse into your mind. ”the vase,” he hums. ”you took the blame, even though you didn’t do it.”

a huff escapes you. face hardening, setting into firm lines. ”that wasn't intentional,” you grumble, defensive. ”i just wanted him to leave.”

but suguru shakes his head. ”you could’ve left when the maid came. but you stayed, and lied, and got yelled at so he wouldn’t have to.” a second passes, silence thick with meaning. intentional on his part, you’re sure. ”is that not what you’d call kind?”

another moment gone, little tick-tocks of your heartbeat counting down. you part your lips, but no sound comes out, as you stumble for words to say. irritation stirring in your veins. or is it nervosity? you think your skin feels a little hot, suddenly.

just what the hell is happening?

”i’m… i’m not — ” you bite down on your lip. harshly. stammering, voice cracking a bit, to your great dismay. ”… not kind. i hate all of them.”

”but you protect them,” he whispers, ”look after them.” his smile doesn’t waver, never ever, but you’ve never seen it look quite this knowing. and suddenly, he’s closing in on you, gazing at you with laughter in his eyes.

you try to stand your ground, wanting nothing more than to flee, curl into yourself, scratch at him until he leaves. but your throat feels so dry, all of a sudden, a sensation that only deepens with the next words he breathes into life.

”a little sweetheart who pretends to be all big and bad…” he eyes you up and down, a meaningful look, raven locks moving as he tilts his head. towering over you. ”is that what you are?”

nothing. no smart reply comes to you. all you can muster is a harsh glare, a low hiss crawling up your throat, like you’re preparing to lunge at him. it serves as a warning, but the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fluctuate. ”you…”

he chuckles. raspy, breathy, a shiver down your spine. ”your acting is even worse than mine.”

”shut up,” you snap, baring your teeth. it comes out almost like a growl, hot and heavy in your veins, and you don’t understand where all this emotion came from. strangling you, bubbling up within your bobbing throat. ”you don’t — understand me, okay?”

no one does.

and that’s fine. you don’t want them to.

(you just want him to stop looking you so fondly.)

”not yet,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut. a thoughtful hum on the tip of his tongue. ”… but i think i’m beginning to.”

he’s looking at you, again, amber and honey and raven lashes, lapping up every hint of a tell in the way you shift from foot to foot. speaking like he knows you, like he’s known you all his life. ”you act difficult — scare everyone away… but deep down, you love them, don’t you?”

a scoff. desperate. ”no.”

”you want to loved,” he continues, not allowing you to flee. relentless in his pursuit of whatever he imagines must be hidden inside your soul, beneath all those layers of frost. ”understood. everyone does.”

”not me.”

”your highness.”

…

the knight continues to look at you, and you avoid his gaze like it could burn you into cinders — like it could turn you into dust. but he parts his lips, anyway, and speaks. so sincere it makes your chest hurt. words that echo through the endless hallways of the castle, against the surfaces of glass that line the walls. words that make your skin flush under the shadows of rain soon to fall.

he smiles, wide, teeth showing. and he speaks.

”that was very, very kind of you.”

silence. so thick you wonder if you’re about to faint, or fall to the floor, or something equally embarrassing. a sentence so simple shouldn’t be making you feel this way, this weird. you don’t understand why it makes you feel anything, anything at all, and you don’t understand why your eyes suddenly feel a little glassy.

(someone saw through the act.)

”… whatever,” you squeeze out, at last, but it sounds a little meek. a tiny puff of air. turning around, sharply, blinking rapidly to shoo the tears away. ”i just didn’t want to hear that brat whining. it was hurting my ears.”

suguru bites back a coo.

as he watches your back retreat, hurrying back to the comfort of your room, he’s almost certain that he’s making progress. that your walls are beginning to crumble, slowly but surely, bit by bit. the path before him clears — a thorny, foggy path through the woods, until a sunsplatter falls on the ground and tells him where to plant his feet.

it’s not much, barely anything, but suguru’s always liked his hunts blindsighted.

you turn a corner, and he follows suit. sparing a passing glance at the clouds on the boundary of the horizon, the sole ray of sunlight breaking through. and then he’s catching up to you with long strides.

(it’s his duty, yes, but he doesn’t think he’d mind it so much — getting to know his kind, misunderstood little lord.)

sadly, disappointingly, to your great shame — you begin to grow used to suguru’s presence in your life. constant, always close behind, always ready to be of service. as infuriatingly patient as ever. it’s a stretch, but you may have become just the slightest bit fond of it.

maybe, possibly, you’ve even silently decided to stop trying to scare him away. stop acting so difficult with him, all the time.

or, well — sometimes.

”take me outside, please?” you whine, bottom lip jutting out into a deep pout, accompanied by a flutter of your lashes.

the voice that spills from your lips is hopelessly meek, pleading, so sweet you’d get cavities if you didn’t know how fake it was. effortless, perfected, your one god-given talent; an irresistible pair of puppy dog eyes.

suguru answers with a smile, tight-lipped. ”no.”

a beat.

”aw, come on,” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet. frustration bubbles up inside your veins, trickling down to your wrist, nails digging into your palm. ”why not? you’re supposed to listen to my every command!”

”still no, sweetheart.”

a series of grumbles scratch at the base of your throat, but suguru pays them no mind. patient, patient, patient. he’s even kind enough to ignore the way you pointedly avoid his gaze after the term of endearment slips past his lips. ”sorry, but that part is non-negotiable. you know i don’t have a choice.”

you do know. but it still makes your mood sour, pulls a sigh from out of your lips. he moves closer, familiar silver tray in hand, dragging a chair to where you’re seated by the windowsill.

”i did bring you this, though,” he gestures towards a particular glass bowl, filled with red berries. they shine like rubies in the light. ”strawberries, like you asked for. wasn’t easy to get a hold of.”

he places the tray right next to you, smiling as he takes a seat. ”cheer up, hm? don’t be so grumpy.”

your pout remains, but you do settle down a bit. just the teeniest, tiniest bit. definitely not because he was kind enough to indulge your cravings.

”… thanks for breakfast.”

suguru beams, and you avoid his gaze, like always. biting into one of the rubies, the soft murmur of thanks still burning your tongue, soothed by sweet nectar. he lets you flee, lets you continue on like nothing happened, like it isn’t obvious how much you’ve warmed up to his presence.

”you’re welcome, my lord.”

…

(even after spending more than a month together, he still won’t call you by name. won’t even entertain the idea. why does that bother you so much?)

peacefully, your morning ritual continues. the same as always; you eat, while suguru watches, a sweet smile on his lips. the silence remains until he opts to break it.

today, he sounds a little hesitant.

”say, your highness…” he picks at a piece of lint on his cloak, absentminded. ”could i ask you for a favour?”

you almost drop your fork. gaze snapping up to meet his own, as a few silent seconds tick on by. tick-tock, tick-tock. then you clear your throat, regaining your composure. trying to sound nonchalant.

”what is it?” you probe, cutting across the yolk on your fried egg. watching the orange seep out, trickling down, sinking into the crust of your toast. suguru hums.

”a friend of mine — he’s also a knight…” he wrings his hands together, legs parted. tapping his heel on the floor. ”we’ve been sparring together for a while. once a week, at least. but ever since the king hired me, we haven’t been able to.”

you watch as his gaze flickers down to his lap, then up to you again. it’s smooth, charming, but you still think it seems a little out of place. he must not be used to asking for favours.

”i was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me? just down to the training fields by the castle.” his fingers tap against his bended knee, slow and methodical, from pointer to pinkie. ”the king gave us permission to spar there, but i’m obviously not allowed to let you out of my sight…”

you bite back a huff. obviously. he waits for a response that doesn’t come.

”… so?”

you meet his gaze, expectant. hopeful, maybe. it’s a nice touch — matches with the amber of his eyes.

”would that be alright with you?” he inquires, again. you think he sounds just a tiny bit unsure of himself.

a moment passes. silently, you look down at your lap. folded hands, itching to do something. something fun, new, exciting.

your tongue forms around a wish. it spills into the air like a shooting star, a meek little whisper. ”… i wanna swing a sword.”

suguru blinks. once, then twice. ”you…” he tastes the words on his tongue, turning the image of you around in his head. ”want to swing a sword?

you nod. glancing at him, coughing a little under your breath. summoning just a bit of audacity, eyes trailing towards the sword by his hip. longingly. ”… i’ll only watch you spar if you let me try it.”

a brief pause. he studies you intently, a mystery he’s yet to solve.

then he chuckles, light and airy, full of mirth. a sound you’ve grown fond of. ”well, okay. that’s fair.” he rises to his feet, smiling down at you. ”thank you, my lord.”

you don’t respond. but your eyes glitter with excitement, as you dutifully finish your breakfast, wolfing it down. waiting patiently for him to head down to the kitchen with the tray, for him to change into his training gear.

when he knocks at your door, he’s wearing a flimsy little blouse. almost see-through, if you squint your eyes enough, exposing his bare skin. you think you see a scar curling up from his chest, reaching for his shoulder, just below it by a hair. and you can see his biceps, the fat, the muscle, practically begging to be bitten.

(tantalizing.)

he’s speaking to you, saying something, but you tune him out. focused on trying to restrain your growing urges. when he reaches up to fix his hair, tied up into a bun, the muscle of his arm twitches.

and, suddenly, you can’t contain yourself.

giving in to the salivating temptation, you grab hold of his bicep, sinking your teeth into it — gentle, but enough that he feels it, enough to leave a set of teeth marks soon to fade. gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.

suguru blinks. pupils wide, quirking a silent brow, quick to smooth over the surprise in his eyes.

you don’t move. teeth planted against the fabric, the firm muscle beneath it, surprising even yourself; his arm just looked so biteable. you wonder if he’s put off. upset.

but, as always, he’s eerily placating. like nothing you say or do could rock the ship of his patience, an endless sea. smooth, airy laughter flits past his lips, giving way to an indulgent smile. he studies you with fascination, like you’re a creature he hasn’t encountered before.

ever so gently, he grabs hold of your jaw — and the warmth of his touch shocks you into letting it go slack. before you can say anything, he’s rolling up his sleeve. exposing the tender skin.

”go wild, your highness,” he grins, offering his arm up like a lamb to a hungry fox. a teasing mirth in his eyes, his voice coming out as a low purr. ”i don't mind a mark or two.”

to your horror — it flusters you terribly.

you cough. taking a step back, averting your gaze, suddenly disinterested. feigning indifference, anyhow; that was definitely a scar. and a cool one, too. you think you might even have caught a glimpse of a birthmark or two.

”i’m… just keeping you on your toes,” you stumble for an excuse, still unable to look at him properly. missing the way he stifles a bout of laughter. ”for your training, y’know? gotta stay on your guard.”

”of course. i appreciate the help,” he quips, fond, as he gestures for you to take the lead. ”he’s waiting for us. are you ready?”

for a second, just a second, you consider grabbing his arm. letting him guide you. but the thought is fleeting, like a bundle of peach blossoms, brushed away by the sunshine seeping in through the window’s glass — illuminating the marble flooring.

a mellow excitement simmers in your bones.

you head down to the training grounds with a pep in your step, and your loyal knight follows suit. just behind, always, wearing a smile you can’t see.

”suguru!”

the man that greets you with cheerful fervour, seated cross-legged under a peach tree, isn’t quite what you expected him to be.

when you heard knight, you imagined someone a bit more… intimidating. but this guy is far from imposing. a little shorter than suguru, brown locks stopping right around his ears, exposing his sunkissed skin. freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, a happy little grin curled right around his lips.

he’s cute. a bit like a puppy. not very knightly, though.

”haibara,” suguru greets, a mellow warmth to his voice. the man in question shoots up from the ground, stumbling towards you both, excitement in his hazel eyes. suguru gestures towards you. ”this is the royal heir. the one who doesn’t like having their hand kissed.”

your head whips towards him, an angered flush to your cheeks — you’re almost sure that he’s smirking, giving you a teasing glance, but haibara’s exclamation prevents you from voicing any protests.

”hi!” he beams, bowing deeply, so sudden that you jolt a bit. his head whips up instantly, brown locks stirred by the breeze, voice warm and smooth. like honeysuckle nectar. ”thank you so much for letting us spar, your highness! i’ve heard so much about you!”

”… um.” your gaze falls down to a pebble on the ground. unsure of how to act, murmuring under your breath. ”you — it’s… no need to thank me. i wanted to get some air, anyway.”

he continues to look at you, eyes shining with a pure kind of cheer. glittering, honeyed and sweet, too bright to look at directly. you hear suguru exhale amusedly to your left. he’s looking right at you when you glance towards him.

his hand inches closer to his scabbard, fingertips trailing down the leather. ”should we get started?”

haibara brightens even further, if possible. ”oh, right!” he exclaims. ”you wanted to try swinging a sword, your highness? that’s so exciting! is this your first time?”

a blink. you aren’t really sure how to handle this guy; he’s a bit too sunny to be snarky to. like a fuzzy ball of sunshine given human form, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tail practically wagging behind him. all you can muster is a weak cough. ”uh, yeah.”

”well, you’re here to learn.” suguru speaks up. guiding you both towards the center of the field, hand still at the sword on his hip. ”let me show you.”

in one smooth motion, he’s pulling it out of its sheath, a stripe of silver absorbing the rays of the sun. glimmering, slicing the blue sky in half.

you’re a little awestruck.

and then he’s facing you. leaning forward, with a familiar tilt of his head, offering the blade with a smile. ”do you want to try swinging it around a bit?”

barely containing your excitement, you nod. making grabby hands at it.

that makes him chuckle. he makes no move to stop you when your fingers curl around the hilt, only parting his lips for a quick warning, a split second too late. you take it into your arms. ”careful, it’s a bit —”

— the sword clatters to the ground with a thud.

silence.

haibara breaks out into laughter, sudden, fond and warm, but enough to have your cheeks burning. fresh with embarrassment, humiliation, before you even hear the breathy chuckle that slips from your knight’s lips.

”… i was gonna say it’s a bit heavy,” he hums, closed knuckle in front of his lips and obscuring his smile. ”i’m sorry, my lord. do you —”

”whatever.” a hiss escapes your throat, and suguru winces. he knows where this is going; knows a bundle of thorns just erupted from the stalk of your spine, knows you're about to get defensive. ”like i’d ever want to touch your dusty sword. get — get real.”

he tries again. patient, patient. the familiar tick-tock of his never-ending kindness. ”hey, we aren’t making fun of you,” he soothes, hoping it’ll make your edges soften. like scratching a feral dog behind its ear. ”it’s understandable. you weren’t expecting it. i’ll let you try again, hm?”

a tiny pause.

(you’re being childish, again.)

brows furrowed, hanging your head, you kick at a pebble on the ground. having collected yourself a bit. ”… maybe next time,” you finally speak, still grumbling. after you’ve spent some time lifting weights in your room.

suguru tilts his head. speaking softly. ”you sure?”

”yeah.” taking a step back, you raise your head to meet his gaze. ”i’ll just watch you. it’s fine.”

”… okay,” he exhales. leaning forward to pick up his sword from the ground. ”i can spar with you next time, if you want. you’ll be a pro in no time.”

he gives you another sweet smile, bangs fluttering with the breeze; painted in cerulean sunshine. he’s so gorgeous it makes you angry.

a sharp huff. ”don’t patronize me,” is all you can mutter, meeting the eyes of the knight by his side. standing up straighter. ”haibara,” you call. ”knock him around a bit for me, okay?”

from the corner of your eye, suguru pouts.

but the puppy-knight only grins, as bright as the sun in the sky. ”you got it, your highness!” he salutes, cheeks flushing with giddy excitement.

as you sit on the benches a little farther away, dragonflies buzz in the air. fleeting glimmers of chartreuse and cerulean, chirping happily, keeping you company as you watch the knights spar. the clangs of their blades, the elegance in the way suguru moves. a violent little waltz. he’s sweating, just a bit, but you can see it, droplets glittering in the sun. he looks like he’s having fun.

he looks like himself. like he isn’t holding back, isn’t acting obedient or well-mannered for the sake of pleasing his superiors. like this, here and now, he looks wild, free, a dog that turns into a wolf under the glow of the sun.

for a second, your eyes meet — just as he narrowly avoids a slash.

and he smirks, ever so slightly, suddenly gaining a little more momentum. flashing a brief grin, sunlight reflecting off his white teeth. you huff. heat crawling up your neck.

show off.

”excuse me, your highness?”

the sudden voice snaps you out of your stupor. mesmerized, by the spectacle before you, the glimmer of their blades and the sight of your knight’s smile. it’s an unfamiliar voice, close, close enough that your head turns to meet the stranger’s ugly grin — inching closer still.

(uh oh.)

— just up ahead, lost in their own worlds, are two knights; huffing and smirking and narrowly dodging each other’s strikes. suguru takes the lead, as always, guiding haibara into improving his swordsmanship. but they both learn from it. and it’s fun, lighthearted, a respite from their more gruesome duties.

it’s helped suguru more times than he can count; those tiny flickers of normalcy, in a wholly unpredictable profession. a life of bowing and bowing and killing what needs to be killed.

slash, slash, and then two steps back. the same old dance. haibara’s starting to lose momentum, he notices, adam’s apple bobbing with his heavy breaths.

so suguru stills. ”alright, that’s enough for now,” he calls, stretching idly. craning his head, looking around him absently. he wonders if you’re still watching. ”i think i see what the problem is.”

haibara perks up, obeying without a word, wiping the sweat off his forehead and walking towards his friend with a sunny smile. ”okay, great!”

but suguru isn’t looking at him, anymore.

he’s looking towards the benches, where his little lord is seated, speaking to an unfamiliar man. one who currently has his hand on their forearm, caressing it. you look guarded, irritated, a little like you’re about to bare your teeth. trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. and suguru recognizes that look — the one that means you’re about to start biting and hissing, inching your claws into whatever’s within reach.

(not to injure, but to ground yourself, he’s learned. like how you clutch onto the fabric of your clothing when you’re nervous, sink your nails into your palm. not to injure, but to feel safe.)

in the blink of an eye, he’s making his way towards you. beckoned by his duty, his natural instinct, a protective itch that curls around his ribcage and crawls up his throat. large strides, much swifter than usual. he moves without thinking, and he’s there before he has the time to form a coherent thought.

with as much gentleness as he can possibly muster, he grabs hold of the stranger’s arm. smiling, tight-lipped, cold. ”excuse me, sir,” he greets, ”i need to borrow them for a moment.”

the man meets his gaze with a sour look. bitter, ugly, oddly possessive — like he thinks he owns the arm he’s holding. it makes suguru want to teach him a lesson, show off his sword, but he resists the temptation in a way you never could. his expression is a warning, though, enough to scare most rowdy drunkards and snobby royals away.

and it works. the stranger looks to you, briefly, before finally letting go of your poor arm. something rigid in suguru’s jaw finally relaxes. ”who are you?” comes a question, as the man turns to face him with a look full of contempt. ”their knight?”

before suguru can say anything, you’ve hopped off the bench. clinging to him, with a firm nod; your arms around his bicep. ”yeah. he is.”

(suguru fails to stifle a smug smile.)

with a string of bitter mumbles and a silent frustration, the man scurries away. hesitant, only after being met with another warning glance from the knight in front of him. intimidating, far less subtle, towering above him like a predator over their prey.

as soon as he’s out of sight, your knight turns to you, scanning your face for signs of discomfort. loyal, attentive. ”are you okay?” he asks, a silent shame in his voice. if only he had noticed sooner. ”did he do anything to you?”

you shake your head. ”it’s fine. probably one of the king’s friends — stops by every now and then.” a sigh, a little fatigued, following your explanation. ”they’re mostly harmless. just creepy and touchy.”

”that doesn’t sound very harmless…” suguru lets you pull away, quick to hide the disappointment that flashes in his eyes as you do, waving haibara off with a silent gesture of give us a minute. ”don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye out, from now on.”

still a little guarded, you nod. letting suguru guide you by the small of your back, taking a seat on the solid bench once more. together, this time.

”there are a lot of those types around the town square,” he exhales, weary, stretching out his limbs before leaning forward. elbows resting on his bended knees. ”they’re a pain to deal with. i’m sorry you have to.”

”are there?” you ask, tone laced with curiosity. ”in the town?”

”well, i’m sure you’ve heard. that place is a bit of a mess, these days…” a click of his tongue. ”more work for the knights.”

a dragonfly settles on the bridge of his nose. suguru blinks, smiling gently, until it flutters away with a raspy squeak. fading away, melting into the blue paint of the sky. you bite down on your lip.

”… i haven’t.”

he turns to look at you. raising a brow.

”i haven’t heard about it at all. the king told you, right?” you meet his eye with a rueful smile, before leaning back, nose turned up towards the sky. for a second, you think the air smells a bit of rain. ”i’m not allowed to go out into town.”

your knight falls silent.

so you continue. grinning, with no humour to it. maybe a bit eager to overshare, to break the silent rules you’ve been given. the secret tastes like honey on your tongue. ”i’m a bastard child. he probably told you that, too.” you wouldn’t be surprised. ”thinks it's optimal for everyone involved if i just stay cooped up in the castle.”

closing your eyes, your voice drips with something close to longing. barely above a whisper. ”i haven't been to the town in a couple of years, now.”

…

he only hums. ”i see.”

(there’s sympathy, in his amber eyes, but you don’t turn around to see it. you don’t turn to look at him until he’s finished sparring, and haibara’s about to leave.

you wonder if he’ll meet your gaze the same way as before.)

— that evening, suguru knocks at your door right as you're about to fall asleep. three rapid knocks, the same as always, knuckle against wood. rousing you from your rest.

when you open it, he’s holding something out towards you.

”here,” he says, voice set to a mellow tilt. upon closer inspection, he’s holding a bottle. transparent, see-through, stuffed to the brim with sea glass. smooth little colourful pebbles, green and blue and pink and orange, like frozen little camellias. ”for you, my lord.”

blinking sluggishly, you take it into your arms; holding it up in front of your eyes. when the light of the moon flitting in through the curtains hits it just right, it blossoms with colour, sparkling with every shade you’ve ever seen. shining like a heap of jewels, in your hands, like something out of a picture-book. magical.

it’s mesmerizing.

”i asked haibara to get it from the town,” he explains, drinking in your expression of awe. ”this one lady — she collects them herself. i see her by the beach nearly every time i go there.”

when you look up, his smile is serene. peaceful, if just a little bit tired. but he looks pleased, lips curling around silky syllables. ”i thought of you.”

it’s odd, you think. you aren’t a stranger to gifts; you get most of what you desire if you just say the word, an easy way for the king to keep you compliant. as if to make up for the plethora of experiences you’ve missed out on since your birth. and you’ve had more than a couple suitors, men and women, eager to gain your favour.

but this — this particular gift…

…

”it’s pretty,” you murmur, finally, unable to voice even a sliver of the emotions clogging up your chest. shying away from his gaze, feeling your heart pulse against your ribcage. ”… i guess.”

suguru just smiles. always, always, always. no matter what you do. ”i’ll get you something else next time,” he promises, ready to go back to standing guard outside the castle. ”get some sleep, okay? be good.”

and you can’t bring yourself to protest. not even a tiny huff of don’t tell me what to do. you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod, soft and pliant, still gazing at the bottle of sea glass in your hands. like you might turn into one of those transparent pebbles, if you wish for it enough.

that night, you dream of waves crashing against sand, the taste of seafoam on your tongue. every colour in the world. a newfound, reawakened wish — a wish to see more of it.

”are you trying to sneak out again?”

owlishly, all you can do is blink. propped up on the windowsill, immersed in the process of tying pillowcases and bedsheets together to form a rope. caught in the act — by none other than suguru, standing by the threshold, hand on his hip, watching you with silent disapproval. you didn’t think he’d come check on you this late.

a gulp. ”… no?”

and he sighs. walking towards you, brows furrowed, running a hand through his raven locks. you can tell he’s trying to be a little more sympathetic, this time, but it only makes the bitter taste on your tongue thicken.

”look — i know it’s not fair to you, but the king and queen specifically ordered me —”

”i get it,” you cut him off, with a hiss, a little harsher than you meant to. you soften your voice before continuing. "i know. okay? i know.”

resigned, but frustrated, you clench the silken material of the bedsheets. glaring at them like it’s somehow their fault that the queen couldn’t bear an heir, that your father has a knack for sleeping around. like it’s their fault that he’s so ashamed of your existence that he doesn’t want you integrating into society on anything other than his own terms, until he’s dead and gone and doesn’t have to take accountability anymore.

like it’s their fault that it’ll always be like this, forever, that it’s better not to hope for more.

(why can’t you just accept that?)

the knight before you exhales. troubled, watching your nails dig into the fabric, watching the way you bite down on your lip and rapidly blink. all signs of your frustration, your sadness, that you always try so hard to hide.

”hey. how about this?” he tries to get your attention, voice soothing enough to coax you into raising your gaze. ”i’ll tell you a story instead.”

he stifles a chuckle, at the dubious look you send his way, teetering on the edge of a glare. slithering towards you. ”i’ve seen a lot of places. i can tell you about them, if you’d like.” he takes a seat right next to you, on the windowsill, a slice of the moon in bare view. ”what do you want to know?”

you’re silent, for a second. gnawing at your bottom lip, in contemplation, the tiniest bit of nervosity. like you aren’t quite sure if you’re allowed to speak your wishes aloud.

”… the woods.”

suguru blinks. a little caught off guard.

his silence makes you want to bare your fangs, a bit. misinterpreting it as judgement. your voice comes out cold. ”what?”

but he’s quick to smooth over his features with a smile, as always, cocking his head amusedly. ”sorry — i was expecting you to say the sea, or something,” he stifles a chuckle. “it's the woods that you're so curious about?”

you pout. ”… you can see them from here.”

his head turns towards the window’s glass, squinting his eyes to see the sea of dark green in the distance, a cluster of thick trees. he hums. ”yeah, you can. well… that particular spot isn’t too bad. not many bandits or beasts.” your gaze stays glued onto his lips, every word that spills from them. ”there are wolves, though. this side of the kingdom is crawling with them.”

”they sell their fur,” you state.

(that’s one thing you do know. you spent more of your childhood around wolf pelts than your own parents. they might as well be your legal guardians.)

suguru nods. ”they do. it's a big portion of the kingdom’s exports… general market, as well.”

a frown tugs at your lips. you think of your fluffy childhood guardians, unable to howl or even make a sound; hunters turned decorations.

”isn’t that… kinda fucked up?”

he smiles, revealing no emotion. ”do you think it is?”

you only shrug. ”i’m not surprised that they eat us.” you think of all the stories you’ve heard, the fairy tales you grew up with. ”… if i was a wolf, i’d hate humans too.”

”would you, now?” familiar amusement, seeping from his tongue, soft crows’ feet by his cedar eyes. ”good thing you aren’t a wolf, then. we’re lucky.”

”mhm. you’d be my first target.”

that makes him chuckle, a little deeper this time, and you drink in the glimpse you get of his teeth, the fondness that dances across his face when he looks at you.

a sudden urge overtakes you.

”… i wanna know about something else.”

”oh?” he tilts his head, soft locks framing his kind eyes. ”and what would that be, my dear?”

”you.”

…

for a moment, the mask falls. a silent, subtle kind of surprise, something in the way the tips of his fingers twitch that tells you he’s caught off guard. it coaxes you into continuing, following through with your question. swallowing the embarrassment. ”i wanna know more about you. how you became a knight, and… stuff.”

suguru looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes. undecipherable, unspoken, just watching as moonrays glide across your soft skin. ruffling your hair.

a hum buzzes in his throat. he scratches at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to dodge your question. clicking his tongue. ”… well.”

anticipation blooms in your eyes, and you cross your legs, waiting patiently to hear him speak. he can’t deny you, when you look at him like that — so suguru simply exhales. a breath of indulgence.

”it’s not a very interesting story,” he leads, closing his eyes in remembrance. ”they scouted me when i was pretty young…. a bit of a troublemaker, honestly, but i got lucky." memories flash behind his eyelids, fresh bruises, sliced fruit. bittersweet. ”ended up around some powerful people. they liked me. knighthood felt like the right choice.”

he meets your entranced gaze, speaking with sincerity, devotion dipped in honey and holy water. sinking deeper still. ”it’s my purpose in life,” he breathes, a flurry of whispers on his tongue. heavier than either of you know. ”truly.”

you cock your head. ”being a knight?”

”protecting the weak,” he says. recites. like he’s said it a million times before, in the face of beasts, in the reflection of broken mirrors, a mantra to live and die by. ”protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”

the look in his eyes frightens you. deeper than the deepest lake, dark and murky, dragging him down. a devotion that smells of iron, tastes like steel. mania disguised as loyalty.

(knights love duty. almost as much as they love dying for it. that’s what your father always says.)

”but, honestly — this kind of thing isn’t bad,” he breaks you out of your trance, grinning sheepishly, almost boyishly. ”it’s been a while since i had so much fun on the job… thank you for that.”

he’s looking at you, right at you, into your eyes, an expression reserved for you and you alone. terribly earnest, grateful, a sincerity he wouldn’t show anyone else. ”honestly.”

you can do nothing but avert your gaze. swiftly, meekly, feeling heat crawl up your neck, blooming across your cheeks like the branches of a plum tree. suguru grins, gulping down the slightest coo — but he can’t resist the urge to poke fun at you a bit.

”… you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” he searches for your gaze, chuckling when he doesn’t find it. when you don’t let him. ”can’t even look people in the eye if they’re being nice to you… how precious.”

”oh, shut up,” you groan, glaring out into the night sky. blinking slowly, drowsily, biting back a yawn that your attentive knight still manages to notice.

(he looks a little enamored.)

”ah… is my sweet little lord getting sleepy?”

”no,” you scoff, far too quick. ”i’m… tired.”

”of course.” he reaches out, carefully, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. ”tired — not sleepy. that would be outrageous, wouldn’t it?”

a yawn. ”it would.”

low laughter bubbles up at the base of his throat, like seafoam, melting roses. deep and summery. ”alright. that’s enough stories for tonight, i think.” and with that, he gets up. ”let’s get you to bed, hm?”

rubbing your eyes, absently kicking your legs, you give him a slow nod of your head. making grabby hands at him that you’re sure you’ll be embarrassed about in the morning — but it feels easy, to be greedy, to know that your wants won’t be ignored when you’re with him. ”carry me, suguru.”

an indulgent smile. he doesn’t say anything, only curling his arms under your thighs, lifting you up and cradling you to his chest. you can feel his firm muscles, like this, trace them with your fingertips, hear the beating of his heart. tick-tock, tick-tock. a lullaby. a sense of safety, when you can’t tell where your heartbeat ends and his begins.

lost in that fuzzy, sleepy feeling, a blink away from falling into dreamland, fatigue washes over you — but you cling to his sleeve, even as he tucks you in, dragging the blanket up to cover you properly.

”suguru,” you murmur, so quiet you doubt he hears it. ”will you tell me more stories tomorrow?”

”of course.” right before sleep coaxes you into its cradle, you feel the weight of his palm on your head; ruffling your hair. ”as many as you want, your highness.”

he smiles, as your eyes flutter shut, at the soft little breaths that flow from your lips. before he slips out, he blows out the candle on the nightstand, a silent prayer that your dreams will be kinder to you than his.

— one week of nagging later, suguru’s resolve finally crumbles. it’s progress, at last, a tiny crack in his clockwork heart.

but for once, it works in your favour.

”do you really want to see the outside world that badly?”

he’s got an arm locked around your waist, stopping you from one of your numerous escape attempts. you’ve gotten bolder, sneaking away the moment he takes his eyes off you, but suguru isn’t easy to fool — catching up to you just as you stepped outside the castle, now stuck in place under the portico. it’s to be expected, with that sixth sense of his, the one that seems to alert him as soon as you think the thought to get him in trouble.

but you still can’t help but pout, huff and puff, pushing at his chest in a helpless attempt to break free. he’s sweet about it, gentle, but entirely unmoving. like a big, annoyingly handsome rock.

”what do you think?” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. ”no, of course not. this whole time, i’ve just been trying to escape for fun. like, as a bit. how could you tell?”

he rolls his eyes, and you break out into a grin. ”mind the sarcasm, please.” he barely resists the urge to pinch your side; letting you loose, instead, trusting you not to scurry away. he’d catch up to you instantly, anyhow. "i’m just saying, it might not be as interesting as you think —“

”what are you, stupid?”

”what did we say about letting people finish their sentences?” he raises a brow, and you try not to cower. rolling your eyes, instead. suguru just sighs. ”i understand why you want to leave. but you have a good life, here. better than most.”

”… i know that,” you grumble, biting down on your lip. a resignation in your eyes that your knight can't protect you from. ”i just —”

you sigh.

”it’s just so suffocating.”

suguru falls into a contemplative silence. weighing his options, studying the flicker of emotions in your eyes, the tapping of your idle fingers. hands eager to fidget with something.

moments pass, one at a time, a familiar lullaby of pitter patter ricocheting off the ground just outside your vision. the air smells of marigolds, burning wood, wet concrete. the beginnings of summer.

finally, he makes up his mind.

”okay, okay.”

when you look up from the ground, what awaits you is an outstretched hand. a familiar palm, and a familiar knight, with a familiar smile on his face. ”but don’t get used to it, alright?”

…

you part your lips, but no sound comes out. gaping like a fish out of water, hunting for the right words. suguru waits. patient.

”w — hold on,” you stutter, eyes blooming with hesitant hope, studying him intently for any signs of trickery. ”you mean — seriously? like, for real?”

he shrugs. ”it’s my duty to keep you happy.” devotion clings to his tongue, sweet indulgence. ”figure i can make an exception this once.”

another moment passes.

(there isn’t a hint of deceit in his features.)

a grin breaks out across your lips, like a joyous bolt of lighting, and you lunge into his chest — throwing your arms over his broad shoulders, jumping up and down, planting a wet kiss against his cheek. bubbly, giddy, heart racing with disbelief. you don’t even have it in you to be bratty. ”thank you, thank you, thank you!”

suguru makes a choked out noise, a little comical, breath hitching in the back of his throat. stabilizing you with a palm on the small of your back, patting it softly, once or twice, before retracting his arm and pulling away. clearing his throat. ”… you’re welcome.”

(his ears burn a cherry red.)

”but this is our little secret,” he reminds you, firmly, collecting himself. or trying to. ”got it?”

”yep.”

”if anyone asks, you —”

”yep, yep, understood.” you brush him off, still grinning brightly. ”don’t worry! i won’t tell a soul, i promise. swear on my mother’s grave!”

your knight exhales. worried, maybe, a little exasperated — mostly just trying to mask how infectious your joy is. how addicted he is to it, now that he’s seen it up close. he’s only caught glimpses in the midst of your painting sessions; to see it directed at him instead of the wolf on your canvas is a treasure he won’t soon forget.

sneakily, stealthily, like a pair of bad dogs, the two of you begin your journey to the woods on the horizon. wearing cloaks, sticking together, until the sun begins to set and the sky drains of colour.

and before you know it, it’s right there in front of you. a narrow path into the woods, a cluster of trees, a world you’ve always dreamed of. dark and gritty, beautiful, brimming with bugs and sights yet to be seen. creatures you could only ever see in picture books. a dreamlike world that takes shape before you, like paint splattered on a canvas, as you follow suguru’s lead — right behind him, clinging to the fabric of his cloak, excitement flooding your veins. heart thumping erratically in your chest.

when you’ve made it to a tiny clearing, you stop in your tracks. suguru’s holding a lantern, a flicker of orange in the dark green world before you, attracting fuzzy moths. proud trees stand tall all around you, keeping guard, mushrooms and forget me nots scattered across the dewy patches of grass. keeping them company.

everything smells of life, earth, oak wood and thinly veiled secrets. you want to live here forever.

suguru turns to look at you, noticing the way you’ve stilled. completely mesmerized, bewitched, eyes gleaming with childlike happiness. he tuts, doing a bad job at hiding how pleased he is. the sound makes you meet his eye.

”careful,” he croons, inching closer. fingertips ghosting over your wrist, right above your pulsepoint. ”could be wolves around. stay close.”

you tilt your head, feigning confusion. ”i’ve already got one right next to me, though?”

the comment earns you a flat expression, unimpressed, and it pulls a giggle from out your throat. the corners of suguru’s lips curl up, unwillingly, as he shakes his head; exhaling a tired breath. exasperated.

then he hums. ”well, at least you're aware.”

suddenly, he’s walking forward, slipping away, cold air replacing the buzzing warmth of his skin on yours. hot blood, ever flowing, hidden within his veins — pumped out from his heavy heart. it’s there and then it’s gone. tick, tock, one step after the other, until he’s turning around to face you again. unfurling his outstretched hand, waiting for you to grab hold of it.

his long hair sways with the breeze, smooth and unburdened, black like the night sky above you. a starry glint in his eyes. his voice comes out deep, a raspy lilt, like the scraping of metal against concrete.

when he smiles, you think you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth.

”will you trust this wolf to keep you safe?”

under the web of shadows cast by the trees, barely illuminated by the shivering moon, all you can do is watch him. his gleaming eyes, the curl of a toothy grin on his lips. a knight, a wolf, a friend.

your protector.

finally, finally, you grasp onto his offered hand. his fingers intertwine with your own, a puzzle finally solved, and his palm feels a little calloused. skin littered with tiny scars, years of training and killing, but it’s still somehow so soft. nice and smooth.

he’s warm. and now he’s smiling at you, like you put all the gold of the world into his palm.

”yeah,” you grin, a little cheeky. stepping closer, clinging to him without restraint, knowing he’ll indulge you. ”keep me safe, wolfie.”

his laughter rings out into the air like a cicada song, sweet and nostalgic. or a howl, maybe. it makes you want to gnaw at his bones; memorize his taste, so you’ll never quite be without him. it’s not your fault he looks so chewable when he’s smiling like that.

”i will,” he promises, vows, pledges, hand on his heavy heart. knights and their rituals. ”you don’t have to worry about a thing. not while i’m here.”

and you don’t. you know you don’t. because suguru is the greatest knight, the coolest wolf, and his clockwork heart never ceases to tick. it won’t break under pressure, no matter how much you push — so you don’t bother holding back. wrapping both arms around his bicep, cozying up to him, tugging at his cloak with a pep in your step.

”c’mon, c’mon!" you beckon him forward. "i wanna see how everything looks up close.”

and he just lets you manhandle him, for a bit. following your lead. ”of course,” he croons. ”your wish is my command, your highness.”

the night stretches on, seemingly never-ending, like the branches of the oak tree you find in the heart of the woods. broken, beautiful, stretching out in all directions — as if wishing to engulf the world. a garden of forking paths, covered in jagged bark, but still somehow so warm to the touch. you’re sure there’s a heartbeat in there, somewhere. maybe a couple of swords too.

all good things must come to an end. but you refuse to leave the comfort of your mossy haven until suguru promises to bring you back, someday, maybe, if you play nice. it’s a deal that you’re willing to take.

only then do you begin your journey back towards the castle. having gotten your fill, for now, left to wallow in the newfound sights etched into your memory. still clinging to your knight like a child with their favorite doll, babbling into his ear about something or another. about how you’re almost sure you saw a wolf in the bushes, about how pretty the cicadas’ songs were. how you’re gonna convince him to take you there every single day.

the sun is yawning, stretching its endless limbs out, getting ready to rise and envelop the world. the sky is a calm blue, soon to be painted orange and pink, but you aren’t tired at all. you must sound a little incoherent, but suguru nods along to your every word. listening attentively.

so kind. so patient. sure, he’s a tease, and more than a little patronizing — but you don’t think you’ve ever liked anyone this much before. it’s weird. it’s fun.

(you wonder if he feels the same.)

”hey, suguru?”

he keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead, but still spares you a brief glance, just to let you know you have his full attention. a second of hesitance is all your sleepy brain allows you, curiosity enveloping most of your functioning thoughts.

”would you… i mean. if i was, like… a different person —” you pause. suguru quirks a brow, and you suddenly feel a little flustered. ”um, what i mean is! like, if the king ordered you to be someone else’s knight… would you protect them like you do with me?”

he blinks. once, then twice, meeting your hopeful gaze. stifling a yawn, and parting his lips.

”obviously.”

…

your face falls. lips dropping down into a soft pout, rich with disappointment, paired with a barely audible huff. suguru furrows his brows, playfully, smiling in the way he always does when he’s about to tease you.

”ah, my bad,” he croons. ”were you expecting something else? a… forbidden romance, perhaps?”

before you can begin to protest, warmth rushing to your cheeks, he stops walking. dropping down on one knee, dramatically, with a flutter of his cloak. theatrical.

gently, he grabs hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips as his eyes flutter shut. you bite back a squeak. his voice comes out low, sultry, honeyed — so heavy with emotion that it’s obvious he’s faking it. ”the only person i yearn to protect is you, my liege,” his breath feels hot against your skin. ”i could never love another. i exist for you, and you alone.”

suddenly, he’s smirking. you feel it against the knots of your knuckle, right before he cracks a single eye open. glimmering with deep amusement. ”… is that better?”

and you huff. sharply, doing all that you can to avoid getting flustered, his heavy gaze burning right into your own. it really, really doesn’t work. ”you’re so mean.”

”not mean,” he chuckles, rising to his feet. dusting off his cloak. ”i’m just… managing your expectations, my lord. they’d have my head on the chopping block if i so much as touched you without their consent — you know that.”

another little huff. ”i never said i wanted you to…”

(you do, though.)

suguru hums. ”i’m your knight,” he reminds you, as always, until you get tired of hearing it. steadfast, irrefutable. ”that’s all. remember?”

something bitter settles on your tongue.

but you nod. ”that’s right,” you hum. ”mine.”

a teasing mirth flickers through his eyes, like the first setting sunrays reflecting off cathedral glass. reverent, dyeing the world in all the colour it asks for. and he chuckles, raspy, amused. ”possessive little thing…”

that’s right, you remind yourself. he’s your knight. your lying, teasing, playwright of a knight. always wearing a mask, hiding behind a suit of armor, playing one role or another. only baring himself under the light of the sun, when no one is around to see. he’s infuriatingly patient, endlessly loyal, the greatest bootlicker you’ve encountered in your life. but he’s kind, too. maybe a little too kind.

and he always, always kneels.

such a large man, all toned muscle and tall stature, broad shoulders and a firm chest — kneeling at your feet. like a loyal dog. with a rustle of armor, a flutter of fabric, a sigh and a smile. as soon as you ask for it.

”c’mon. let’s hurry back,” you hear him say, biting back another yawn. ”before anyone finds out i kidnapped you. don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”

”i kinda do.”

a silent look. unimpressed. it’s the most sincere expression he knows how to make, and also the most comical. ”careful,” he looks ahead, hiding his amused smile. ”wolves eat bratty heirs, you know? better stay on my good side, your highness.”

a bout of sleepy giggles. you curl an arm around his bicep, putting your weight onto him, but he doesn’t stumble. ”sorry, mr wolf! please, by all means, eat my dear father instead.”

”don’t be disrespectful.”

”sorry,” you quip, entirely unapologetic. ”i forgot you had a crush on him. that’s my ba — ow!”

suguru brushes by you, walking forward, hiding his growing grin. leaving you with an ache in your hip and two wide eyes.

”hurry up, my lord. we don’t have all day.”

”wha — you pinched me!” you stumble after him, barely containing your quiet delight. ”they’ll have your head for this, you know!”

silent laughter. you don’t need to hear it to know that it’s there, just ahead of you, tucked into crows’ feet and a curl of his lips.

suguru always kneels.

but, sometimes, he talks to you as if you’re equals. sometimes he takes the lead, pinches your hip, tells you off a little. teasing, patient, but there’s an edge to him that he doesn’t always hide. sometimes, he lets you see it, and you figure that must make you at least a little bit special.

sometimes, he feels like your best friend.

careless, careless, careless.

how could he ever be so careless?

everything blurs into a puddle of red. murky, sticky, everywhere all at once. all he sees is red, all he feels is burning. his heartbeat pulses at the base of his throat, bottom lip bruised and aching from hours of sinking his teeth into the flesh, over and over — every single nerve of his body running on adrenaline and nothing else.

(adrenaline and fear, maybe, but they’ve always been synonymous. never one without the other.)

the slaughter is mindless. suguru knows that’s how they like it, anyhow — knights aren’t supposed to think. they don’t need to.

suguru certainly isn’t. cutting his way through the bandit’s den, practically growling, sword painted such a dark shade of red that he doubts he’ll ever be able to wipe it clean. harsh slashes, pure instinct, wildfire inside his veins, iron on his tongue.

suguru isn’t thinking, he’s hunting. sniffing like a bloodhound. eyes scanning the area before him like a hungry beast.

suguru is hunting — for you.

and when he sees you, at last, tied up and barely conscious, he’s almost certain he’s going to grow claws, fangs, matted fur. that he’s going to turn into a beast beneath the fading moonlight.

but he falls to his knees, instead, like a wounded dog. throwing his burganet off, with a clatter, crawling closer. heaving breaths, untying you with shaky hands, greedy fingertips hunting for a pulsepoint —

and only when he finds it does he allow himself the luxury of breathing again.

when you come to, veins dragged down by a fuzzy sensation, your vision is blurred. foggy, dull colours on the canvas of your mind, gradually washed away as you struggle for control. you stir, and finally see the figure above you.

what you see is a knight, a wolf, a beast beneath the moonlight. a kind, kind man.

suguru.

bloodied armor. sweaty, messy hair, sticking to his forehead. pure panic in his bloodshot eyes. he cradles your face, cold metal on your cheek, dirty and smelling of iron. he moves his mouth; you delude yourself into thinking that his bottom lip is trembling. forming around familiar vowels.

he’s saying your name.

there must be something wrong with you, you belatedly realize. the last one to do so. because you’re hurt, scared, but you still feel a skip of your heartbeat.

(he finally said it.)

you muster all the strength at your disposal, eyelids fluttering. and you try to answer, you do, reaching for that thread between your brain and your tongue — but it comes out as a garbled little thing, more air than noise.

it’s enough. the tense crease between his brows melts away, and he sighs.

”oh, thank the heavens.”

another sensation. he’s touching your hand, now, cold metal on warm skin, bringing it up to his lips; a shaky little exhale brushing against the knots of your knuckle. his lips are chapped.

then he’s scooping you up, cradling you close, as close as metaphysically possible, as if willing to cut his stomach open to fit you inside. a firm grip, comforting, stable. desperate, a mother wolf carrying her cub to safety, by the skin of her teeth. his hair tickles your skin, but you don’t mind.

only when he brings you back to the castle does everything fall into place. he explains everything, as you sit in bed, still recovering. a sudden attack, from within the castle, a kidnapping. some enemies of the king, a scandal to do with you and your blood. something, something, something. you’ve grown used to not understanding why you keep getting hurt. and you’re too distracted by the sullen face of the knight in front of you to pay attention.

suguru wasn’t there to stop it — wasn’t there to save you, be your knight in dashing armor. the king had invited him to a game of chess, and you had been adamant in your refusal to join them.

so you don’t understand why he’s apologizing.

he’s smiling, but it’s weak, as flimsy as a piece of paper. his lying smile, tight-lipped, betrayed by the redness of his eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. dark crescents. he sits by your bedside and looks a little like he wants to curl into a ball.

”i’m sorry.”

and ah, you think; there it is. guilt. always, always clinging to him, a ghost haunting him wherever he goes. it’s been there since the beginning, in the scar reaching for his shoulder, the nature of his never-fading smile. guilt, guilt, guilt. you wonder if he's ever gone without it. you wonder if knights begin to crumble when they stop feeling ashamed.

he looks sad.

with a breathless inhale, you part your lips. you want to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, that you’re fine now — that you could never be mad at him. not really, never truly, never at him. you want to tell him that he’s your favorite person, not just your favorite knight, that he’s allowed to make mistakes without demanding that he suffer for them.

you want to tell him that it’s okay, really. seriously.

but all that leaves your lips is a meek little sniffle. as the shock of it all finally settles, sinking deep into your bones, the fear of being captured, the dull ache of your skull meeting the ground. you can’t tell him any of the things you want to, and you feel so awful —

because suguru’s face falls. like you just thrust a knife into his sternum and twisted it. he looks like he could cry, too.

”i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, right down the middle. like a broken vase. ”i’m so sorry.” it’s not at all what you want to hear, but you can’t tell him that either. he’s bundling you up before you know it, dragging you into the comfort of his chest, one large palm on the back of your head; tugging you closer still. he smells of soap and oak wood and peach blossoms. ”it was scary, wasn’t it?”

and you nod. into his neck, wet tears brushing against his skin. not stable enough to act tough. you don’t think he is, either.

suguru exhales, shaky, clutching you like he could lose you if he lets go. lose himself. he knows you’re scared, but you let him soothe you. it means something, he thinks. it means something that you let him come so close, closer than anyone’s ever been. so he swallows the guilt until it’s no longer clogging up the back of his throat, if only so his voice can flow out through the gap, give you the comfort you need. just rubbing your back until you calm down, apologizing silently — over and over again. manic, like the tick-tock of a clock.

until your voice breaks him out of it.

”it’s not your fault.”

he stiffens. still holding you, feeling your heartbeat settle down, hearing your voice break out of your throat. it comes out as a weak croak, with just the slightest hint of disapproval.

he gulps.

”don’t worry about me, right now,” he hushes you. a silent plea. ”i’m not the one who’s injured.”

”suguru —” you sigh, almost a hiss. ”i hit my head. once. that’s all.” you wipe away the wetness of your cheeks, biting back a sniffle. ”… you’re acting like i’m fucking dying. cut it out.”

(for once, he’s relieved to hear that sharp edge of your voice. it means you’re feeling better.)

a weak inhale. ”… they kidnapped you. it must’ve been terrifying. please, just…” and a tired exhale. ”please just don’t strain yourself.”

”it wasn’t your fault.”

…

”your highne —”

”i’m serious.” you’re pulling away, suddenly, clasping onto his cheeks with your tearstained palms. squishing his face together. ”it wasn’t your fault. it was mine.”

he shakes his head, eager to protest, so you squish his cheeks with more force, and shake his head for him. like a misbehaving dog. ”nope. if you even think about apologizing, i’ll start crying again.”

he lets out a huff. frowning, sadly, a downcast pair of eyes.

”don’t pout. i’ll bite you.”

it’s slight, barely even there at all — but you think the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, just by a hair, exhaling through his nose with just the slightest hint of amusement.

he places his palm over yours.

a moment passes, slow and steady, both of you catching your breaths. calming down, letting the fear of it all seep out of your aching bones. you hope the warmth of your skin against his soothes him as much as it soothes you.

”… you know, your highness,” he murmurs, softly. meeting your puffy eyes with his tired pools of amber gold. ”there’s something i never told you.”

you blink. he continues.

”just the night before the king reached out to me… i had a dream.” he musters a weak, exhausted little smile. ”dreams… i don’t have them very often. and when i do, they’re nothing good. but this dream…”

his eyes flutter shut. a curtain closing, a raven taking flight, the tick-tock of a heartbeat. you can’t look away. ”it stuck out to me.”

silence.

your voice comes out soft, like the bedsheets beneath you, the man before you. a tiny breath of a question. ”… what was it about?”

he smiles. smoothing a thumb over your knuckle, reverent, as if memorizing every ridge and dip.

”a fox.”

…

”it had…” his hand slips from the small of your back, reaching for your cheek, pinching it gently. ”a cheeky smile.”

your skin heats up, beneath his touch. and you blink, not saying a word, because there isn’t any need to. all the words you could ever want have already been painted out.

(well, maybe not quite all.)

”suguru.” you lean close, just a little, drinking him in. and he listens, as always, so you don’t bother beating around the bush. swallowing any embarrassment your tired mind can still feel. because your knight is right in front of you, eyes still red from crying, and you want him to be happy. “i think you’re my favorite person.”

he stills.

then he’s burning up.

”wha — where did that come from?” he stammers, a strawberry hue to his ears, his neck, the tips of his fingers. enveloping him like a blanket of warmth.

you only shrug. ”you told me the truth. figured i should return the favour, for once.” a giddy, exhausted smile. “we’re both awful liars, huh?”

suguru opens his mouth. then he closes it, again, desperate to collect himself. you think he must be a little too exhausted to, and you wish you could say you felt bad. ”you… you can’t just —”

he squeezes his eyes shut. sighing. giving up, the gears of his mind grinding to a halt. your grin blooms wider.

”hehe.” you poke at his flushed cheek, and he cracks a single eye open. ”you’re blushing.”

he huffs, leaning away from your touch, and you find yourself enjoying the reversal of your usual roles. very much so. he tries to smile, tries to get one up on you, but he only blushes a deeper shade of red once your words reach his ears.

so he settles for using cheap tricks.

”you’re hallucinating,” he scoffs, shoving your head into the fluffy pillows all around you. ever so gently, listening to your muffled giggles. trying to stifle his own joy. ”go back to sleep.”

”my blushy knight,” you coo, and he drags the blanket over your head. biting down on his lip to stop himself from joining your bubbly laughter, blushing more than ever.

(the word knight sounds very pretty, when it’s falling from your lips.)

”i swear,” he exhales, heavy and exasperated, but you can hear the smile in his voice. ”just what am i to do with you?”

it’s fond. delicate, even in his bouts of teasing, the light instances of manhandling. and you’re happy, because he’s not apologizing anymore, and he’s happy because you aren’t crying anymore. give and take. there’s a rhythm to it, a point where everything else becomes background noise, whether it’s memories of a kidnapping or a decade-old guilt.

he stays with you all night, even after you’ve fallen asleep. just watching you, safeguarding you, checking your pulse every now and then. content to watch as your chest rises and falls, with the tender ticking of your heartbeat.

that night, you dream of a kind, kind wolf, and a painting yet to be finished.

before you lies a field of stars.

you’re seated on a blanket, with a pretty knight to your left, up on top of a grassy hill. daffodils bloom around you, sweet nectar hanging in the air, a field of sunflowers waving at you from below. dragonflies greet you with a scratchy song.

everything is perfect. a midnight rendezvous, a picnic under the stars — suguru’s own idea. to celebrate the time that you’ve spent together.

(well, that part was your idea. but you’re sure he appreciates it, too.)

the basket next to you is filled with fruit and berries, marmalade and jam, bottles of herbal tea. suguru’s delicious sandwiches. you bite into one of them, humming happily, and he’s quick to brush the occasional crumb from the corner of your lip, ghosting over your skin with a smile.

there’s another basket, too, just in front of you, that you brought on your own. hiding a secret; one you're just about to unveil.

you clear your throat to get his attention.

like clockwork, he’s looking at you. listening, when you tell him to close his eyes, only giving you a questioning raise of his brow and an amused exhale.

you’re quick to lean forward, uncovering the basket, revealing the secret you’ve hidden so well. suguru is still waiting, indulgent, patient. you feel a little hesitant, but still part your lips.

“… okay. you can open them, now.”

he does. instantly, two ravens taking flight, and the sight that awaits them is that of a painting; a painting of a wolf, in the middle of the woods, empty armors and wilted sunflowers all around it. dragonflies and dragonflies, a knight just out of view.

he stares, silently, and you do your best to hide your growing nervosity. even as he takes it into his lap, and your gaze falls to the blanket below you. ”it’s… not my best work, but —” his eyes stay glued onto the painting, as you stumble blindly for the right words to say. wringing your hands together, clutching at the fabric of your sleeves. ”i’d… like you to have it. i mean, unless you —”

”thank you.”

you raise your head.

suguru is gazing at the canvas with the softest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. melting amber, crinkled at the edges, accompanied by a sweet grin.

”i’ll treasure it,” he vows, meeting your eyes, voice dripping with warmth. hand on his heart, and you can’t even poke fun at it. ”always.”

his earnest acceptance is enough to fluster you, enough to make you feel as it your heart is about to collapse, but he continues to look at the painting with enough awe to fill an empty lake with water, and it makes you terribly shy.

until his smile drops.

”uh, actually — i…”

now it’s your turn to stare, silently, as he fumbles with something in the basket at his feet. gentle, as he takes out glass jars and wrapped sandwiches. out comes a sheet of paper.

then he’s clearing his throat. handing it to you, pointedly avoiding your gaze. ”i’m not an artist, so you know. i just…” he coughs, a little out of his element. “well. here.”

with delicate hands, you accept it, bringing it down to your lap. big, curious eyes taking it in.

it’s a sketch — made with coal, a little smudged, but awfully charming. pretty, delicate.

it’s a sketch of a fox.

wide-eyed, all you can do is stare. gaze flitting up to meet his own, his nervous expression, before falling back to the little canine. ”you — this…” back and forth, over and over again. ”for — ?”

you point to yourself.

suguru only chuckles. ”yes, it’s for you. who else?” he taps the pads of his fingers against the handle of the basket, watching you silently admire the mischievous fox. not saying anything; so he continues.

”like i said; i’m not an artist. you can always throw it away, if you’d —”

”i’m gonna frame it.”

…

”i'm gonna frame it,” you repeat, eyes shining with sincerity. a little manic. ”i’ll hang it on the wall of the castle hallway so everyone can see it. it’ll be there for centuries to come, passed down —”

”please don't —”

”d’you think a gold frame would fuck up the vibe? maybe a modest silver is best.” you turn to face him, ignoring his blatant embarrassment. ”oooh, hang on! father knows this guy who makes them with real minerals. i’ll just —”

”your highness,” the knight cuts you off, almost with a squeak. ”please. it’s just a dumb drawing. i just… wanted to give it to you. that’s all.”

a pause. you look into his eyes, flickering with hesitance, an earnest desire for your approval only. so you hum, albeit a little hesitant.

”… alright. if you say so. i’ll hang it in my room, then.”

he sighs; relieved. ”that’s better. really, you —”

”thank you.” you whisper, blinking away the wetness at your lash-line. staring at the sketch with a dreamy, dreamy smile. ”i love it.”

you grin, happily, practically beaming. suguru wants to keep it there, always, on those pretty lips; he wants to lay his life on the line to protect it. but something tells him that would just make it fall.

finally, everything clicks into place. the air fills with the scent of herbal tea, fresh strawberries, acrylic paint and hushed whispers. your own ritual, repeated over and over, like a loving waltz.

as always, it’s suguru who breaks the silence. shatters it with the tip of his tongue.

”hey,” he calls, softly. “my lord.”

mouth full of bread, you simply look at him. chewing silently, attention piqued. swallowing with a gulp. he places his folded hands on his lap, exhaling a little breath. ”… i’ve been thinking.”

”uh oh.”

silently, he gives you one of those flat, unimpressed looks of his, and you quiet down with a grin and another mouthful of bread. he quirks a brow, exhaling amusedly, then shakes his head and continues.

”i retract my earlier statement.”

when you glance up again, he’s smiling. showing more teeth than usual, a little wider, a little wolfish. a little more himself. you want to paint it, keep it hidden away somewhere only you can see.

”if it was someone else — anyone else…” he trails off, tasting the words on his tongue. “i doubt i’d feel this way. i doubt i’d want to protect them as fervently.” his voice flows out like a river of gold, just a little scratchy. it always is, when it sounds this sincere.

he meets your eyes, and everything falls into place.

”you’ve become precious to me,” he admits. ”i can't remember what it felt like to not be yours.”

his tongue curls around a familiar set of syllables, and your name seeps from his lips like a prayer, a vow, a trickle of honey and wine. devotion sticks to his tongue, to the vowels, a heavy fondness — something devout. something you've only ever heard from the mouths of priests.

and then he’s smiling.

”i think i’ll be your knight until the day i die,” he breathes, and deep down you know it’s a vow. “even if the king discards me of that title.”

silence. except for an increasingly loud mantra of tick-tocks, from the depths of your own chest, echoing in your ears. your knight is in front of you, and he’s yours, and he’s smiling like he loves you. like he always will.

”… suguru.”

he hums, eyes lidded, blinking slowly. serenely. he lets you cling to him, pull him close, practically dragging him into your lap.

”stay with me,” you plead, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. too desperate to feel embarrassed. ”forever. promise me.”

an exhale, right by your ear. it sounds so fond you could cry.

“i promise,” he whispers, fingers intertwining with your own. a perfect puzzle piece, a functional clockwork. lifting your hand, bringing his glossy lips to your knuckle; where they belong. ”until death tears me away from you.”

”it won’t,” you deadpan, partly to distract him from the growing heat of your fingertips. mostly because it’s true. ”you won't let it.”

he smiles against your knuckle, breathing out an airy laugh. ”clever little thing…” his free hand goes to rest on your spine, as always, and you lean back to see him properly. knowing he’ll catch you if you fall.

“.. but yeah," he sighs. "i won’t.”

before you know it, you’re leaning back in. because his eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, and his hair is just a little tousled, and he looks so kissable it aches.

his jaw trembles, a little, when you press your lips against the curve of it. his whole body seems to still, for a moment, and you pull back just to see if he’s blushing. he is.

but he must have anticipated your teasing, because he’s tucking you under his chin before you can see it through. pressing you close. and he tuts, a click of his silver tongue, a touch of restraint. ”… you little tease,” comes a whisper. ”how am i supposed to hold back now?”

”don’t hold back, dummy,” you grin, muffled against the column of his throat. you just barely resist the urge to sink your teeth into the skin. ”you’re a bad actor, anyway. the worst.”

and he is. he’s been looking at your lips this whole time — he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.

suguru laughs, breathy, overflowing with fondness. chest rumbling with the noise, blending together with the rhythmic thumping of his clockwork heart. ”okay,” comes a soft lull of his tongue. ”i won’t, then.”

a drowsy feeling overtakes you, just as you feel his lips meet the crown of your head. it’s not much, but it’s a start. and it’s tender, tender enough to get you choked up, to get you to close your eyes to stop any tears from forming. because one person in this kingdom understands you, and he tells you that he’ll never leave. and you think you can actually find it in you to believe him.

one person’s clockwork heart never breaks for you, and maybe that’s enough to convince you to stop trying to push it there.

”you can sleep, if you’d like,” is whispered against your hair. soft, soothing, his palm on your spine. ”i’ve got you. always.”

(one person in this world can make you feel safe, with just four little words. and isn’t that something?)

so you doze off, on the shoulder of your very own knight. your favorite knight, always and forever, a sword at his hip that was forged to protect you. or so he’ll tell you, years from now, when he’s got you in his lap, when there isn’t any need for him to act anymore.

and you dream a perfect dream. a dream of a wolf, and a fox, and a garden of stars.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #knight!sugu literally means the world to me… this specific version is a lil mischievous <33 and so so protective <333 #most of all he’s very veryyyy wolfy…… this fic is BRIMMING w canine symbolism like i put SO much thought into it 😭😭#knight!sugu is a wolf pretending to be a dog and royalty!reader is a fox forced to behave as a lamb <33 that’s their dynamic!#and yk…. dogs herd sheep…….. sugu guards reader………. (from wolves & foxes…. dramatic irony…….)#but in reality they both feel most at ease when they’re running around in the woods and baring their fangs :33 #i LOVE this reader btw i really hope they come off as endearing despite their brattiness LOL i think they’re soooo cute 🥺🥺#sugu and his brat taming tendencies… his ability to seek out the most guarded people and make them feel safe in his presence…….#he means the galaxy to me. king wherever u may be… i hope u are getting the love u deserve

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houseofhyde · 1 year

Text

ii. another man’s comfort.

pairing. aemond targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. a wedding calls you north, your duty calls you to your husband, your heart calls you to aemond.

warnings. stark!reader, infidelity, purity culture, canon misogyny, deviations from canon (set in 132 ac, the greens win the war), smut (nipple play, dirty talk, dry humping). just so we’re clear, this is set a few years after part one !!

word count. 15.8k (oops.)

hyde’s input. fucked around and accidentally got emotionally invested in aemond x another man's!reader's relationship and now you're all going to have to deal with a series dedicated to them... i reminded myself of why i hate writing world-building within fics, i wish i could just write things easily and have everyone understand the way the world is within my fic without me having to deviate into long paragraphs of plot exposure.

taglist. @schniiipsel @b00kdiary @promisiary @yyiebbg

another man’s series. feast. comfort. pleasure (coming soon).

read on ao3.

there are times where you question if aegon was born insufferable.

surely not, you’d argue with yourself, for there must have been a time where aegon was no more than a small babe in need of his mother’s teat, or a starry-eyed child looking up to the only father-figure he’d ever have and begging the knight to teach him to man a sword with the same skill, or a growing boy finding beauty for the first time within a lady’s complexion.

and then, as if he can hear your every thought, aegon goes and proves you wrong.

“why should i waste my time on some boat that stinks of salt and peasants?”

“because your wife will be on that boat.” the eldest of the hightowers is not a man you are particularly familiar with, and, yet, with the few interactions you’ve both shared, he’s always struck you as possessing two traits: an ambitious lust for power and the drive to do right by his family.

unfortunately for otto hightower, these two things can never coexist in peace.

“my wife goes to the privy to take a shit, need i accompany her there too?”

“aegon!” alicent hightower speaks up for the first time in what feels like an eternity, and it does wonders to lessen the tense feeling in your shoulders, which deflate on command as your husband’s mother rests her hand atop your own. “have some respect!”

the topic of conversation is one you blame yourself for, having foolishly brought up your brother’s upcoming wedding when asked by sweet helaena what you looked most forward to in the upcoming moons, with a hand resting on the growing swell of her stomach and her other placed delicately in the hold of her husband’s, one qoren martell.

the pair were a love match, unexpected as that may be, meeting by chance on one of the many times otto hightower had attempted to barter for the lord of sunspear to aid the greens in the war of dragonlords. the martell boy took no interest in the war, leaving the family to fight their own troubles- and their own kin- but he took great interest in the pretty blonde daughter and, not even a night after the war had met it’s conclusion with the parading of the rogue prince’s head and the charred remains of the black queen throughout the city of king’s landing, he had her wedded and bedded.

the raven that carried news of cregan’s remarrying was one that came with no warning. nearing a half decade since the passing of his beloved first wife, with already an heir born to succeed him once he should pass on, your brother had not only no need for remarrying, he’d also voiced no interest.

until he let himself be enchanted by the blackwood daughter.

it’s pitiful, really, how your elder brother could discover something as fickle as love not once in this lifetime, but twice, while you find yourself shackled to a man who’d likely rejoice at your demise.

“what kind of message would i be sending to the northern cunts if i dock their shores instead of arriving on dragonsback, like the targaryen king i am?” it’s a card aegon has not once failed to play since his war-inducing coronation, a constant reminder of the power his mother and grandsire have bestowed upon him against his wishes, much like his betrothal to you. “sunfyre will deliver me to winterfell quicker than the most royal of fleets.”

“aegon, this is not a debate.” the strident words echo in the small dinning hall for a flurry of moments after otto hightower has spoken them, face baring fury and hand grasping chalice. all have fallen quiet: at the table, among the serving folk, within their own thoughts. “your wife will be on that boat, as will you. you’ll depart together, arrive together, and you will do good to remind lord stark of the great care you swore to give his dearest sister three years ago in exchange for his support for the throne. he has held his side of the bargain and it is time you show him you have too.”

only, he hasn’t.

“she doesn’t need me there!” aegon has this ability to somehow sound like a spoilt child and a boy who’s been deprived of his every want, all at once. “helaena will be on the ship to keep her company. perhaps she can give my dear wife some tips on how to finally make use of her womb.”

a chair scrapes the ground.

loud, poignant, silencing. the one eyed prince stands tall, a foreboding figure who’s still features only serve to rouse a sense of unease, like the calm before the most brutal of storms. aemond perches forward in a sluggish motion, as though he’s thriving off the anticipation every serving wench casts for his next act, hands splayed out on the table and gaze fixed on the king. the two stand at opposite heads of the table and, as is the norm in recent years, exchange few words.

“i’m retiring to my chambers.”

you watch with baited breath as aemond’s eye meets your own and visibly softens, though only for a moment, like he’s apologising for your husband’s lack of tact when it comes to choosing which words to speak.

wishing to ask him to stay, you swallow down the plea with a sip of wine.

“you’re dismissed.” aegon grants him leave, knowing full well the prince was not asking for permission.

it has all been one big power-play between these two targaryen men- the words they speak, the looks they share, the decisions they make- since they defeated their enemies and lost the vehicle in which to deviate their inner-family conflicts.

“it’s no bother, truly, lady alicent.” finding the nerve to speak had seemed impossible mere moments ago, yet the voice within your own head tells you it’ll garner the attention of a certain prince. the voice is correct. “his grace is true in his words, there’s no reason he should accompany me on ship. the journey is that of sixteen sleeps, and that is only if the seas treat us kindly. the ruler of the seven kingdoms should not waste his time with such a silly thing when he has a dragon at his disposal. and, though i do not agree with his choice of words to describe the people of my ancestors’ lands, the northern folk would do good to see their king on dragonback, if only to remind them all of his great power and the protection it brings them.”

from the corner of your eye, though you give your best effort to not cast your gaze in his direction, you witness a look of disagreement bleed onto aemond’s face, as though the words of flattery you speak in honour of your husband serve as daggers piercing his flesh and bone.

helaena speaks up before the one-eyed prince can.

“are you sure, sister?” your heart melts under the warmth in which the princess addresses you, smile upon her face and care within her voice. growing up with only brothers, you’d never known the true joy of having a sister, till the day you married into the tortured targaryen household and the sweet girl who made friends with slugs approached you with the proposition of tea in her chambers. “mother only thought it best aegon accompany you to help you feel at home on the ship, as my own lord husband shall do for me.”

“i thought it best, my dear girl, after helaena told me of your own discomfort on ships.” alicent smiles meekly and, in your defence, you do your very best to meet her halfway but you’re certain your face is more wrinkled in displeasure than intended.

you do not enjoy the way everyone’s eyes are so focused on you, especially when aegon looks at you with a challenge, daring you to say something to land him on a ship rather than his fearsome mount, and when aemond casts his undivided attention onto you, no emotion in his eye yet the faintest clench of his jaw tells you he cares about what you say next.

for better or for worse, he cares and it is enough to tear you apart.

“ah, i see there’s been some misunderstanding.” anyone smart enough notices the waver in your voice, no matter how quick you are to mask it beneath an empty chuckle and a dishonest smile. “what helaena said is true, yes, i was once afraid of ships. but this was many years back, when i was a child. i’m far better now. so, truly, i insist the king should travel on dragonsback. perhaps we could even send for daeron to attend, it would be an excellent first sighting of the three targaryen men and their mounts since the end of the war.”

“what an excellent idea, your grace.” otto hightower flashes a kindhearted smile your way, giving two quick claps of his hand before requesting a serving wench refill his cup. “your wife truly is a gem to this family, aegon. you have no idea how fortunate you are to stand with such a woman by your side.”

you smile gratefully, aegon laughs dishonestly, aemond tenses visibly.

“no, he does not.” and, with that, the one-eyed prince retreats to his chambers, paying no mind to the continued festivities of his family nor the way your eyes follow him out of the room.aegon makes no attempt to awaken and bid you goodbye.

aegon makes no attempt to awaken and bid you goodbye.

it comes as no surprise to you. despite three years having passed since you had both sworn oaths to honour one another, the young king had made no place for himself in your marital bed, preferring the warmth of a woman bought with coin over a lady traded through politics.

there was a moment, singular though still there, after the ringing of the bells and the announcement of peace at last in the realm, after hours of plundering himself in cups of mead at the feast to end all feasts- thrown in honour of the man who slayed the last of the crown’s enemies: aemond targaryen- in which aegon gave his best effort to act like the dutiful husband he’d sworn to be. he’d lead you in stumbled dances, lay kisses on your fingers, smiled earnestly at the things you’d spoke of. and, while you’re certain it was all simply a show for your elder brother who was in attendance, you’d cherished the fleeting affection.

the moment passed when prince aemond asked for your hand in dance and the king stormed out of the hall with a jug of wine in one hand and an unfortunate serving girl in the other.

while your husband’s absence was one you’ve grown used to, the glances of pity from those who work the halls of the keep still twist your guts in knots that sting your throat with bile and your eyes with tears.

they’ve been all around you this morning, from the maidens who dressed you to the squires who carried your trunks of clothing down to the carriage.

even your sworn shield, ser arryk cargyll, can not mask his solemn eyes this morning.

“i will meet you at the docks, your grace." he does his best, nonetheless, hand steady as he guides you up the wooden steps to the royal carriage. “myself and two other brothers of the kingsguard will arrive first, as to ensure your safe arrival before the people.”

his words bring no comfort, not when you know full-well what your ensured safety means: harmless innocents seeking only to glance upon the queen being pushed and shoved and kicked to the ground. you’d seen it all before, in the few times you’d meant to greet the smiling faces of the small folk, only to unintentionally bring them harm as the guards surrounded you.

you’ve learnt to stay within the castle, looking upon the city through cracks in the walls and your chamber balcony, longing to know what it’s like to be part of the nightly festivities or the daily markets with the people of your husband’s land.

after casting an appreciative smile toward the knight, you enter the carriage and welcome the peace of the door shutting behind you, alone at last for the first time since you’d been shaken awake at dawn.

sinking into the cushioned seat on the right-end, you heave a sigh and smooth your dampened palms over the skirt of your gown. these days this seems to be the only facet of your life you have control over: the clothes you wear. this morning you’d chosen blindly, eyes still clouded in unfulfilled rest and unable to truly notice which garment you’d pointed at. now awake and aware of the world around, you find yourself dressed in something you’d sworn to save for a special occasion, like a royal tourney or the festival of the mother.

instead, you’ve wasted it on a carriage ride.

the gown is not the prettiest, nor the most lavish one you own, and you’re sure it would rouse whispers of impropriety among the ladies in the court, each of them adding new detail to the scandal of the queen and her unbefitting wardrobe.

instead of it’s looks, the dress holds your favour in the memory it holds in it’s seams.

you’d received it on your second nameday within the castle, amid a war for the throne and sat at a feast made up only of your good-mother, the sweet helaena, otto hightower and your wine stained husband. as the evening came to a close, a pair of your handmaidens entered the dining hall, a great box carried between them. presenting it at you feet, they’d loudly proclaimed the gift was from aegon himself, which sent you near flying out your seat, for your lord husband had bothered naught to get you a single gift on the first nameday you’d spent under his roof.

the sight of the dress itself furthered your shock, a beauty of onyx black silks and leathered details, the emerald green three-headed dragon crest which adorned the centrepiece of the gown’s chest making you feel part of the targaryen family. what caught your eye truly, though, was the stitching that held the dress together, the faintest saphire blue on a dark canvas.

you’d loved the gown enough to ignore how aegon failed to discreetly whisper to his mother in his drunken confussion, swearing up and down that he’d gotten you no such gift.

tracing your finger over the blue stitching now, you smile and wonder where exactly your husband’s mother or sister must have commissioned such a gown.

the carriage has yet to commence moving. you assume it’s waiting for the kingsguard to depart first, and let your heavy eyelids shut, body melting slowly down toward the bench till you’re splayed across it, hoping to fall deep enough into sleep to not notice when the carriage shakes alive with movement.

instead, the door bursts open once more and you rush to sit up-right, gods forbid someone catch the queen resting.

“i see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” a voice, calm as a gentle breeze on the warmest of summer days, brushes over you and your eyes find his.

there he stands, smelling of the leathered coat he wears and of the smoke of past rides upon dragonsback and of the freshest of linens you imagine he lines his bed with. he’s too tall, too large for the measly doorway into the carriage, and so he near-bends himself in two to slip through and into the bench across from you, door closing once more, leaving only you and him.

the queen and the prince.

lady stark and aemond targaryen.

if ever the history books were to write of this encounter, one day once both your bodies have decayed and nothing remains but the legacy of your names, you hope whoever the author may be will make sure to mention that the carriage jolted awake before you could kick the prince out.

the history books have told greater lies, after all.

“what are you doing here?” it comes out of you with accusation, as if the one-eyed prince means you harm, and you cringe, readjusting yourself till you sit as perfectly poised as him and his stretched spine. you clear your throat of surprise and aim to start over again. “i thought you were in oldtown alongside prince daeron. what brings you here instead?”

“a change in plans, lady stark.” aemond has not once addressed you by your royal title since the crowning of his brother, the only one within the realm to not do so. and while some whispered of this being a sign of the prince’s distaste of you or his refusal to acknowledge you as the true queen of westeros, you’ve always found comfort in it, as though he views you as unchanged since all the bloodshed and expectation bearing and tiara wearing had begun. “it seems neither my sister nor her husband will be joining you on the ship after all. with the impending arrival of their child the pair thought it best they return to the martells’ homeland and surround themselves with the care they’ll need should the babe make an early arrival."

you cannot quite place your finger on why his answer brings forth the feeling of disappoinment, like you’d been hoping there was a greater reason for his presence than mere last-ditch efforts to ensure you not be sent alone up north.

“that’s delightful!” you find yourself leaking false excitement, a smile breaking over your face till the muscles in your cheek ache and the skin pulls imposibly tight. most certainly the prince must find your look rather deranged. you try and correct both your demeanor and your words. “that helaena may meet her child soon, i mean. it’s a shame she can not join me, i’d hoped to make up for the time we’ve spent apart since her marriage.”

“yes, well, i’m afraid you’ll have to settle for my own presence instead.” his tone is ever sardonic and you’re not blind to the rolling of his eye. were you a braver woman, you’d perhaps take this moment to ask what you’ve done over the years to scorn him so badly he chooses to mess with your head, one moment warm- offering you the chance to dance while your husband drowns in his cups, delivering books to your chambers you’d mention in passing at the dining table when you were certain no one had heard you, interrupting conversations and saving you from sleazy lords who done their best to make passes at their queen- and the next moment cold- leaving the library everytime you find him there alone, sitting himself the furthest seat from you at every table, speaking with impatience and indifference any time he gets caught in conversation alone with you. you are cowardly, though, and instead you try to uphold your tired smile. “mother ordered that one of us accompany you and, though she pretends to not see, she is not blind to the fact aegon would deny her demands, so she insisted it be me. worry not, however, i’ll do my best to keep out your way.”

the wheels of the carriage must catch on something- a rock, a street cat, the foot of a passerby, you’ve no real clue- for you’re sent hurling out of your seat, hands flying out to break your fall against the floor and-

“if you’re this unsteady on dry land, i fear for your safety once we reach the northern seas.” his hands never touch your skin, yet you feel the heat of his touch burn your ailing heart and send warmth flying to the corner of your body you find it best to ignore.

yet you do not brush him off, allowing him to guide you back into your seat. the leather he wears squeaks as he sits back down and this is enough to break out a giggle from you, something so unserious about a stoic-faced prince and his noisy wardrobe.

“i’ll make sure to only send myself overboard,” you catch yourself before you say his name. a hand lands over the left side of your chest, where you feel the beating of your own heart beneath the layers of skin and the tissues of fat. a sign of oath-swearing. “you have my word.”

perhaps the fatigue has won at last, but you swear you almost catch a glimpse of a smile.

you collapse onto the bed with a heavy heart.

the dock had been littered with folk pleading to see their queen, dirtied faces and tattered clothes painting your view as the guards stood their ground, harshly shoving back those who ventured too closely.

one man had thrown himself at you from behind, arms long enough to grab at strands of your hair and yank you backwards. down you’d went, balance ripped from beneath your feet and pain splitting through your skull as you physically felt strands of hair ripped from their roots. you could hardly yelp before the man pulled again, hissing some obscene slurs aimed at your husband and his neglect for the impoverished folk.

his grip on you was released before he could pull a third time.

“touch her again and it will be the last time you have hands.” the prince never bothered with glancing your way, not even as he leant you his hand to pull yourself back up, positioning himself behind you till you were both aboard the ship.

you’d parted ways from there, a dozen of ladies-in-waiting swarming around you with questions of your wellness and offers to assist in carrying your possessions to your quarters. you’d hardly the chance to glance back at the prince, catching the sway of his hair as he walked alongside the captain, leading the way as the pair headed towards the ship’s helm.

only hours later, once exhausted and twice fed, did you make it to your room at last. accompanied by your sworn shield, the familiar man walked you down into the lower half of the vessel, away from the sounds of crashing waves and skwaking birds. a sour mixture of pity and shame staining the back of your throat as you passed by the open doors of the crew’s shared quarters, each so small it could hardly be considered a wardrobe, much less a room. the beds- if one could call them that- were stacked atop one another, leaving little room to breath between.

your logic tells you it’s sensical, needing to fit as many in a quarter to sleep the crew who man the boat. your heart tells you it’s unfair, leaving those of value in discomfort whilst you, no more helpful than a crying babe, are given your own room to be at ease in, soothing your aching body with rest after yet another day of not having to lift a single finger.

not even to open the door to your own quarters.

at the very back of the vessel, a fair length of empty hall between them and the crew, stand two doors side by side, both so identical in shape and colour, you were near sure you’d been seeing double. alas, ser arryk had pulled out a key, unlocked the door on the left and pushed it open, stepping aside and gesturing you inward.

“i’ll remain posted at your door each night, your grace,” he’d spoken with a softness in his tone. when you’d first met the man, you were still shaken from the consequences of a war freshly begun and he was grappling with the fact his own twin, the man who wore his same face, had switched sides in the fight for a new ruler. both broken, neither familiar with the other, a sense of solace was found among you both, cultivating over the years of war and, now, in peace at last. the knight has become a friend, a trusted companion, a reminder of your own brother and a taste of home so far away from the icy grounds of winterfell. “only in the day, post the breaking of your fast until the sun reaches the highest point in the sky, i will take my rest. prince aemond has agreed to guard your side during my hours of sleep, so you’ll be in safe hands.”

you’d thanked him with a nod and a squeeze of his hand, slipping into your temporary quarters, your new safe haven for the upcoming weeks of travel.

now- head upon goose-feathered pillows, shoulders falling lax at the freedom from prying eyes, chest a heaving mass of stress relieving exhales- you struggle to find the motivation to loosen your corset or relieve yourself of the stiff leathered arms of the dress.

for just a moment, you tell yourself as the weight of your eyelids becomes overbearing, i’ll rest. i’ll close my eyes and be anywhere but here, be anyone but me.

your eyes reopen hours later.

it’s dark past the window panes, what little of the moon that sits the sky this evening providing you with a glimmer of light. there’s resistance as you rise up, dress squeezing around your ribs, the ends of it already having traveled half way up your legs, a sign of your restless sleep antics.

an ache in your throat makes itself known as you pull in a breath, deep and calming, arms shooting out in a stretch that your gown limits. shuffling off the bed, you feel your way through the room, utilising what little light you have to spark a match and let the flame meet the thread of a candle. within moments, you’re doused in orange hues and your surroundings become tangible.

with a sip of water- a jug filled to the brim at your bedside you’ve only now just noticed- life returns to you once more, lips no longer drier than the deserts of dorne and eyes no longer heavier than a mass of stone. you focus this new found energy on undoing the threads of your corset, arms powering through the aches and pains of reaching backwards in such unnatural angles.

the dress hits the ground and air-flow returns to your lungs at last.

it’s on shaky feet that you take to exploring the room. it is much smaller than the royal chambers you’ve slept within since swearing vows beneath the seven, yet it brings you more comfort, a reminder of home, of winterfell.

with wooden floorboards, wooden walls, wooden ceiling, the first spark of colour is the bed which sits with it’s head beneath a window, the vast mass of sea-water and night sky a stark contrast to the pure white linen sheets atop the bed. at it’s foot sit your trunks, filled to the brim with gowns of green and gold and black. gaze moving from the bedside table over to a remarkably plain vanity, the sway of your chemise reminds you of the fact you stand in only your underclothing, far too thin and retaining no heat for a night’s rest aboard the ship.

a craving for your chamber’s fireplace warmth sparks within.

the feel of a shiver running down your spine urges you down to your knees, hands prying at the trunks clasps and ripping them open. you delve forward, seeking out the feel of one of your thicker, warmer, heavier night dresses, only to come back empty handed.

heaving a frustrated sigh, you drag yourself up from the floor. the cold has rapidly begun to nip at your near-bare skin, leaving evidence of it’s existence with skin of goose and shivers down spine and hardening of nipples. panic ensues, mind plundering into the depth of worries and ignoring the feeble cries of reason from within your mind.

surely, it tries to tell you, the maids have not forgotten to pack you warmer sleepwear.

it’s instinctual, how your eyes find the door. you know that the man stood on the other side, your protector, would have no troubles in finding you a lady willing to lend a chemise or two your way. it’s for the queen, is all he’d need say before the hypothetical lady begins to offer the clothes off her own back. the image leaves you unsettled, hand dropping back down to your side before you can fully clasp the doorknob and twist it open.

but then you notice it, blended near perfectly into the wall to the right of the entrance: another door.

the worries begin to melt from glaciers to mere puddles on the ground as the warm thoughts of your maidens having unpacked your precious night dresses and hung them neatly within the closet, some part of them knowing it would be the first piece of attire you would seek out. the speed at which you twist the lock and rip the closet open is near beastly, a force great enough to rip the door from it’s hinges, the need to heat up and crawl beneath the inviting furs and blankets atop your bed growing by the second.

the door crashing against the wall rings out louder than the shriek you let out.

“your grace?” ser arryk’s voice calls from beyond your chambers. “are you okay? i heard a noise.”

the man staring daggers into you speaks no words, holding up his pointer finger and pressing it against his lips in a shushing manner.

you swallow back a million questions and obey.

“i’m fine, ser arryk,” you speak, and pray to any higher power that the knight not notice the waver in your words. you’re not fine, you haven’t been for many years. “i... i stubbed my foot against the bedpost. small toe took the brunt of it, but i’ll survive."

the knight chortles, in what you imagine is relief he needn’t draw his weapon nor another’s blood this evening, and calls back to you with words you don’t quite catch, too busy holding focus on him.

“what are you doing here?” it’s the second time you’ve asked him this in a single day. need you ask once more and you’ll fear it’s becoming a habit.

“what am i doing here?” he parrots you, hands dropping the leather coat that you imagine smells more like his dragon than it smells of him and, oh, how so much more aware you’ve now become of how he stands with only a loose tunic to cover his chest, neckline dipping enough to grant you view of pointed collarbones and freckle lined skin. “these are my chambers. ‘tis you who should be answering for their presence.”

“your...” sense hits you over the back of your head, like your older brother would do each time you’d miss the target in archery lessons. a bed like your own, with a bedside table and a window at it’s back. no vanity, but a desk and chair in it’s place. not a closet, but a room instead. “chambers?”

the prince may have but one eye, yet it holds the weight of a million as it trails it’s way down your figure. you shift in place, hand scrambling to get a hold of the door.

if only you could pull yourself away from his gaze.

“get some rest, lady stark.” he dares to step closer. much like you, he’s lit his room with candlelight, which flickers and sways behind him, looming his shadow larger than the man himself. daunting, dangerous, daring is the thought of how one simple movement is all it would take to cross the border into his chambers, his territory. “we have a long journey ahead. i don’t think either of our brothers will be pleased to find i’ve delivered you to winterfell all heavy-eyed and languid bones.”

the moment you form a grip upon the handle, you swing the door shut, fumbling through shaking hands to twist the lock once more. forehead meeting cold wood, you pull in one, two, three breaths and try calm your wavering heart, nothing working to soothe the knowledge that a door separates you from the prince. so little, yet too much.

seconds later, you hear the turning of a lock and sigh with- relief? exasperation? grief? you’re not sure what this hollowness in your chest stems from- as you come to terms with how you’ve both now locked one another out of each other’s chambers.

you sleep with only your embarrassment to keep you warm.

routine is easily found within the one-eyed prince.

he’s meticulous, this you’d already known before boarding the ship. since the conquest against the blacks, his life upon land has melted into a copulation of days where he’ll rise with the sun, often breaking fast alone, and then drag himself off to the training grounds as the rest of his family gather round the table, with only his mother and sister insisting that he stay and share the first meal of the day with them all. his time with a sword ends only when it’s forced on him, the likes of the king’s hand- ser criston- informing him the king has called for a meeting of his small council, and how could he host such a thing without his trusted commander of the citywatch present?

the meetings rarely hold any merits, mostly an excuse for aegon to talk over others far wiser than him and drink himself to a state where even the cupbearers begin to deny his requests for a refill. excusing himself, aemond would go on to spend what was left of the day either in the company of his beloved vhagar, a kindred spirit to his suffocatingly too much kind of existence, or in the peace of solitude, whether that be found in the corner of the keep’s grandiose library or his own chambers. some nights he’d wind his way down the halls to reach the table in time to share at least one meal with his family. most night’s he eats alone, nothing but his own reflections- in mirrors, in metals, in the single glass of wine he indulges himself with- seated around his table for one.

with his life more scripted than a history book, the prince seems to waver the first few days of the journey.

the routine he does find is shakier than what he’s used to. he struggles to wake up as early as the sun, the window within his chambers not providing enough light in the early hours of the morning to rouse him. by the time he sits the table to eat, everyone else is seated and half-way through their meal, nowhere for him to sit other than ser arryk’s seat- who merely nods at the prince as he departs his post by your side in favour of getting a few hours rest. till the sun peaks in the sky, he remains by your side, meaning those hours change each day in his routine: you read for some, you knit during others, you exchange small talk with the ladies who tend to you and who’s eyes are far more interested in the brooding prince by your side, and aemond simply stands there, mind distracted by the endless what-ifs your presence plagues him with yet his eye focused perfectly on anyone who dares approach the queen. the instant he’s free from his service as your faux-guard, the prince runs off to wherever the captain may be, using his time on the sea to learn more about manning a ship and the route that you’re taking to reach the north. from that point, you see him no longer till the next morning, the only thing to assure you that your good-brother returns to his chambers at some point in the night is his brief chatter with the knight stood at your door and the gentle closing of his own, heavy footsteps careful as you imagine him treading lightly towards the safety of his bed.

weeks pass by this way, aemond a fleeting companion you spend a fragment of your day with.

at no point, much to your own relief, do either of you bring up the incident with the door between your chamber walls. not much is spoken between you both, in all honesty, and it’s not from a lack of trying on your end. you’d tried, bless you, the first few days to converse with him, prompting talks of the weather and his most recent studies you’d only ever hear about from alicent herself, over the cups of tea and bites of sweet pastries she shares every so often with both helaena and you. but all your effort was met with hums and one-worded responses, the politest way for him to make it clear he has no interest in speaking with you.

which makes it all the more shocking that he’s just called your name.

“are you okay?” the question slips out of you with ease, like you were always meant to care for his well-being, but you can hardly be blamed when he’s approached you so suddenly, sky already dark with night and his own eye seemingly as wide as a saucer.

“we’re heading towards a storm, lady stark.” he speaks calmly, patiently, letting the words fall over you. “it’s nothing the crew isn’t prepared for, the captain’s assured me. they’ve traveled this route many a times, it’s only natural that the tides grow wilder and the skies greyer as we reach the north. there’s no need to worry.”

there it is again, an insinuation that you’re fearful of being on ship. it irked you at the diner table when it caused aegon to scoff at you and it irks you now as it causes aemond to stare at you with a level of attention he rarely gives when it’s only you two.

your teeth grind under the pressure of your ire, any comment on your bravery instantly swallowed as you remind yourself of why it truly irritates you: because it’s true.

the open waters, the life on deck, the crashing of waves and raging of storms, it’s always terrified you, every part of your body rejecting the way the boat rocks. it’s the whole reason you’d snuck away from the tables of food shared amongst the crew and yourself, stomach twisting in knots that released themselves only after you’d stumbled out onto the near-empty deck, darkness engulfing you as you managed to throw your upper half over the edge in time to watch the breads and meats you’d just eaten fly out your mouth in chunks and into the raging waters below.

of course, you would not be admitting this to the fearless prince.

“i appreciate you sharing this news, but i assure you i am not worried.” he nods like he believes you, yet his words say differently.

“the nights will be much rougher from now until we reach winterfell, and it is likely that the rains will not stop even after daybreak. it’s perhaps best you stick to below the deck, the cold may take an ill-effect on you.”

“i’m a northerner, my prince.” there’s a heavy rumbling of thunder above. “i do not need protecting from it’s cold. you, on the other hand, have spent most your days in the keep. perhaps ‘tis you who should stick to below the deck.”

“i will be wherever you are, my lady.” you’re unsure of which cracks first: the bolt of lightning or your neglected heart. strange in every way, you feel a sickening guilt to hear the words a man should speak to his wife come from him instead of aegon, who could not even feign interest in you enough to accompany you in your travels. the guilt quickly melts away when aemond seems to clarify his intentions. “as that is what my agreement with both my mother and ser arryk requires.”

your heart falls in your chest.

but the rain falls on your face. first, small drops, like the sight of morning dew slips slowly down a window pane. then, drop by drop, it grows in volume, peble-sized raindrops staining the silks of your dress and the leathers of his tunic in blotchy discoloration.

feet planted firmly on the wooden deck, you inhale the scent of salted air and misery, dripping off both of you in the silence of the growing night. nothing is keeping him here, you think, and yet the prince stands beneath the shower of the gods and let’s himself be soaked.

a simple glance his way, while his eyes stare voidly out into the darks of the raging waves, fills you with a deep sense of loneliness. it’s all you’ve seen in him over the last few years, in the few glimpses you get: as he passes behind your chair in the morning, as he rushes past you in the direction of the halls where they host the small council, as you spy his return to the palace grounds in the late of the night likely smelling of smoke and dragon’s breath.

a lonely man with a lonely dragon, that’s all you see.

but when the halls are alight with festivities and the people are bountiful, he plays his role of the realm’s prince and, what he may lack in jovial nature and welcoming smiles, he makes up for in charismatic quirks of his lips and entertaining the lonely women who’s husbands are too far gone in their cups with a dance or two. by women, of course, you mean yourself and, on the occasion that ser criston let’s himself be tempted with wine, his own mother.

he must have felt your blatant staring, for you empty your thoughts and find him gazing back at you, the near-white hair that marks him as a man with fire in his blood sticking to his skin under the pressure of the water.

“it’s cathartic, isn’t it?” you wonder if he hears you, words a simple whisper beneath the echoing of bangs and booms above you both, the storm fighting to put itself together and rain down on the ship with no forgiveness. “i used to sneak out my room as a girl, back in winterfell, on nights where the sound of rain filled the castle walls. i wasn’t a happy child, not the way one’s supposed to be, but growing up with only brothers left me embarrassed of these things, like i couldn’t express this unhappiness in front of them. when it was just me and the rain... it was okay for me to have wet eyes and flushed cheeks. so i’d bottle it up and wait till that moment where i could let my tears be dragged away by the storm.”

“doesn’t it rain every night in winterfell?” he surprises you with his response, so used to the act of you talking and him never replying. “you must have cried a lot.”

“believe it or not, the north isn’t that cold.” there’d been a time when you believed this, way back before you spent your hours in the sun of the keep. nowadays, not even the coldest of hours in king’s landing were a match for the warmest days in the north. “somedays, the sun is generous enough to warm our lands so that we need wear only one layer of fur!”

the thunder steals the sound of his amusement, but you see it, in twists of lips and shakes of shoulders and relaxing of postures. it’s fleeting, no more than a few seconds, but it’s the first that you’ve seen the prince look his age, two and twenty and untouched by the harshness of life.

he straightens his back and returns to the face of a lonely man.

“i’d sooner call it a nuisance than something cathartic, lady stark.” he answers your previous ask, eye returned to the dreaded sea ahead. “it’s making a mess of not just our travels but our clothing too.”

the stick of your dress’ sleeves against your arms, so soaked they’ve near merged with your body and become a new layer of skin, feels a little poignant as you twist to look upon him properly. it takes every inch of sanity you have- which, these days, seems to be less and less- to not follow a raindrop as it slides down his scarred cheek, his pointed chin, his delicate neck, his soaked ches-

lighting snaps you out of your trance, as if the gods themselves had caught you ogling the man and sent a message your way: stop this insolence, at once.

“i’m sure a man like yourself has sullied their clothes with far more distasteful liquids than mere water.” naïveté, an old friend who rears her head your way every so often, takes you by the hand and leads you up the road of shame the moment you see the prince’s brow quirk with a questioned gaze, face awash with a look stuck somewhere between utter shock and lustful satisfaction. “by blood! i mean, surely the battles of the great dance had you covered in mud, and blood, and bloody mud, and-“

“my brother complains you scarcely talk.” the sudden mention of your husband physically shakes you- or, perhaps, it is simply the cold which causes such a reaction. either way, your hands are trembling by your side. “yet here you are struggling to cease speaking. fascinating.”

“yes, well," a feigned clearing of your throat to relax your nerves. the rain feels colder within an instant, the mention of aegon- no less from the one-eyed prince’s mouth- enough to send you into a state of discomfort. “perhaps if the king were better at holding conversation, he’d find me as talkative to his liking.”

finally, you’re able to hear his laughter.

it is not ser arryk who accompanies you back to your chambers this evening, but aemond instead. stood a good few paces behind you, he lets you take the lead, no sound but the thudding of your footfall and the squelch of your soaked linens to fill the ship halls. the knight who guards your side already stands post at your door, no surprise nor shock on his features to make you believe he was unaware of the prince keeping watch over you on the deck.

before the prince can step into the refuge of his room, you halt him.

“wait!” the volume of it is louder than you intended, and leaves you no room to wonder over whether or not ser arryk has heard you. the knight shows no sign of his listening while the man you’ve called for stands frozen, the expanse of his back filling your vision as he stands one foot in his chambers and the other still lingering in the hall. “if the nights are to become rougher, as you said, i will pray that rest finds you easily, good-brother.”

his door slams in your face after a toneless humm leaves his lips.

as if irony has not cursed your lifetime enough, it is you who finds no rest. first you shift around, rolling from back to front, switching the sides upon which you lay, crossing and uncrossing legs. when that fails, you count sheep, one after the other as you imagine a dire-wolf chasing after them with a bloodlust unquenched by a thousand hunts.

then comes the thinking.

like a virus feeds off it’s host, your mind eats away at your sanity with thoughts of past, present and future. a past of snowy hills and frozen hands, a present of misery kisses and empty beds, a future of misty unknowns and dark unsureness. there’s also thoughts of your older brother, likely laying within his own bed and anticipating the second marriage of his life.

you wonder if someday you’ll do the same, should the stranger call for aegon before you, releasing you from the grip of duty and leaving you free to chase the passions of life.

the contents of your stomach sway with the boat, the storm above raining fury down and the tides rising and falling with tremendous waves that crash against the wooden structure and tease you with how easily you could be swept away into the depths of the dark waters, one blow strong enough being all it would take. it’s what frightened you as a child and what does the same even now, turned twenty a handful of moons ago. your chest quickens it’s breaths as your heartbeat rises along with the waves, panic twisting itself into your bloodstream and transporting itself to every nook and cranny of your tired bod.

you lay back, eyes squeezing shut as another roar of thunder rings from above, and clutch the blankets in your grasp, as if burying yourself in them will hide you from the world around you. two more claps of thunder and you spring out of bed, no time to process where your legs carry you towards until you feel the cold of the golden doorknob.

the flick of a lock has you pausing, hand clasping around the handle.

would he still have it locked on his side? surely, you think, there’s nothing the dragon prince must despise more than the thought of you having free-reign to step within his lair. swallowing your fleeting pride, you twist the handle and-

the door opens with an offensive creak.

“shh!” in a near future- as near as dawn- you’ll turn squeemish at the memory of how you’ve attempted to hush an object. but, for now, you’re too concerned with the sight that greets you.

the room is as you remember it: a bed, a flickering candle, a desk- though, it now carries a pile of abandoned leathers and trousers strown across it.

you tread carefully with your first step, a chill dancing on your spine while your foot presses against the cold wooden floors. with another step, you’re fully in his room, the ends of your shift pooling around you. you can’t bring yourself to close the door behind you, a tremble of doubt still in you.

upon the bed lays the slumbering dragon.

a normal woman, hot-blooded and lust-craven, would take delight in trailing her eyes over his exposed flesh, chest bare to the night as the blanket rests a few inches above his hipbones. you sooner notice his uncovered face, guilt awash your features as you spy the entirety of his scar for the first time.

pink, harsh, uneven. it’s hard to see clearly, yet the sight of it is enough to shoot sympathy pains through your own face, wonders of how a child could face such a traumatic laceration and survive it plaguing you. over your years in court you’d heard a vary of different tales of how the prince came to lose his eyes. some claimed vhagar, in all her might, had taken his eye as payment for becoming his mount. other rumours say he tore it out himself, an angry little boy who’d never gotten the attention he wanted finally driven to the brink of self-mutilation just to be seen.

the how matters little, you’ve always believed, the why seems far more important.

why must a young boy give up an eye, why mockery is made of his injury, why a scar not only dirtied his skin but marked him till the day he dies, that's what you'd love to know.

the unscathed eye opens.

the prince seems confused, face twisting the scarred side away from your view as he sits up right, squinting through the flickering light and the sleep-filled eyesight to make out your features. his hand shoots out to the side, scrambling along the bedside table.

“i’m so sorry!” you exclaim, mindful to keep your voice down as to not alert your knight, and turn around to face the emptiness of your own chambers, giving him the privacy needed to resit his eyepatch. “i just thought...”

there’s no end to your sentence, because you hadn’t thought.

“why are you awake, lady stark?” not how are you in my chambers, not how long were you looking at my scar.

just like you, he cares more for the why of things.

“i...” you shift your weight from one leg to another, and then back, stalling your reply as your hands come to rest in front of you, fingers intermingling and keeping each other company through the shame flooding your system. “i could not sleep.”

there’s rustling behind you, and then a muted thud. a crack of joints, rising from the bed. some more movement, fabrics slipping onto skin. you face away, still, and wait with baited breath for a reply or a dismissal back to your chamber of misery.

“so you decide to take away my right to rest?” the light from the candle dims and the familiar darkness of his shadow looms over you, large and all consuming and stretching till the top of its’s head rests within your room. “it’s safe to look. no more grotesque sights out in the open.”

his words make you feel sick, even if they’re inflated with humor and self-deprication. the need to reassure him his scar is not grotesque, nor shameful, nor something he should feel the need to cover- much less in the comfort of his own bed- dies when you fail to put it into words.

you choose only to face him once more, no words finding their way out upon the discovery that he’s not only dressed his face but his chest too, loose shirt thrown over his porcelain skin.

“your company, that is all i wish to take.” your voice finds you at last, returning to you with a cough and a crack. “i’d grown sick of staring at the ceiling, forgive me for awaking you.”

“i was not sleeping, regardless.” he’s lying, you both know it. neither of you address it. “my company is not one that rouses comfort in many. how strange you’ve chosen to seek it in your hour of need.”

that, too, is a lie.

within a breath of time, the prince has taken seat at his desk, chair turned towards where you sit upon the edge of his bed, crosslegged and heavy-eyed yet still so far away from the calling of sleep.

he entertains your talking, sitting back and listening as you dance around the true reason for your presence: your fear of the storm, of the boat and the storm above the boat.

as is the norm, he replied with little, hmms and yeahs and nods of approval to continue forward with whatever your next tale is. but it’s no use, as no amount of rambling and reminiscing your days of freedom and girlhood can seem to drag you into the arms of the mother, awaiting to send you to sleep with her sweet song and warm touch.

so your mind wanders a little less back in time, to when you’d already sworn vows and been broken in by your lord husband, and it latches onto that night. the one you’d spent years questioning if you’d dreamed it all- the unlit fire, the buzzing of your nerves, the head between your legs- or if it had been real. the prince had never spoken of it, had never made a repeated attempt at his indecent act, had never acted on his offer to show you more, touch you more.

“i can not sleep.” it tumbles out of you in a whisper as you replay the memory of awakening to the cold night and the warmth between your thighs. you uncross your legs, tucking them beneath the rump of your arse and attempting to distract yourself from the pulsing of your heart between your thighs.

the shift in position only serves to stroke the fire.

“i know, lady stark. it’s why you pulled me away from my own slumber a near hour past.” the prince speaks to you over the top of his book- which he’d picked up somewhere between your last rant on the chill of the walls of the keep and the silence your words had dissolved into- eye flickering over in your direction as if to let you know he sees you, all of you, even the way you’ve taken to clenching your thighs in the past few moments.

“help me.” desperation is a sin, your septa told you so all throughout your girlhood, tales of how it could drive a young maiden to seek from a man what only her husband must bring her: love, comfort, touch. and so you’d spent your days avoiding it, burying the sickly green feeling in your chest each time you’d spy upon a loving lord and lady, reminding yourself that you are a queen, and a queen wants for nothing, not even affection. the sin has been buried so far down it’s dug it’s roots into the ground and made home in you, however, and now you find yourself wanting. “tire me, please.”

“and how do you propose i do that?”

“you’ve done it,” his attention becomes more unnerving the more he gives you it, book snapping shut and discarded to the desk behind him. there’s a danger in his eye, one you’d only ever seen in the wolves as they preyed upon the sheep. “once. summers ago, the night you came to check upon me in my chambers.”

the silence is stifling, red hot feelings pulsing through your veins as the pale blue eye keeps it’s focus on you. the air is thicker, warmer, harder to take in through simple shallow breaths and forcing you to let your lips part, pulling in gasps of it just to cool your burning lungs. the ends of your night-dress dance over your calves while you readjust once more, doing anything to not acknowledge the unspoken events you’d just brought back to the light.

a part of you wishes he’d laugh in your face, or scowl in confusion, and send you back to your quarters with denials of such a thing ever having happened. the other part of you wants it to ring true to him.

so, you keep talking.

“whatever you did to me that night, how you made me feel, it exhausted me.” the sleep you recall, with the fire relit and door shut gently, was one of the greatest you’d ever gotten. “so please, i beg you, good-brother, do what you must to make me feel it again.”

gaze on the floor, you find your line of sight invaded by uncovered feet and swallow back a series of exclamations when realising he’s risen from his chair. a hand, one who’s softness you can recall from holding it in a waltz, grasps the point of your chin, tilting your head back, back, back till you meet his stare.

there’s no confusion in his expression, only hunger.

“are you asking me to make you cum again, my lady?” the words are so dirty, unfiltered for the ears of a highborn lady, and they have you squirming in your seat. the prince only watches, fascinated, like he’s studying you the same ways he’d studied the inner-workings of the ship these past few weeks.

“don’t...” your protest ends before it can begin, his fingers holding your face in place as your try turn away from him. “don’t say it like that. it’s so... crass.”

“you are harlot enough to ask such services from your husband’s brother,” for all his aloofness, there’s no disguising the pleasure he takes out of reminding you of aegon and how he ties you both as family by law and duty. if anything, you think, the one-eyed prince enjoys the shame it’s casting upon you, the humiliation with which you’re forced to stare up at him with, glossy eyes and trembling lips. “yet you shy away when i call things as they are. did you not enjoy how my mouth on your cunt drove you to your peak, good-sister?”

the hand on your face travels upwards, cold as it cups your warmed cheek. his thumb soothes over you in a calming manner, yet it only serves to unnerve you more, heart beating against the confines of your ribcage and begging to break free, deliver itself right into his palms.

aemond steps closer, till his knees brush the end of his bed and his body heat mingles with your own. he’s calm, collected and ever so eager to touch his thumb along the tender petals of your lips.

the pressure of his touch is greater than any kiss you’ve taken from the king.

“please, aemond...” you plead. the meaning behind it is lost in the night, neither the prince nor yourself sure of what exactly you’re begging for: release from his hold or release via his touch.

“a lady shouldn’t beg, ‘tis beneath her,” the smell of his hair, his clothes, his skin, it crowds your senses as the light of the candle halos around him. the targaryen line have always been a thing of beauty, men of delicate features and women of striking looks, yet they all fall mute to this dragon, broken in the eye of many, ethereal in those who actually look. the sudden appearance of his hand touching your calf jolts you, thighs clenching and face fighting his grip once more. “but, gods, do you sound pretty when you do.”

this is a greater torture than any prisoner of war.

the touches that never quite reach where you want them, the heat of his gaze falling over your heaving chest, the twitch of a grin upon his lips that mocks your wanton desires. the prince holds you in the palms of his hands, literally, yet is choosing to do nothing about it, admiring the sight of you as you twitch and squirm and shrivel up beneath his watch.

the descent of his hand is slow, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. the prince repeats the action, if only to see the way it bounces back into place after he releases it, and then continues his journey south. fluttering traces of skin against your neck, caresses of fingers over collarbones, gentle soothes of hands over the tops of your mounds.

there’s no denying your racing heart as the prince cups the fullness of your chest.

“why are you- oh!” the question is stolen before it fully forms, your eyes widening as you feel a delicious sting as his lithe fingers pinch at your nipple. it’s a feeling you never knew was possible, the twisting of the twin buds shooting blood to your core and causing your pupils to blossom with lust.

“i see my brother still wastes away your pleasure in sake of his own.” he delights in how you’ve unknowingly started forcing yourself further into his touch, back arching and shoving your chest forward. “you’d think that, with all the whores he’s taken to bed, he’d have learnt something in regards to a woman’s body by now.”

a normal wife would weep at accusations of her husband’s infidelity. she would wretch her heart out her chest and proclaim herself incapable of trusting, loving, taking another for the remainder of her days as she dealt with casting aside her lord’s indiscretions in benefit of their children.

you cry for your husband’s brother to touch you more.

and oh how he obeys, the disappointment of losing his touch on your right breast quickly coerced away at the glide of his touch down, down, down, till the tips of his fingers dance over the crease of your thighs, brushing over the mound of curls that lay hidden beneath the thin layers of your night shift.

“aem-“ you choke on his name, too sensitive and neglected to process the way he presses his finger against that precious pearl of yours. aegon, for the life of him, had tried once to stroke his forefinger against it- amid rythimless humps into you from behind- and had failed miserably, giving up with a huff and an exclaim of how you must be so boring the mother never blessed you with the nerves of ecstasy. if only he were here to witness how seamlessly his brother finds it, coaxing the floodgates to open and spread over your aching cunny.

the prince giveth and the prince taketh away, hands abandoning their glorious touch upon your body. before you can make so much as a protest or a demand against it, both hands land on your waistline. two squeezes he gives, the second tighter than the first, and it somehow works to calm that chill down your spine, a reassurance that he’s there, and only him.

in a shocking juxtaposition, his grip serves to flip you over effortlessly.

facing the sheets below, you struggle out a cacophony of sounds as you scramble to pull yourself up, only to be met with the shove of his hand against the middle of your back, pinning your front to the mattress beneath as the other hand pulls you onto your knees, arse up in the air.

“i told you i could teach you things, my lady.” the confirmation is there, even if he’s not stating it explicitly. the night in your chambers was true, his tongue on your cunt and his fingers gripping your skin and his stare between your legs, none of it had been a work of your tired mind. it both delights and disgusts you, that same old lick of shame ringing in your ear with the reminiscence of your septa’s lectures on a woman’s duty in the bedchambers: please her husband and give him an heir, both of which you’re yet to do. “best it will be if i start with the basics of how a man and woman move, don’t you agree?”

you’ve hardly the capability to nod your head, but you doubt he’s searching for a true response anyway.

the bed dips behind you, creaking with the added weight of him atop it. he mounts you like a horse, slotting himself between the spreading of your legs and nestling something solid against your cheeks of your rump.

it’s a position you know all too well, the very same as the one aegon puts you in when he decides to inact his royal duties against your disillusioned body.

“this is how a lord takes his whore,” he speaks into the night and steals your breath away with one simple roll of his hips. there’s fabrics and cloths that separate your arousal from his hardened cock yet you feel it all the same, warm and heavy and so real as it drags itself over the dripping slit of your cunt. “it’s impersonal, perfect for a man who wishes to think of another’s face as he fills a woman’s cunt.”

the pressure of him becomes a constant, that rubs and soothes and works it’s way over you. it’s only a grinding of bodies yet the sensation is greater than any the king has given you with his rancid cock twisting your insides uncomfortably.

“but it also allows a man to rut deeper, to fuck up against her crest till he’s spilling his seed into her empty womb.” it’s an embarrassing truth to realise how calm the prince sounds behind you, breathing even and hands solid in their grip against you, while you’re a mess of whimpered breaths and grinding hips, working sloppily back against his thrusts and trying your damn hardest to get him to graze over your aching pearl.

you’d gladly commit the rest of your waking days to the faith of the seven, handing yourself over to the so called silent sisters, never to know life away from doing the stranger’s biding if it meant aemond would touch you properly, no night dress and breeches to block the contact of his skin on yours.

if this is how the prince mounts his whores’, you envy the ladies of the silk street- a feat you never imagined possible, with all of your husband’s ventures into their beds- for even the sheer grinding of his body against the back of yours feels greater than any night you’ve spent with your head shoved into the bed below, aegon’s senseless battering against your womanhood leaving you numb with dissatisfaction.

“is this how my brother fucks you, lady stark?” the prince’s hand presses down on your midback, shoving you into the sheets. you twist your head to the side, if only to keep the air flow in your lungs, and startle over a moaned wail as the man behind you ruts into you deeper, brushing right over your cotton covered mound down to your aching bud.

he repeats the same action, once and then twice, your mind dragged too far off into the rolling waves of pleasure to pay mind to his wandering hand, pulling on the thin material of your nightdress and tugging it upwards

the cool air does little to soothe the burning between your thighs.

“do you get this soaked for the king?” it shouldn’t arouse you to hear him speak of aegon whilst he’s bucking his covered cock against you. but, could you really be blamed when he lets his hand join in, skilled digits finding your pearl and pressing into it?

“n-no...” shaky breaths take over your bod as you do your utmost best to appear as calm and collected as the man behind you. it’s cruel how you’re a dripping pile of lust whilst he remains soft-voiced and level-headed. “he’s no good at- ah!- no good at touching.”

you both hear and feel the prince laugh.

“it takes a man a certain hours of dedication to his craft to become an expert at it,” the thrusting of his hips ceases, yet he makes no attempt to stop the stroke of his fingers over your pulsing centre, soaking his perfect skin in your sinful essence. “i don’t think all the time in the world would be suffice to teach aegon how to please his wife.”

you want to agree, want to nod your head, but you’re too caught up in staring back him over your shoulder. clothes perfectly intact- spare for a few wrinkles in his shirt you’re certain were not there before-, his hair threatens to fall loose from the tie that holds it out his face, silver strands falling over his face. which, for once, is anything but stoic, eye blown wide with darkened desires, lips locked tight in a teasing smirk, brows furrowed with the concentration he bestows unto you.

it’s a vision to behold, a man carved to the perfection of a marbled statue.

it leaves you all the more relieved to feel him take hold of your hips once more, the traces that remain of your arousal on his skin now soaking into the fabrics of your shift as he flips you over.

landing on your back with a squeak, you welcome the sight of him staring down at you.

his hands remain cold against you, gripping at the meat of your thighs and forcing your legs apart, till he slots in like a missing puzzle piece, completing the image of you, hair splayed out around you and eyes hooded over in a tired haze of pleasure.

he somehow feels harder than before as he gives the first roll of his hips.

“this,” a crack in his composure, a sharp intake of breath as you trap him between your legs, nothing but pure want driving you to arch your back and meet his thrust halfway. he composes himself. “is how a husband should take his wife.”

you’re flushed with shame, watching as the prince’s stature comes crashing down onto you, like a wave meets the shore, washing over you with his scent, his warmth and the feel of his chest pressing down on yours.

a tilt of your head to the right and you’d find an answer to whether his lips are as soft as they look.

your head turns left.

“it’s the proper way to fornicate,” the words lack that spark of dirtied excitement, spat out of him as though it pains him to say such a thing. “at least the septas would have you women believe. something about letting your husband own you and watch your face as he claims your body for not only himself but the future of his lineage too.”

his words are whispers, mouth mere inches from your ear. a new pace is found between you both, one where his hips grind down and yours buck up, two planks of wood that burst into flame with the adding of a little friction.

the prince’s hands seem restless, unable to settle on a part of your body to focus on. if they’re not squeezing at your hips, they’re crawling up beneath the skirt of your dress, rucking it higher till you’re sure to be staining the front of his trousers with your slick. if he’s not cupping the side of your face in a futile attempt to have you face him, he’s winding his way down your neck, your chest, your breast, kneeding his fingers into them.

it’s when you throw your head back in a shallow gasp that aemond chooses to add his mouth into the mix, latching onto your neck. it’s warm, as warm as you remember it being the night he’s pressed it to your cunt, and it’s with sheer relief that comes along with realising that night had all been true- not a fictitious event conjured by your cruel mind to drive you mad- that you feel yourself begin to let loose.

your leg winds around his hip, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust.

“aemond, please,” there you go again with the mindless pleading, no clue of what you’re asking of him nor the effect your desperate whines have on him. the man answers with a tightened grip on your thigh, fingernails digging crescents into your skin and branding you for any to see- even that good-for-nothing husband of yours that he calls brother. “more.”

luckily, the prince knows what you’re wanting, knows what it is you’re trying so hard to achieve.

unfortunately, he’s not in a position to provide you with it.

“i can’t give you more, good-sister,” his voice is no longer that composed one from before, a mixture of heavy breathing and chocked groans littered across them. “a woman must take no seed other than her husband’s. i will not sully you beneath the eyes of the seven.”

you wish to argue he’s done worse, taken you in an impure act of meaningless lust, tongue and teeth and fingers working over your core till the dam broke and the gates were flooded with the essence of your peak. even now, he does worse, by showing you the pleasure that could be in your life, should be in your life, if only the fates had gifted you more fortune.

instead, you opt for reminding him of earlier words.

“whores bed men who they are not married to all the time,” in a cruel act of silencing you, the prince has taken to peppering kisses down the length of your neck, the top of your chest, eye watching you intently the whole time. “why... why can’t i do the same?”

instead of an answer, his mouth finds your stiffened nipple.

with your shift still in the way, he latches himself onto the bud, lips suckling it into his waiting mouth. your hand, no longer in your control, flies to the back of his head, tangling itself in the strands. a sharp tug and it’s now the prince who is a mess of sinful noises, eye watching your reaction as he brings his tongue into the mix, stroking the skilled muscle with precision.

your eyes clamp shut and, all at once, you’re back in the dark of your chambers, his tongue lapping at your soaked centre and his hand grasping your own, guiding you through the first taste of adulterated satisfaction.

“because,” he mumbles, lips unwilling to part from you and thus forcing you to squirm through the way his lips brush over your chest with every word they form. “you’re not a whore. and i will not treat you like one.”

and yet he’ll rut into you harder, slower, teasing you with the outline of his stiff manhood, condemning you to a life where you’ll spend the rest of your days torn between hating him for giving you a taste but not a bite. and he’ll leave you with the memory of how his lips can pucker and his tongue can twist and turn, rubbing your nipple raw with the chafing of your night dress.

it feels crueler than anything he may have done in the years when the dragons danced.

“what if,” you swallow back a particularly pathetic whine that threatens to spill as the tip of him bumps against your pulsing pearl. “i want you to?”

in all her septa’s tutoring on the many duties of a married woman- remaining seen but never heard by her husband’s side in public settings, tending to her husband’s needs and desires, baring children so that her husband’s legacy shall live on even once he is dirt in the ground-, never had the possibility of a woman putting her own desires first been mentioned. and so, to do so now, legs spread and bent at the knee, chest heaving with every breath you fight to take in, the very centre of you dripping with molten liquid that stains his breeches with every roll of his hips, it all feels wrong, dirty, sinful.

the prince would stop, if you asked, and you know this.

you don’t ask.

aemond halts with a grunt and burrows his head into the crook of his shoulder, breath dancing on your skin and the weight of his cock pressing right down into you. his chest pushes against your own with every breath you both take. fingers intertwined, hands coming to rest between your beating hearts, the act feels more intimate than any you’ve shared with aegon.

“don’t say such things.” at first, he sounds angered, tone low and threatening as he mumbles into your skin. his grip tightens around your hand, near painful, and he grinds himself further down into you, a whimpered sound killing any level of danger he possessed. “i’ll become selfish and take what i want instead of focusing on what you need.”

to live in a world where this man, beauty carved into every inch of his skin and spirit stronger than any lord or castle, denies himself of what he desires seems impossible.

“then take it,” your free hand winds it’s way around his body, rumpling the shirt he wears in it’s iron grip, urging him closer despite the lack of space existing between you. “i’m offering myself to you, aemond. it’s not selfish.”

there’s an exciting aggression behind the way he tears himself away from you, feet returning to the floor as he rises to a stand. grabbing at your ankle, a harsh tug is all it takes to get you to the foot of the bed and tangled in his hold once more, those muscles he trains showing their benefits in the way he so carelessly, effortlessly lifts you off, nails digging into the skin of your thigh to hold you against him. dropping himself back on the bed, the prince sits you down, legs spread out on either side of him as you come to rest within his waiting lap.

his cock presses up between your thighs, the shape, length, girth more defined than ever as the thin material of his breeches sits between your aching arousals. he’s bunched your shift up till it’s a mess of fabrics pooling around your waist, leaving your bottom half naked and exposed to cool air of the night. aemond makes sure you stay warm, icy finger gripping at the flesh on your hips and rolling them forwards, the lips of your opening spreading to make room for his length.

he repeats his action several more times, eye staring deep into your own like they hold all the answers to the unasked questions and forbidden needs in his life. squeeze, pull, grind, a pattern of three moves he’s dancing with your body, and it’s intoxicating to witness, stare down at his face as he lets his brow furrow and his lips part in silent moans and his chest heaves for every breath of air.

“if... if the two before were how a lord takes a whore and a husband takes his wife,” you decide it’s been too long since he spoke and you miss the way his typically dutiful words melt away to make way for sin and longing, spewing filth your septa would have had his tongue cut out for. “what’s this one?”

“this is how a woman claims a man.”

his answer does something to you, awakening a part of you you’d closed off for years after that night. you’ve lost all autonomy over your actions as your body takes manners into its own grasp and you begin to grind down against him as one hand tangles itself in the locks of moonlight silver hair.

the prince throws his head back when you accidentally tug on it.

“is that what you like, prince aemond?” confident movements, shy words. you’re so incredibly aware that you’ve no real clue what you’re doing, driving on lustful instinct with no clear direction ahead. “the woman in charge?”

you must have struck a nerve for the prince is quick to level his own head and tighten his grip on you once more, the sting of skin breaking under his nails delicious in all the wrong ways. you hope he draws blood, hope he leaves your hips marked with thin scars.

“a woman empowered is not the same as a woman in charge,” he punctuates his words with the returned control over you, fighting against your own body to grind you down over him however he likes. which, apparently, excludes your pearl from joining in on the fun, neglected with each roll of your hips. “don’t be mistaken. i like watching a woman take what she needs from me, i like to see her eyes roll back with her head and her mouth spew out incoherent filth as she cums around my cock. but it’s no fun if i’m not the one controlling what she does and when she does it.”

it’s not hard to picture the prince with a multitude of women- likely the whispering ladies of the king’s court who like to spin tales on how good of a lover he is-, his hands around their bodies as he fucks them from beneath, throwing them off the edge of ecstasy.

the picture turns you green-eyed, jealous of the ones who he places no limit over, the ones he desires enough to break his honour for.

“now, please lady stark,” he heaves a sigh, cold hand trailing over your hip and down to the center of your legs, digits smoothing over the groomed curls of coarse hair till the chill of them greet your burning pearl. “i need to make you cum, or else neither of us will be getting any sleep.”

there’s no time to dwell on how his words make you feel less desirable and more like a nuisance, a wanton woman who ruined his slumber and demanded he give her the relief only his older brother should be giving her. there’s no time for he’s refamiliarising himself with you quicker than expected, taking advantage of the angle you hover over him in to breech a single digit into your warm, silken hole.

“ah!” you squeak out when his finger reaches deeper than anything you’ve felt before, pressing upon your gummy walls at a new angle.

he shushes you, pulling the finger out ever so slightly before fucking it back in. its only a few more times that he does this before your eyes are widening and a second of his fingers is slipping it’s way into you. in a motion you may only describe as come hither, the two press into your walls and coax whimpered delight out of you.

the prince is eager to see you like this, your head thrown back when you feel his fingers spread inside you, stretching your insides so different to the painful jabs the king’s cock has ever given you. perhaps, you think, if this is what cuppling felt like- truly is meant to be- you could understand why such a thing was a sin, for it would be far too easy to renounce your loyalty to the seven and, instead, spend your days worshipping whomever could play your body like their favorite instrument.

“aemond...” there’s a tightening of something in your guts, twisting and turning and threatening to snap under the pressure of his hands, crotch, touch against you. you feel the need to chase it, to run toward it, yet simultaeniosuly it frightens you. the night within your chambers had been slow, a gentle coax into letting yourself come undone around fingers and tongue. tonight, it’s urgent and desperate and something he’s near forcing your body to experience, no proper build up to get you ready to feel yourself float into those moments of pure ecstasy.

“i know, i know.” his words are soothing, just like the free hand that comes to smooth the hair on the top of your head, pulling you right into him till you’re tucked in his arms and hidden from the world within his warm chest. “just let yourself go, don’t fight it.”

his thumb against your pearl is all it takes to have the floodgates open.

you cum for the first time in years around his fingers, your cries muted against his skin as the prince continues to work you through it, not a single protest to the way you’ve stained his breeches nor soaked his hand.

there’s a possibility you cry out his name, or choke on your own whimpers, or cry pathetically, but the sound never reaches your ears as the prince cradles you to his chest, holding your shaken body captive against him. it’s far less intense than the euphoria he’d sent you off into all those years ago, and thus you feel robbed of everything you know his tongue is capable of doing.

but the exhaustion is the same, crashing over you in waves of heavy eyes and relaxed limbs, sinking yourself deeper into your guardian. wordlessly, he drags you both up the bed till his head hits a pillow.

a shift of your leg reminds you of his untouched arousal.

sluggishly, you fight against the calls of lady sleep and scramble to sit yourself up, hands shooting straight for his crotch. you revel in the intake of breath he gives as you brush over the bulge, yet you whine as his own hands fight you off.

“no,” his protests are firm, unlike your tired attempts to untie the laces of his breeches, hands halted when his own grasp them and pull them towards his heaving chest. you struggle against his hold, head shaking in protest. “stop this at once, lady stark.”

“but you need to...” heat spreading over your face, neck, just about anywhere it can get to, you can’t bring yourself to say the words that dance between you both, despite the remnants of your own liquid pleasure still painted on his fingers. you need to cum.

the prince understands, even if you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“and you need to rest.” he hushes you, pulling your tired limbs into his and tangling them, till you find your head resting atop his chest and his hand stroking over your back in a well practiced dance, soothing your every ailment without a single word of false comfort nor practiced poised filling the void between you both. “you can sleep sound here, the waves can’t catch you and the storm can’t harm you. i promise, i’ll fight them off before they can reach you.”

though you try to fight it, his soft whispers work greater than any sleep elixir and your eyes close within his chambers, the weight of the prince’s body and the heat it radiates enough to lull you into a state of golden comfort, the sound of his breathing drowning out the storm that rages on outside.

when they reopen, an empty bed and your own chamber walls greet you.

watching you is making him dizzy.

the hall is filled by laughter and cheer, an earnest warmth radiating from the cold northerners as they dance beneath the candlelight. while the feasts in king’s landing are grandiose and glittering with every golden dish, the wedding of cregan stark will remain an engraved memory on the prince’s brain till the day he should pass, the energy within the room happier than any he’s bared witness to before. the wedding itself had been short and sweet, straight to the point and unionising the warden of the north to his lady in a matter of a half’s hour, a cheer for the couple’s kiss before the party had been rushed indoors, out of the cold and into their assigned seats. he’d gritted his teeth at the fact you and aegon had not sat the same table as him, being the sister of lord stark meaning you and your husband were required to sit at the couple’s table. to make matters worse, he’d found himself seated with his empty eye socket facing you, daeron to the right of him and some southern lord on his left.

he’s kept an eye on you from the minute you entered his eye-line, hand grasped in your brother’s and a smile upon your face. it’s hard to think of the smiles you do not bare in the capital, trading the toothy grin for a tight-lipped curve of your lips. the resentment for his oldest brother- one that had first sparked to life in the early days of his childhood- grows greater to think he’s the reason why it’s taken the prince this long to witness how your eyes light up with true joy.

your brother’s arms rise into the air, inviting you to twirl beneath his hold, the skirt of your dress billowing out in front of you- it’s blue, a colour you’ve always worn best. the cups of wine you’d taken throughout the night must have hit you at once for, not even three spins in, you appear to trip over your own foot, stumbling right into another dancing couple, of whom the lady steadies your fall and guides you back to balance. the four of you break out in laughter he can not hear.

it must be infectious for he too finds himself producing a chuckle.

“i’m sorry, my ears must be deceiving me, for i swear i just heard you laugh.” daeron has always stood to represent everything the prince could have been, were the fates not cruel and his childhood not crippling. now more than ever, he contemplates the possibility of shoving his brother’s head into the table.

“hmm.” there’s no answer he can give that will lead him to victory in this verbal battle with his younger brother, and so he settles for a dismissive humm.

back on the dancefloor, he finds you no longer stand hand in hand with your brother- whom has found his way over to the welcoming arms of his new bride and finds himself stuck in a locking of lips, pulling away only to mumble what the prince imagines to be sweet nothings and foul words only a husband and wife may share- and, are instead, now making your way over in his direction.

like a beacon of light in the darkness, you shine as you walk through the crowd, eyes meeting his and a smile so shy he struggles to believe you’re the same woman who’d taken a place within his bed only nights before. ignoring the teasing of daeron, the one-eyed prince comes to rise, well prepared for an evening where he’ll entertain your wishes to dance till his feet ache, and takes his first step towards you, a familiar tingle dancing atop his spine and the beating of his heart growing louder with your proximity. only a few more steps and-

a hand clamps down on his shoulder, halting him.

“tonight, dear brother, i should like to dance with my wife.” the voice comes from behind him, but the lick of disdain and the smell of wine tells him enough. “i’m aware you lack your own bride, maybe use this time to dance with some maidens and find yourself one. mother would be overjoyed.”

the sight of the king leading you out onto the floor, those who circle you gawking and swooning at the sight of the ruler of the realm and his lady wife intertwined in dance, acts as a bitter reminder the prince would do well to never forget.

you are his brother’s wife, and that is all you will ever be.

the truth has a funny way of revealing itself.

it’s a fact you come to learn sat across the table from the queen mother, teacup in hand and ears spying upon the occasional coo from helaena’s young babe, tucked neatly in his mother’s arms as he drinks all her teat has to offer, the woman herself still wearing the face of exhaustion two moons after the birth had taken place.

“aegon was my favourite to deal with as a babe.” alicent speaks with hush, like she’s sharing a secret just for you girls to listen upon. “he was so easy, always smiling. i remember being so scared that everything i done was wrong, still so young myself, but one look at him and i knew not everything i done could be wrong, not if what i’d birthed him.”

“the wind has changed it’s way, the babe has fallen out it’s cradle.” helaena speaks her riddle, hand reaching to smooth over the three tuffs of moonlight hair on the boy’s head. “aegon never smiles anymore, mother. you must hate him now.”

your dear sister-by-marriage is a braver soul than you’d ever be, daring to smile at her mother even after bringing up, though only through insinuation, the events of three evenings past where aegon, angered from gods no what had transpired between him and his younger brother during a small council meeting, had sat the dining table and slated the one-eyed prince all night, going so far as to toast his lack of appearance at the family feast.

his malice ceased only as alicent herself shot out her seat, hands slamming down on the table and swearing to take both her elder son’s eyes if he dared mock his brother’s imparement once more.

he’d taken you to bed that evening, though toppled over his own breeches amidst removing them and left himself a snoring mess on the floor, too close for comfort as you crept your way out the marital chambers and down the winding roads to the empty library.

it was the maester himself who discovered you the next day, noon already in full swing and a stack of books in his hands as he let out an exclaim upon spying your resting form. moments after, he’d appeared behind the elderly man, eye-patch in place and face stoic.

the prince left abruptly, before you’d gotten the chance to bid him good day.

“i never got to thank you, lady alicent, for sending prince aemond up north on the boat.” maybe it’s an excuse to talk about him, maybe it’s a way to steer the conversation away from the king’s ill-manners. you’re fearful to consider the later ringing more true. still, it feels nice to say his name aloud again. “i’m sure the prince would have much preferred his seat upon vhagar, but his presence was greatly appreciated. just knowing he was there brought me as great a comfort as having my husband there.”

never has your good-mother looked so confused.

“i... i’m afraid i’m not sure what you mean, my darling.” the words drop like a led weight, crushing your ribcage and flattening your beating heart as it fights to stay alive. “while it’s true that i encouraged aemond to accompany you on the ship, it was only after he himself offered to. quite adamintly, might i add. i did not force aemond’s hand in any way."

across a courtyard, palm sweating as he grasps the hilt of the sword of a man he’d slain not so long ago- dark sister, he believes they called it- aemond hacks at a dumby stuffed with hay, each blow a metophorical slice through the king’s words from weeks ago.

i should like to dance with my wife.

dance with my wife.

my wife.

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon smut

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ofstarsandvibranium · 4 months

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To Have & To Hold: Part 9

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight (Mafia AU)

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: To ensure you’re always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don’t necessarily hate Marc, but you don’t get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

A/N: the next chapter is finally here! so sorry for taking so long!

Warning: violence against a woman (reader)

Series Masterlist

It's hard to say who would've done this to you. Your dad had gained a lot of enemies over the years so it could really be anyone.

Marc is pacing back and forth in your father's office, a bandaged wrapped around his head. He's mentally going over the list of men on his watch list, determining whether they'd be ballsy enough to pull shit like this. Then he pauses and looks to your dad.

"Harrow."

Your dad cocks a brow at him, "What about him?"

"Did you really kill him?"

He scoffs, "What kind of fucking question is that? Of course, I did."

"Really? Because, to be honest, Y/D/N, he's the only one who would have the guts to do this. Revenge for not letting him take over. He has nothing to lose and everything to gain from this."

Marc walks over and plants his hands on your dad's desk, "So I ask again: Did. You. Kill. Him?"

Your father sighs and leans back in his chair, "I thought I did. Beat the fucker to a pulp. Thought he'd die from his wounds, but I guess I was fucking wrong. I should've fucking made sure he was dead for good."

Marc runs a hand down his face, "Fuck. Okay, we need to call everyone in. The Starks, The Pyms, the Romanovs, all of them. We-" he's cut off by his phone ringing. He pulls it out and sees he's getting a video call from you.

He immediately answers it, "Y/N?" He doesn't see you, but a black screen.

He hears a voice, "No, unfortunately. Your bride-to-be is a little...tied up at the moment." The camera comes on and it's you tied to a chair, gagged, and beaten. You seem to be unconscious at the moment.

Marc's jaw clenches, "What do you want?"

Harrow's face appears on screen. He's grinning, "Let me talk to him."

The phone is immediately handed off to your father, who grips it tightly, "You should've stayed down, Harrow."

His former partner scoffs, "And you should've finished me off. Now, we're all facing the consequences of our actions, hm?"

"What do you want?" Your dad asks through gritted teeth.

"You know exactly what I want. It's all pretty simple, isn't it? You give me your empire and you can have your beloved Sunshine back," he goes back to you and caresses your cheek, "My men did quite a number on her."

Marc clenches his fists tight, his blunt nails digging into his skin. He's mentally cursing Harrow and himself. Harrow, for putting you through so much pain and himself, for not preventing this from happening.

"Fine," your father rasps out and Marc whips his head to him in surprise.

"3 days. The warehouse on docks. You know which one. I expect to only see you. If I see anyone else, especially your guard dog, Spector, say goodbye to Sunshine."

"Alright."

Harrow sighs, "This all could've been avoided if you'd just let me take over," he then shrugs and grins at the camera, "Cest la vie!" He then ends the call and your father drops Marc's phone onto the desk.

"Please tell me you're not serious about this."

"We have no other choice, Marc. We can't risk it. Fuck all with the organization, Y/N is the only good thing I have left. I'm not risking it."

"Shit," Marc murmurs to himself.

__________________________

You're not sure how long you've been held captive to Harrow. All you know is that you just want to go home. You want to be in bed and have Marc holding you. He'd become your safe space in such a short time. If you make it out alive, you're telling him how you feel, because fuck if almost dying puts things in a new perspective for you.

Harrow comes in looking very chipper and it makes you uneasy, "Look alive, Sunny girl! Your daddy's coming to save the day today!"

"I hope he kills you for good this time," you mumble out as Harrow's men pulls you to your feet. You groan in pain, stumbling forward a bit since it's been a while since you've moved your legs.

"You know, I could always kill Spector and make dear old dad write into his will that you marry me instead," he caresses your bruised cheek, "I always thought you were beautiful."

You spit in his face and he sighs in disappointment, "But that attitude. It'll have to go," he surprises you with a hard back handed slap that causes you to let out a sob.

Harrow then gestures for his men to take you out into the warehouse. You're sat in a chair again, your hands tied behind your back. You regret not taking more self-defense lessons from the Romanovs.

Harrow sends his men away and stands by your side as you wait for your father.

________________________

"Remember, you get Y/N and then you go. You don't wait for me or anything else. Just get her to safety."

"Yes, sir," Marc says with a nod.

Of course, Marc was going with your father to get you. Technically, Harrow said if he saw Marc, he'd kill you. That's why Marc was going to be hidden away on the docks, ready to get you once he received the word.

They drove in separate cars. Your father drove his to the warehouse and Marc drove to hide in-between shipping containers.

He listened closely through your dad's hidden listening device.

"I'm here, Harrow. Now let my daughter go." your father demands.

"Ah ah. The contract and will."

Marc hears rustling and the click of your father's briefcase. He hears shuffling of papers and then your father speaks again, "It's all there."

There's a short silence that Marc imagines Harrow reading through the papers.

Then Harrow speaks up, "How will I know she won't try to take it back from me."

Your father scoffs, "Come on now, Harrow. You know she never had any interest in this shit. She wants a normal life."

Harrow seems to be satisfied with your father's response. Marc waits anxiously listening for you. There's rapid footsteps and then rustling. Mar hears your sobs and his heart hurts knowing how much you've endured these past few days.

"Dad, I-"

"No, listen to me. I love you, okay? You get out of here and get as far away as you can. Marc is coming to get you. You'll be safe with him. I promise. I love you, Sunshine. Now, go. Run."

Marc immediately speeds out of hiding and towards the warehouse. He sees you running and hops out of the car as soon as he hits the breaks.

"Marc!" you sob his name as you fall into his arms.

"Ssshh. I got you, baby. I gotchu. C'mon. We need to go." He quickly helps you into the car and speeds away from the docks.

Through his earpiece, he hears your father say, "I should've finished the job when I had the chance."

"Yes, Y/D/N. You should've, but everything happens for a reason. Right?"

"Yeah...right."

The warehouse suddenly explodes, causing you to look back.

"NO!" You turn to Marc as tears immediately fill your eyes, "We have to go back!"

Marc shakes his head, "There's nothing there now, Y/N. He's gone."

"NO! TURN BACK AROUND! PLEASE!"

"I'm sorry, Y/N. Your dad's gone."

#marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #marvel imagine #marvel au #mob boss au #mafia au

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strangerhands · 6 months

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10 fandoms/10 characters/10 tags

waaaaaa omg thank you for the tag em 🫶 @runa-falls!! its been 800 years since i got to do a tag game (and make my own post for once..) so thanks! this actually made me happy but also a little "oh shit. people know i exist..?" i also made this post unnecessarily long but its me so whats new

ummm its all. only. oscar. not sorry (a little sorry)

1. marc spector + steven grant + jake lockley, moon knight-my absolute beloveds. moon knight is so special to me. the boys are so special to me. theres really nowhere near enough i could say here about them but if you get it, you get it. its also what got me into oscar (even though i discovered immediately that he was in annihilation and x-men: apocalypse WHICH I WATCHED YEARS AGO GODDAMMIT)

2. robbie paulson, law and order: criminal intent-listen. hes my girlfriend. my babygirl. my love. my sweet boy. the one plaguing damn near every Thot. most niche character here. wish he was real. wish there was more content of him out there but good god if fran (@/midgardian-witch, who also made that gif) hasnt been holding it downnnnnnn. bless.

3. poe dameron, star wars sequel trilogy-beautiful brave sweet husband who would maybe drive me a bit insane irl but in a good way (mostly) i wanna protect him. (also the only star wars films ive seen sorryyyyy sorry. yes it was for him. and adam driver.)

4. miguel o'hara, spider-man: into the spider-verse + spider-man: across the spider-verse-ohhh you beeg grumpy beautiful man. he would not like me. bite me pls (also still my two favourite movies oat.) craving some milk and cake suddenly... (his hair wings..<3)

5. cecil dennis, revenge for jolly!-pathetic little dirty alley cat man my beloved. my little princess. also my babygirl girlfriend little guy loser boy. (AND THE CURLSSSSSSS. AND SAD COW EYES.)

6. nathan bateman, ex machina-asshole who i unfortunately love. we would not get along irl but thats what fics are for!!!! he would make me cry. (but what if i could fix him..) i have a soft spot for him...

7. llewyn davis, inside llewyn davis-sad beautiful talented man. you can crash at my place any day. i would let him leech off of me idec lemme help you baby. i could show you what love is. (the curls and outfits...... i Crave.)

8. santiago garcia, triple frontier-woof. this guy. damn. yeah. sorry santi but i wanna bite your knees

9. blue jones, sucker punch-literally. asshole piece of shit but good god. whore. so slutty and beautiful and PATHETIC. i would let him be mean to me and then cry in private. but also put him in his place. its complicated. (whoever did his eyeliner and club wardrobe in that movie... i owe you my life. thank you. thank you. you deserve everything. thank you.)

10. mikael boghosian, the promise-oh. sweet beautiful intimate lover man. THAT scene... absolutely killed me. THAT SHOULDVE BEEN MEEEEE. i need him. (i am taking this moment to remind yall of the titty bite. yea. not sorry. youre welcome.)

honestly i couldve put nearly all of oscars characters but alas.

no pressure tags, hope none of you mind! i know this is very sudden and unexpected from me. only tagged some mutuals so its not 10 :p sorryy (sorry if youve been tagged already)

@my-secret-shame @saturn-rings-writes @spacecowboyhotch @villainsoftheweek @f4nrir @kouichijo @mugensword

again, no pressure to do this. hope everyone tagged is doing well! i havent interacted with some of yall in a long time<3

all gif credits go to their respective creators! i have no idea if tumblr automatically shows who made them or not, so sorry if it doesnt.

#tag game #yaayyyy #also kind of funny i got tagged when ive been thinking about starting to write again soon...👀

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fuckingloginwall · 1 year

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【Genshin Impact Works】

◈❖◆◇◆❖◈

" If anything you find here happens to excite you, so much so that you want it now, you can always ask for me to tidy it up faster so that you get it sooner. Of course, I work at my own pace so don't expect instantaneous results . "

" What if two or more people want anything on here faster, you ask? Well my mood and schedule will both play a role in who gets their desired writing faster . "

" Just remember, above all else, you're not getting complete stories, but instead a collage of ideas that form the image of what they could be. Part of the reason why I opened up this place was not only to have my works be seen, but inspire others with them . "

" Anyways, please enjoy all that this Omnibus presents before you, or wait until my work-in-progresses have reached my satisfaction . "

‹ · ❆ ⁂ ❄ ⁂ ❆ · ›

✎ GICAU

In which the game is connected to a real Teyvat out there in the universe. A Teyvat that can think. You may even be a deity to them. Reader-Insert, as is the tradition.

Creator!Reader Lore ➣ Lore dump for my two Creator AUs, Genshin Impact Cult AU

C!R Imposter AU ➣ Lore dump for my Imposter!Creator AUs

Tutelary!Reader Lore ➣ Lore dump: You're no creator, but you're still a guide of sorts, Genshin Impact Cult AU

T!R Imposter AU ➣ Lore dump: Tutelary has an Imposter

Connecting Dots ➣ None of the AUs up above, Traveler dies a fuckton because nobody like you two or Paimon :)

Fixer? More Like Breaker! ➣ Project Moon Crossover, Fixer!Reader, Creator!Imposter AU, Standard Isekai and Reverse

Genshin Impact But TommyInnit ➣ None of the AUs above, Streamer!Reader with a friend group, Minecraft gets dragged into the mix

I Can Barely Feed Myself ➣ Creator/Tutelary AU, whatever floats your boat, Reader is barely getting by

I Love My Selves ➣ Post-Imposter Hunt, Creator Reader (not my AUs the more typical ones), Reader makes their Self-Insert and forgets about pleasing Teyvat

Mask It Or Casket ➣ Motorcyclist!Reader, Creator!Imposter AU

Primordial Fears ➣ Chainsaw Man Crossover, Reader is the adopted sibling of Kobeni, Imposter!Creator AU

Reality Ensues ➣ Creator!Imposter AU, Reader doesn't need to fear being hunted, nor wants to be a god

Reject Humanity Return To Dust ➣ Creator!Reader, Corpse Timeline, In which Teyvat's bacteria render Reader bedridden, the same reader stays in the wilderness and actively avoids civilization

‹ · ❆ ⁂ ❄ ⁂ ❆ · ›

✎ Standard Reader Isekai

You're nothing special, just an unfortunate soul sent to Teyvat

Blasphemous Coworkers ➣ Chainsaw Man crossover, involve all of Special Division 4 and then some

Li:Sitcom ➣ Reader + shenanigans with Zhongli, Childe, Hu Tao, and Xiao. An AU where your knowledge of Genshin is secondhand

‹ · ❆ ⁂ ❄ ⁂ ❆ · ›

✎ Character Centric Isekai

Adventure Dungeon Lucky✮! ➣ Bennett-centric, Isekai & Reverse Isekai, System

Architectural Aneurysm ➣ Kaveh-centric, Media Transmigration(?) Reborn as a one-off mentioned character

Because Villainy Is The Way To Go ➣ Ganyu-centric, Media Transmigration(?), Reborn as a secondary villainess

Break Break Spiral Down! ➣ Ajax-centric, Media Transmigration, Reverse Isekai

Changelings From The Chamberlain ➣ Standard and Reverse Isekai

Coffin Hopping ➣ Archon-centric, Standard and Reverse isekai, Narnia inspired

dearly departed (dearly beloved) ➣ Hu Tao, Xingqiu, Chongyun, Xiangling, Yun Jin, and Xinyan-centric. Media Transmigration and Reverse Isekai

Death Granted Breaths ➣ Kazuha and Tomo-centric, Media Transmigration(?) and a splash of Reverse Isekai

Eldritch Games ➣ A Squad of Ten is too many to list here. Minecraft crossover, sagau elements. Eldritch!Gamers who are mostly secondary. Their skins are holding the spotlight here

Hollow Legacy ➣ Ajax-centric, Hollow Knight Crossover, Isekai

Homemade Meals Taste Better In Another World ➣ Xiangling-centric, Standard and Reverse Isekai

Literary Vivisection ➣ Baizhu-centric, Media Transmigration and Reverse Isekai like "whaddup i'm roommating you now"

My Snow Cone Taste Weird (You Spiked Our Drinks) ➣ Harbingers-centric sans Ajax and Tartaglia, Media Transmigration, System

rhinestones. falling from the skies (here we go again!) ➣ Diluc, Kaeya, Lisa and Layla-centric, +Itto and Kuki, Media Transmigration

Smite Them All ➣ Cyno-centric, Standard and Reverse Isekai

The Adepti of The Cursed North ➣ Adepti-centric, Reincarnation + Isekai

The Mad Habits of a Rabbit ➣ Amber-centric, Reincarnation + Transmigration

The Rain Was Transient (But This Flood Is Eternal) ➣ Makoto-centric, Past Media Transmigration(?), Reverse Isekai

To Waterboard My Double ➣ Ayato-centric, Media Transmigration

Transmigration Group Therapy ➣ Past Media Transmigration And Isekai, Reverse Isekai

Why Us? (Who Share These Memories) ➣ Reverse Isekai + Reincarnation AU Fusion

Wraith of Violet Thorns ➣ Lisa-centric, Media Transmigration(?), System, Reverse Isekai at the end

‹ · ❆ ⁂ ❄ ⁂ ❆ · ›

✎ Other

Hydraulic Overdrive ➣ H2O: Just Add Water AU, idiots get themselves turned into mermaids basically

Khaenri'ah Is Dead, Long Live Khaenri'ah ➣ Butcher AU and obligatory Major Character Death, Khaenri'ah playable centric

Raining Storms Upon The Law ➣ Yelan-centric, System, Reincarnation AU

#✎ An Omnibus #×Incomplete . . . How troubling . . .×#Genshin Impact

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primusfortuna · 7 months

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Rouge ⟡ Love Wrapped in Ribbons of Gratitude (Moon 02)

[Normal Route] [01] [XX] [03] [Sun Route]

“Days of Running to Hide”

I spent the next few days running to hide from Rouge-san.

Rouge: Emma-chan, where are you~? I heard you were somewhere around here―

Harriet: Emma! This way! I can hide you up in the sky!

Emma: Huh!?

Rouge: All signs of her are... gone...?

Emilio: Harriet told us about the situation. We’ll do our best to help you.

Emma: Thank you so much... also, I’m sorry.

Cyrus: ...Looks like he wasted no time getting here.

Emilio: Uh-oh. Emma, you should go hide.

Emma: R-Right!

Rouge: Hey hey, have you guys seen Emma-chan?

Emilio: Oh, she said she remembered having something to do and went to the church.

Rouge: Huh~!? The knights at the church said she was with you guys.

Harriet: Rouge, you mustn’t underestimate how busy she is.

Rouge: .......Hey, can I ask something?

Rouge: Is she avoiding me?

Emilio: Of course not, this is just unfortunate timing.

Rouge: No no, I haven’t run into her at all lately. It’s really freaking me out.

Rouge: Don’t tell me she finally realized she hates me!? Did she get rid of me ’cause I’m a huge scumbag!?

Cyrus: ...Possibly.

Rouge: You’re terrible! You’re supposed to have my back and say “No way!”

Emma: ......

Emma: (Well, he’s definitely bothered. It doesn’t sound like he’s necessarily sad, though...)

Emma: (I guess that means the plan was a failure.)

In the following days, Love Day arrived― The event proceeded smoothly, lasting from dawn to dusk.

Emma: (Now that the party’s over, things will finally calm down. I’m glad we didn’t run into any major trouble.)

Emma: (But... I’ve made things awkward with Rouge-san.)

(Flashback)

Rouge: Emma-chaaan. Do you know where my ribbon went? I’m thinking of wearing it when I sing.

Emma: I-I remember you left it at the spot you were resting at earlier!

Rouge: Ah~ so it was there! I can always count on you, Emma-chan ♪ Thanks!

Emma: No problem! Okay, I gotta go now―

Rouge: Ah, wait a second, Emma-chan!?

(End flashback)

Emma: (I’m thankful for everyone’s help, but... I think it’s best if I just communicate directly with him.)

As if on cue, I catch the person himself heading towards the entrance gate. I let out a startled gasp.

Rouge: ......

Emma: (Rouge-san? I wonder where he’s going.)

Curious about why he’s heading in the direction opposite of the church, I decide to follow him.

Rouge: ......

Emma: (I was so sure he’d head for the bar... Why did he come here...?)

Rouge: My beloved, bring me to your side. My beloved, may we find our hearts once more entwined.

Emma: (Is this... the prince and princess’ love song?)

For some reason, Rouge-san sings those two lines to himself, over and over.

That scene is about the prince expressing his yearning for the princess after they’d been separated.

(Rustle!)

Rouge: Mm!?

Kitten: ...Meow~

Rouge: Haha, you scared me! What’s the matter, Meow-Meow? All alone as well?

Kitten: Meow!

Rouge: There there, come here. It must be boring being all by yourself, hm?

Rouge-san places the kitten on his lap, gently stroking its back.

Rouge: “Boring all by yourself,” huh...? Haha. What am I saying? You’d think being alone would be much more freeing.

Rouge: Somewhere along the line, I guess I had a change of heart~

Rouge: I don’t even feel like drinking anymore. I wonder why...

Kitten: Meow!

Rouge: Oh, are you trying to comfort me? You’re very sweet, Meow-Meow.

Rouge: Do you have someone you miss?

Kitten: Meow?

Rouge: Heh. I do.

Rouge: I’d give anything to see her smile right now.

Rouge: I really want to see you, Emma-chan.

Emma: ......!

Rouge: Ahh... I guess I’m really sad right now.

Emma: (“Sad”...)

Before I can think, I step out from my hiding spot in the shade of the trees.

Emma: Rouge-san, I’m so sorry!

Rouge: ......!

Rouge: ...EHH!?

← Prev ❖ Next →

#meister story #rouge #love wrapped in ribbons of gratitude

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fearofahumanplanet · 1 year

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Jane's Special Interest/Hyperfixation List

I'm mostly making this bc friends keep asking me about gifts

Will also likely be edited over time as I'm sure I've forgotten some things or will get more (there is a Lot going on in my brain on any given day)

Broad Things (aesthetics, genres, etc)

Anything gothic (like, classical gothic)

Victorian aesthetics

Pagan vibes

Anything punk (music, fashion, aesthetic, etc)

Skulls & bones

Masks (specifically face-covering masks) (favorites include plague doctor masks, kabuki masks, porcelain masks, Venetian carnival masks, gas masks, etc for reference)

Horror (as a whole genre, but particularly gothic horror, psychological horror, body horror, folk horror, sci-fi horror and slashers)

Mythology (any, but particularly Norse, Egyptian, Aztec, Celtic, Japanese)

History (most anything, but particular obsessions include Victorian London, 1700s-1800s America, Golden Age of Piracy, the Wild West, Edo period Japan, Mongols, WW2)

Culture (particularly anything that isn't Saxon - favorites include things like Mexican culture, Celtic, Chinese/Japanese, Brazilian, etc sets off all my brainworms)

Music (particularly metal, punk, and hip-hop)

Medieval weapons (particularly fixated on polearms)

LEGOs (stuff without theme usually, i like buildings)

Cyberpunk, steampunk, biopunk, cowpunk, all the punks...

Dark, urban & mythological fantasy

Noir & any crime fiction that focuses on the actual criminals (fuck police procedurals, I'm obsessed with gangs & serial killers) (this does not include true crime, i'm not into fetishizing my mental illnesses)

Soulslikes

Roguelikes / roguelites

First-person shooters (especially the older style, Doom, Gothic, Hexen, Shadow Warrior, Unreal, Quake, Halo, Dusk, mmmm)

RPGs (tabletop or video games)

Weird west

Dungeon crawlers

Vampires

Kaiju

Specific Things (franchises, games, etc)

Aliens / Predator / Aliens vs Predator

Arcane (the show, fuck everything else Riot has done) (mostly Jinx and Vi actually, fuck the rest of the show lmao)

Arkane Games (Dishonored, Prey 2017, Dark Messiah, Deathloop, etc)

Assassin's Creed

Binding of Isaac

Borderlands

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Civilization

Cthulhu Mythos (anything Lovecraft is in a hate way, but I love what happens when people who aren't racist expand on it)

Cyberpunk 2077

Dante's Inferno & Paradise Lost

Dark Horse Comics (Hellboy my beloved)

Darkest Dungeon

DC & Marvel (but like, in a hate way. I cannot stand them. Cannot stop thinking about them either. AAAA) (Jason Todd & Moon Knight are as obsessed as I get)

Destiny (hate way)

Deus Ex

Devil May Cry

Diablo and its rip-offs (Grim Dawn, Path of Exile, etc)

Disco Elysium

Discworld

Divinity

Dune

Dungeons & Dragons

Elder Scrolls

Fables

Fallout & Wasteland

Far Cry

Final Fantasy

Frictional Games (Amnesia, SOMA, Penumbra, etc)

Friday the 13th

The Forest

FromSoftware (Dark Souls, Bloodborne, Sekiro, Elden Ring, etc)

Godzilla

Grand Theft Auto (in remission)

Halo

Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice

Hotline Miami

iD Software (Doom, Quake, Wolfenstein, etc)

Insert-Shock (BioShock, System Shock, Prey 2017, etc)

Life is Strange (Chloe.....)

Mad Max

Metal Gear

Metro

Middle-Earth (Lord of the Rings, Hobbit, etc)

Monster Hunter

Mount & Blade

Niel Gaiman works (especially Sandman and Good Omens)

NieR

Paradox Games (unfortunately... Hearts of Iron, Crusader Kings, Stellaris, etc)

Resident Evil

Saints Row

SCP

Shadowrun

Silent Hill

Skulduggery Pleasant

Star Wars (Disney is working very hard to kill this one)

Stardew Valley

Stephen King works

Telltale Games (what an odd thing they were)

Those truck sim games (yeah i dont know)

Undertale

Valve (Half-Life, Portal, Left 4 Dead, etc)

Walking Dead (fuck the TV shows, i mean everything else)

Warhammer 40k/Fantasy and its derivatives

Watchmen (Rorschach....)

Witcher

Yakuza (like, the games, not the organized crime syndicate)

#no one will read this #i have reached a new high in self-indulgence #with my identity issues though i really need to have this written down #so you're welcome

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darkmatter-nebula · 11 months

Note

More from Tears of The Kingdom where we left off pls?

Hi, my dear @importantnightwerewolf! 👋😁

Thanks for the request!

Drabble: Tales From The Multiverse - The Abandoned Sky Island

Hunter opened his magenta eyes. The last thing he remembered was his and Colli's encounter with the Demon King. The young Grimwalker went wide eyed as he remembered as his beloved little brother suddenly disappeared!

Hunter was beyond concerned about the small starboy with otherworldly fluffy lavender hair and a heart of gold! Then, the blonde Knight noticed his right arm. "You're finally awake! Your arm was fatally injured. I had to replace it to safe your life." Someone spoke up.

Hunter was face to face with a Titan! The Titan, to be specific. Well, his spirit. "Where am I? And most importantly, where is Colli? Is my little brother alright?" Hunter asked, his voice was filled with concern for the kindhearted eternal child.

"You're on the Abandoned Sky Island. Unfortunately, I can't tell you anything about the whereabouts of your little brother. But it's possible that you will know more as soon as you go to the Temple." The Titan said sympathetically. As it turned out, Hunter had to obtain special abilities to enter the Temple.

Fortunately, it didn't take long for the Knight to get everything he needed to enter the Temple, where he did spot the light of his life, only for Colli to disappear again. Not that much later, Hunter noticed a breathtakingly beautiful dragon, with a lavender mane and... a multi-colored face!

His horns were shaped like crescent moons. This dragon seemed oddly familiar. He also was much smaller than every other dragon that was flying through the sky. Not that much later, Hunter finally was able to return to the surface of the Boiling Kingdom.

"Oh, Colli... wherever you are, I hope you're alright." Hunter whispered as he was thinking about the immortal celestial boy, whom he loved more than anything.

The End

#lost but now found au #the collector #hunter #clawthorne brothers #clawthorne-noceda-deamonne-whispers brothers #emporer belos #papa titan #fanfic #colliverse

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sakurablossomsagain · 1 year

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🍭MASTERPOST: Lista de todos los doramas (kdramas, jdramas, tdramas y cdramas) que he visto y algunas reseñas📺

Boys Over Flowers

♥You’re Beautiful

Love Rain

Big

♡Meteor Garden

♥Hana Yori Dango

♡Bromance

♥⭐️The Heirs

♡Pinocho

♥⭐️W Two Worlds

Doctor Strange

♡While You Were Sleeping

♡Love Is A Bonus Book

Goblin

♥⭐️Cheese In The Trap

♥⭐️Are You Human Too?

The King: Eternal Monarch

♡Kill Me, Heal Me

♡Doctor John

She Was Pretty

♥⭐️Secret

♡Familiar Wife

♥⭐️Save The Last Dance For Me

New Heart

The Entertainer

♡Doom at your service

♡Shopaholic Louis

♡The Smile Has Left your eyes

Cunning Single Lady

♥⭐️Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo

True Beauty

♡The Light In Your Eyes

The Bride of the Water God

♡He is Psychometric

♥⭐️Queen of the Ring

The Third Charm

Abyss

My girlfriend is a Gumiho

♥Shining Inheritance / Brilliant Legacy

♥A Korean Oddysey (Hwayugi)

♥Yumi’s Cells

You’re all surrounded

♥The Universe’ star

♥Mouse

Innocent Man

♥⭐️Extra-ordinary You

Scripting Your Destiny

♡Fight My Way

♡Who Are You: School 2015

Love Alarm

♡My Unfortunate Boyfriend

Bride of the Century

♡Do Do Sol Sol La La Sol

♥⭐️Itaewon Class

♡Our Beloved Summer

♡Healer

♡Backstreet Rookie

♡My ID is Gangnam Beauty

♡F4 Thailand: Boys Over Flowers

♡Amantes de la Luna Escarlata: Corazón Ryeo

♡The Ghost Doctor

Revenge Note

♡Hwarang

♡Dali and the Cocky Prince

♡The Sound of Magic

♡The Light In Your Eyes

Fukou-kun wa Kiss Suru Shikanai!

Go Back Couple

♡Star and Sky: Star in my Mind

♥⭐️Splash Splash Love

♡Star and Sky: Sky in my heart

I Picked Up A Star On The Street

♡Military Prosecutor Doberman-

♡Kieta Hatsukoi

♡Given

♡Yumi’s Cells 2

♡Angel’s Last Mission: Love

♡Extraordinary Attorney Woo

♡2gether

Still 2gether

♥Alchemy Of Souls

♡Best Mistake Series

♡At a distance, spring is green

Light On Me

♥Love Alarm 2

♡Love and Leashes

♡Imitation

The Birth Of A Beauty-

♥Because this is my first life

♡Hogu’s Love

♥Flower of Evil

Mairunovich

♡Sell Your Haunted House

♥Gaus Electronics

♡My Holo Love

♥20th Century Girl

♥⭐️Record Of Youth

♥⭐️Cinderella and four knights

♥⭐️Love Between Fairy and Devil

Moonlight

♡Flower Boy Next Door (Bella Solitaria)

De vuelta al 2008

Cenicienta otra vez

I really really like you

♥⭐️Shut Up Flower Boy Band (Amor Musical)

High Society

♥⭐️Mr. Queen

Mr Queen: The Bamboo Forest

Kokdu: Season Of Deity-

Empress Ki

♥⭐️Summer Strike

♡My romantic some recipe

My Secret Romance-

To All The Gyus Who Loved Me

♡⭐️The real has come!

♡Ditto

♡⭐️Till The End Of The Moon

♥⭐️Reset

Miracle

You Are My Hero

Black

Me no Doku Sugiru Shokuba no Futari

♡Love rerun

♥⭐️My Perfect Stranger

♡Fujoshi, Ukkari Gay ni Kokuru

♥⭐️Our Times (2015)

Crash Landing On You

Secreatly, Greatly

The Secret Life Of My Secretary

Police University

A little thing called love (2010)

My Lovely Liar

Great Man Academy

My Demon

Love crossed

♥★Start-Up

♥25 21

Significado de símbolos:

♡ = Lo amé! / ♥ = Lo volvería a ver infinitas veces! / ⭐️ = Favorito de siempre!

#kdrama review #reseña #long list #list #lista #español #reseñas de kdramas #compilation #compilación #índice #masterpost #my masterpost

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dreamsingcld · 2 years

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“words and ideas change the world.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟel • twenty • latina • she/her ･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

- obsessed with the moon, baking, reading, painting, and morally grey characters. bucky barnes stan <3

- follows, likes, replies, etc. come from different blog.

- sports blog : @.klavertz

- this is a multi-fandom blog. interests + what i post about most often can be found under the cut !

tv shows :

⤷ the falcon and the winter soldier, gilmore girls, moon knight, new girl, shadow and bone (nikolai lantsov my beloved fr), stranger things, ted lasso, other mcu series.

movies :

⤷ mcu movies, star wars movies, the princess bride, pride and prejudice, dead poets society, moulin rouge !, mamma mia ! + mamma mia ! here we go again.

music :

⤷ greta van fleet, queen, my chemical romance, måneskin, the clash, abba.

musicals :

⤷ newsies, anastasia, in the heights, moulin rouge !, tuck everlasting.

misc :

⤷ unus annus, batfam, oscar wilde, jane austen, literature in general, the moon, art, football (i am unfortunately an atleti stan /j), the casts of some shows/movies <3

#pinned post #el speaks

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queenclaudiabrown · 5 months

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Living Legend | Chapter Four: Questions and Answers

Content warnings: canon events within the media covered in this chapter, uncensored cussing, canon triggers of all media covered and referenced Media: Moon Knight Season 1 Episode 2 “Summon The Suit”; reference to Primeval Series 3 Episode 1 Word count: 6,939

Sarah woke up sore and stiff in her bed the next morning, in the exact same position she’d fallen asleep in. After crying her eyes dry, she’d taken the briefest of cursory showers and gone straight to bed.

She pried herself off the mattress and made a light breakfast, still queasy from the night before. After forcing it down, she applied enough makeup to mask her exhaustion and dressed in a white blouse, knit vest, jeans, boots, and her beloved caramel leather jacket. Her feet felt like lead as she biked away from her flat.

She was late arriving at the museum, and strangely enough she felt that she didn’t care. Black and yellow striped tape blocked off the Egyptian section- and the destroyed loo- from public access. Feigning ignorance, she strolled as nonchalantly as possible up to one of the security guards- mercifully, not the same one that had helped Arthur Harrow corner Steven yesterday. “What happened? Was there a robbery?”

“We’re not sure yet.” He told her. “One of the toilets got pretty wrecked- some pipes burst and it was really bloody bad, or so I’m told. But a bunch of the Egypt exhibit is screwed up too- like somebody ran around shoving things over or something. And the hallway between it and the toilet is a mess too, racks knocked over and stuff.”

“Weird.” Said Sarah with false casualness. “Hope they find out what happened.” She quickly moved away, turning her head as she scanned for Steven/the mummy dude or Harrow. To her relief, she spotted the former across the way, and they hurried toward each other.

He threw his arms around her immediately. “Thank God you’re okay.” He said, voice muffled. “I woke up alone in my flat and I didn’t know if you’d made it out alright.”

Okay, so Steven definitely wasn’t secretly a superpowered American with a magic mummy suit and glowing eyes. “I’m fine. I met him- the other bloke. He saved us and sent me home.”

He pulled back and nodded, then scanned her with his eyes. “Are you hurt? Did anything happen?”

She shook her head. “Scratches at the worst. He took care of the jackal pretty quickly. I sort of just… hid under the sink.” She averted her gaze, directing it to her hands as she picked at a hangnail. “I hope it’s not cowardly to say that. I didn’t have anything to defend myself with, and I thought that if I tried to fight it I could get torn into pieces by a monster I can't see.”

“It’s not cowardly, Sarah. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t try to fight it. If you had died- if you’d been killed by something sent after me- Sarah, I never would’ve forgiven myself.”

Her eyes watered. “It wouldn’t have been your fault, Steven, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Worry flooded his face again. “Sarah, I watched the security tape. The jackal’s not on it. It’s just us running around looking like bloody lunatics. And then there’s me carrying you out, but I’ve got this really mean look on my face.”

“He insisted on carrying me so I wouldn’t get in trouble for wrecking the toilet.” Sarah revealed. “I mean, I couldn’t see the jackal, so I guess it makes sense that the cameras couldn’t either. But why could you? And why could he- whoever he is- see it and kill it so easily? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately I haven’t got a bloody clue myself either. Just ’cause I could see the bloody thing doesn’t mean I know why I could, or what it was.”

“But we know who sent it.” Sarah reminded darkly. “Arthur fucking Harrow. Whatever shit he’s spreading about his and/or Ammit’s version of a good person is exactly that- shit. A good person wouldn’t unleash an invisible magic hell jackal on two innocent people who may or may not have a random scarab. Not that I want to talk to him personally, or have him be anywhere near you again, but he could’ve asked in person for us to hand it over. Instead he went straight to murder.”

“It did seem like a bit much.” Steven agreed in his Steven way.

At that moment, another one of the security guards- Kat, Sarah thought her name was- approached them and informed them that the museum director wanted to see them both in his office. She wished them luck before dashing off to stop a human tower of unattended small children from scaling a display.

A haze of stress and memory descended on Sarah, and she walked and sat robotically. She didn’t snap back into the present until the museum director set two plain white mugs of steaming coffee on his desk. “I should tell you the museum has no wish to press charges.”

“Okay.” Steven replied jitterily, quickly taking a mug. After a moment, he offered it to Sarah, who took it with a tiny twitching smile of gratitude. He returned it, taking the other cup for himself.

“But, Mr. Grant, Ms. Page-”

“-‘Doctor Page’-” she corrected lowly, a habit she’d formed over the years since receiving the title. For a moment, she remembered when she had corrected Lester upon their first meeting, but shook her head to banish it.

“-Dr. Page,” the man corrected himself annoyedly, “we’ve spoken to your colleagues.”

“Yeah?” Steven’s nerves were almost tangible, infecting Sarah with a stress more heightened than the one already threatening to empty her stomach.

“It’s all been a bit of a struggle for you recently, hey, Mr. Grant?” The man continued, sitting down into his chair. Sarah wasn’t even the one he was speaking to, but her jaw clenched at the painfully ‘sympathetic’ tone of his voice.

Steven didn’t seem to notice how truly condescending it was, dropping his head with something akin to a sigh. “Yeah.” He admitted, sounding ashamed and close to tears. Sarah wanted to throttle the man behind the desk. “A bit, a bit.”

“This particular group of doctors has a long-standing relationship with us.” She man continued, and Sarah drew in a deep breath and let it out through her nose to calm herself. It didn’t work, so she obnoxiously slurped her coffee instead, glaring at him over the rim. The beverage tasted awful- the creamer was probably either gone off or some artificial non-dairy substitute, and there was next to no sugar in it. The roast itself tasted cheap and almost stale.

“Doctors?” Steven questioned. The man slid a pamphlet across the glass top of the desk, and Steven nodded as he understood. “Oh.” He reached out and picked it up.

“They’re wonderful.” The man continued.

“Yeah?” Steven’s voice was timid but hopeful, and Sarah’s murderous desires surged. He didn’t deserve this.

“I could arrange an appointment.”

“Okay, yeah.” Steven was nodding. “It looks… it actually looks quite posh.” He chuckled. “Looks like they’re very good listeners, right?” He opened up the brochure and showed Sarah one of the artfully-structured ‘inviting’ pictures of an employee supposedly offering advice and a sympathetic ear, then held it up for the man to see.

“They really are.” The man agreed. “I know this is classic HR to say, but… but you’re not alone.”

Sarah was sure the man had good intentions, but his demeanor made her skin crawl. Not in a creepy way, but in that condescending, patronizing way she was so sick of receiving.

“Yeah? That’s like, part of the problem, innit?” Steven took a drink of his coffee as the self-spiteful words left his lips.

“Before you leave us, I’m sorry for the protocol of it, but… any museum property on your person?”

“No, I-I haven’t nicked anything, I swear. I…” He set down his coffee mug to rifle through his pockets, briefly producing a small folding mobile and a square-tagged key before tucking them away again. “No, nothing.”

The man cleared his throat and indicated, and Steven looked down at his nametag on the left breast pocket of his jacket. “Yeah.” Steven forced out after a moment, and Sarah could see how he struggled with losing literally every piece of something he’d worked so hard for and loved so much. He took off the tag, glanced down at it in his hands for a moment, and set it on the desk.

“Thank you, Mr. Grant, that will be all. You, Miss Page, are not being terminated. We’ve reviewed the security footage, and we’ve decided that although you were part of the incident, you weren’t the main culprit of the incident, and therefore you will also not be penalized in any way.”

For a moment, her heart jumped. She loved working Museum, and being in such a familiar place was almost like she hadn’t been torn out of her old life and universe and injected into this one. She could stay, without having to fight for it.

But in the few seconds that she straightened eagerly in her chair, lowering the cup from her lips, she made her decision.

“Actually, I’m quitting.” She declared, eyes hard and cutting as she glared at the man behind the desk. “I don’t want to work in a place that bullies and shames someone into feeling like he’s less than everybody else.” She chugged the rest of her coffee- gross as it was, she was going to need it- and reached up to unclip her own nametag from the white blouse she wore. She slammed it down on the desk, a tiny bitter part of her hoping it left a scratch on the glass top, and shoved to her feet. Linking her arm through a bewildered Steven’s, she marched for the door, tossing one last sharp-tongued remark over her shoulder:

“And it’s Doctor Page.”

Ten minutes later, what little they both owned that had been left at the museum was collected, and they had left the museum for the last time. Sarah was too angry to feel sad about it.

And now they were sitting on the edge of a fountain next to the living statue of a man Steven called Crowley. He was wearing a suit and monocle, pained gold with one arm outstretched. Blue eyes, nearly the same shade as Nick Cutter’s, were the only exterior sign that he was a living human and not an incredibly realistic art piece.

“Well, that’s it. I got the sack. I don’t blame ’em- I’m a vandal, I should’ve been arrested.”

“You’re not a vandal.” Sarah sneered- not at him, at the museum HR, at the chaos and injustice of it all. “You- him- whatever- saved both our lives, killing that… that thing, whatever it was. So what if you smashed up the sinks to do it? They can well afford to repair everything, with how much they make and how little they pay- paid- us.”

“I did- I did find things, hidden in my flat, I swear. I’m not joking.” Steven continued, still worked up over everything. He tilted his head, staring intently at Crowley. “That’s worth exploring, isn’t it? Like if I could find that storage locker, that might be my one chance to prove to myself that I’m not… mad.” His voice had changed, going from frustrated to hopeful. “Oh, mate, thank you.” Abruptly, he leaned forward and hugged Crowley, who startled and blinked at the unexpected physical contact. “Thanks, cheers.” Steven patted him on the back before standing up.

He was striding off before Sarah could blink, and she scrambled to pull a pair of tenners out of her wallet to drop into the gold-painted man’s hat. “Sorry about him, keep up the good work.” She rushed out before hurrying after her friend.

Steven produced the key from his pocket again, staring down at the maroon plastic intently. Reaching his side, Sarah peeked at it around his arm. “Do you recognize the logo?” She asked.

“Hmm? No, I don’t, but I reckon if I walk around enough I’ll find it somewhere. Wonder what the ‘J’ stands for.”

Sarah mentally groaned at the thought of the two of them traversing every street in the greater London area looking for this symbol. That was if it was even in London and not somewhere else. But she didn’t voice those thoughts. “We’ll find it twice as quick if we split up. Let me take a picture of that, and we’ll split up. If I find it, I’ll ring you, yeah?”

“You’d do that for me?” Steven looked at her in wonder, and her heart melted.

“Of course, Steven. You’re my friend.”

Thirty minutes later, Steven rang her, excitedly telling her he’d found the place. She asked him to wait outside, then ran down the sidewalks until she reached the address he’d given her. Soon enough, they were together again, and Sarah controlled her breathing and smoothed her hair as they walked into the building.

It wasn’t the right one, irritatingly, and they tried four more before they had any luck.

“Hiya. You alright?” Steven greeted the receptionist (if that was the word).

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, um, look, man, this is like, the fifth branch we’ve been to.” He began. “I’m looking for my storage locker. It’s under ‘Steven Grant’. If it’s not under ‘Steven Grant’, it might be under ‘Marc’… I don’t have a surname, just ‘Marc’. Would you have a look for me, if that’s alright? I know it sounds-”

“Of course.” The man cut him off, not rudely. “I know you. Number 43, right? I never forget a face.”

Sarah and Steven exchanged looks. “Must be it, then.”

The man led them to #43, down corridors formed from the corrugated steel sides of the surrounding lockers. Fluorescent lights came on overhead noisily as they entered their corresponding sections, bathing them in an odd greenish color. After unlocking and removing the padlock, the man left them, and Steven pulled the door open.

They stepped inside, Sarah finding a lightswitch and flicking it on. The door shut behind them as that same color flooded her vision, the light illuminating the contents of the room. Several rugged-looking plastic storage bins were stacked in places, a few others alone scattered about. A rack of shoes and other items stood beside the door, with what looked like some sort of pop-up clothes rack on another wall, a few shirts and pairs of trousers occupying its bar. A single military or camping cot had been set up, with a pillow on one end and a neatly-folded blanket or two on the other. Becker would’ve been all over it in a second, Sarah was sure.

“Whoa.” Sarah breathed. “Whoever the other bloke in your head is, he’s… blimey, I don’t even know what.”

Steven didn’t reply, slowly walking deeper into the room. He eventually crouched beside the cot, opening the military shoulder bag set atop a couple storage bins next to it. Sarah came up behind him, observing over his shoulder.

“Oh my God.” Steven said upon seeing the topmost of its contents- a shiny silver handgun with a black grip. He picked it up by the end of the grip, looking more weary than wary. He deposited it on the cot, and Sarah eyed it for a moment, wondering why Marc had it. It wasn’t common for Brits to have guns unless they were military or police, but Marc was American- sounded it, anyway.

Steven delved deeper into the bag, producing several thick wads of foreign banknotes belonging to multiple currencies. He let go of them in favor of a passport, opening it to find Steven’s face on the American interior. “‘Marc Spector’.” Sarah read the name attached to the picture. Well, now they had a surname.

Steven sighed and put the passport down. He moved a map out of his way, fishing something out from underneath it. “No way.” He breathed, producing… a golden metal Egyptian scarab? “It’s real, it’s totally real.” He touched it with his other hand, and two small but intricate wings popped out of its sides.

“This is what was in your pocket in the Alps?” Sarah asked, eyes tracing over every line of the object in awe.

Before Steven could answer, the scarab started flying, lifting off of his hand and leaving a small, flat piece behind. Sarah straightened, stepping backward away from it as it largely hovered a few inches above Steven’s palm. “Whoa.” He breathed, slowly getting to his feet. “I’d say you’re a compass, but you’re not pointing north.” He remarked, more or less following it as it moved.

“South, I’d say.” Sarah agreed. “Southeast?”

Abruptly, Steven’s posture changed, and the scarab dropped back into his hand. Sarah frowned. “What is it?”

“Marc?”

She drew in a breath, glancing between Steven and his blurry reflection on one of the room’s walls. “Is he talking to you again?”

Steven nodded. “There he is, here he comes.” He waved at his reflection. “Hello, man in the mirror. I was wondering if you’d pop up again.”

“Me too. I’ve got some questions for him.” Sarah stated, crossing her arms and glaring at the wall.

“A bit, yeah.” Steven replied to something Marc had apparently said. A moment later, he gestured about to room. “No? Well, a bit late for that innit? So what, what- am I, like, meant to be some sort of mad secret agent or something?”

Sarah had seen some strange things in her time… prehistoric creatures mistaken for pagan gods… time portals… monsters from the future… mad scientists… clones. She doubted the truth behind Steven and Marc would be much madder than that.

“More complicated?!” Steven suddenly demanded. “What, am I possessed? Are you like, a- a demon? Or-”

He cut himself off, or maybe Marc did, and Sarah’s eyes flicked between the two versions of her friend- though to her perception his mirrored image was merely that- as she waited for answers with bated breath. After a few moments, Steven glanced over his shoulder at the cot, then looked back at the wall. “Are you joking?” He spluttered. “Sleep- I’m never gonna got to sleep again! You hear me?! Look, I don’t care how bloody handsome you are-” Sarah snorted at the sheer insanity of that comment “-tell me what it is you are. What are you?”

Steven’s voice was rising, and it scared Sarah. Not because he was frightening, but because nothing worked up Steven Grant enough to make him raise his voice, and now his reflection was freaking him out more than literally having his life threatened had seemed to.

“Yes, bloody- yes.” All was silent for a few moments, but the next word out of Steven’s mouth made Sarah’s blood run cold. “Khonshu?” A moment later, he followed it up with “The Egyptian god of the moon?”

“Great, first we’ve got Ammit, now Khonshu as well. Steven, please tell me there’s not a freaky cult of Khonshu out there like Harrow and Ammit’s thing and you- Marc, whatever- are part of it.”

“Oh my God, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Steven suddenly said, turning his back to his reflection. Sarah’s coal-black eyebrows shot up. “Not you, Sarah, him, what he said.”

“Well, what did he say? I’m only getting your half of this bizarre conversation.”

“Erm- well, he says that he’s Khonshu’s Avatar, or something, and he, like, protects the vulnerable and delivers Khonshu’s justice to those that hurt them.” He scoffed, clearly not believing it. “I eat one piece of steak, and then bam, I go bonkers.”

Sarah frowned, considering, as Steven sat down on the cot. She thought back to that awful night six months ago- Marc clad in the grey super-mummy outfit, a metallic crescent moon on his chest matching the one he’d killed the predator with. Marc, or whatever his name really was, carrying her bleeding form to a hospital.

“Wait… Steven, he might have a point.”

“What?! Sarah, you can’t possibly be buying into this- this rubbish.”

“Maybe it’s not rubbish.” She replied, meeting his eyes. “Steven, six months ago, I was living in another universe, and the year 2009. Something awful happened to me- this horrible creature that had to do with my work nearly killed me, and I crawled through a portal and wound up in a bloody alleyway here in London in the middle of night. I was hurt, and it was going to kill me. But then Marc showed up- you know, in the outfit, all mummy-ish and stuff. He saved my life and killed the creature, and he brought me to the hospital. He never told me his name, but his voice- it’s the same voice you were speaking with last night when that suit popped out of nowhere in the loo and you killed the jackal.” Sarah took a breath, struggling to wrap her head around it all. “Mythologically, Khonshu is called upon to protect people from wild animals, or to help heal people and cattle. That night, I was vulnerable, and he saved me and killed that thing with some sort of crescent moon… throwing star… thing. Steven… it makes sense. It all adds up- the mythology, what he just told me, him saving me that night.”

Steven tore his gaze from hers and redirected it to the pistol beside him. “You want my body?” He demanded. “Right, yeah. Marc, how about this for a deal?” He shoved to his feet and grabbed the bag he’d found the scarab and gun in. “I’m gonna take this bag full of illegal shit, yeah, and I’m gonna go straight to the authorities, and I’ll tell them I threatened Sarah into helping me if they go after her, and they’re gonna put me away so I don’t hurt anyone else, and hopefully NHS will fill me with enough pills so that you get out of my head!”

As he had rambled this incredibly ridiculous plan, he zipped up the bag and began backing toward the door, and the overhead lights began flickering again. “Steven!” Sarah called, chasing after him. She paused, then darted back to grab the gun and tuck it into the waistband of her trousers, concealed by her leather jacket. “Steven, stay with me!”

Steven slammed the storage locker door and the flickering stopped. Down the hall from them, a light went out, and then one came on on their opposite side. “Steven, I don’t like this, what if it’s Harrow again?” Sarah worried. “What if there’s another jackal?”

God, she’d do anything for an anomaly to be the problem right now, even if it spat her back into the exact hellhole she’d crawled out of six months ago.

The second light began going on and off rapidly, its speed ominously ever increasing. “Oh God, oh God.” Steven muttered under his breath as the lights began switching on and off as if illuminating something moving rapidly toward them. Suddenly, Steven screamed and bolted in the opposite direction, pulling Sarah after him with a yank on her arm. The lights were flickering and flashing, and all around them the storage lockers were shaking. “Is it another jackal?” Sarah panted out, right on his heels.

“It’s Birdy again!” He replied in terror, confusing her for a moment before she remembered what he’d told her about the looming person with the giant bird skull head in the lift of his flat building. With this new context, Sarah realized that since he was apparently sharing a body with Khonshu’s Avatar (if this story was to be believed, which Sarah was starting to), he was probably seeing Khonshu in some form or other.

They began hooking corners, Steven looking over his shoulder repeatedly and still shouting and screaming. Turning yet another corner, Steven came to an abrupt halt, and Sarah skidded into his back, both of them unbalancing but somehow managing to stay upright. “What?” Sarah hissed. Steven didn’t reply, staring up toward the ceiling in terror. After a moment, she chanced: “Khonshu?”

Steven screamed again as a storage locker’s door banged open behind them, and Sarah grabbed at the collar of his jacket and yanked him backward. Spurred into motion again, Steven took off running once more, and the two finally escaped the maze and came into the brightly-daylit exterior sections of the building that the storage facility shared. Steven careened into the street, tripped and fell, and flung his arms up to shield his head as a motorcyclist screeched to a stop less than a foot away. Sarah stopped at his feet, hurriedly squatting with the intention to get him upright again.

The motorcyclist leaned over and peered down at Steven. “Marc?” She questioned with an American accent. “Where have you been?” Her gaze traveled to Sarah. “And who’s this?”

Steven looked up at the woman cautiously. “Layla?”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “This is Layla?”

‘Layla’ cocked her head. “Yep. And I still don’t know who you are.”

Sarah opened her mouth to answer, but stopped herself. “We’re kind of being chased right now- second time in twenty-four hours, might I add, getting real sick of this- so if you don’t mind, can we save the introductions and explanations for when we’re not possibly about to die?”

Layla eyed her for a moment, then gave a half-shrug and canted her head. “Alright. But I definitely can’t take you both on this.” She indicated the motorbike she was riding.

Sarah nodded. “Right, well, I can take the bus, since you two seem to know each other.” She wasn’t sure how much Steven and Layla had spoken on what was apparently Marc’s phone, but she knew that they had talked, and Steven knew Layla enough to recognize her. “We’ll meet up at your flat, and I’ll take the bus, yeah?” She pulled Steven to his feet.

“Right, yeah, cheers, I’ll… sounds good.”

Layla thrust a second motorcycle helmet into Steven’s chest, and Sarah nodded her head in a decisive farewell before she turned and sprinted down the street the way Layla had come. As soon as she could, she climbed up onto the outside of a double-decker bus and rode holding its rail until they reached a street near their flats, and from there she walked. Well, jogged.

Sarah got there before Steven and Layla, and she paced nervously for a few minutes before resolving to make herself a cup of tea. Steven wouldn’t mind, and she made a mental note to buy him an extra box of it even though she hadn’t taken the last teabag.

She was sipping the hot beverage and leaning up against his kitchen counter when the door opened, Steven leading Layla through. Seeing Sarah, his nervous expression relaxed slightly. “Oh good, you’re here. You make it alright?”

Sarah nodded. “No trouble on my end. You?” She asked, watching Layla- who she could now see was both really pretty and not white now that the helmet was gone and her eyes had adjusted and they weren’t in a tense situation- as she slowly meandered into the flat.

“No, no, we were good.”

Layla bent down to look at Gus the goldfish, tapping on the glass as she observed him. There was something strangely magnetic about fish- young or old, people loved to stare at them and watch them, in tanks or in the ocean, in real life or in videos or films.

“I just want my life back.” Steven said quietly after a long few moments.

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Layla remarked acidly, standing straight again.

“No, sorry, I- I wasn’t talking to you, just talking to myself, sort of.” Steven rushed to apologize.

Layla took notice of the bedroom area. “Uh, this is your flat, Marc?”

“Uh, I’m Steven.” He corrected.

She didn’t seem to care. “Are you living here with someone else?” She demanded, piercing him with her gaze that quickly flicked to Sarah. “Her, maybe?”

“‘Her’ has a name, which I’m happy to tell you now.” Sarah responded. “It’s ‘Sarah’, by the way. Doctor Sarah Page. And no, Steven and I aren’t like that- we’re just friends, that all, and until we got sacked this morning we were colleagues.”

“Yeah, no, exactly, Sarah’s right. This is my mum’s flat.” Steven agreed.

“Okay, so you guys are- are talking again?”

Steven made a humming noise of confirmation, surprising Sarah. She didn’t know Mrs. Grant (or ‘Ms.’) had started returning her son’s twice-daily messages.

Layla picked up a book off one of Steven’s many bookcases. “Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?” She questioned, her pronunciation of the French name flawless.

“Yep.” Steven confirmed, then surprised all both women as he began reciting one of the poems in French:

“N’écris pas. Je suis triste, et je voudrais m’éteindre.

Les beaux étés-”

Surprising Steven and Sarah alike, Layla joined in:

“-sans toi, c’est la nuit sans flambeau.”

“Oui, oui.” Steven half-joked. “Yeah, she’s my favorite poet.”

Layla frowned. “Um, no, she’s my favorite.”

Sarah sipped her tea. “Can’t two people have the same favorite poet? My mother and father met trying to grab the same copy of one of Phyllis Wheatley’s Poems.”

“He knows she’s my favorite, and I know he knows that, so it’s stupid for him to act like he doesn’t know that and she’s his.” Layla told Sarah, only slightly clarifying things. She wandered across the flat, gesturing with the book to the heaping piles of Egyptian books on Steven’s desk. “So you’re learning French and hieroglyphics?” She prodded.

“Yeah, well, that’s not that impressive, really. It’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language.” Steven told her, strolling over to the desk as well. “It’s more like a-”

“-Like an alphabet.” Layla completed shortly.

“Yeah, and… well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it.”

“Sure.”

Steven opened a book and pointed to the text on its page. “For example, like this one here, right?”

“Funeral rites.” Layla cut to the chase.

“You’re Egyptian, aren’t you?” Sarah guessed, drawing their attention to her. “Whether you were born there or not, it’s in your blood, right? I was trying to figure out what your ethnicity could be. Like, my mother’s from India and my father’s from Morocco, even though they both live here in England and I was born here, so I learned Arabic and Hindi from them, but I was fluent in English first. If you’ve got ties to Egypt, it’d make sense for you to know some form of the language.”

Layla eyed Sarah rather critically. After a moment, she spoke. “You know, I thought I wasn’t gonna, but I like you. You’re smart, and you’re not mean about it.” Sarah offered her a small smile, unexpectedly touched by those words. “And I’m just- I’m not buying this, Marc. Use whatever accent you want, yeah, let’s just get this over with.” She strode across the flat and picked up a bag, from which she produced a document envelope. “You sent these papers but you never signed them.”

“Did I? Uh….”

Layla presented them to him matter-of-factly. “This is what you wanted.”

Steven fished in his breast pocket for his glasses. “Have a look here….” He said, taking the papers to read over them.

“After everything, you told me that we needed to move on.” Layla said.

“Alright... divor- divorce?” He looked up at Layla in surprise.

“Yeah, we doing this or not?” She demanded, nodding at the papers.

He glanced back down at the documents. “I would never divorce you.”

Sarah tilted her head as everything clicked into place. “You’re not just angry, you’re hurt. You don’t want to divorce Marc, but you think that he’ll never let you be with him, so you’re going along with it, and you’re not even willing to hear Steven out about him not being Marc.”

Layla shot a look at her, but otherwise ignored her. “What are you doing?” She demanded incredulously of Steven.

He removed his glasses, his face earnest and his voice soft. “Look, you seem absolutely lovely. This Marc, on the other hand, is a right twit, yeah?” He looked over at a small mirror on his wall as Sarah chuckled at the description. He stammered a moment as he looked back at Layla. “I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening. I don’t expect you to believe me; I honestly don’t really believe myself. All I can do is try to- try to show you what I found, yeah.” As he spoke, he went over to the bag he’d taken from Marc’s storage locker, putting the divorce papers down.

Sarah threw back the last of her tea and headed over to them, standing about a meter behind Layla with her arms crossed. “I found this bag in the storage locker.” He continued. “Well, Sarah and I found it.” He opened it, rifling through the monies. “And inside of it is all sorts of things, most interestingly-” He paused abruptly, and Sarah frowned.

“‘Most interestingly’ is what?” Layla pressed.

Steven looked back down at the bag, a myriad of emotions on his face. “Nothing.”

What had Marc said to him to make him stop? Sarah added another bullet point to her ever-growing mental to-do list: smack Marc next time he was controlling Steven’s body.

“Nothing?” Layla repeated disbelievingly.

“Nothing, never mind.”

“What’s in there?” Demanded Layla, going for the bag even as Steven tried to stop her.

“Nothing. Wait, wait-” He was cut off as Layla shoved him aside and delved into the bag. “Bloody hell.”

Layla ceased her search, pulling the golden scarab out of the bag with a combination of betrayal, anger, and wonder on her pretty face. “The scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti- what we fought side by side for.”

“No-” Steven tried to interject, but Sarah was still processing the new information Layla had casually blurted out. An ushabti was a small representative figurine used in Ancient Egyptian funeral practices, one of the many items that was put into someone’s tomb. So, apparently Ammit had a tomb and an ushabti- possibly separated from each other, given that Layla had said that the scarab led to the figurine instead of just Ammit’s tomb- and the scarab was indeed a compass of sorts, but drawn to a specific object or location instead of the magnetism of the North Pole. Thirdly, Ammit’s tomb and/or ushabti was likely located somewhere in Egypt, as it was to the southeast- the direction the scarab had floated in- and a reasonable place for a tomb of an Egyptian demon deity to be located.

“This whole one-man show is just- what, so that you can keep it for yourself?” Layla demanded, cutting off Steven and returning Sarah’s attention to her.

“No no no, I swear-” Steven again tried, but Layla wasn’t done yet.

“Why? After all that we’ve been through? No, just stop! Stop! I’m supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in- what, a gym bag?”

“Take it! Take it, you can have it.” Steven told her, clearly taking the woman by surprise. “Take it, take it, I don’t want it. I swear. Have it.” By his voice, he was close to tears, so very worked up over the stress of the last few days and this massive burden that had descended upon him. “I am not Marc Spector. I’m Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop- well, I used to work in a gift shop- and I think I’m in real danger. Me and Sarah both are, and I think maybe that you might be the only person that can help us. Please.”

At the Egyptologist’s name, Layla looked over at her. “He’s telling the truth, Layla. This Marc bloke’s only been speaking to him for a couple days- through mirrors, apparently- and he somehow got ahold of that scarab, but now there’s this Ammit-worshipping cult creeper guy who set an invisible Egyptian jackal on us last night trying to get it back. Steven could see it, I couldn’t, but it very nearly killed both of us, and then Marc took over his body or something and grew some fancy mummy armor and killed it.”

Layla’s face had softened, the anger draining out of it and giving way to sadness. No- heartbreak. “You really don’t remember why we’ve been looking for this?” She questioned Steven, now sounding like she herself was fighting back tears as she held up the scarab. “Our adventures… or our life together?”

“Oh, God, I wish I could.” Steven told her, and Sarah knew he meant it.

Abruptly, there was knocking on the door. “Steven Grant? Can we have a word?” A feminine voice asked through it.

“See?!” Steven hissed, pointing at it. “Oh, God, they’ve come for me.”

“Why?” Layla queried.

“I vandalized the toilet.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, shaking her head fondly. “You did not. Marc did, when he was killing that bloody jackal thing. Besides, the museum’s not pressing charges, remember?”

The woman knocked again. “Yeah, just a minute.” Steven called.

She knocked more. “Steven Grant?”

“Yeah?”

“DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy here.” The woman replied as Layla pocketed the scarab.

“Yeah, one- one second.” He opened the door and peered through the opening. Layla raised a finger to her lips to signal Sarah not to speak. “Hello, officers.”

“Steven Grant?”

He nodded, and Layla made a silent beeline for one of the windows. “I think so, yeah. I mean- yeah, yep, yes. That’s me- 100% Steven Grant.” Sarah shook her head at the absolutely overkill confirmation, then frowned. Why was this woman so insistent about his name? “Sorry, I was just having a bit of a day.” He apologized.

“Mind if we come in, Mr. Grant?”

“Oh, um, actually, right now isn’t-” he looked over his shoulder back into the flat, but his protests were cut off.

“Appreciate it.” A man said, thrusting the door open and strolling in. Sarah narrowed her eyes at his behavior- surely that wasn’t legal.

“Anyone else here with you?” The female DC asked, her eyes lighting on Sarah a moment later.

“Just me.” Sarah smiled. “What seems to be the problem, officers?”

They didn’t answer, both of them walking deeply into the flat, more intrusively than Layla had. “So, um… yeah. Is this about the toilet?” He asked nervously. “’Cause it’s been dealt with, yeah. I’ve been sacked, and uh, yeah, that’s….” he trailed off, seeing the female DC standing by his ringed-with-sand bed, holding the singular ankle restraint. “I have a sleeping disorder.” She dropped it and walked away. “And, yeah, well- the museum said that they, uh, wouldn’t press charges as long as, uh-” The sound of his shower curtain being yanked back cut him off briefly. “-as long as I do it in installments. They- They uh, they said that I could.”

Steven turned abruptly to see the male DC standing quite close to him, holding a small pyramid. “What’s this?”

“It’s a paperweight.” Steven answered.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Paperweight shop.”

The sound of pealing bells reached their ears, and the female DC strode toward the window Layla had been heading for- and apparently snuck out of, since she was missing and the window was open. Sarah cursed her failure to notice that.

“You’re in possession of a stolen item.” The man told Steven as he sat down.

“Oh, yeah… no, I don’t have it.” He told him as the DC went into the bag the scarab had been in. Sarah subtly tugged her jeans higher up on her hips and the back of her jacket further down to better conceal the gun that had also been in that bag. Without him being able to produce a legitimate firearms license, he’d’ve gotten into a world of trouble for having it in the flat. “I don’t, no. It’s not here.”

The male DC took Marc’s passport out of the bag, and Sarah sucked in a breath quietly. “‘Marc Spector’?” He read, and Sarah finally realized something very suspicious about him- he was American.

So were Marc and Layla. And Arthur Harrow.

And this American DC, who clearly held no regard for at least some laws (Danny had been very emphatic in teaching the team their rights in case they ever had trouble with police, whether it was anomaly-related or not), was very intently searching for something. Sarah was willing to bet it was the scarab, and that these coppers weren’t actually coppers, but cultists of Ammit. She casually put one hand on her hip, readying it to whip out the pistol.

“That’s not mine.” Steven told the man.

“Funny that.” He sneered, sauntering up to Steven and lowering himself to Steven’s height, holding the passport up and open. “Fella looks just like you.”

“Twin brother adopted at birth.” Sarah deadpanned.

“Fake passport and a thief?” The woman said, and Sarah felt the pit of dread in her stomach worsen as she realized where this was going. The man clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I think you best come with us, son.”

“And her.” The man jutted his chin indicatively at Sarah. “Aiding and abetting, accessory after the fact.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, not even bothering to defend herself. Both fake cops- she was sure of it now- produced handcuffs, and when Steven tried to back away, the man shoved him down face-first on the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back. Fearing the gun would be discovered, Sarah presented her hands to the woman with a calm façade. They were ‘escorted’ to the car and put into the backseat without so much as a mention of their rights. Steven seemed too upset and distressed to notice that error in their disguises.

One of Sarah’s lines is a slight variation of one of Amy Pond’s lines from Doctor Who, specifically “Vincent and The Doctor”.

#primeval #moon knight #sarah page #steven grant #layla el-faouly #khonshu #the british museum #queenclaudiabrown

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atlaese · 2 years

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To sate your curiosity – and I'm going off the top of my head here, so excuse me should I list something you don't associate with: I think Umbrella Academy, the Boys, Moon Knight, Obi-wan Kenobi, and the recent hyped-up sludge that is the Sandman, are all dogshit-level-bad. (Latter one is a beloved comic of mine, hence is why my utter disappointment/disdain knows no bounds.) Also, small addition: I think Stranger Things 4 was only okay.

I'd be happy to dive into extensive details on the Sandman, or any of the listed, if you so much as care, but I'd also respect it if you chose not to indulge in my criticism for fear of ruining your obsession. (Plus, I don't want to flood your blog with negativity, like the spiteful twat that I am.)

Ps: immensely relieved your job turned out to be great, hope it stays this way! <3

-love letter anon

ooh that is a conflicting opinion 👀 i haven’t watched the boys or anything star wars related, but i do like the sandman & the moon knight series! And i really love tua, haha! But i also never read the comics so i can’t compare the series to the source material — unfortunately, it’s really a gamble if they can pull it off or not. For me personally, i love it, but i can understand if you adore the comics and it isn’t similar or just feels off that you can’t relate to it!!

And i agree about ST. I loved the first volume, but the second volume really felt like they just kept adding and adding on to a story that didn’t need anything else. They dragged out the plot in those ridiculously long episodes and i honestly don’t remember anything about them. I hope they wrap season 5 up decently!!

But i’d love to hear your opinion, truly!! I’m especially interested because of Neil Gaiman’s involvement in the netflix series — i had guessed with him on board it would be a smash hit for the comic book lovers, but apparently it isn’t? Anyway, I’d love to hear more of it, if you’re willing to share :)

Thank you!! :) i’m glad too 💓

#arianswers #love letter anon 💓

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ventisehe · 3 years

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crying on their wedding day, or not / genshin impact / part two

this is the second part of crying on their wedding day. i didn’t add dainsleif and baizhu because i don’t have enough creative juice to squeeze them in.

requested by: @bakuhoe-is-my-bakubro

includes: venti, kaeya, xingqiu, scaramouche, razor, albedo, chongyun, xiao, kazuha

warning: unedited, not proofread, different variation of not seeing the bride before the wedding ceremony, written before kazuha was released

part one

THOSE WHO WILL NOT CRY

VENTI

Although his wings that have soared through the vast open azure skies was as ancient as the winds that swept ever so delicately through the lands that made up Teyvat, although his curious viridescent hues have become quiet witnesses to numbers of renowned and untold tales of mortals across nations, no matter the countless years he devoted trying to cognize the mortals and their atypical behaviors, Barbatos – or Venti, as he refers to himself now – can never truly understand how so many human beings can stay in one place with one person.

Before he had even come to be the Anemo Archon, all that Venti knew was how to heed the call of the wind. To him, it was confounding how mortals do not have the similar urgency as he to follow the winds. Even when he had taken the form of his dearest friend, Himmel, and has elapsed through myriad of seasons and centuries, still he soared gently in the air, lyre in his possession as he sung melodies of his own composition and strummed symphonies for those who yearn to hear his voice, and with his braids billowing in his travel to a destination even he cannot tell yet.

One has made an attempt - and unfortunately, a fruitless one - to make sense to him why some has gone against the heed of the wind, a very peculiar decision in the eyes of someone like him. His form nothing but a mere wisp at that time, nothing but a small creature with little understanding, and he remembered he was seated on the shoulder of his companion as they perched by the edge of a mountain, legs dangling and kicking gently back and forth. They basked in the caress of the wilting warmth as the sun bid its farewell.

Himmel was humming a tune with the corners of his mouth curving up and his eyes closed, and Venti's small frame thrummed with delight at the euphony he made.

And in the serene quiet, his dear friend spoke, "Someday, you'll find yourself wanting to stay somewhere. For something, or for someone. You don't understand now, but when you come to love one thing, you'll always want to be close to their side." Himmel turned to him, a subdued smile etched across his features, and upon catching sight of the sincerity and fervor Himmel in his bright eyes, Venti cannot help but mirror his sentiments and reciprocate his smile the best he can with the body he manifested in.

"When that day comes, you'll understand why many choose to . . . stay." Venti tilted his head to the side, and Himmel let out a small chuckle once he catches on the puzzlement that he displayed in his actions. "Don't look at me like that. I know you're curious about the whole marriage thing. Who knows, maybe someday you'll find yourself a nice fellow wisp and - "

All it took for Himmel to cut his statement short and burst out in laughter was how Venti prodded against his neck as a feeble attempt to make him quiet down.

And as Himmel has predicted, Venti - in time - did understood.

Venti was able to perceive the reasonings of mortals to turn their heads away from the beckon of the wind, to live a peaceful and quaint life, some alone, and some with their spouses. Himmel had done his absolute best to explain to him the wanders which are humans, and gleefully watched as Venti attentively listened to every word he spoke.

However, at the end of the day, Venti was still a free spirit. He can never be tied down to one place, much more to another living being. He will always find himself favoring the whisper of the winds in Teyvat, adrift and letting himself go adrift.

It was after he had witnessed the life in Himmel's eyes leave, heard his last breath, the whisper of the triumph of Mondstadt in achieving freedom, and his final request as he stroked Venti's quivering figure - A sad smile has been painted upon Himmel's brims as he gazed at the smaller entity weeping under his touch, "I ask only for one last favor from you, my dearest friend. Look after Mondstadt, after our people, for me, and never let everything we've sacrificed go for naught."

Venti was still a free spirit, but with what happened to Himmel, he longed to understand how he saw the world. It seemed he understood it differently than he did. And thus, he took the form of his beloved friend, and ventured closer than he had before to mortals.

The day he found a place in The Seven, the fateful he became the Anemo Archon, Venti has not once missed an event with his people. He celebrated with them in festivities, cried with them in their sorrows, aided them in battles against transgressors or wars within their own mind. He laughed with them, ate with them, drank with them, and his love for his people grew everyday.

But still, he can never stay for too long.

Venti tried to, he really did, for his friends, as his last gift before he lets go of the pain of losing him. But cannot force himself to remain in one place if his heart kept searching for places to explore, people to meet, discover the secrets of Teyvat.

Hopelessness was beginning to gnaw inside him as hundred of years has passed, and he has already traveled through long distances and saw generation after generation of his people in Mondstadt, and yet nothing he has yet to fulfill his own promise to hos friend.

Perhaps this was the way it was supposed to be. Maybe only mortals are giving the ability to be content and stay, but the Anemo Archon was forever to be appearing and disappearing - always, always stringing along with the wind.

And Venti believed that thought of his, and it stuck to him throughout many more years in Teyvat.

Not even a dust of faith was left in the ruins of what he now thought of as a vanquished promise, marring Venti with a wound in his heart, and a doubt in his standing as an Archon. However, it was through this belief that took him by surprise when he met a rather strange woman at the last day of the Windblume Festival, and in Stormterror’s Lair, no less.

The Honorary Knight, and their odd traveling companion have long been gone after they bid him farewell and a safe travel in his return to his abode – or whatever dwelling was the closest he could denote as home – leaving Venti by himself to reminisce in the ruins of where Old Mondstadt once stood.

The heavens were a color of black dotted with stars and the moon. The wind has grown softer, as though to accompany him in this lonesome hour, leaving chaste kisses against his pallid skin. From afar, the City of Mondstadt remains lit with lanterns and plethora of flowers. Even in this distance, he can oversee the joy that exuded from the people as they celebrated the remaining hours of the festival and take in the fragrance of the flowers friends and partners exchanged with one another. It was a beautiful sight to behold if one sits in such a desolate and dark place, in the very tower that he had confronted Stormterror – no, it was Dvalin now, Stormterror has perished along with the danger of the past.

But a presence – curious, sorrowful – has intervened in the quiet evening Venti thought he had saved for himself. He stood up from the platform where he has previously perched upon and took off to take a gander in the Lair, and it did not take a moment longer for him to spot a figure nearby. There, standing on top of a boulder clad in a crestfallen expression was a lone woman. She was casting her gaze around Old Mondstadt, and the breeze blew her tears away,

Venti had never seen her before. He had met every family, every person, in Old Mondstadt, and the same was to be said to the generation that followed after them. He knew them well, recalled their quirks and appearances, and this woman has no resemblance to any of them. Has she come from another nation?

Venti made it his point to glide down and noiselessly land behind her, but it seems his efforts have failed him for this stranger spoke the second his feet made contact with the ground.

"I wonder how this place used to be." You stated, and Venti was unsure whether you have felt his presence or you were speaking to yourself.

“So, this is Old Mondstadt.” She stated in a murmur. Her voice was laced with awe, but with evidence of forlornity. “I heard rumors about what happened here, and-and the thing with Stormterror too. Archon, I wish someone would tell me the real story of the City of Freedom. Back in my home, we’re not even allowed to learn much about the Archons of other nations. It’d be foolish to just trust rumors.”

There was something about her that piqued his interest. He did not know what it was. Maybe it was the way she talked about Mondstadt, her interest in the history of his city and his people, the sincere sorrow she felt for what the fallen tyrant of Mondstadt had had done to his former subjects, and how he had forced their hands to rebellion to protect their nation.

Venti spoke before he can stop to think. “If you’d like, I can retell the story of how Old Mondstadt came to be. I’m well versed in the history of this city, so rest assured everything you’ll hear is the truth.” He carved a smile to his lips. “And I am a Bard, so you have no need to worry about me chatting your ear off. All it takes is an audience and my lyre to get me started. Of course, a private performance will cost you, but since you’re new in the city, I suppose I can – ”

His breath was taken away when the stranger turned to face him, and his words withered from his tongue. Ever seen a speechless bard? It was a sight people will scarcely see.

Could he ever compose a song to even come close to the lovely view that was before his eyes? Gleaming curious pair of eyes, a smile so eager to listen, hair flitting with the wind as his heartbeat raced –

Venti was used to captivating his audience with his songs and stories. However, this time, it was he who was captivated, and when he took out his lyre and played a sweet tune to sing the story of his beloved city, with this gorgeous woman listening to him with bright and shining eyes, Venti knew then that he wanted to play for her every song he knew, every story he saw and heard, to the end of time.

You told him your name after his song, and you came all the way from the isolated nation of Inazuma. It took him by surprise how you have confidence in him to reveal to him your identity and place of birth. Surely, not everyone will trust a stranger who has appeared out of nowhere who offered to sing them a song. But then again, Venti trusted you as quickly as you trusted him, and now it was his turn to listen as you confide in him.

You have escaped from your home nation and survived out in the seas under the heat of the sun and threat of starvation for days until a compassionate Captain from Liyue, and her crew found you and delivered you to safety. And it was after your recovery that you fled to Mondstadt, the opposite of the nation you were born in.

Venti found himself sitting down in front of you as you told him your story, sight never leaving your frame as he did so. You were no Bard, and you were no storyteller, but he cannot tell the time or noticed the sun has set as you regaled him with story of Inazuma and your life after and before your escape. He was enchanted with the way you spoke, how you looked about Old Mondstadt with saddened awe, the fervidness in your voice – Have I found myself a rival? Thought Venti, eyes softening as you went on about your admiration for the affability and generosity his people have shown you.

When you left that day, you promised to come back and when you do, you shall ask him to sing to you more of his songs. At first, Venti was hesitant to believe your promise, but to his relief and happiness, when he saw you in the same place in the ruins undoubtedly waiting for him with your eyes closed and relishing in the wind that rushed past you. Venti always came to Stormterror’s Lair to oversee what remained of his old home, but for once, his sights were held torn and you have all his attention.

Seeing you keep your promise of return made his day, but when you whipped your head to face him with a smile, waving a hand as you asked him to sit with you, Venti knew that his heart desired yours. Was it a wise decision to fall for someone you've only just met? Certainly not, but he was an Archon who had too much time but too little for those who he holds dear. He cannot afford to be unsure when his time with you was limited.

So, he decided – when the day is right and the wind is quiet, he shall make his feelings for you known.

It became a routine for the two of you to meet in Stormterror’s Lair and share your stories with one another, Venti always telling his in songs, as a Bard would. There was never a dull moment between the two of you, and every story told in the ruins were to be fascinated of. And soon, it wasn't just stories. Soon, he was finding out more about you, knowing you better until he couldn't get you out of his head.

It became a routine for the two of you to meet in Stormterror’s Lair and share your stories with one another. Venti always told his in the form of songs, as a Bard would, you will always applaud him after, to which he would respond with a melodramatic bow. There was never a dull moment between the two of you, and every story spoke in the ruins and the silence of the night was to be fascinated of. He was learning more about you, knowing you better, until he couldn’t get you out of his mind when his head falls against his pillow.

Venti cherished these times he had with you. He knew it won't be long until you were gone. He knew his fate as an Archon – seeing loved ones perish and more to come, and the cycle continued.

He hasn't even told you about his identity.

Venti was grateful for the Traveler for pushing him to tell you about his feelings and his standing in Teyvat, but he was still uncertain. What would you say if he confessed to you? What will you say if he admits to being the Anemo Archon? Will things change between the two of you? Will you leave? Venti can’t think about that.

Venti grew worried when you didn’t come to Stormterror’s Lair one day, and then another, and his concern grew as days turned to weeks. Everyday he found himself visiting Stormterror’s Lair in hopes of seeing you waiting for him again, but he was always left disappointed. You did not mention going on an adventure or a commission, so his worry was warranted. Were you safe or were you simply sick of him?

When the day you finally appeared in the Lair, relief washed over Venti and he practically jumped off the broken tower he frequently resided and made haste towards you. But his footsteps faltered when he found no traces of a smile on your face. He can see the relief and joy, but the smile was absent. From that, Venti’s own beam wilted as he walked over to you with reluctant steps.

When he came close to you, he opened his mouth to ask how you have faired for the past weeks and question your abrupt disappearance when you said something that took him by surprise.

“I know who you are.”

It felt like his entire world has stopped for a moment as he stared at you with disbelief smearing his countenance. How ever did you discover the truth? Certainly, he had similarities with his statues, but none of his people nor visitors from outside ever pieced the puzzle together.

He averted his gaze, ashamed. Why was he wallowing in shame? Or perhaps was this regret of not telling you sooner? Did you feel betrayed? Will you cast him away?

“But how . . . ”

“The man at the Tavern told me, Master Diluc.” You answered. “I was telling him about you, and I guess he thought I already knew of you being the . . . Anemo Archon.”

“Is that why you were gone for weeks?” Venti questioned, and when you nodded in response, he winced. He can’t help but think of the worse – She’ll leave me.

Venti looked away. “Ah, I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, it is hard to believe someone like me is an Archon.” He laughed out, but the humor was nonexistent in his statement. “So, how do you feel about that?”

Venti let out a gasp when you threw yourself to him and enveloped him in a tight hug. Venti froze at your actions and waited for you to withdraw, but when you did not, he slowly accepted your embrace with gratefulness. He didn’t know what you do this, but he was more than happy to reciprocate your actions before he lets you go.

It won’t matter, anyway. He’ll hear the winds calling for him somewhere soon. Maybe letting you go now would hurt less in the long run.

“Are you not . . . angry?” Venti asked as he closed his eyes and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh Archons, no, Venti. I could never hate you.” You assured him in a whisper and from the brokenness on your voice, Venti knew you were crying. “Those times you told me about Barbatos . . . all the stories about his past . . . everything he had gone through . . . ” You murmured, tone lowering. “ . . . you must have been so hurt and lonely.”

He didn’t know why your words shot through him. He can feel tears streaming down his cheeks as memories of his past and the continuous pain of loss and regret caught up with him. Finally, after thousands of years, his false smile was shattered.

How pathetic. He thought. An Archon weeping in front of a mortal that he is in love with. Could things get any worse?

Your hand stroked his hair, comforting him as he cried against your shoulder and in your arms.

“I was . . . ” He breathed out, choking as he tightened his grip around you. “ . . . it never stops hurting . . . I keep seeing Himmel, and everyone, and – ”

He couldn’t finish what he was saying and just relished in the comfort of your arms, breathing in your scent.

“I don’t understand what you’ve been going through these thousands of years, and I never will, but it’s okay now, Venti.” You whispered in his ear, and he can detect the compassion and love lacing your voice. His heart hammered against his chest. “You have me. You don’t have to pretend everything is okay. I’m here for you. I want you to be Venti and Barbatos with me, I want all of you.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. Did he hear you correctly? You want him?

Venti gently retracted himself from you, but his arms remained at your sides. “You still want me, even after I kept this from you?”

“I want you, Venti.” You clasped your hands over his shoulders, firmly looking into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere anymore. I’m staying here, with you.”

And so, you stayed, and so did he – it was the first time he stayed, and he will never regret it.

One would think that as a renowned Bard in Mondstadt, Venti would push for a grand wedding where all people of Mondstadt are invited to wine and dine together as bards banded together to regale everyone with their music, and as the Archon who values freedom above everything else, a big part of him wanted to. But he thought of you and what you wanted. It took some time for him to deliberate over how selfish it would be for him to make you uncomfortable in your wedding day and agree a small wedding would be a much better option considering how sacred and intimate marriage is.

However, knowing you cannot simply have the Anemo Archon go against his belief, and of course because of your love for him, you have secretly devised a plan with Jean and Kaeya to invite all the citizens of Mondstadt to your reception to celebrate this joyous occasion for the two of you. There was more than enough food and drinks to feast, courtesy of Master Diluc, and you’re sure Venti will be over the moon with this surprise.

Venti had no family, and those he did consider as family were long gone, just a memory from the past. Even though it is unusual for a groom not to have a best man in his wedding day, Venti claimed he was fine without a best man. He had no doubts in marrying you. When he proposed to you, there was no touch of regret or doubt. Albeit reluctantly, you were in a mutual agreement in that matter, as well. Until, of course, an unexpected tribute arrived offering his services.

Venti was not the least nervous when the day of your wedding came. He did not waste time when he woke up and immediately got to work on his appearance. Jean was kind enough to have his wedding suit tailored for him, an early wedding gift, as she says.

Venti knew of the rule that a groom mustn’t see his bride in her wedding gown until the time she walks on the aisle. But he was just so thrilled for this day that he forgot all about it. And even if he did remember it, who in the world would stop him from seeing you? He has no best man to stop him anyway -

Venti almost choked to death when a hand came to grasp him by his the back of his collar, and he blubbered pathetically as he was thrown off balance and was dragged back to the altar.

“Who are - Master Diluc? What are you doing?”

Diluc let out a huff as he continued dragging Venti away from your house. “Stopping you from upsetting your bride. I’m sure you know that you shouldn’t see your bride in her gown before the wedding?”

“But Master Diluc, as much as I appreciate what you’re doing, you’re not in any position to - ”

“Actually, I am in a position where I’m allowed to stop you from making a mess of your wedding.” Said Diluc. “I’m your best man, after all.”

Venti couldn’t put to words how touched he was, and more so when you revealed to him after the wedding that Diluc has offered to be his best man by his own volition. As thanks, the next time Venti visited the tavern to drink, he paid for a single bottle of wine once. It wasn’t exactly ideal but considering how he had no original plan to pay Diluc for any of the drinks he will consume, this was as good as it gets.

When the doors opened to reveal you in your pretty white wedding dress, Venti swooned, and a large joyous smile stretched across his lips.

A gentle breeze swept in the altar and Venti felt his feet leave the ground briefly, floating in the air as he excitedly watched you walk down the aisle, and it took Diluc’s hand pulling him down by the back of his suit to stop him from floating up above the cathedral.

“My, my, if I knew any better, I would have thought the Archons have taken favor on me and blessed me with a beautiful bride.” Venti said once you join him in the altar and took your hands in his own. “You look beautiful, darling. I might just write another song about you.”

You shook your head, pink tinting your cheeks. “Haven’t you written enough songs about me?”

Venti inched his face close to you, his large smile altering to a soft smile. “There aren’t enough songs to tell you how much I adore you.”

The wedding went on, and when the two of you kissed, only one thing entered in Venti’s mind - I found my reason to stay, Himmel. I just hope you can see this.

The wind blew gently.

KAEYA

Kaeya did not know what to feel when his brother has made it clear once and for all that he wanted nothing to do with him. His dismissive remarks, his heated glares, his cold and aloof treatment – he had known Diluc for so long, and his memories with him in their childhood never grew old in his mind, so it pained him to have his once bright-eyed sibling who aspired to be part of the Knight acting as though they were strangers. No, strangers would have been merciful. He acted as if the bond they had never meant anything to him, and casting him aside and seeing him under the light of contempt was the easiest decision he has ever made.

Even you were not spared from the same fate. The three of you become inseparable the day you and Kaeya were introduced to each other. You’ve done everything together, and it would be a strange sight to see one missing from the group.

When Diluc has cut ties with Kaeya, you suffered the same fate as he. You poor, poor thing – you tried your best to patch the friendship he no longer wanted to be part of, and Kaeya did not waste time running to your side and picking up the pieces Diluc shattered. It was not an easy feat for both of you to lose Diluc – he lost a brother, and you lost a good friend.

But it was because of your fall out with him that you and he become closer than ever, closer than before, if that could even be possible. The two of you support one another and you go to each other when things get difficult.

Kaeya will never admit it, and he would rather die than do, but he has loved you for many years. The moment Diluc pulled him into an unknown house, claiming that he wanted to meet someone important to him, and his eyes landed on your form with the sunrays kissing your skin, a wide smile stretching across your face, and a fake sword in your hand, his heart was taken.

You were one of the reasons he wanted to become a Knight. Diluc admitted his want to become a Knight, and you expressed the same sentiment, and of course, hearing his friend and brother say so, he became inclined of joining the Knights. I’ll get good training. He thought back then as stared at you, blushing as you braided Diluc’s hair. Then, I’ll be able to protect ( Your Name ).

Now that Diluc no longer wanted to be in contact with you than more than is necessary, Kaeya grew to be more protective over you. He knew you can handle yourself as you were a Knight yourself and wields a Vision, too, but his heart clenches at the thought of you getting hurt when he could have easily had your back, like he always did.

Kaeya didn’t knowif you had feelings for him, or for anyone, for that matter. Many times he thought of confessing to you just to rip the band aid off, but he couldn’t. He’ll keep his feelings to himself and continue being the Cavalry Captain that everyone adored, and your own personal protector.

But it was getting harder and harder to hide his feeling. Everyday he was always under the threat of falling deeper in love with you. Everyday, you always give him more reasons to love you. Waiting for him to come home after taking too long in his work, taking care of him after a nasty battle or when he’s drunk, always checking up on him even if your schedule was hectic, offering him help if you deem the responsibility given to him is too much. How much longer can he pretend that he wasn’t thinking of you everyday and every night?

He was pulled back from his train of thoughts when he felt a soft material doused in alcohol perch on the wound blemishing his skin. “Ah, be gentle, ( Your Name ),” Whined Kaeya, stilling himself to refrain from moving and delaying your nurse on his cuts.

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if you had only been careful fighting those Abyss Mages.” You reprimanded with a stern glare. “Think of this as your punishment from me. Now, hold still.”

“I was fighting Abyss Mages and came back with small wounds. How am I not careful?”

“You can be more careful.” Quipped you, and finding your chance, you pressed the cotton again his skin, causing the Cavalry Captain to hiss in pain.

“Ow, ow, ow – I said be gentle!”

“Oh, you can fight Abyss Mages but can’t handle getting your wounds treated? What a baby.”

Kaeya pouted while you pulled away from him. “My dearest ( Your Name ) doesn’t love me anymore.” He cooed. “Tell me, what can I do to make it up to you, hmm?”

You shook your head and placed your hand over his head, beaming. His heart leaped in his chest. “Stop being reckless.” You responded. “You’re the most important person to me, Kaeya. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Days and days he spent thinking of what you said. He never truly knew how he important he was to you. The thought of that had him sleeping and dreaming of you and your smiles, how the days will be if you loved him the same way he loved you, and the fateful day you owned his heart.

He had to thank Diluc for introducing him to you. He couldn’t imagine being in a world where he has no one to lean on when he lost the only family he had. You became his rock, someone he could lean on and trust. His friend who he loved more than he should have, the woman he wished to see in his arms someday.

But it will never be. He has to protect you. He is always in danger and he doesn’t want to hurt you more if he died and you two are in a relationship. And he had seen firsthand how affected you were when Diluc no longer wanted to be friends with you. He won’t let you go through the same pain if your relationship didn’t work. He loved you too much to let you suffer again.

Kaeya didn’t think he would be able to thank Diluc again after their fall out but he was mistaken.

He didn’t know the full story of what had happened the night he got shitfaced drunk in the tavern but woke up the next day to learn he has revealed his feelings for you in front of his brother, and the latter had casually mentioned it to you when you dropped by the tavern to escort him back home.

Regret and frustration welled up inside of him and he spent ten minutes walking back in you guest room, trying to explain himself and perhaps even jest about having feels for you but his preparation was all futile when you opened the door just as he was about to.

Before he can speak, you beat him to it.

“The next time you get drunk like that, you’re sleeping on the couch.” You chastised, shaking your head and proceeding to turn your back to him to return downstairs. “Freshen up, and head down. I already cooked you breakfast, so hurry up before it gets cold.”

Kaeya stared blankly at the spot you previously stood before smiling. He rushed over to the staircase and looked down to watch you descend the steps. “I won’t keep you long, love.”

His smile broadened when he saw redness rush to your cheeks.

Kaeya proposed to you in a way you expected him to propose to you. A fancy dinner at a fancy restaurant where he ordered a fancy bottle of wine and placed the fancy ring he bought into your glass. It was only because you knew him well that you have no accidentally imbibed the accessory.

Upon receiving your answer to his proposal, the first thing Kaeya did the day after is hunt down for a best man. As a popular and charming Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, he thought it would be an easy task finding himself a best man but that notion gradually wilted as the date for your wedding approaches, he has yet to find someone to take the position.

In his pursuit for a best man, Kaeya came to realize something. His relationships with others aren’t exactly intimate. They drink and laugh together, but none of them really knew him. Kaeya couldn’t go to them with his personal problems or have their shoulders ready for him to cry on. They were good friends, but not people he would let inside his heart and vulnerability.

There were only two people who knew him behind the title of Cavalry Captain - you, and of course, his estranged brother, Diluc.

The very thought of Diluc sent a shiver down his spine. Diluc hated him and ( Your Name ). He pushed them away, treated them horridly, like they had been nothing to him but strangers with bad memories. Why would he want him to be his best man?

He remembered one day in Angel’s Share, he asked Venti if he could stand as his best man in the wedding and he swore he heard a glass dropping from behind the counter but when he turned, he saw Diluc wiping a wine glass with a blank expression. When Kaeya faced Venti once again, the excitement of being asked of such honorable position has withered and the Bard kindly declined before telling him to ask Diluc to be his best man. He did not.

Who cares about best man? The only thing important to me right now is marrying ( Your Name ).

But when the day of his wedding dawned, Kaeya was in a panic. Behind his charm was a man with a dark past, dark memories, and dark thoughts. He began doubting his ability to give you the life you deserve, began feeling insecurities he thought he had set aside.

He tried his best to remain calm, and for the most part, it worked. Everyone did not find something amiss when Kaeya was interacting with them before the wedding, but someone did, and that someone took him by his arm and dragged him a far and secluded corner after excusing him from who he was conversing with.

“Stop fidgeting with your tie, it’s beginning to bother me.”

Kaeya let out a huff. “Master Diluc, what a . . . surprise that you’re here.”

“You sent me an invitation.” The red head retaliated.

Kaeya had indeed sent him an invitation but he had no recollection of this or whatsoever. He was too wasted to remember.

“The Cavalry Captain losing his cool. Now this is a wedding just waiting to be ruined.”

It was almost like magic how the anxiety that has been eating him up vanished at his brother’s taunt. Kaeya glared at Diluc, opening his mouth to retaliate but before he can even let a single word move past his lips, Diluc turned his back to him and returned to the cathedral, leaving Kaeya in disbelief.

He let out a huff as he stared at his brother’s retreating form. “Bastard still knows me best.”

Kaeya has taken the reins over his emotions again, and he was sure he can keep his composure when you enter through the doors. But he was thoroughly mistaken as he swallowed the lump in his throat when his sight landed on you.

It felt like a dream. How can someone like you love him? In all his flaws, mistakes, and faults, how did you see him as someone you can lean on? Someone you want to spend the rest of your life with?

Surely, he must be dreaming. He’ll wake up in his bed any moment now and realize that everything had been the foolishness of his mind -

Except you continued making your way down aisle, and then you were in front of him with a veil covering your flushed face, and then he was slipping his hands in yours. This was real. You love him.

You leaned forward to him, nose brushing against his. “You look very dashing today, Kaeya.”

Kaeya chuckled. “And you look splendid today, Mrs. Alberich - oh, don’t go shy on me now.”

His smile broadened at the sight of your reddening cheeks. If it wasn’t for the priest speaking right now, he would have flipped over your veil and kiss you.

But there is plenty of time to do that. Kaeya will make sure of that.

XINGQIU

The youngest of the Guhua Clan will rarely be seen without a novel in hand. Everyday, Xingqiu will be seen with his friends with a book near him, always different from yesterday. He had read many novels and heard stories from storytellers, but one story he will never get tired of was his story with you.

Although it may not seem like it, Xingqiu was a hopeless romantic, and he has always imagined seeking a woman to make his bride. However, it will always be something he can only imagine. As a heir of the Guhua Clan, he has responsibilities to keep and adhere, and he has willingly accepted this. Being given the freedom to choose his bride is something he cannot afford. When his father has informed him about offering him to a daughter of another prestigious clan, he has voiced his discontentment and disinclination to the arrangement but has nonetheless followed.

What a horror it would have been if he had followed through with the tiny voice inside his head saying to run away because if he did, he would have missed the chance of laying eyes on you and experiencing what many romance novels he read called – a heart skipping a beat.

It was a tiring charade of formalities and display of pristine etiquette. All Xingqiu wanted was to retreat to a secluded area and continue immersing himself in the book he has picked up from the local library. With how often he reads, the novels in his own house he has already read, twice.

And so, he did. He kindly excused himself from the dinner between the families, making up a lie about feeling unwell and needing rest, and hurried over in the fields near his place. It is not exactly rude for him to skip dinner. It is not exactly ideal for his bride-to-be to be late in an important occasion like this so why shouldn’t he exhibit the same treatment as they did to him?

When he came to the spot be frequented, he caught sight of an unfamiliar figure from afar. A girl around his age sat on the bench under the tree, in the same spot he always occupied. She wore clothes similar to the families of the clan his family are negotiating with, so it didn’t take long for Xingqiu to learn this girl was related to them. He just didn’t know what her standing was with them.

She was beautiful, he will admit, but it was the book in her hand that caught his attention. Thus, he approached her, adorning a friendly mask as to not scare her away. It is rather uncomfortable meeting strangers in the dark of the night and somewhere far from civilization.

“Her hair billowed as she stood by the precipice, golden hues dimming in the dying light as she was left disappointed for yet another century. Her tears stung her skin and her throat tightened, but another century is simply common for someone like her. She will wait for his return, even if every mountain has eroded and all that was left of her was hope.” He recited a line from the novel as he took even ambles towards the girl, and he did not falter as she turned to face him. He offered her a smile and bowed with the elegance that his family taught. “Apologies for my disruption, my liege, but I can’t help but be thrilled to see someone with such incredible taste for literature. Not many are fond of historical fiction. Well, in my case, not many are into literature.”

Her eyes appraised him with wonder as she perfected her posture. “That’s one of the lines in the book. My, even I haven’t memorized a single phrase from any of the books in my collections.” She remarked.

“I like to memorize a line or two from all the books I’ve read. It feels like a part of them will always be with me even if my memories fade in time.” Xingqiu gestured to the vacant spot beside her. “May I sit next to you?”

She let out a laugh, to which sent shivers down Xingqiu’s spine. “You may. It’s not everyday I get to speak with someone with the same interests as me.”

He gladly seated himself beside her and immediately, he was greeted with the fragrance of flowers.

The girl extended her hand to him, smilingly softly at him. “My name is ( Your Name ),” She introduced herself. “You’re probably thinking you haven’t seen me around in Liyue, and you’re right. My family is here to meet with the Guhua Clan.”

Xingqiu took her hand and pressed a chaste kiss on the back. “Glad to make your acquaintance, my lady. My name is Xingqiu from the Guhua Clan.”

Her eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. “Is that so?” She mused. “Then, I must show my sincerest gratitude for letting my family into – ”

“Ah, there’s no need for that,” Dismissed Xingqiu as he shook his head. “We’re far from the dinner they’re sharing together. No need to be so formal with me.”

Her smile brightened. “I have a feeling we’re going to get along splendidly, Xingqiu.”

Upon returning together to his house and finding an excuse as to why Xingqiu had been outside did he and ( Your Name ) learn that it was them who were destined to be married when they are of age. The disappointment of meeting his soon-to-be bride has dissipated at the revelation, leaving him filled with utmost joy and pride as to having you as his, and from the shy and gleeful smile that wandered to your lips, Xingqiu can tell you think the same with him.

It was to be expected that the two of you will have a luxurious and grand wedding. With the two of you coming from wealthy families, it was no surprise. If you have insisted for a small wedding consisting only of close relatives and friends, your parents will fear some other elite clans will perceive this as them losing power and money and will take advantage of them or simply cut ties with them. You and Xingqiu had no other choice but to respect their requests. Although Xingqiu was secretly relieved you agreed to a big wedding. For him, you deserved only the best of the best, and in this case, larger is better.

Both families came to an agreement that it would be for the best if the two of you are not to see each other for the week before your wedding day. You found nothing wrong with this arrangement. Xingqiu, however, was the opposite of you.

Many times he tried to sneak out of his house to visit you in secret but Chongyun has thwarted this attempts many times. When he goes to adventures with the Traveler, he find himself missing you in mere hours. How can he survive a whole week without communicating with you?

Oh, how foolish of him. He was now allowed to visit you but he can, however, write letters to you.

For the whole week, Xingqiu will be writing to you without ceasing. You’ll have a difficult time keeping up with his letters but you’ll always find time to respond to him. After all, you missed him just as much as he missed you.

Xingqiu woke up before the sun can call for him. He walked around in his room, breathing in and out as he tried to soothe his joy. Chongyun, who was tasked to look after Xingqiu for the whole week, woke up from the sound of his footsteps. When he stepped inside his best friend’s room, Xingqiu held Chongyun’s hands and twirled him around, startling the half-asleep Cryo user.

“I’m getting married to ( Your Name ) today!”

“I know, Xingqiu. I’ve been stopping you from visiting her the whole week.”

Your wedding was held in a beautiful garden where cherry blossoms flutter and the wind was gentle and cool.

Xingqiu always held his composure in any situations and circumstances he encountered. But he was going to admit that seeing you in your wedding dress with the cherry blossoms kissing your skin and tresses every now and then had him malfunctioning.

It took a worse turn when you finally stood before him, expectantly looking at him. A compliment, a playful jest, a seductive remark - but there was none of that.

Xingqiu stared at you, eyes shining with admiration and his lips parted in pleasant surprise.

“Xingqiu, earth to Xingqiu,” You whispered. “You there?”

It was only after you spoke that Xingqiu snapped out of his stupor.

“Get yourself together, Xingqiu.” Stated Chongyun beside him in a whisper.

It took him a while to find him bearings but when he did, Xingqiu smiled at you and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

“Beautiful, just like the first time I saw you.”

SCARAMOUCHE

Scaramouche has dedicated his entire life to seeing through what his majesty, the Tsaritsa, desired. His life shall be nothing but a pawn for her to use in her schemes and may her will be done through him and her subjects. If she must dispose of him to make success of her endeavor, Scaramouche will gladly surrender before her eyes and bare his neck for her to cut. He will do anything she commands without a second thought, and anyone who dares get in his way will face the wrath of an incensed Harbinger.

It was all about the Tsaritsa. His entire his existence is for his majesty. It was all he ever believed in when the honor of being the sixth Harbingers was crowned over him. With that said, Scaramouche can never bring himself to admit his resolve has been altered upon his discreet visitation to the City of Freedom to conduct a more intimate investigation over the meteorites and the impact it had on the people of Mondstadt.

His skull was throbbing, his thoughts scattered, and frustration was beginning to settle inside of him. Scaramouche has just dispatched his soldiers to continue their research on the meteors after his failed attempt to eliminate the traveler. He was left alone in the tranquility of the night, with the remnants of the astrologist’s escape glittering beneath his eyes, mocking him.

“I should have acted quicker. The Traveler will continue foiling The Tsaritsa’s plans.” Mumbled Scaramouche to himself. “No matter. There will be another chance in the future to finish off the hero of Mondstadt, and I’m sure it’ll come sooner than I expect. I must prepare for that time. I can’t make this mistake again.”

A curious hum that echoed behind him had him stiffening in his place and drawing out his weapon from thin air. “Are you interested about the meteors too?” A voice asked.

Scaramouche turned around, and he found a woman standing behind him a few meters away. She has a beauty that he favors, a smile so gentle that it thawed a bit of ice in his heart, but a scowl made its way to his countenance. She’s taller than me.

She didn’t look particularly like anyone he would have any interest in knowing, and when she has introduced herself to him after he supplied her with no answer, Scaramouche predicted correctly. She was merely an ordinary folk in any ordinary city with no Vision or any skillset that could benefit him in anything.

“I must get going.” Curtly stated Scaramouche and he turned around without even bidding goodbye to the woman.

“So soon?” You asked. “I thought we could at least talk what’s been happening – about the meteors, the stars.”

Scaramouche frowned at the mention of the latter and he spun back around to meet your gaze. “The stars? What about the stars?”

You smiled a secret smile. “The stars . . . they’re fake.”

Scaramouche stared at you with wonder and amusement in his dark hues. He has always believed in that notion, and only a handful came to agree with him. Now, here a lady stands before him, with nothing in particular to offer him, speaking of the truth many has rejected.

He examined you from head to toe, evaluating your form before beckoning you to come over to him, saying, “Perhaps I can spare some time to talk.”

What was supposed to be a conversation within an hour or so has extended for a day, and when you requested to accompany him back to ship docked in Liyue Harbor to continue your conversation (it surprised him but has nonetheless allowed you to tag along) about the meteors and the stars, it dragged on for weeks.

But Scaramouche would be lying if he said that was all you discussed about. There was only so much information they can relate to the subject that has intertwined their fates that it did not take long for the two of you to stray from it to favor a more civil conversation. He learned of your mundane life back in Mondstadt where you were merely another dot in the bustle of the city and he managed to extract from you valuable material regarding the Honorary Knight (in truth, you have willingly told him everything you knew about the Hero of Mondstadt and this he was very pleased with). He learned about your family, your work, your past, and your ambition to adventure throughout the lands of Teyvat even without a Vision.

He thought it was foolish of you to believe you can ever get out of your city without a Vision. There were too many enemies that a simple adventurer like you could easily be overwhelmed with. Not to mention the Fatuis that he and his fellow Harbingers has placed all throughout Teyvat. The thought of you getting hurt, especially by his own soldiers . . . it did not sit right with him.

Arriving at Liyue Harbor, Scaramouche proposed that you come with him. It is no secret that anyone who do not possess a Vision cannot survive if they were ever to embark on a journey. Hearing your desire for an adventure, Scaramouche has come to decide that as gratitude for your pleasant company and for your compliance in giving him information about the renowned traveler, he shall take you along in his voyage, showing you the grandest landscapes, granting your every need and desires, all the while keeping you at his side where he was certain you were safe.

It was all to thank you, nothing else. It wasn’t because Scaramouche knew he would find himself missing you and the comfort you bring when you leave, nor was it because he was fond of you. Yes, yes, all just to show his gratitude.

As his soldiers watched as Scaramouche led you aboard in ship with his hand interlocked with yours, they thought the same thing – Scaramouche is never the one to show gratitude to anyone. You had him smitten.

How you were able to fall in love with Scaramouche in such a short period of time is fascinating. Especially with his horrid personality.

But he was different with you. He was gentle, caring, and never raised his voice. The insults remained but there was no venom behind them. It took you quite some time to get used to his belittling remarks but it didn’t evade your perception how Scaramouche begun lessening his insults, opting for a more playful jab instead.

He proposed to you over at dinner. He had just come back from an expedition and came home to a table filled with your cooking. As the two of you are exchanging your stories of what went with your lives when you two were separated, Scaramouche placed his chopsticks away, looked at you straight in the eyes and said, “Marry me.”

How can you say no to such a romantic proposal?

Actually, you made him redo his proposal before you accepted but nobody else has to know about that.

There was no best man for Scaramouche in your wedding. The man was feared by everyone, and his fellow Harbingers hated him. Childe did insist on being his best man at one point but he almost ended up being fried by a lightning bolt. Apparently, the 11th Harbinger pestered him for a whole week trying to convince him to let him be the best man so his actions were justified - just a little bit.

You have to give it to Scaramouche. Regardless of his busy schedule and the current predicament in Inazuma, he managed to find time and opportunity to plan your wedding and marry you without having to worry about the Electro Archon and her subjects.

Scaramouche scoffed at the tradition of not being able to see you on the very day of your wedding. What good would it be? You were going to be his wife, and he wanted to see his wife. He saw himself above tradition, and visited you first thing in the morning at the day of the wedding.

It was no question Scaramouche was an authoritative man but he was more so as he prepared himself for the wedding.

His maids ran about in the room, providing everything he needed and wanted. Scaramouche was not known for being compassionate, but this was the first time they’ve been on the receiving end of his wrath. Normally, he would ignore their existence and not even bother to call them by their names but today, he was different. He acted worse than when he comes home after a failed mission.

The maids knew he was beyond frustrated with the wedding. So, they called to ask for your help.

“Scaramouche, you’re scaring the maids.” You cooed as you came up behind him and placed your hands on his shoulders.

Scaramouche let out a scoff, but you felt his frame soften. He sat before a mirror, and he gazed at your reflection as he placed a hand over one of yours. “Even they weren’t so terrible with their jobs . . . ”

“You’re making things so hard for them. And for yourself too.” You stated. “Marrying me shouldn’t be hard, should it?”

That statement set Scaramouche right, and when you left to carry on with your own preparation and the maids returned to their duties, he was more civil with them. If that’s what you want, then he can endure it.

The hour has finally arrived. Scaramouche has faced many dangers in his life, but it was only now he felt restless. What is taking you so long? He thought you wanted to marry him. Then what’s warranting your late arrival?

At that thought, you finally appeared by the end of the aisle, holding a bouquet in your hands. Everyone in the venue gaped at your beauty, and Scaramouche was thankful you had everyone gazing at you. He didn’t want them to see the dumbfounded and poorly hidden lovestruck expression that crossed his mien for a moment.

But a sense of pride also touched him.

That’s my bride.

When the ceremony begins, you and Scaramouche were seated side by side. You smiled brightly at him when you sat, but he didn’t any indication that he saw your smile and continued giving his undivided attention on the person conducting your wedding. You pouted heavily at this but said nothing and followed his actions. However, your smile returned when you felt his fingers hooking with yours. It was a small improvement, but it was intimate and loving.

Scaramouche didn’t cry in your wedding but when his arms held you tightly to his chest when evening came and two of you lied down on your shared bed, it was enough for you to know he loved you as much as you loved him.

Maybe more so.

RAZOR

Razor rarely experience human interaction, and if he did, it would be abrupt and depending on how the communication was being dealt by both parties, it would either be Razor who parts from them first out of wariness or lacking knowledge of being social or the other would, most of the time for the reason they find it disturbing a human could act so much like a wolf. The humans Razor constantly encounter are the hunters from Springvale and due to their bellowing voices and violence against his Lupicals, he has limited his ventures to Mondstadt unless something calls for an emergency.

Other than the man who gave him his name, Razor only knew a handful of people – six of them being the Traveler, Traveler’s companion, Bennett, Klee, her big brother Albedo, and the woman he sees as his mentor, Lisa. He can only ever let his guard down when around them, though he was still a wee bit cautious of Albedo whenever Klee drags him to his camp.

He didn’t think he could meet anyone else who can consider a Lupical. That was until he met you. You were taking a peaceful stroll around Wolvendom – Archons know why you chose the most avoided place in Mondstadt to walk through – at the same time he was hunting down boars for his Lupicals.

There was no rescuing or danger involved when he met you. It was a simple encounter, to which Razor was pleasantly surprised with. In almost all occasions, when he is meeting a fellow human being, it would be under rather unusual circumstances. He met the Traveler and her floating friend when they were being attacked by slimes. He met Lisa when she has painted the skies dark as she was singlehandedly fending herself off from a mob of Hilichurls. He met Klee when she was using her bombs to fish. He met Albedo in the middle of a chaotic experiment to which resulted in an evacuation. He met Bennett when he was hanging upside down from a tree when he tried to take an apple from a high branch, and the tree was up in flames.

To say, meeting you normally was a breath of fresh air.

The two of you hit it off almost immediately, or so that is what it seems to you. Although you consider Razor a good friend even in just the few days you have met, he was still very careful of you. He had been deceived by humans before and it may be a little unfair to you since he trusted the Traveler and Bennett almost in an instant, he must first know you are trustworthy.

And indeed, you’ve proven yourself as such. Perhaps, more so than the Traveler. You have done everything to show him you have no ill intentions against him and his Lupicals – helped him in hunting for sustenance for his family even if you have to knowledge in hunting, helping him broaden his vocabulary, helping him read and write – but it was your sacrifice to protect them that made him truly open himself up to you.

An Abyss Mage has appeared out of nowhere and has wreaked havoc in their residence. Razor can feel his heart thundering as he raced through Wolvendom along with a few of his Lupicals who he had gone out with to hunt. Upon arriving at their home, Razor has anticipated to see the grass painted with red and wounded wolves whimpering in pain as others try to battle against the Abyss Mage. But to his relief, such image was not implemented into reality. Instead, he found his Lupicals sleeping soundly in their den, and the remains of the Abyss Mage has slowly evaporated in thin air. As the particles gradually disappeared, they made way for your presence to be revealed.

Razor let out a gasp when he laid eyes on you. Bruised, bleeding, exhausted, but smiling as you happily waved at him with the hand clutching your weapon.

You happily advanced towards him, tittering. Razor reached out to take your hand, and reluctantly asked of your welfare. Now he understood why humans ask how one is fairing when they are clearly unwell – they do not know what else to say.

“Why would you do that?” Razor questioned as he brought you far from his den to tend to your wounds without waking his family. “You are hurt now.”

“I can’t let an Abyss Mage hurt your Lupical.” You answered firmly, the smile you wore dissipating as you gazed into his eyes. “I might not be as strong as the Honorary Knight or Acting Grand Master Jean, but I fought well.”

What was this odd sensation he was feeling? This strong urge to protect you, to take you in his arms and never let you go – what was this? He has never felt like this before. So light, so . . . flustered. He thought this feeling would be gone after a few days, but months has passed and since then, the feeling became more prominent, stronger. All the time he could never get enough of you and there will always be that lingering trickle of pain in his chest when you have to leave for the day. Razor knew you would come back the day after when the night has gone, but it never stopped that little ache.

Razor understood that he lacked understanding of feelings, so he confided to Bennett about it. Bennett was almost as clueless as Razor about feelings – almost – but he did know when someone was taking a liking of someone in a more amorous manner. He has filled Razor about exactly what he was feeling for you, and not the kind of feeling that he has for him and the Traveler, but the kind of liking he would have towards a . . . girlfriend? (Bennett had to explain to him the meaning behind girlfriend and it was no easy task).

“Liking someone like a girlfriend . . . ” Razor muttered, scrunching his face in puzzlement. “ . . . like a mate?”

Bennett flushed at the word but nodded. “Yes, like a mate.”

Bennett tried his best to help Razor confess to you, and this is where disaster happened. Since Razor is mostly uneducated in terms of romantic feelings, he did not feel any anxiety crawling up to him when he decided to admit his feelings to you. The problem is that he has decided to confess in a wrong time and in a difficult situation.

“You should confess to her after you’ve saved her from danger!” Exclaimed Bennett, beaming at Razor.

The latter tilted his head to the side. “Razor doesn’t . . . get it.”

“Well, in the books I’ve read, the guys confess to the girls they like in a dangerous time. I don’t know how that’s safe, but it works. But since we don’t want to hurt ( Your Name ), you’ll save her before confessing!”

Bless his innocent heart, Razor trusted Bennett’s word without a smidge of doubt. His opportunity to admit his feelings came when the two of you saw Reckless Pallad being surrounded by Hilichurls getting ready to pounce on him. The thing is you too knew your way around a battlefield and have efficiently begun fighting off the Hilichurls. Razor watched as you made quick work of rescuing Reckless Pallad and he didn’t even notice himself beginning to pout in disappointment until you were right in front of him again, worriedly gazing at him.

“Razor, what’s wrong?” You questioned, appraising him. “You’re not injured, are you?”

He shook his head. “Razor not injured.” He confirmed.

“Well, that’s good, but why aren’t you moving? We need to save that man.”

“Razor wanted to confess to ( Your Name ) by saving her.”

Razor explained the plan of his confession he conspired with Bennett, how he would save you from danger and tell you his everlasting love that he didn’t notice the redness tinting your cheeks and the wide smile stretching across your face.

Razor only took note of the phenomenon occurring on your features when he has finished elaborating his scheme. He narrowed his eyes curiously. “Your face is all . . . red. Sick?” He asked.

Razor didn’t have a chance to further speculate just exactly was ailing you before you took hold of his face and softly placed your lips against him, catching him off guard.

There was a blossom in his chest when you kissed him – this is love, right? Razor decided there and then he liked this feeling of love.

Needless to say, Reckless Pallad was left alone for the Traveler to save. Again.

Razor had no idea what weddings were. He has never heard of such thing before. The first time he did learn about it was when he was hanging out with you and the Traveler. The latter mentioned that you and him are invited in a wedding. Razor tilted his head in confusion but when he turned to ask you what it was, he froze. Your eyes were shimmering with joy and excitement. Razor liked seeing you like that.

So when you were preoccupied, Razor asked the Traveler what a wedding was. Perhaps a wedding was some sort of food that he can find in the wild?

After Traveler has explained what weddings are and the concept of marriage as well, Razor did not waste time trying to propose to you. Since he had no money to buy a very expensive ring, he asked Bennett for help to find materials so he can make one of his own. In the end, they had Wagner help them form a ring. It wasn’t exactly the best looking but when Razor showed it to you and asked for your hand in marriage (Traveler helped him with his proposal speech and had to explain that asking for your hand doesn’t mean literal), and he saw the pure joy on your face, he thought it was pretty enough for you.

Razor didn’t know you were happy mostly because he proposed to you but you didn’t tell him. He looked so proud with the ring.

Your wedding was small and only a very few people were invited. Klee insisted on being one of the flower girls and Razor almost agreed until she began spouting about bombs which will detonate in the air and will explode with flowers. Albedo advised Razor not to make her one of the flower girls because Klee, for sure, will bring flower bombs (it will explode with flowers, but the explosion is still there).

Razor chose Bennett as his best man. That was supposed to be a good thing but when the two of those pair up together, they can tend to cause a lot of chaos, unintentionally.

At the day of the wedding, nearly all the invitees refuse to enter the cathedral as they claim there was danger inside. When Kaeya and Jean came to inspect this danger they speak of, both wielded their weapons once seeing a pack of wolves huddled at the front, just before the altar, with Bennett and Razor telling them to behave.

You had to explain to Razor why it was dangerous and made people uncomfortable when there are wolves present in the cathedral. Although Razor was understandably disappointed by this, he conceded and brought his Lupicals back to Wolvendom. To make it up to him, you promised a private celebration will be held in Wolvendom with nobody else but you, him, Bennett, and of course, his Lupicals.

Razor didn’t know why Bennett seemed more nervous than him when the two of them were standing by the altar.

“I’m going to ruin your wedding, Razor! Aren’t you worried?”

“ . . . but you not ruining anything . . . ?”

When you finally arrived in the cathedral, Razor felt excitement surge in his body and he can hardly stop himself from squirming on his seat.

But he wasn’t smiling. These emotions . . . he was having a hard time comprehending them. It was good, it was nice, but it was overwhelmingly so.

He could have cried, and he almost did but when you were before him, smiling at him, he couldn’t help but smile back.

His beautiful wife, his Lupical.

Bennett was the one who cried in your wedding.

ALBEDO

It was always a fascinating sight to see a traveler meandering through Dragonspine without minding the sheer cold or flawlessly fending themselves off from the enemies lurking around. Even Albedo has some degree of difficult in navigating his way back to his camp without the Fatui spotting him or tailing him. But it was more fascinating to see a young woman standing in the middle of a freezing lake with nothing but her trousers and her brassiere.

It was a peculiar meeting, yes, but out of the ordinary people and matters has always endeared him.

Albedo brought you to his camp as quickly as he can and asked Timaeus to hand you a cup of warm tea and a blanket. After thanking him for his kindness and consuming half of the beverage generously given to you, you introduced yourself.

You were an adventurer who came all the way from Liyue to embark on a journey to discover the harshness and secrets that laid within Dragonspine, a mountain many do not dare set foot further in. Other than the mentioned reasons, training was a top priority of yours. You claim one cannot go further in their adventure while being comfortable in their current, and he completely agrees with your statement. When Albedo questioned why you had been in the middle of a lake in Dragonspine, you answered that being able to withstand the cold was just part of your training and seeing as he had caught you shivering to close to death, it was not going well.

Albedo didn’t think he would see you again after you parted from him, but he was surprised when the next day he found you waiting for him in his camp, a smile on your face as you stand proudly and wave at him.

Something about you piqued his interest, if his interest was somehow related to how his heart accelerated whenever you come close to him to offer help with his experiment, or when his face grows hot if you offer him a compliment. He thought it was your way of showing him your gratefulness for taking care of you yesterday, so he allowed your presence in his camp, around him. Albedo didn’t expect you to visit again the next day, and the day after that, and so on and so forth. But he can’t say he disliked your frequent visitations, or your presence that always seem to be following him everywhere he went. He very much liked your company and thoroughly enjoyed listening about your adventures and everything you came across in your adventure. They were a good distraction from his experiments. Everything about you set his mind in ease.

It wasn’t long until the two of you are spending more time together alone. No experiments, no work in mind. It just the two of you keeping one another company and sharing stories about your days, and making banters here and there – whether it be in a walk under the moon, or sharing a meal in Good Hunter, or while he paints somewhere in Dragonspine.

Although Albedo was not well versed in the complexity of romance and has deemed relationships to be rather tedious to uphold, but he was knowledgeable enough to know that in the process of his growing friendship with you, he has caught feelings for you.

This has certainly brought difficulty in his relationship with you. Albedo, although never verbally admitting so, has always thought of feelings as a nuisance. In a relationship, in his own observation, disadvantages trump over advantages. He had seen the irrationality that love has caused, the stupidity. His observation led him to one conclusion – other than being friends with people, relationships is not for him.

You have put him in a challenging situation. It would have been easy to cut ties with you if you haven’t successfully infiltrated his walls and snaked your way in his heart. The very thought of pushing you away was repulsive to him. Seeing the hurt cross your features – it will haunt him for the rest of his life.

The interest he had for you was not interest at all. It was the beginning of love. He should have been more alert, and this wouldn’t have happened.

What if you returned his feelings and your relationship did not work? There was no way your friendship could be salvaged. Isn’t it much better to remain as friends than risk ruining any chance of keeping you in his life?

No, no, that would be insanely idiotic. It will eat him up. Thus, he treated his feelings for you like an experiment. Dipping carefully, testing the waters – confessing to you.

He can construct a confession that will perfectly enunciate his feelings for you while emphasizing your freedom to reject him and his desire to remain good friends with you. Surely, you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. All he needed is for you to let him down, and he will hope you can still see him the same way after.

All his preparations, however, were thrown out of the window when you beat him to confessing.

Albedo had no idea how struck his expression must have been with puzzlement, anxiety and flatter as he attentively listens to every word that leaves your lips. His heart pounded at everything you were saying – everything he adored about you, you adored about him. Being unable to speak his mind felt foreign to him. After you finished your confession, a beautiful red hue coloring your cheeks as you looked into his eyes with hopefully eyes, all he can do his open his mouth a smidge, and close, and then open again. He must have resembled a goldfish at that time.

Albedo couldn’t believe it. You loved him, and here he was expecting to be rejected and thinking relationships were a waste of time.

He was in a dilemma now. Accept your feelings as his heart desired to, or gently reject you for practicality? Having a lover would complicate his life and he will risk so many things that he were used to just to be able to keep his relationship with you fruitful. Was he ready for something like that?

This was the first time Albedo has listened to his heart. He still remembered how he cupped your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours, muffling the gasp that tumbled out of you.

Albedo might be a stranger to romance but he is an Alchemist and risks are part of his job, and risking coming out of his comfort to be with you was something you deserve, and maybe something he deserved as well.

You knew Albedo was going to propose to you. He was always immersed in his experiments and research that you took the responsibility of tidying up his lab. It did not take long for you to find a small black box nestled in the back inside a drawer filled with haphazardly thrown papers and used pens.

Albedo knew that you knew he was going to propose to you. The two of you were taking a peaceful stroll around Dragonspine and after a heartfelt speech, he knelt down to one knee, he curiously watched as you malfunctioned right in front of him, trying to elect which route of surprise should you take before displaying a less then satisfactory theatrics of surprise.

Nonetheless, the two of you are still happy.

You and Albedo agreed that the two of you will have a small and private wedding. Klee, however, did not. She was less than thrilled to hear about that and went on a whole spiel of the reasons why you should have the biggest and most fun wedding ever, as she said.

“ - then where will a really, really tall wedding cake and Klee is going to make a bomb that will explode in the skies where it will burst out many pretty flower petals - ”

Jean promised the two of you that she will keep an eye on her at the day of the wedding.

Albedo is adamant on two things - a small wedding, and having no best man, and the latter had two reasons. Although he is highly respected in Mondstadt, there was no one he could ask to be best man, and the second reason is that he loves you and is certain that marrying you is something he wants. No doubts. He didn’t need a best man helping him in something he didn’t need help with.

Albedo was also not someone to conform to the ritual of not seeing the bride on the day of the wedding until the very ceremony, but for you, he begrudgingly followed.

On the day of the wedding, Albedo prepared himself without the help of anyone. He prepared his own clothes and had Klee braid his hair (it was a wee bit sloppy and Albedo fixed them when she had her back turned to him and gave her all the credit).

The man reached for the door to visit you but he let out a sigh when he realized that he cannot. He made a promise that today, the first time he’ll see you is when you walk down the aisle. He has to keep his promise. Not to mention Klee blocked his way and reminded him of that (tried to block).

Albedo was a patient man. Patience was nothing new to him. His research and experiments needed patience or they will ultimately fail. It came to the point where being impatient made him uncomfortable. That’s exactly what was happening when he was standing at the altar. Nobody, not even the observant Kaeya himself, can tell Albedo was beginning to lose his patience.

The day had been a little too long. He wanted to see you already. It didn’t matter if the ceremony would take a while before he can kiss you and call you his wife. He just wanted to see you again.

Albedo turned away the moment you stepped inside the cathedral. You were far from repulsive or ugly (and he can never think of you like that), but he had to cast his gaze somewhere but on you. He knew you’ll be beautiful in your wedding dress, but seeing you now with your adorable and shy smile, with Cecilia flowers in your hands, and your eyes fixated on him and only him - Albedo nearly lost his composure.

This time he was sure Kaeya saw it.

“Waah, big sister ( Your Name ) looks soooo pretty!” Klee cooed loudly, causing the guests to let out a few chuckles of amusement.

His impatience was beginning to pierce through him. The moment you faced him, Albedo did not waste time grabbing your hands, and once he did, you saw him visibly soften, as though a huge burden was lifted from his shoulders.

“What happened to you?” You asked, giggling.

Albedo returned your smile. “I’m just very happy to see you.”

The fervor that he exuded when he kissed you certainly supported his statement.

THOSE WHO WILL HIDE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RECEPTION TO CRY SOMEWHERE NO ONE CAN SEE THEM

CHONGYUN

Chongyun was known for two things – being an exorcist and having a type of condition that needed his keen observation and awareness.

He has always disliked his condition. Whenever his Yang energy overwhelms, he must immediately consume an icy treat to be able to soothe his nerves. But it seems he can be thankful for it for this one time. If it wasn’t for his congenital positivity, he wouldn’t have stumbled across you, and your hundred homemade ice cream you smuggled out of your own home.

Chongyun had been hurrying to meet his friend at that day. He had just finished an exorcism somewhere in Qingce Village and was rushing to where he and Xingqiu usually meet in Liyue. He was already running late, and who knows what Xingqiu will do if he was late again. He let out a pained yelp when he crashed against your form when he made a sharp turn, and his Yang energy has never been in a more unstable state than when he saw you seated on the ground, groaning in pain, with peculiar looking containers littering the floor around you.

Chongyun had profusely apologized for his actions and assisted you in gathering all the belongings he had knocked off your possession. He felt the coldness in the small containers you once held and wondered what was inside. He hasn’t seen anything like this before. He knew his Yang energy was starting to ooze out of him but he underestimated its manifestation until you placed your hand over his forehead. He pulled back away instantly, startled by your actions, to which you immediately apologized.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He repeated, light blue hair bobbing with his movements as he bowed his head over to you again and again, mortification palpable on his features. “I-I didn’t mean to run – ”

“No, no, I should be the one apologizing! I wasn’t looking where I was going and I put my hand on you all of a sudden – ” You were about to continue spewing apologies and explanations when you froze, concern etching across his face. “ - oh, hey, you’re really, really red. Are you okay?”

Even when it had been years since his encounter with you, he still gets embarrassed when he remembered that, and you and Xingqiu tease him about it.

He explained to you then about his condition and when you offered him a container you owned containing ice cream you made, that’s when your friendship begun. When the two of you snuck out to a secluded area in Liyue Harbor to gorge on the tons of ice cream you have once again brought out of your house despite your mother’s warnings did he know it would be a friendship that will last long. His only regret was that he introduced you to Xingqiu, and now he must endure double the teasing.

One thing he appreciated about you was how ready you were whenever you were with him. You made it your point to know what can cause his condition to act up and soothe him by your words, and always having ice cream with you. And the best part was that the ice cream you give him is always homemade, made by you. His popsicles could never compete to your masterpiece.

He never really thought of you as someone he would be romantically interested in. Sure, there were instances when his Yang energy would flare up because of having you by his side, when your smile brought upon his own, when his heart raced when you held his hand as the two of you were returning from a commission, when he gazed at you with adoration when you took care of him and fed him cold noodles when he was having a fever (he refused to eat hot noodles even in his illness). Surely, all friends do that with one another, right? And feeling this odd sensation in his chest was normal, right?

When he confided in Xingqiu with this, the boy laughed at his cluelessness. It wasn’t surprising. Chongyun did not have a lot of friends so distinguishing friendship and romance was not easy for him. The Hydro Vision holder filled him in with everything he has to know about relationships, and he used some pretty unconventional ways like giving him a too descriptive image of how a man and woman would kiss, and other explicit doings of adults.

But it did bring light one thing – Chongyun liked you, and of course how he handled such revelation was, simply put, disastrous.

His entire body felt hot, and he was stammering to the point even the ever so eloquent Xingqiu cannot understand him. Normally, when things get like this, he’ll rush over to your place and request for some of your delicious ice cream but seeing as you were somehow part of the reason for this, he had to rely on Xingqiu to take care of him.

After learning about his feelings for you, Chongyun have never been more uneasy around you, which was odd, and he was sure you’ve noticed, and yet has never dropped any comment about it.

He was always nervous around you. Blushing whenever you come close to him, jumping when you take his hand in his, stammering whenever you praise him for anything, feeling the need to run away if you ask him about how he was fairing – he has lost count just how many popsicles he has eaten just to keep his cool. He has stopped asking ice cream from you and declined any offer from you because he thought accepting your homemade ice creams could lead him to falling deeper in love with you until he couldn’t move on anymore.

Chongyun didn’t notice your growing impatience. He was so immersed in his own feelings that he didn’t take into consideration how you felt whenever he flinched away from your touch and rejected your treats.

It took Xingqiu for the growing tension between the two of you to alleviate. He made an elaborate plan to get the two of you together in an isolated place (a broom closet) and has made a claim not to let any of you go until the two of you have confessed your feelings with each other.

“Just tell me what’s wrong with you, Chongyun! Why are you acting so weird around me?” You asked him but he refused to answer you just as he refused to look at you.

You let out a sigh as you reached out to take his hand but when he pulled away from your touch, that was the last straw.

“If you don’t want to be friends with me anymore, just say so.”

Alarmed, Chongyun faced you, stuttering. “No! Of course, I want to be friends with you - I mean, I don’t want to be friends - wait, that sounded wrong, and so bad - ”

Your brows burrowed together in question. “You want to be friends but you don’t want to be friends?”

Chongyun groaned as he buried his face on his hands. It’s now or never.

“I like you, ( Your Name ).”

The silence that followed was deafening for Chongyun. He removed his hands from his face and prepared himself to apologize and beg to continue being friends when he felt hands cup his face, and your lips pressing against his. It was a good thing you had ice cream on you even after he avoided you for weeks. He almost fainted in your arms if it wasn’t for you shoving a finger in his mouth with a scoop of ice cream.

It was one of the few times Chongyun was grateful for Xingqiu’s interest in romantic tropes because if it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t have left that room with a blushing but happy face with you.

Xingqiu smirked as the two of you exited the room, hand in hand and redness coating your cheeks. “Well, well, well, look who - ”

“Shut up, Xingqiu,” You and Chongyun chorused. The two of you looked at each other out of surprise and then burst out laughing, all the while the Hydro Vision user stood by the side, sighing.

“Now, I have to deal with these two’s teasing.”

When Chongyun realized he was ready to propose to you after years of being together, he asked Xingqiu to propose to you on his behalf.

His best friend nearly destroyed his book from whacking the Cryo user for thinking such an inane idea could work. Not only was it not romantic, it was also inappropriate. Xingqiu had to reprimand him for an entire hour proposing that idea but being a good best friend that he is despite his mischievous streak, he vowed to help the man propose to you.

It was no easy task and there were times where Chongyun held himself back and risking yet another proposal plan. He was thankful Xingqiu was well versed with romance and everything entailed with it and knew more ways to help him. After a countless of delays, Chongyun managed to get down on one knee one fine evening by the trails leading to Liyue Harbor, spew out affirmation of his love for you in stammers, and asked for your hand in marriage.

When you accepted his proposal and adorned your finger with the ring, Chongyun discreetly showed a thumbs up to a nearby bush. About three hands popped out from the leaves, offering the same action.

Xingqiu let out a sigh as Xiangling and Xinyan giggled. “Finally.” He breathed out. “Now, time for me to be his best man.”

Of course, Chongyun chose him as his best man. Who else would be a better choice than him?

Chongyun is firm about Xingqiu being his best man but sometimes he can be a little bit . . . pushy, especially when it comes to something he believes in.

There was a tradition where he cannot see you for a whole week until the ceremony. Chongyun was mildly bothered by this arrangement but nonetheless, since you agree with it, he will respect your wishes and do the same. Xingqiu has over and over again tried to persuade him to visit you at home, and he made some interesting points why he should. He almost convinced him a few times but in the end, he refused to be lured in his trap and stopped the temptation of breaking his promise.

He missed you dearly, yes, and his patience will surely be rewarded soon.

Chongyun, as expected, was freaking out at the day of wedding. Marriage is a huge step for the both of you. You’re not going to regret marrying him, will you? What if this marriage didn’t work? He’ll lose you for you.

Xingqiu had to guide him away from the altar and to a corner for privacy. Other than you, Xingqiu was a person who had been when his condition start acting up and how it worked.

After successfully cooling him down with a popsicle, Xingqiu consoled Chongyun. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about back there but you have nothing to worry about. ( Your Name ) loves you.”

“What if it doesn’t work between us?”

“It will. I’ve seen how you two are. You’re perfect for each other. I think you already know that, and ( Your Name ) does too. Why would she accept your proposal if she didn’t think the two of you wouldn’t prosper together?”

Chongyun murmured. “Pity?”

If Xingqiu had a book with at that moment, he would have smacked Chongyun again.

Once his condition has subsided, Chongyun returned to the altar and Xingqiu stood behind him, waiting.

The moment you arrived, Chongyun can feel himself heating up and his heart pounding against his chest. It felt like his condition was acting up but he wasn’t feeling nauseous or at the edge of fainting. It was a pleasant sort of warmth, the warmth he felt when he first met you.

No. It was the same warmth that travels through his body whenever he sees you, but this time, it was stronger to the point he it almost felt like his condition.

Your smile immediately disappeared when you saw Chongyun flushed red and his eyes averting from yours.

Worry encapsulated you. “Is your condition acting up?” You asked in a whisper.

Chongyun blinked, puzzled. “What?”

Discreetly taking a gander at the audience completely unaware of your interaction, you slipped your hand under your dress and showed Chongyun was a small ice cream container.

“I brought this with me just in case.”

Chongyun decided he made the best decision of his life to marry you.

He took your hands in his and pressed a small kiss on top of one.

“Thank you, love.”

After the wedding, Chongyun immediately visited the comfort room. You tried to follow him but Xingqiu told you there was nothing to worry about, and he was right.

When he entered the comfort room, Chongyun locked the door behind him and headed straight to the sink to splash some water on his face.

One won’t be able to tell Chongyun was crying from the water streaming down his face.

He looked up at the mirror, staring at his reflection as he let out a small, and content sigh.

“I’m married. I’m married to her.” Chongyun tried to hold back his smile, but he failed. “She’s my . . . wife.”

And did it sound nice to call you his wife.

XIAO

It was his duties to Rex Lapis, to the thriving land of Liyue, that kept Xiao grounded and his mind temporarily fleeting away from the karmic debts that weighed on his shoulders. If it had not been for the responsibilities laid down on him, he was sure to have succumb to the consequences of his bloodshed from the past long ago. It was the reason behind his creation, to serve the people of Liyue and protect them from any transgressors or anything that could potentially lead to their destruction, and it was all he knew. His existence was all for Liyue, and to seek out the desires of Rex Lapis and accomplish them no matter how difficult and by what means.

Day and night he oversees every part of Liyue and hears every call of his name and seeks refuge in Wangshu Inn. It was a cycle that has never changed ever since the gruesome war between gods has taken place in Teyvat, and all was same until that night when he heard a cry for help from a distant place, and rescued a strange maiden from the peril she found herself in.

Love at first sight disgusted him the most. He can understand, to some degree, that mortals can fall in love with people they have built a caring and trusting relationship with but falling in love with someone who one has no dust of knowledge of their identity was simply unwise and incomprehensible. And yet there he was, leaping from the precipice of a soaring mountain and securing the mortal in the middle of her fall.

Xiao had no clue why it felt like time has stopped and they have gently floated in the air as he took a gander at the woman in his arms. Scratches littered her features, and twigs adorned her mop of hair, but she still shone brighter than the stars and moon behind her.

He did not let her speak to him after he has placed her safely on solid ground and he quickly took his leave without even a glance back.

When he had painted the lands of Teyvat red with the other Yakshas, he did not blink an eye or feel a bead of sweat trail on the side of his face. But that woman has caused his chest to flutter, and he always find himself thinking back to the day he had saved her. If he had been like any other mortal which has sleep as a necessity, he would find himself thinking of you every morning and every night, longing for another chance to meet you again. What has she done to him? He already has to carry the burden of his sins, and now he must endure this painful curse she casted on him?

But it didn’t matter now. She was already long gone, for all he knows, and he doesn’t even know her name.

Xiao already came to accept that she was merely going to fleet away from his mind, a distant memory that his heart will ache every time he remembers her. He had many regrets in his lifetime, and this leaving her behind without knowing her name is one of them.

But it seems to him that Rex Lapis has taken favor of him and has graced his undeserving existence. Xiao had just exterminated a Hilichurl camp getting increasingly close to Wangshu Inn when his ears preened and his pupils dilated – that voice, the same voice that he never thought he’d hear again, was calling out for him again. He did not find the time to dispose of the monsters in a more appropriate location where they will no longer continue their venture towards the inn, and quickly made his way to where he heard her.

When he arrived, it did not take long for him to spot her standing perfectly still in front of him, hands behind her back. His eyes dilated as he took in her familiar form. Her tresses were no longer matted with twigs and mud, the scratches that once marred her skin no longer present, and a smile has replaced the cowering fear that adorned her visage before.

Xiao ignored the increasing heartbeat that drummed against his chest and surveyed the area with a flick of his spear. “There’s no danger.” He remarked after assessing the parameter, his mask dissipating into the night as he returned his gaze back at her.

She rubbed her arm as she averted her eyes from him. “I spent months trying to find you again.” The mortal woman murmured. “When all has failed, I thought back to that night you saved me, and I called – and you came.”

Xiao did not speak another word, but he was afraid that you can hear how loud his heart was racing. He needed to ignore his selfishness, he needed to leave. “If you’re not in any danger, then I’ll be leaving.”

He turned around to do as he said, but his eyes widened when he felt your hand around his wrist.

“Wait, please,” She pleaded, and when he looked over his shoulder, any resolve of leaving her again vanished. She was looking at him with hopeful and vibrant orbs. How can he ever let her down when she’s looking at him like that?

Xiao let out a sigh and turned back around to meet her properly, but her hand never left him. Were you afraid he might disappear as quickly as he did like last time?

“Don’t go.”

“Why not?” Xiao questioned. “If you know anything about an Adeptus, then you understand my duties.”

She bit her lip as he withdrew her hold. Xiao missed the warmth she gave him already. “I know that but . . . ” She trailed off. “ . . . can I . . . at least know your name?”

Xiao did not give her an answer.

“Even if we never meet again, I want to at least know the name of man who saved me.” She mumbled softly. “But I’m afraid if I ever know your name, I’ll never get to think of any other man but you.”

Xiao appraised you, taking in her apprehensive frame. A mortal has fallen in love with an Adeptus? This was preposterous. He saved her months ago, and back then they shared little time together. Too little to gain feelings for him.

But still, he found himself relenting to your wishes.

“Xiao,” He answered. “My name is Xiao.”

Don’t look for another man. I’m here. I’m staying.

That’s how he met his first and last love, ( Your Name ).

Xiao has lived in Teyvat for thousands of years and is knowledgeable of the culture of mortals, one of them being marriage. He had witnessed humans bounding themselves to another, promising to cherish them, protect them, to love them. For Xiao, marriage is something far from disgusting. Although he cannot understand the need for them to be together under an oath, it was undeniable that many great things and opportunities birthed from them.

However, no matter how beautiful it is for them, it will never stop perplexing Xiao. How is it that one can look at another and know that they’re the one? Are they not afraid to be betrayed? Are humans so willing to have themselves get hurt and offer forgiveness for the sake of love? It’s confusing for him.

Not until you came along that it made sense. Every argument, every disagreement, sleepless nights, every sincere apology, every countless forgiveness, every embrace, every kiss - is this what mortals feel? If so, he’ll endure all the hardships of love if it means staying by your side, and he knew that you feel the same.

Unfortunately, Xiao is not one for marriage.

Not that he does not love you - oh Archons, because he did, deeply so - but the consequences of your relationship always hang in front of him.

It’s already a risk to let you in his heart and love someone as sinful as him, but the thought of you bearing his karmic debt terrified him.

What happens if the two of you are bound together, and under a contract that Rex Lapis will surely oversee? Will the demons that torment him sink their teeth on your pure and innocent soul? Will he see the life in your eyes wither as you strive to remain with him? And what if you try to break the contract to escape karma? Will the both of you suffer in karma and the wrath of the rock?

Xiao can’t do that to you. This is one way he can guarantee your safety. It hurts him to know he cannot marry you, and it hurt more when he saw the disappointment and pain in your eyes when he explained himself. But keeping you safe is his top priority. He deserved this punishment, he can’t put it over your shoulders too.

But that didn’t stop Xiao from imagining how your wedding could have been if things we’re a little different.

A small wedding in a place of your choice with only a handful of close friends and families. You’ll wear a gorgeous dress and walk up to where he is with the same smile you wore when he met you for the second time.

As you stand before him, Xiao could only imagine the happiness and contentment he would feel at that time.

He’ll hold you close, hear you laugh, and then he’ll press his lips against yours, sealing you to a promise that everything that he is, and everything that he has, is yours.

He’ll find himself retreating somewhere private. He didn’t want you to see him vulnerable, weak, as he cried for the first time in his life, and for the greatest reason.

He could have a chance of happiness, but he can’t.

It was all a dream.

A dream he will never achieve, a dream of yours that he can never grant.

“Xiao, you’re still awake?”

The man looked away from the moon and looked over his shoulder to see you standing by the threshold leading to the terrace. You were tired, and yet you woke up to tend to him.

“You know I don’t need sleep.”

“But you always lie next to me. What’s wrong? Something bothering you?”

Xiao did not respond, and you didn’t push any further. He adored it how you know when to prod to a subject or not. You know him so well.

After a moment of silence, you walked over to him and sat beside him on the railing. You looked up at the moon, and Xiao slowly placed his head over your shoulder.

He felt at peace.

Xiao closed his eyes, dreaming of a day that will never come when he can marry you without anything holding him back.

KAZUHA

Kazuha can no longer remember how long it has been since he was on the run from the shogunate. The Electro Archon and her subjects are on the hunt for Visions of every single person residing in the walls of Inazuma, and he was one of the few who refused to have their Visions confiscated from them. It seems exiling him from his homeland was no longer sufficient and the said Archon has ordered for every so-called transgressor that they banished to be apprehended and have their Visions forcefully taken from them. It was only his luck that Beidou, and the crew she captained, has taken him under their wing and he has been sailing the seas with them since then.

Has it been months? Days? Or perhaps weeks? Being away from land with nothing but the ocean to take in and his mind seemingly always preoccupied with his doubts and worries has him losing track of time.

In all honesty, he doesn’t remember the last time he stepped on dry land. Perhaps they did, but it was not a memory that has fleeted a long time ago. All he can think about was Inazuma, the threat of being having his Vision taken, and his past he buried deep within the back of his mind.

Beidou must have taken notice of his continuous lackluster attitude and has set sail for Liyue for him to take a break from the seas. This, of course, he appreciated though he insisted Beidou that she did not have to dock just for him to clear his mind.

Back at that time Beidou claimed she knew what is best for him and she should put his trust on him, and with the lack of reasons to refute her statement, Kazuha merely let out a sigh and agreed to land in Liyue.

He has never been to Liyue, or to put it more accurately, he has never stepped foot in in the few times the Crux made their return on Liyue. It wasn’t because he hated it there, but he felt more comfortable and more at home inside the ship. The furthest he has gone was on the docks to help the crew load supplies in their next sail. But now Beidou has encouraged him to leave the ship and explore, and implied being forbidden to come aboard if he refused to do as she says.

When Beidou said she knows what is best for him, maybe she was right. He must admit, even if he was still longing to return to his homeland, Liyue had many sights and delicacies to offer. But the best and most beautiful sight he saw was up on a rooftop when he was resting from hours of mindless meandering in the streets.

He played with a green leaf that fluttered over to him after it has been carried away by the wind from its tree, and he pressed his lips against it to whistle a melody. The tune was buried under the bustle of the city night but it seems that one picked it up from the terrace just below him.

Kazuha saw a girl around his age walk out to the terrace, head moving left and right, as though looking for something. Kazuha did not think much of this behavior assuming she was searching for something else, and he tore his eyes away from her and nonchalantly continued to whistle against the leaf.

“So, that was you who was making that beautiful sound.”

Kazuha casted his gaze down to see the girl on the terrace looking up at him as she leaned against the railing with her arms crossed, a gleeful smile present on her brims. He pulled the leaf from his lips as he regarded her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to – ”

She shook her head, chuckling. “No, no, it’s fine. You can stay there.” She assured, and Kazuha eased on his spot. She stared at the leaf in his hand. “I didn’t know you can make a tune using a leaf.”

Kazuha flashed her a small smile. “It’s something only a few can do. It’s pretty hard to master.”

“And you’re one of those few.” She remarked. Silence prevailed between the two until she spoke again. “Can you play something for me?”

Kazuha was bewildered by her request. It wasn’t common to find a foreigner sitting on the rooftop of her household. One would think that their first reaction should be an accusation of trespassing and a demand for identification, but no. This girl was different, you were different.

Kazuha did not question your request, just as you have not questioned him of his place on your rooftop. Instead, he granted your wish. He pressed the leaf against his lips and blew, a tune of his own composition sounding in the air.

He watched in awe as you raised both your hands to your chest and white particles formed above your palm, creating a shape until it formed and bloomed into an elegant wooden lyre. Without saying anything else, you strum the strings along with his tune, and the people of Liyue beneath their feet are unaware of the small haven the two of them created together.

Kazuha is more than grateful for Beidou for pushing him to go to Liyue. Ever since that night, he has made constant visits to your house. Early in the morning – that’s when Beidou would barge into the barracks and force them out of their beds – he would always be the one out of the door to finish his tasks and leave immediately to visit you, a prominent smile over his face. The crew, of course, has pestered him to tell him of the reason for his constant leaving and he could only let out a sigh of relief when Beidou shooed them away from him and asked them to return to their work. She winked at him right after and whispered, “Go and hurry to your girlfriend.” To which he denied with a shy grumble before making haste to Liyue.

Liyue was brighter than the isolationist Inazuma has become, and one of the reasons Kazuha thought this was you. The Crux was like a family to him, and Beidou was like an older sister to him, but you – he has never felt more soothed than in your presence. You felt like home, and it has been so long since he had felt like he was at home. Seeing you smile, hearing you laugh, seeing how you nod attentively as he talked, your arms embracing him when he opened up to you about his past, the music you played together in perfect harmony even without practice – it was all so surreal.

Kazuha didn’t have to tell you about his growing feelings for you. He knew that you knew.

It started with a shy kiss, and then a longer one, and the two of you found solace in each other’s arms. There was no music playing, and there were no stories shared – just him with his arms around your figure and lips connected with yours. None of you dare say it but your days together were slowly coming to an end, and it won’t be long until the day comes when he has to set sail to visit neighboring nations.

But Kazuha will always come back to you, that he promises.

After a few years of frequent visiting and writing letters to one another, Kazuha has finally decided that it was time for him to propose to you. Beidou - being the supportive big sister she is to him - upon hearing of his plan, gathered her crew to help Kazuha in his objective. Everything from food, drinks, location (they chose the ship), and atmosphere, they provided. As thanks for their dedication and help, they only ask an invitation to his wedding, to which Kazuha replied will surely come even if they did not help.

The crew claimed that they shall be far away as possible from the ship so that the two of you can have your privacy, but Kazuha, and definitely you, as well, heard loud cheering from a short distance followed by a shushing Beidou when you accepted his proposal.

“I thought they said they’d be at Wanmin Restaurant - ”

“To be honest, I didn’t really believe them.”

Unlike the other boys who were hesitant of not seeing the bride for a week until the wedding, Kazuha was actually the one to push this tradition. He disliked it as much as the other boys, but Kazuha loved being able to give you his all. Not being able to see you for a week is a sure way for him to crave for your presence, and once the two of you see each other again, he’ll pour out every love and care for you then.

You were dismayed by this whole arrangement but since it is important to Kazuha, you respected it.

The crew fought for the spot of best man, but in the end, all of them got to be best man. Kazuha did not have the heart to choose one from the crew, so he had to explain to you beforehand that the almost the entire male crew of The Crux are going to be standing with him at the ceremony.

It wasn’t a common occurrence in a wedding but you allowed it. The crew was like his family to him, and if it’s going to make him happy to have them as his best men, who are you to go against it?

At the day of the wedding, Beidou was the one to fret over Kazuha’s appearance. The Anemo user tried to calm her down but after she continually tried to fix his hair for the wedding, he just sighed and allowed her.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be married in just a few hours.” Beidou remarked in the quiet after a while. “To think you were just a teenager when we met you, and our little teenager is a big man now.”

“Nothing’s going to change. I’ll just be married.” Kazuha tried to ease her worries but he knew as well there are going to be major changes. One of being concerning his frequent endeavors with the crew. Once he gets married with you, he’d want to be with you always, to settle with you. But he was so used to the sea, to be living with the crew in a ship. Can he really get used to this coming change?

Beidou let out a sigh. She placed a hand over his head, patting him gently. She would have ruffled his hair but that would waste her effort on making it as presentable as she can.

“Things are going to change, Kazuha.” Stated Beidou, beaming. “And it’s not all bad. Trust me.”

Kazuha nodded, but he was still uneasy. He was ready to give himself to you, but at the same time, he wasn’t ready to leave the crew.

This thought haunted him even in the time of the ceremony. He should be focusing on the wedding but he couldn’t.

He needed to talk to you about this. You need to know what’s bothering him.

Was it possible to feel dread for the future while also looking forward to it?

Because it felt like a gust of wind billowed his direction when his eyes landed on you. Beautiful, you’re beautiful. What else can he say?

Was he really going to marry you? Whatever did you see in him? He was a banished Ronin from Inazuma. There must be some other man more worthy of you.

But you loved him, nobody else.

“Stop gawking at me like that. You’re making me embarrassed.” You murmured, cheeks flushed. He didn’t even notice you standing before him until you spoke.

Kazuha closed his parted lips as he turned away from you. “I . . . uh . . . ” He swallowed. “You look beautiful, ( Your Name ).”

“At least look at me when you say that, Kazu-kun.”

He looked at you, breathing in before speaking. “You look very, very . . . uh, pretty.”

You laughed a little. “You look very, very handsome, Kazuha.”

You took his hands in yours and gazed into his eyes, smiling. “Things are going to change once we get married.”

A pang of uneasiness struck Kazuha.

But what you said next shocked him.

“After this, I can finally be part of the crew and join you on your adventures in the sea!”

Kazuha gawked at you again, blinking.

Everyone invited to his wedding gasped when Kazuha suddenly kissed you out of nowhere in the middle of the ceremony.

Beidou, and the rest of the crew, however, cheered loudly for the two of you.

After the wedding, Kazuha snuck away from the reception for a while. He found a tree from a short distance and sat on the branch, breathing in the cool evening air.

He caught a fluttering leaf and smiled as he gazed at it and recalled how the two of you met.

Things will change, and soon, he’ll be adventuring with his wife in the vast ocean. Oh, he has so many things to show you.

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