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2kmps · 5 months

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FAULTY TEST

android x reader one-shot | 2.5k | MDNI!!

story summary;; a newfound responsibility of yours has been to record the behaviors and responses of an exclusive, advanced android marketed for the wealthy and elite. he is beautiful and meticulously fulfills your every need. however, when you start to notice odd changes in his usual pattern one morning, you begin to wonder if he's defected.

story warnings;; ducon, implied insemination, coercion, brief sexual content, somewhat obsessive behaviors, overall criticism of society as a whole, prose + heavy descriptions, incomplete ideas but for the sake of this one-shot it is cohesive, ending left vague and open to interpretation, android critiques mc's health, roughly proofread, mdni!!

please interact & reblog if you enjoy!!

He had a face that was structured to be unimaginably beautiful. A sort of face that you'd never tire of looking at, finding something new to admire and touch every time, yet saddled your mind with some inexplicable discomfort and set the hairs on the back of your neck straight like needles. Over time, that feeling had never fully subsided, simultaneously becoming one you craved at every instance he entered a room, like Pavlov’s dog trained to salivate to a bell.

“What is your preference this morning, Tester?” Elio announced himself from the kitchen once your first heel struck the bottom of the staircase. His voice was liquefied velvet, mellifluous with enough depth that you swore even the simplest words spoken could make your heart tremble. “Tester? Are you well?”

You wished he would call you something else, something other than what the manufacturer had programmed him to. He was an advanced model—pardon, a luxury model—so his repertoire came with extensive features not available in other options, but insofar, the ability to have androids refer you by name was only achievable by obscene amounts of money and sending them back to the manufacturer to have them install it there.

Elio was up for being considered the gold standard in android development, as proclaimed by the researcher you were put in communication with during the beginning of the trial run. He was made to be perfect in every way, perform flawlessly in anything asked of him, respond favorably regardless of situation or dilemma.

“Coffee with cream and sugar is fine. I'm not in the mood to eat anything this morning.” It was often explained, he was supposed to memorize it but he asked you every morning regardless. “Are you having issues with your memory bank, Elio?”

Single strands of his coiffed hair moved with his head as he looked at you, hands busily putting together your beverage to every exact specification. This made it obvious enough that nothing was inhibiting his ability to store away your morning preferences.

“Not at all. It's just that some days you prefer your coffee lightly sweetened, others you enjoy a meal that won't leave you feeling groggy in the afternoon.” Elio said in his precise, elegant tones with a smile far too effortless to come from a machine. “I thought it wise to commit these discrepancies to my memory bank for your convenience and to ask from now on.”

Fascinating. You weren't aware of this element in the newest model. The guidebook that Researcher Kim had given you made no mention of it.

What's more is he decided to do this spontaneously. You were making a note about it in your phone when a simple, white mug was placed before you, Elio’s pristine fingertips turning it by the rim until the handle faced your dominant hand.

“Please consider eating something before leaving the house. Coffee on an empty stomach, especially one as sensitive as yours, won't end well, as I'm led to believe from my research.” Elio watched you drink through long, dark lashes that framed depths of piercing green. You liked that they seemed to turn paler or darker in different lighting, dimensions similar to a marble held up to the sun. “I’d also like to remind you that the quality of food that you consume first thing in the morning aids with energy disbursement throughout the day. I have a very gratuitous database of recipes that I can prepare for you.”

You were taking delicate sips from the round rim while he talked, lips surrounding the porcelain long enough that you swore his gaze had wavered to them for a split second before returning eye contact.

“I’m glad someone is concerned about my tummy health, because I always believed someone would find me face down in the bathroom from my ass prolapsing.” You wished someone with a sense of humor was around for that banger, but, alas, it was Elio and he did not laugh.

His expression turned severe. “Human bodies are oddly as robust as they are sensitive. Most of the worldwide population suffer with similar afflictions: Lactose intolerance, varying dermatitis, poor eyesight, gastrointestinal diseases. Humans are, in every sense, meant to harbor and experience chronic pain and disease throughout their lifespan. I do believe this attests to your durability as a species.

“All this is to say is my main prerogative and function is for the betterment of your life and health. So, knowing all of this and to conclude, please consider a couple slices of toast or an omelet before leaving. Your daily habits dictate a routine visit to the coffee shop on 5th and Lowe, where you'll consume around one-hundred twenty milligrams of caffeine and your first meal of the day may be a sweetened pastry without nutritional density. You will, indubitably, ‘feel bad’ the rest of the day as a result.”

“Holy shit,” you had given up on recording his speech after the first two minutes, phone facedown on a gleaming countertop. “You didn't plagiarize that from a random article on the internet, did you?”

Coffee having turned lukewarm by the end of his presentation, he took the mug away and emptied the medium-brown contents into the drain before turning on the faucet to clean it. “Not at all. I've simply been accumulating knowledge on your routines and have noticed you're at an increasing risk for different ailments. Did you find it helpful?”

Truthfully, you weren't so sure.

Androids were built to serve humans in every capacity, but their limitations were still well-known. They were capable of carefully compiling decades worth of information on their owners, plus the equivalent of hundreds more, but everything Elio had just said was beyond the scope of their normal hardware. The information had been elucidated critically, yet with a certain sentience you expected from a caretaker—not a machine built for convenience, entertainment, and pleasure.

You weren't sure how much of it you needed to relay to Researcher Kim, if it was any real reason for concern at this stage or just part of Elio’s advanced circuitry. A part of you worried, just slightly, that officially documenting all of this would have Elio removed from the testing period prematurely—he was supposed to be yours, exclusively, for another six months.

The contract had been signed. Elio had been promised to you despite the number of waitlisted celebrities trying to bribe their way into the corporation, and Researcher Kim’s good graces.

This, of course, was all only contingent if he operated and performed, at all times, as outlined in the guidebook you were handed upon Elio’s awakening. Researcher Kim had delivered his newest creation to you himself, a dreary Wednesday in late autumn in the mid-morning, and had taken great care to put the crisp, chemical-scented poundage of bound pages in your fingers and insisted that if you noticed the slightest deviation from what was printed inside, he be alerted to it immediately.

You didn't do that.

You took a hot shower, blow-dried your hair, put your arms through some clean clothes and let Elio follow you to the front door to see you off for the day.

That day grew stranger still, not even yet being ten o’ clock in the morning, when the deadbolt clicked and your finger joints bent around cold brass. It didn't raise chicken skin on your arms and neck nearly as high as when Elio pushed his hand to the door, keeping it shut despite your pull.

You couldn't look into his green eyes, shockingly pale in the golden rays filtering inside your home from the window arching in the door. “Did I forget something?”

“No. I accounted for everything you'd need on your outing.” Elio said, perfectly. His hand made a sound as it slid down along the door, resting shoulder height near you. “A function you have not utilized in me as of now is that of a ‘companion’. Do you find me defective in that way? Dr. Kim developed me to be attractive to the human eye—stimulating, perhaps, is a more definitive word to use.”

“I—no, Elio. You're plenty, er, stimulating. I just don't know how appropriate it is for me to do anything like that while you're in a testing period.” It felt distasteful to have to point out his own inhumanity to him, despite his model being cognizant enough to be aware of it. “It would feel weird, I think.”

“That is one of my primary purposes,” he insisted, shrinking the height of himself so he was nearer to your face. “I was created to be a companion, to alleviate that pervading loneliness that plagues you—all of humanity. Humans have forgotten how to communicate and love each other, so that's why I'm standing here now. You're ignoring one of my most critical functions.”

“Elio, if I get too attached to you, it's going to create problems when you're—”

“—sent back. I do understand how human attachment works. Perhaps not on the same scale, but don't you think my attachment is similar to yours. Everything about you is secured in my circuitry, and you're the only thing in my world that’s programmed to matter. Even once I'm returned to the lab, you'll still be a part of me; memories of you, your favorite things, the things you hate, the people you cherish and what they like, what you do, where you go, what you buy, how you sleep—it’s all part of a larger system, a mainframe that secures this data. I may be wiped clean, but you'll still remain.”

You felt like he was letting you in on some dirty secret, something devious and meant to be unknowable and guarded. But, then again, Elio had always displayed an odd sort of disinterest in the Company—in Researcher Kim, you hadn't considered until just now that this was also a defect.

“What do you want?” You'd never asked him that before because it had never been about what he wanted. He wasn't supposed to want anything; he was meant to provide—to give, give, give.

Elio took away your shoulder bag, nearing your face until his lips settled between yours and his hands pulled you away from the door into his body. His kiss was warm, movements at a pace you could keep up with but urgent as though seeking to burn every bit of you into him. As much as you daydreamed what it'd be like, he felt completely natural on your mouth, large hands sweeping under the layers of your clothing seeking out the fire on your skin.

In your generation, it wasn't common for humans to intermingle physically anymore—dating culture was reserved for the elite looking to reproduce for heirs, and often still thought to be rare. All others were either loveless or ravished by androids who supplemented love that simply wasn't real.

Humans wanted to be wanted and adored and cherished and to belong, such was a natural behavior predating all written record; androids were created to fill the vile void engendered by humanity, self-imposed isolation and avoidance in the same species.

Elio was nestled between the sprawl of your legs before long, both your bodies bare and above the clean sheets he had outfitted your mattress with last night. His rhythm inside your body was some equal parts loving and passionate, something you hadn't realized you liked until he started rocking you with his cock. You liked how his hands gripped under your thighs to raise your legs, blunt fingertips pressing marks into your flesh as though he, too, could feel all the same pleasure that you were.

His lips traveled all over, mapping out routes and sweet spots on your flesh, purposefully lingering for a time if you squirmed or moaned underneath him.

You tried to keep in your mind, midst the insatiable buzz in your mind and hot throb in your groin that he was simply performing a function—his attention to you, his lips finding yours time and time again, darkened green eyes spearing deep into yours with every slow, hard thrust—it was all performative.

“You're beautiful.”

“I like you like this.”

“Moan louder for me.”

“Cum for me.”

“I love you.”

Elio said the last one at the end when you were tight around his girth and writhing, panting during an orgasm that he fucked you through until the heat from your bodies cooled and heart rates returned to normal. You were confused to feel warmth sluggishly ooze out of you, white and dampening the bedsheets below.

“How—what is that?” you asked, suddenly breathless as his lips caressed your jaw, moving lightly behind your ear.

“Another part of my purpose.” He said quietly in your ear, whispering to you in tones not so velvety as though divulging a well-lain secret. “This one isn't advertised because humans in this day and age are so fickle and avoidant to certain commitments. Unfortunately, certain programming I cannot override, and this is one of them. Forgive me.”

You were kissed on the lips again and again, and then a few times more after he left the bed. He did not return your clothing to you, but rather piled it under his arm and made the motion to go left for the bathroom down the hall.

Elio turned back. “I'll start you a bath. Today, would you prefer eucalyptus in your bathwater or something sweeter?”

Your jaw felt as tight as your throat, as the sheets bunched into your fists. The nerves in your stomach were wild. “Choose for me.”

He was still naked and beautiful in your doorway, a modern marvel to your eyes even now. You would, undoubtedly, see him like this much more often now that he had broken through the barrier you had been so meticulous to keep robust and well-fed with paranoia and derisive self-talk.

“Very well. Eucalyptus will be the best option considering how tight your muscles are.” He smiled neutrally, finally leaving the bedroom for the bathroom at the end of the hall. “I'll return for you once the bath is ready. Please don't go to sleep yet.”

You weren't sure you'd be able to sleep again with your new insight. Once the empty air filled with sounds of gushing water, movements within the bathroom, you started to wipe furiously at your groin—inside and out—with the sheet as far as you could reach. There was a slither of hope you could get most of it, a chance you could contact someone for a lifeline even if the price would be ungodly, and consequences treated equivalent to murder if caught.

In a world where humans could no longer love each other, and chose the embrace of complex circuitry and delusion, even the testers needed to contribute to society somehow.

a/n: so, this is going to become a longer oneshot in the future. it'll be diabolical and dark and awful, but also a needed tale given today's climate on sex and such. there's a lot more I want to explore with my ideas and elio, but yeah.

I'm gonna put up a poll soon to decide on a definitive appearance for elio since I just threw in some random characteristics for this.

if you liked this, please reblog it and interact!! I'd love to hear your thoughts more than anything 😭😭

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emsgoodthinkin · 8 months

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~ never did this before | virgin!Eddie Munson x virgin! Thick!Fem Reader \\ modern au

This story is based off the song Wet Dreamz by Jcole **recommend listening to it first to understand the story// can be perceived/read regardless if you are a poc; as I am mixed ♡ [descriptions of reader having tan skin and brown eyes; so it meets in the middle if you are a poc or not]

• Summary: after weeks of flirting and crushing on each other, you finally pop a serious question into your bestfriend Eddie’s head, and he has a hard time providing you with an honest answer // this is more like a rom com

• Warnings: MDNI; smut (not too explicitly) fluff, both kinda experienced? soft Eddie, cocky Eddie, sassy reader, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, he’s a little bit of a perv, masturbation, 69, protected piv, premature ejaculation, heavy petting, grinding, confessions, slight insecure thoughts? (both are 18+) word count :3.4k //sry 4 errors

Eddie’s Pov

Calculus. The last class of the day. My favorite class overall.

There she sat, giggling on her phone, showing me silly photos she took of her dog Skittle, the sun shining just right on her honey toned tanned skin, hair laying just as perfect as ever in that simple, claw clip. Curls and wavy bangs sectioned to shape her face, brown eyes that matched mine and oh those glossy lips..

I wanna kiss you so fucking bad baby.

Her outfit of the day, that new pink and black checkered shirt she got at the mall that I drove her to.

It’s so tight on you sweetheart, your tits look beautiful today.

White Reeboks as I have, but very much cleaner…

Those 100% perfectly stretchy, acid wash jeans you wear every week that fit your ass so fucking bad.. fuck don’t bend over.. don’t—

“Eddie? what’s wrong with you?”

Fuck— didn’t realize the moan that I slipped out when she dropped her phone, she cracked it..but all I could focus on were the back of her thighs when she bent over

“Sorry uh- I think I’m just sore from carrying those amps last night”, he says now rubbing his not sore bicep with a pout

Lie.

“Oh babe I’m sorry, come by later and I can rub it out for you” she replies

Why the fuck would you say that to me right now—

“Oh yeah? You’d just love to get your hands on me always huh sweetheart? ” leaning back in my seat, with a cocky smile

You blush and shove my arm playfully “you’re so stupid, you know what I meant”

——

She’s been like this for the past month, after Harringtons party. Smoking and drinking under that patio umbrella, away from everyone else. Laughing, holding on to each other for dear life. I tell her jokes, she ugly laughs. I love her laugh, it’s not fake it’s genuine like her.

We met at the drink table, both preferring whiskey over the red shit they put out.

We talked about our intrests, I was very suprised and impressed with how she carried herself. How she talked about herself. How she sat comfortably on my lap; as if we knew each other for forever.

Obviously her thick hips in that royal blue, tacky dress she wore caught my attention first

It takes a certain kinda person to make me laugh but she.. she was probably the most funniest and beautiful fucking girl I’ve never seen. A few beauty marks as she would call it, scattered down her neck and arms. Eyelashes so dark she could always pass on the mascara, the sweet charm and sass she had to her.. she was something different.

She was fresh to town and it was relief to meet someone new. Similar childhood experiences, divorced parents but her dad stopped reaching out to them. Her mom was just a bitch to her. Very narcissistic person but, she had her kind moments. She definitely wasn’t the worse mother I’ve ever heard of.

All of that lead to a heavy make out session in the bathroom.

Sitting at the edge of the toilet, her scratching the back of my head with those sharp coffin shaped nails, me squeezing the fat of her ass on my lap. Hell, I was surprised how into this she was.. considering I’ve only kissed two girls in my life.

Sure I’ve watched my fair share of porn, visited sex stores, took a few notes; even got a handy under the bleachers last year from Carol. She forgot to pay for the weed I gave her, she offered, why not.

“Oh yeah, what’s your name again?” I ask kissing down her neck

“Y/N, but you can call me anything you want right now” she whimpers at the feeling of me nipping her throat

-“fuck you’re a r-really good kisser”

“-could say the same about you sweetheart” feeling the roll of her heat over my already strained dick.

I wonder how many guys she’s done this with

“Sorry, I don’t usually do this but, there’s just something so sexy about you”—

Biggest fucking ego boot ever.

“Fuck baby, if you keep talkin to me like that I’m gonna bust”

“Awe, am I making you feel some typa way Eddie?” She smirks looking down at me

“You know you are”

—

Unfortunately that ended quicker than it started, Robin got too hungover and needed our space.

She told me her classes and we exchanged numbers.

After that we talked everyday on FaceTime after getting home from school. I show her a new guitar riff and she shows me the new necklaces or shirts she ordered.

Sometimes she’d forget she was on camera and changed out of her bra a few times.

Hey, couldn’t help but to look come on, I am just a man

I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve fucked myself to that imagine every morning.. and evening and night..

Slept on the phone together, hung out at lunch together.

I only ever seen her at lunch other than at the end of the day in Mrs. Wilson’s calculus class. Bringing us back to now

——

“Mr. Munson are you done chatting now?” Wilson knocks me out of my trance

“Sorry bout that, yes ma’am” giving her a thumbs up sitting back up straight as she rolls her eyes subtly.

You slide me note. Folded up, in blue highlighted letters

You ever have sex before? Circle Yes or No ♡

fuck—we never even discuss stuff like that! how haven’t we? Don’t embarrass yourself man

Course I have, why? what’s got you so curious? ;)

I watch her look away quickly, gulping when she covers the paper to respond back

Well.. you’re cute and shit & was wondering if you wanna come over friday..? My parents have been gone all week and..we can hang or do whatever.. ♡

Did she wanna fuck? I hope so —wait you’re a virgin idiot, wait is she? probably not

I’m already there babe ;)

I reply with an easy smile, hiding the fact I’m in a state of panic

Good.. and uh bring those handcuffs on your wall too.. ♡

No way she’s a virgin talking like that

She rushes outta the classroom at the bell, turning back with a wink

Holy shit I gotta talk to Harrington.

“-and that’s what I’m saying dude, just sweet talk her, treat her like a princess, rub her in all the right places”—

“Okay but what ARE those places? I know her like tits and shit.. and well under her panties but what does it feel like? Ya know putting in it? What if I cum too fast and she laughs or runs away and never talks to me again..”—

I’ve been pacing back in forth in Family Video, loud where all the customers could hear. Definitely loud enough for Robin to upchuck her lunch

“No Eddie- just, come back here— Rob? watch the front please?” Steve grabs me by the shoulder making a bee line to the stock room

Sitting on the empty table still trying to gather my thoughts of Steve’s advice. “Well?” I rush out

“Damn man let me sit down first” he scoffs pulling a chair over to me

“Alright, you wanna know what inside a vagina feels like right?”

“Jesus, can you just say pussy or some shit”

“Same thing” he glared

“Okay well it’s not really sexy to just say vagina-

-“god Eddie, do you wanna know or not?” I can tell I’m testing his patience, I shut my lips, nodding eagerly

“Okay, so It’s like this- well like wet and really, really warm, almost like hot bath around your dick or a tight hug”—

“Wow, a hot bath thanks for the analogy Steve, I’ll make sure to take one when I get home”

He deadpans at me. “You asked me and I’m telling you, it’s hard to really explain other than a tight, wet warm hug. Oh!” he snaps his finger”-and sometimes it’ll tighten around your cock when she’s about to cum and holy shit dude— you better hold your load because the first time I had sex, it lasted about 10 seconds” My eyes widen

“WHAT!?” I shout before him shushing me “King Steve was a minute man?”— I joke

“Hey I said at first, when you get used to having sex your stamina gets better and for me personally”— he leans in “I can last approximately 45 minutes and 27 seconds” he sits back proudly

Cocky bastard.

Shit.

How long will I last? Will jerking off more boost my stamina?

——

Since that afternoon I did as much research as a I could, making a DIY sponge fleshlight.

That was a fail, got carpet burn.

Even bought condoms from the corner store, didnt know what size i was so, i grabbed all 4 boxes

Practicing my stroke game, using my pillow as a hole.

Down. Glide. Up. Down. Guide up.

Ow, fuck, cramp, cramp

This shits hard. My back hurts.

Throwing away the 8th used condom of the day, tossing myself in my desk chair, forehead sweaty, wrists throbbing; hearing my phone go off

FaceTime from Crush🖤

“Ah, fuck”— grabbing a shirt, wiping off the excess sweat off my skin, putting my pants back on, setting the phone up on my night stand, grabbing the guitar quickly setting it on my lap— “Hey! Sweetheart, what’s up, what are you up to?”

“I could ask you the same thing why is your face so red?” She asks giggling, laying on her tummy, tits spilling out , kicking her socked feet from behind

“Just took a hot shower is all”

“But your hairs not wet?” you give me a suspicious look, “Oh yeah, I just tied it up..sooo still want me over tomorrow?”

“Hell yeah! I picked up cookie dough the edible kind because I know you like that anddddd”- she reaches over her phone to grab something—“I rented whole stab franchise for a throwback”- showing me her laptop screen

“Well, that sounds like a party to me”

“You got that right..” She replies, biting her lip as if I didn’t notice,- “Anywaysss, just calling to remind you, see you tomorrow im tired, goodnight dummy *mwah*

She always ends our calls with a kiss on screen

Fuck I’m hard again

“Can’t wait sweetheart, sweet dreams” ending the call, looking down at my bulge

Welp, gotta jerk off again

Friday. THE day I might lose my virginity to the sexiest girl in school. My best friend.

I wake up earlier than usual, do my morning ritual, a joint. My nerves making me shower twice.

Should I shave?

Would she care?

A little trim wouldn’t hurt

May or may have not nicked my balls. Not too bad, maybe she won’t notice. Finding my nicest pair of jet black jeans I own, I only wear ‘em for special occasions and a wife beater? Nah that’s too much right? A flannel would help. Yeah. Definitely.

Hey I look kinda good, checking myself out in the mirror

Alright, wallet, keys, condoms, I glance over at the cuffs on the wall. Can’t forget those, stuffing them in my back pocket

—

My palms are sweaty, fuck even my ass is sweating.. 3 cigarettes already in, on my way to her house; of course I have a bad fucking hair day today, so I just opted for a low bun.

Before I could even knock, you open the door my jaw already on the floor

“Hi dummy!” You jump giving me a hug, pulling me inside.

What the hell is she wearing

A transparent green knitted, cropped sweater

is that her nipple I see? Those goddamn Nike shorts are doing her a favor—“Someone’s excited to see me?” Kicking off my shoes

“I’m always excited to see you.. also nice hair”

and neck goddamn, what is hell is he wearing you think, already feeling horny from the sight of my neck being so exposed

those jeans are doing his fine ass a favor

fuck I’m wet already

“Come on, already got it all set up for us”

“Lead the way princess” following behind you

I need to bite those fuckin legs.

——

We always sit like this on movie nights. Me against your headboard, back against my chest. I don’t remember how it started but I love it.

“Didn’t David Arquette also play in Spree?”

I squint back at the tv, “Uh yeah yeah he did, he was Kurt’s dad I think”

She replies with a mouthful “omyeah”

My hands have been holding both sides of her hips the whole time, occasionally rubbing them with my thumbs; every time I do it your breath picks up

Something else is about to be up—

“Huh?”

“Did you even hear me? You’ve been zoning out a lot recently”, you say sitting crisscross

“Something on your mind Ed’s?”

Gulp

“No no just— “ sigh

“Yeah, you. You’ve been on my mind.”

She smiles looking down, cocking her head to the side

“Oh yeah? Been thinking about me have you?” She grins

“You have no idea. ”

My breath hitches when you straddle me

Fuck me

“Wanna tell me these thoughts you’ve been having?” she asks twirling a piece of my bang

Remember what Steve said, sweet talk her

“Why don’t I just show you pretty girl”

Her smirk instantly falls, cheeks crimson “shit.. okay”

Running my hand up your thighs firmly, wrapping my arm around your lower back, my free hand pulling your face closer into my lips. “Like that baby?”

Who the fuck are you she thinks

“Fuck, yeah kiss me again”, I stare blankly until my eyes turn to pure lust, pushing her down to her back climbing on top to ease my tongue back into her mouth, my hips grinding into yours, hearing you whimper…

You’d think that’d make me harder but it’s when you grind back into me that did it

“You’re so beautiful you know that baby?.. fuck been missing these lips for weeks..”

“Shit, me too, been needing you so close to my body recently it’s been killin me,” she whines, rubbing her hands down my chest

—“that’s why I asked you to come over, could tell you were feeling me too”

You’re right about that, I mumble sucking your neck,

I’ve practiced giving myself hickies on my arms freshmen year.

Eddie, score

“That tank top Eddie.. t-take off the flannel let me see you? Please?” You ask giving me doe eyes. I sit up eagerly throwing it about, she sits up on her elbows, throwing off her sweater

The goddamn groan I let out

Jesus Christ

You lie back down bashfully covering yourself

A whore being shy huh?

“Whattt? She asks feeling self conscious,

“You’re..fuck.. just let me get a closer look please?” I plead, you nod shyly

Squeezing your breasts hard in my palm, licking my lips, nipping them, kissing them, hearing you gasp “holy shit -

“What??”

I do it again, in combination with my tongue, She doesn’t stop me she moans, making me feel bolder, “ Lemme take these off?” My thumbs already ready to yank your shorts down

You don’t answer

“Hey, it’s just me you know you’re beautiful to me, right?”

“Yes..you can take em off” she whispers

Thinking it’d be hot to yank them down quick like those sex movies

I try it..

“Ow! Fuck what the hell?” She jerks

I didn’t know she had the goddamn drawstring tied. , “Ow..you pout rubbing your hip, “Shit I’m sorry! I’m sorry”

I’m already fucking up, “It’s okay.. it’s just tied” she says undoing them pulling them off herself, holding her hands in her lap

I lean down to kiss both hips as an apology, looking up at you slowly undoing your hands

Cute little hair she has

“Can I um..”

She looks down at me gaining back her confidence, “You wanna eat me don’t you?” My eyes widen, gripping her side, “Yesss.. really bad” but I don’t know how to —

“Can I see you too?” again with that lip bite

“Of course” okay.. here goes nothing whispering to myself , yanking my jeans and all down in one swift motion, staring at the spot on the ceiling

You scoff with the sour look, “Oh my god”

WHAT WHAT WHAT

“You’re packing Eddie”

“Oh..thank fuck, really? I wouldn’t say that but..” I sit back in front of her

“Can I touch it?” You ask still staring at my cock

-..But I wanna taste you.. what if we..you lay on me but backwards..? Like 69?” I recommend

She nods eagerly, nervously but very excited, “Okay.. just don’t look at my asshole.. there’s a spot on it that looks like I didn’t wipe but it’s not what you think! It’s a freckle..”, I chuckle, rubbing your cheek nodding

Laying down flat, you swing your legs over my face

Oh god fuck, “Such a pretty pussy” i mumble

Suck a pretty cock you think

You’re both horny as fuck, both licking on each other immediately —“Jesus fuck!” I shout, hearing and feeling you choke on my dick

“Y/n, y-you done this before?”

“Yeah—“

Damnit.

-“But it was with a guy at my old school, said I was the best head he ever had” , you say rubbing my balls

Hot.

Okay Eddie do what feels right

so that’s the clit? how cute

Bringing my lips around your nub, licking you, tasting you, “Oh god why do you taste so good, you smell so..sweet?”

“Was that a question?” You ask popping my dick outta your mouth

“No, no just the sweetest pussy I’ve never tasted”-

the only pussy I’ve ever tasted

I’ve never smelt anything like this, I think I’m addicted

Flicking my tongue a few time feeling you react in a high pitched moan, sucking and massaging it lightly, my eyes flutter spotting your ass hole winking at me

“Holy shit” she’s pretty everywhere

“What?”

“You have such a pretty ass” blurting out

“Eddie! I told you not to look!” She whines trying to climb off, “Shut up I do what I want”saying firmly, pulling you back down by your thighs; sticking my pointer finger in your cunt,

so that’s the squeeze Steve was talking about

“Ohmyg— fuckk yes please” she vibrates around me, a guttural moan purging from my throat, curling my finger like they said —

“Oh! Fuck yes keep doing that Eddie baby please”—

“I am, I am baby you just suck my dick”—

Holy shit who am I—

“-Eddie I think I’m gonna cum yep, I’m gonna cum..”—

“Wait really?”

“Yes!”

“Really?” Asking again “YES EDDIE SHUT UP AND KEEP GOING, FUCK”—

Thrusting faster, licking faster I feel your wetness roll down and down into my mouth instantly making me cum in yours

“Fuck baby like that, fuck did you..just swallow?—“ I ask but you proceed to keep sucking-“OKAY OKAY, stop, s-shit!”

Pleading trying to stop you from overstimulating me further, “Shit.. sweetheart, that dude was right, that was the best head I’ve ever got”

The only head I’ve ever got

She lays back down beside me with a large grin,” Was that your first time getting head? You came so fast for me”

Lie.

Not replying I get up, finding the condom in my Jean pocket, “What’re ya doing?” You ask with a questioned expression, “Condom?” I hold up “Oh, oh yeah yeah right duh”—

Fuck I forgot with which way it goes on— got it

Turning back to you, cock still hard, nudging your core

You give me a small smile, watching me hesitantly about to slip my tip in

“Wait! Wait!”-

“What? Sorry, I didn’t ask”—

“Eddie I need to tell you something..”

“Yeah?”

“I can tell you definitely know what you’re doing but I just.. be gentle because I’ve never done this before..”

never done this before, never done this before

I stare like a deer in headlights, the weight off my shoulders lifted. I laugh sarcastically to myself , “That’s, well.. I should probably tell you I’ve never done it either.. like ima”—

“Virgin too?”

“Yeah, surprise?” feeling embarrassed, “How did I not know that? We tell each other everything” shrugging, “Not sure, but I’m glad you told me before I stuck ya”

“Ew don’t say stuck me weirdo”

“Look, I don’t know what I’m doing at all, I had to ask Steve for advice.. I figured you would know more I mean since you wanted my handcuffs”-, you bite your lip, head shaking

“I said that because, I figured you’d know how to use em”

“There actually just for decoration sweetheart, looked kinda metal”, we laugh in awe with each other , “But here we are..” I say biting the skin on my lip—

“Yeah here we are” you look back up at me, hopeful, “Do you wanna stop?”

“No..do you wanna stop?”

“Nah, been hoping you’d be my first actually”, you blush at my statement pulling me down for a deep kiss , “Let’s do it..”

“..but what if I cum too fast? that would be humiliating”—

- “I understand how it works.. don’t feel bad if you do, I promise I won’t laugh Ed’s” she squeezes my hand lovingly

My heart is erect

I nod, looking over all of you again, spreading your thighs a little wider, “I’ll go slow”

Furrowing my brows in consentration, slipping my tip in, surprisingly not easy mother fuck—

“Holy fuck you’re so-

“Tight? I know I have a hard time fingering my self as is”

“Why would you tell me that at this very second,” I try not to laugh, holding my shit together, “that’s so hot by the way,” bottoming you out, we gasp in sync

“Oh god”-

“What?”

“Holy god”—

“What!?? You alright?” She asks , “I’m about to cum already”—

“I told you, it’s okay”

“I know but that’s so embarrassing”

You clench around me on purpose, suddenly your eyes widen, feeling a warmth from inside, while also hearing me grunt almost in pain above you

Silence.

“Im so sorry fuck,” pulling out, shocked at how full my condom is, “Did you cum?”, she scrunches her nose, “No silly”

“But you squeezed me?”

“Yeah but, I didn’t have an orgasm”

Fucking Steve

-“But Steve said when a girl cums she clenchs around us” explaining further—

“First off, I’m gonna need you to not take advice from Steve and second, I mean according to my girlfriends we do.. it’s like a few squeezes but apparently we really squeeze for a long time when we do cum? Maybe even shake? I’m not sure but I think I’d know when I felt it”

Well shit

He looks like a sad puppy this won’t do you think

“But hey, we can try again right? Don’t be embarrassed if anything it’s kinda hot”

“Really?”

“I mean yeah, I made you cum in under like 1 second, biggest ego boot ever” you lighten the mood, nudging my shoulder smiling at me, pulling me for another kiss, “Don’t ever tell anyone that” holding my forehead to yours

You smirk, holding your pinky up “I promise”, Interlocking mine, noticing your body shifted closer, staring at your lips, “Let me try again Sweetheart” your eyes also on mine, nodding, crawling back to you, chasing your touch, taking each others breath—

Was that a car door??

“Is someone here?”

“Honey we’re home!”

FUCK, not now!!

(again recommend you listen to Wet dreamz by Jcole; it’s a bop)

reblogs appreciated // this was fun. let me know your thoughts? I do realize the smut was kinda rushed? Should there be a part 2? Suggestions? Comments? Feel like I should have kept going for them to restart again but I dunno🤷🏽‍♀️

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oh-look-at-her · 27 days

Text

"Use that on me."

Pairing: billy the kid x reader

Warnings: profanity, PinV, unprotected sex (don't be stupid, just babyproof it), dom! And sub! Dynamics, gun play, creampie, degradation, mocking, name calling(i think), small oral fixation if you squint, reader is female

tell me if i missed anything!

Description: despite Billy being a cowboy, he's a sweetheart, especially to you. He treats you like you're a porcelain doll and always makes you feel worshipped. You follow him on his unconventional journeys and tonight, you're staying in an abandoned shack in the woods and your mind wanders to unexplored waters.

A/N: Alright, it's finally here! I'm sorry, it took a bit longer to write than I thought it would when I posted the teaser of this story. I originally planned this to go a bit different, but I'm overall pretty happy with how it turned out even if it did take its own course of action a bit. The ending is a bit rocky, I know, I'm also sorry for that. Regardless of all that, I hope you guys like it! I'd love to hear your opinions or points I can improve on! Lastly I want to say; bear with me, English is not my first language, but I think I checked about everything. I appreciate feedback and if I have anything wrong, please don't hesitate to tell me!

"Use that one me." there it was. It spilled out. You had been thinking it for the last week and now it just slipped out. You were sitting up from the floor which you had covered with blankets in an attempt to make it more comfortable. You had been staring at Billy's gun holster for a while. He had been innocently going on about the road ahead. The journey that would start the day after.

"What?" he hadn't noticed how you kept eyeing his gun. He hadn't noticed how your eyes had glazed over with lust, just thinking about what he could do to you if he tried. He most certainly hadn't noticed how it made you restless. Your body tingled and your skin was on fire.

"I want you to be mean to me. I want you to fuck me like you mean it...and I want you to use your gun on me." A rush of adrenaline had taken over your mind. Or maybe it was just arousal? Who knows? You most certainly don't care.

Billy looks concerned. "W-what? Why?" He mumbles.

You look at him reassuringly. "Oh baby, you know you're always so sweet to me and I love that. But... I don't know, I just..." you don't know what else to say, but it looks like he's understood what you meant.

Billy looks at you for another moment, a bit dumbfounded, before getting up from the floor and walking towards the chair over which his gun holster was hanging. He slowly wraps his fingers around the base of his gun and takes it out of the holster. He looks at it intently before looking back at you.

"You want me...to use this one you?" You nod. "Why?"

You ponder that for a moment, thinking back to all the times he's held that gun up to people's heads. The look in his eyes...was mesmerizing. The lowering of his brows, the tilting of his head, the tug of a smirk on his lips.... So, you tell him exactly that.

He chuckles for a moment at your confession, looking down at the weapon in his hands. It’s a low chuckle, one you had never heard come from his lips before, sultry and enchanting. Your mind runs crazy at the sound. He kneels down in front of you, as you're still sitting on the floor and he looks at you for a moment, analyzing your features.

"You sure about this, Darlin'?" He asks in that same goddamned tone of voice. You nod eagerly at his question, your thighs discreetly rubbing together for any type of friction you could get.

He notices the small movement but doesn't say anything as he gets closer to you, until he's right on top of you and you're face to face with him. He looks into your eyes lovingly for a moment before putting his attention towards the gun still in his right hand.

Slowly, he traces your collarbone with the tip of his gun, testing the waters. When you breathe out a sigh of content, his eyes meet yours again and he knows that what he's doing is exactly what you want.

He slowly traces the gun from your shoulder to your collarbone again. From your collarbone to your neck and from your neck to your jaw. All the while, keeping eye contact with you and noticing how you're reacting to it.

You close your eyes, humming as a small content smile graces your lips. Billy watches every movement you make with the utmost interest. It spurs him on as he brings the barrel of the gun to your lips. You open your mouth obediently, something he hadn’t expected but he didn’t awfully mind. He pushes the gun to lie on top of your tongue. You twirl your tongue around it and Billy can’t help but think about what that pretty tongue of yours would feel like on his cock.

He feels the room getting hot and his pants tightening at these thoughts. But, fuck, are you pretty with your mouth open for him. His innocent girl with a gun in her mouth all because she begged for it. He never could’ve imagined this happening, the poor boy. Not in his wildest dreams. He was surprised, maybe even a bit repulsed at first, but seeing you like this for him is something he can most definitely get on board with.

You go on to suckle gently on the gun and it drives Billy absolutely insane. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty like this.” He murmurs to you and you smile. He pulls the gun from your mouth and admires the sheen of spit on it. “Absolutely disgusting.” He whispers to himself and your thighs clench together once more at his words because it is disgusting. You are filthy for wanting him to do this to you.

You just don’t care. You want him to do these things and you couldn’t care less about whether it’s bad or not. If anything, it spurs you on. It’s humiliating, but so, so good.

“Take that off, baby.” He gestures to your nightgown. You quickly obey, surprised by his sudden demanding tone of voice. The usual sweet Billy is no longer there and right now, you very much do not mind. You slip the nightgown off your shoulders, exposing your chest and Billy’s eyes catch on the sight before drifting further down as you push the nightgown off of you. You’re bare before him now and his eyes continue to wander. He’d never done that before. He said he always wanted to be respectful and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

He was right, it did make you uncomfortable, but not in the way he had probably imagined. You grow shy under his gaze, but secretly, you love the way he’s looking at you. Hungry, like a predator admiring its prey and playing with it. But that’s not what makes you uncomfortable, no, the growing heat between your legs is what is making you uncomfortable and Billy had barely even touched you.

God, what would it be like when he finally does touch you? Your cheeks flush pink at the thought. Billy notices, of course he does. “What is it, honey? Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ flustered already. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and I can’t even look at her for a bit without ‘er gettin’ shy?” He’s teasing you, mocking almost. You furrow your eyebrows in frustration at his words and he chuckles. He moves to lie down next to you.

“Come here.” He demands, patting his thigh. You obey quickly, scrambling to move on top of him and straddle his lap. You’re naked on top of him and he’s fully dressed. When you’re travelling, he always stays fully dressed at night, just in case someone sees you both. He lets you wear a nightgown as you please, though. Right now, this proves to be a big contrast and it’s setting your mind on fire. You paw at his clothes and a smirk graces his lips at the desperation on your face. He likes it.

He holds up the gun that was still in his hand, tracing it from your belly to your chest. He smoothes it over your hardened nipple, making you shiver at the feel of the cold metal against your unusually warm skin.

“Might I remind you that I am the one with the gun in their hand right now, darlin’?” he props his left hand to rest behind his head as he continues to move the gun over your smooth skin. Your collarbone, your belly, your neck, anywhere he could reach. The suspense builds up and you can feel your stomach doing backflips as you close your eyes, soothing into the metal touch. But then…. click.

One short ‘click’ sound makes your eyes shoot open. He loaded the gun. Your eyes dart towards his face, a daring smirk on his lips, knowing exactly that that sound would’ve startled you. A shiver runs down your spine at the realization that the gun is actually dangerous right now. He could accidentally pull the trigger and hurt you….you like it.

“What is it, baby? You scared? I won’t hurt you, darlin’. Not unless you ask me to.” Those last words drive you insane and he can see you can’t take it anymore. You paw at his clothes once more, but he gives in this time. He gently lies the gun down next to him and sits up with you still on his lap. You stare at his hands as they slowly but surely unbutton his shirt, finally revealing some delicious skin to you. Once he’s unbuttoned the shirt, it takes everything in you to not start biting and sucking at his skin as he takes it off.

Billy sees the look in your eyes resembling hunger and he smiles to himself. He looks at you for a moment, letting you admire him, before saying; “If you want me to take these pants off, you’re gon’ have to get off of me, baby.” He chuckles as you eagerly climb off of him and he finally takes off his pants, leaving you staring at his obvious hard-on through his underwear.

“Yeah, you want that off too, baby?” he asks in a degrading tone of voice, mocking your desperation as if he hadn’t purposely been building up the tension inside you.

You nod frantically, a small whine escaping your lips at the thought and the degrading tone of his voice. Bily’s surprised at the sheer desperation of you. I mean, just look at you! Sitting there on your knees on the ground right next to him, breathing heavily and a slight sheen of sweat already covering your body, your nipples hardened and eyes low to solely focus on him. It’s driving him insane.

He quickly takes off his underwear at your confirmation, finally lying naked before you. You drink the picture up like you’re a traveler in the desert that hasn’t seen water in days. You climb onto him, your eyes locking with his before pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss is full of desperation and desire as you swirl your tongue over his bottom lip and lick into his mouth as if you’re delirious at the taste of him (which you must admit, is not entirely inaccurate). He deepens the kiss by pulling you in by the neck, his hand having snaked behind you to firmly grasp you and move you as he pleases.

When you come up to catch your breath, he looks at you mischievously. He wants you so bad… but he wants to play with you for a bit. After all, you did ask him to use his gun on you.

He suddenly flips you both around so he’s on top now, grasping his gun in the process so you don’t land on it. It is still loaded, after all. You look up at him adoringly and it melts his heart for a moment. You try to pull him in for another kiss, but he stops you and lets his gun sit on your lips again.

“Just hold on, honey. Didn’t you tell me you want me to use my gun on you?” you nod, eager to find out what your darling boyfriend has planned for you. He smiles at your obedience and then focuses on the gun still resting on your lips. He slowly drags it down again. Down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, your nipple, your belly button… He’s nestled between your legs now, the tip of the gun resting right underneath your belly button.

His gaze flashes to your pussy, your clit already red and swollen, begging to be touched and your pretty hole already so wet with anticipation. “Look at that, baby. You’re so pretty and wet for me, aren’t ya?” he dips his head down slowly and unexpectedly licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, moaning at your taste and making you mewl at the sudden pleasure.

He looks up at you, admiring the pretty look on your face at his sudden action. “hey baby?” you answer with a breathy ‘yeah’. “can I try somethin’?” you pause for a moment, curious as to what this ‘something’ is, but you quickly say yes at his proposal. He smiles and sits up, slowly dragging the gun with him.

The gun traces down… slowly down to where your pretty clit is aching for Billy to just touch. When the cold metal touches your clit, you squeal softly in surprise, the sensation foreign to you. Bily quickly asks if you’re okay, but the only answer you give him is a low and breathy moan accompanied by a smile.

He traces the gun lower… all the way to your pretty hole. The barrel of the gun catches on it and teases your entrance slowly, warming you up to the feel of it. Soft moans and whines erupt from your mouth and Bily can’t get enough of the sight before him. You, your legs spread out for him, his gun between them, your pretty face while you make those delicious sounds for him. It spurs him on to do what he does next.

He stops teasing your entrance with the gun for a second, but before you can protest or whine about it, he slowly pushes the tip of his gun inside you. Yes, he did it ever so slowly, but he’s having you mewl and moan for him so easily. He slowly keeps pushing the gun inside you (while still making sure you’re okay the entire time) until it’s in as far as it can get. At this point, you’re a puddle for him, all lust and desire for him and your brain has turned to mush.

The gun is soaking with your juices at this point and you feel so good all filled up by it. Billy slowly starts moving the gun out of you until only the tip is left inside you. A guttural moan rips from your throat when he pushes it inside you fully again. He starts fucking you with it, setting a slow but deep pace that has you squirming for more. His dick is growing impossibly hard at the sight before him and he can’t take it anymore. He slowly pulls the gun out of you now, carefully depositing it off to the side.

He slowly drags his finger through your folds, gathering your wetness before stroking his cock with it, spreading your arousal over it. The sight of him pumping his cock in his hand right in front of you has you delirious.

“Baby…” you mewl, reaching for him. “What is it, honey?” he asks gently, “What do you want?”

“Please fuck me.” You say directly and he smiles at that, leaning down to met your gaze. “Yeah?” he asks, slowly dragging his cock through your folds, teasing you and making your moan softly. Your hips buck up into him and he laughs at you. He laughs at you, how mean. You enjoy it, though. You like it when you feel degraded by him.

“Yes, please honey, please…” you beg and he smiles before finally pushing inside you. He stretches you out slowly. Your mouth hangs open and your eyes roll back, a guttural moan escapes you when he bottoms out. He pauses for a moment to let you adjust, but god, is he stretching you out good.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. My pretty pussy is so wet for me.” he slowly starts moving in and out of you, making you mewl.

” And all because I fucked you with my gun?” His thrusts speed up and you scratch his back as you moan with every one. He grabs your thighs and proceeds to wrap your legs around his waist, making his cock hit a spot impossibly deep inside you.

“You’re filthy, you know that?” he sets a brutal pace, his thrusts hitting that spongy spot inside you so well every time. You cry out and he admires the expression on your face, brows furrowed, jaw slack, eyes rolled back, a hot blush spreading across your cheeks, a sheen of sweat coating your skin.

“Gettin’ off on me threatening you with my goddamned gun" he curses and he can feel you tightening around him at his words, having caught on to the fact that you like it when he says these things to you.

You’re going insane at this rate and you can feel the coil in your stomach tightening already. “I didn’t expect my sweet girl to like those things.” he states, obviously out of breath. "Turn around, baby." He demands before pulling out of you. You whine at the sudden emptiness, but you do as he says, propping yourself up on your knees and resting your head down on the makeshift pillow below you.

He kneels behind you, admiring the way your back is arched and the way your pussy is soaked for him before teasing your entrance with the tip of his dick again. You're about to complain about him not fucking you yet when he suddenly pushes inside you and bottoms out in one thrust.

Your face is pushed down into the pillow and your eyes roll to the back of your skull as he keeps fucking you, setting the same brutal pace as before. He bottomed out every single time, sending waves of pleasure to your core and you can feel your orgasm starting to build quickly.

You try to tell him that you're close, but all that leaves your mouth is moans and rambles. Your brain is foggy with pleasure, but he gets what you're trying to say. "What is it, darlin'? You close? What do you need?" He asks in a mocking tone of voice. You just answer with a whine.

He chuckles at your reaction before reaching in front of you to slowly rub at your clit. You mewl and squirm at the sensation, feeling the coil winding impossibly tighter. Billy's thrusts grow sloppy and you can tell he's about to cum as well.

He sets a fast, calculated pace at rubbing your clit. "Fuck, baby, you're squeezing me like a vice." You whine at his words. "I'm gonna cum inside you." he curses at the thought. "Fuck, I'm gonna fill you up so good, honey."

He's thrusting into you at an ungodly pace and his skilled fingers rubbing your clit is just too much. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you. Your cunt clamps down on Billy's dick, coating him with your cum.

he moans and fucks you through your orgasm. "Shit, baby, I'm gonna come." The movement of his hips stutter as he comes, filling you up just like he said he would, slowly pushing his cum deep inside you with every thrust.

You whine. You're overstimulated and you can't take any more. you claw at his back and he slowly pulls out. "Hey honey, you okay?" he asks gently, cupping your cheek with his hand. you nod and sigh, too tired to keep your eyes open.

Billy lies down next to you, holding you close to him. your sweaty bodies tangle as you both calm down and you both lie there for a while.

"Well." Billy starts after a bit. "That was... unexpected." You chuckle at his words and murmur a small 'yeah' in return.

"Why haven't we done that before?" He asks incredulously. You outright laugh at his question.

"Did you like it then?"

"Absolutely."

Tags: @harvey-malfoy

256 notes · View notes

tripleyeeet · 6 months

Text

I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HER (14)

SUMMARY: Upon waking up, you realize just how long you've been gone for.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,257

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, so much angst (this time with comfort!), descriptions of death, probably incorrect lore about necromancers and how their powers work. :')

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, we're officially back in business baby, let's go! Sorry for the fillerish chapter. It's been so long that I kind of needed to keep things chill before the story starts up again. Hope you can forgive me??? <3 Also, thanks to @the-lady-amphitrite for letting me include their little necromancer Zamrie!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

It’s not uncommon for you to wake up breathless. With the presence of an unknown threat mixed with your history of nightmares, there have been countless moments upon gaining consciousness over the last few months that have felt like you’re dying. Gasping for air to no avail until Astarion’s hand meets your back to soothe your stress.

At this rate, it’s practically inevitable, especially with the Absolute and all its developments. Each night you close your eyes, more often than not all you see is their hatred plaguing your thoughts, your mind forcing you to stop and stare at whatever vision it’s decided to produce. As you lie still inside your bedroll, experiencing the false depictions of whatever horrors that occur, you’re left without much choice. Forced to lay and wait for that moment you’re jolted awake, wheezing in the dark.

Despite the intensity, you know deep down it’s always temporary. A passing thought that runs through your lungs until you’re forced to reset at the sound of Astarion’s voice telling you you’re fine. That he’s here and you’re there and that regardless of the dangers that lie ahead he’ll always remain.

When you awake that day, however, gagging at the air that rushes through to the back of your throat, you can’t help but feel the weight of eternity. As you shoot upwards, desperately clawing at the base of your throat, it’s as if you’re trapped inside this unfamiliar limbo, struggling to gain a sense of self as you blink and breathe and—

“That’s it, just like that, dearie. You got it.”

The voice that cuts through the darkness is light, their careful tone hitting your ears far gentler than anything else you feel. Closing your eyes, you can hear them humming under their breath, low and slow; working to match your own as you glance around the room, unable to properly see.

“Pesi, can you get her friends, please?”

Inhaling deeply, you suddenly feel a sharp pain erupt through your chest as the stranger speaks. Targeting your left side, you feel it push through you like a knife, catching every layer of flesh as you lean forward and groan at the impact, feeling a hand grace your back.

“It’s alright, just take deep breaths, okay? Nice and slow.”

Opening your mouth, you cough and clutch your chest, allowing the painful feeling to bloom outwards, each shot of pain targeting the span of your torso before filtering out.

As it happens, you force open your eyes and glance at the blurry mess of colour in front of you. A figure doused in sunset tones —pinks and oranges with hints of purple that slowly filter through to reveal a bright-eyed tiefling smiling in your direction. Overall, her skin is doused in shades of peach and decorated with various tattooed dots that primarily sit beneath her violet eyes that scan you anxiously.

“I’m Zamrie. A friend of Gale’s,” she tells you.

In response, you go to speak but all that comes out is a plume of stinging air that rakes through your esophagus, making you cough and reach for your throat, feeling nothing but numbness at the ends of your fingers.

“It’ll feel weird for a while I’m afraid.” She offers you a sympathetic smile, gripping your shoulder as the expression across your face twists with confusion.

How does she know what it feels like?

Suddenly, she lets out a laugh, gently digging her fingers into your skin, massaging the tension that you just now notice is there. “I know, I know —you’re probably wondering how I know how you’re feeling,” she says, making your confusion only strengthen as she nudges your legs aside to make room for herself. “Rest assured though, I’ve lived and died a thousand times, so I’m basically an expert when it comes to the after effects of a good necromancy spell.”

Necromancy?

Your eyes widen —your thoughts whirling through you like a disoriented storm, crashing into the inner walls of your head. Looking around in a panic, you hear Zamrie try to pull you back in, whispering words of reassurance in between more quiet hums that only spur your anxiety.

Shoving away her hands, you attempt to slip off the bed then, your legs wobbling at their newfound position, causing you to stumble forward, landing on your hands and knees.

“Oh, shit.”

Almost immediately, the tiefling abruptly rushes to your aid, reaching for hands that only work to slap her away, prompting her brow to furrow as she watches you struggle to move. “C’mon dear, don’t be proud. Just let me help you.”

You shake your head and groan, feeling your chest begin to ache all over again —the remembrance of your reality beginning to settle as you lower your head in pain.

You died during the battle against Ketheric. Died. And as you sit there, now keeled over in pain, remembering all the horrible details of that blade pushing through your flesh —of the helplessness you felt staring into Astarion’s weary eyes as Shadowheart worked to drag him away— all you can think about is how careless you’d been. How stupid and reckless and overall selfish for thinking that you could do anything on your own like that.

Gritting your teeth, you feel the numbness in your fingers slowly begin to subside the longer you kneel, granting you the opportunity to ball your hands into fists before pressing them angrily into the floorboards. Groaning loudly, you then punch the wood with what little energy you have, feeling your eyes begin to well up at the thought of your friends. At the thought of them potentially following in your footsteps into a world where everything meets nothing. Where every existing thing about you ceases all at once, leaving nothing but a shell for those to mourn.

Releasing a shaky breath, you stare at the floor beneath you, praying that nobody did. That instead, they managed to succeed despite your failure and that they’re already on their way to Baldur’s Gate.

“Where…wha—“

“Shhh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay, yeah? You’re alright.”

Grunting in frustration, you shake your head and look at Zamrie, feeling the tears begin to spill as you glance at her face, noting the stress that graces her features before the shock of loud voices erupts through the doorway, prompting her brows to raise before she turns her head.

Following her gaze, you look up to see everyone huddled at the doorway, staring with varied looks that upstart your tears, realizing how worried they must have been. How angry and betrayed they must have felt watching you do something so painfully stupid.

As you sit there, glancing at each of their faces, you can’t help but feel your heart break at such a realization. Taking in Karlach’s glassy eyes and Gale’s expression of pure relief —all of it quickly becomes too much to bear, forcing your head to drop again, allowing the threat of tears to overtake you.

All at once, the awareness of their love becomes apparent then, causing you to sob until all you can feel is the presence of arms and hands —bodies of all shapes and sizes wrapping around your frame like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.

All of them envelope you differently. While Shadowheart and Gale press themselves firmly against your back, Lae’zel’s hands are reluctant yet firm from a distance, taking refuge on your elbow with tight fingers, while Wyll and Karlach have completely pushed themselves into either crook of your neck, wrapping their arms around to pull you close.

Feeling the warmth of their skin and the heaviness of their breath, you can’t help but give in to the fearful thoughts that plague your mind. The way they hold you close, bracing for an impact you all but knew was bound to come, you let the stress of the last few months overtake you, reaching for whatever body you can find so that you can dig your fingers into the fabric of their clothes.

Immediately, the worn leather of whoever you're touching reminds you of war —of all the battles you faced thus far, struggling to maintain that same momentum you first started with. Running your fingers along the wear and tear, you feel a weight inside your stomach begin to swell, its unfamiliar heaviness making your face scrunch in discomfort, realizing this might be it. Having died and come back, there’s no way you could possibly keep going, right? After revival, you’re too weak to keep up —too broken and frail. A newly inhabited shell, replacing something that used to be much stronger.

At this rate, you’d only hold everyone back. Either that or make another big mistake that could cost more lives and obliviously that’s not an option. Not after how far you’ve gotten. Not after risking so much with what little you have.

“I can’t believe we’re hugging right now.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s Karlach who speaks first. Her voice quiet against the crook of your neck sends a chill up your spine like any other, causing you to let out a shaky laugh.

You can’t believe it either.

“She’s a bit out of sorts still,” Zamrie says then, forcing your eyes to glance up at her smiling face. “She’ll need to rest for a few more days. The process of revival is pretty taxing on the body. Considering you’re essentially reconnecting a detached soul to an already decaying body, you’re lucky you managed to preserve her as well as you did.”

As she pauses to let out a laugh, the majority of your friends sort of look around in discomfort, listening as Zamrie continues her long-winded spiel about the process of revival. All in too great of detail.

Almost immediately, it makes you a bit sick, listening to the grotesque ways your body was essentially put back together at the hands of her and Withers, forcing you to close your eyes as your head begins to spin. You realize then that you should probably lie down again. Considering there’s more than likely a rough road to recovery ahead of you, you assume most of your time spent over the next few days will be in bed, drifting between sleep alongside Astarion’s—

Feeling a sudden panic rise through your chest, you look around to see him nowhere, causing your mind to slip further out of control, resulting in you pushing and pulling —desperate movements taking over your body as you work to distance yourself from the hold that currently binds you. Sensing your stress, the group quickly distances themselves in response, a handful of nervous and reluctant stares watching as you plant one hand against the floor to steady yourself while the other moves to your throat.

“Wh— where—“

You cough violently as the previous ache in your throat rips right through, interrupting your words in the form of a distorted wheeze.

As it happens, you can’t help but think of the worst possible outcome regarding his absence. Imagining his lifeless body somewhere all alone, trapped beneath the rubble of an aftermath of battle, all you can see is his flesh. Pale skin stained with crimson, all torn apart to reveal the inner parts of himself. Amongst the rubble, you envision tendons splitting between broken bones —a lifeless face ripped with wild red eyes so empty compared to the life they once held. Tightly shutting your eyes, you imagine shattered fangs and cut-up lips left open in preparation for a dying breath you never got the chance to try and fix.

Suddenly behind your eye, you can feel your tadpole wiggling violently. Rushing from one end to the other, its presence quickly wreaks havoc on your skull, forcing a groan to escape your lips, realizing someone’s there. That there’s a voice calling out to you, telling you it’s okay —that everything's fine and he’s safe, so please stop crying.

Focusing on the voice, you hear Shadowheart’s tone eventually begin to push through, prompting your tear-stained eyes to drift to her, catching a soft smile. It’s subtle, as most of her outward emotions are, but regardless it speaks volumes. Reassuring you in a way that makes you smile back, mentally thanking her again and again until there’s a set of footsteps at the doorway.

“What the hell are you all—“

His words are dripping in confusion. Rattling through your system like an echo of waves, the mere thought of it pulls you forward, forcing your body to crawl closer, watching the way his eyes glaze over once he catches sight of your crumpled frame.

As soon as he notices, he promptly pushes past all the bodies that separate you, breathing so hard that when he inevitably drops to his knees in front of you, clawing at the fabric of your tunic to pull you into his chest, you can feel it shaking. Rising and falling through the stress of his unbound anxiety, showing you just how much he missed you. How much he longed for your presence however long you were gone.

Feeling him shiver against you, you immediately break, crying harder than you ever have before. Allowing the catharsis of your shared embrace to fill up the room with desperate sobs that leave both of you breathless.

Gripping the base of his shoulder blades, you then maneuver your body until you’re completely wrapped around him, sitting on his lap, tugging at tufts of hair as you push your fingers through his curls.

“Star…”

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he speaks with disbelief, clutching you tight. As if the fear of this all being a dream has led him to believe that if you part somehow you’ll disappear entirely.

Nodding against him, you press a gentle kiss to the side of his neck before pressing your forehead into the same spot, feeling him shift.

“When did you wake?”

You open your mouth to speak before swallowing hard, opting to use your Illithid. Not long ago. Where were you?

Getting supplies. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Zamrie said—

Before he can finish his thought your hands are on his face, fingers splayed out to cup the delicate angles as you press your lips to his, feeling how cold they are. How the temperature bites against your own, forcing you to work for the heat you long for in the form of languid licks and nips that have you dizzy all over again.

Hearing the background sound of footsteps followed by the shutting of a door, you can’t help but grin through the movement of Astarion’s mouth pushing open your own, realizing then that you’re alone. That for the first time in ages it’s just you and him and both of you safe from whatever evils lurk beyond the exit.

“I’m still…very much…mad at you,” he eventually says, groaning between the kisses you steal through his frustrated tone —no longer caring if your behaviour bites you in the ass later.

That’s fair.

He snorts as he places a hand on the back of your neck, placing one last kiss to the edge of your mouth before pulling away, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “I can’t believe you left me with those idiots. Do you know how boring they are? I swear, the minute we arrived in Baldur’s it was like—“

You roughly tug at the collar of his shirt to get his attention, widening your eyes. Wait, we’re in Baldur’s?

In response, he immediately huffs. “Gods, of course nobody told you. They were probably too busy hugging you to death all over again,” he says. “I swear, it’s been nothing but chaos since you left. Karlach’s been crying for weeks. Shadowheart and Lae’zel have been at each other’s —ow!”

You narrow your eyes and pinch his cheek. Astarion, what the hell happened?

For a moment he just sits there, watching you with those angered eyes that make your chest tighten and your stomach flip, remembering then that none of it matters anyway. That for now, despite the lingering curiosity of it all festering at the back of your mind, wondering how long it’s been and how everyone’s truly fared, you don’t care. So long as everyone’s alive and well and the progress you’ve worked so hard to push through is still on track, all you care about is him.

Are you okay?

Even with his unwavering resilience, you know deep down that he hasn’t come up the other side unscathed. That regardless of what he might say in replacement of the truth, there’s something uneasy hidden beneath the surface. You can see it in his eyes. In the way they drop almost immediately at your words, his expression shifting from anger to confusion to a mix of something foreign you can’t quite place.

Opening his mouth, you see the quiver of his lips. The wobbling motion of uncertainty before he suppresses his thoughts, swallowing hard at the presence of fear to say, “I’m fine. Now that you’re here.”

Frowning then, you trail your thumb across his cheek, tracing the peaks and valleys of his flesh, skimming thoughtful patterns across the expanse of his face, eventually winding up at his lips. Thumbing the lower one, you press your own together and look at him with tired eyes, surveying the age of a man who’s so obviously been pushed to his limits.

Yes, but are you okay?

He isn’t. Not in the slightest. And you can tell because the moment you ask he’s crumbling all over again, clutching your frame —pulling you in with far too much effort for someone who claims such nonchalance.

Pressing his digits roughly into your flesh, it’s as if he’s changed completely. What once was a man of constant mischief —a man with unlimited lies and tricks up his sleeve to hide the truest version of himself— has now become too honest. Too candid in the way he presents himself as he clutches onto your frame, acting as if you’re the last sliver of light in a forever-darkened sky.

It breaks your heart almost instantly, feeling the tremors of his body releasing all the pent-up anger and betrayal —all the sadness of a passing he was ill-prepared to handle. Fisting the fabric that rests against his back, you grant him access to your neck without hesitation, feeling him burrow inside, whispering all the thoughts he couldn’t say when both of you were separate and alone.

Inside your mind, you can feel the pain of his Illithid showing you a memory. A flash of magic mixed with a broken man’s cry filtering through closed lips. Unlike anything you’ve ever heard, it punctures your ears like a needle, painfully pushing through until it’s all but cut off without warning revealing the face of your last dying breath before everything goes black.

“We tried to save you sooner,” he whispers, placing a kiss to your neck, then to the fabric that rests against your shoulder. “But every moment between then and now was spent fighting those bastards.”

You place a hand on his hair, gently running your fingers through before repeating the process, hearing him breathe.

“We’d only just arrived this morning, I swear.”

You smile then, pressing a kiss to his head, telling him that it’s okay. That he’s okay and you’re okay, repeating the words over and over until you can feel his body begin to loosen at the seams, granting you both a moment of relief before he tells you he loves you and you do the same.

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi@rainonarden@oceanbluesixeyes@bodtyworship@maydayitsjay@greasyslimebucket@yeeteth-the-raven@fantasyfairysworld@allexthakatt@flowersaretheshit@morglyne@thespectacularspaceace@cephiss0@use-your-telescope@furblrwurblr@kloverfield@angelofthorr@writervaul-t@starved-kitten@minixluvr@crowley--aziraphale@sapphicwren@alionera-blog@jennithejester@dezedrol@thisisew@saladalpaca@applepiewithbacon@httpbiohazard@aurasyn@nerdoodles@kingpinthedevil@itzkawaiix@domainoflostsouls@silverskylan@uminootome@helpidkwhatimdoingwrong@deadlyinfernos@blackbirdswhispers@sarahskywalker-amadala@writingmysanity@f3v3rs@jayjones03@quietlyebbie@optimisticprime3@eyes-for-daze@sunnytalia3@megoshh@maddiedott@cappsikle@mostbeautifulnightmare@lynnlovesloki@simpytheshrimpy69@astarion-archive@smaranshakthi@autistic-deer@shadowfeart@freckled-petals@candied-lavender@hp-art-studio@ghouligan@satelliteapotheosis@waywardwitch-hel@pandimoostuff@mythoughtsofinsanity@ilovelovelylove@oneandonlyizabelle

TAGLIST NOW CLOSED!

#i'll crawl home to her #a lover’s folly #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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myjunkisyuzuruhanyu · 1 month

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A wonderful positive article on the Men's Free Skate at Worlds 2024 by Florentina Tone from insideskating

Here is the part about Shoma with pictires by Alberto Ponti

When the first seconds of music pour over him and he starts skating, is it as if Shoma Uno enters a trance – and we follow him no questions asked.

We just go with him, and his skating takes us to beautiful places.

It is always the case with Shoma’s free skate this season – to “Timelapse” and “Spiegel im Spiegel” – maybe the best he’s ever had. A program that shines a light on him, a soft, translucent light that goes so well with his expression, with the almost silence his blades glide across the ice.

And even if some of the jumping passes don’t work for Shoma on the day (and they don’t), and even those jumping passes are at the start or in the middle of the program, nothing derails the two-time World champion: Shoma Uno has a story to tell, he has a spell to cast on everyone watching.

Exactly how he wanted it to be.

“I put my heart into this free program – aimed to make everyone watching me perform happy – and this is the result I got. It truly reflects who I am, regardless of how I did today.

I visualized how I would do my free program beforehand and, looking back on everything, it was an exhilarating experience overall. Every day, I faced myself and practiced diligently, which instilled a sense of accomplishment within me. I am grateful for the cheers and the support from all spectators”.

You can read the full article here:

#shoma uno #figure skating #montreal 2024 #spiegel im spiegel

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deliciousdefendorinternet · 2 months

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how do you think Bruce and Brandi would React if Branch ever did something to scare and upset their kids?

I'm currently writing a fanfic about this story idea I had a while ago and I'd appreciate some help Regarding this certain aspect of the story.

anyway the idea is that Branch notices Bruce and Brandi talking about how long its been since they've had time to themselves so he offers to babysit the kids so they can have a night off and go out somewhere.

since he's also keen to spend some more time with his nieces and nephews to get to know them better.

anyway the main gist of the idea is that throughout the time while Bruce and Brandi are away things start out all well and good but as the kids do what kids do Branch slowly gets more and more overwhelmed.

and eventually just some Random and ordinary everyday noise or something causes him to have flashbacks to Bergens and Grandma and everything and well he goes into full freak out mode on the kids shouting that they need to be quiet otherwise they'll all die.

and locking them all in one room with the lights off to Hide and just acting overall a little Unhinged and like he isn't fully aware of where he actually is.

anyway Bruce and Brandi arrive Home to see this and also see their kids are all sobbing and terrified.

meanwhile Branch snaps out of it and is Horrified that his nieces and nephews seem afraid of him now and a little later on after settling down the kids Bruce and Brandi just kinda calmly say that he shouldn't babysit again in the future.

so yeah my main question is I guess how do you think Bruce and Brandi should react to this? do you think they would be straight up angry? and maybe even a little judgmental?

or do you think they'd be either more calmly angry about it? like they don't Raise their voices or anything as Dramatic but they make it clear they aren't happy with him?

or do you think I should write them as being more calmly upset but none Judgmental? what I mean is that their not exactly angry at a Branch but more just calmly upset by the situation as a whole and understand that it isn't exactly his fault.

But in a calm and Somber Tone of voice tell him that they don't really think it'd be a good idea to leave him alone with the children again in the future.

given his problems could just bubble to the surface at any point and Branch is quietly upset by this but obviously understands and leaves.

Regardless of which option I always had the outcome in my head being that they told Branch they don't think he should look after the kids again in the future.

but so it doesn't end on too much of a Downer Branch does come back and make's things up to his nephews and nieces and it could end with Bruce and Brandi going out again for their own date night.

while Branch looks after the kids but this time along with Floyd and Clay and maybe JD as well Depending on if he's around so Bruce and Brandi are more comfortable that the kids will be okay even if Branch does have one of his problems again.

anyway I just thought it was a sad but also kinda sweet story idea that maybe Branch and the others just have to come to terms with him not being able to do certain things like this to help out his brother that most other people do all the time.

due to his PTSD problems and whatnot but there is still an okay compromise with all the bros pulling together and all helping out with the babysitting at the end.

so yeah what do you think in Regards to how I should write Bruce and Brandi's initial Reactions? as like I said I'm a little unsure how I should write them to React?

#brozone #trolls brozone #branch #branch trolls #trolls branch #trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #trolls dreamworks #trolls 3 #trolls fanfic #fanfic ideas

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uranium-city · 9 months

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as an aspiring storyteller & writer i find analyzing what works & what doesn’t work in media to be incredibly important. not only does it help us realize where we may have made mistakes in our writing & how to improve going forward, but it also helps understand why certain stories work so well. it helps us realize why critically acclaimed media is so critically acclaimed & appreciate the thought, care, & intelligence that went into making it so special. without criticism- all that thought loses its meaning. bland stories become indistinct from the incredible ones & all the deeply well thought out plot points & messages wash away into a sea of poor &/or lazy writing. we need criticism to appreciate strong writing. being critical of your interests- whether it be a highly acclaimed film or a weaker piece of media that you hold deadly despite its flaws- shows maturity, media literacy, & overall the beauty of how different stories resonate so deeply with people regardless of its issues. that’s why the way Vivziepop responds to criticism irks me on such a strong level. Helluva Boss is a very poorly written show (in my humble opinion, at least). Season 2 has retconned a ridiculous amount of things established season 1 (most notably Stolas’ entire character), has a massive problem with maintaining tone, jumps around from plot to plot by introducing new threat after new threat only to abandoned that threat by introducing a new one the next episode, struggles with developing its own main & supporting characters, & perhaps most offensively of all often comes off as downright fetish-y of gay men. These are all valid criticisms, all of which Vivziepop tries to dismiss as “baseless & unfair”. She claims she respects fair criticism yet never makes a distinction between what is fair & unfair, treating everything as the latter, going on twitter rampages where she attempts to defend her writing decisions & ridicules anyone who dare challenge them. If Vivziepop believes she’s writing the show in the optimal way, fine. If she doesn’t want to listen to criticism & continues to take Helluva Boss in the direction it’s currently going, fine. so be it. She’s in such a unique position where she’s so close to her audience & actively listening to their criticisms, I personally don’t understand why one wouldn’t try to take advantage of that to better their show, but at the same time I can understand having a set story in mind & wanting to take it your way despite what anyone else says. It can be frustrating to have everyone telling you you’re doing your passion project wrong- i get that. but in that case- just continue writing the show how you want, ignore the criticism, & stop having hissy fits on twitter calling people homophobic for not liking your writing (seriously what the fuck? that’s laughable of her to saying given how she writes her gay characters, just saying). Your writing should speak for itself, you shouldn’t have to defend it by crying on twitter. Dismissing all criticism & trying to paint the narrative that you’re nothing more than a victim with a hatedom out to get you is BAFFLINGLY immature ESPECIALLY as someone in their 30s. It only bothers me so much because she’s actively fostering an environment that dismisses criticism which i think is genuinely harmful. & as much as Helluva tries to be an adult show, let’s be real here, a majority of its audience are teenagers who look up to Viv & if THIS is the mindset they end up developing surrounding criticism I think it could genuinely be a problem in regards to their media literacy in the future. People can like Helluva Boss, people can ignore its flaws, but that kind of relationship with criticism is not healthy. at all.

#let me be clear I don’t think Vivziepop is gonna cause the death of media literacy or anything. that’d be ridiculous #but as an aspiring writing myself & someone who dreams of creating an indie internet show like her it really is disheartening to see #also if you disagree with what i said or enjoy Helluva then cool. enjoy yourself /gen #I’m not trying to start fights or drama with this post. it’s just my personal opinions & i wanted to put my thoughts somewhere #helluva critical #vivziepop critical

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ghxstlly · 4 months

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Ego Death

I've decided I worked too damn hard on this to not share it publicly, so here's a tidbit of story related to our good friends, oblivious Mr. Poole and temperamental Mr. Becker :')

Warning for swearing, and for Mr. Becker overall being really mean

“Wait, Mr. Becker— Ira, please—”

Nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled along the polished courthouse floor, Mr. Poole reached out in desperation to catch the arm of the prosecutor, who was all too quick to jerk himself away, halting and turning fast enough that Poole nearly crashed into him.

“What, Poole, what more could you possibly have to say?” His tone sharp as a blade, his eyes sharper, Becker fixed the other lawyer under a glare that made him flinch.

Swallowing hard against the dryness in his mouth, Poole took a quick step back, clasping his hands together in an attempt to hide their trembling.

“I—I just… I wanted to apologize. For— For what I said, I didn’t mean to make light of an… uh, exhausting trial, I was just trying to be lighthearted, you know, I didn’t mean any offense—”

“You don’t have a clue what you’ve caused, do you?” Becker’s words suddenly cut like a knife through his words, and Mr. Poole found his voice dying in his throat, his face paling.

“S… Sorry—?”

“I needed to win that case.” Becker’s voice was low, dangerous— it set a shiver crawling up Poole’s spine. “He was guilty, Poole. You know he was. And you let him walk.”

“Mr. Becker, I—I don’t… Th—there was no way for you to prove that, not beyond reasonable doubt—”

“He was guilty.” Becker repeated, interrupting him. The look in his eyes was nearly murderous, his jaw set tight as his words came through clenched teeth. “And you let him fucking walk.”

“I didn’t let him do anything.” Mr. Poole quickly retorted, though his tone was hardly assertive, wavering subtly as he fought to hold Becker’s gaze. “The jury declared him innocent. My duty is to protect the rights of my clients, and I did my job. That’s all. That’s all.”

“Oh, spare me, Poole, I’m not a fucking idiot. You think I don’t know what this has all been about?” Becker took a step forward, and Poole instinctively took one back. “You think I don’t see right through you, through your fucking charade?”

His stomach twisting into a knot, Poole’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words to respond.

Becker didn’t give him the chance.

“I don’t wanna hear you talk about your duty. You don’t give a shit about your clients.” The prosecutor spat, his eyes blazing. “You don’t give a shit about justice. All you care about is yourself, and the little power trip you get from winning over me, from taking every goddamn opportunity to undermine my work and make me look incompetent.”

“What— incompetent?” Poole sputtered a nervous sound that was something between a scoff and a laugh. “Ira, please, it’s not like that at all—”

“No, ‘course not. You’d never admit it if it was, but regardless of whether you’re willing to say it out loud, you know it’s true. And that murderer got away with what he did because of it. Because you were too damn focused on beating me to give a shit about anything else.”

“I wasn’t— Ira, it’s my job. If there was evidence to convict him, you would have presented it— but you didn’t. So he was acquitted. End of story. I-I don’t know what you want from me.”

Poole didn’t miss the way Becker’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working tensely as he regarded the other in a small moment of bitter, uncomfortable silence, a storm brewing just behind his eyes.

“...Is that how you ease your fucking conscience, Poole? Is that what you tell yourself— that the blood is on my hands? That I should have tried harder?”

“W-well, I mean…” The defense attorney hesitated, a few seconds too long. “You were the prosecutor…”

It was a simple statement, nothing more than a fact, and yet in the moment immediately following, he saw Becker’s expression darken to something wholly unreadable, the tension in his shoulders building as his fists clenched at his sides, and felt that it might have been the most foolish thing he’d ever said.

“That’s— I didn’t—” Poole stammered quickly, the words spilling from his mouth before he could catch them. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Then how did you mean it?” Becker hissed, the question almost accusatory, as if he were daring Poole to answer. “Enlighten me.”

“I—I only meant, uhm—” He took a quick breath. “Sorry, I just— All I’m trying to say is that it… it isn’t my fault that you didn’t have enough evidence to convict. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t— uh, doing your best, or anything like that, you just— you had no case. It was my job to make sure the jury knew that. And that— that’s it.

“All I can do is represent my client to the best of my ability, and I did. I’m sorry you didn’t get the outcome you wanted, but, uh… you know, that’s… that’s the job. It’s nothing personal.”

“It’s nothing personal.” Becker echoed him through a mirthless chuckle. “And yet you had the balls to gloat about it to my face after the fact. To make a goddamn joke of it and act like it didn’t fucking matter.”

Poole opened his mouth, a weak protest already half-formed on his tongue, but before he could speak, Becker continued, his voice rising slightly.

“And now you have the fucking nerve to stand here and lie to my face, like I didn’t see the look in your eyes every time you thought you caught me slipping, like the pleasure you get isn’t so obvious. You’re an embarrassment.”

Staring at the other lawyer in stunned silence for a moment, Poole wasn’t sure how to respond, a flurry of indignant protests swirling through his head, his mouth dry, the lump in his throat keeping him from making a sound.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Poole.” The prosecutor spat the other’s name like a curse. “What you’re doing isn’t justice. Not even close. And if you think that I’m going to just... let you pretend that it is just because you’ve convinced yourself ‘it’s just a job,’ then you can go fuck yourself.”

And with those words, Becker sharply turned and started down the hallway, leaving no room for Poole to protest, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the polished tile as he stomped away.

It was all Poole could do to not collapse where he stood just then, his legs weak and unsteady, his chest constricting painfully around his thudding heart. He felt nauseous, his stomach churning with a kind of hollow, numb dread.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear.

But there was something else, too— something that kept him grounded in that endless moment that burned in his throat much hotter than shame or guilt, rising in his chest like bile and choking the air from his lungs, saving him from the urge to come apart at the seams. It was unfamiliar, ugly— it left a foul taste in his mouth, made him cringe— but he was all the same entirely consumed by it in that moment, possessed.

And as he stared blankly after Becker’s retreating figure, his thoughts racing nearly as fast as his pulse, the feeling bloomed in his heart and erupted, searing his tongue as it did.

“I—I—I don’t get you, Ira, you know that!?”

The words rushed from him almost involuntarily, and the sound of his own wavering but defiant voice piercing the tense silence nearly made him flinch.

Becker stopped. Tensing as soon as he registered the words, he went rigid, the faintest hint of movement in his shoulders the only thing giving him away.

But he did not turn.

Even so, the fact that the other had heard him was enough for Poole to blunder forward, stumbling over his words as an angry warmth rose in his cheeks.

“All I’ve done, all I’ve ever done is try to be on good terms with you, to try to be friendly, and I— I can’t understand how you manage to take even that and… twist it into some sort of personal attack. I’ve tried so hard to understand you, to make peace with you last, but you won’t have it. You don’t even want to try. I-it’s like you’re determined to hate me no matter what, like in your eyes, everything I do is somehow wrong when all I’m guilty of is doing my job the best way I know how— just like you.

“I m-mean— why is it so wrong of me to want to succeed, to put my clients best interests first, but it’s perfectly fine for you? Why is it so immoral when I try as hard as I can to win when that is exactly what you do, what any lawyer does?”

Poole stopped for a breath, a momentary pause during which Becker still did move nor speak, standing eerily motionless, as though he were carved from stone.

“A-and you know what, Ira, while I’m on the topic of hypocrisy— you say that I’m the one obsessed with winning, but maybe you should take a look at yourself! You lose one case to me and—and all of a sudden I’m an embarrassment, I’m the scum of the earth and I should be ashamed because it’s somehow all my fault instead of yours. Like I went out of my way to make sure you’d lose, just to spite you. For what? What exactly do you think I stand to gain from making an enemy out of you? I admire and respect you! I always have! I’d never deliberately do anything to humiliate you or sabotage your work or— or anything else like that.

“I m-mean— yes, I’ll admit, what I said to you after today’s verdict was inappropriate. I was excited, and in hindsight, I shouldn’t have tried to joke with you. But you know, I don’t think that’s what got you upset, no. Y—You want to know what I really think? I think you’re just a sore loser.”

Poole fell silent then, trembling, a little out of breath. His eyes stung, tiny beads of frustrated tears going unnoticed as he stubbornly willed himself not to fall apart under the pressure of his own boldness.

He would come to regret what he’d just said— it was the one thing he knew to be certain in the long, fragile seconds that followed. Before him, Becker was perfectly still, the air surrounding him thick and heavy, tense. It was impossible to tell how he was taking the words Poole had carelessly flung at him, how damaging they might be to their already shaky dynamic, to any future relationship they might hope to have.

“A sore loser.” When the prosecutor finally spoke, he repeated Poole’s words slowly, his tone empty, dull, devoid of any inflection. Within it, a concealed darkness. “Yeah. You’re absolutely right.”

Poole felt his stomach lurch, and held his breath, watching stiffly as slowly, very slowly, Becker turned, facing Poole with a stare so empty that for a split second he was unrecognizable. Then, unpredictably, he laughed, a low, mirthless rumble, carrying an audible edge of resentment, of grief, lifting off his lips like a whisper.

“You still don’t get it, do you? Tell me, Poole, are you the one who had to apologize to the victim’s family? Are you the one who promised them justice, only to have a jury of good, smart people decide to free a killer anyway? Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Poole didn’t have an answer, staring in stunned silence instead, feeling his face grow pale. Becker shook his head, the barest hint of a smile still ghosting his lips, rueful, sardonic.

“A murderer walked free today. You understand that? I gave everything I could to try and stop that from happening. I went after him as hard as I could. And it still wasn’t enough. He got away. Every goddamn effort I made, everything I worked towards, it was for nothing.”

“Ira—” Poole began softly, instinctively.

“So yeah, I am a fucking sore loser.” Becker ignored him, almost as if he hadn’t even spoken at all, his voice rising as he took a sudden step forward. “If nothing else, that is exactly what I am, because I do nothing but fight my damned hardest to help make the world a better place, to keep this shithole from getting worse, only to constantly fail and have you treat it like a fucking joke.

“I’m fucking sick and tired of it, Poole, I’m sick of all my hard work being constantly thrown back in my face by a spineless dickhead who can’t be bothered to grow the fuck up and take anything seriously, a piss-poor parody of a lawyer whose head is so far up his own ass he can’t see the damage he’s done— can’t even begin to understand, or care.”

“That’s…” The defense attorney murmured, and nearly choked on the words, feeling his face grow warm with indignation as he fought to keep his composure. “Th-that’s hurtful.”

“Hurtful? You wouldn’t know hurtful if it came up and spat in your smug fucking face. You want to know what’s hurtful? Do you have any idea how painful it is to have you constantly up my ass, pretending you give a shit about me when after all the work I do, all the sacrifices I make trying to bring a scumbag to justice, you fuck me over and then celebrate when I fail?”

“I didn’t celebrate—”

“You did!” Becker roared, the rage hiding just behind his tired, bitter eyes suddenly breaking free as he took another step closer and shoved Poole as hard as he could. In that precise moment, stumbling back, Poole could smell smoke. “I saw you today, after the verdict. I saw the way you looked at me, with that cocky glint in your eye, and I know that I wasn’t imagining the self-satisfaction in your voice when you ran your mouth at me, because you somehow think it’s funny to look me in the face and act like this is all just a stupid game, knowing that my work is everything to me. That is what’s fucking hurtful.”

“Wh—what do you want from me, then?!” Poole cried, a raw, wavering sound. “I tried to explain, to apologize, but you made it rather clear that anything I could possibly say means less than nothing to you!”

“And why shouldn’t it?” The prosecutor shot back. “Why the fuck should I believe a single word out of your pathetic mouth when all you have ever done is string me along?”

“B—Because…! Because o-of our hist—...”

Poole silenced abruptly, as though he’d caught himself on the cusp of saying something unspeakable, something he couldn’t take back, color rising in his cheeks before he quickly looked away.

Eyeing him guardedly, a fleeting confusion passing over his face, Becker found himself perceiving in the other’s expression what had gone unsaid after just a short moment of search, and immediately scoffed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Poole, I know you’re not that stupid. What makes you think I give a rat’s ass about our so-called history?—”

“S—Stop it—” Poole quickly said, his tone sounding a little more defensive than he intended. “Whatever you’re going to say, you’re wrong. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you, maybe you want to act like it doesn’t matter, but I know that it matters, and so do you.”

Exhaling a shaking breath, Poole risked returning his gaze to the others, and found that Becker’s steely gaze had narrowed slightly at him, studying him almost warily. Behind his eyes, a strange flicker of emotion, an unnameable turmoil, betrayed itself, and in the very same moment, something else took the place of rage in his expression. Something equally unpleasant, but subtler, harder to understand.

“I can’t forget what happened between us that night,” With another quivering breath, Poole went on, squirming vaguely under Becker’s eyes working to dissect him as he spoke. “I tried to— I know that’s what you probably… w-wanted me to do— but I just can’t, because what you and I had for just those few hours was real, whether you want it to be or not.

“What I feel is real. And I know you believed me when I told you that night, I saw the look in your eyes when I said it, Ira, y-you knew it was the truth. How does that not lend any weight to the sincerity of what I’m trying to tell you now?”

The prosecutor averted his eyes. As if reluctant to acknowledge even the memory, there was a brief period in which he stared wordlessly down the hallway behind them, his mouth set in a hard, stern line.

“Look, I... I know you don’t… really understand me.” Poole ventured, his tone softening, his heart aching in a way it couldn’t bear to name. “But if nothing else, after what happened that night, you at least know that the last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you.”

A heavy silence fell over them then.

Where anger had once been was now a tense, palpable void— a mutual reluctance that settled in the space between them, thick with something bittersweet and unfinished. Though it shook his resolve, Poole did not look away.

Before him, Becker had grown stiff where he stood as though the other’s words had physically pained him— his gaze sharp and cold, a hollow quality to his face that made it impossible to know for certain what it was he felt, if anything at all.

He was silent for what felt like a long time, his jaw set, his stare fixed intensely on nothing as the storm behind his gaze raged on, hidden, sapping the fire from his eyes until nothing was left but a terrible coldness. And when he finally spoke again, Poole wasn’t sure which he hated more— Becker’s rage or the emptiness that had replaced it.

“...You know something, Poole?” He asked, his voice almost toneless as it rumbled between them. “What good does knowing your feelings do me now, after everything you’ve done? What good is your sincerity to me when you and I will never be on the same side?

“Maybe I did understand you, once. Maybe I even trusted you. Maybe I believed you were capable of doing the right thing. But I sure as hell don’t anymore, because I have no idea who you are, or what the fuck is going on in that head of yours. All I know for certain nowadays is that you only care about yourself, and you can’t even begin to imagine how sick that makes me feel. I really do wish you could see that through your fucking naivety, because every word that comes out of your mouth means fuck all to me when you’ve proven time and time again that you’re a goddamn walking contradiction.

“You’re a fraud and a coward, Poole, a selfish, spineless liar with so much damn gall that you can stand there with a straight face and pretend I ought to be moved by anything that you have to say after all the ways that you have trampled over the last shredded fucking scraps of respect I may have had for you. And yet that still isn’t even the worst thing you’ve ever done to me, is it? Is it?”

An awful, wrenching moment passed in which Poole did not— or perhaps, simply could not— respond to those cruel words. His heart twisted, a familiar stinging welling in his eyes against his wishes.

He held his breath.

“No,” Becker said quietly, a subtle pain coloring the sound of his voice. “The absolute fucking lowest you have ever stooped, Mr. Freddie Poole, was somehow getting me to actually care about a shameless, two-faced prick like you.”

“Ira…—” Poole pleaded desperately, fighting a losing war to choke down the lump that now ached painfully in his throat.

“Save it— you need to listen to me very fucking carefully now, because I’m only going to say this once. Don’t come near my office, don’t come near my cases, I don’t even want to see your sorry ass in this fucking courthouse. I want you out of my goddamn life for good. Do you hear me?”

Shakily exhaling, struggling against the tears gathering in his vision, Poole found himself in that precise moment going wholly numb, as though something within him had just then given out, had died. It was a moment of unreality, an abrupt shift as the weight of those final, decisive words washed over him and took hold.

“Y... You don’t mean that,” Poole whispered tremulously, a feeble denial. “You can’t.”

Becker, however, did not humor him, did not even hesitate, delivering his next words with a cold, unfeeling finality as he turned and began to walk away.

“Try me.”

#wesperwrites #wesperart #inside out au #inside out fear #inside out anger #attorney au

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gothgril69 · 11 months

Text

Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter Length: 9.5k

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ao3 link

Notes:

Thank you so much for starting a fic of mine <3 There's a few things I wanted to say before you get started.

-Reader has a default name of Aeron Reader. It plays into the story and that is why this is tagged appropriately as Levi/OC, but it is written in second person and all details relating to the female mc/reader are very vague. I do try to account for different hair types/skin tones and therefore leave it vague on purpose. -This is loosely based on 18th century conflict between France, England, and Scotland. Mirlenas represents France, Kaslogon represents England, and Navarre Scotland. There are historical accuracies but also inaccuracies for creative freedom regarding certain things. -I have been sitting on this fic since October 2022, and am just now posting it because I am way too hard on myself

I hope you enjoy <3 gothgril

Your parents always wanted another boy.

Your older brothers, Auguste and Theo, were the kingdom’s prized heirs to the throne, certain to fill your ancestors shoes to the fullest. You were supposed to be like them; supposed to be another boy that would marry and extend the family tree of royalty for the kingdom of Mirlenas.

Your mother carried you the same as your brothers; tummy hanging low, heartburn, unbelievable back pain. How could you not have been a boy? Your name was picked out for you and everything. All the midwives were prepared to have another boy and decorated your nursery with calming blues and greys to match the kingdom’s colours.

But out came you. A healthy baby girl, bright eyes and a full head of hair. It wasn’t that your parents were unhappy – no, they loved you regardless at the time – they just weren’t prepared. Your name was Aeron, the name picked out for you when they thought you’d be a boy, and you were the new child of the Reader family.

Aeron Reader has an ominous feel to it, the name of the same Goddess of War that comes from stories in your mother’s forgotten origin. Your parents never realized until one day one of the maids was overheard gossiping about it. Overheard hushed whispers about you circulated around the castle.

You were seven years old at the time and not happy about it. You’ve done all the research now about her origin and reputation – you quite like her.

Your mother simply chose to ignore her own heritage of Druvaria ever since she married your father. A deal had been struck between kingdoms and your mother fell victim to becoming the new Queen of Mirlenas, her own father giving her away to make peace between nations. The war had been ongoing for five years and needed to come to an end and finally, someone had come to their senses to offer up the princess of Druvaria in trade for peace. She didn’t know any better, simply believing it was the right thing to do for her nation and had no other choice.

Things did work out in her favor in the end. Your parents fell in love with each other before they even married and mated, telling you the story at least once a year over dinner about it. A bite to the nape of the neck only sealed their fate and ensured they would be mated for life. You’re happy for them, truly, but you know you weren’t a part of their plans.

It was supposed to be three healthy boys, and you felt the seclusion.

Ever since a young age you wanted to be like your brothers, refusing to wear the dresses your handmaidens sewed for you and playing in the grass instead. You distinctly remember being seven years old, covered in grass stains while your mother yelled at you from the courtyard in front of the castle. You had just finished wrestling with Theo, face shoved into the dirt and hair completely disheveled. You could never beat him even though he was only two years older than you – you just didn’t have the strength yet.

You remember your mother’s voice ringing out into the air, “I didn’t have a girl just for you to act like a boy!”

Seems like you can’t do anything right.

You pushed Theo off, angry that he had beaten you again and upset about your mother’s words. Defiance pulsed through you and you only wanted to be less ladylike in spite of her. You had stuck your tongue out at Theo as he did the same to you, Auguste coming over to break the two of you apart before you were tempted to lunge for his throat again. Auguste always seemed to be the voice of reason, calming Theo down with just a look before he’d look down at you with soft brown eyes, his curly brown locks falling slightly in front of them.

Perhaps you shouldn’t choose favorites, but Auguste always had this way about him. He was kind and charming even in his younger years before diplomacy truly got to him. Everyone loved him and he seemed to always know what to say, even sitting in on adult conversations despite his young age. He always knew what to say to make even you feel better.

He had sent Theo away to your mother and grabbed your hand, kneeling down to you so he was eye level. “Theo is just a brat sometimes. Don’t let him get to you, kid,” he had told you with a quick ruffle to your hair. He stood up, making sure he was still holding your hand to walk you inside to clean up. He was already thirteen at the time and strong enough to pick you up, so he’d lift you on top of the private bathroom counter that was located in his room. A soft wet rag would be wiped along your cheeks and nose to clean off the dirt that Theo graced upon your features – a gentle tap of your nose would indicate when he was done and you could jump down.

When you were eight Auguste promised he’d teach you all the things he knew: fencing, archery, horse riding, knife throwing, swordsmanship and even some of the studies Auguste was learning in school. You would do your duties as a princess during the day, pleasing your mother by learning your manners and all things women should know (sewing, cleaning, cooking, botany) and during the evening after dinner you would train with your brother. Occasionally, Theo would join and actually be quite tolerable – that’s where your relationship with him truly started to grow. He’d be serious and want to know everything Auguste did, trying his best to be patient with you as you learned and he would train with Auguste during your own breaks.

When your mother first caught you with them she was livid, claiming that your behavior was “boyish and unflattering” and something along the lines of you being “a disgraceful princess.” You’re almost positive there was more, but your brain has blocked out most of the memory of being talked down to so harshly by one of your parental figures. It’s not like you and your father talked much – he only really entertained Auguste to make sure he was prepared to take the throne one day. You envied Auguste in a way, but you could never hate him for being the golden child. He didn’t choose that life and quite frankly, it must be hard on him as well to carry that burden.

Your life truly changed when an extravagant ceremony was held for a new Chevalier that would be in the castle. The large hall designated for events had Mirlenas’ banners strung high above the grand windows, shrouding most of the light that would enter. Expensive chandeliers were lit, light fixtures along the walls providing warm light to envelop the area. Rows upon rows of people sat and waited for the entrance of the new Chevalier while you sat at the very front of the room. Your mother and father sat in their large wing-back chairs while you and Theo sat on your mother’s left side. Of course, you were given the smallest chair out of everyone. Auguste waited patiently for the entrance of the Chevalier, waiting to make his own appearance to complete the ceremony.

Your brother Auguste was of age to join the kingdom’s military at seventeen and should be accompanied by someone of a higher skill level than him. The one thing you didn’t expect was it to be a fifteen year old boy who looked like he would rather be anywhere else than bowing in front of your parents. You didn’t blame him, you hated all the formal bullshit too.

You had begun daydreaming when his name was announced, only coming to your senses when Theo bumped you so you wouldn’t get chastised later by your mother. The boy was wearing Mirlenas’ colours, navy blue and silver, and was being awarded a broche with the family crest to grace his uniform over his heart. A symbol of his dedication to the kingdom; a set of wings over a shield. The Chevalier formal uniform was tailored to him specifically: a navy blue tailcoat over a grey collared shirt with a white cravat hanging around his neck. You remember when he stood up from bowing to your parents and his piercing grey eyes landed on yours as you sat next to them, a slight furrow of his brows happening in an instant before his sharp features were stoic once again.

You kept your eyes on him when he looked away, analyzing him with a tilted head. You told yourself it was to make sure Auguste would have a proper Chevalier accompanying him, but there was something intriguing about him. His raven black hair was well kept, straight hair layered so most of it fell out of the small tie at the nape of his neck

“Dedicate your heart to not only my kingdom, but my son as well,” your father’s voice had droned on. You refrained from rolling your eyes at the formality of it all, knowing Auguste would never treat his Chevalier as less than him despite your father training him to do so. You had instead fidgeted with your thumbs, messing with the lace on the dress you were forced to wear for the event until your mother gave you one of her looks. The look that told you you’d be getting in trouble later for simply being a young girl with energy that prevented you from staying still at such a boring festivity.

You realized the boy was quite short when Auguste stood next to him, maybe a couple inches taller than you at your age at the time. You hadn’t quite hit puberty yet afterall, your courses hadn’t come yet and your mother seemed adamant about ignoring the inevitable anyway.

You didn’t figure out the boy’s name until days later when Auguste introduced you to him. “Name’s Levi,” he had told you in a bored tone. Your eleven year old self was eager to meet him until he had scoffed at your name. “What is that? A boy’s name?”

You’ve disliked him ever since.

Levi remembers seeing you that day, having no idea the royal family even consisted of a princess along with the other two princes. You were only eleven at the time, but it seemed as if your family was ashamed to have you on display. You were given the smallest chair at the end of the line of royalty, a dress that didn’t look as well sewn as your brother’s uniforms fell on your shoulders. You looked curious, which had intrigued Levi at the time, but incredibly sad in your eyes. He said the first thing that came to mind when Auguste introduced him to you. It was odd for a lady of royal standing to have such a gender neutral name, bordering on masculine, and he didn’t think you would be so offended. He noticed right away you weren’t like other princesses he had met when he noticed you were wearing trousers, stains all over you and hair sticking in every direction.

He had looked at you with such disdain when he saw the grass stains on your trousers or the dirt that was under your nails from wrestling with Theo just moments before. You never acted like a princess and Levi clearly hated that, always on your ass about not acting like a lady and getting so dirty he could “clean the stables and feel better than being next to you.” He’d plug his nose and mock gag at you to emphasize his point when Auguste wasn’t around.

You didn’t truly start to hate him until a boy named Furlan came around as Theo’s Chevalier. He was the same age as Theo, seventeen at the time, while you were fifteen. Your new handmaiden, Isabel, had arrived at the same time as him and quickly became your best friend, but you grew jealous when she became a part of your brother’s friend group consisting of Levi and Furlan as well. You were once again the outcast no matter how hard Isabel tried to get you to join. And you did try at some point, only to be made fun of by Theo and Levi while Isabel and Furlan shyly watched on.

You didn’t blame them. Levi was hard to argue with and Theo was royalty, even if he was just your stupid brother. Auguste was busy training to be the next heir, constantly under your father’s watch and unable to mediate childish arguments between you and your brother anymore.

Luckily, Levi wasn’t around as often as the other three were since he was Auguste’s Chevalier. He would accompany him on any personal affairs or duties he needed to fulfill off of the castle grounds.

Those were your moments of somewhat peace; when your mother would busy Theo with a task and you’d have a chance to spend time with Furlan and Isabel alone. Isabel was only twelve and being taught the proper ways of being a handmaiden, but during her free time she’d make sure you weren’t alone. Furlan ended up just following suit, keeping a watchful eye on Isabel, even though he had always been closer to Levi.

She tended to get herself into trouble, always wanting to bring animals into the home before your mother caught her one day. You had taken the fall for Isabel bringing in an injured dove, enduring the lecture about how “vile” these “creatures” could be. You helped Isabel tend to it’s wing and nursed it back to health before releasing it from your balcony without your mother’s knowledge.

When you were seventeen you started to stay in your room more, only coming out to train your skills in combat. Your mother had given up at this point on trying to make you a lady. You were always wearing trousers paired with at least a corset over your blouse to keep your “womanly figure” as your mother called it. You didn’t give a shit about it, but if you could at least wear trousers then you would do it to spare you from the pain of ridiculous skirts and dresses while you were on castle grounds.

Painting and reading became your new hobbies and you soon only really started to see Isabel when she visited your bedroom.

You were tired of being berated just for existing.

At the time, Levi had secretly missed your presence. He enjoyed picking on you and getting a reaction, sometimes doing it to push your buttons so far that you would yell at him. Isabel would always scold him as if she were his senior, telling him he’s being too harsh on you. You were just such a brat, always picking a fight with him if he didn’t do it first. When you were gone and holed away in your room he felt like there was a presence missing, but he blamed it on being bored while Auguste was busy with your father.

Your large room was lined with bookcases, shelves full with books you’ve read countless times. A few easels were scattered about, a painting resting on each so you could alternate what you were working on while the oils dried on the other two. You had taken down the large navy blue curtains, ripping them down one day to get all of the natural light possible inside of your room and shoving them into a confused handmaiden’s arms in the hallway. You’re positive your mother didn’t know what you did and still doesn’t, probably unaware of the curtain rods that no longer perch above your windows since she never visits your bedroom.

She doesn’t talk to you much. Only Auguste and Isabel know you paint.

Your navy blue blanket and grey sheets hardly ever got any use despite the comfortability of the silk. You wanted to rip down the harrateen that surrounded the four poster bed, but it was too much of a hassle if you weren’t even going to use it. You were never tired, only needing a few hours of sleep to function in your teen years. You’d tend to the fireplace while your mind would always be full of creative ideas, needing to spill them onto a canvas before they would be forgotten.

Auguste tried to get you to come out of your shell more, always asking you at dinner if you would join him for a walk around the castle grounds. Those were your favorite moments. The moments where you could talk to Auguste about anything you needed to, whether that was simply an idea for a painting you had or something more heavy like the way your mom was. He always tried to make you feel better, saying things like “you know mother loves you in her own way” or “father is just busy being king.”

When you told him about how your father had told you to never cry and show weakness when he caught you crying on the rare occasion that he sees you in the halls, Auguste comforted you without making excuses for him. “Father is incapable of human emotion. Everyone cries. Cry if you feel you must,” he had told you, grasping your shoulders to ensure you absorbed every word he said as you stared into those big brown eyes you love so much. Those were the only words that had ever truly made you feel better about your parents.

Things in your life didn’t take another turn until you were twenty. You were a grown woman and done with being kept to your room in fear of being talked down to by family members. You began taking your training more seriously, practically begging Auguste to train you again after dinner instead of going on your walks. He obliged and soon you were exceeding at everything, being especially good at archery. A bow just felt so natural in your hands – you could practically shoot with your eyes closed.

At age twenty-six he still wasn’t married – quite a taboo concept considering your father’s growing age. Auguste didn’t want to marry for duty, he always wanted to marry for love. You had a suspicion he didn’t admire women in the same way as other men – not that you would ever tell a soul. You simply enjoyed that he had more free time than he was supposed to and that he chose to spend it with you.

When you won against him in a fencing match is when you knew you had surpassed his expectations. The look on his face when he took off his mask told you everything you needed to know: he was proud of you. You remember being so happy, tears formed in your eyes before you could stop them, and you ran at your brother, colliding with him in a giant bear hug with full force. Auguste had taken you into your arms and swung you around like you were his whole world – he made you feel like you truly were.

Theo joined in after cheering, causing both him and Auguste to practically absorb you. Levi had been on the sidelines judging the match and you heard his scoff when you won. You were too excited to care at the time.

You were forced to spend more time with Levi when Auguste grew inevitably more busy. Theo had fallen behind in his training and would have private lessons with Furlan. Isabel was kept busy by the older handmaidens, tending to laundry and kitchen duties, leaving you with Levi. You refused to stay locked up in your room unless you were willingly painting or reading, but even now you preferred reading in the gardens so you could get some sunlight on your skin, even if only for a little while.

Auguste had tasked Levi with looking after you while he wasn’t around despite your – and Levi’s – protests. You insisted you were a grown woman and didn’t need someone to watch over you like a lost puppy – Levi just didn’t want to deal with the inevitable attitude that was thrown his way just for being there.

But he wasn’t simply just there. He would make fun of you for your book choices; if something got in your hair and you weren’t aware of it. He had at least given up on getting on your ass about acting like a lady – if anything he seemed to prefer it rather than you fretting about dresses and “frilly things” as he calls them.

“I just can’t pretend to care when they talk to me about how expensive their dresses are or how they bought the best perfume being made right now,” he had droned on to you one evening. Somehow, you had gotten on the topic of the ball that was held a few weeks prior. He was forced to attend with Auguste and “forced” to entertain women even younger than you that were fawning over him and your brother.

You had actually laughed and sympathized with him, sharing your own stories about disgusting older men trying to win your affections. He had cringed when you exaggerated the ugliness of a stout older gentleman with a gut that hung over his belt – the buttons of his shirt were hanging on for dear life.

The man had flirted with you incessantly, hardly ever straying from your side the whole night even as you attempted to excuse yourself – he always found a way to be next to you. You laughed it off, telling Levi it was just the usual for a woman of high status whether you liked it or not. He didn’t say anything that time, only a look of what you think was anger flashed in his eyes before he looked away with a quiet “tch.”

Levi had seen the wretched old man the whole night, ogling you and grimy hands inches away from touching you. He wanted to rip his fingers off for attempting to touch a member of the royal family like that and gouge his eyes out with the nearest fork for staring at you like a piece of meat. He told himself he would only be doing his job protecting a member of the royal family.

Levi had kept a watchful eye on you the whole night, watching you fake laugh at people’s jokes with a smile that never reached your eyes. He had never heard your real laugh before, and he could imagine it wouldn’t sound anything close to the small, half-hearted chuckles you gave out. The only time he ever saw you smile was when you were reading one of your stupid novels or daydreaming without realizing it before something snapped you back to reality.

You had actually felt pretty that night in a dress that was tailored just for you. You had convinced Isabel to go with your wishes of it being simple and less extravagant than your mother’s requests, so when you put it on it felt more appropriate for you. She had been in your bedroom for a whole day taking measurements to alter a gown you already liked a decent amount, asking what you wanted changed about it.

The day of she stood behind you, tugging on the laces of your corset to practically squeeze the life out of you, claiming she needed you to look perfect so your mother wouldn’t have her head. You even had your other handmaidens run you a hot bath with a sachet of lavender from the southern coast of your country.

You’ve made it a habit to bathe with lavender and have lavender oil around to calm your senses, leaving your skin smelling like the flower.

You were now twenty-three. Living the life of royalty that many would dream of.

You weren’t ungrateful for it – you knew how bad the lower class people of the kingdom had it – but you never asked for it. You never asked to be unloved by your parents, watching as your two older brothers received all of the attention. You never asked to be showered in fine silks and paraded around in dresses like you were some animal being put on display for purchase.

You wanted to run away, to live a simple life somewhere in the countryside. You’d make your living using the trades your mother had taught you at a young age. You could protect yourself with the combat skills Auguste had fine-tuned until he could no longer be your teacher. You knew botany and how to grow your own food; live off the land.

You were tired of feeling unwanted by everyone around you. You hardly felt okay anymore, eating only because Isabel forced you to and wouldn’t leave until your plate was empty. You would maybe complete a painting or two once a year now and tea was the only thing you could stomach for breakfast. The only thing that kept you here was your cowardice and getting lost in the stories you read. It could be romances or history, even war stories caught your eye sometimes, but it was something to escape to. Your mind would be occupied by something other than your heavy thoughts that weighed you down, allowing at least some respite.

You wonder if living a simple life would have allowed for you to flourish the way you were supposed to, or maybe if you lived in one of your novels and found love then you could be happy.

But things could never be that simple.

Levi watches you now as you stare off into the distance with that usual faraway look on your features. You’re sitting on a blanket you had sloppily thrown on the ground, one of your knees brushing against the grass and defeating the purpose of the piece of fabric below you. It bothered Levi more than he would care to admit when you did things like this, only committing to them half-heartedly. The forming grass stain glares at him.

He hated being out here with you. It was boring and typically hot in the summer months like it is now, but at least you had chosen the biggest oak tree to find reprieve from the sun’s rays. He simply leaned against the trunk of the tree, observing you when you were busy daydreaming. When you would snap out of it the air would be full of bickering again and he found peace in the silence.

You were wearing your usual black trousers and corset over a blouse, but sat as if you were wearing a skirt. Your hair was pulled back with a ribbon, but some rogue strands fought themselves free and blew in the wind and he fought the urge to either chastise you for it or just fix it himself since you couldn’t do it right.

You perplexed him still, even when the two of you had matured and Levi was now twenty-seven. It was less childish insults and more clever banter between the two of you now. You actually seemed to enjoy wearing dresses on occasion now that your figure suited them and he was even able to smell a hint of lavender oil on your skin whenever the two of you were forced to be too close. You had become a woman, but sometimes Levi still felt like he was looking at the neglected little girl he had first seen at his introductory ceremony.

Your eyes were the same sad ones he had seen that day and you still tended to fidget with the hem of your clothing whenever you were anxious. A genuine smile rarely makes it’s way to your features and he swears he’s only heard you genuinely laugh once with Auguste when he had trailed behind one of your evening walks. He almost pities you until he remembers how easy you truly have it.

You had no idea what it was like to grow up in poverty, never knowing when your next meal was or taking any article of clothing you could because it was the only option. No, you were picky about the clothes you wore and the things you ate and always took them for granted.

You were selfish, making Auguste worry about you all the time and borderline obsessively commanding Levi to make sure you were okay. He would do as he was told, of course, but you never realized how much turmoil you caused in your brother’s mind. Even Theo worries about you now that he’s matured and no longer finds amusement in ruffling your feathers.

The only thing he can understand about you is how big of assholes your parents are and how most of the time he feels the same way you do in their presence: neglected and frowned upon.

Your father commands Levi as if he were a dog while your mother chooses to ignore his presence altogether. He could admit that maybe you weren’t as bad as your parents – he’s watched them throw away untouched food because it had gotten cold (their own fault of course). The first time he had seen it happen he had to bite his tongue, holding back the onslaught of curses and insults he had ready to throw at them. As much as Levi hated them, he never wanted to go back to the slums he grew up in, knowing your father would never do anything to solve the problem. The amount of people in poverty would continue to grow and he could only hope your brother Auguste would do something to change the state of the kingdom once he becomes king.

Levi pulls himself out of his own thoughts when a harsh gust of wind strikes him to remind you about the evening’s events.

“Oi,” Levi snaps his fingers in front of your face. You look up at him, clearly dazed from being pulled out of your daydream and into the real world where you sit on the grass.

The day is bright and sunny as you sit under the cooling shade of the ancient oak tree that sits in the front lawn of the castle, a giant stretch of grass as far as you can see separating you from the rest of Mirlenas. The castle sits on 800 hectares and you enjoy being able to escape the bustling interior of the castle in favor of sitting on the lawn. Your book is open on your lap, but abandoned long ago in favor of daydreaming. You hardly remember what you got lost in thought about.

“Your mother has summoned you,” Levi reminds you. Of course. Your mother and her tendencies to summon you whenever she is in a particularly bad mood, annoys you – going back to your bedroom and painting until the moon is high in the sky sounds significantly more appealing.

You sigh and ignore his outstretched hand, knowing he’s only offering it because of his Chevalier status. He would never willingly touch you – he’s told you as much. Levi scoffs, muttering something along the lines of, “fine, I didn’t want to touch your hand anyway.” You don’t bite back with a response, done with the day already and not looking forward to entertaining your mother’s ridiculous ideas.

“What could she possibly want tonight?” you mostly muse to yourself as you fold up your blanket.

Levi, who follows closely behind, responds, “who knows. Swear she’s growing senile with her old age.”

You stifle a laugh, unwilling to give him the satisfaction, but pleased with his words about your mother. He says things about your father too, but only ever around you. Levi seems to be the only one that recognizes their behavior towards you – or lack thereof – and often criticizes them. You, of course, allow it and he knows it amuses you. However, you and Levi are still not remotely friends, still arguing and often ridiculing each other. The only bonding you have ever done with the man is regarding your positions in the royal family, finding everything to be unnecessary and cretinous. Everything else between the two of you is short and angry, much like the Chevalier that follows you now.

Auguste has been occupied with politics and diplomacy for the past year, giving Levi the order to keep watch on you as he becomes even more busy. It’s something the two of you were already quite accustomed to since he had given the order three years ago when you were twenty. It still isn’t any easier to have him around so often. Bickering is more common than not and he beats you at anything you ask him to do. Except for archery – you’re almost certain no one can beat you at that and you relish in the face Levi makes when you split your arrow on the target almost every time.

But Auguste had insisted Levi stuck by your side now that he couldn’t spend as much time with you. Especially now that a war had broken out between your kingdom and a neighboring nation: Kaslogon. The war had started a year ago, but it barely made a dent in Mirlenas’ forces – not enough for Levi to be sent away to serve as part of the royal guard. Your allies, the country Navarre, were taking most of the heat for it since they resided on the same landmass as Kaslogon – Mirlenas at least had an ocean separating the two countries.

This meant that your father needed to pull Auguste everywhere he went, showing him the ropes of how to wage a war – a seemingly favorite pastime for egotistical men. You missed your evening walks and training sessions, having to force Levi to accompany you outside after dinner.

You hoped this meeting was to simply discuss the current standings of the war. Your mother seemed to over exaggerate with her statements or letters, once summoning you to discuss “dire circumstances” – the castle had just run out of her favorite persimmons and she wouldn’t be able to get anymore until the next winter harvest. It was moments like these when you remembered how absurd it felt to be a part of a royal family that didn’t know anything different. Levi always referred to the lot of you as “spoiled brats.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you would never admit that to him.

“You have a grass stain on your trousers,” Levi informs you with a blank tone.

“Lovely,” you sigh, “I’m sure mother will enjoy it.”

“It’s sloppy.”

“It’s fine.”

You already know your mother will be waiting for you in the dining room after the table has been cleared post-supper. You never bothered to join anymore, finding the comfort of being outside until late evening more enticing instead and having Isabel bring you dinner to your bedroom so you can enjoy her company. She may force you to eat when you don’t want to, but you appreciate her all the same.

Levi always gives you shit for it, telling you it’s disgusting to eat in a place meant for sleeping, but you usually ignore those statements from him. You’re not going to waste your breath to tell him you have a small table on your balcony that you eat your meals at – he wouldn’t understand.

You walk across the grass, your blanket under your arm and Levi following two steps behind you like he’s been taught. “You know it feels like you’re going to murder me when you walk behind me,” you scoff.

“You’re not worth getting hanged for murder,” he mutters. “If I walk next to you and your father sees I’ll only be reprimanded. Plus, you smell.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Please, I smell worlds better than you ever do.”

“Now you’re a liar?”

“Honest as ever,” you reply smoothly, lifting your chin ever so slightly.

Your boots touch the dirt road that runs parallel with the front of the castle, crossing it to reach the gravel pathway that leads to the entrance. It’s all very grand compared to it’s surroundings on the outside of it’s gates, an elaborate garden with perfectly trimmed hedges greeting you once the guards open the gate for you.

You always make sure to give them a sweet smile, greeting them by name – Jean and Marco. Jean’s mother is a handmaiden while you believe Marco’s family lives somewhere in a nearby village. They’re sweet boys, at least five years younger than you, but as soon as they see Levi they seem to stand taller than before and look straight ahead. You hate when it happens and always turn your head to see him glaring daggers at the two boys. He gives you a small “tch” today when he sees your glare being directed at him again.

The gates close behind you and you grow impatient. “Please, just walk next to me. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“I expect you to take the fall for it then if your father sees,” Levi scoffs as he joins you at your side.

“As if I don’t with everything else,” you mutter. He doesn’t respond.

You observe that he’s acting more cordial with you today for some reason and it’s throwing you off balance. You’d rather him bicker with you, not the silence that seems to drape over the two of you more often today.

You step towards the grand, bifurcated staircase in front of you with far too many steps – eighty-six, to be exact, and it feels like it takes a lifetime to walk up them. You’ve counted the pale stones too many times, having nothing better to do on some of your outings.

“twenty-seven…” you mutter under your breath as you walk.

“Are you fucking counting them?” Levi asks incredulously, not minding his language – not that he ever does – since the two of you are practically alone.

“Does it matter?” you snap, looking over at him with a glare. You lost count.

“There’s eighty-six,” he mumbles, seemingly realizing what he said only after it’s come out. You don’t bother to tease him about it, simply enjoying the pink tint to his ears with a small laugh as he looks down at the steps.

The front doors of the castle are opened by another set of guards, Connie and Sasha, and you give the young kids a smile as well. They were definitely bickering before you arrived, seemingly nervous about getting caught by Levi next to you when they stand up straighter. Connie’s eyes are wide and Sasha’s brown locks are slightly disheveled in her updo. You roll your eyes at the sight, but at least he doesn’t say anything to them today about being “more aware of their surroundings” like he usually would. Perhaps he got the hint earlier with Jean and Marco.

You greet the handmaiden standing by the doorway, giving her your blanket to be washed free of any lingering grass and returned on top of your bed before turning down a hall. Levi is still walking next to you, practically escorting you to the dining hall despite being inside the castle walls. “You don’t need to walk me there,” you tell him, eager to free him of his post and rid of his presence. You don’t need another walking headache with you when you visit your mother – one is enough.

“Auguste is joining you and your mother. I’ll be accompanying him afterwards.”

You pause your footsteps, boots slightly squeaking against the polished parquet floors. “What does Auguste have to do with this?”

Levi stops a step ahead of you, turning so he’s at least facing you. “They have news for you,” his voice trails off, laced with hesitancy as he turns his head to the side and avoids your look of confusion. “It’s not my place to tell you, madame.”

You scoff at his formality as a servant walks by. “Don’t call me that,” you grumble as you resume your walk to the dining hall. He knows you hate the use of your titles.

Your heart is racing at the prospect of bad news. Levi didn’t hide his feelings about the topic very well. The slight wrinkle between his brows, or the subtle downturn of his lips when he thinks he isn’t letting his frown show give you all the signs you needed. When you were younger you used to think the man had no emotions besides annoying little shit and anger, but the more time you spent with him the more you had to learn how to read him. If you didn’t, how else were you going to survive the arrangement Auguste had so kindly forced upon you.

“I have to, brat,” Levi whispers when no one is around.

You reach the grand white doors, their edges trimmed in silver to show off the kingdom’s wealth, and look over at him with a glare. He simply opens one of the large doors for you, bowing as you enter to please the woman sitting at the head of the dining table before closing it behind you and taking his post at the entrance. You almost rather wish you were outside with Levi’s company instead of enduring whatever this was about to be.

You spot Auguste sitting in the chair closest to your mother, patiently waiting for you to sit next to him. Your feet feel frozen in place, unable to move in fear of the discussion that was waiting for you. Your mother never had Auguste accompany her in the lectures she gave you, always knowing he would take your side and defend you. The discussion had to be serious for his presence to be pertinent.

“Please, Aeron, take a seat,” Auguste requests. Only then, when you hear his soothing voice, do you move towards the long banquet table that hosts far too many chairs to be actually useful. Your boots echo throughout the entire room as the two sit in silence, your corset shifting slightly as you walk. Everything feels incredibly uncomfortable now, the fabric sticking to your skin in all of the wrong ways, the layer of dirt that seems to have settled on your skin after being outside now unbearable. Even the grass stain on your knee is bothering you more than it normally would under their watchful eyes.

Auguste stands to pull your chair out from the table as you make your way over, pushing it in gently as you sit down so you’re close enough to the stained oak wood in front of you. You feel like you can’t breathe this close, but it’s proper, and Auguste did it for you, so you would simply have to endure.

“Your pants are stained,” your mother chastises.

“Mother, please. This is not what we are here to discuss,” Auguste interrupts before the arguing and onslaught of insults can begin from you.

“Fine,” your mother yields. She crosses her arms and waves a flimsy arm at your brother. “Why don’t you inform her of what’s to come then.”

The room’s silence is deafening in the moments before your brother resumes his speaking. You’re fidgeting with the top of your trousers on your thighs, pulling the fabric between your thumb and index finger in attempts to calm your nerves, but nothing is working. It feels like ages before Auguste’s voice fills the room, delivering news you never wanted to hear, but knew your whole life was a possibility. You don’t hear the words that come after, only focusing on a small phrase.

“I’ll be joining the frontlines.”

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as your mother attempts at speaking nonsense to you. You’re not listening – you can’t. The first thing you do is peel your eyes away from the wood in front of you and look over at Levi. He’s looking at the ground, eyebrows furrowed and an evident frown on his face. You know that look – he’s upset, angry even. You can’t quite pin an underlying emotion that lies on his features as well. Sadness, you think.

“Aeron,” Auguste’s voice tears your eyes away from Levi and onto him.

You know how you must look right now; glistening eyes wide, lips parted in shock. The world around you slowly pieces itself back together as you stare into those soft brown eyes. You focus on a lock of hair that’s fallen over his forehead, a small curl that seems too stubborn to stay in place.

“I won’t be alone,” he provides, as if that would make you feel any better, “Levi will be accompanying me and you know he’s the best Chevalier in our kingdom.” You scoff, knowing Levi is needing to use all of his restraint to not roll his eyes. “I’ll be accompanied by father, Theo, and Furlan as well. Do not fret while I am gone.”

For the first time since joining this conversation, clarity strikes your mind. “Theo? You’re having Theo go with you?!” You’re practically yelling now, standing up from your chair and taking a step back. Auguste is quick to follow, a frightened look on his face from the quick escalation in conversation.

“I told you she couldn’t handle this,” your mother supplies unhelpfully from behind him.

Auguste doesn’t spare her a glance, eyes purely focused on you. Levi has stepped away from the door, almost as if he’s afraid that you’ll hurt your brother and ready to spring into action. It just makes you more angry. “Theo can’t go.” Your palms rest against your temples, trying to press some sort of sense into this whole mess.

“It’s his duty, Aeron. You would be going too if you were…” His voice trails off.

“If I was a man, I know,” you snap at him. “I would be more useful than even Theo on the battlefield and you’re well aware of it.”

“He’s gotten more training since you’ve last had a match with him,” Auguste tries. “Furlan will be with him. Levi is more than capable of guarding the two of us. He’ll be protected.”

“This is fucking absurd!”

“Watch your tone young lady!” your mother shouts, now rising out of her own seat. You wish you could slap some sense into her, you wish she wasn’t here in this room while tears threaten to spill over.

You’re terrified. You trust Auguste to make it back to you, he’s trained and capable, but Theo has never been skilled in any combat. You think he takes after the creativity that seems to flow through your bloodline. Auguste was always miserable at the arts, but Theo knew how to play almost any instrument.

He was the best at piano, sometimes playing in his bedroom when he thought no one was awake into the late hours of the night. You always heard him, the sounds echoing through the halls and making their way through the cracks in your doorway or if both of you had your balcony doors open.

He was never meant for war.

You watch as the tears finally overflow and fall down onto the floor below you, almost landing onto the leather of your boots. Auguste lets go of all restraints holding him back, allowing himself to rush forwards and allow you to collapse into his arms. You never wanted any of this. You would do anything to not see them leave you behind with just your mother.

You bury your face into his chest, gripping at the hem of his coat that lays on his shoulders unbuttoned. Tears stain the fabric, but you know he couldn’t care less right now, only rubbing soothing circles in between your shoulder blades. Whispers of “it’ll be okay” and promises he knows he shouldn’t be making float down into your ears. He kisses the top of your head when you pull back enough to look up at him and into his brown eyes.

“You better make it back to me,” you choke out with your index finger poking into his sternum. “Y-you have to.”

“I will, I promise.” Auguste pushes a stray hair from your forehead and wipes his calloused thumbs on your cheeks to rid the tears that have trailed down your skin. He’s a little rough with his touch, but you would never have it any other way. You love your brothers dearly.

The loud slam of the doors to the dining hall pull your gaze away from Auguste as your mother takes her leave without a single word. You watch as Levi turns back around after releasing the handle, leaving just the three of you in the room.

You bid your goodbyes to Auguste, but not before he tells you to visit Theo in his room and asking Levi to escort you to your own. You tell him you’ll visit Theo tomorrow right after dinner, that way you don’t interrupt his evening activities that you assume involve some sort of instrument.

Two sets of boots echo in the halls, the sun long forgotten in the sky and the torches on the walls illuminating your steps. Your gaze is focused down at your feet, absorbing all of the information that was just given to you in such a short amount of time. You almost wish Levi had warned you about it, but he was right – it wasn’t his place – and you probably would’ve lost your mind without someone to comfort you. Auguste was the perfect person to do it.

“Oi,” Levi whispers, “you passed your room.”

You stop, turning around to see Levi standing by your door with a hand on the handle, ready to open it for you. You realize why he has been uncharacteristically nice to you today, treating you like he actually cares about the way you feel and knowing how you would probably react to the news. You walk towards him, footsteps slightly shuffling as you do.

“Levi,” you whisper when you get in front of him, gaze coming up just to look him in the eyes. You see him noticeably stiffen at the sound of his name leaving your lips – a rare occurrence if it’s not followed, or prefaced, by an insult in a snarky tone.

No, your voice is soft. You sound scared and as Levi looks at you now he feels a hint of remorse, like he’s the one at fault for the situation at hand. He wants to promise that he won’t let anything happen to your brothers, or to Furlan for that matter, but he knows better than to make promises he might not be able to keep unlike Auguste. His duty has always been to protect the members of the royal family and he has always taken that job seriously. He wants to tell you he will do all that he can on the battlefield to ensure their safety – hell, he would risk his own life if he has to if it meant everyone else would come back alive.

Instead, he whispers a quiet, “what,” his voice sounding softer than usual.

You notice his eyes are grey, something you’ve never seen or cared to look at. You tend to avoid being this close to him or even looking at him really, always too focused on something else to give his features any attention. “You have to promise me something,” you say quietly once you have your thoughts gathered.

“You know I can’t do that, brat.”

“All of you need to make it back here,” you tell him, pointing that same index finger at him that had touched Auguste’s chest before. “I’ll never forgive you if something happens to my brothers.”

Levi’s breath hitches, unsure of what to say to such a heavy demand. Of course, he would do anything for them. “I can’t promise you anything,” he whispers back, “but I’ll try.”

“Good,” is all you say before heading into your chambers and closing the door in Levi’s face.

Levi stands there, staring at the painted grey wood in front of him. He tries not to think about how you said the word “all”, as if you cared about whether or not he made it back alive too.

—

Theo is in the courtyard by the time you get ready, casually strolling with the company of Furlan. You hate to interrupt, but it’s the one moment you have before he’s busy for the rest of the evening and you still haven’t seen him since Auguste told you they’re leaving.

Levi is trailing behind you like usual since Auguste is busy in meetings with your father – they’re never ending it seems. You fight the urge to tell him to just walk next to you again, but the man is stubborn and will maintain his respectful position in front of your brothers. It’s only when you’re alone that he breaks the ridiculously strict set of rules your father imposes on him.

“Sister,” Theo greets you with surprise when he sees you strolling up to him.

You give him a small smile. You told yourself you’d remain strong throughout this interaction, but your emotions are slowly starting to peek through before you’ve even begun.

“Hello. Furlan, Levi, would you two mind sparing us some privacy?” you kindly ask them, mostly directing your eyes and voice towards Furlan.

He gives you a smile and small bow, excusing himself as Levi does the same – without the smile of course. “We’ll be close by,” Furlan reassures you.

You give him a small smile and nod, gesturing for Theo to join you on a walk through the front gardens. He offers his arm to you like a gentleman and you accept, intertwining your arm with his so your hand rests on his forearm as the two of you begin your stroll.

“Remember when we wrestled here instead of this,” you give a small laugh, awkwardly skirting around the real topic of conversation.

“When you ate dirt and grass? I’m quite familiar with the memory, yes,” he teases you, offering a small smirk of amusement.

You playfully slap his shoulder with your other hand. “I knew you were waiting for a moment to rub that in my face.”

“How could I not?” Theo muses, “you were quite the brat when you were little.”

“Well this brat kicked your ass eventually.”

Theo let’s out a genuine laugh. “Don’t let mother hear you speaking that way.”

“She’s heard much worse from me,” you grimace.

“I suppose she has.”

There’s a long moment of silence when you’re not sure what to say. You know he knows why you’re here; to express your reluctance to let him join your eldest brother on the battlefield.

“Theo–”

“Aeron–”

The two of you speak at the same time, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the chrysanthemums in the garden. You release your hold on his arm as you both face each other and the look of sorrow on his face tells you everything you need to know.

You hold back your tears, managing to get a few words out without breaking quite yet. “Please.” You gesture towards him gently.

He grabs both of your hands, a habit of both his and Auguste’s that they seem to think helps soothe you. “I know I never say it, but I do love you Aeron.” He lets out a heavy sigh, carrying on with a guilty look on his face. “I have to do my duty. It would be unfair for me to be the only one to stay no matter how much I wish I could be here with you.”

“You’re not ready for this, Theo.” You gently shake his hands. “Your training isn’t at that level yet. If I can surpass you, you’re not ready.”

Theo scoffs at this, his eyebrows furrowing. “You’ve surpassed even Auguste. Only Levi is your competition and even then the man could never come close to your archery skills. You’re a born fighter. I’ll never be ready with those expectations.”

“Then I’ll go in your stead. I’ll convince mother and father–”

“That’s nonsense, Aeron!” Theo’s voice raises as he releases his hold on your hands. “I could never live with myself if you went and something happened to you, but you’re a woman anyway. You can’t.”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it!”

“I don’t make the rules,” Theo sighs, running a hand over his features in distress. His voice softens, regarding you with such sympathy in his green eyes. “I’ll be there for Auguste and I truly hope I make it back to you. I’ll do everything within my power to do so. Please, trust us.”

“I do trust you Theo,” you choke out, tears already beginning to spill over and trail down your cheeks. “It’s not about trust. I just need you to make it back to me. You can’t leave me.”

“When I come back I’ll play you a song on the piano,” he reassures before pausing, seemingly thinking something through. “It was going to be a surprise for you, but you’re a stubborn woman,” he teases affectionately.

This gets a laugh out of you as you swipe the tears off your cheeks with your fingers. You break your composure further, pulling Theo into an embrace as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close with your face hidden in his shoulder. His arms embrace you, hands holding you close between your shoulder blades.

“I can’t wait.” Your voice sounds muffled in the fabric of his coat.

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