#A Convenient Arrangement

[punkpoemprose]

A Convenient Arrangement- Part 15

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating: T (No spice here, see previous chapter for mature content) Length: 2056 Words A/N: One more chapter to go if all goes as planned. Perhaps an epilogue after that if I'm feeling really brave about it. Thank you all for joining me on this ride. I hope you like this penultimate chapter!

The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains of Anna’s bedroom and Kristoff, despite Anna’s efforts to thoroughly exhaust him the night before, had been awake for some time. To the credit of the castle staff, or perhaps Elsa, no one had come up to wake them and demand their pre-dawn attendance toward any matters.

Anna was facing him, her body curled toward him, and he leaned up a bit, moving slowly to not disturb her, so he could block the incoming light with his chest. Anna was usually a heavy sleeper, he knew as much from their nights together, but he was enjoying watching her calm slumber and wanted to avoid her being disturbed if he could help it.

Her hair was slipping from the braid he’d put it in the night before, little tendrils of frizz sticking out and clinging to her pillow. She’d performed mock annoyance with him when he’d insisted that they couldn’t sleep until he’d helped her remove all her hairpins, but she’d acquiesced and leaned into his touch when he’d brushed out her hair and plaited it to the best of his ability. In the daylight he wasn’t sure what strands he’d missed in braiding, and which had slipped out in sleep, but either way he was proud of how well he’d done caring for his wife.

He brushed a few loose pieces of hair away from her face with a finger, careful not to wake her. She scrunched her eyes a little in return, but didn’t wake, giving him more time to take in the way she looked in peaceful sleep.

He thought that someday, if she would let him, he’d count all the freckles that danced across her nose and cheeks. It would take him weeks, months, maybe even years to catalog all the details of her body, but he was excited to have the challenge. He’d never before wanted to spend so much time with a single person as he did with Anna, and he was certain that even if he had her for the rest of his life, it still wouldn’t be enough time for his taste.

***

Anna woke feeling comfortable, warm, and safe. Her first sight of the morning, through bleary eyes, was Kristoff’s eyes on hers. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the sunlight illuminating his face, and she felt her lips quirk into a soft smile that matched the contented one she saw on his face.

“Good morning Anna.”

He spoke softly, easing her into wakefulness. She was grateful for it as, despite sleeping very well after the evening’s excitement, her willingness to wake up fully was at odds with her wishes to simply never leave bed ever again.

“Good morning,” she returned, the sound of her voice mingling with a yawn she could not suppress despite her best efforts.

He smiled a bit more at that, a grin that she recognized as amusement lighting his features with joy. She wasn’t at all upset by his amusement at her yawning. Kristoff was, perhaps, the only person that held her unwillingness to leave bed in high regard. She supposed, feeling warm at the thought, that it was perhaps in his best interest to keep her in bed for as long as possible given the enjoyment they’d both gotten out of the night before.

“Are we going to try to do something today, or should I try to find someone to bring us breakfast in bed?”

Anna smiled at the suggestion. His eyebrow waggled a bit at the suggestion of staying in bed, and she knew that, despite his insistence at taking her lead in their relationship, that he would be just as happy with that option as she was.

“I have plans for us,” she said, feeling only slightly bad for not agreeing to stay in bed all day with him. If he was upset by this answer, he certainly didn’t show it.

He yawned then, smiling at her still and pulling her closer by her waist.

“What would that be?”

She smiled, nuzzling into his chest once she was close enough to him. She was uncertain as to whether he’d even hear her with her head tucked into his chest when she said, “I just thought that since we’ll be back to learning out new duties soon, that it might be a good idea for us to take the day together to talk a but more about what our relationship is and also I think it might be food for both of us to make another appearance in public so that no one thinks that yesterday was a show. Maybe we could walk around the city and do a little visit with some of the kinder shopkeeps we met yesterday? I could buy you a gift since I didn’t give you one yesterday for our party. I never even got to give you one for our engagement. It just seems like it might be nice.”

Kristoff’s eyes seemed to move elsewhere in the room for a moment but returned to hers quickly. She didn’t really question it, but she did notice it. She supposed he was just thinking about the other things that he had to do in the day and was looking for a kind way to shut down her idea.

“That sounds perfect Anna,” he said before she could even think of a way to backpedal her offer.  She should have realized by now that she never needed to doubt herself when it came to Kristoff. All his reactions to her had always been honest and kind.

She smiled and nuzzled into his chest, not quite ready to get out of bed and start the day after all.

***

Anna had brought him through the city again, shopping and chatting with store owners like they had before, but today the city had been the quietest he’d ever seen it. He’d seen folks sleep off festivals before, but unfairly it seemed at times that they were the only citizens of the city to be out of bed even well into the afternoon. Of course, he had known that his and Anna’s marriage had been looked upon favorably by the people of Arendelle, given that it was the purpose of the arrangement in the first place, but even he was impressed by the amount of debauchery and joy their belated wedding celebrations had inspired.

The few beleaguered shop keeps that they had managed to speak will had been happy for their visits, of course, but he was just as happy when he and Anna, blessedly without a castle guard, had retired from the city proper and decided to spend time on some of the public lands in the surrounding hills.

The afternoon was already upon them, and Anna, in her infinite wisdom, had purchased all the makings of a picnic in the markets and shops they visited.

“I know I already have so many picnic blankets and baskets,” she said, laying everything out with his help, “but now that I actually have cause and company to go out and use them, I feel like it’s not a waste to have bought another.”

“And” Kristoff added with a chuckle, “you were worried that if we went back to get one you already had, and your sister saw us back in the castle, she would realize we were heading out and make us take a guard this time.”

“That is a not insignificant possibility. It may also be possible that I liked the pattern on this blanket because it looks like your sash.”

She was blushing, and as Kristoff looked between his sash, the one he wore most often, and the picnic blanket, he did notice the same mix of yellows, reds and purples, even if the pattern itself was different. He slipped his hand to the fabric around his waist and slid across the blanket to her side. Between them were the remainder of the sweet breads, fruit, and wine that they’d bought in the market.

“Here,” he said, slipping the fabric from around his waist, offering it to her, but then thinking better of it and offering, by extending his hand, to wrap it around her waist for her.

She gave him a curious look, but then acquiesced with a soft grin and allowed him to put it on her. He hadn’t intended to use it as an excuse to put his hands on her waist, but it wasn’t at all a negative to the interaction. He held her, and reveled in the way she looked at him with so much love and excitement in her blue eyes when he stroked his thumb down her side. He tied it gently around her, moving slowly to prolong the contact of his hands on her body. When he was done with his task and managed to pry his hands away from her, he felt something like pride in seeing her wear something of his so proudly.

She’d seemed just as pleased in the market when she’d picked up a similarly styled sash for him as a gift, one that happened to feature the signature green color of so many of her dresses. He tied that to his own waist much more expediently, physically marking himself as hers much in the same way he’d just marked her as his.

Whether it was the latent magic from the valley in the stone, or his own awareness of the ring in his pocket making it feel warm against his let at the thought, he wasn’t certain. What he did know was that as Anna looked at him with utter reverence, their bodies leaned close together in the verdant hills of Arendelle, he’d finally found the right moment to offer it to her.

He was already on his knees, but he did his best to appear intentional in his actions when he reached into his pocket and pulled from it, carefully watching her eyes as he did so, the ring that he and the trolls had crafted from his heart stone. He didn’t need to glance down at it to see what she sawm he had every detail of the stone and its setting memorized from its creation, a pink stone flanked on the side by other, non magical clear stones, set into a golden band. His family, far better with stone and the metals and gems extracted from them than he could ever be, had made it to his exact specifications. It was imperfect in ways that made it mean much more to him, and by the excitement he could see in Anna’s eyes, he had no doubt that she would love it for those details as well.

 The stone was small and only a piece of the crystal. In his family’s traditions, Anna would have been given the whole stone on a cord as their engagement gift, but given that Anna was not a rock troll who could hold a heavy stone around her neck and the fact that they were already married, some amendments were to be made. If she accepted the ring, the rest of the stone would already be hers, but he hoped that he would have her blessing to turn most of the remaining crystal into other things, earrings, a necklace, to celebrate their wedding and anniversaries. He hoped that she would take it and that she would agree to marry him again.

He cleared his throat, trying to remember the perfect words he’d thought about repeatedly, to ask his wife to marry him. None came to mind, and he wasn’t certain that he’d ever come up with any in the first place.

The joy, excitement, and adoration in Anna’s eyes told him that it didn’t matter. Her hand pressing to his sash, the one she wore on her waist, gave him the courage to say what was in his heart.

“Anna, my beautiful wife, would you do me the honor of marrying me again?”

She nodded, and while her eyes held tears, he knew they were happy ones. She agreed without question, and he knew that this, the moment that she tackled him onto the blanket, pressing her lips to his in joy, was the first day of the rest of his life.

And what a beautiful life it would be.

#kristanna #frozen fanfiction #a convenient arrangement #arranged marriage AU #no proofreading we die like men

[esther-dot]

Pride & Prejudice AUs

You Look Like A Movie, You Sound Like A Song 2k @jonsastan

She had met Jon Targaryen there. It was a complete accident and at first, Sansa thought, a complete misfortune. He was drenched from an impromptu swim in his pond, and she was flustered, not wanting him to think she was vying for his attention. But as she had attempted to make her hurried escape, he had found her and invited her parents to stroll with him around the gardens. He had offered her kindness, and thoughtfulness, he had talked with her parents, discussed the present state of politics with her father and chatted knowledgeably about gardens with her mother.

A Certain Step Toward Falling in Love 2k by @comma-splice

Jon Snow returns North after departing abruptly one year ago.

The Bennet Sisters - a P&P AU comic by @melinaillustrations

P&P Gifset by @sardoniyx, P&P Gifset by @dcbicki, P&P Gifset by deactivated

Persuasion AUs

Who Loves Longest, Who loves Best 1k by @ladysaruka

After refusing him years ago, Sansa sees her cousin once again.

Persuasion edits one, two , three by @glueck

Mansfield Park AUs

Half Agony, Half Hope 10k, incomplete by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

After the death of his disgraced mother, Jon Snow is taken in by his uncle's family, the Starks of Winterfell. He grows up alongside his cousins, including the beautiful and kind-hearted Sansa, but knowing he can never truly be their equal, he fears he has little choice but to leave the place he's come to call home. corresponding moodboard

Catch Me If You Can 34k (P&P and Emma inspired too) by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

Set in the countryside of Regency England, Jon Snow has been in love with Sansa Stark for as long as he can remember. He wants her as his wife, but Sansa is not sure she wants to be a wife at all, and she knows she doesn’t want to marry the pragmatic and boring Jon. She’d rather help Theon Greyjoy come out of his shell and play matchmaker. But then Jaime Lannister comes to town and Jon finds he has some serious competition for Sansa…

Moments Like This (So Few and Far Between) 3k by @lydiamartenism

Mama and Papa left the house to go pick up Jon, the son of her father’s oldest friend. Three weeks ago, the phone rang and their parent’s announced that Jon would be coming to live with them since his mother passed away and had no one else to take care of him.

Northanger Abbey AUs

The Lady in White 7k by @kissed-by-circe

Dragonstone Manor had looked like it had woken only a few days earlier, after a slumber of several years, if not decades, and Sansa had felt like the heroine of a gothic novel, a mysterious, naive girl with a dark past or a dark secret, arriving at the opening scene of the most dramatic story of all times. Or Sansa as Katherine Morland in a Jane Eyre Setting.

Sense & Sensibility AUs

In Such Jocund Company 2k @maybetwice

It would be no matter at all for Captain Snow to return to the north after seven months’ absence, had Sansa’s heart not changed entirely in that time. A remix of Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility.

Emma & Clueless AUs

if i loved you less 2k by @ladystarks

Her father has, often and fondly, told Sansa that she and Mr. Snow bite at each other like wolves, but he hardly understood that their verbal sparring was as exhilarating as a sport well done, or a match coming together under Sansa’s skilled hands. corresponding artwork

Sansa: A NOVEL in Five Parts 15k by @imagineagreatadventure

Sansa Stark, handsome, clever, rich, hopes to establish herself as her town's foremost matchmaker. After seeing her governess Miss Shae married to the rich and clever Mr. Tyrion Lannister, she feels as though she deserves that title. Her dear friend and cousin, Jon Targaryen, heartily disagrees and is quite proven right when Sansa sets her sights on marrying off her newest and dearest friend Jeyne Poole to the vicar Mr. Baelish.

A Baldwin and a Betty 2k

Jon drives to the Valley to give Sansa a ride home.

Emma AU art by @dcvahkiin and Clueless art by wolvesofspring

Emma Gifset by @dcbicki

General Regency AUs

No Notion of Loving by Halves 2k @darkmagyk

The Stark cousin, Jon, goes home to discuss matters concerning the entail on Winterfell. In which Jon is a really good guy, and I flagrantly disregard how entails actually work.

Manners and Misunderstandings 114k, WIP by @x-winging-it

The Stark sisters have travelled all the way to London to begin their first season, leaving behind the familiar world of Winterfell Hall and a disappointed Jon Stark- with whom the eldest Miss Stark has been convinced to break off a connection. In London they join family friends the Baratheons and the fashionable young Tyrells in a world of romance and balls. Meanwhile Gendry Waters has been plucked out of the life he knew to become his ailing father's heir, Robb, Theon and later Rickon embark on military careers in the Napoleonic wars, and their aunt Lysa makes a foolish marriage. When tragedy hits the family, they must come together, learning how manners may hide monsters and the best people are often those misunderstood by society.

You Could Draw Me to the Gallows 2k by @azulaahai

After having eloped from home with and subsequently been abandoned by wealthy heir Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa Stark refuses to come home. Having caused a scandal that is sure to prevent her from ever marrying, she is adamant not to bring further shame to the family name by returning to Winterfell. Until, that is, a visitor comes to her - Jon Snow, an old family friend, determined to bring Sansa with him back north. He has a solution to offer her - a proposal with the potential to change both of their lives.

A Perilous Dance Indeed & fiercely, tenderly and eternally 27k by @amymel86

He should either look away or interrupt this improper little meeting, he knows. For some unfathomable reason, he does neither. The two look far too intimate for Jon’s liking, although he feels he should have come to expect it to be so. A romantic like Sansa – however proper she is – would simply adore overt flirtations and a secret tête-à-tête. Even from where he stands, Jon can see the way in which she has stars set in her eyes like precious cut stones. He only hopes the man for whom they shine is deserving of it. *** Cousin Jon is to inherit Winterfell Manor and its estate after the untimely death of his uncle leaves a widow and two daughters. Sansa is expectant of an imminent proposal from her dear beau, Harrold Hardyng and everything will be absolutely, stunningly, utterly fine.

Waiting for Your Slippered Feet 49k by @wintry-ritu

Lady Sansa Stark has always looked forward to her come-out season in London, the balls, the rides in Hyde Park, evenings at Vauxhall, the romance and wonder of it all. Never had she imagined that it would happen like this, with her parents gone and her younger siblings underfoot. Now, all Sansa wants is for it all to be over quickly so she can get back to Winterfell. She needs a kind, amiable man who will be brave enough to take on his wife's siblings. That should not be so hard to find in London, should it? And while she is most grateful for Jon Targaryen's help, why must her cousin be so distracting?

To Make You Love Me 16k incomplete and orphaned

When Ned Stark dies, he leaves behind his wife, two daughters, and his family’s estate at Winterfell. What follows is a series of unwanted marriage proposals, houseguests who far outstay their welcome, and Arya parading around in a comically large hat and an oil-paint mustache as she declares herself the new ‘Lord of Winterfell,’ in an attempt to dissuade her sister’s suitors. However, when Mr. Jon Snow — their distant cousin and Ned’s appointed heir to the estate — comes to call, an oil-paint mustache is hardly enough to deter him from courting Miss Sansa Stark. And she thinks, perhaps, that a man could marry her for love more than her claim, after all.

Mine for a Season 101k by @vivilove-jonsa

Colonel Jon Targaryen is a single man in possession of a good fortune who claims no interest in finding himself a wife. With his war wounds, he thinks no young lady would want him anyway for anything beyond the allure of his pocketbook. Fortunately and unbeknownst to him, Fate has chosen to find a wife for him and will even deliver her right to his doorstep. Taking on the responsibility of shepherding a young lady about for a Season in London is not at all what Jon had wished to do but he had accepted out of a sense of familial duty. However, once he meets Sansa again after only having met her years ago as a child, he may not consider it a duty so much as a torment.

a lady of winterfell 185k, WIP by @wandering-scavenger

She bit her lip and exhaled shakily, “If you are so sickened by the prospect of marrying me, we should be able to obtain an annulment easily enough with your father’s connections.” “I will do no such thing.” he snapped, refusing to look at her. Sansa had never felt more rejected than she did at that moment. Her past experiences of being humiliated at the hand of Joffrey did not feel as painful as this. Even so, she could not allow him to see the weakness in her, not now. “I will not be left out, Jon.” she said, tilting her chin up to look down at him. He grimaced. They were silent for longer than she cared to count, but each second that he did not speak chipped away at her resolve and her ability to withhold her tears. Jon did not want her, and she could not blame him. Who could ever want her? It should not have distressed her as much as it did. She was never his favourite sister, she who treated him as a stranger since she was old enough to understand what a bastard was. A tear slipped down to her face until she tasted the salt of it on her lips. “If we marry, we will remain so.” corresponding gifset

moth's wings 47k by @cellsshapedlikestars

Sansa was determined to convince her aunt to let Arya debut, which is how she finds herself in her current predicament. “Who is this secret gentleman who has asked for your hand?” Aunt Lysa asks, and Sansa knows from her tone that she does not believe. (She has every right not to believe, for it is not true.) And then Sansa does something very, very foolish. She says a name. “The Duke of Dragonstone!” Or, Sansa fakes an engagement so that Arya can debut and marry the man she loves. The only problem? Her fake fiance just so happens to be in the city when he was not supposed to be.

An Understanding 2k, WIP by @thewolvescalledmehome

At the start of Sansa Stark's third London Season, she decides it will be her last. She will secure a husband by the end of the final ball. Jon Snow is new to the London Season and high society. He never expected to inherit money or property from an unknown uncle. When they meet at a ball, Sansa gets an idea.

you're in my blood like holy wine 72k

Sansa finds it difficult to look at Jon’s face, with its weathered lines and cragginess. It is the face of the North and a face that northerners trust; the face of Sansa’s brothers and her father, who had been loved and respected by their tenants as their forefathers had been when they were kings. How can Sansa feel anything but resentment, looking into that face and knowing that all of her years of hard work will never earn her the respect that that profile engenders within seconds? But she does. It is a small, burning coal of something that must be smothered.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

#jonsa #jonsa fic #regency au #pride and prejudice au #emma au #northanger abbey au #mansfield park au #persuasion au #dot fic list #marriage of convenience au #arranged marriage au

[himeryu]

Novels 02 (Kamisato Ayato x Reader)

CH NOTES: arranged marriage, emotional cheating, neglect, unhealthy relationship, sad ending, hurt no comfort, heavy angst, slight ooc

PAIRING: Ayato x GN!Reader (Fem terms might be used accidentally)

SUMMARY: Ayato x Fiance! Reader but you’re a hopeless romantic to your fiance who is in love with another.

A/N: inspired by Movies by Conan Gray

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I. “Why do you keep avoiding Yuki?” Ayato says with contempt, making you flinch at the tone of his voice. Kamisato Ayato is angry, all because of her. Your heart drops at the thought, yet you can’t help but feel a surge of negative emotions. Recently there have been rumors circulating about Kamisato Ayato and Kaedahara Yuki: rumors of Infidelity. 

You heard of the rumors accidentally during a social party. Before the mask came crashing down, Kamisato Ayato would clarify every rumor regarding the commission. However, despite hearing the distasteful rumor in-person, he stayed still, deciding to stay ignorant. 

You stood still as you stared at him in disbelief. Thoughts of questions about his purpose and why he is feigning ignorance circulate in your head. You felt ill, those rumors would damage his and your reputation, something that you both hold dear. But, he stood still, almost like he was enjoying the rumors. 

Why? why? WHY?

That was until everything came into place. You snapped your head away from his figure, painfully smiling to yourself as you finally understood why he was feigning ignorance. The gossipers would continue till Lady Kaedahara Yuki would personally tell them that it isn’t true. Curiously, you glanced at the commissioner, and oh how you would regret doing that. 

His smile was forced, and his gaze held a bit of disappointment. You stare at him in disbelief, your heart shattering even more. God, Kamisato Ayato broke your heart once more, what did you do to deserve this? 

But, you can’t help but laugh at the irony.

You and Kamisato Ayato have one thing in common: you both enjoy your delusions of being loved by the person you wish they hold you dear. 

Kamisato Ayato’s love for Kaedahara Yuki is unrequited. 

“[Name], I asked you a question,” says Ayato, snapping you back to reality. 

“Ah. I’m sorry, I was just lost in thought,” you continue, putting on a small smile to hide your thoughts, “What did you say?”

“Why do you keep avoiding Yuki?”

God, he says her name with so much endearment it’s making you want to cry. 

“Oh? I have never avoided Lady Yuki,” you reply with a smile. 

It’s a lie, of course. You have been avoiding the former Kaedahara heir ever since her return to Inazuma. Though, it isn’t exactly avoiding, it is more like not meeting her unless needed. Furthermore, you and Kaedahara Yuki have not been acquainted before, so there was no reason to greet her. 

However, the truth is, you can’t face her— your fiance's one-sided crush. She’s beautiful, charismatic and a person blessed by God, everything that you are not. 

You fear that one day, jealousy would taint your mind and only her highness, the shogun, would know what you would do. After all, jealousy is a deadly disease that taints both the mind and heart, a disease that could only be cured by love. But, you don’t have that luxury, do you?

Ayato sighs with frustration as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Whatever you say,” he dismisses your defense, “Don’t make her feel bad ever again.”

And so, he leaves, leaving you once more once again.

II. As a child, you have always dreamed of a grand wedding. You, standing side by side with your lover as they look at you with a loving expression as you swear your love in front of all your friends and family; And the wedding garment of your dreams adorning your body, making you radiate like you bathed in fairy dust. 

The grand wedding of your dreams should be the day you would only feel happiness, and nothing else. 

So, you await for the day that someone would give you the wedding of your dreams, someone who would give you the world just because you asked for it. And the day you met your fiance, you believed that he would be the one to do so.

Yet impressions are different from their true human nature. The impressions you perceive from people are nothing but ideas you created in your head to fill in the lack of information you have regarding that person. The impressions you formed would then form a mask that would cunningly cover your judgment towards that person, staying ignorant to his ‘true’ nature. 

Kamisato Ayato’s ‘mask’ was never there, your perception of people was just too naive and immature to handle a cunning man like the commissioner; it could not perceive Kamisato Ayato’s ‘true’ nature. But, who are you to blame? That man is cunning like a snake, crawling onto your skin as it makes you succumb to naivety. Therefore, you got yourself fooled and your hopes went up all because of your naivety and ignorance; Your impression on that man ruined your life.

Your dream wedding shattered in an instance, and your dreams for a happy future disappeared. Life has never been a rosy path with Archons smiling down at you as you obtain your happiness– so your experience is only natural, right? 

‘This is reality,’ you would say to yourself, trying to cope with your indescribable distress, ‘Life should be nothing like the novels I’ve read.’ 

Your love for reading starts to dissipate, replaced with a sense of hatred. You hate reading, it was the reason why you were so naive, so caught up with the illusions that you ruined your perception towards people.

You can’t do this anymore, you can’t star in a play you didn’t want to be in. 

You have to leave, you need to. 

You would rather die than spend the rest of your life chained towards someone who sees you as a nuisance in his unrequited love. 

But, How?

How can you, a sheltered child who only knows how to drown themselves in fantasies, run away from your family, friends…

Ayato?

You pitifully laugh at yourself, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. 

You’re pathetic.  

You need to change. 

III. “I’m worried about Master [Surname],” Ayaka confesses with her head down. Ever since the Irodori festival, she has seen less and less of her future in-law which makes her worried. Kamisato Ayaka adores you, much to her brother’s surprise. The two would usually converse over tea about the latest release from Yae’s Publishing House, laughing and joking around about how the latest chapter was out of your expectations. 

Kaedahara Yuki listens to the younger Kamisato intently. Truth be told, she is curious about Kamisato Ayato’s, her childhood friend, Fiance, after all, she has never conversed with the aristocrat. Furthermore, you would be wed into a family that she considers her own, so who could blame her? Though, she has heard of you from a distance: the high-ranking aristocrat from the prestigious [Surname] family who is known to be collected and benevolent, delicate like a flower on top of a lake. 

Every time she asks Kamisato Ayato about his fiance, he would brush it off and discuss their childhood memories, dismissing her curiosity. She would press Kamisato Ayato for details about his fiance, even begging him to introduce her to her. But as usual, Kamisato Ayato would dismiss her attempts, making her feel down. 

But, if the oldest Kamisato can’t give her any information, shouldn't she ask from the youngest?

“I haven’t seen Master [Surname] since the Irodori Festival and it is making me worried,” Ayaka sighs, her expression down. 

“Have you tried contacting them?”

“I did try to request an audience with them, but the servants said that they wish to be alone,” Ayaka pouts. “Have you ever seen them, Lady Yuki?”

Kaedahara Yuki blushes in embarrassment, “Oh Ayaka. Please don’t use ‘Lady’ to me anymore. I am no longer part of nobility.”

Ayaka giggles. 

And so, Kamisato Ayaka stops talking about you.

Kaedahara Yuki isn’t cunning, so she does not press the youngest Kamisato anymore answers despite her curiosity; Though, if it was Ayato, she would continue to demand answers till her throat sores. 

However, if an opportunity ever occurs where she could meet you, she would grasp that opportunity immediately, paying no mind to the effects it has on others.

IV. “Aren’t you Master [Surname]?” ask Kaedahara Kazuha as you nervously avoid his gaze.

Oh fuck.

You messed up. 

For the first time, you decided to take a stroll on the streets of Inazuma late at night alone. You know this is a stupid decision, especially for someone as high as yourself. However, you needed a breather, and your family estate started to feel suffocating, so your only plan is to take a stroll alone. You knew your parents wouldn’t allow you to walk around the streets of Inazuma at night, especially without an escort, so sneaking out was only the option.

So, you hatched your plan. Though it was your first time sneaking out, you’ve read countless novels of the heroine running away to enjoy themselves in festivals. Hence, you have an idea of how to sneak out. 

It was 10:30 PM, nearing midnight. You disguise yourself using old clothes you stole from your servant, stripping all your jewelry in your possession, and only keeping a few silver coins. Sneakily, you slid past your servants and guards, climbing out of your estate’s wall. It took you a few tries due to your lack of physical strength; however, after some attempts, you succeeded. You quickly run away from your estate; The cool night breeze brushes your face as the song of the trees accompanies you on your journey. You smile to yourself-- for the first time in your life-- you felt free. 

However, your adrenaline rush was caught short as you spotted a man with silver hair in the distance. 

You tried your best to avoid him, but the man has the wind by his side. And so, here you are.

 

You awkwardly laugh, “Kaedahara Kazuha, it is a pleasure to meet you.” 

Kaedahara Kazuha stays quiet; his eyes are wide in shock as he notices your tattered clothing and unkempt appearance. You are a person of high regard, never in your life have you worn poor-quality garments and presented yourself unsightly. Even as a young child, Kaedahara Kazuha could only observe you from a distance due to the immense status gap, despite being a former aristocrat. Therefore, he can’t help but be shocked at your appearance. 

..

...

'Ah. I am doomed.' You thought. Today is your first time sneaking out of your estate, and you got caught. Sweat rolls down your cheek as you wait for the younger Kaedahara to reply. Numerous thoughts fill your mind as you wait, countless of which was fueled by anxiety. 

'What if he tells on me?' 'If he ever tells this to Ayato, would I be disposed of for being improper?' 'If my family finds out, I would never be allowed to step foot outside of my family estate.'

Your expression darkens as you fall into despair, realizing the gravity of the situation. For the first time, you felt free, no longer trapped in a well-decorated cage like an ornament for display. However, you got caught. 

Suddenly, Kaedahara Kazuha speaks. 

"Don't worry," he says as you slowly look up at him, "I won't tell anyone." Your mouth was slightly ajar, confused. "Huh?" You mutter. 

Kazuha smiles, "Everyone has their reasons for running away." 

"But I'm not running away," you refute. Kazuha looks at you confused, "Huh?" 

"I'm just here for a stroll," you state. 

"Ah." Kazuha rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed, "I apologize for the assumption."

"It's alright," you smile. 

An awkward silence fills the air as you two refrain from talking. Truth be told, this is Kaedahara Kazuha's first time conversing with you; moreover, he is not one to chat with children from other aristocratic families-- that was his sister's job. Due to this, he does not know what to say. 

Regardless, this does not stop him from worrying. Why? Probably because you are his former superior's fiance? Who knows. Furthermore, Kazuha knows better than to leave you alone at night. Though you are wearing old and poor-quality clothes, your aura screams "rich noble", which can make you a target for petty thieves. 

So, Kaedahara Kazuha makes a decision. 

"I won't tell anyone," He repeats. "However, please allow me to accompany you, master [Name]." 

a/n: crazy how this took me like a year to update lol sorry

taglist

@nanaoya @nokkoongie @local-mr-frog @mnn11ankamaaka @akiqvq @iiyumii @aloveablechaos @lily-blackstone @notlive06 @monexxuu @crowbird @cherlynono

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato #ayato x you #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin ayato #ayato kamisato #ayato angst #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #ayato x gender neutral reader #misunderstandings #angst #ayato arranged marriage #sad ending #ayato sad ending #ayato hurt no comfort #unrequited love #ooc ayato

[jessread-s]

Thanks to @penguinrandomhouse for providing me with a finished copy in exchange for an honest review

✩🐺🪢Review:

Hazelwood’s paranormal debut is addictive and all-consuming!

Bride follows Misery Lark, the only daughter of the most powerful Vampyre councilman, who agrees to uphold a Vampyre-Werewolf alliance by marrying Alpha Lowe Moreland after discovering that her future husband may be linked to her missing friend.

It was really fun to see Hazelwood branch out into the paranormal romance genre! I enjoyed her world-building and thought the history surrounding Vampyres, Werewolf, and human relations was very digestible.

I love how Hazelwood incorporated the mystery of Serena’s disappearance into the storyline. The breadcrumbs sprinkled throughout paired with the novel’s paranormal elements kept me fully engaged and on my toes.

While “Bride” is quintessential Ali Hazelwood with women in STEM, a big male love interest, galaxy apparel, and palpable love for cats, I think that Misery as a female protagonist ultimately sets this book apart from her contemporary romance novels. I found myself laughing out loud at Misery’s sense of humor and really admired her strength and perseverance. Despite all she goes through having been cast out from Vampyre society, she still remains inherently kind and is fiercely protective of her found family.

Lowe and Misery’s development as a couple is well-paced and her slowest burning romance yet! It takes a while for the characters to give into their attraction to each other given that they are supposed to be mortal enemies, but once they do, Hazelwood delivers on the spice! I couldn’t get enough of the caretaking while injured and “that’s my wife” moments as well as the snippets of Lowe’s internal thoughts at the beginning of each chapter!

This book ends with the potential for a sequel and I hope she’ll move forward with it full steam ahead!

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

#booklr #book blog #book blogger #book review #bride ali hazelwood #bride #ali hazelwood #aliverse #misery lark #lowe moreland #serena paris #marriage of convenience #arranged marriage #paranormal romance #omegaverse #romantasy #fantasy romance #adult fantasy #adult romance #urban fantasy #fantasy mystery #forced proximity #slow burn #spicy romance #romance books #romance novels

[boundinparchment]

Blasphemous Rumors - VI

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.  Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year.  A marriage of convenience.  Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality.  Slow-ish burn.  Semi-enemies to lovers. RATING MATURE, TO CHANGE; MINORS DNI. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

It apparently already had, judging by the silence that dominated the carriage ride the following morning. 

A maid had seen to the heavy drapes just as you were sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes.  For a moment, you forgot about your attire (or lack thereof) and your face grew hot at the servant’s giggle when she reconvened with her coworker, who was setting up breakfast in the other room.

You caught an exchange about a rumpled bed and briefly, you turned your head to note that last night gave the proper appearance of a wedding night well-spent.  At least your brief encounter had been useful in some regard.

And now, several hours later, you were still en route to who knew where.  The snow had given way to lush highlands some hours prior, the hills green and teeming with wildlife.  Lord Dottore never told you where you would be spending the next few weeks, just that he made arrangements based on a selection of the Tsaritsa’s holdings.  Your boss gave you a wide smile of unfortunate reassurance; Lord Dottore had done something correctly.

The only thing keeping your mind at ease was the knowledge that, even this far away from the Palace, it would be silly to attempt to kill you.  For this agreement between you to work, you had to be seen and known.  Therefore, it was beneficial to him to keep you alive.

You passed through a town, the people lively and the houses painted bright.  The air here felt a little warmer and flowers crawled up trellises, spilled out of window boxes.  It almost passed for Mondstadt, what you recalled of it.  No one here seemed as carefree as they were in the nation of Anemo but the Tsaritsa’s gaze did not travel here; the instant their eyes caught sight of the carriage, backs straightened and heads lowered but it was not the same deference afforded in the main city.

Lord Dottore had spoken little other than a compulsory morning greeting.  He had one ankle settled over a knee and a book open, the pages worn and the spine cracked.  Most of the ride consisted of regular intervals of page-turning and muttering.  But now, you could sense his hidden gaze was on you as you looked out the carriage window.

“You look as though you’ve never left the Palace,” he quipped.

“Usually such travel is by ship,” you replied, eyes glued to the window.  “I only saw photographs of this region but they don’t do it justice.”

If you looked at him, you knew you would recall last night in startingly detail again.  You were acutely aware of a distinct sensation between your legs and while that had not been the driving force behind why you straddled him, it was a consequence that lingered longer than preferred.  He hit the nail on the head about being needy and the second he knew, a good chunk of leverage was gone.

But to not make eye contact would be rude.  Make the entire thing more awkward.  You never avoided his gaze before and you couldn’t start now.

You tore your gaze away from the passing buildings and looked across the carriage at your husband.  He was dressed more casually than you initially thought, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his cravat gone, and the first two buttons of his shirt undone.  In your several years of working with him and every Segment, you never once saw bare skin from him that was not just a portion of his face.  Fleetingly, you wondered what it would feel like to press your lips against his collarbone and you wished you had been brave enough last night to try.

“It’s far greener than anyone gives it credit for,” you said.

The extra second that lingered sent a jolting throb through you.  You schooled your features and returned your attention to the window when you received nothing more than a hum of acknowledgement. 

Maybe he should kill you after all, you mused.  At least then you wouldn’t have lingering thoughts about his lips and how warm he had been beneath you.

Thankfully, the carriage stopped just on the outskirts of the town, just past a checkpoint with Fatui presence.  Your destination was just far enough away on foot that it was possible to walk into town, if one wished or had need to. 

Lord Dottore climbed out first (he couldn’t get out quickly enough) and helped you out of the carriage.  As soon as your feet touched the ground, his hand was gone from yours, as if touching you was tantamount to setting himself on fire. 

Your heart gave a little squeeze as your eyes settled on, not a large manor as would have been fitting, but a stone cottage a little further down the hill, close to the beach.  Still larger than the convention, the building looked as if it had been there for centuries.  It was made of the same rounded, uneven stones as the wall surrounding the property, with a gable roof and several chimneys.  Cozy.  And if the arrangements were made by anyone else, romantic might have come to mind.

You tried not to think about how the aquamarine of your ring matched almost perfectly to the shutters flanking every window.

Lord Dottore stood next to you, neck craned back, seemingly examining the sky.  You swallowed as your eyes traced his Adam’s apple.  He looked every part relaxed and casual, a Harbinger without most of his trappings finally on vacation to anyone with an untrained eye. 

Just before his attention was stolen by the driver and the house’s caretaker, he said, “You may want to stop gawking and head inside, my dear, before it rains.  Unless you wish to be drenched.”

You hadn’t missed the way the corner of his lips quirked as you turned and made your way down to the house, gravel crunching underfoot. 

The rest of the house was as expected and contained all the additional amenities expected of a property owned by an Archon.  It retained its charm in the exposed trestles and plaster walls, in the stonework fireplaces and wooden floors.  When it wasn’t raining, you could imagine the cool breeze passing through open windows, a reprieve from the icy chill of the western capitol and its mountains. 

A pang ran through you as you felt the familiar sensation of wood grain against bare feet and heard the crack of a lot in the fireplace.  For a moment, you swore you smelled your mother’s cooking.

Were they okay, you wondered.  Had the money arrived on time?  Were they properly prepared for the rest of the winter?

You smiled and greeted the housekeeper when she spotted you, your mind split between making sure you said the right thing and filing away important thoughts for when you were alone.

Or as alone as one could be as a Harbinger’s wife.

She showed you around the house and introduced you to the cook.  The staff lived outside of the main house, she said, but were connected to the network of bells that ran through the property; if anything was required, they would be notified.

“Your Lord Husband has offered to replace the system for Her Majesty many times but the Tsaritsa prefers the less intrusive system of pullies and bells,” the housekeeper remarked.  “Nothing can fail if the power grid is offline.”

Out here, the lights were dimmer and many things still relied on burning wood for the oven or heating.  There was a charm to it, a reminder of the world outside of Sneznhaya’s great technological achievements. 

The first floor contained the usual spaces of a dining room and sitting room.  A secluded sandy alcove was accessible only through the set of glass double doors tucked into a far wall, out of the way.  The house seemed to have been built with the cliffside in mind, the side of the building meeting the cliff to provide shelter from the rain.  It afforded a private pathway into the house from the shore or even a small hideaway.  Supposedly, the best sun rises could be seen only from there. 

You were shown two smaller bedrooms on the second floor, tidy and spartan.  The owner suite and its attached washroom and study were last; your things were already neatly arranged at the foot of the bed.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, my lady.”

The floors creaked gently underfoot as the housekeeper bowed and left you to your own devices in the larger bedroom.  Rain pelted the windows and absorbed the remaining silence as you took in the exposed dark beams and furniture. 

And the bed.  Intended for two.

Your eyes drifted to the couch in the study.  While the maids had found you properly disheveled this morning, this house was smaller and the staff much more loyal, that much was clear.  You would at least have to truly sleep next to one another to make this convincing.

A frown tugged at your lips and you pushed it away quickly as you brought your attention back to your awaiting belongings. 

Unpacking took far less time than you expected it to (although you weren’t sure why).  It wasn’t as if you owned all that many clothes.  In hindsight, you wished Lord Dottore told you about the climate of where you were going.  At least you had enough dresses to cycle through, you supposed.

Lord Dottore’s things, as sparse as yours, glared at you in the dim light of the room.  Were you expected to unpack for him?  Did he do that himself?  Or did a servant?  You ran your fingers over the latches and found a hidden lock.

That answered that, then.  So much for snooping.

When you returned downstairs, you heard a distinct timber mixing with the cook’s voice.  You rounded the corner and went down the hall to find Lord Dottore kneeling on the floor, his entire upper half stuck into the open oven.  He retreated and stood in one smooth motion before he turned a knob in the oven’s control panel.  The distinct smell of fuel hit your senses and you heard a soft woosh.

“That one should last longer, at the very least,” Lord Dottore drawled as he stepped back.  “The ignitor is easy enough to replace but it would be more efficient and befitting of Her Majesty if—”

From your vantage point in the doorway, the cook smiled and waved a hand; such a gesture anywhere in the Palace would be inexcusable and yet neither of them flinched. 

As they walked over to the storage rooms, they said, “Yes, Lord Harbinger, but the food would taste different and no one would be thankful for that!”

Your husband’s striking profile was broken only by the ghost of a smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.  When he turned, you hated how your heart tugged at the sight of his upturned lips; the moment was stolen when lightning cracked and took the lights with a distinctive pop, the house going dark.

“Never a dull moment?” you whispered, unable to hide the single huff of laughter that escaped you.

“Out here, I certainly can never complain of being bored,” Lord Dottore replied.

He moved instinctively and closed the distance between you, his mask’s beak grazing your nose in the darkness.  His breath was hot on your lips when he spoke. 

“Between your antics and the house, dorogáya moya, I think I’ll be quite occupied.”

You didn’t miss his low chuckle when he stepped around you and left the kitchen, lips grazing your cheek. 

Dinner was late but truly made you question the skills of the Palace’s kitchen staff.  Or perhaps it was just the fact that you’d eaten so little throughout the day.  Either way, the food was delicious.

And the bed was soft, warm.  Too warm.

Or maybe you just weren’t used to sleeping next to someone.

“We’re adults, are we not?” your husband had said.  “Unless you intend to accost me again.”

“Who was the one who cut my cheek with a letter opener?”

“Oh, please.  You can hardly see the scar.”

Words came so easily when you were alone, just like they did when you were in your office bickering over line items.  But you shouldn’t, couldn’t, push your luck.  You still needed to be able to gather information and if you weren’t careful, you’d be doing this all for nothing.  Or rather, strictly for his benefit.

And the last thing you wanted was to help a Fatui Harbinger.

If you moved the wrong way, your foot brushed his.  He was so tall that, when he curled up, his knees or feet encroached on your half.  Heat radiated from his side and you did everything you could to resist the urge to draw closer.  Nights in Snezhnaya were cold, no matter where one was on a map, and with the onslaught of rain, a chill lingered that never seemed to die.

His feet, perfectly warm and with proper circulation clearly, found your frigid ones by accident as you drifted off.  You heard the displeased grunt from the other side of the bed but he didn’t pull away; he arranged his feet around yours with a huff before he muttered something in a language you didn’t know.  The words tickled your neck.

You swallowed and tried to push away that disastrous ache from the carriage ride.  Ridiculous.  You were not this needy, not in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and certainly not when the Harbinger walked into your office.

Somehow, despite the trepidation and arousal that danced through your veins, you fell asleep. 

And you woke to a dark gray pall of overcast, squeezing your thighs in hopes of taking the edge off the now brutal-throbbing.

The bed felt colder and you sat up and reached out a hand.  The other side of the bed was empty, a ghost of the presence lingering in the sheets.  He hadn’t been away long.  But when he left the bedroom the night of the wedding, he hadn’t returned and Lord Dottore didn’t seem one for much sleep.

When you didn’t hear the floorboards creak for a minute or two, nor see any faint light, you carefully delved and you let your fingers trace your sex.  You went rigid when you felt how wet you were.  Of all times and circumstances…nothing was appealing about this situation in the slightest, you needed to keep a clear head, and yet your body craved release?  Seriously?

It was nothing you couldn’t give yourself, of course.  One of the joys of a private room in the Palace dorms had been no one overhearing or accidentally catching eye contact with you.

Your eyes locked with the bedroom door.  Ajar. 

But this never took long…

You bit your lip to keep a gasp at bay when you got your knees and pushed in a single finger, and then another, hot velvet wrapping around your digits.  Your other hand joined, middle finger finding your clit with practiced ease as you pumped, finding a familiar rhythm.  Soft pants mingled with the wet slick sounds that only made you buck your hips, demanding more of yourself. 

A flash of the previous night flitted across your vision when you closed your eyes.  For a moment, the memory tore itself apart and became something else, Lord Dottore’s body hard and hot atop yours, and instead of pulling away, he lifted your legs and—

Your mouth ripped open in a silent scream as you stroked the perfect spot, shuddering and clenching hard around your fingers.  That only seemed to make the ache worse and you pushed yourself over the edge twice more for good measure.

You stiffened at a sound in the hallway just as the third orgasm washed away.  One of the stairs, you surmised.  Another followed and you darted out of bed and towards the washroom.

Good thing, too, you thought, as your eyes met your reflection.

Messy hair was one thing but your face bore every tell-tale sign of what you had been doing.  Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, inability to catch your breath.  There was no mistaking this for waking from a nightmare, that was certain.

The shower was a better place for future refuge, you realized, your gaze drifting to the glass and tile.  Or the bath…that tub looked perfect for a long soak…

You washed up and tried to press a cold washcloth to your face.  After your wedding night, one of the last things you wanted was to be seen with an afterglow; it would prove Lord Dottore right and likely insult him, even if he said that he was not interested in a perfect stranger.  It was the polite thing to do, wasn’t it?

Not that his opinion mattered but you couldn’t blatantly display how little you truly cared for the whole façade.  Not when you’d only begun.

Satisfied that you looked sufficiently normal, you returned to the bedroom to find a steaming cup of coffee on your bedside, along with a note.

Don’t take too long.  Unless, of course, you enjoy breakfast cold.

Several days into the stay, you rounded a corner one afternoon only to bump straight into Dottore himself.  Instead of colliding, he turned slightly and your back met the cool plaster wall, a hair’s width between the two of you as his hands rested on your hips.  Enough space for him to officially say he wasn’t touching you anywhere else but, at a glance, would fool anyone.

“Are you always this careless, dorogáya moya?  Do you bump into Palace walls on a regular basis?”

The tip of his mask scratched your nose and you scrunched your face at the sensation.

“Do you, my lord?” you threw back, angling your head in an obnoxious attempt to see beneath the face covering.  “After all, I’m not the one with my eyes covered.”

“I see perfectly fine, thank you.”

Dottore pulled up to his full height and looked down at you, your vantage point gone.  You’d caught a glimpse of his nose, aquiline in shape, but nothing else.  For a moment, you imagined the lower portion of his mask gone and wondered why, of all things, he hid that along with his eyes.  His profile was probably quite striking…

Perfect for striking fear into people’s hearts, you dolt.  Get a grip!

You didn’t reply but he didn’t pull away either.  The heat emanating from him was overwhelming, a sharp contrast to the cool wall behind you.  For a man so calculated, who spent most of his time in freezing temperatures down in his laboratories, he ran warm.  Too warm.  Was he sick?

What did you care, you asked yourself.  The man deserved to be a little under the weather once in a while after all of the headaches he caused you.  In fact, considering he was so crucial to several of your own employer’s plans, you hoped he was sick.

Before you could get another word out of your mouth, Dottore tilted his head and captured your lips with his in one swift motion.  His hands moved from your hips to your waist, and one reached for your neck to keep your head angled up at him.  Without prompting, his tongue grazed your lips and as soon as you gasped at the sensation, all you could taste was him. 

This was nothing like the kiss on your wedding day.  That had been gentle, efficient, chaste.

Your head spun as your hands reached for something, anything, as Dottore’s tongue brushed yours in exploratory hunger.  Breathless, your fingers found purchase in the fabric of his shirt and he pinned you against the wall, hips pressing into you. 

That infernal aching need seared through you, your body betraying you.  No, not again.

When you pulled away, gasping for air, he had the gall to laugh.  It was a low rumble that sat in his chest and vibrated against you.  He drank in your expression, his tongue pressed against his teeth as he gave a sharp-toothed grin.

Absolute bastard. 

“Do be more careful next time,” he teased before he stole another kiss, teeth dragging against your bottom lip.

His hand let go of your neck and you stepped around him, aware of every nerve ending now screaming for more.

You didn’t look back as you continued the way you were going and returned upstairs.

In the privacy of a cold shower, you finished what both of you started. 

Anyone else would have given in, you were certain; or at least anyone else would not have taken as long as you did beneath the water, scrubbing your skin until it was almost raw.  He shouldn’t have touched you, shouldn’t have kissed you, shouldn’t have grinned like a victor over the spoils of a long day’s work.

And you shouldn’t have whispered his title as you came, wishing it was his fingers deep inside you instead.

You wished it got easier.  You really did.

When the sun finally peered out from behind the clouds, you settled into the sand and spent an entire afternoon basking in the warmth.  It was difficult if not impossible to ever get this up at the capitol and you were eager to soak in every ray you could. 

Lord Dottore joined you one morning, his pants rolled up painstakingly, silently holding out a cup of coffee to you.  You did a double-take but took the mug.  It was too early for the cook to be awake; you knew the schedules by now.  The sun was barely over the horizon, still pink with morning glow. 

“Did you make this?” you asked softly, looking down into the scalding liquid.

Lord Dottore clicked his tongue as he shifted his weight and remained standing.  Out of the corner of your eye, you caught his colors of choice for the day and was surprised to find he only wore a white shirt, gray waistcoat, and gray pants.  Like what one of his younger Segments typically dressed in.

“You sound surprised that I’m capable of such a feat,” he replied, and you weren’t entirely certain that the bitterness of his words was entirely playful.  “I was planning on going into town today.  A change of pace.  You can mail those letters that have been piling up; no doubt your parents want to hear from you.”

He made it sound as if you had an obnoxious stack of letters; in reality, it was only three.  Two for your parents and one for the Tsaritsa, full of thank you’s and kind regards for allowing you the use of one of her summer homes, no matter how humble.

As planned, you had nothing else to send, nothing else written.  You could not risk a paper trail, not here when the two of you were expected to be together most of the time, and where most of the staff were loyal to the Tsaritsa Herself.

There was not much information to send anyway.  Dottore took his Harbinger meetings or any important missives at the guard house, away from you and away from staff who might eavesdrop.  If you were going to gather any intel, it would not be on your honeymoon.

The view of the town when you first arrived had been beautiful and now that the weather was favorable, you had no doubt that the flowers would be brighter and the hills more vibrant.

“That sounds like a great idea.  I wouldn’t mind looking around if you can spare the time.  I rarely get to do much else when I travel other than stare at spreadsheets,” you replied.  “Unless you think—”

“It is time I allotted, and therefore it is not expensive,” Dottore deadpanned.  “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

You took a thoughtful sip of coffee before you looked back up at him.

“Not in this lifetime and probably not the next.”

He sighed dramatically and his head lolled back.  “Married for all of two weeks and already haunting me.  What a dutiful spouse you’re turning out to be.”

You masked a laugh with the rim of your cup and you swore you caught his head turn to you, watching you.  When you glanced towards him, Dottore was looking out towards the ocean again, one hand in his pocket.

“We’ll leave after breakfast,” he said, and turned away, trudging carefully through the sand back to the house.

Once you ate, the two of you made your way off the property, gravel crunching under your boots as you walked to the guardhouse where a carriage stood.  The ride itself was uneventful, quiet, except for the occasional interjection about local landscape.  You drew closer to town and the air changed, suddenly filled with the familiar scents of baked bread and spun sugar along with damp hay. 

Back home, you would have smelled charcoal and roasting meats, along with the distinct tang of fish.

Once you left the carriage, you took Lord Dottore’s hand in your left and interlaced your fingers with his.  Your rings glinted in the morning sun.  His breath caught for the slightest moment when your palm pressed against his.  When you cast a look up at him, he appeared no different than he usually did. 

Everywhere you looked was in bloom, flowerboxes overflowing with blossoms.  Cobble-paved roads made for easy traversal and, bundle of letters clutched in your other hand, you tried to keep the excitement from bubbling over.

Not even an artist’s rendition could capture the hum of people flitting in and out of shops, pausing at stalls, children running through the streets.  There was an energy here that did not exist in the capitol, where eternal winter ruled over all, and one’s duty never thawed.

You were pulled harshly at the last minute and you corrected your footing just as you almost rolled your ankle.

“Keep your wits about you while you admire the scenery, Accountant,” Dottore muttered.  “I’m not carrying you if you break a leg.”

“I’ll be sure to make my fall look like an accident, then.  Less paperwork for you.”

He let out a breath through his nose as you continued.  Without much effort, you located a postal office and dropped off your letters.

“Did you have anything in particular you needed to do?” you asked.  “After all, this was originally your plan.”

Dottore’s obscured gaze took in your surroundings and you wished you ripped off the mask the other day.  You were always able to read him before when there was a desk between you.  But now, it was like even his mouth expressions were foreign to you, indecipherable.

“There’s a bookstore nearby that might have something of interest to a recent project along with a bakery that serves a wide variety of international treats I would prefer to visit last.  Other than those, I had no other intentions.”

“Bookstore first, then,” you held out your other hand in a gesture, silently asking him to lead the way.

He found what he was looking for and then some, the bookseller startled when they looked up at the counter to find one of their first customers of the day to be a Fatui Harbinger.  You grabbed a recently published novel on a whim, written by an individual you’d never heard of before but bearing a Fontainian publisher seal.  Without so much as asking, Dottore plucked the book from your hand and placed it atop the pile.

“I wasn’t certain if I—”

“You’ve been reading the same book twice lately.  Don’t be ridiculous, my dear.”

You weren’t even certain you would like the novel but to protest any further was poor manners and drew unnecessary attention to an otherwise kind action, you reminded yourself.  So instead, you stepped closer and took his arm, resting your head against his bicep.

As you wove your way through the streets, you stopped in a clothing boutique.  There were plenty of nice garments, soft scarves, fur-lined hats, and you tried to be demure when the shopkeeper spotted Lord Dottore and put two and two together.  Everything was of fine quality and more than once, you reached out a hand to stop him from reaching for his wallet every so often.

“I will pay for what I want,” you whispered.

“It’s hardly trouble when Pantalone will give me grief for me not spending mora on this trip.”

“Please.”

You did not want to be indebted to him, not when you had your own money, and not when you hardly had need of anything new to begin with.  The idea of working for the very man responsible for draining your parents’ coffers was abysmal enough; you tried not to openly balk at the idea of Dottore spending his mora on you and having to be reminded of the fact every time you wore something.

His jaw clenched but he relented nonetheless.

The thing about living the way you did was that you knew where and how to spend your leftover mora when you had it.  If you saved up, you could afford a pair of boots that would last for years or a lined coat that was pre-waxed for extra warmth.  Money on clothes was never ill-spent unless it was something poorly made.

And while you didn’t have much to your name, you had enough to splurge on a few new items.  Maybe even a gift for your parents.  They could always use extra blankets…

Your senses were discerning; you ran fabrics between your fingers and asked about the materials.  At the perfumer, you asked to compare the raw materials to the finished product (but not without including Dottore in the decision, given he would have to be around you if you wore it). 

Overall, you came away with a new dress, a few skirts and blouses for work, a perfume, and a down blanket for your parents. 

More than once, you felt eyes on you that didn’t belong to any shopkeeper or fellow guest.

As requested, you stopped by the bakery last, although you questioned your husband’s logic when the line was to the door.  Pastries and baked goods lined the displays and you smiled at the overwhelming smell of cinnamon and butter.  Sfogliatelle, fresh from the cooling rack and dusted with powdered sugar and rugelach caught your eye and your stomach grumbled.

No, in hindsight, Dottore’s logic made perfect sense.  It was impossible to enter this place and not be hungry.

You didn’t catch what your husband ordered but when he turned to you, you couldn’t help but ask for your favorites.

As the server went to assemble your order, you caught Dottore looking at you, lips pursed.  Of all the expressions from that day, you knew this one quite well: you puzzled him and he was keen to understand more.

“What did you order?” you asked.

“Didn’t I say to keep your wits about you, dorogáya moya?”His lips tugged into a smug smile.  “You’ll have to wait until after dinner to find out.”

It wasn’t until after dinner, when both of you were settled into the sitting room over a chess board, that the box from the bakery made its reappearance with evening drinks of choice.

Chess was often another way the two of you spent time together, especially when the weather turned tumultuous every so often.  He beat you every time, with a sole exception; it would be the only exception, he said with a smile that made the scar on your cheek burn.

Tonight would be no different.  The board was prepared and just like every other night, the opposing Queen seemed to wink at you as if it knew your secrets.

“Close your eyes,” Dottore said as he pulled at the red and white strings wrapped around the box.

When you didn’t comply and instead raised an eyebrow for explanation, he gave you a thin-lipped smile with a hint of teeth.

“Humor me, dear wife.  And remember I gain little from poisoning you.”

“Fine,” you said, closing your eyes.

You heard the box open and the rustle of wax paper as something was pulled out.  The smell of sugar and nuts danced in the air but you couldn’t quite place where you knew it from.  Against your lips, you felt something sticky.

“Open.”

When you did, you tasted flaky dough and fresh honey; everything exploded in your mouth when you took a bite and rolled around the layer of nuts against your tongue.  You knew this, grew up with this.

“Baklava?” you asked, cracking open an eye after you swallowed.

“Specifically Sumerian baklava,” Dottore clarified.  “Ajilenakh Nut rather than the usual pistachio and layered instead of rolled.  Your version is too close to so many other desserts visually.  Messier, too.”

By your version, you assumed he meant the Sneznhayan method of occasionally rolling servings of baklava, as some regions were wont to do.

“The honey is different,” you replied.  “Less floral.  I like it.  Is there no other bakery in the capitol that makes it that way?”

“Some try but they never get the right balance.  It’s too oily, more often than not.”

You watched as your husband finished off the piece he gave you, meticulous with crumbs as well as his now-sticky hand.  He jerked his head in the direction of the box off to the side, nestled near your evening tea.

“I ordered enough for both of us in the event you liked it.”

“Thank you.”

No one needed two hands to play chess but you found it amusing to watch as Dottore worked the board with a single hand, his other hovering over the box, unwilling to get crumbs everywhere.

“I find it quite interesting that you take awfully long showers as of late,” he noted absently.

Both of you stepped away to wash away the lingering sticky sugar and only just returned.  You schooled your face.  Where was this going?  Was he going to subject you to another round of embarrassing realization that your drive was pointless?

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to intrude on another’s bathing habits?” you shot back as you settled back into your seat.

“Simply an observation.”

It’s an odd observation, you thought.

It wasn’t the only one but the rest of the conversation veered towards work and you relaxed considerably.

“So what exactly is it you do when you aren’t balancing my budgets?”

He positioned a rook in perfect alignment without even thinking twice.  You assessed the board.  Your bishop had a few options, none of them consequential…the queen was a possibility…

“Auditing, mostly.  Especially when it comes to tracking the nation’s cashflow.  Multiple people rotate through every quarter but we look for logical patterns, find abnormalities, high thresholds, the like.”

“What kind of patterns, exactly?  Outliers exist, after all.  How do you identify a one-off instance versus a larger pattern with a story?”

The question felt as if he was holding a knife to your gut, prepared to not only stab but twist for good measure.  He was a scientist.  Wouldn’t he know exactly how statistics and numbers worked, how to identify trends?

If this was a meeting with Lord Pantalone, you would dance around the question.  He knew the industry, knew how the workflow was meant to be; he invented it, after all.  But you were stuck with Dottore and such things were…well…how daft would it look if someone asked him about your job and he shrugged?

You were taking too long, weren’t you?  Too much hesitation and…

Your hand plucked your bishop from its safe place and positioned it near Dottore’s rook.

“There seems to be an increase in the amount of money leaving Snezhnaya,” you said at last.  “Specifically from older families in the noble class but also…rich merchants without titles.  And not moving it from one branch of Northland to the other, either.  Just…withdrawals.  And that’s strange because it’s been happening for the better part of a year but no single branch is reporting any shortages.”

Dottore titled his head up and say back in his chair the way he did after you pointed out the cashflow issues when he asked for advances on his budgets.  He pondered on your words the way a dog chewed a bone and you realized, stomach stinking, something about this was off.

Because if that was true, if Pantalone knew, he would have taken action and made the others aware.

But your husband looked as if this was the first time he was hearing it.  A cat with a ball of yarn.

“It would seem we’re returning to interesting circumstances, then, dorogáya moya."

It’s a shame to waste all of this on a mere bet.  She outdid herself in all her planning, from the colors chosen to her dress, to the careful seating arrangements.  If no one else was convinced prior, a good portion of people would be swayed by this display alone.

Everything reflected what it was intended to.

Dramatic flairs without the striking terror. 

All things considered, that she did this willingly is commendable; it would only be fair to make this entire arrangement as painless as possible. 

After all, one usually only gets a single wedding over the course of their life.

She was stunning, the exact image expected of her when she walked down the aisle or flitted around the party, practically floating despite the weight of her dress.  And precisely because of that, I was under no impression that she would attempt anything beyond her public duty.

Even now, I am uncertain where, precisely, she obtained those garments.

To say she isn’t attractive would be like denying the sky’s color but I never once understood the point of hiding such matters.  But when she strode into the bedroom and took it upon herself to sit atop me, my eyes could not remove themselves from the way the fabric clung to her skin, how the silk and lace hid the perfect parts of her that made me all the more curious…

Such base impulses had no place in this matter.  I only needed her long enough to secure my win against Pantalone; to hold other expectations would be to create a bias that would ruin anything tangible that might be possible. 

Besides, there was no fun in sleeping with a stranger.  I never quite understood that one, despite numerous experiments on the matter.  It was far more rewarding and insightful to couple with another you knew, at least in some capacity.  One could argue that I do know her but never before I did want to shove away everything on her desk and—

Well, I certainly didn’t deserve that opportunity; I didn’t deserve anyone, especially someone willingly hovering over my body as if they understood what I wanted. 

Who in their right mind would want me, after all?

Perhaps that hadn’t been the kindest choice but it was the best one.  Even if it meant seeing her struggle with herself on the entire ride out of the city. 

Would she like it, being this far out?  Near the sea?  It was far more private, easier to defend, and the townspeople generally loved the Tsaritsa when she visited.  Instead of a large, imposing estate, I considered that perhaps something smaller and more remote might be the better alternative. 

She fit right in, with the staff and the environment, like a puzzle piece missing for too long.  The same can be said about her hand in mine.  I am unaccustomed to being touched in any capacity and yet I find myself craving more every time we break apart…

Ridiculous.  How am I meant to quantify these experiences?

She is needy, or perhaps I have been amongst myself for too long to understand the baseline existence of others.  I woke that first night, unable to get back to sleep, and slipped out of the bedroom with every intention of making coffee and sitting with some of the formulas one of the Segments slipped into my luggage.  It wasn’t as if we needed to wake up together and the staff wouldn’t be awake for a while.

But two mugs had been set out in preparation.

And she was an early riser. 

It was the polite thing to do.

When I treaded back upstairs, careful to avoid the weakest spots in the wooden floor, I caught a glimpse of her head tossed back and the distinct sound  and smell of arousal.  There was no mistaking the slick, wet sound and the quiet gasps escaping her.

It should not have elicited the reaction from me that it did, my pants uncomfortably tight as the rhythmic sounds continued, uninterrupted.  I stepped back, mindful of the floor, but it was impossible to ignore how soaked she was.

Would it have been abnormal for me to push the door open a little more, watch how she pleasures herself?  Learn so that one day, if she ever begged, I could replace her fingers with mine?  Or fill her to the brim and watch her eyes tear up with pleasure?

Her mouth was beautiful in that shape.  I counted three times, cock twitching, before she became aware of herself again and left for the washroom.

Without thinking twice, I left the mug and a hastily scrawled note, and returned downstairs before she could be any wiser.

Lest she think her husband is a monster and a lecher.   W hat she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt but she should have closed the door.

Sand is dreadful and, just as that morning’s sight was burned into my memories and seemed to be everywhere I looked, I could not escape the grains of sand in this gods-forsaken house.

In my notebooks.  In my shoes.  Everywhere.  Anywhere.

But it was impossible to observe her when we’re apart.  And so I must endure.  Here I thought I’d have escaped the feeling of grains of sand in everything once I moved to this frozen tundra. 

I disliked the beach but she never seemed to have trouble sitting for hours, reading, basking in the sun.  She smelled of the sea when she came in.

Kissing her had been…nothing short of an impulsive opportunity.  We didn’t make an effort to avoid one another but when she dared to look up at me, no traces of fear, words as sharp as daggers dancing on her tongue?

I would never silence her but she passed on her pointless need to me and it was distracting.  If I did not want to see other results, other possibilities, I might have hiked up her skirts and goaded her into admitting her own desire.  But there is more at stake here and I do not wish to see her begin to shrink at the sight of me. 

Love is…hardly a matter of an equation and I do not believe it to be possible, not in this situation.  Lust is expected, inevitable.  Easy enough to fend off.

After all, there’s few reasons she would take that long in the shower.  I’m just as culpable in that regard.

She is exacting, frugal to a fault.  If she enjoys something, would it not be prudent to simply buy the thing, rather than spend fifteen minutes feeling fabrics to discern the make and quality?  Others in her position would not make a choice and simply take everything.

Just like the book she clutched but protested against.  Clearly something about it struck her mind and she was considering it.  Why not just purchase the book and read it, then?  So many people held back.  But there is little point in doing so.  What grand day is awaiting that one cannot use the special dishes?  The fine pen and smooth parchment?  There is a need for patience and a need for enjoyment and no one seems to have ever found a balance between the two.

Including my own wife, it seems.

But it made her happy, didn’t it?

To make the choices of what she enjoyed the most.  She never felt like she made a terrible choice and she always wore a smile during the transaction, a smile that I don’t believe I’ve ever seen on her face.  Certainly not before I impulsively asked for her hand.

And to include me in the choices?  What did I matter when she would be the one wearing such things?  Using them?  I didn’t care.

Sharing the baklava might have, in hindsight, given the opposite impression.  But it would be wrong to not offer something in return when she included me.  Did one’s eyes always twinkle like that when they were taken with something?  Did hers?

Awful, this feeling.  Like my chest wants to explode. 

She’s terrible at chess.  Most are.  Pierro is one of the few who actually provides any kind of challenge.  The Accountant only managed to beat me once but in my defense, I was still recovering from that morning and could not bear looking at her lips too long.

What blasted absurdity.  Couldn’t this have waited until a year into our marriage?  There’s no making sense of any of this and it’s…

Oh, but that was quite something, that game. 

Most would never hesitate to share their findings with a superior; Pantalone is almost as ruthless as I am when it comes to menials and important information.  She hesitated over such a simple question that should have been quick to answer.

But instead she provided a specific example, made no mention of whether or not Regrator knew.

Did she assume it was a given?  Or did she truly not report that finding?  If so, why?  Was it not hers to report?

Money leaving the country and circulating elsewhere was a normal occurrence and ensured the entirety of Teyvat’s economy didn’t collapse.  But if too much was leaving the local economy and being used elsewhere…perhaps there was a distrust in Northland…in the Tsaritsa.

Less money circulating natively meant less money for Pantalone to draw from for my own funding.  Nevermind the rest of the nation.

To hell with the rest of the nation, really.  There’s little that cannot be done without the assistance of other nations anyway.  Wherever the money is going, the Fatui has no shortage of enemies.

Perhaps Regrator’s embezzlement was becoming too obvious.  His greed knows little bounds, a sentiment I can certainly understand under the lens of knowledge.  Accumulating knowledge is as addicting as greed, perhaps could be argued to be a form of it.

And so if she brings it to Pantalone’s attention, she might, in fact, end up on the chopping block for it.

Precarious indeed.

Not just anyone gets to be in her position, however; background checks and certifications and several examinations are required.  And she cannot afford to lose it, clearly, given what’s mentioned about her parents.

Keeping anything a secret was a larger liability than simply showing her supervisor her findings…

How did I miss that?  Truly?  How could I have lacked that much foresight? 

It wasn’t as if she was hiding it very well.

I’ll send an order for a proper background check in the morning.  Of all people, I should know better than to take sources at face-value.

#dottore x reader #il dottore #dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #fic: blasphemous rumors #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #minors dni

[daisy-mooon]

More "marriage of convenience" and "arranged marriage" AU's where the characters do end up falling in love, but platonically. Normalise platonic love.

#not just in an aromantic way or a mlm wlw solidarity way btw. just. some m/f partners who love each other platonically would be just as cool #platonic love is the greatest love of all #platonic marriage #writing #marriage of convenience #arranged marriage #fanfic #fanfiction #writing prompt #fanfic prompt #fanfiction prompt

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter five

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, wriothesley, clorinde, sigewinne, mention of furina ⌗ warnings : brief mention of poison consumption ⌗ word count: 7.6k

Behind the valour celebrated in tales of renowned swordsmen lies the silent duel against doubt and fear, where pride meets vulnerability.

Soreness racks your entire body and everything in you screams to stay still. An oddly familiar feeling of recollection drowns out the pinching of the gash that stands at bay; a dam that’s lost function. The morning after a duel never welcomed you; instead it tore you apart, and sewn you back together with the thread that puts you back together.

Your body aches all over, and your whole being begs you to stay still. A strangely familiar sense of memory overpowers the squeezing of the gash that was there to keep it at bay, like a broken dam. The morning following a duel never welcomed you; rather, it seemingly always tore you apart and stitched you back together with the same thread.

Turning to your clean side, you are greeted with a dozing Clorinde, arms crossed, slightly slipping off her chair, and her head slumped to the side. The realisation of your stinging torso hits as chuckles escape from your lips, observing how her hat tips by millimetres with each passing second. The bedside clock ticks, and you lazily refrain from turning your head, concluding that you've woken a little too early.

Before you can contemplate cleaning yourself up, the subtle shift in your movement stuns the duelist awake. 

Her hat slips off her head.

Her voice is dry and coarse when she yawns. “Why, aren’t you up early?”

“Or maybe you just woke up late.”

“Duty calls even when sleep does, chenapan. I estimate that I have slept for only…” she checks her watch. “two and a half hours. You—however— have been asleep for almost forty-eight.”

You slump onto your back, and are now facing the ceiling (you ignore how a drop of water drips onto the apple of your cheek the second you turn). “Sucks to suck. I really needed that, though. Whatever it is, I have work tomorrow. The cogs aren’t gonna oil themselves.”

The ache as you move goes unnoticed at your sudden adamance to leave, and Clorinde promptly holds an arm out. “Wait.”

Complying, your hand finds its way to the edge of the mattress and you sit. “What?”

“I had to deal with some business on the surface, so I decided to purchase a new blouse and new pants, a skirt, another blouse except it’s blue, and…” she reaches for a bag that leans on the leg of the chair, and briefly pulls out a piece of cloth you assume is the blue blouse she’s talking about. I’ve seen enough of blue, you think, the hospital gown you wear is not flattering for your figure. You appreciate the thought nonetheless, and accept the gift. “ I also purchased a new pair of boots for you.”

You slowly outstretch your arms, weary with indolence and fatigue. “Thank you…?”

“Think of it as an apology. “

“Oh? That’s certainly a first. The Champion Duelist apologises for injuries sustained from in a ring! It is quite alright, Clorinde.”

“I did say think of it as an apology. You could take it as a blessing — your muscles are practically bulging through the sleeves. ”

“I know right!’

She scoffs. “Now you’re just full of yourself."

Restraining a laugh, you raise two fingers in mock salute. “I’m a busy woman. Gotta take what I’ve got.”

‘I can see that. Now go get changed. You reek.”

“What an insensitive tone. You’re talking to a patient.”

She does not play victim to your antics. “Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you happy. Make it quick, we have to catch Sigewinne to discharge you before she’s off to work.” 

You nod, swiftly pursuing the refreshing embrace of open air. Yet, a hiccup disrupts your stride as you think: must I meet the public eye once more? A silent prayer escapes, hoping Neuvillette remains oblivious to your absence. What merit would your presence bestow upon him, except added burden and responsibility? He, undoubtedly significant to you, occupies your thoughts and you do not waste a thought in thinking he deems your company delightful. You hope it stays that way.

“How does it look?” You do a little spin in your new outfit, painfully aware of how the fibres of the bandage that hug your abdomen clutch onto the inner fabric of the silk blouse that you find is a little tight around the underarm.

Clorinde looks up from her lap and her eyes round in surprise, and then into jest. “As painfully corporate as ever, madame.”

“You never fail to irritate me, don’t you?” You clutch the bag of clothes and hold it alongside the leather bag you had with you before the whole spectacle in the ring.

“Behold. Your hero’s here.” She points to a little figure skipping down the steps and she smiles at you, giving you a ‘you’re almost free!’ look.

Sigewinne skips to your side, silently lifting the fabric of your blouse and peeking through the bandage to examine the stitches. “A little swollen, but it is very much normal for an injury such as this. You are all set to be discharged!”

An infirmary admission in the Fortress of Meropide is unforeseen, yet its homely, cramped nature piques your fascination.

Wriothesley loiters around the exit and waves when he recognises a familiar raven haired girl beside you. When his eyes drop to your abdomen, a light smirk graces his lips. “Seems like Aurora has woken up from her century-old slumber. “

Clorinde shoots him a glare. A soundless argument plays from their eyes alone, and you are standing as stiff as a rod, grateful that you do not have to know whatever they are going on about. Falling victim to their brief glances you feel yourself shrink. A brief, whispered ‘what?’ elicits from the duelist’s lips and your head snaps to hers. From the slump of Wriothesley's shoulders, you assume the debate has reached its impasse.

“If you’re all going to argue about me, at least let me in on it.”

Wriothesley’s head cocks and he grins. “Hey, it’s nothing personal. Pains me to see you go, don’t get me wrong — but I’m afraid you’ve outstayed your welcome.”

"Oh, what a heartfelt farewell. I'll try not to let the door hit me on the way out," you quip, grabbing Clorinde by the forearm and waving the Duke goodbye.

“Wait.”

Clorinde is pulled backwards as you pause in your tracks.

The duelist’s arm slips free of yours, and she crosses her arms, briefly raising her brows, almost prompting him. “Forgetting something?”

“I’m making a break for the surface. So would you two like to have brunch? My treat.”

Clorinde is puzzled. “It is not everyday your schedule is so free. Are you sure you have time—”

You give her a chiding look and you smack her shoulder lightly. “We’d be very delighted.”

___

Wriothesley gulps down a tremendous mouthful of his tea. “What a hidden gem this place is…” He looks at the menu, his fingers skimming through the words in quest of the cafe's name.

“It’s Café Lutece,” you say, voice muffled with your mouth full of escargots. What a delicacy—you nearly roll your eyes at how good it is, savouring every nuance of flavour that dances on your palate, and your shoulders sag in indulgence. You almost ask for a second, but you abstain from doing so when you realise that it is not you paying.

“Yes. Café Lutece. I knew that.”

“Totally.”

“Manners.” Clorinde berates, subtly directing your attention to the people around with a pointed look, then back to the two of you. Suffering at its worst is falling victim to constant scrutiny. You steal a glance at the duelist and find that she has returned to enjoying her lasagna.

Wriothesley doesn’t seem to take the hint from Clorinde’s reprimand, and continues as normal. “That arena stunt with your sword, commendable stuff. Why haven’t you picked up something like that? You're a natural in the ring, minus that whole... hole.” He waves around his fork like a novice who has nothing to lose but his dignity that he doesn’t seem to possess much of either; and his eyes, seemingly moving of its own accord, casually dip to where you would see the gash if it hadn’t been for the bandage and the new blouse that Clorinde had purchased in lieu of an apology.

“So, I’ve heard you’ve only been recently promoted as the Présidence du Conseil d'État. How is it?” His voice drips with bon mot, but you cannot help but feel your heart beat louder against your ribcage. To put it simply, you do not know. To be thrown from role to role like a ragdoll rendered your own limbs to pomme puree, a struggling puppet fighting against brass strings; but you, too, aren’t able to chart a path for yourself in pursuit of success. 

Swallowing whatever’s left on your plate, you wipe your mouth on the cloth that sits on your lap and sigh. Your face scrunches in distaste “Fame isn’t really my cup of tea.”

“Oh? And what do you mean by that?” Wriothesley questions, turning around only to be met with women fanning themselves and batting their eyelashes at him. “I get it.”

You bring your voice down to a defeated whisper. “Maybe if it weren’t for me getting married in a month, I wouldn’t be recognised everywhere I go.”

The Duke’s brows lift. “Am I hearing that right?” When he notices that Clorinde has dropped the conversation to finish her meal, a crease forms between his eyes. He prods her gently on the shoulder.

This doesn’t appear to bother her, because her body remains fluid and returns to normal: erect and inclined forward for a more liable distance between her and her food. Her eyes don’t leave her plate when she replies with a curt: “Hm?”

“She just said she was getting married.”

“I heard her.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

She finally looks up from her plate and stares plainly at you. “Congratulations. The man is truly an unlucky one.” The Duke laughs uneasily as you both take in her lack of interest.

At the met silence, Wriothesley crosses his arms. “I don’t understand why a hot shot like you would settle so early for marriage.”

You do not know if you should lie. Does the guise play out even for those you know? Should you tell him that you’re madly in love with the Chief Justice? No, you shouldn’t; for it is not the truth. But you should! You have to! a voice screams, trailing off into the void. You struggle with internal conflict, split between the need to sustain the masquerade and the desire to have the truth spill. The bandage, snug against your abdomen, is like an oppressive corset, confining not just your exterior but also every part of your being that is tied to a blasted contract. Your fingers reflexively seek solace in the shredding threads above your blouse, as if unravelling the fabric could soothe the conflicting thoughts that have become entwined within your mind. The echo of a distant voice encouraging disclosure reverberates.

You force a cold smile. “I am not giving up anything for my marriage, Your Grace. It is merely a testimony of human connection. I am well off by myself, yes, but would it hurt to have someone to give you a little push? For someone down in the fortress, you should know what it’s like to feel lonely.”

The Duke’s expression seems to sour at the resurfacing of the use of honorifics and he waves a hand in denial. “I didn't mean to come off as rude, madame. I am just puzzled at who exactly would be deserving of you as a wife? I mean — it can’t be the vendor selling macarons down the street, right?”

“The man I am to marry is Monsieur Neuvillette. Now if you would get me a glass of Fonta, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Unbeknownst to them, Neuvillette sits nearby, sipping on a cup of water as he discreetly eavesdrops on words that subtly bleed through conversation. His keen gaze carefully observes you from a distance, and with a thoughtful demeanour, places the cup onto its respective plate. Noticing the look of distress on your face and the familiar slump in the Duke’s shoulders, Neuvillette remains hidden. Clorinde and Wriothesley, engrossed in their discussion, remain oblivious, their backs turned to the subtle observer in their midst.

The man I am to marry is Monsieur Neuvillette. The phrase reverberates through his skull, each word echoing with a disconcerting resonance that sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn’t fail to miss how the words weigh like a burdensome anchor — how your expression, once lit with vivacity, falls. 

The outfit you are clad in is something the Chief Justice had never seen you wear before; but he swats the idea away. Perhaps it is a trick of the mind, having not seen you in two days.  

He is mildly cognizant of the ring and its box that is settled comfortably in his breast pocket. 

Tonight.

Tonight.

Lady Furina's relentless insistence propelled the schedule forward, transforming what was originally intended as a week-long endeavour into an instant obligation for Neuvillette. The Chief Justice was, and is still less than amused. This unexpected directive threw his meticulously organised schedule into disarray, compelling him to undertake the daunting mission of  'proposing' to the so-called 'woman of his dreams,' a phrase coined by none other than the Hydro Archon herself. The sudden upheaval left Neuvillette grappling with the unexpected change of events and contemplating how to proceed.

He shields his face in a book, as if it would aid him in any capacity. A shame, really —he stands out like a sore thumb, unable to blend in among the normalcy of Fontainians. Anything he does in his power to remain hidden only has him hounded by the most desperate of women clawing at him like hawks for any opportunity to ‘bask in his presence’ (quoted by Lady Furina; this was another one of her drabbles, showing how she is ever so apt in her knowledge of theatre).

The Iudex catches onto how you shift the topic to your peculiar love for Fonta, and he finds that his nose scrunches in distaste. Fonta was never something he could grow to enjoy; it was too fizzy on the tongue, and Neuvillette certainly wasn’t one for such a sensation. But maybe if someone as hard to please as you could find a little soft spot for a drink, he could too. It has been a considerable amount of time since he’d been given an opportunity like this to not only sit alone at a cafe, but also converse with the people under no pretence or intention of banishing the guilty down in the depths of the ocean.

Neuvillette slightly raises his hand, eyes still flickering from the words of the notes he had pasted in the book to taking in how you had taken a looser bearing when his attention was diverted elsewhere. He casts a quick glance about, and a waiter appears at his side almost immediately. The priorities of humans are awfully disordered, he thinks, recalling how this particular waiter turned away an old guy after trying to ask him the same question for the nth time: "How can I help you?" What a pity that this individual was damned with weak hearing.

The same voice and intonation sounds from his right. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like a cup of Fonta please.”

Gloved hands move slowly to the glass table when he catches the slight quirk of your smile — and for the first time, realises that it is a genuine one. Your eyes squint, and you tilt your head to the side after the cup of Fonta leaves your lips. Raking your hands through your hair, the wind blows through the nape of your neck and teases at the necklace around your neck and he thinks this is the first time he’s ever seen you so content.

Neuvillette’s initial instinct is to leave you be and have you enjoy yourself for just a little while longer before the clutches of responsibility grip you tight again; but when the notion of fooling Lady Furina slyly makes its way to the forefront, he chastises himself. This is a sole, pragmatic responsibility. So why is he blurring the lines? It is a contract he must fulfil: an obligation of duty. 

He recites what he must say under his breath: “Kneel on one knee. Say that I lo —” his eyes practically bulge out of his head and he stops short. Must he really say that he — loves you? The strained voice of Lady Furina echoes, imploring him to express his love for her with all of his conviction. He debates over the idea of checking it off the list, but then realises that the list shows no sign of diminishing in its fervency of declaration, and his cheeks flush pink.

Another point on the note proves even worse than the last. “Surely I must not kiss her?” he whispers, placing down the notepad. A deep breath, drawn with the intent to rewire his thoughts, is sharp and cold. Regret manifests into beads of cold sweat as he wonders of his own oversight of his incapability of taking a look at the notepad before leaving the Palais Mermonia.  A realisation, as crystal clear as the reflections in Fontaine's still waters, dawns upon him: she, a virtuoso of subtle acts of cunning, reigns supreme in such wit. Of all residents within these refined walls of Fontaine, the Iudex, in his wisdom, should have recognised her devious nature well.

It is no wonder that Lady Furina had bestowed this encased in one of her light novels. “Do some reading!” she had said, leaving him with three words and a cryptic message he could not decipher; another trick up her sleeve, and still, he is all too unsuspecting. 

In the era where Fontaine was a coalition of people under a new system, a figure he not only suspected but knew to be Focalors had granted him a seat with the best view in the grandest theatre; and little did he anticipate that he would eventually become a pawn on the very stage he had always observed from above in his own, undeniably mythical glory. 

He does not notice that the fresh cup of Fonta is now cold.

But he does notice that the table where a group of three once sat is now vacant. 

He reaches into his breast pocket and leaves a bag of mora that, to any normal person, would easily realise that such an amount could account for ten cups of liquid gold. But he, unlike the normal person, sees that the matter that is telling you of tonight's plans weighs heavier than the coins that cling against the glass table like cymbals. After having sat up and blowing his not-so-stealthy cover, he takes a pitiful look at the Fonta that shoots him a pleading stare. He shuts his eyes, and prudently wraps his fingers around the teacup, and takes a sip. 

He prevents himself with his whole being to not lurch forward. It is not so terrible, he says: a silver lined lie. A smile forces itself through and he turns to the workers that stand at attention; all eyes on the Iudex of Fontaine. The tap of his boots echo loudly against the brick floors and he leaves as swiftly as the clouds intertwine in the midday sun.

Neuvillette takes a spin, and sees the three of you standing under the shade of the Chioriya Boutique. His eyes cling onto the way you weigh all of your weight against a pillar, armed wrapped around your torso. Judging by how the three of you rack with laughter, he assumes it is Wriothesley who has quipped and prompted the champion duelist and the head of civil affairs into giggles. 

What is he doing? 

Certainly this is a breach of the contract. Each party isn’t obliged to the whereabouts of the opposite party, unless consented to. You are going to think he followed you here; and that is something he does not want. To be in your good graces is a difficult thing, yet to forever dwell in your disfavour is a pit from which not even the sharpest nails can rescue anyone.

The group breaks apart, and you are left alone, head swerved in the direction of the duke and the duelist. What a formidable group of people, indeed.

“What nice weather today, madame.” The low-tone of a familiar voice brushes against your ear, and oh, who could it be? 

You do not spare him a glance, leaning against the pillar for support. “Go on, enlighten me already.”

Though you do not see it, he is left fumbling with a note and how to phrase his next words. “Let us go on a walk, if you’ll allow me.”

You rely on the weight of your right heel to bring yourself to face him. Surveying him from head-to-toe, you notice something in him has changed; perhaps it is the freshly tailored coat he spoke of the night you returned his other one, or maybe it is a novel hairpiece. Whatever it is, he is different, more fleeting in his aura.

Sighing, you look down at your boots. “If it is so necessary, then I see no reason to decline.”

“Alright then.”

The next movements are oddly rehearsed, yet terribly timed. He offers you his left arm, to which you decline. “Is it possible to switch sides?” 

“Oh — uh, sure.”

Neuvillette offers you his right arm — but realise to your dismay that it hovers a little too high for your liking, and you resort to slightly beckoning him to lower it with your own arm, which is now oddly interlocked with his. You take in a deep breath and feel his heartbeat quickening along with yours. 

One foot in front of another, the two of you find a middle ground at what pace to walk. Three people on the sidewalk eye the two of you with judgmental eyes and you slightly tiptoe to whisper a few words into his ear: “People are watching.”

He then replies in a tone that isn’t too loud but enough for the surrounding people to hear. “Why is why, Mon Amour, an act is what is to satisfy the Hydro Archon.”

Tearing your eyes away from him, you ignore the confusion of emotion that stirs in your stomach, and you tell yourself it is your injury. Words seep through your slightly gritted teeth. “Don’t you think that’s a little excessive, Dear Chief Justice of Fontaine?”

Through your periphery, you see a smile. “Certainly bold words from the one who deemed it fit to bestow a kiss upon my ear on the very first day of our relationship, don’t you think?”

There is no time for you to take his words in because a person on a cart approaches at full speed, its wheels detaching one by one onto the road. The man whose arms are intertwined with yours forces you to the side of a cement wall, and his chest, an unwitting barricade between you and the unfolding drama, prompts you a very unpleasant view of the ruffles of his blouse. As the chaos settles, you force your gaze up and find that his eyes stay trained on the man that is now clutching his arm that lays limp in his own grip. 

While bystanders attend to the injured man, your gaze lingers on Neuvillette's face, seeking revelations in the subtle nuances of the seemingly faint expression that paints his face. Your own stare is met with an intense, narrowing gaze when the Iudex turns and faces you, and you immediately feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath against the erratic beats of your heart. Embarrassing.

Clearing your throat, you push him and he stumbles slightly — but he doesn’t move as far as you wish him to. Through all that cloth, his muscles surely are toned! “What are you doing? Help him.”

Perhaps it is a trick of the light or the painfully scorching autumn sun, but his cheeks are flushed. “Not a worry, madame, stay right here.” 

In the lack of his warmth you take in the sharpest breath and it cuts through your lungs like glass. 

You place your hands on your knees and bend forward to catch your breath. A sting stretches like a miasma from your hip and you instinctively clutch at it like a vice; fuck, you’ve strained it.

Feeling even more eyes on you, you return as normal, plastering a faint smile and wishing everyone takes the hint to not raise any questions. Your left arm still remains pinching the perimeter of the gauze that now begins to feel like a tourniquet and you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment. Neuvillette is by your side almost instantly, taking in the slight perspiration that beads down your forehead; just a moment ago, your face was completely clear of such. 

“Mon cherie, are you quite alright?” he questions, pausing a little. You whisper a: “tuck my hair behind my ears,” to him, and he shakily complies, his hands swiping across your skin like a ghost. 

You place a hand to his chest. “Why, there is no need to be so concerned about me! I am no damsel in distress, dearest.” 

He returns your stare with a nervous chuckle and extends his hand out this time, a less secure form of a physical display of affection, but still a statement nonetheless.

You do not wish to continue beating around the bush, but the grin that tugs at your lips remains. “Tell me what you wish to say.”

His stride slows, and you slightly pull him forward to fall into step again. “Well, to put it simply, I am to propose to you tonight.”

You do not know where to fuel your surprise so the smile on your face deepens. “Couldn’t you have told me earlier?” The grin compromises the expressions on your face, to which passersby aren’t able to discern that your lips are actually moving.

“You’ll have to question the Hydro Archon on this, I’m afraid. Though I am glad I did meet you here, to save both of us an inconvenience.”

“You take me for a fool, Chief Justice. Don’t think I didn’t see you dining where we were.”

You bask in the widened eyes of the man from beside you. There you had him; hook, line, and sinker. “That was merely a convenience — Lady Furina suggested I take a little stroll around Fontaine to prepare myself for tonight’s itinerary.”

You tilt your head in amusement. “Convincing enough. So… tonight; but where, exactly?”

“I was thinking of the very precinct of the Opera Epiclese, the very symbol of romance itself.”

Outright, you reject his suggestion. “I think it is an odd selection.”

“Why do you think so?” the grip he has on your hand loosens as he turns to look at you.

“People, especially Fontainians,” you start, “barely frequent Erinnyes, let alone at night.”

Perfect. Neuvillette had rehearsed the response to such a question at least ten times, and he’s convinced he has it down to a T. “Lady Furina has connections, dearest. All the main media outlets are stationed around the area as we speak. And, it is the premiere of the newest, most dramatic opera in all of Fontaine’s history — as quoted by Lady Furina, of course.”

“That woman is out of her mind.”

The Chief Justice thinks to not respond, and instead moves on.“But keep it in mind there is no intention of us attending the premiere; the whole scene must play out when everyone’s out of the Opera Epiclese. We shall rendezvous at the aquabus station at half past nine — when it is scheduled to conclude. Is that a convenient time for you?”

By this point, you are defeated. “Yep.” you deliberately pop the ‘p’, letting go of his hand to rid yourself of your lace gloves. “Hold these for me, would you?”

Neuvillette notices someone else using a camera peering through a bush, and he quickly spots the camera's lens glint. “Anything for you.”

ONE HOUR BEFORE THE PROPOSAL

Your bed is tousled and you don’t even know if you are to wear a dress to your own proposal. All sorts of skirts and tops lay haphazardly arranged on your comforter, the silhouette of a bundle of cloth peeking through the crevices of crumpled shirts. A possible outfit? Maybe. You pinch it with your thumb and index finger and hold it up as if it were a cat; no — this won’t do. You make another dash for your closet and begin throwing things over your shoulder until you finally reach the bottom of the lot. 

A dress sits neatly folded, slightly dusty, but a dress nonetheless. Your mother’s dress. You sit on the wooden floors and peer down at the basket once more with morbid curiosity. Your mind is thrown into a debate of whether an occasion like this is appropriate to wear such an outfit. It is a quarter before nine and you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, barefaced and practically naked. Muttering a silent apology to your mother, you take it gently and pat it to rid it of any specks of dust. 

The dress is a pale turquoise, the ends of the skirt a tethered lace. But one thing stands. It is sleeveless. When exactly was the last time you wore a sleeveless dress? You slap yourself to stop asking questions. Why am I suddenly thinking? Cut it out!

Turning around, you shuffle to your bed. Picking up a corset, you inspect it briefly; is this necessary? No. You take a brief look at the clean replacement of gauze that winds tighter around your waist as a substitute, and shrug it away, tossing it to some corner of narnia and you wish it appears neatly placed on your bedside table when you return. 

You find yourself in a comical struggle to slip into the snug velvet attire, hopping on the pads of your feet and contorting your arms into peculiar positions. Finally victorious, albeit with a hint of dishevelment, you stagger towards your vanity mirror. There, a box of makeup beckons, urging you to indulge in its array of colours. The temptation of a baby pink lipstick proves irresistible in the moment.

Brushing your face with foundation, you set it down with powder, and it puffs like a plume of smoke. No, not your hair! You hastily smooth it down, the fine dust reflecting in the moonlight. An eye pencil, an eyelash curler, and mascara line the outlines of your eyes, and you push your seat back to inspect anything that might appear peculiar.

You look bland.

Without looking down, you pat your table and reach for a random eyeshadow palette. An array of potted glittery blues and greens lay orderly arranged, and you do not know where to start. Maybe a light green to set the eyes? Whatever. You use the pad of your pinky to swipe the eyeshadow across your lid and you reach for a deeper, metallic blue that wipes closer to the waterline. You lean back again, examining the sheen. Don’t I look stunning! You can smell how the women are to reek of jealousy at your very appearance. Sure, its application is haphazard, but wasn’t that the in thing? Or perhaps you were to start a new trend, like how you did with your excruciatingly blue colour palette. 

Regardless of the absurdity of it all, this is oddly entertaining. Damn the blasted contract; you want to look good. 

Earrings next. A dilemma unfurls: pearl or diamond? Hoops or studs? Too many options, so little time. A bounty of options dance before you, and think of how they’d appear against your dress and makeup. You think the pearls complement the ones that are stitched along the hem of the bodice.  Studs, on the other hand, while embodying a certain casual charm, seem a pinch too informal for the grandeur of the occasion.

You decide to go for pearly hoops, and almost jab your ear with it. 

Something tips over in the act of putting in the earrings and your eyes shoot to your right. Vials. It had almost slipped your mind. How dangerous the act of leaving your own self for three days is; how could you forget? Mithridatism, it is called — the very process of ingesting poison to immunise oneself from its very risk. Ironic how protection it is to you, but death it was for your mother. You almost contemplate abandoning it and never turning back, but you’ve come so far; and an idiot you would be if you succumb to your cowardice. 

Clicking the hoops closed, you take a vial. You pop it open and ignore the burn as it travels down your throat. Gods above, you never can ever get used to its bitter taste.

Grabbing a purse amongst five others, you slip into a pair of white heels, leaving your apartment in a hurry. Your heels click loudly against the pavement, and you rush towards the heart of the city, ignoring all the awed stares that you garner from the people. 

“She is nigh unrecognisable!” a strained voice shouts, and the shutter of a camera follows suit. The rest of the trip is a blur and you find you cannot recall anything when your mind is cleared.

You rush to the elevator and jam the button with your fist. “Damnit.”

The doors open and you press the button for it to close, ignoring the dazed look of a couple that disappears as the doors shut in their faces. Muttering a quiet ‘sorry’, you lean against the wall of the elevator for support. You can do it. Just act. 

A ding sounds and a friendly breeze greets you, the silhouette of the man you can recognise anywhere standing at ease, facing the waters. 

“I’m here,” you say, voice reduced to a frail squeak; and you’re surprised that he even hears you. The metal of his boots scrape against the marble as he whirls around, the unreadable expression on his switching to a grin.

“Ah, madame,” he regards you with his head bowed, and seems to study your face for an uncomfortably long, few seconds. “Do not be so worried, the aquabus hasn’t arrived.” 

You flat out decline the claim. “I am not worried, monsieur. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a seat.”

Before you can, he stops you with a bouquet of rainbow roses. “Here, I thought they’d complement greatly with your eyes.” What type of awkward, low-budget line delivery is this? Too short and too concise, Neuvillette notes, already hearing the nagging of Lady Furina in his ears. 

“Oh, uhm. Thank you.” You almost rip the bouquet out of his hands with how clammy they are, and its added grip only adds to the flush of your cheeks — both to be blamed on your exertion and anxiety.

The swish of water sprinkles lightly against your arm, and you look up to be greeted by an aquabus with the cutest Melusine standing atop, hands on her hips. Not that you wanted to play favourites of course, every Melusine was adorable in ways they know best.

Offering his hand, you respond with your own, gloved hands against lace. Lifting your skirt, you struggle with the steps and you’re immediately brought back to two days ago, when the Duke and Champion Duelist were reduced to ushers, waging war against a staircase.

Neuvillette, ever the gentleman, snakes an arm around the small of your back to support you up onto the platform. What is this treatment? No one’s around, and no one’s certainly watching. It is just courtesy, you tell yourself, yes! Just courtesy. 

The two of you sit shoulder to shoulder, and Aeval eyes you silently, smiling a little with her hands moving to clutch behind her back.

She begins her rehearsed monologue, but you’ve heard so much of it that you choose to drown it out with the howls of wind that cart through your hair. The chill, night air has the hair on your arms to stand upright, and any semblance of sweat disappears as quickly as a bead from your dress slips, tapping against the metal of the floor, and into the water.

Oops.

You bend forward to fix the velcro of your heel and sit upright, running your fingers through your hair. 

“A ribbon on your dress is undone — allow me to tie it for you.”

What exactly was this man on about? There was no ribbon in your dress, nor anything that could accentuate your figure in any form. 

“I don’t ever recall having a ribbon wound in my dress, monsieur — oh.” A long string of white rolls in the wind, and realise that he is, unfortunately, correct. You turn and see his brow raised, another part of the ribbon encased between his fingers.

“W—well… It was merely an oversight. I can do it myself, Monsieur Neuvillette, thank you very much.”

“But I insist. It would be a pity if such a momentous occasion be ruined because of an untied ribbon, would it not?”

No, an indignant fire ignites within, a visceral urge to unleash the words that dance on the tip of your tongue. You want to scream at him; tell him that he is a dolt at thinking that you would allow him to so intimately bind the knot at your waist. To say yes is to succumb, and would you reveal such a lack of decorum to the one person you do not want to have seen you so vulnerable.

“Fine,” is a word that is foreign on your lips, and you do not know why you have just contradicted every argument within you for an act. A furrow forms between your brows, and you bite your lip to restrain words you do not wish to say spill from your mouth.

You turn to your right, bringing your hair to one side of your shoulders to give him a better view of the knot he is to tie. Fingers brush against your spine, and you cannot help a stunt in your breathing as he continues, working his way down. A discomfort blooms within your gut like a blaze when he tightens at your hip, and you jolt. The bandage was clinched enough as is. 

His warm breath teases your shoulder, an alien heat against the cold of the oceanic wind. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Could — could you just loosen it a little?”

“Alright.”

Slumping at the newly given space between you and the cloth, you turn around, placing the flowers on your lap. 

Neuvillette gives you a side glance, and looks away. You do not know if he compensates for another. “You look gorgeous tonight, madame.”

“Save the compliments for when the people are around, Monsieur Neuvillette. Wouldn’t you hate it if poor Aeval were to get the wrong impression?” You eye him watchfully, relishing in how his face seems to tense like being pulled at the strings.

The ride to the Opera Epiclese falls silent after your comment.

Bright lights line the pathway to the Opera Epiclese, and you do not know how your eyes gleam in the reflection of the yellow that shines against your dress. Huh. Lady Furina’s judgement has failed once again; there aren’t many people loitering around the Fountain of Lucine, except that of a few people who are sitting with glasses of what seems to be champagne in their hands. 

The man by your side bends down and you look over to see another Melusine, with her hands cupped over his ear, whispering something you cannot discern. This garners a nod from the Iudex, and he returns to his full height and gives you a wry smile. 

He bears the weight of your hand in his, and places a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

Flowers drop loosely in your grip and your other arm is locked with Neuvillette’s, leaving little room for comfort; but you swallow it down if it means that Fontaine is spared and no one’s lives are taken. You mutter a prayer that Lady Furina is using everything in her power to revert what is lost; because prophecy be damned if the one sole figure meant to salvage it all crumbles.

Sacrifice lingers in your hands.

Almost as if conjured, a flower cut at its stem sits in between the Iudex’s fingers and you return his stare with an expectant one. “May I?” is the question that leaves his lips, and when you oblige, he places the flower snug against your ear. 

You wonder what you look like right now. If only you could make a run for it, steal a glance at yourself through the reflection of the Fountain of Lucine and fix your hair.

An awkward weight lingers in the air when the idea of what is to come burdens everything you lay your eyes upon. Splatters of water cool your jitters and you spot a dog laying its head down on the elevated pavement; it barks at you and you suddenly lose all respect for that bundle of fur. “What disrespect!” you exclaim, and this earns a laugh from the Chief Justice. 

“It is harmless, dearest.”

“I know, you fool. It’s its bark that scrapes my ears like a blasted rake — can you imagine hearing that all because you simply exist?”

This did not take much imagination for him. Four centuries and critique after critique presents themselves as a well-versed routine, the familiar tune of disapproving echoing — not as strangers — but an old friend.

“I feel for your distress, and I suggest you take a vacation, if it helps to clear your head.”

You flash him a tired grin. “If my work wasn’t so merciless, I would consider it in a heartbeat. But alas, we all want what we can’t have. Take everyone in this country, for example ─ they’re oh-so passionate in pursuit of grandeur, but have nothing to show for themselves.”

Neuvillette brings his lips to your ear so you can hear him better. “An astute observation indeed — it seems to you that you see their own strength as hubris. Which is why, mon coeur, Lady Furina has twisted the strings of the people; but, tell me, do you reckon they are to react as Lady Furina intends?”

“I think people react in ways they wish; there is no specific formula for the ways of humans, as sad as that may be.” your implication at knowing of Neuvillette’s inability to conform to the habits of people shoots through him like a lance, but he isn’t able to discern whether you had meant for your choice of wording to hit home. 

A rumble has you lurching forward, but Neuvillette catches you by the arm. “Do you feel that?”

“It must be another leakage of the waters, but I do not sense that anything has taken effect.”

Applause and whistles seep through the doors of the Opera Epiclese, and both of your heads whip to the entrance. 

“The rest of them are coming. Put on your best show— show them your unwavering facade.”

You look at him, and for the first time since your mother laid limp on the marble floors of your home, you feel pure, unadulterated fear. “What if they find out, murder me, and drag me senseless into the dirt? Would I be known as a heroine, or reduced to a measly coward?”

Neuvillette wraps both his hands around the base of your forearms. “Regardless of the outcome, I shall bear the burden. This concerns both of us, and I am resolved to ensure that nothing unforeseen shall jeopardise you.”

Nodding, you level your gaze with his, and steel your feet against the ground, almost as if you would tip over had you left yourself weak and vulnerable.

“Do not take my next words into consideration, it is merely fabrication.” He glances to his right, and the first group of people come pouring out, chattering in loud bursts of laughter and debate. Reaching into his breast pocket, his hand comes away with a velvet box and he finally begins the first line of his script.

You do not process his words, because your vision becomes blurry and the familiar taste of poison almost rises up like bile in the back of your throat and you want to faint. The flash of cameras blind your sight and you see the hushed, curious murmurs of everyone that begins to crowd around the two of you like vultures to fresh prey.

“You are my confidant, my love. I wish for us to remain like we are, hopeless and entwined,” he kneels on one knee and holds the box between his hands, and opens it, a sapphire glistening amidst the blue moon.” So, mon coeur, will you take me as your husband?”

You summon a smile, albeit with effort, and laugh. “Yes!” The crowd erupts into another wave of shouts as he stands, holding your hand as he pushes the ring onto your finger, smiling. Gloved hands snake around your waist as leans in for a kiss, but instead, he is met with his lips against the apple of your cheek.

He does not realise his delay in reacting until the fountain erupts in a fluorescent flurry of purples and pinks.

a/n: guys. their relationship is DEVELOPING DONT WE LOVE SOME DEVELOPMENT I KNOW YOU DO

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun

#neuvillette fanfic #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette genshin #genshin impact #enemies to lovers #marriage of convenience #arranged marriage

[merakiui]

I badly need crumbs of the most dangerous game now aghhhh

I,,,, am so tempted to write more with those idiots. OTL or perhaps writing something from Jade's pov. Or something where Reader finally, finally realizes she's in love with him instead of veiling it with the lie of convenience. Slowly falling out of love with Floyd, only to be smacked in the face one day with her feelings for Jade. And she has this moment where she just freezes up and is like: Oh my Great Seven. I'm in love with Jade Leech. How did that happen?????

I just think they're so wonderful. <3 I want Reader to see Jade at his worst and still love and appreciate him in the same way he does to her when he sees her at her worst. And he'd be so irritating in their now established fwb. T_T doing all of these romantic gestures, only for Reader to insist it's just "part of the arrangement." ADeuce do not believe her for a second: "So he lent you his sweater because it's...what friends with benefits do?????" Can you even call it fwb if Jade's doing everything a boyfriend does—if you're waking up in his arms or falling asleep in his clothes?

AAAAAAA they're both so silly!!!! They drive each other crazy in the best ways. (˘ ˘ ˘)

#twisted chit chat #in other news i think i have an idea for the reader for floyb's fwb fic #if tmdg!darling loves so much then floyd's fwb!darling is scared of loving and being loved #so it's an arrangement of 'fwb is convenient because there aren't emotional attachments and i don't have to worry about love' #floyd's so stupidly whipped for you but he agrees anyway because he loves you too much #so even if it hurts him he's fine with it if it makes shrimpy happy >_<

[zukkaart]

Another unhinged Zukka fic idea

Arranged marriage trope, Ozai marries Zuko off to the prince of the southern water tribe to

a) strengthen ties after the end of the war

b) legally renounce Zukos inheritance of the throne bc he will be unable to produce an heir

Sokka tries to make the best of it but Zuko wants nothing to do with him and basically just says “stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”

Zuko overhears someone talking about how Sokkas ex-lover that broke his heart is coming on a diplomatic mission from the earth kingdom (Jet?)

Zuko finds Sokka cornered by this man from his past, and also finds himself facing a surge of primal instinct to protect him.

He calmly and casually struts up to Sokkas side, somehow still managing to look every inch the perfect poised heir-to-the-throne he was raised to be despite the thick polar clothes hindering his movement.

Zuko wraps an arm around the slightly shorter mans waist and places a chaste kiss where buzz cut meets wolf tail.

“Who are you?” The slightly disheveled looking man growls, jaw clamped down on a piece of wheat that hangs out the side of his mouth.

Zukos poised smile is replaced by a sharp frown as his gaze snaps from Sokka to the man in front of him.

If looks could kill- he probably would have burst into flame on the spot, and Zuko would surely try.

“I’m Sokkas husband. Who the fuck are you?”

I apologize for nothing

#adult zukka #zukka au #zuko #zuko x sokka #zukka incorrect quotes #zukka nation #zuko fanfic #sokka #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #avatar gaang #sokka avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #royalty trope #enemies to allies #enemies to lovers #I don’t love you I always will #Zukka fic idea

[bichenistraumatised]

Ok not only pride and prejudice WangXian au but also cherry magic WangXian au? OH MY GOD BLESS THAT AUTHOR😭 imma go tell them i love that they exist and i love that they write but what i love even more is our love for same things & same fictional characters.

Anygays here are the links:

cherry magic WangXian fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29801280/chapters/73315191

Pride and prejudice WangXian fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627946/chapters/59499331#workskin

WangXian arranged marriage or marriage of convenience fics: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44318413/chapters/111455245 https://archiveofourown.org/works/52102168/chapters/131774491 https://archiveofourown.org/works/38018548/chapters/94957630 https://archiveofourown.org/works/44485657/chapters/111892678

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #pride & prejudice #cherry magic #Fanfics #Ao3 #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mxtx mdzs #mxtx #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #Lan zhan #wei ying

[wangxianficrecs]

Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach by Khashana

Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach

by Khashana

T, 8k, Wangxian

Part of Wei Wuxian's Birthday Gift Exchange Oct 2022

Summary: “I am not looking for a husband,” says Lan Zhan. “I am a lesbian.” “I’m not a good match for anyone looking for a husband anyway,” says Wei Wuxian, yanking hard at a loose sleeve thread. “I’m, uh. A woman. Transgender.” In which Lan Zhan and Wei Ying enter into a marriage of convenience, try on dresses, watch Star Trek, and accidentally fall in love. Kay's comments: This story was so incredibly sweet and I enjoyed it a lot! There was a bit of angst that hit at the end, but got resolved very quickly. Apart from that, it's mostly so much yearning and pining and Wangxian falling in love in a marriage of convenience and gender euphoria and I love that for them. Excerpt: “So…” says Wei Wuxian finally. “Do you have any questions I can answer?” Lan Zhan considers the question. She already knows Wei Wuxian has a good career as a software engineer, high social status as the ward of the Jiangs, and no real health issues, courtesy of Uncle. “What do you enjoy doing as a hobby?” she asks. Wei Wuxian looks taken aback. “I play the flute,” she says eventually. “And I read a lot. Nonfiction mostly. I like learning new things.” Lan Zhan nods. “I enjoy poetry and romance novels,” she offers. “Not that this isn’t a worthwhile train of thought,” says Wei Wuxian, “but before I forget: what I actually meant was, do you have any questions about…” She makes a vague gesture at all of herself. “The trans thing?” Oh. Lan Zhan thinks about it.

pov lan wangji, modern setting, modern no powers, lesbian lan wangji/wei wuxian, trans female wei wuxian, arranged marriage, marriage of convenience, married lan wangji/wei wuxian, strangers to lovers, wifes to lovers, developing relationship, pining, mutual pining, gender euphoria, light angst, angst with a happy ending, domestic bliss, domestic fluff, moving in together

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #Wangxian #MDZS #Kay's Rec #February 2024 #Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach #Khashana #teen #short fic <15k #pov lan wangji #modern setting #modern no powers #lesbian lan wangji/wei wuxian #trans female wei wuxian #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #married lan wangji/wei wuxian #strangers to lovers #wifes to lovers #developing relationship #pining #mutual pining #gender euphoria #light angst #angst with a happy ending #domestic bliss #domestic fluff #moving in together

[punkpoemprose]

A Convenient Arrangement- Part 14

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating: M (Here’s where it gets a little spicy folks!) Length: 3254 Words   A/N: This is Day 3 of the 2022 Kristanna Advent Calendar! Beware the change in rating. 13 Chapters until adult content has to be a new record for me I think. 

Anna was close, so close he could practically feel her heartbeat.

It was dark now, and he wasn’t sure if it was the wine, the dancing, or her proximity that had him feeling so utterly intoxicated.

It had been a fun evening, and despite his protests, he’d allowed himself to be pulled from Anna’s side a few times throughout the revel that was still, despite their sneaking off, very much in swing despite the hour. He knew that the people of Arendelle, their people, had needed a celebration, a real public celebration, to feel content in the new Queen’s rule and in the marriage of their Princess, so he understood fully why it was continuing without them.

Now though, he couldn’t think about the reception line, or the dances he’d watched Anna enjoy without him, he could only think about the fact that she was pulling him towards her bed with her hair askew, her body against his as she kissed him and backed up toward the furniture in the semi-dark of her bedroom.

The stars and moon outside the large windows on the opposite wall were providing them with a soft and entirely too sultry light.

This wasn’t how he’d thought the night would be ending. Of course, he’d thought of nights ending in this way since the first night they’d been together. As soon as he’d seen her for the first time, up close and personal at their wedding, he’d already been attracted to her despite their situation. That first night on her bed he’d promised her that they never needed to be intimate, the whole time pleading with his lower half to behave because she’d been so scared of him and he’d been imagining a day where she, beautiful and feisty woman that she was, would want him.

And now she does.

“Anna,” he said, pulling half heartedly away from her kisses, “Anna, we can’t, you’ve been drinking…”

She shook her head and ducked down for another kiss, her mouth hungry on his.

My feisty princess.

“No, I’m not. I haven’t had a drink in hours, and neither have you, I made sure.”

Gods. He thought as she pressed herself somehow even closer to him, her hips somehow grinding into his despite her very full skirts. She’d been planning this.

When he thought about it, he knew that she was right. They’d been dancing and drinking all afternoon, but for the last few hours they’d been tiring and spending an increasing amount of time people watching and pulling away from the party.

“This is me saying yes,” she said with urgency, continuing to pull him towards her bed, “If you aren’t then we can just sleep, but Kristoff this is a yes, this is a thousand yesses.”

Just like that he was fully back to the night they met, when he’d told her that “just because you don’t say no, doesn’t mean you’re saying yes” and that when she said yes, he’d have to say yes too. God, despite how desperately he’d wanted her, he’d told her that it would take some time for him to be ready to say yes as well.

Has enough time passed? Is she really ready? Am I?

All signs pointed toward yes and he honestly could not imagine living another day without having her, fully and completely, unless her yes turned into a no. He remembered how thin and small and fragile she’d been on their wedding night, and now she was a wildfire, threatening to consume him if he let her.

I’d love nothing more.

He pressed on then, toward her bed, kissing her back and loving the way that her moan came unrestrained in a way that it hadn’t been able to in the hallway in the morning.

“Yes,” he said between hungry kisses, their want seemingly well matched, “I want this with you Anna. I’ve never… but yes, with you, yes.”

***

He all but tossed her back onto the bed as he pressed on with her, and God she loved it.

“We’re going to do this right,” he said quickly and Anna was certain that his cheeks were just as flushed as hers were when his fingers went to the laces of her gown.

She wasn’t sure what doing this “right” was, and she thought that while he likely had some more experience or at least knowledge in… these matters… than she did, she also was very certain that it was not much more. She also knew that she trusted him with all her being. He wouldn’t hurt her, he wouldn’t scare her, and even with the urgency of their current predicament, she could see the gentleness he brought to her undressing.

The bodice of her gown went first, then her overskirt, and the underskirts and petticoats and everything that made the shape of the dress and the shape of her body match. As he set everything aside, she worked at his buttons as best as she could manage from her position below him.

He was much less gentle with his own clothes, all but tearing them off as soon as her attention was focused on removing them. She was grateful to see no buttons or ties flying off them when they were both pared down to underthings. She liked him in those clothes. That she liked him even better out of them didn’t mean she wanted to see them damaged.

She’d seen him shirtless before, but there was something about it now, in this dim light knowing the purpose of their bareness made it feel new. He was muscled and yet soft, something she’d appreciated each night they’d spent together once she’d been brave enough to pillow her head on his chest. She took note now of the smattering of light hair running down his stomach from his navel to the place where his flesh became obscured by the waistband of his undergarment. The fabric was tented, and while she was far from an expert in sex, she knew that it was for her, because of her.

The air was just cool enough in her dark room to have her nipples hardening under the thin material of her chemise. She thought that she should probably care about how sweaty she had been from dancing. She thought that she should probably tell him that she needed a bath before they could reconvene, but as her eyes drifted back up his body from where they had been fixed, she couldn’t find it in her to care about anything other than the way his eyes were on hers and the sensation of her body reacting to the cool air and his warm hand on her hip.

“You can change your mind at any time,” he said, taking advantage of the pause between them, the air thick with possibility and the inevitability of what they were about to do despite his kind reminder.

“So if I do anything you don’t like,” he continued, “Or if you start to feel scared or uncomfortable or anything… Anna…”

She shushed him gently, not quite telling him to be quiet, but trying to relay that he wasn’t saying anything that she didn’t already understand.

“I trust you Kristoff, trust me to know what’s right for me,” she added, as she thought of it, “And you have to tell me what’s right for you too… I want this to be good for you… I want you to feel good.”

Her face felt like it was on fire, but her flush was more from anticipation than it was from anything like embarrassment. As best as she could tell in the dim light, he may be blushing as well, but she knew that neither of them were going to judge the other for any of the feelings they were having in the moment.

How good it feels just to feel without fear, to not have to censor myself.

He seemed to understand, taking her hand and guiding it between them as he leaned onto the mattress and held himself above her.

“You can touch me if you want…” he started, slowly moving her hand with his toward the fabric covered bulge she’d observed just moments before, moving so slowly as if he expected her to pull away at any moment.

She wouldn’t pull away. She wanted this, she wanted him too badly to even think about it.

“You have to tell me if I’m doing it right, I’ve never…”

“I know,” he said, “but God… Anna!”

She barely touched him, her fingers ghosting over his length, but the way he immediately reacted to her touch let her know that he, like her, wasn’t overly concerned with skillfulness tonight. He wanted her, she wanted him, and tonight they would just do their best to make the other feel good. They had many years ahead of them to worry about technique.

In response to her touch, he ducked his head down to her mouth and began pressing the most hot, longing kisses she’d ever experienced against her open mouth.

Not to be outdone, she stroked her fingers across his length again, this time wrapping her fingers around him experimentally and finding his groans of pleasure to be a great indicator of her success.

The hand that was not working at holding him above her, the one that had been guiding her, was evidently deciding that it would not be outdone. As he kissed her deeper, he worked at pushing up the hem of her chemise, and when his fingers brushed against the skin of her inner thigh she shivered.

He didn’t stop though, he just kissed her harder and she in kind returned his every advance. She kissed and stroked and as he did the same she parted her thighs for him until he brushed his fingers against her.

And she knew in that moment that even if this was the first night they spent together in this way, it would outweigh every single night where she’d brought herself to her own end.

***

He was grateful for the depth of their kiss, because the things his mouth would say if unoccupied were filthy and unfit for the ears of a princess. Perhaps though, his wife would enjoy hearing them, his feisty, beautiful wife who was rolling her hips into his hand as he touched her tentatively. He was absolutely on track to be undone by her before they even got close to the sex proper between the beautifully hungry way she was responding to him and the way she was growing ever more confident to stroking him through the fabric that separated them.

“Off,” she managed between their kisses.

He was amazed she had time to speak when he barely felt like he had time to breathe.

She was tugging on his underthings, but he decided first to pull away, for just a moment to remove her chemise.

She put up no resistance, and in fact leaned up for him to make removing the garment simpler.

She was breathtaking, always, but now entirely bare he wished that he had the lanterns lit so he could take in every detail of her in living color. In the dimness of the room, he could see the faintest trace of the freckles on her arms and shoulders and the soft tuft of curls that adorned the apex of her thighs, where he had just been and very much wanted to return touching her.  He would commit her nakedness to his memory, and he knew that while he hadn’t for months, he would never again think of a faceless woman when he touched himself. From this moment forward his every fantasy would be Anna, his Anna, naked and wanting and tugging on the fabric of his waistband demanding his nakedness in return.

He gave her what she wanted. He’d always give her anything she asked.

***

They’d both already been too close to bother with much more foreplay than the light touching and stripping they’d engaged in, and yet the actual sex was turning out to be achingly slow.

She’d thought that she’d be afraid. She had been on their wedding night, but now she just wanted him, trusted him, knowing that even if there was pain, he’d make up for it in giving her pleasure.

Of course, he had no such intention when it came to her discomfort, and as such she was pressed to the mattress, his hand on her hip keeping her from moving as he slicked himself with the wetness she could not manage to feel embarrassed about. Each pass of his cock against her entrance had her hips bucking, forcing him to press her down with firm pressure, which she had to admit had her feeling even more needy.

The things he was doing to her with just his mussed hair and dark eyes should be illegal for how intoxicated she was feeling, but she would be damned if she were to ever write up that law. In fact, the concept of doing anything with her mind ever again was nearly obliterated from her consciousness when he finally asked her, his voice deep and low, if he could press inside her.

“May I?”

“Oh God, yes! You may!”

He had the audacity to chuckle at her enthusiasm, and she may have held it against him if it weren’t for the gentle press of him inside her that had them both groaning.

It didn’t hurt. The first few times she’d touched herself she’d managed to make herself sore, overstretched by too much too fast, but Kristoff’s approach and likely her previous exploration of her own body had this feeling like nothing but pure pleasure.

She loved the sounds he made as he continued to press into her, aided by her hips shifting to meet him, only somewhat impeded by his hand pressing her into the mattress. He was cursing under his breath and she wished that she knew a few more appropriately naughty words herself because her heart raced with each and every movement and the feelings in her stomach were pleasantly electric when he bit back his moans.

“Gods, Anna…”

She bucked her hips up and he bottomed out. It was her fault that the stretch was a bit more uncomfortable now, forcing him to move faster, but she wanted it.

I want him. I want all of him, and I want him now.

The words hard and fast came to mind as well, but before she could even give them much thought, he was seemingly aware that she’d thought it.

“You have to tell me to stop if you want me to,” he said, pulling back a bit only to slide into her again with a groan, “because I don’t think I’m going to be able to if you don’t say so.”

His words were punctuated with more thrusts which she rolled her hips to meet with some success.

She moaned in response and when she met his eye, he didn’t stop moving in her but ducked his head down to kiss her.

His hair had long since freed itself from style, falling into his eyes as they kissed and if she thought that he’d looked amazing dressed up, it was nothing compared to watching him as he came apart for her.

She reached up to his shoulders and used him for leverage as she met his thrusts, trying and failing in trying not to dig her fingers into his skin. He didn’t seem to mind, capturing her mouth again for a kiss despite the awkwardness of it and swallowing her moans. The friction between them had her feeling closer to coming faster than she’d ever managed to bring herself to the edge before.

The orgasm blindsided her, as it barely had time to build before she just felt it roll through her like a thunderclap. He continued to make love to her through it, and she knew that if he continued for very much longer, it was only a testament to his will.

His thrusts grew more and more wild as she broke the kiss and moaned his name. She wasn’t positive of what all she was saying to him as he continued to thrust, she just rolled her hips and begged him to come.

I want to make him feel good. I want to watch him orgasm and know that it was for me… because of me. I need this, he needs this.

“Please,” she heard herself moan, “Please Kristoff.”

It may have been the most coherent she’d been in minutes, and whether that was what brought him to the edge, or the pleading sound in her voice, she wasn’t sure, but before she could repeat what she’d said, he’d pulled himself from her and she’d watched him over her lashes as he’d rubbed his hand over his length with fervor and spilled his warmth onto her stomach.

He'd come for her, cursing, and yet whispering her name like a prayer.

***

He’d cleaned his spend from her skin with cool water from the wash basin and she’d only laughed at the cold and squirmed. He’d been worried that it would have disgusted or upset her, but he wasn’t sure why he even thought to worry about something like that with Anna.

Her only question, with love and curiosity in her tone had been to ask him why he hadn’t come inside her.

It caught him fully off guard.

“Anna… I didn’t want … I mean I did want to, but… you do know that if I had then there was a chance…”

“I do know where babies come from Kristoff,” she said, her tone teasing and immediately melting his anxiety away.

“Well, we hadn’t talked about it so I didn’t want to put you in that position.”

She seemed thoughtful for a moment as he dried her stomach and pulled the covers over her. The room seemed to have grown far cooler than it had felt when they’d rushed in and stripped down and he wasn’t sure whether it was the cooling of sweat that had him feeling so, or if it had been cold and he hadn’t felt it in the moment.

“That’s kind,” she said, patting the bed beside her to beckon him down to the mattress, “I should expect that from you, to never force me into anything I don’t want.”

He nodded and was glad that she understood his intentions. He would do his very best, for as long as he may live, to never force her into anything, to never hurt her, to never put his needs before her own. Those were the vows he would have sworn to her if they had known each other that day.

“We can talk about it someday,” he said as he fell into bed beside her, “but tonight we’ll sleep and, in the morning, if anyone is brave or sober enough to come knocking on our door, we’ll pretend we can’t hear them.”

“Good,” she said with a tired laugh, “because I don’t plan on letting you leave this room until we do this at least twice more.”

Greedy. He thought with amusement, so he told her such.

The way she laughed and cuddled him close had him thinking that he’d let her keep him there for a fortnight if it were feasible.

They didn’t know that on the floor, in the pocket of his jacket, a small stone set in a simple band, glowed.

#a convenient arrangement #kristanna #kristanna advent 2022 #arranged marriage AU

[esther-dot]

We Will Be the Walls of this House 27k @tornadodream

"She stood firm, her clutch steady against his forearm. 'You are my brother.' 'No,' he said, and his voice was gravelly. 'No, I am no brother of yours, Sansa Stark.'" The war has taken much from both of them. But when Jon Snow returns from the south as the new Region-King of the North, Sansa Stark knows that the best way to secure Winterfell for the both of them is a marriage that neither of them want, but the marriage that they both know that they need.

To Be Alone With You 10k @methedras

If he willed it, Sansa would make a Stark of Jon. One way or another.

I'm Holding You Closer Than Most Because You Are My Heaven 8k by @sansaswolfbits

Perhaps she deserves more than a man who loves another woman, but it's him she wants, so she'll take whatever part of him she can have. She's grown used to pretending, how hard can it be?

want me to love you in moderation? well don't you know, i wish i could 8k by @sansaswolfbits

He had Winterfell and Sansa, and everything that should have been Robb's, or Bran's or Rickon's, and now hers, and he couldn't even allow himself to enjoy it. The guilt was eating him up, tearing away pieces of him every single day and keeping him up at night. All of his brothers—who had never been his true brothers—had died so that he could be Lord of Winterfell, so that he could use the girl he'd once called sister to take everything that was hers for his own. Even with Jon it was just her claim he needed. But at least to him, Winterfell was more than a keep and a title. He understood what her home meant to her. They shared the same memories and suffered the same losses. Jon cared for her, but he didn't love her the way a man should love his lady wife.

Finding Love in the Strangest Places 50k

The Rebellion didn't happen till Next Gen: Arya was engaged to Joffery and eloped/was kidnapped by Aegon. Robb and his father Brandon went down to King's Landing and Mad King Rhaegar killed them. Now Jon has to marry Robb's betrothed Sansa Tully. Sansa had a crush on Robb and now has to marry his sullen younger brother before he goes off to war.

The Northern Crown 2k by @hkafterdark

They were married in the Godswood as the snow fell around them.

The Quiet Balance of Wolves 12k by @sevensneakyfoxes

Regardless of what may or may not linger between them, he knows exactly the horrible position he is putting Sansa in: her home and freedom for another interloper in her bed. Jon cannot put her through it again. “My brother knew that the blood of dragons needed to flow in the North, and despite his misguided attempts at creating a lineage, I am starting to understand why. Wolves and dragons were meant to balance each other." Jon is thoroughly sick of prophecies; blood is blood - spilt, it looks the same red on snow. -- Daenerys and Jon make a deal. Jon barters poorly.

Seasons of Wine 1k by @geekprincess26

Sansa still drinks wine only when she has to. Every so often, as the world changes at a dizzying pace around her and her cousin Jon, she has to.

Say Your Vows Against My Skin 8k by @madamebaggio

Jon had married Sansa to protect the North. At least, that was what she thought. Sansa had married Jon to be protected. At least, that was he thought. Their marriage might have started for political reasons, but they love each other. Now if they'd could only say that to each other... Fortunately, one night makes them realize they might've been missing something significant about their relationship.

Duty, Desire, or Love 2k by @damdamfino

Sansa’s duty as Queen is to give the King an heir. But what if that is the only reason Jon is so gentle and caring to her? Would everything change if she told him she was with child? What if she wanted to pretend…for just a little longer.

What Grows in Winter 3k by @orangeflavoryawp

“There are too many years ahead to think of the years before.” - Jon and Sansa. Through the years of a harsh winter, they tend their love.

The Songs Never Mentioned the Scars 2k by @azulaahai

Sansa could hear how naïve it sounded even as she thought it, but the only thing she could think was - not Jon. Jon would never. Jon, her sweet Jon, who's first words to her after their wedding in the godswood had been that Ghost was her wolf now as much as his (which was so adorable and silly that Sansa never failed to smile when she thought about it), who knew exactly what it meant to grow up a bastard - would that man start visiting a brothel without explanation?

time goes by go and i can't control my mind (just keep breathin') 10k by @ladyalice101

“She’s grieving," Arya says, "I’ve never seen her like this and I don’t think she should be alone, but I - . . . have you ever seen her so sad?” Jon’s face has pulled down, the lines etched across it deeper than she’s ever seen them, and there’s a true sorrow in his eyes. “Once or twice,” he answers quietly. “You’re right, she shouldn’t be alone." - We have sad Sansa being comforted by Jon, we have arranged marriage, we have pining, we have feasts, we have bed sharing! This one is just chock full of tropes friends.

Take Me To Wife 1k

When the liege-lords and bannermen to House Stark find out that their king is not who they thought he was, a solution is suggested in the hope of restoring peace among his subjects.

All My Days 74k by @kit-kat21

The night before, as Sansa oversaw the packing of her trunks – her chamber at Winterfell being emptied of her possessions to take to her new home with her – she had asked her brother to describe her soon-to-be husband because Robb hadn’t even supplied a sketch of the man. “Well, he’s… pretty,” Robb decided after a moment’s contemplation. “Pretty?” Sansa’s eyebrows both raised at that.

Put Your Hands on My Waist, Do It Softly 1k by @kitten1618x

The Great War has ended, and Jon and Sansa have wed, but a marriage of convenience has evolved to so much more. As the frigid winter winds whip about outside the walls of Winterfell, Jon suggests something new to take the chill off, testing the boundaries of Sansa's trust in him.

tongue-tied disservice 9k by @ava-rosier

Jon and Sansa are wedded and bedded for the good of the realm.

Strange Bedfellows 7k

Married at Daenerys' behest, Sansa and Jon take a chance and open up to one another on their wedding night.

forbidden fruit's in season 13k by @bravegentlestrong

Jon and Sansa get married. For political reasons. And heir producing purposes. They only have sex this much for the good of the realm. There is a 0% chance they're secretly in love. Alternatively titled "Newsflash, asshole! I've been in love with you this entire goddamn time!"

Jon Snow's 5 Infallible Steps to a Successful Marriage 1k by @azulaahai

By mutual agreement, Jon and Sansa do not share the lord’s bedchamber.

Beasts of Seasons 69k incomplete

She had prepared her words and her actions meticulously.She hadn’t prepared to actually see him. Or, Jon and Sansa reunite and things don't go according to plan, forcing Sansa to reevaluate her identity and her loyalties and forcing Jon to come back to himself. Post-ADWD, bookverse fic. Jon and Sansa reunite on campaign to win back Winterfell.

i could offer you a warm embrace 10k by @amymel86

Of course he wants to keep his newly earned grotesque covered. He’s seen it in the looking glass; a sightless milk-white eye surrounded by angry puckered red scarring from brow to temple. Jon is not a vain man, but no one wants to witness their king’s weaknesses, least of all his wife who had once dreamt that her husband should be a beautiful, fair-haired prince. Well now you have a half-blind brother king.

Hard times for Dreamers 4k by @comma-spice (this was posted in 2014)

She shouldn't feel saddened by his outward lack of affection. Outside of their separate chambers Jon was a good, dutiful husband. He tried to see the logic behind her requests, agreeing on the importance of Bran sitting with them during the morning petitions, and riding out to Wintertown to visit the smallfolk. They rarely fought, and when they did an easy compromise was often found. More importantly he was kind, which was something she had long come to accept as impossible in a husband. Sansa is Bran's Regent and she starts to suspect perhaps she and her husband have built their marriage on a misunderstanding.

time's been kind to you, my love 23k orphaned

Sansa knows her loyalties lie with the Northern independence. Robb might have forgotten her, but she hasn’t forgotten him. Married to Tyrion, beaten by Joffrey- she’s never allowed herself to forget. Sansa has Stark engraved deep into her blood and bone. She’s been a quiet girl for long enough: wolves are protective of their own, after all, and it’s time she lived up to that.

[Aged up Jon and Sansa, set in an universe where, on Jon’s fourteenth birthday, Ned tells him his true parentage and Jon goes to Essos instead of the Wall; upon hearing of Sansa’s predicament in King’s Landing, he returns with an army.]

and I'm like falling water, set me free 2k by @aflashofgreen

Sansa resents these childish dreams of hers she can’t let go of despite the years. She resents them as much as she cherishes them.

From a Flicker to a Glow 8k by @dresupi

In retrospect, it was stupid to think Joffrey Baratheon had ever intended to propose marriage, but Sansa Stark is often blinded by wolves in sheep's clothing, especially if they have very fine wool. Jon arrives to save her, reminding her of the knights in the stories she enjoyed as a girl, complete with a white horse and all. But is he only offering to save her because she needs saving? If so, will that be enough foundation upon which to build a marriage?

but you're the one that i want; is that really so wrong? 4k orphaned

In light of the North’s demand for a marriage alliance, Jon and Sansa have some long-harbored matters to discuss.

Fill the Earth 6k by @darkmagyk

Arya Stark is a simple girl with simple desires: a prosperous North, a safe family, a large pack. And that her favorite brother and only sister would get on with the heir making business. She cannot have a niece until they are properly bedded. But as always, Jon and Sansa are being difficult.

And the Geese Are Headed North 13k by @yekoc

In the dark and honest part of her that Sansa is no longer afraid of, she had thought that Jon would die, and she was no sadder than she was relieved. In the months that she ruled Winterfell while the great war of men and wights waged around them, she felt herself growing into her power, sinking her roots back deep into the Northern soil. She enjoyed it, ruling. She was good at it. And at night, she had a wide bed and a door that locked and she was never cold. If Jon died in the war, she would miss him like she missed Robb and Rickon and Bran. She wouldn’t miss her husband. Seeing him now, she notes the absence of the relief and joy that marked her first glimpse of him at Castle Black. Instead, she feels a too-familiar grief: my brother is gone.

PRE CANON - WESTERN- FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

#jonsa #jonsa fic #political marriage au #arranged marriage au #marriage of convenience au #dot fic list #(salty teens and rhaegar wins AUs have such a distinct vibe I’m giving them their own lists)

[himeryu]

could i request an ayato and arranged marriage fic w a reader as clever as the man and a happy ending w requited love? im like. desperate to find more of these

Happily Ever After (Kamisato Ayato x Reader)

CH NOTES: established relationship, arranged marriage, mutual pining, misunderstandings (infidelity), kimono is mentioned (implied fem!reader), happy ending, fluff, slight angst (just a little though)

PAIRING: Ayato x reader

SUMMARY: Ayato x Fiance!Reader resolving misunderstandings in the most adorable way possible 

A/N: the joy I felt when I received this request,,, anyways here’s a fic!! who knows I might make a sequel.

. . . navigation masterlist

“C-can you repeat that for me, [Name]?” Ayaka stutters, her hands trembling. She tries to keep the smile on her face, but it doesn’t hide her uneasiness. She could not believe what she had just heard. You sigh at the youngest Kamisato, not wanting to repeat the words you just said. However, she is your dear friend– and future sister-in-law– so you’ll repeat for her.

Ayaka starts drinking her tea, waiting for you to speak. You look down at the teacup wrapped around your hand, “I think Ayato is having an affai–” “PFFFTT–”

You immediately look up to see the youngest Kamisato choking on her drink. Your eyes widen as you stand up, walking towards Ayaka who is sitting in front of you. “Ayaka, are you okay?!” You ask worriedly, handing out your handkerchief to her. 

She grabs your handkerchief and starts to wipe her mouth– her face beat red from embarrassment. “I apologize for… erm, that,” She replies nervously. You observe her closely, her face still red, and her gaze doesn’t meet yours. 

“Are you hiding something from me?” you frown. Ayaka immediately turns to face you, her eyes wide. “No, Of course not!” She denies, placing her hand on her chest, “I have nothing to hide from you.” 

You sigh as you run your fingers through your hair, sitting beside the youngest Kamisato. You look at her intensely, making Ayaka gulp slightly under your gaze– you’re serious, terrifyingly serious. The atmosphere in the drawing room tenses, “I think Ayato is having an affair,” you continue, “Do you know anything? Ayaka?” You question her, eyebrows furrowing as you look at her firmly. 

“I know nothing,” Ayaka replies unyieldingly, “if I did know anything, I would tell you immediately, [Name], I swear.” You and Ayaka stare intensely at each other, your gazes not wavering. Ayaka is nervous under your stare yet holds her ground. You then look away– breaking eye contact–, and the atmosphere around you softens, opting to believe the youngest Kamisato. Ayaka sighs in relief, knowing that you believe her. 

You start to calm down, your seriousness disappearing but not your suspicion. “[Name], may I ask, when did you start suspecting my brother?” Ayaka asks, you look at her determined expression. You give her a small smile– despite being his younger sister, she looks as if she’s willing to choose you over him. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you,”

Your suspicion started a week ago at Lady Hiiragi’s tea party. After the abolishment of the Vision hunt decree, Chisato Hiirago took over as the head of her clan. To celebrate, she hosted a tea party in her estate located in Ritou. As the fiance of the Yashiro Commissioner and her friend, you were undeniably invited to the tea party alongside your Fiance. 

On the day of the tea party, everything was going well until your Fiance excused himself– leaving the room. You didn’t mind, because you know very well that he dislikes gatherings. But after a while, he still hasn’t come back. Worried, you excused yourself from the tea party and started looking for your Fiance. 

As you were looking for him, you saw him talking with Lady Hayashi, an unmarried woman, who specializes in clothing. Out of instinct, you hide behind a nearby tree as you listen intently to their conversation. At first, it started casually, only exchanging pleasantries, until it changed. Your eyes narrowed as you continued to listen intently. 

“My lord, about that... Ehem, special request, it has been going smoothly.” Hiyashi smiles, “You can come over tomorrow.”

You freeze on the spot. ‘Special request? Come over? What is going on?’ you thought. You bite down your lower lip as your heart thumps out of your chest. You try to conceal your presence with the use of your vision, hoping none of the two would notice your presence. 

“I’ll be there,” Ayato replied– your heart sank. You place your hand over your chest as it continues to beat loudly. You watch as they bid each other goodbye, going their separate ways. You don’t know why you're feeling like this– horrible and unfamiliar. 

You walked back to the venue, feeling odd. You didn’t understand why it felt like everything came crashing down. The night went on, as usual, hoping that no one would notice your dampened mood behind the smile. As the night comes to an end, you are convinced that no one saw through your facade– after all, no one came to ask about your well-being. But you were unaware of the lilac-colored eyes looking at you in concern the entire night. 

As the only descendant of one of the most prestigious clans in all of Inazuma, you were immediately engaged to Kamisato Ayato at birth, and it did not bother you at all. Out of the other noble candidates, you were undeniably closest to the eldest Kamisato, so you were glad that it was Ayato.

From then on, you and Ayato spent each other’s childhood together. He was there at every significant event in your and vice versa. From winning your first sparring competition to you crying over a book Guuji Yae gave to you– Ayato was there all the time. And the more time you spent with him by your side, you slowly developed feelings for him– however, it took you a while to admit your feelings.

After all, it is a form of weakness. 

But you couldn’t help it– Kamisato Ayato is so easy to love. From his smile, ambition, flaws, and sense of fashion to his love of Boba, you fell in love with everything. So when you overheard that conversation, you were devastated. 

“So basically, you overheard my brother talking with Lady Hiyashi about a special request?” Ayaka asks, seeking confirmation. You nod as a reply.

“Maybe he just ordered some garments– hence he sought Lady Hiyashi,” Ayaka assumes, trying to ease out your ambitious suspicion. When you told Ayaka your suspicion, she could not believe it. After all, Kamisato Ayato is madly in love with you since he first laid his eyes on you! So having an affair is more unlikely than Diluc Ragnvindr reconciling with his brother! Not only that, Lady Hiyashi is lesbian, so there is no way she would have an affair with her brother. 

As much as she wants to tell you, she decides to stay quiet about it. (not because she finds this amusing of course).

“That’s what I first thought,” You announce, staring at your hand as you fidget your fingers, “but I have checked the ledgers, and there was no documented transaction between Lady Hiyashi and Ayato,” “I ‘asked’ around and for the past couple of weeks, Ayato has been meeting Lady Hiyashi.”

Ayaka continues to smile, despite knowing that you did not just ask around. Knowing you, you most likely ordered the elite ninjas in your family to get information between Ayato and Lady Hiyashi no matter what. 

Hearing footsteps approaching the room, Ayaka decided to graciously help her dear brother. Noticing a silhouette standing behind the Shoji, she decides to take this opportunity. Ayaka asks her distressed friend, “Are you perhaps in love with my brother, [Name]?” 

You freeze, blood rushing to your face as your cheeks shade red– heating it in the process. Your pupils shaking profusely and your ears reddening. You cover the lower half of your face with your hand, trying to avert your gaze from Ayaka, who is grinning at you. Ayaka glanced at the figure behind the shoji, then glanced back at you. 

“It’s just that,” Ayaka says, resting her face on her hand– tilting it– “Since you and my brother are in an arranged marriage I suspect that you wouldn’t care if he has a secret lover,” Your shoulder tenses up. “But seeing you distressed, I assume you care deeply for my brother more than a friend, isn’t that right?” 

You press your lips tightly, hesitant to answer Ayaka’s question. As mentioned, it took you ages to admit your love for Ayato, so admitting it out loud is further admitting that you love him. 

While you lost in your own thoughts, Ayaka once again glanced at the silhouette behind the shoji. Kamisato Ayato has always been a terrible hider. During her childhood, her brother would always play seeker because, in his words, he would rather play hunter than be hunted. 

“Yes…” You whisper, making only Ayaka hear. Ayaka smirks teasingly, “I’m sorry [Name] but I can’t hear you” 

You pout at the young Kamisato, who is looking at you with a teasing grin. You sigh then you speak, “Yes”, this time saying it much loudly. 

“Yes to what??” Ayaka smirks, your face turning redder than a ripe tomato. How annoying you playfully thought. You just want to wipe that grin off her face. You take a deep breath as Ayaka looks at you expectantly. 

“I love Kamisato Ayato!” You yell, Ayaka’s eyes widening at the volume of your voice. Her gaze goes back to back from your flustered face to the silhouette behind the shoji. She wasn’t expecting you to yell– but you did!

 “From his smile to his annoying attitude, I love it!” You look at Ayaka with hearts in your eyes. “[Name] are you alright-“

“The way he firmly commands his subordinates with an iron fist but then treats them well regardless of status,” You add, “I love it all!”

You have never told anyone of your undying love for the commissioner because you believe it to be a show of weakness. So you buried it deep within your heart for months, never expressing your love. 

It was painful not to express your love for Ayato. But you endured— well, not until now. 

You continue to sing of your love for Ayato, almost forgetting the fact you were distressed because of him. 

Ayaka just sits there and listens as you ramble about her brother, slowly regretting her choices. Ayaka turns to look at the shoji, she could just tell that the person behind the shoji is blushing so hard. Oh, how badly she just wants to see it. 

Then, an idea popped inside her head, and she smirks. “[Name], excuse me” Ayaka smiles at you as she stands up, you look at her curiously. “Are you going somewhere?” you ask her, who is now walking towards the door, slightly tilting your head to your side. 

You look at the shoji where Ayaka is walking, your eyes widen as you see a silhouette— a silhouette you are familiar with.

“Brother, it isn’t nice to eavesdrop on conversations, you know?” Ayaka sarcastically jokes, sliding the shoji door– revealing your flustered Fiance holding a wrapped present. You cover your mouth as you blush profusely, slowly realizing what has just occurred. 

Ayaka grins at the sight of two love-sick idiots. “I’ll leave you two here. I need to ask Thoma to bring in more Dango!” Ayaka nonchalantly says as she leaves the room, leaving both of you here.

 

“Hey,” Ayato nervously greets you, shutting the door behind him and then walking towards you. You look down, not wanting to face him after your outburst. “Don’t look down,” he whispers as he continues to walk toward you. You tense up at the tone of his voice– firm. You continue to look down, his shadow swallowing your figure. 

Your eyes widen as he holds onto your chin, slowly tilting it up, making you face your Fiance. You gasp at the sight; Ayato looks down at you with a grin on his face– his cheeks still red.

“Didn’t you say you like my eyes?” He teases, slowly leaning forward– making you tense up, “So don’t look away.” Your cheeks heat up as you both get lost in each other’s eyes. You’re mesmerized, not wanting to look away from his eyes. Though he has an arrogant expression, his gaze is so soft, gentle, and full of love, making your heart skip a beat.

The more you two get mesmerized in each other’s eyes, the more Ayato loses his cool. Kamisato has always been a great actor, knowing how to conceal his emotions when needed, he just can’t do it in front of you. Slowly, Ayato’s facade starts to crumble apart as his cheeks heat up, making him blush hard– again. His smug smirk turns into a soft smile. You continue to stare at him in daze as he removes his hold onto your chin and then sits down next to you. 

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, “It appears that I can’t stay calm around you.” 

“Did you hear everything?” You ask as you both maintain eye contact. Ayato reddens, “Yes,” 

“As in, everything?” 

“Do you want me to repeat everything you said?” 

“No!” You immediately refute, your eyes wide. Silence befalls you two until you both burst out laughing. You both smile at each other after your laughing fit. Then Ayato grabs your hand, intertwining it with his– making you blush, even more, you didn’t even think it was possible to blush this hard. “I got you something,” Ayato says, grabbing the wrapped present with his other hand.

“This is?” You look at the beautifully wrapped present. You swore you’d seen this wrapping from somewhere. “Open it,” Ayato suggests; you look up at him and then back to the present. You let go of Ayato’s hand as you grab the present and then unwrapping it. 

“A box?” You mutter to yourself. With both of your hands, you lift the box, eyes widening as you look at the present– it’s a kimono. “This is!” You remove the kimono from the box as you admire the design.

“It’s beautiful,” You praise, your excited eyes not leaving the blue-colored kimono. “I designed it, just for you,” He grins. Upon hearing his remark, your excited eyes turn to look at him, startling him. “It’s gorgeous!!” you exclaim. 

As you continue admiring the Kimono; you notice how the color matches Ayato’s clothes, the golden embroideries, and the lily pattern. “It is beautiful,” You say, turning your head to face him “so beautiful,” you smile widely at him. Ayato’s eyes widen at the sight, his heart skipping a beat as he continues to admire your smile– he’s captivated. Compared to his design, your smile is much more beautiful. 

He smiles back at you, “it took me weeks to design this,” he says as he holds onto the silk of the Kimono, “And then I had to request Lady Hiyashi to bring the design to life.” You tense up, your excitement slowly disappearing at the mention of her name. You then recall the reason why you are in the Kamisato estate in the first place. Ayato notices your sudden change in mood, and concerned, he speaks “[Name] are you alright-”

“What is your relationship with Lady Hiyashi?” You interrupt him as your expression darkens. His eyes widened at the question, “Excuse me?”

“A few days ago I saw you and Lady Hiyashi talking about a special request and–”

“[Name], are you assuming that I and Lady Hiyashi are having an affair?” Ayato interrupts, and you nod in response. The next moment, Ayato’s laughter fills the room. Your face flushed in embarrassment as you stare at the eldest Kamisato in disbelief– is he mocking you?!

“Are you mocking me, Kamisato Ayato?” You snap, eyes narrowing, as Ayato starts to wipe his tears of laughter.

“Dear,” He says in between his laughter, “Lady Hiyashi is lesbian and is in a 5-year relationship with her childhood sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen at the newly founded information. You immediately turn to look away from Ayato from embarrassment as he continues to laugh at your remark. “Though,” Ayato grins teasingly, “To think that you love me to the point you’d get jealous, I’m honored.”

You refuse to meet his eyes– dying from embarrassment– just a while ago you were suspecting that he might be in an affair. You internally cursed at yourself for jumping to conclusions, you even told Ayaka for Archon’s sake! “If I tell you about me, will you finally look at me in the eyes?” He whispers, your ears perk up in curiosity– something about Ayato?

“Maybe,” You mutter in reply, Ayato smiles.

“Did you know I’ve been madly in love with you since childhood?” Your eyes widen, “You were always so unique as a child, so clever yet you always listen to your heart than mind,” He grins, “Just like now.” 

Ever since Ayato was a child, he gave away his heart to you like he was just passing toys, regardless of the advice of his peers. ‘As the heir to the Kamisato clan, you must never give your heart away so easily’ they would say, ‘it is a form of weakness. He would always take the wise words of his peers seriously– after all, knowledge is important. Yet he easily threw it all away when it comes to you. He easily gave you his world, despite knowing you could break it all in a heartbeat. 

He knows how closed your heart is, after all, you too received the same advice. The only difference between you and Ayato is that you took it to heart. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper softly, still refusing to meet his eyes in shame. Ayato looks at you almost as if his world is about to crumble apart. “I only started developing feelings for you 6 months ago,” You add.

Ayato’s jaw drops at your comment, and then you both hear an outburst of laughter coming behind the shoji door. You and Ayato turn to the door as it slides open, revealing Ayaka laughing her heart out, and Thoma trying to suppress his laughter while holding a plate of Dango.

BONUS: [Name]: So why have you been meeting with Lady Hiyashi? Ayato (held at gunpoint): It’s because we need to talk about the designs [Name]: Why secretly? Ayato: I wanted to surprise you, hence the unrecorded ledgers [Name]: Why special request then? Ayato: it’s because i’m the yashiro commissioner which is why every request i make is special??????

A/N: im so sorry i have no idea how to make reader as someone as clever as the man I just like this idea akjsdjhfak also this is my longest fic slay

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato #ayato x you #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin ayato #ayato kamisato #ayato angst #ayato fluff #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #ayato x gender neutral reader #misunderstandings #mutual pining #requited love #comedy #angst #fluff #ayato arranged marriage #ayato childhood friends #happy ending #ayato happy ending #ayato fanfic

[thepenultimateword]

Ooh any prompts for hero x villain marriages of convenience?

CW: Some of these involve a forced relationship and could be toxic depending on how it’s written and the intentions of the characters.

1. When Supervillain takes over the city, Hero can’t risk seeming like a threat, so they lure their old nemesis, Villain, into a marriage proposal to get closer to Supervillain’s inner circle.

2. Villain and Hero are both tired of being ridiculed for their eternal singleness thanks to their jobs. One breakdown and marriage ceremony later, they can finally rub it in everyone’s faces that they’re not alone anymore.

3. When tensions in the city rise to dangerous proportions, Hero and Villain agree something must be done to bring peace. As the heads of their organizations, they decide marriage is the quickest and most symbolic bridge they can build between their teams before they rip each other apart.

4. Hero needs financial support and Villain needs a better civilian cover for their villain identity. They’re a match made in…convenience.

5. Hero isn’t exactly friends with villain, but they don’t want them dead either. So when the agency puts a kill order on Villain’s villain persona, they allow them to temporarily crash at their place. But when their colleagues unexpectedly show up they both panic and up lying that they are Hero’s fiancé. Now they’re goinf through with the wedding for the sake of Hero’s honor and Villain’s survival.

6. (A classic) Villain/Supervillain has the means to take over or destroy the city. They will only stand down if Hero agrees to marry them.

7. (Not so classic) Hero has the power to kill/destroy the lives of Villain’s criminal team unless the agree to surrender and marry them.

8. Villain has a dangerous ex who wants to get back together. When Villain panics about what to do, Hero suggests getting married and annulling it later once Villain feels safe.

9. Villain and Hero temporarily team up for the greater good, and go undercover as a married couple. Worried that people might investigate the legitimacy of their relationship, they get married for real.

10. Hero and Villain have had long but not very lucrative careers in their respective roles. They can only afford retirement it if they put their money together, and they figure getting married will simplify the whole thing.

11. When Hero/Villain is going to be forced into marriage, their nemesis offers to step in and marry them instead. Hero/Villain figures anyone is better than their current option and agrees.

12. Villain/Hero accidentally proposes to their nemesis and now they don’t have the heart to tell them it was a misunderstanding. Married life is actually kind of nice.

#marriage of convenience #arranged marriages are coming #heroes and villains #hero x villain #heroes and villains community #creative writing #prompt #short prompt #writing prompt #villain #hero #prompt list #pen’s prompts

[boundinparchment]

Blasphemous Rumors - III

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.  Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year.  A marriage of convenience.  Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality.  Slow-ish burn.  Semi-enemies to lovers. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

You ran your finger over the small bandage you pressed to your cheek in the dorm’s bathroom mirror earlier that morning as the elevator climbed to your office floor.  The elevator was crowded and you hadn’t been able to escape the sideways glances and whispered questions since you rolled out of bed. 

It was impossible to ignore the speculation around you about how you worked late, how Lord Harbinger Dottore returned as you requested, that no one could ever get him out of his lab that easily.  Another rumor circulated that it wasn’t your office he came to, but your dorm room, and several others claimed to have seen him leaving in the early hours.  The implications were enough to make your skin crawl and you had to literally bite your tongue to keep from screaming.  A reaction would only verify such lies, nevermind ruin everything you worked so hard to build thus far when it came to a persona no one second-guessed.

A dorm without a roommate was coveted, earned, and the privacy afforded was as precious as your own office.  

Attention was the last thing you wanted, let alone needed, but if you played this right, everything would smooth itself out again.

You settled in for the morning, following your routine, only venturing out to the common areas for coffee and to show your face.  No hiding, you reminded yourself.  Anything out of the ordinary (anything more out of the ordinary, rather) was liable to be considered suspicious.  Would it have been easier to decline the offer entirely, you wondered.  As far as you were concerned, the only thing that changed was your potential marital status and availability of sensitive information.

As you walked into your office, you noticed an envelope in the middle of your stationary blotter, light blue with the Tsaritsa’s unmistakable seal.

Lord Dottore had said he would speak with the Archon and notify her.  You hadn’t anticipated such a move so quickly.  In fact, you’d expected a proper audience precisely because of his wording.

You broke the seal gently and opened the envelope, eyes scanning looping letters that never once broke their flow.  The Tsaritsa passed on her congratulations and that She was unaware someone was capable of thawing her doctor’s heart.  A formal audience was scheduled for that afternoon; so much for a lunch break.  

The letter made your hands tremble more than you expected.  Even though you weren’t an allogene, you knew no other Archon, no other authority.  As a native Snezhnayan, you walked a fine line between respect and knowing the people suffered greatly because of the Tsaritsa’s focus on a larger picture.  

Before you had a chance to jot down the time on your calendar, your boss rapped his knuckles on your open door.  A jolt ran through you, your thoughts snapping, and you wished you hadn’t reacted to his interruption.  The last thing you wanted Regrator to know was that your head wasn’t entirely present.

Lord Pantalone wore a smile as sickening as the one he used to tell your parents in no uncertain terms that there would be no negotiations.  It took everything in your to not crumble the Tsaritsa’s note.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Pantalone remarked, his eyes drifting to your hands.  “I see Her Most Noble Majesty has already sent hers.”

“I have an audience on my lunch break.  I’ll stay late if it runs over, sir.”

He dragged his eyes away from your hands to meet your eyes, looking almost jovial, well-meaning.

“It would be bad form to have you make up time when the Tsaritsa wishes to see you over such an important matter.  Lord Dottore is loyal as long as one knows how to hold his leash.  No doubt the Tsaritsa can give you some pointers.  Whatever is decided, please be sure to forward all bills to my office directly; I will take care of expenses.”

He sounded so kind.  As if this was actually important to you.  And it was, you supposed.  It meant access to more information, more resources, better pay in exchange for both of those to advance plans you would never see, and therefore more money to get your parents through the winter.

Did he know you agreed to Dottore’s proposal? You wondered as you dragged your nail across the fold in the Tsaritsa’s card, flattening the seam.  

The two men were close, or at least as close as two colleagues in such an environment could be.  No doubt, Lord Pantalone, and perhaps the rest of the Harbingers as well, knew of your new status.

His eyes lingered on your hands again but he wasn’t curious about the paper; you hadn’t exactly hidden the words from him despite playing with the paper.  Lord Pantalone turned to leave and then paused, as if contemplating on something, before he looked at you over his shoulder.

“You may want to discuss the matter of your empty finger, my dear, if you are, in fact, to marry above your station.  How ridiculous that someone so smart needs to be reminded of what’s proper.”

You pulled your hands off of the top of your desk and placed them in your lap, the paper still pressed between your fingers.  Heat flared across your face.  

Such an obvious hole in this plan already, noticed by the very man who put you in this position to begin with.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

When you arrived for your audience, you were instead taken away from the throne room and towards a sitting room in a solarium that looked as though everything was made out of crystal.  The floor glistened and the windows let in so much light that you found yourself tugging at your collar, the room a little warmer than the rest of the Palace.  The Tsaritsa was perched on a chair, a tea set and several offerings of finger foods on a table beside her, one seat left vacant, likely intended for you.

You bowed low at the waist and pressed a hand over your heart, only rising when you were commanded to.

She was ethereal, your Archon.  Pale hair that turned the same blue as freshly fallen snow in the rising dawn, piercing eyes as cold as ice; she wore a military uniform but she carried herself with such grace and poise that she may as well have been wearing gossamer.  Across her left breast, a red sash with a blue crystal star, denoting her station along with a small kokoshnik on her head.

Her smile was warm, kind, two things you never saw cross Lord Pantalone’s face, as she offered you tea and asked for you to help yourself.  You reminded yourself not to get too comfortable.  She was still your leader, still the one you were, in the end, betraying.  

“I am quite surprised that anyone was capable of catching Lord Dottore’s attention in such a fashion,” the Tsaritsa began.  “When he came to speak with me last night, I couldn’t help but wonder about the kind of person who could incite such fascination for my Doctor.”

You tried to keep your face in its usual impassive expression and to keep your eyebrows from furling too tight and your fingers loose enough to look natural.  

It was easy to survive Lord Pantalone’s scrutiny.

The Tsaritsa was a different story.

“What did he tell you of me, moya Tsaritsa?  Only good things, I hope,” you replied, tone even and polite.  

“That you are one of the only rational minds in your entire department, always looking out for his best interest in ways that, even if he challenged them, still made sense in the grand scheme.  He is no stranger to pushing boundaries to obtain results but those that push him too much in return often end up…useless.  Putting a Harbinger’s interest before your own is a selfless act that many are unfit to carry out but it is one you pride yourself on, from my understanding.”

“It would be a waste of time to do anything else, moya tsaritsa.  I would do the same regardless of who I was assigned to in my department.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.  Dottore is passionately rational, even cold, at most times.  Quite a marked difference than when he first arrived at my feet.  That someone managed to hold his attention long enough for marriage is quite a feat.  You have my thanks for bringing a spark of life back into him.”

You hadn’t done anything, you wanted to protest.  The Second was merely driven by the idea of having unlimited funding and a strange new experiment no one ever humored him with before.  

Instead, you took another bite of a sandwich half, the crusts perfectly trimmed.  Quietly, your stomach protested, longing for more.  You’d skipped breakfast, after all, and your budget was thin until your next paycheck.  Nothing new, admittedly.

At least you wouldn’t have to pretend to be watching your figure.

“Lord Dottore has his moments,” you said after a beat.  “I am only glad to be a source of inspiration for him.”

Approval glimmered across the Tsaritsa’s face and you felt your heart pull, as if it was snagged on something in your chest.  You’d passed her test.  But what would she think of you in a year, in ten years, whenever you gave up the farce Dottore was playing at?

If, or perhaps when, someone finally stepped in and demanded she take better care of her people?

You took a sip of your tea, still warm and sweet, in an attempt to hide your mouth for a moment.  There was a reason you were an information agent and not closer to the action, not an outright spy in the traditional, social sense.  

“Whatever date you decide will be a public holiday in order for the rest of the city to attend.  It is not every day that my Harbingers commit themselves to another outside of their duties.  As the Second’s Wife, you are due the respect of the people.”

“Thank you for your generosity and foresight, moya Tsaritsa.”

You remembered a time when your mother would smile like that, eyes crinkled and mouth curved in genuine happiness.  How long had it been since you’d seen her do anything but cry?

And you would likely never see such an expression, not even at your own wedding.  Not that you ever dreamed about it, or even thought you would marry.  But the one marriage your parents would be alive for (even if they couldn’t witness it), and it would be…

Something stung your eyes and before you could wipe them, a cold finger reached out and brushed away the tear that threatened to sear your cheek.  There could be no cracks in your facade, you reminded yourself, no room for such silly thoughts.  Even if this wasn’t about love, per se, this was meant to be joyous.  Tears now meant foundational problems for others, including an Archon, to exploit.  And you didn’t need anyone nosing around.

Bad enough you had to end up with Lord Dottore as a co-conspirator.  Couldn’t you have had such an agreement with someone far less perceptive?

“It is normal to be apprehensive,” the Tsaritsa said softly.  “In this world, we are given so little.  Happiness is fleeting, as is life itself.  It is why we must take what we can and enjoy it while it lasts.  Your Harbinger knows this better than anyone and that he is willing to partner with you in spite of that…should speak volumes of his dedication to you.”

Dedication, not love.

At least the God of Love saw the arrangement for what it was, you thought tersely.

“You will do well, my dear.  That you feel that fear tells me that you are very willing to succeed at whatever cost you must pay.  The two of you will do quite well together.”

The hand retreated and moved to the teapot between you, topping off both matching ups.

“Now, the two of you have a lot to discuss, I am certain.  But tell me, have you given any thought to your vision of the day?”

The way she shifted from one topic to another without so much as batting an eye was unparalleled.  You should have expected nothing less from the Cryo Archon, as cold as Her element.  She held no love for her people, not anymore, although your skin still felt as though it was kissed by a winter wind.

You stayed until the tea was tepid and the platters were all but empty; so much for a brief lunch break.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Briefly, you wondered if you were going mad.

Surely not.

But then again, you’d agreed to marry one of the highest ranking Harbingers, bested only by The Captain.

You had to at least be a bit touched to consider passing through these doors.  No one, not even those that worked within its confines, wanted to cross this threshold.  Haeresys was not a place for the faint of heart, not even for the desperate and downtrodden.  More often than not, it was a one-way-trip to a vivisection table (and that was if you were lucky to not survive the first round of experiments Dottore thought might prove useful).

You knew enough from the budget summaries.

But you couldn’t always rely on Lord Dottore to come to you.  It was not only rude but it showed a lack of commitment on your part.  Your schedule was far more forgiving than that of a Harbinger’s, for one, not to mention it would not look very convincing if you were not occasionally seen visiting your fiance in return.  

Besides, maybe you would glean something useful from the trip, you reasoned as you pushed one side of the imposing double doors open.  

The stories of the place were accurate enough; dark corners, stone walls, questionable stains every so often (although most of them were the distinct reddish brown of dried blood).  It was late in the evening, well past dinner time, and the remaining assistants kept their distance.  At most, they bowed and directed you to the last location they knew their boss was located.  More than once, you were directed in a circle.  In their defense, you understood how, at first glance, one might mistake Omega for Dottore himself.

Eventually, you came across the Segment you knew, the one who laughed too easily with a bright pink bowtie.

“You’re not here for an audit, are you?  The last unfortunate sod who undertook that task blew his head right off when he saw the archival room.”

He grinned viciously and you felt your skin crawl.  You never could get used to that smile, all teeth and no heart, as sharp as the scalpel in his hand.  Every time you had to deal with him made you more thankful for the older Segments, for Lord Dottore himself.

“I’m here to see Lord Dottore.  I have matters to discuss with only him.”

“But I am—oh, you’re the one he chose, aren’t you?”

You swore his smile grew wider, although it was hard to tell under his three-quarters-mask.  Were Lord Dottore’s eyes as red as the ones before you?  Were they even red at all?

“Perceptive of you, sir.”

When he realized he wasn’t going to get a reaction out of you, his shoulders deflated slightly and his smile disappeared.  You swore he muttered, “Buzzkill,” under his breath.

Louder, he said, “This way,” and gestured for you to follow him with a glove you only just realized from stained red with fresh blood.

The Segment brought you to a set of double doors and pounded a fist against the wood, the corner of his mouth set into a frown.  When Lord Dottore’s voice came from inside, muffled and seemingly just as annoyed as the man before you, the Segment opened the door and pushed you inside.  You stumbled but caught yourself quickly, finding your balance just as a masked head shot up to assess the situation.

“Your fiance, Prime,” the Segment announced before he slammed the door shut.

Lord Dottore watched you for a moment, his head turned in your direction before he resumed whatever he was working on.  

“You could have sent a courier.  There is little point in you trekking all the way down here,” he said by way of greeting.

“It’s nice to see you too, sir.”

The sound of a pen scratching against paper filled the room and you gazed around, eyes falling on the wall of stock shelves across from you, jars upon jars of bits and organs, haphazard stacks of books, and artifacts that Lord Pantalone was likely looking for.  Cluttered wasn’t the word that came to mind but you could see how some might call it such.  It was clean, free of dust, everything labeled and organized.  

“What brings you down here, Accountant?  I did not take you for a woman foolish enough to enter the wolf’s maw willingly.”

An answer you wish you had.  A strange notion crept up on you after your audience with the Tsaritsa, one you couldn’t put into words, and struggled even harder to put into quantifiable values.  You had run the numbers in your head, the risks and the benefits, and were unable to come to any other conclusion than the one before you.  Not that you would go back on your word; you weren’t that hungry for death.  

Rather, you were likely not going to live a long, prosperous life.  Most did not in Snezhnaya, not without stepping on a few heads and becoming ruthless in the process.  Throw in the gamble you made long enough to smuggle information out of the Fatui and you were destined to die all but three hundred feet from where you were born.

As such, this wedding was likely the only one you were going to have.

And it was fake.

Worthless.

You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter and that you might as well derive what joy you could from such circumstances.  But the Tsaritsa had done nothing but scramble your thoughts earlier in the afternoon and facing your own mortality as both a Fatuus and as a hidden agent was not doing your mind any good.

“I met with the Tsaritsa this afternoon,” you said, tilting your head as you examined a series of books.  

You remembered the budget several years ago that mentioned these books and the name stuck in your head ever since.  The spines were cracked.

“Presumably it went well, otherwise you would not be here interrupting my work,” Dottore replied, his words tight.  “I explicitly told you I will leave most of the planning to you.  No doubt she has expectations on the whole affair.”

“Whatever date we decide, she intends to make it a public holiday.”

You heard a sigh and then the click of a pen cap sliding home and turned your head to watch him fling the pen onto the surface of his desk.  

“I do not care for the pomp and circus that the Tsaritsa demands, hence why I do not wish to be part of the process.  But for the sake of appearances, everything must look genuine and therefore require compliance on both of our parts.  Pick whatever date you wish.  I would prefer to simply get this over with.”

Lord Dottore brought a hand to his jaw and rubbed the joint as he silently moved his mouth for a moment.  His shoulders were straight, perhaps too straight, and he looked as if he spent the better part of the day (and even more than) toiling away at whatever he was working on.

“You are usually not this quiet when you have something to say, Accountant.  My patience is thin.  Don’t make me mark your other cheek.”

You preferred to not have to go into work with another bandage on your face.  Not that anyone would be surprised, you supposed.

Business terms, you reminded yourself.  If you broke it down into smaller parts that felt more like a negotiation, perhaps it would be easier to get the words out.  The last thing you wanted to do was admit that you would have liked to be doing this for more than just the whim of another’s circumstances, than the benefits it would bring you.

You felt eyes burning through you and you glanced out of the corner of your eye to see Dottore staring at you, or so you presumed, his hand still massaging his jaw.

“I would like to at least put in some kind of effort, as this is likely the only wedding I’m ever going to have; Fatuus don’t exactly have a long lifespan, even those in the Palace.  But I do not wish to misrepresent you,” you said at last, returning your gaze to the shelf in front of you.  “Nor do you a disservice in any way.”

It took everything in you not to laugh at your choice of words, at the consideration you were taking for a Fatui Harbinger.  Bad enough your family was indebted to Northland Bank, worse still to turn to the Fatui for employment, never without the reminder of what little stood between you and your family’s destitution.

“You’re intimately familiar with my finances, Accountant.  Just don’t short other budgets.”

“Lord Regrator offered to cover everything himself,” you replied.

“Of course he did.”

“And I need an engagement ring if you’re so intent on making this facade seem real.  People know, after all.  There are expectations when people look at me now.”

You hadn’t meant for it to come out as selfish as it did.  Bad enough you admitted your thoughts so openly to a man who would, no doubt, seek to exploit whatever weakness sat beneath them.

“I take it Regrator said something about that too,” Dottore muttered before shifting his jaw side to side and then shutting it.

You could only nod, fingers hovering over the wooden shelf, perched without anywhere else to really put them.  Lord Dottore didn’t say anything else, instead slowly circling around his desk and crossing the distance towards you.  It wasn’t until he was in front of you and he had taken your chin in his hand that you became acutely aware of his presence.  Once again, the mask covering his eyes hovered dangerously close to your own nose.  You were convinced he might poke your eye out one day and perhaps it might not be an accident.

He was warmer than you expected and although the chill of the entire laboratory never left, you felt yourself instinctively drawn to the heat he provided.  

“I asked you because your eye for detail has been beneficial over the years.  I need someone who can think at the level required of my rank, to consider all details and angles and outcomes.  Do as you wish, paint the image the Tsaritsa and the others need to see.  I will act accordingly but work with a Segment on everything else.  I do not have the time to waste on such trivialities.”

Then why agree to get married at all? You wanted to ask.  Is the headache of all of this truly worth unlimited funding?

It must have seemed that way, at least for him.

Dottore let go of your face and reached towards the shelf nearest you, pulling a book free.  He considered it for a moment before he looked back towards you, mouth set in a thin line.

“If there was nothing else, Accountant?”

You knew a dismissal when you heard one.  You stepped away from the shelf, from him, and bowed for a moment.

“No, sir.  Goodnight.”

Without another word, you made your way to the door, your eyes catching on the form of his back before you left his study.  The door was heavier than you expected and it shut with a resounding and final rumble and click of the latch sliding home.

You couldn’t wait for this to be done and over with.

#fic: blasphemous rumors #dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x female reader #dottore x female reader #arranged marriaged #marriage of convenience