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jojosbizarrefanfics · 2 years

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Old Flame - Balthus von Albrecht x Reader 🍋

I am down so unbelievably bad for Balthus, what a man 🥵🥵🥵🥵

Includes: hickies, so much dirty talk, size kink, begging, overstimulation, praise kink if you squint

You sighed as you finished wrapping the bandage around Byleth’s arm. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I am.” His delivery was so flat that you had no choice but to believe him, even though he always spoke like that. “It’s worse than it looks. Manuela’s taught you well, though. This should heal in no time. Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course. That’s what I’m here for. How’d you and the house leaders get all scuffed up, anyway?”

“We had business in Abyss.”

You suspected the only reason Byleth was telling you this was because you were alone. Manuela was chatting with Claude outside, Dimitri and Edelgard had already left.

“Abyss, huh? I’ve heard rumors but wasn’t sure it existed.”

“I’m going to start looking after them down there. Their previous caretaker… he didn’t work out.”

“That’s very kind of you. Let me know if you need any help. I’m sure a lot of people down there could use some fresh medicines, especially if they’re not getting enough sunlight.”

“I would hate to impose.”

“Oh, nonsense. I’m Manuela’s assistant, after all! Beneath the monastery still counts as the monastery as far as I’m concerned, and I’d hardly be doing my job if I turned a blind eye.”

Byleth offered you a sheepish smile. It was so forced that anyone would have been able to tell. “Don’t you come from a noble family? They’ll eat you alive down there.”

“While that may be true,” you said as you placed your hands on your hips, “an… old friend of mine taught me how to properly throw a punch. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Old friend, huh? You’re sounding more like Manuela by the minute.”

You laughed. “She and I have lamented about old flames many times. You, however, don’t strike me as the type to be interested in such idle chatter. Let me know next time you go down there, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.”

He was good on his word. You gathered up a variety of medicines and fresh bandages. You didn’t tell Manuela why, but you did get her help crafting a supplement out of fruits in the greenhouse to help those beneath the surface make up for their lack of sunlight and fresh air.

When Byleth brought you down, he introduced you to the guard by the entrance first, who eyed you up and down suspiciously before telling Byleth he’d allow it.

As you made your way through Abyss, sharing fruits and medicines with those who needed it, Byleth leaned in to whisper, “I’m surprised. Everyone’s taking well to you.”

“Of course they are. No one’s going to be mean to the lady with free food, now are they?”

Byleth chuckled as he brought you down a long corridor and into a classroom. “I guess so.” He looked to the four people lounging at one of the desks, who stopped speaking at the sound of your arrival.

“Professor!” A slender young man around Byleth’s age stood from his spot. “Good to see you, my friend. And who is this?”

You dropped your basket but caught it before it could hit the floor. You ignored the purple-haired one as Byleth introduced you and paid no attention to the stares the tanned redhead and pale blonde women were giving you. To say you were dumbfounded would be an understatement, and you were positive that the shocked expression on the burly, black-haired man’s face mirrored your own.

“Holy shit,” he said. You’d know that deep, booming voice anywhere.

“Balthus?”

The purple-haired one spoke. “You two are acquainted?”

“You could say that,” Balthus said.

As he placed his hands on his hips, his white coat was pushed aside. His abs were as well-defined as ever and his pants, with the grey panel over his crotch, made it hard for you to not look. But you managed to meet his gaze again after only a quick glance.

“Acquainted is an understatement,” you said. “I… I never thought I’d see you again.”

Balthus smiled. It made your knees weak. “What are the odds we’d both end up here, huh?”

You set your basket down on one of the desks so you wouldn’t nearly drop it again. You took a step toward him, unsure of how he’d respond to you closing the distance, and on the second step, Balthus began to approach you, too. Once you were within reach, Balthus held his arms out.

“Are… we good?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer verbally. You all but threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist since you couldn’t reach his neck well enough. Balthus’s strong arms encased you, feeling as warm and homey as ever.

“Balthus, I missed you so much.”

“I honestly thought you’d be happily married to some Lord by now.”

You shook your head against his chest. “A few have tried, but you really think any of them can compete with the King of Grappling?”

You felt the vibrations of his laugh in his embrace. “That’s what I like to hear.”

The blonde one interrupted your reunion. “Care to explain what’s going on here?”

The redhead nudged her friend. “Let them have their moment, Coco.”

Byleth spoke up. “I’m assuming this is the old friend you told me about?”

You and Balthus stepped away, and you already longed to return to him. You nodded. “You’re sharp as ever, Byleth.”

Balthus’ eyes never left your face as he explained to his friends. “Back before I renounced my titles, this little lady and I had a lot of fun in Leicester territory.”

“My father’s a minor lord, so you can imagine the life he had in mind for me,” you said. “Let’s just say I told him I was coming here to become a nun.”

Balthus laughed. “You sure don’t look like a nun to me.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” You winked. Byleth shook his head.

“Noble life wasn’t meant for either of us, I guess,” Balthus said.

The redhead sat on top of the desk next to where you and Balthus were standing. She treated herself to one of the fruits in your basket. “So basically, you two dated before he left the Leicester Alliance? That’s kinda sweet, B.”

“Thing is, I sort of left without warning her,” Balthus said. “It’s one thing for nobles to court other nobles. Her father was considering letting me marry her and everything.”

“Key word: considering.”

“But then, overnight… it all changed.” Balthus’s smile softened, becoming something sadder. “Can we catch up once you’re done with your rounds?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

You found him later that day near the classroom, standing outside an unoccupied room. It was lushly decorated, with pillows and purple drapes, but Balthus said the way-seer hadn’t been there in ages. It made for a comfortable, private place to talk.

“I’m sorry about all those years ago. I should have at least warned you.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you said. “You had a lot going on. I was upset at first, but I know that you didn’t have much of a choice.”

Balthus sat in one of the chairs in the corner of the room and patted his thigh. “Join me?”

You couldn’t resist him. Your brain told you to slow down, that you weren’t sure what he wanted from you, but your body moved right into his lap. All of your thoughts were silenced when his arms were around you again.

He wasn’t sure what to say, so he started with something easy to test your reception. Even with you in his lap, he still wasn’t sure how far to go. “You look good.”

You smiled. “So do you. Running from mercenaries probably keeps you busy, I take it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll have to start letting them land a hit or two if I know you’re around to nurse me back to health.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please don’t. I’d rather you not give me cause for an anxiety attack.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll give me an excuse to see you.” One of his hands ran up your back. You knew what he was getting at.

You rose a brow at him. “You don’t need an excuse. We can see each other whenever we want, now.”

He kissed your cheek, then your jawline, and then your neck. “I really wasn’t sure if you were gonna hug me or stab me earlier.”

You laughed. “I could never stab you, Balthus, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Either way,” he said as he continued leaving kisses along your neck, moving down towards your collarbone, “I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.”

“There’s nothing you need to make up to me, I swear. But I’ll still let you.”

Balthus grinned. “I have missed this so much.” His hands moved to unbutton your blouse as his kiss moved lower still. He kissed along your chest as he pushed your shirt off your shoulders and made quick work of removing your bra.

As his hands gripped at your thighs, he sucked at the flesh of your breasts hard enough that you knew there’d be marks there later. You weren’t shocked that Balthus was marking you up, reclaiming what had once been his. You fumbled with his belt, desperate to feel him again after so many years apart.

“Looks like you’ve missed me too, pal,” Balthus teased between kisses—if you’d even call them kisses. They were far too primal to be considered such a thing, but it set your soul on fire nonetheless.

“I have self-sabotaged every attempted courtship since you left, you know.”

“No cock compares to mine, huh?” He chuckled. There he went again, dropping his voice into a husky whisper against your skin. His hand slipped up your thigh, creeping beneath your skirt, and his fingers pushed your undergarments aside. He stopped kissing you only to pull his glove off with his teeth. Calloused fingers moved back where they once were and he wasted no time in rubbing his thumb along your clit.

“No one ever could, baby.”

“Fucked you so good that you couldn’t get me out of your head, is that it?” He pressed his thumb into your clit as he rubbed, increasing the pressure as he dipped a thick finger between your legs. “You’re so wet for me already, little lady. Does me being on the run turn you on?”

“There’s no one to tell what we can and can’t do anymore, Balthus,” you reminded him. “And I’m not scared of what might come your way. You taught me how to fight, after all.”

“You been practicing?”

“When I can.”

“Good girl.” He added a second finger between your lower lips. You rolled your hips towards him, forcing his fingers deeper. “Easy now, sweetheart. You and I both know that you need a little prep time before you can handle this.”

It was true—Balthus was as big as one would expect of him. He was broad-framed, taller than anyone you knew, and he was perfectly proportionate, even beneath his pants. You tugged at his belt in protest, having gotten it and his pants undone, and he lifted his hips just enough for you to lower them. His shaft sprang free, and he left another mark on your breast when your hand finally wrapped around it. The sight alone was erotic in his mind, your small hand compared to his thick cock.

Balthus’s teeth found your nipple as he slipped his finger into you, which provided just enough overstimulation to trigger your first orgasm. You could hear yourself as he pumped in and out of you relentlessly, thumb on your clit not letting up either.

“Balthus, please—”

“Fuck, sweetheart, that’s right. Beg for me.”

You gripped his cock more firmly as you pleaser him with your hand, almost enough to hurt—exactly the way he liked it. “Please, Balthus, have your way with me. Don’t you want to fill me up?”

“I do, but the thing is, I’m having so much fun watching you squirm like this. You’re all hot and bothered over just my fingers. It’s kind of endearing.”

His mouth returned to your nipple and a loose strand of curls fell in front of his eyes. He didn’t bother to move it, but carried on faster. Balthus pulled his mouth away from your chest when he felt you clenching around his fingers for a second time.

Your nerves were already starting to feel scrambled in a way only Balthus could pull off. He was so shameless in his behavior but still remembered all of your sweet spots and just the right way to hit them, making you beg for him more as your pace on his cock lost its rhythm. You could feel it twitch in your hand a bit, and you tried your best to keep up with him, but he had your brain practically melted already.

“You’ve been so good, little lady. Think you’re ready to take me?”

“B-Balthus…” It was all you could say.

He laughed. “Come on.”

Balthus lifted you on to him, letting you start off. He knew you’d need some time to adjust and didn’t want to be cruel. But you were so wet that he had to lick his fingers clean, so he didn’t think you’d have much of a problem. Your hands rested on his shoulders beneath his jacket, which he realized now he never took off. His eyes stayed on your laps as you lowered on to him; he reveled in the sight of your much smaller frame wrapping around his length, slowly but surely able to take more of him and coating his shaft with proof you were there.

“That’s a good girl,” Balthus praised. He brushed some loose strands of hair out of your face and then moved his hands to your hips. One was still gloved, creating an interesting juxtaposition against your skin. He never removed your panties fully, leaving them still bunched over to the side so he could easily access you without taking your skirt off. Your skirt, however, was hiked up around your waist so he could watch as he used his hands on your hips to guide you up and down him. “Look at how good you’re handling me, sweetheart.”

“I—I’m yours for the taking,” you said. You weren’t even sure how you managed to say it.

“Damn fucking right you are.” He smiled so genuinely that it made your head spin. “You look so beautiful like this. How’s it feeling?”

He thrusted into you harder as he asked, so your response with a moan that you stifled. He had closed the doors to the room, sure, but you still didn’t want to be too loud.

“S-so good, Balthus.”

He maintained his intensity as he spoke. “Those nobles thought they even had a chance with you, did they? Did they know your pretty little pussy is used to me?” He laughed.

You wanted to reply, but another moan just passed your lips instead.

“Can’t even talk, is that right? That’s too bad. I bet Yuri I could make you scream.”

Balthus slammed his hips up into you with what was probably a bit too much force, but it won him his bet. You buried your face into his shoulder in hopes of muffling the sound that was out of your control.

“Yeah! That’s it, sweetheart. Let them know who’s king around here."

Your grip on his body tightened as you came around him, and you felt yourself start to tremble as Balthus slowed his pace. He was buried so deeply into you that he was all you could feel and he slowly rocked his hips up and down, not withdrawing from you but slowly pulsing in rhythm with your orgasm. It overwhelmed your senses and you weren’t sure if your body would stop.

“Balthus, o-oh my Goddess...”

“Good, good girl,” Balthus cooed. He craned his neck down so he could kiss the top of your head as your release came in waves. “But I’m not finished with you yet.”

You gasped, feeling the air pierce your lungs as Balthus’ pace resumed. He was still moving slowly, but his thrusts were sharper now. Your body felt so overwhelmed that you weren’t sure how much more you could take, but you were so satisfied with the fullness that you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

“I’m gonna cum so hard that it sticks to your thighs on your way back to the surface. How’s that sound?”

You nodded, not confident in your ability to speak.

“You doing alright?”

“’s so much.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” One of his hands pushed your hair out of your face so he could kiss your temple. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head no.

“Alright. You’re taking me so fucking good, (YN).” His breath was becoming shallow and his kisses grew sloppy, telltale signs that he was nearing his own release. He pulled you closer to him as he reached it, holding you tighter against his body if that was even possible. He was true to his word about making a mess of you, to the point where when you were lifted from his lap, you could feel it start to trail down the inside of your leg. Balthus was in no rush otherwise, though, but instead continued to hold you against him even once you were off of his lap and your clothes were back on in their entirety.

“Let’s not go this long without seeing each other again, yeah?”

You nodded. “Agreed. At least now we’re neighbors again.”

His lips found yours, and you could still faintly taste yourself on his lips. Balthus took his time kissing you, surprisingly tender after he left your legs wobbly.

“Will anyone be looking for you soon?”

“Probably, unfortunately. Byleth and I cleared our day, but you never know when someone will come waltzing in to the infirmary.”

“Byleth is letting me crash some of his classes, so I’ll see you around. I promise I won’t just up and leave on you this time.”

“Getting sentimental?”

Balthus chuckled. “Watch it.”

You couldn’t help your smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

#balthus von albrecht #Balthus x reader #balthus von albrecht x reader #fire emblem smut #fire emblem #fire emblem fanfic #not sfw

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songsofadelaide · 1 year

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Atmospherics

Balthus was there on the day your father declared you the new Baron Goulding, the start of the Wyvern Moon heralding your house's new leadership. When you smiled at your constituents so warmly and gave thanks for their well-wishes, he tried desperately to dismiss the thought of ever standing by your side— But you beamed at him like he was the only person there, a wreath of Goulding's finest crops and berries on your head like a coronet fit for a baron. He's overstayed his welcome, but he still clapped alongside everyone else— like he lived there. Like he belonged there.

Even when you were still at the academy, when everyone had their eyes on Holst, you had yours on him. You never failed to make him feel so seen, after all. That was no good now since he always had to be running and hiding.

Spoilers for the Golden Wildfire route. Reader is not My Unit.

[A Balthus von Albrecht x Reader one-shot]

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cravingsfromatwistedone · 2 months

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DEVIOUSNESS [ DRABBLE / NSFW ]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SOMETHING SHORT AND SPICY! I RECALLED HAVING A SMALL CRUSH ON BALTHUS BECAUSE HE WAS SUCH A HIMBO! ENJOY READING DARLINGS! TW: THREESOME, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP (WITH CLAUDE, READER IS CLAUDE'S WIFE), IMPLIED CUCKHOLDING KINK (CLAUDE) CLAUDE VON RIEGAN X FEM! READER X BALTHUS VON ALBRECHT

"Does she look alright?" Balthus huffed before letting out a low muffled groan against your skin

Claude beams a grin to Balthus's direction, caressing your face and wiping away the tears that streamed down your face "Oh, she looks euphoric to say the least" He says

It had been a simple invitation really. A very, very simple one

Claude told you that Balthus will be dropping by for some tea to talk over some things he'd like to catch up on over the recent years and you figured 'Why not?'. The bulky man may have lacked some strength in his brains but he certainly did not lack in his heart; he was a good man after all. But you had forgotten that your husband was no ordinary man. He likes to concoct plans. Devious plans. Just like you are in one right now

Balthus's chest was pressed against your back and he held on to your arms backwards as leverage, his heavy hard cock pulsing as he pushes and pulls his hips back and forth, eliciting out breathy whines and whimpers from you that Claude seemed to enjoy far too much. Maybe the next time Claude says that a 'friend' is coming over, you shouldn't have entertained the idea.

Maybe.

Having two cocks at once does things to your brain, doesn't it?

#cravingsfromatwistedone #fire emblem three houses #claude von riegan #claude von riegan x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #fe3h #fe3h claude #fe3h balthus #fire emblem three houses x reader #x reader #n/sfw #claude von riegan x reader n/sfw #balthus von albrecht #balthus von albrecht x reader #fire emblem three houses balthus #fire emblem three houses claude von riegan #fire emblem three houses claude #fire emblem three houses balthus von albrecht

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mt-musings · 15 days

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To Inherit the Night - 10

Hubert looked up again as the door opened, scrambling to his feet to bow as he recognized Edelgard. She shook her head.

“It’s absurd when you do that when we’re alone, you do know that?” she said, shaking her head before pulling the door shut behind her. Hubert muttered a spell under his breath to ensure no one could eavesdrop as she sat herself down in the comfortable chair across from his desk.

“I’m sure you have more of an idea than I why my uncle is currently on the warpath. Did you have something to do with it?” She asked as he sat back down.

“Two of his outposts in Hrym were decimated and I, unfortunately, was not the architect.”

“But you know who was, don’t you?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“As do I. What are we going to do about it?”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he said, the words more effort than they ever should have been. He was Edelgard’s vassal, little more than a tool for her to wield as she wished. Trivial things such as his feelings should never amount to a moment of hesitation.

“I fear if we continue to ignore it, my uncle will take his own action and we’ll be forced to support it or play our hand, which would be a shame, considering her skill set will be of particular use after the war.”

“So something that both stops her killing Those Who Slither and protects her from them until the end of the war.”

“You forgot that she has to agree to it without giving away our hand. And if not—“

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, Hubert. I truly am.”

“Whatever for, your Majesty?”

“You know what for, Hubert.”

He took a deep breath. “It has been a long time.”

“And yet I still see its weight. Hopefully—hopefully you will be able to have her see reason.”

He nodded, rather than trying to find the words.

~~~

Cecily leaned on the tavern counter, waiting for Briggs to notice her. She was dead tired and wanted nothing more than to pick up the mail she’d been waiting on and sleep for three days straight.

The journey back to Rowe had been mostly uneventful—she’d sabotaged an Empire supply wagon she’d happened to run across, but mostly she just wanted to return home, to check on the birds. They should have been fine with Yuri away, but something sat heavy in her chest, urging her homeward. He should be home by now, anyway—she’d stayed longer in Leicester than she should have.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Sylvain, how serious he looked. So much different than the little boy who’d pelted her with acorns and helped her collect all the herbs for the kitchens, from the boy who’d spent his time at the academy chasing skirts and loafing about. About the boy her mother had always snuck an extra treat to when he passed through the kitchens and ruffled his hair, the boy who had sat at her bedside after they’d been attacked and read her all the picture books he owned to keep her entertained while she healed.

About the boy who’s brother sold her to Arundel, who killed her mother in front of her for trying to stop the Agarthans from taking her.

“There you are, deary. Do you want a pint before you go?” Briggs asked, handing her a small stack of envelopes. She shook her head, handing her a few coins before pushing out of the busy tavern. She flipped through the envelopes, there were less than usual, which wasn’t surprising considering they’d just lost a third of their routes with Brennius.

She froze as she stared at the last envelope, at the seal she’d intercepted on more than a few missives, set carefully into blood red wax. She glanced around, looking for anyone watching her but found no one outside the usual crowd. She slipped into an alley, away from the main thoroughfare and slipped into the shadows, making it back to the Roost in record time. She didn’t stop and say hello to any of the others, just locked herself in the War Room, sliding down the door as soon as the lock clicked.

She stared at the envelope for a long moment, her hands shaking. Then she ripped it open, her blood running cold as a silver chain slid into her palm, a familiar pendent hung from it. She’d given it to Yuri when she was fifteen, had saved and stolen and bargained to be able to get him something actually nice, the sort of thing one of the nobles he schmoozed would have been able to get him without thought, even though it cost well more gold than she’d ever held at that point. Yuri nearly always wore it, tucked into his shirt, even though he had much nicer ones and it was tacky, considering the fact she’d picked a mockingbird in flight.

Still, she knew he wouldn’t have given it up willingly.

She choked back a sob, clutching it in her fist. If he wasn’t okay, if they’d hurt him, or—she forced herself not to think of the worst, couldn’t, because she couldn’t bear it. She’d kill them all, raze the Imperial palace to the ground, finally let the tether she kept on her power snap until she was nothing more than a beast tearing into flesh for the mere taste of blood.

She couldn’t lose Yuri, not the only family she had left. Not her best friend, her confidant, her brother. Not after everything they’d been through.

She unfolded the letter, her heart in her throat and read it with shaking hands, immediately recognizing the elegant slant of the writing. How many times had he scrawled across her page, correcting her calculations in the hope that she’d figure out how to cast a spell properly? How many notes had he slipped into her stacks of books recommending further reading, or highlighting something he thought would be of particular interest?

And now—no would it be a threat or gloating? Had he been decent enough to at least give her a chance to save him? He knew—he must know she’d do anything, absolutely anything, no matter how heinous or depraved, how agonizing, how extreme. If he wanted her to kill for him, if he wanted to kill her, there would be no hesitation from her. Even if he’d give her back to Arundel, she’d walk back into that hell with her head held high, knowing she’d finally paid Yuri back for taking her in all those years ago, for saving a broken, dying thing even after he knew it was a monster.

Dear Cecily,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have enclosed a memento to ensure you know that I am indeed quite serious and above any sort of bluffing.

I am holding the Mockingbird in Enbarr. He shall be kept confined, comfortably and without injury, until I hear from you or a month has passed.

My terms are simple: I shall release the Mockingbird unharmed into Imperial service should you come to Enbarr and surrender yourself to my custody. If you do not, he will be publicly executed in a month’s time. Any attempt at breaking him out will be met with immediate death for all parties involved.

Should you wish to agree to my terms, there is a carriage at Whitmor Stables that has been hired to take you to Enbarr post-haste and that will be expected. Simply present my seal.

I shall await your arrival.

Yours,

Hubert

Cecily wanted to throw up. She wanted to cry and scream and rip something apart with her bare hands. She could feel her knees giving out and crouched down, rather than fall, pressing her palm over her mouth as she sobbed to muffle the sounds.

There wasn’t a question of a choice—she’d go to the stables tonight and deliver herself to Hubert to be made into a weapon, the one thing she’d always feared more than anything. If she was lucky she’d burn out like a comet, the cost of her power killing her before she could do too much damage.

Unless he wanted her blood. Then he could just chain her in a room and bleed and beat her like Arundel had, keeping her too weak to fight back, even with her shadows.

Would he let her see Yuri one more time before caging her, let her say goodbye?

She buried her head in her lap, slumping down against the wall. She’d known something bad would happen in Enbarr, felt it in her chest.

She should have done more to stop him, should of begged him not to.

Not that any of that mattered now.

She swiped at her eyes, taking a few steadying breathes. Her crying would do no one good, at least not now—she’d have plenty of time to feel sorry for herself on the carriage ride to Enbarr. She crossed to the desk, to Yuri’s desk, and rifled around for some spare paper and a quill.

She couldn’t just leave. No, she needed a lieutenant, someone who would step in until Yuri returned, someone who would step back down without issue, someone who would look after the birds and the Abyssians and not just run off with the gold. She had contingencies and plans and runs and everything to make sure nothing fell apart before Yuri got back.

She took another deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. She could do it, just one thing at a time.

She picked up the quill and started scratching out her first letter.

~~~

Yuri’s heart sank as Cecily shouldered her way into the room, eyes cataloguing the way her hair had been half-torn from its braids, the dirt and bruises that covered her skin, the blood painting her temple—he was on his feet before he could note the rest of the crew she’d left with filing in behind her, before he registered the thing in her hand.

A head.

Rhyder’s head.

The room had gone deathly silent. Cecily raised the head, high enough that everyone could make it out for what it was. Then she opened her hand, letting it hit the floor with a truly awful squelching thwack.

“Anyone else got a problem with management?” She asked, glaring at each of them in turn.

“What happened?” Yuri asked, fighting to keep his voice even, disinterested, even as his heart beat wildly against his ribs.

“Rhyder thought he could do a better job. Thought he’d ransom the boss’s sister to get him to step down. Thought he was reeeeeal clever. Any one else feeling clever? Go ahead, I dare you. Just know, you gotta get through me first. Rook, tell them how it’s going to work out for them.”

“Bad,” Rook replied, voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were still locked on Rhyder’s head, though Yuri wasn’t sure if he was really seeing anything or just in shock. None of the other four that had been on assignment with them looked much better.

Cecily clapped her hands together, her smile lethal. “Any takers? Anyone think they can do better than Dead Weight? No? Good.”

Yuri surveyed them all, brow raised, noting who avoided his gaze.

“Someone had better have that cleaned up by the time I get back,” he snapped, shooting Cecily a look. She followed him as he stalked out of the hideout, weaving through Enbarr’s narrow streets.

As soon as they were out of sight of the rest of the gang Yuri grabbed her by the elbow and started dragging her towards the safe house. She tried to yank out of his grasp but he didn’t let her.

Once the door slammed shut behind them, he rounded on her, expression somewhere between panic and fury.

“You want to explain that little stunt?”

“I told you—“

“Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you just come get me? Why did you drag his decapitated head into the hideout?”

“To make a point.”

“Cecily—“

“You can’t expect me to always come running to you with my problems!”

“A coup is not your problem. You should have gotten out and gotten me.”

“That would have made it worse.”

“It would not—“

“It would have just solidified to everyone that that was the right play. That that I was your weak spot.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic, as much as he wanted to.

“Still—“

“No one is going to fuck with me after that! And they’ll assume whatever Dead Weight can do, Boss can do ten times worse. Besides, it would be expected for you to kill him. No one would have ever expected me to.”

“You’re not dead weight.”

“Well, now they all know that,” she replied, eyes narrowing.

He swiped away the half-dried blood at her temple, healing the gash underneath with a flash of white magic. She still looked so young for her age, still too small, too fragile, even if he knew she could hold her own.

“I don’t want you killing.”

“I’m good at it.”

“You’re a kid.”

“I’m a monster. And you were working as an assassin at my age.”

“I was fourteen. And you are not.”

He already knew what she was doing as soon as the lights flickered, watched the familiar way the shadows flocked to her, forming razor-sharp claws over her fingers, settling in a way that made her appear ethereal and skeletal and inhuman. She bared her teeth, teeth blackened with shadow and lengthened into fangs.

“Cut it out. I mean it,” he said, smacking her upside the head.

“Ow,” she cried, clawed hand cradling her cheek where she’d been struck, her voice strangely doubled.

“Now.”

“Fucker,” she spat, shadows falling from her form like sand.

“Idiot,” he replied, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. He rested his cheek on top of her head, not caring that she smelled like sweat and blood and dirt, only that she was fine.

“Ow!”

Fine enough.

“What else hurts?”

“Other than you smothering me?”

“Other than that.”

She paused a moment before holding up her left hand, three of the fingers very broken.

“The rest is just bruises, I think.”

“You’re impossible,” he said, taking her hand in his. “This is going to hurt.”

“It’s fine.”

He always hated that flippant edge to her voice when it came to pain, an edge he knew she earned by enduring far worse for far longer. Sometimes he thought she almost relished in it, like something familiar, something she knew she could endure, like a badge of honor.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before jerking her pinky back into place and setting it with another flash of white magic. She hardly whimpered, staring dead-eyed at the peeling paint on the far wall. He smoothed his hands over hers, half to soothe, half to make sure everything bent as it should.

She pulled her hand from his grasp, squeezing it into a fist before wrapping her arms around his middle, burying her face into his shirt.

“Magpie?”

She didn’t answer, just hugged him tighter. He hugged her back, smoothing back her hair like his mother had done for him, hoping she found it soothing like he had.

~~~

She cornered Rook, pulling him into the dining room and shutting the door. He was nearly a foot taller than her and broad shouldered, with tan skin and chestnut hair he wore overlong. She’d known him since she was twelve and they’d moved back to Rowe from Enbarr. He was one of the few left from the original crew, the one’s she’d run with while Yuri was off playing heir, who’d followed them to Abyss after their disastrous run in with the Knights of Seiros. It had used to be the two of them and Dove, back in Abyss—the dream team, as they’d jokingly called themselves—but since Dove had died, they’d hardly worked together. They’d see each other at the Roost, trade notes, but they went on their missions alone, or helped the greener birds learn the ropes.

She knew, more than anyone, she could trust him with what needed to be done and knew he wouldn’t cross her, if not for her sake, then for his own. He’d seen what she’d done to Rhyder at twelve when he’d turned on Yuri.

“Um—Mags, you okay?” He asked, brows deeply furrowed. She was sure he could tell she’d been crying, sure she looked a disaster, not that it mattered.

“Something came up, I need you to make sure a few things get done.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I need you to get Lark to bring this to Derdriu,” she said, handing him an envelope with her seal. “And I need you to bring these to Enbarr and give them to Peregrine personally, and tell her to sneak them to me as soon as she can.”

She handed Rook the pouch that contained all the remaining vials of her refined blood that she’d managed to track down.

“Wait—if you’re going to Enbarr, why don’t you just bring them?”

“Because it’s a bit of a hostage situation, and I have to play it very carefully. I can’t risk them being taken from me.”

“What are they, anyway?” He asked.

“Poison. One that the wrong people can’t get their hands on. I need you to promise me you’ll get it there safely.”

“Yeah, yeah—just, can you explain exactly what’s going on?”

“They have Yuri,” she said, surprised she was able to keep her voice even, even though a tear dripped down her cheek. “I’m going to get him back.”

“Wait, who?”

She just stared back, watching his face whiten in realization.

“No—you can’t go alone. I’ll go with you, Weaver can bring the poison to Peregrine, we’ll break him out, it’ll be fine.”

“No. I have to go alone. If we try to break him out they’ll kill all of us. If I go, nobody dies.”

“And what happens to you?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just—I need you to make these get where they need to go. And this one,” she said, pulling a third envelope from her pocket. “This one goes to Piper. Other than that, have Lark take over my runs to Derdriu, make sure she stays out of Charon, and somebody needs to take over Gloucester, someone with manners, maybe Robin? You’re going to have to manage the money until Yuri gets back, you have to make sure everyone from Abyss—“

“I know. I know, okay? Everyone will be fine here when you get back.”

“Don’t—don’t count on me coming back.”

“You said no one would get hurt, that means you too.”

“It’s a trade. Me for Yuri.”

“You can’t—“

“There’s no choice, Rook. If I don’t he’ll publicly execute him, you know what that means. He wants me alive, that means it’s a long game.”

Rook just stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “He’s going to be furious with you, you know that.”

“But he’ll be alive. I’ll relish his fury if it means he’s alive.”

“What do you want me to tell the rest of the birds? To tell Paloma? To tell everyone?”

“Tell them whatever they want to hear. Whatever keeps moral up. I just—I have to. You know I have to.”

He nodded. “Just—just stay alive, alright? Stay alive, get Yuri out alive, we’ll figure out the rest.”

“Exactly,” she said with a smile she knew didn’t meet her mismatched eyes.

“When are you—“

“Tonight. Now. Here,” she said, tossing him her coin purse with everything she’d made from Leicester. “Put it to good use. The twins need new shoes and Paloma needs a new coat. A good one.”

“I’ll see you again, okay?” He said, still weighing the coin purse in his hand. She wondered if he’d ever held so much. She nodded, throat tight, as she turned, preparing to leave the Roost for what would likely be the last time.

It was just like any other mission.

She tried to convince herself of that as she packed.

It was a long game, not a slash and burn like she’d grown so adept at. Everything from the moment she stepped into that stable mattered. Her first priority, of course, was to get Yuri out and as far from Hubert as she could manage. As soon as she was playing only with her life she would be able to make moves.

If she was clever it wouldn’t be hard to get the Court to play right into her hand. After all, Hubert was not well-liked among the other nobles and reveled in it. His cultivated villainous persona already put her at an advantage—she could be charming, when she liked. Not in the same way as Yuri, but charming nonetheless.

It was a game, she thought as she traded her practical tunic and trousers for a patched dress from her trunk. It was a game and she was going to win it, and he was going to be sorry for ever crossing her.

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #claude von riegan #balthus von albrecht #lorenz hellman gloucester #friends to enemies to lovers #slow burn #fire emblem three houses x reader

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glowingbadger · 1 year

Text

FE3H Everyone Else Masterlist

(Church, Ashen Wolves, Misc)

Seteth:

Reader teases him

Nsfw alphabet prompts - D F N W

Nsfw alphabet prompts - C F J O

Dragon libido

I’m a size queen and I’m not sorry

Doms and degrades reader

Breeding Kink

Jealous/possessive

Office sex (& other locations)

Reader wears GM uniform

Teaching Reader to kiss - semi-spicy

Cockworship

In dragon heat

Yandere!Seteth headcanons - TW: Yandere!

Modern AU first date - sfw

Reader captured & ’re-educated’ - TW: Yandere!

Succubus!Reader x Priest!Seteth

Pegging

Guilty masturbation

W/ catgirl reader

Tender sex

Reader caught masturbating

Reader gets sex pollen’d

Dirty talk

Pillow talk (short)

Body worship

Jeritza/Death Knight:

General spicy HCs - TW for dub-con w/Death Knight

W/ catgirl reader

Cyril:

Sfw and Nsfw Headcanons

Rhea:

Face sitting

Yuri:

Degradation / Praise kink

Nsfw alphabet prompts - A C D J K X

Nsfw alphabet prompts - O M W

Yuri sees Reader dressed up - semi-spicy

With shy Reader - semi-spicy

With male S/O

Yandere Yuri hcs - TW: Yandere!

Spicy roleplay w/Male Reader

Wedding night w/Male Reader - sfw & nsfw

Balthus:

Workout sex

Thales:

Nsfw alphabet prompts - E I N R

#fire emblem #fe3h #few3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem smut #masterlist #smut blog #blog update #blog maintenance #church of seiros #ashen wolves #fe3h smut

96 notes · View notes

philliamwrites · 2 years

Text

TDWC 08: Secrets of the Forgotten

Pairing: House Leaders x gn! Reader

Warnings: canon divergence, slow burn

Summary: “Please, don’t mind me at all,” Claude beams, his grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s. Dimitri’s scowl deepens more. His eyes turn into the blue of an icy-cold glacier dominating the coastline of Faerghus in the North. “I do, actually. I wish to speak with the Herald in private.” “Then get in line for an appointment. Our Herald is very popular with folks, as you know.” And with that, he closes the door in Dimitri’s face.

Notes: [01] | 07 | 09

Words: 9.7k

A/N: huge thanks to @raindrops-on-the-roof for joining me on this ride and being my beta-reader!!

i lived, bitch. it's been so long but after a year, i'm back with the next chapter and it was ton of fun working on it becase we're finally introduced to a new figure and get some original content. also claude's a menace and that's what we all want. enjoy!

08: Secrets of the Forgotten

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch’s high estate; (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.

— Edgar Allan Poe, “The Haunted Palace”

The underground canals running through Abyss, like veins moving blood through the body, are dirty and smell of human waste and decay, but Balthus plays a hand much dirtier and everyone huddling around the small, crooked table in Wilting Rose Inn groans in unison. Except for Byleth. She shows her own cards, a Royal Flush, and earns a round of earnest applause. You try catching her eye to find out whether she has turned time back in her favour but her ever-steady gaze doesn’t betray anything.

“Okay, lesson learnt.” Balthus gets up and stretches, putting his taut muscles on full display. “I never imagined there could be someone worse than Yuri out there. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Is Yuri really that bad?” you ask, throwing your Flush on the table.

Balthus gives you a seldom serious look. “You have no idea.”

It’s certainly not that hard to imagine. He sometimes has this intense, piercing gaze in his eyes when he talks about knights patrolling too close to Abyss’ entrances for his liking, even though his whole body is a picture of relaxed serenity. He’s an amazing actor, you can give him that.

“Another round?” Byleth asks, already shuffling the cards expertly with her slender fingers. Apparently, part of being a mercenary also entails having an amazing poker face and constantly winning at card games.

“Oh, no, no, I think I’m on guard duty,” Marco, the Rogue, says and flees.

“I forgot I promised to check if there’s enough candle wax to … remake candles,” Ethan, the Marksman, says and bolts.

“These are the men supposed to protect us,” Barbara, the Smith, sighs. “Yet they fear their pride won’t stand after losing a game to a woman.” She gives Byleth a scrutinising look that is also approving at the same time and follows her comrades. The rest of the crowd scatters like butterflies fluttering away after being disturbed from their peaceful slumber.

“That Barbara.” Balthus shakes his head. “Can’t say I know anyone more capable of making grown men feel like little boys.”

“I like her,” you admit. “She doesn’t call me the Archbishop’s Lapdog.” Like most Abyssians.

“Just give everyone some time.” Balthus’ grin is part amusement, part pity as he gives your shoulder two hard claps to bid you good night. “They’ll see in no time you’re no church stuck-up.”

You aren’t so sure about that. You have been down here for a couple of days only, engaging in fights, defending the place against the mercenaries and bandits that wander into Abyss—on accident or on order still remains a question. It was obvious that fighting a few battles for them would not change their mind so quickly—a few good deeds did not undo the year-long abuse and persecution most of the Abyss dwellers had to suffer. You doubt you alone can heal those wounds, yet still there is a fierce fire burning inside you, a light blazing to banish all the shadows clinging to their pained hearts.

Not for the church’s sake, you’ve realised quickly, but for the Herald’s, for the first one loved Fódlan’s people; loves Fódlan’s people still. Every night you lie in your dark quarters, a single, tiny room with nothing but slatted frames and a thin blanket for a bed, nothing feels surer and more honest than this feeling Seiros’ Champion allows you to glimpse as if what it means to be the Herald is that simple.

And simple it is, for if you cannot remember your identity, your wishes and dreams and ambitions, you can take his on until you have figured it out for yourself; surround yourself with them just like you donned his ceremonial robes at the very beginning.

If Byleth questions your new-found vigour for battle, for tactics and schemes on the battlefield, she hasn’t voiced it yet. Or, maybe she is simply too occupied trying to understand the cards Fate has dealt her.

The Wilting Rose Inn clears out as the candles burn down until only a few loyal patrons remain in their respective, quiet corners. It becomes easier to talk to Byleth, since you cannot be sure who might be listening in, ready to forward information to Yuri and give him whatever reason to put your head on a stake. Not that he would actually do something like that. At least, you hope he would not do something like that.

You also realise how much you missed just being in her presence, and they become the only short moments during the day when you allow yourself to relax and droop your shoulders whenever exhaustion weighs you down.

Today, Byleth has made it her personal mission to teach you wood-carving. It goes as expected: you’ve cut yourself three times and have nothing to show for but a misshapen try at a cat that bears more resemblance to a stone you might find in one of Abyss’ gutters.

“I am,” you say as the sharp edge nicks your thumb once more, “a danger to myself and everyone around me.”

“Good thing I’m the only one here then.” Byleth gently takes the knife from you as if you are a toddler and only to be trusted with tools that are highly unlikely to chop your limbs off. Like a spoon. You’ll remind her of that next time she pushes a sword into your hands and demands you to participate in another sparring session. “I’m not as practised in magic and Tome wielding as Linhardt or Lysithea, but I am sure you still need all your fingers to conjure spells.”

“I could try it with my toes.” You wiggle your bloodied fingers at her like the boogie man. “Become the first Warlock that casts Dark magic with their feet.”

The smile that tugs at the corners of Byleth’s mouth is a greater victory than having chased off the bandits yesterday. It is followed by a frown though, one so light, the softest shift in her brows that you wouldn’t have noticed it were it not for the long hours during tea-time you spent studying the planes and features of her face like an artist might while studying their muse.

She leans back in her creaking chair and pockets her knife inside the hidden sheath strapped around her upper thigh. “We are making slow progress uncovering who is after Yuri and his friends,” Byleth says. “I know we’ve been through this already, but any guesses?”

“You’d think with how often we got rid of them by now, they would realise trying to drive the underground residents away is a waste of time. Whoever pays them must hold a serious grudge, why else would they spend so much money on sending mercs in here?”

A shadow passes Byleth’s eyes. “Unless these kids know more and are hiding the true reason someone would be after them.”

You understand her concern. You two have agreed to help, but your official duties and first responsibilities lie in taking care of the academy’s students and seeing that no harm comes to them. Which is no easy task as they so readily throw themselves into defending the Abyssians.

“I … I don’t think that is the case.”

Byleth simply lifts an eyebrow, urging you to go on.

“I can’t explain it very well. I just don’t think they have anything bad in mind. I don’t think there is a reason to doubt them.”

It doesn’t make sense, and yet you know Byleth is the last one to argue against a point like that. This quiet, strange connection that exists between you two is undeniable—just like the sun’s travel over the skies and that it lies to rest in the West and rises again in the East, day by day. Everything is connected, you just have to find out who is spinning the thread of your Fates together.

“I really thought they were trouble at first,” Byleth says and gestures to the barman to bring another round. “Especially Yuri. He is cunning and sharp, a dangerous combination for a leader.”

“I’d like to think he is hiding a warm, pleasant core beneath all that scheming and calculating,” you say, taking the drink the moment the bartender leaves it at your table. “Hiding it somewhere very, very deep.”

A corner of Byleth’s mouth twitches. She’s holding her own glass, lazily swirling the amber liquid in circles. “He is young, but I would not put it past him to hold ulterior motives. Promise me to be careful around him.”

“He and his lot helped me before they knew I was the Herald,” you concede, thinking back to Constance’s reaction after you woke up. “They simply saw someone in need of help, that’s all.” Since then, it has not occurred to you even once that they might be criminals hiding away under the church’s nose. You still think of Alfons and Briana’s small faces, their round button-noses and large eyes as they look up at Yuri in adoration. They deserve so much more than hiding away in some dark, rotting cellars.

You swallow your shot in one go, and instantly begin to cough and pound your chest as it goes down burning. Byleth knocks her glass back without any problem and swallows the burning liquid as if it were water. You still blink against the tears stinging in your eyes.

“You sound like you trust them already,” Byleth says and waves for another round. You try to share a mildly concerned look with the bartender, but he ignores you and slides two more shot glasses in front of your noses.

“Trust is maybe a little much,” you mumble, thinking of Yuri’s sharp smile, the way Hapi struggles and fails not to roll her eyes whenever you offer some insight with your Crest. “But I don’t think they’re bad. Or evil.”

Byleth nods, either because she has come to the same conclusion or because she puts trust in your decision not to doubt them. She downs another shot, looks at you expectantly. You scramble for another topic, anything that will save your throat from burning up a second time with this goddess-forsaken liquor.

Inevitably, your eyes fall on the sword strapped to her waist, only to call it a sword puts any blacksmith who has mastered the art of steel and iron to shame, and you have no desire to meet the one responsible for this craft, the one that bends bone and magic to their will. Byleth follows your gaze. Her hand rests on the hilt, hesitantly at first. You don’t think you have ever seen her hesitate before.

“The Sword of the Creator,” you mumble. “What does that even mean?” Has the Progenitor God truly wielded such a thing? What kind of goddess was she to come up with such a hideous weapon, to forge the Heroes’ Relics in such a portrayal and present them as gifts to humanity? It is like receiving an apple and only finding the core rotten and inhabited with worms after you have taken a bite. You wonder if this repulsive fascination is you or Seiros’ Champion, yet he remains silent.

Byleth stares into her glass as if the answers for all her questions lie hidden at the bottom and by drinking fast enough, she can unravel them. You are pretty sure that is how people become drunkards.

“Holding the sword … wielding it.” Byleth searches your gaze. “It felt raw. Unlike anything I have ever felt, and yet...” Her nimble fingers dance across the hilt once more, halt at the round socket where it seems that something spherical is missing. When she locks eyes with you, something tells you this is something she has not even told her students. Maybe she can’t tell them. Maybe, just like you feel with her, she feels that honesty comes easier when only you are around. You take a sip from your glass, welcoming for once the biting heat that forces you to shut your eyes and turn your head away.

Why can’t you tell her about the first Herald? Why do you want to keep his existence within you a secret? You listen for his voice, his opinion on the matter, but Seiros’ Champion is still silent, and you hope it doesn’t stay that way in matters of life or death. What is the use of an ancient dwelling inside your heart when he does not share in his unending knowledge and experience?

“And yet, it felt right,” Byleth finishes, cutting off your thoughts, and somehow you can easily imagine what she had felt—for the very same could be said about meeting the Herald. Right, natural. Like returning home. “I wonder … if there is any truth to the people’s claims that only a descendant of the King of Liberation would be able to use its power the way I did.”

You’ve read the historic texts on Nemesis, the King of Liberation. How the goddess gifted him the sword to use its power to save Fódlan from wicked gods over a thousand years ago. He liberated the people from their thralldom and thus was named King and Beloved of the people until the sword’s heavenly power, too terrifying and mighty for any mortal to bear, corrupted him and he turned to the darkness, waging war across the land and thus forcing Seiros to destroy him. It strengthens your belief that whatever benevolence the Goddess gifts her patrons, the price to pay in the end seems too high.

“I hope,” Byleth continues, “Professor Hanneman will have answers to that when we return. I still do not quite understand why Rhea has allowed me to keep it.”

“Is there any explanation as to why it was her sword inside the tomb and not the remains of Saint Seiros?” you ask. It would also beg the question where they are instead. But Byleth shakes her head.

“There wasn’t much time to go into details,” she says. Her fingers linger just a moment longer on the sword, before she withdraws them—a little reluctantly. “When you disappeared, we moved heaven and hell to find you. It was by mere luck Claude spotted one of the Abyssians disappear inside a passageway under the Abbey.”

“I hate how no one told us,” you say. “You would think a whole bunch of people living under the monastery is worth mentioning at some point after appointing us to our positions.”

“I’d like to think there was a reason for keeping silent about it,” Byleth says though even she doesn’t sound sure, and it strikes you as odd. Not Byleth doubting Rhea, but her not being sure about something. “A reason I can’t wait to hear once we’re back on the surface.” She reaches across the table, presenting her open palm to your hand holding your glass. You surrender and give it to her, watching a little too intently when her throat bobs as she swallows another round.

“Yuri expects another attack on the Abyss soon,” Byleth continues and rises to her feet. She stretches like a cat in the sun. “We should head to bed and rest up. I wouldn’t want a repeat of the last battle.”

“Oh, come on, it was not that bad.”

“You almost fell asleep from exhaustion when those two Grapplers advanced,” Byleth says, using her Professor voice on you.

You can’t help but grin. “And just like I predicted, you came and saved me.” Byleth’s mouth twitches into a flat line, but you can see that she is pleased. “Pulling an all-nighter to study the maps and outline of Abyss and the secrets it has to offer was a good idea. There are some interesting chambers holding traps and pitfalls. Whoever built this place really wanted to keep people away.”

“Makes you think what could be hiding deeper down in Abyss,” Byleth thinks aloud. “And maybe one of the next bandits will be kind enough to tell us.”

You nod. It was Claude’s idea to take someone captive and get answers from them, and hopefully shed some light on what it is exactly that their employer wants from Abyss.

Byleth escorts you to your chamber, your quiet voices bouncing off the damp walls in the dark corridor that stretch away into unprepossessing shadows. Unlike up in the monastery, the walls here are bare of tapestries and sometimes even of torches which makes traversing the tunnels difficult. You’ve let Linhardt show you simple fire spells to have a source of light on you.

“But it would be far easier if you learnt Light Magic,” he had commented as you two bent over scrolls and books, fighting a yawn. “Also much safer and highly unlikely to set yourself on fire.”

You had closed the tome he’d slid across the table to you, smiling stiffly. “Duly noted.”

The flame dancing across your palm now flickers but doesn’t waver, illuminating the corridor and painting Byleth’s face with a sheen of soft, amber light, giving her pale complexion a little colour. She is watching you conjuring the spell; how your fingers close around the flame as if it were a small beating heart, easily snuffed out whenever a breeze swipes through the corridors.

“I see your Magic Prowess is growing,” Byleth notes. “As is your ability to hold your own ground on the battlefield. You’ve grown used to fighting.”

That isn’t a compliment you had ever thought someone would tell you, but coming from Byleth, you know it is true. You have noticed it yourself—how with every battle it gets easier to see the enemy’s movements and abilities, their weapons and gear. Calling upon the power of the Herald’s Crest, usually a taxing and draining endeavour that left you resting up in your chambers, has become much easier since you have met Seiros’ Champion. Whenever he makes his presence known with quiet whispers of where to lead your students next, soft pushes as if he is placing his small child’s hand upon your shoulder to guide you to victory, his support is like wind in your sails, propelling you forward and lifting your courage.

“You are not as scared as you were in the beginning,” she continues. “You have never much wavered in your tactics, but you seem even more sure now.”

All that praise from her makes your ears scald with heat. Though praise it seems, you know that Byleth only speaks truth. “I have finally started to trust in my abilities. If people see me doubt, how can they follow where I lead them in battle?” you say, even though that is not entirely the truth, of course. Which is why you hastily add, “And I trust you. As long as you are by my side, we are invincible.”

“So it is,” Byleth says, turning her head so that her moss-green eyes dig into you like hooks. “And yet I wonder. This courage, is it just because you wish to defend Abyss? To prove yourself before Yuri and his companions. Or is there something else? Something that you want to share with me?”

You both pause in front of the door leading to your quarters, the silence smothering you like a heavy blanket of freshly fallen snow that puts everything into a deep slumber. No matter how much you dig through that snow though, you can’t find the resolve to tell her about Seiros’ Champion. Where would you even begin to explain?

It might seem that I have turned mad but believe me when I tell you the soul of the first Herald resides within me and sometimes, he whispers to me what I should do, and he likes to gossip from time to time as well. He seems fond of Edelgard in particular, and notices whenever she looks at you, but you choose not to see it.

You stare at her, not entirely sure what you are waiting for. Maybe that Byleth learns how to read your thoughts so you wouldn’t have to speak these outlandish things aloud. Instead, you say, “No. There is nothing.”

Byleth considers you for a moment. You make it a point not to shy away from her scrutinising gaze, as one would do with nothing to hide, you assume. In the end, she relents first, but not because she grants you an easy victory. You’re certain she knows when it is wise to return to a battle at a later time. “I see,” she says mildly. “Rest up, then. I will see you tomorrow.”

You watch her disappear down the hallway, the blade at her side peeking out from under her black robes like a sly wink; like a promise waiting for the right time to jump out of the shadows and strike you in the back. It occurs to you then, for the first time, that maybe the timely meeting with Seiros’ Champion and Byleth activating the power of the Sword of the Creator might be connected.

The Chalice of Beginnings. The way it all ties back to the Rite of Rising, the very same festivities used as a distraction to try and steal Seiros’ remains—unless the Western Church somehow knew what they would find inside the tomb would be something entirely different—and ultimately the reason you are all down here … calling it simply coincidence is like cooing at a fox shortly before it snaps with sharp fangs at you. It is hard to tell what play you are conducting on the stage unknown forces have set you upon. All you can hope for is that it doesn’t end up being a tragedy.

With the scrolls, papers and books Aelfric was kind enough to lend you spread over the make-shift workplace you’ve put together using crates, you’re spending the evening reading up on the Rite of Passing and the Four Apostles. Even though some of the texts are so badly damaged you can barely make out their content, it all matches with what Aelfric has already told you: the ritual is believed to have the power to resurrect a life that was lost using the chalice which only the Four Apostles had access to. After the ritual failed, they bound the chalice so that it would never fall into mortal hands. Capable of something that grand, it is no wonder whoever is after it throws ambush after ambush at the Abyssians in hopes to find crumbs leading to where this treasure of immeasurable worth might be.

But if that chalice really exists, where is it? To search for the Chasm of Bound below Abyss feels like trying to find a needle in a haystack. There is no telling how much time you have left before either Rhea demands everyone’s presence back or you are unable to protect the Abyssians any longer from the mob of greedy thugs.

“Knock knock,” a voice says from the entrance to your room.

You startle, too lost in thought to notice anyone approaching. Claude is leaning against the doorframe, having come up behind you as silent as a cat. He has changed out of his gear, wearing loose dark trousers tied at the waist, and a simple white shirt that stands in contrast against his tanned skin. The first buttons of his collar are open, showing the elegant curves of his collarbones. His dark hair is damp, curling against his temples and the nape of his neck.

“Did something happen?” you ask, moving in alarm to rise from your seat, though surely, he wouldn’t lean so leisurely and relaxed against the door if there was another attack. He confirms as much with a lazy wave of his hand, unhitching himself from the frame. “Nope, nothing to worry about. I just thought I’d drop by and say hi. Do you know how difficult it is to pin you down? You’ve gotten really busy since we’ve come down here.”

“You know, no rest for the wicked.” You try to restore order on your desk by organising the books and scrolls in one corner. You’ve completely lost track of time, and as it turns out, magical fire is incapable of burning candles to their wick, so there is really no telling how long you’ve been holed up in your room, studying the ancient texts. “Do you need something?”

“Just thought we’d have a nice, pleasant chat.” The smile flirting with Claude’s lips is dangerous for it tries to appear innocent, yet the way his green eyes glint with mischief, like the edge of a knife flashing as it is drawn from a hidden sheath, promises nothing good. “Been a while since we’ve had one of those.”

You can’t remember if you have ever had one with Claude. Maybe all those moons ago after you had awoken with your new power, which now feels like a lifetime ago. You lean back in your chair, allowing your eyes a break after all those hours of reading. Maybe this distraction might help.

“Okay, I’m all yours.” You stand up, waving at the chair to offer Claude a place to sit, and absolutely missing the way he shoots you an amused glance at your choice of words. Instead of taking up your offer though, he steps backward. Suspicion crawls up your back, feathery light like a spider making its way to new prey caught in its web.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Claude says and with a swift kick, shuts the door behind him. You stare at him, tongue-tied. Can students just do that with faculty members? Yuri’s voice creeps up from a dark corner in your memory: “You’d do well to keep in mind that the monastery rules don’t apply down here, Herald.”

“I just have a few questions, is all,” he continues, still smiling but anything pleasant in his voice has made room for an urgency that you can’t remember ever having heard coming from him. Claude crosses the room in quick strides, and leans his hips sideways against the table. His eyes flick over the remaining texts on your table, his head slightly cocking to one side to get a better angle to read them. When you clear your throat, he startles, and looks back up at you.

“Right, sorry.” He knows that you know that he, in fact, is not sorry. “The library here has some pretty interesting things, I gotta say. Books and scrolls you’d never find in the monastery’s library. There are some things that are hard to believe, though. There’s this funny book hidden inside a false cover that talks about a Distance Viewer and Flammable Black Water and a Metal-Hold Printing Machine. Imagine the technological advancement one of the nations would achieve if they could actually build and utilise devices like that.”

“Is that why you’re here?” you ask. “To talk about the Abyss’ book collection?”

“What? No. No, I—,” he begins, tapping his slender fingers impatiently against the wood. You don’t think you have ever seen this restlessness about him. Claude has always appeared as steady as his bow-hand, sure that wherever he aims the shot will land true. “I was just wondering if something happened after your fall down here. Something you can’t tell us.”

You feel as if ice water has been dumped down the back of your neck, shocking you to full alertness. Claude must see that he has caught you off guard; a look of hesitancy flashes across your face before you can speak. “And what would that something be, exactly?”

He lowers his voice. “I thought you might tell me.”

You stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of anxiety spreading slowly through your limbs. “Nothing happened. Whatever gave you the idea that I’m hiding something from you guys?”

There is a moment of silence as you two trade a look that feels like a dare. There is something forbidding about the intensity of Claude’s gaze, the tension of his stillness. His fingers stop their rhythmic tap tap against the table, and now clutch onto its edge, his knuckles turning white. “I’ve always figured your reservation towards using your Crest came from the novelty of it. The foreignness of a power that isn’t yours. But in our recent battles, there’s nothing of that anymore.

“I thought maybe it’s because you met the Ashen Wolves and the people from Abyss, and you feel sympathy towards them and that’s giving you a little more oomph to try making use of the Crest. But that’s not it, is it? You’ve changed from despising the powers to fully embracing them. Wielding them as if you’ve never done anything else in your life.”

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, and you don’t miss Claude’s eyes quickly jumping down to your mouth for a second. Or maybe it was just your imagination, the flickering shadow of the small candle’s light across his face. “Maybe I’ve just grown used to it,” you reply quietly.

“Herald, you grow used to balding or riding a new steed.” He looks at you sharply, his head tilted to the side. Something in his voice changes in that moment. “You don’t get used to something that changes your life from being a nobody to suddenly standing in the centre of the world. Not really.” His voice has a veneer of calm, but beneath you could hear the vibration of some very different emotion.

What changed for you, then? you want to ask. It doesn’t feel like the answer would be so simple as the appointment to the heir of the Leicester Alliance.

You shift, folding your arms in front of you for lack of a response. As much as you like to discount Claude’s tendency for plots and schemes, there is something disconcertingly earnest about him right now. The similarity is striking you all of a sudden, the shadow passing his eyes one you have already seen in Sylvain’s when he had tried talking about his Crest and its troubles.

“All I’m saying is,” Claude continues, and he takes a step towards you. Instinctively, you take one back. He takes another one. This goes on until it ends with your back against the wall. “All I’m saying is that maybe Teach finding her new shiny weapon triggered something in you,” he says now, propping himself up against the wall, his hand splayed beside your head. “Maybe a memory? Something like that?”

You hold his gaze, not shying away from his scrutinising eyes or the close proximity. So, you are not the only one thinking that the Sword of the Creator and the Crest of the Herald are connected in a way the other Crests are not. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Claude, of all people, is the first to have noticed it. You had simply failed—or underestimated him, rather—to anticipate that he would also act on that theory and corner you like a mouse to get answers. Literally.

“Nothing like that happened, Claude,” you say now, feeling like you’re walking on a lightrope, and a single misplaced word could send you plunging. And then, he is there, his presence like the light brush of soft flower petals against the back of your mind. Do not tell him yet. Do not tell anyone yet, I ask of you. I do not wish the world to know I still exist. Silly Champion of Seiros. You’ve already understood his feelings perfectly without him having to tell you.

“Somehow, I was given this power. I tried fighting it for so long, but there’s no way I can run from this. I realised that, so now I’m just trying to make the best out of it.” It is only half the truth, but that is something Claude doesn’t need to know. It is also something he didn’t want to hearyou realise as you watch his expression turn into something close to disappointment.

“I’m sure Lady Rhea would enjoy hearing this,” Claude says, his voice deep and thin like a knife’s edge—and just as sharp.

“You’re not very subtle, Claude.” You try to move past him, but he doesn’t budge. “What’s your problem?”

“Problem? There is no problem.” The mask of bored indifference slips back on his face, turning his eyes distant, and cold even. An easy smile stretches over his features, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I just enjoy teasing you.”

“And maybe I’ll enjoy sticking a dagger in your side.”

Claude laughs. “That’s not very Heraldy of you.”

You try to see if that laugh means you’re good, but his eyes are closed doors. Your face must be a question mark, because he says, “Herald,” and touches your cheek gently, grazing your skin with the rough pads of his fingers. You inhale sharply, gaze snapping up to his. Claude’s eyes widen, realising what he’s doing only then, and his warm, calloused fingers freeze against your cheek.

Just as he opens his mouth, knocks come from your front door. He lifts an eyebrow at you, asking if you are expecting visitors at this time. You just shrug. You certainly didn’t expect him, and yet here he is.

Claude pushes himself off the wall, allowing you to cross the room and open the door a crack wide. Through the narrow opening you see Dimitri standing in the hallway. When he spies you glancing at him, he gives you a shy smile that quickly turns into a scowl when Claude comes up behind you. He presses his chest against your back and leans an arm against the door frame above your head. “Oh, Dimitri?” Claude drawls.

Dimitri pales as he sees, and certainly misunderstands the sudden intimate proximity Claude is displaying. He presses his mouth into a thin line. “Pardon the intrusion, Herald. I thought maybe this would be a good moment to review the last battle reports. But I see…,” and here his eyes dart over to Claude and sweep over him as if he were a particularly unpleasant surprise he found under his bed, “… you are preoccupied.”

“Please, don’t mind me at all,” Claude beams, his grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

Dimitri’s scowl deepens more. His eyes turn into the blue of an icy-cold glacier dominating the coastline of Faerghus in the North. “I do, actually. I wish to speak with the Herald in private.”

“Then get in line for an appointment. Our Herald is very popular with folks, as you know.” And with that, he closes the door in Dimitri’s face.

You’re pretty sure Dimitri on the other side is wearing the same expression of dumbfounded surprise that is on your face. “What is going on with you, Claude?” you ask and turn to him, forgetting how close he is. When you almost bump into his chest, you take a hurried step to the side. “The way you are acting is unbecoming of someone with your station.”

Claude shrugs. “Don’t worry, Dimitri won’t take it to heart. It’s just that things have started to happen that don’t make sense, and I am all about making sense of the senseless.” He looks over at you, smiling. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

You’re spared the eye roll for an answer when distant bell ringing heralds another ambush on Abyss. Claude heaves a long, weary sigh. “No rest for the wicked, huh…” He turns to open the door, but except a little rattle, nothing happens, no matter how hard he shakes at the handle.

“Come on,” you say, unable to contain the urgency in your voice. “Open the door.”

“Well.” He turns around. “It appears that it is stuck.”

Your eyes go wide. “Then unstuck it.”

Claude throws himself against the door. It doesn’t budge. He curses. “My shoulder will never be the same. I expect you to nurse me back to health when this is over.”

“This is your fault,” you press out between gritted teeth. “Just break the door down, we can’t waste more time.”

“That’s what I’m—,” Claude throws himself once more against the hard wood, “—trying.”

There’s a loud crack and the door opens to the other side; not by swinging but by being lifted out of its hinges. Behind it, Dimitri is peeking around the frame, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “I thought you two might be in need of some assistance.”

“Yeah, I was … I was about to do the same,” Claude says.

You push him aside, hurrying down the corridor and waving them after you. “Lucky for us, Dimitri was faster.”

“No, really!” Claude calls after you. “I was just about to do the same!”

The fight lasted throughout the whole night. When you return to your chamber, drenched in grime and blood, you can’t even be bothered with your missing door and fall face first into your bed, remembering too late that it’s as hard as the ground.

After an hour or two of resting, you quickly clean yourself up and meet the others for a short breakfast of dry rye bread and mushy oats, letting them believe the red bump on your forehead is from the battle. There is a little spare time before the meeting to discuss your next course of action, so you head back to your room for some more shut-eye.

“Herald.”

A raspy whisper stops you, drawing your attention to a chamber you walked past on your way to the classroom many times. Not once has it been occupied since your arrival in Abyss. But now it is decorated with heavy velvet curtains and tapestries. Violet lights hang from lanterns on the ceiling, illuminating the heavy furniture and curtains in soft, misty light. You remember Constance mentioning something about a Wayseer’s room, usually empty, but now inhabited by an elderly woman sitting in an armchair too big for her behind a round, mahogany table. You can only see a pair of narrow, dark eyes staring up at you. Her nose and mouth are hidden behind a white veil.

“Please, do come in, Herald,” the woman croons and gestures to an empty, cushioned chair standing before the table. Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “There is so much we have to discuss.”

Something in your chest gives a sudden, sharp tug. Seiros’ Champion? No, this feels different. Somehow … It feels wrong. You shouldn’t be here. You hover within the doorframe, looking down the corridor left and right. It is like everyone except you two has left Abyss.

Curiosity taking you in its reins, you step into the room, your eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. “Who are you?” you ask, cautiously making your way across the room towards the chair.

The woman chuckles.

“They call me Wayseer, Herald. For I see the paths people have walked and how far they still have to march until they arrive at their destination.”

You pause, hand resting on the chair’s backrest. The wood feels impossibly cold against your skin. “You can see … the future?”

The woman chuckles again. It is the sound of dry leaves scattered by the cold autumn wind. “You mean do I have the same ability as you? Making Time bow to me? Oh no. Nothing of the like. I simply glimpse where I am allowed. No one else has what you wield.”

“Of course.” You sit, quickly swallowing your disappointment.

“Oh, but why frown like that, Herald.” The Wayseer places her hands to both sides of a translucent orb placed before her on a dark socket. You could have sworn it was not there a second ago. They were small hands with lithe fingers like spider legs. On each finger she wore heavy rings. “So many would kill for what you seem not to appreciate. Power. Glory. The chance to sit upon the throne of the world.”

“I would appreciate people not telling me how to feel about it,” you snap, irritation lashing out like a cornered beast. Taken aback, you lean away from her, your back pressed right against the cold chair. It feels as if you are pressing yourself against a solid block of ice. Where did this come from? This fury?

The Wayseer’s lip curls. If she’s taken offence at your irritation, she doesn’t show. She shifts in her seat like a child impatient to finally be allowed to play with a new toy.

“What can you tell me about my paths then?” you ask. There is little you hope for, really. If she tells you she sees you living in a nice house by the sea in twenty years or so, that is all you can ask for. A peaceful life. You would simply be happy hearing you will survive the next few years. And, if she can see where exactly you have come from, then maybe luck really is on your side this time and you can finally find some answers.

“Very well.” The Wayseer’s chuckle is drier than crisp autumn leaves. She holds out her wiry hand and says, “Close your eyes, Herald, and give me your hand.”

You aren’t too keen on skinship with a stranger, but just to humour both of you, you comply, and placing your hand into hers, palm up, you close your eyes. You feel her gnarly fingers dance over your wrist, brushing over your open palm as light as a spider’s touch. You fight a shudder.

The pain is so sudden and jarring like a lightning bolt. Before you can pull your hand back, the Wayseer grabs your wrist hard like a vice—surprisingly strong for someone this old. Her head darts forward and she sucks your bleeding finger into her greedy mouth as if it were water and she is dying of thirst.

“What are you doing?” you demand, fighting to free your hand. Finally, the Wayseer releases your finger with a wet pop from her lips, and for a second you believe to see razor sharp teeth before the veil obscures her mouth again.

The Wayseer smacks her lips and scratches her nails against the smooth surface of her orb. Maybe this is all a joke. If Claude and Hilda jump out from under the table any second and laugh about the silly face you’re making, you wouldn’t even be angry. But no one emerges, and you stay alone with this mad woman. She’s moving her hands in strange motions over the orb, and in response colourful clouds swirl inside the ball. First red, then blue, and golden until, like a storm rolling in, all of a sudden it becomes black.

The Wayseer recoils.

She tries to suck in air as if she is drowning, her eyes bulging like a dead fish’s. She spits on the ground and a shudder wrecks through her, one that has her falling from her armchair onto the ground, her body convulsing. She begins to cough, a horrible, rattling sound, as if there is something stuck deep inside her that she can’t get out. Clawing at her throat, digging her nails deep enough into the skin to tear, she kicks and wails as if set in invisible flames. As if something is burning her up from the inside. Like poison.

You jump to your feet, rounding the table to help her but she screeches and scrambles away from you, eyes ripped wide open. “Who … no, what are you?” she croaks.

“I … I don’t know.” Your voice is so quiet you don’t know if she can even hear you. “I hoped you could tell me.”

The Wayseer turns to the side and spits some more. It is so dark that it almost looks black, whatever that is—blood or maybe something far gruesome?

Did I do that? you think, horrified as you watch her climb to her feet, still shaking and shuddering. You are about to apologise, reaching forward to steady her by her elbow, but the Wayseer shakes your effort away impatiently as if you are nothing but an annoying fly.

“Oh, my dear, you seem forsaken to me,” she says, and you can’t hold back your surprise how easily she bears no mind or grudge to whatever has happened. Whatever you might have caused. “Just like—” She stops. Her eyes are fixed on her orb that is now swirling in undistinguishable shapes. She leans over it, her gaze pining you like a dead animal on a corkboard. “It seems to me that the answers you seek lie in the Shadow Library, Herald,” the Wayseer says now, her voice suddenly smooth like clear water. Or the satin concealing a sharp knife. But what makes your stomach churn is the way she purred “Herald.” Almost mockingly, and you realise the spiking fear in your stomach doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the first Herald.

“Why can’t you tell me?” you ask.

“Because it is not my place to tell you.” The Wayseer casts down her eyes now. Her whole behaviour doesn’t make sense. Making light of the Herald’s name first, now acting obedient. You listen inside for the voice of Seiros’ Champion and find one emotion burning like a beacon in the dark. Get out. She is the enemy.

You jump to your feet, almost knocking the table over. “I have to go.”

“Of course.” The Wayseer bows her head slightly, and from the way her eyes become slits, you can see she is smiling underneath the veil. “But don’t forget, the Shadow Library holds answers. Do not let anyone stop you from chasing the truth.”

You give an awkward nod, not trusting your voice.

When you quickly leave the room and throw a last glance back, you think you see the unfamiliar face of a man staring back at you from inside the Wayseer’s orbs, his eyes eerily white.

The Shadow Library is a dark, damp room tucked away at the end of a narrow hall that is seldom frequented by the Abyssians. When you take a look inside, relief fills you that only Linhardt is currently occupying a seat close to a wall, an uneven stack of books his only companion.

The Wayseer didn’t say specifically where to look, but you would start with records on the first Herald and see what you could turn up about him.

But first, you have to deal with Linhardt who’s napping away in his seat, cheek squished against the edge of an open book.

“Linhardt.” You shake him. “Linhardt!”

He jerks up. “I’m awake,” he lies, blinking sleepily against the dim candle’s light. He looks up at you, squints and seems to recognise who caught him. “Oh, it’s just you, Herald. Come to a late study session as well? Or early morning? It’s certainly hard to tell down here with no sun.”

“How long have you been awake?”

Linhardt thinks about that for a moment, his eyes losing focus, then refocusing again. “Forty-two hours, maybe?”

“Bed. Now.”

He leans back, considering the idea. “We can’t say for how long we’ll have access to this hidden knowledge. Did you know it was only with the founding of the Adrestian Empire that we have the calendar as we know it today. They used to call our moons ‘months,’ if you can believe something this extraordinary! You can’t find data like that up in the monastery’s library.”

“Linhardt,” you repeat. “Go to bed. Or do you want me to get Byleth?”

Linhardt doesn’t need to consider this. He raises to his feet, sways a little from exhaustion, and tugs his uniform in order. “Good night, Herald.”

He turns and moves to the exit, but you call him back. “Linhardt!”

He stops. You point at the table. His mouth twitches into an unpleasant line, the only sight of his disapproval, but he returns, drops the books and scrolls he’s hidden in the folds of his robes, and leaves for good.

Quiet settles, and you give it a minute or two to calm your beating heart. “I know you don’t like this,” you say out loud, hoping Seiros’ Champion might finally stop being so anxious inside you. “I don’t trust that Wayseer either, but if I find answers here, I’ll take anything I can get.” He doesn’t know what it is like not knowing anything. Are you even a real person if you don’t have a past; if you don’t have anything or anyone remembering you? “I have a right to know who I am.”

Unfathomable sadness spills at those words—his mixing with yours and you can’t say who started it. But he quickly recedes, leaving you alone. Somehow you feel even worse now. Lonely. You wonder where he left to where you can’t follow him.

You make your way along the walls of books, allowing your fingers to gently journey over the spines. There are so many stories in here that so few people get to read. This library’s collection appears larger than the monastery’s as well, solely for the fact that they don’t have enough space for all the knowledge cramped into every nook and cranny. Wherever there is even some small additional space, someone has made it their calling to fill that blank spot with a book—even when it doesn’t fit.

Without any idea to start, you continue down the aisle and pick whatever sounds interesting. Letters from heirs to noble houses, an antiquated note on what meat to use for a special dish prepared for the new emperor at ceremonies, a novel set in the Adrestian Empire with a date of removal and Seteth’s signature. So this is where the books end up that Seteth doesn’t allow up in the monastery.

You’d hoped to find more about the Herald down here maybe, but there are no records, no memoirs, not even discourse. Why did no one care to keep your records alive? you wonder, but wherever the boy has retreated to, he can’t hear you, or perhaps, chooses not to hear you.

Nothing sticks out as something truly worthy of Seteth’s scorn at first glance. That is until you find the burnt remnants of a report stating some details on a handful of noble houses, another scroll that talks about a False God and the children of men fleeing to the depths of the earth. One paper strikes you as particularly important, but the page is so old and worn that most of the text is illegible. The Truth of Heroes’ Relics. You wonder what it might be, what truth lies within the relics and their Crests that the writer of this paper finished with the words “I daresay the Goddess would not wish for me to learn more than I already have.”

You finally hit a breakthrough when a stack of papers falls to your feet, bundled together with a crumbling piece of wool. When you begin to read, you realise these are the fragments of a forgotten memoir of someone who had fought in the War of Heroes. With clammy hands, you begin to read.

__/15 - Ailell Forest It has been several moons since King Nemesis was defeated, and the tides of war have turned from bad to worse. I have received news that my friend Daphnel has fallen as well. Those zealots are after our heads, and those of our leaders. All that is left for us is to disappear into the muddy waters Seiros has created. My long life may soon come to an end …

__/2 - Itha Plains I somehow escaped with my life, but I fear the end is near. They tell stories of the Shadowlord’s execution and with him gone, what point is there for us, those who have survived? Those who remain and carry a broken legacy. People are worried, for their Herald has locked himself in his rooms, unwilling to speak to his followers or Saint Seiros. They do not understand how he could be so distraught over the Shadowlord’s death. They do not know the truth. Once more, Seiros has chosen to keep secrets, to play with her charges’ obedience and fear. But I know. The world will know the truth at some point and then Seiros will reap the rotten harvest of what she has sown. I misspoke and was driven away to the Fhirid River. They hunt us like animals. I considered leaving Crusher behind, hiding my trails. Maybe it is too late for that. I wish I could see my wife and son again … just one last time.

You read the content of the worn pages once more, trying to make a sense of it. Daphnel was one of the Ten Heroes, as was the author of this letter—if you remember correctly, the Heroes’ Relic Crusher was wielded by Dominic. It must be from after the corruption if King Nemesis was defeated, but from the way those words are framed, the author doesn’t strike you as someone mad for more power or revenge. It is strange but you feel pity for this person.

There is another name that stands out, of course, one that you have not heard in all your moons since joining the church.

The Shadowlord.

The name is like a brush of icy cold fingers against your mind, as gently as a snake grazing your ankle before it springs forward and sinks its venomous fangs deep into your flesh. A shiver passes your body, only it is settled so deep within your bones that you know this is not your fear rekindled.

But as you focus on chasing after Seiros’ Champion before he can disappear back into the murky depths of your mind, a cough comes from the library’s entrance. Your gaze snaps up to see Yuri standing in the doorway. The look of annoyance on his face is something that deserves its own painting to commemorate it.

“I hope you plan on putting that back exactly where you found it,” he says, strolling over as if he doesn’t have any care in the world but the tense set of his shoulders betrays him. “Wouldn’t want any of that to find its way into the hands of someone from the surface.”

“Don’t you get bored?” you ask, folding the papers back together and pushing them back between two books.

Yuri stops, quickly eyeing what you’ve put away to undoubtedly have a look himself once you leave. “Bored of what?”

“Pretending I’m still the villain and here to sell out your people?”

To your surprise, a look of unabashed amusement lights up his face for a moment. It settles back to a somewhat neutral expression, but the glee still remains in the soft dip of the dimple on his left cheek.

“Better safe than sorry,” Yuri replies, shrugging casually. His nimble fingers dance across book spines. “Though yes, even I must admit that your deeds for the people of Abyss are not what I have expected.” His fingers pause. Yuri leans forward, lilac eyes gleaming. His face is predatory, but his voice is gentle. “You are not what I have expected.”

His words feel like the warm flick of a candle’s light. You didn’t realise until now how much you cared for Yuri’s approval. To think he’s warming up to you slowly might still be an exaggeration, but maybe he’ll grant you the generosity of a looser tongue now that he doesn’t see you as the enemy.

Your eyes skim back to where you’ve returned the letters, fingers itching to take them with you until you know every word by heart. “I’ve … I’ve read about this person. Shadowlord. Any idea who that was?”

Yuri raises a slim eyebrow. “The Shadowlord?” He looks a little puzzled, his eyes roaming over the books. “It’s just a story. A boogie man living in the shadows that steals you away if you don’t finish eating all your vegetables. Grandparents used to tell their grandchildren that story so they wouldn’t be naughty.”

“So just the bad guy in a fairy tale?”

“Is what I’ve heard.” He gives a single shrug. “Who knows. All fairy tales have a spark of truth to them though. Maybe he truly existed.”

You’re sure that is what people thought about the Herald as well until the story became reality. You just hope this particular story remains one.

“Also, I would appreciate it if you don’t go around the monastery telling everyone what you’re reading down here,” Yuri says, waving towards the library’s entrance to signal your late-night reading has come to an end.

You hesitate only a moment before you follow him down the corridor, leaving the books and tomes behind. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Great.” He winks at you. “Saves me the trouble of sneaking into your room and slitting your throat.”

“Charming as always.”

Maybe one day you’ll be capable of holding a pleasant conversation with him without any death threats. Though it already feels as if a little of Yuri’s animosity has disappeared in favour of giving you a chance to prove yourself.

He drops you off at the door to your quarters, already flaunting down the corridor to whatever nightly escapade fancies his tastes without so much as a wave at you over his shoulder.

“That Wayseer,” you say before he can disappear into the shadows. “What’s her deal?”

Yuri stops. He turns slowly, his eyes flitting from the dark corners of the flickering lights on the walls to you. There’s a question in his eyes you don’t know the answer to. “What Wayseer?” he asks, and you can feel your blood run cold. “I know everyone going in and out of Abyss, and I haven’t heard about someone like that hanging around.”

“But that room next to the scrap chamber…”

“Hasn’t been occupied in years.” When Yuri answers this time, he turns around and looks at you a little sceptical but also impatient as if he doesn’t have time for whatever pipe dreams you’ve come up with. “I guess someone played a joke on you. Don’t let it get to you.”

You nod, but your mind still lingers in that room, with that person. It would be easy to brush it off as a joke. But this sense of wrongness spikes again, a kernel of goddess-awful flavour that the more you think about it has you gagging. You had felt an awareness. No. More than awareness, more sentient than that. It was recognition.

A/N: someone over at ao3 made fanart of the first herald and i'm absolutely in love!! check it out here!

if you're interested to join the taglist, please let me know! i want to resume uploads every month, so the next chapter should be up on September 15th. thanks for reading and take care!

#phill.tdwc #fe3h x reader #fe3h dimitri x reader #fe3h claude x reader #fe3h edelgard x reader #dimitri x reader #claude x reader #edelgard x reader #fe3h house leaders x reader #fe3h x oc #fe3h x gn!reader

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halloweenismyfav · 2 years

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【 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 + 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 】

【 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 】

❥ Toilet Bound Hanako-kun

❥ A3!

❥ Twisted Wonderland

❥ Genshin Impact

❥ Fire Emblem Three Houses

❥ Arcane

【 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 】

❥ Extreme Gore/Gruesome Injuries

❥ NSFW

❥ Pedophilia

❥ Incest/Stepcest

❥ Yandere

【 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 】

❥ Fluff

❥ Angst

❥ Suggestive Content (to an extent and only characters 16+)

❥ Oneshots

❥ Headcanons

❥ Character Interactions

❥ X Readers

❥ Character x Character

❥ AUs/Crossovers (depending on if I know the other media well enough)

❥ General/Platonic Relationships

❥ Same Sex Relationships

【 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 】

Please forgive me if there is a character you wanted to request but isn’t on this list! I just have my own preferences of who I write and which ones are easier. (i.e. sometimes certain characters don’t have enough screentime)

bold = platonic only

◦ 𝐓𝐁𝐇𝐊 ◦ Yashiro Nene, Hanako/Yugi Amane, Yugi Tsukasa, Kou Minamoto, Teru Minamoto, Mitsuba Sousuke, Akane Aoi, Aoi Akane, Yako, Tsuchugomori, Hyuuga Natsuhiko, Nanamine Sakura, Shijima Mei

◦ 𝐀𝟑! ◦ Sakuya Sakuma, Masumi Usui, Tsuzuru Minagi, Itaru Chigasaki, Citron, Chikage Utsuki, Tenma Sumeragi, Yuki Rurikawa, Muku Sakisaka, Misumi Ikaruga, Kazunari Miyoshi, Kumon Hyodo, Banri Settsu, Juza Hyodo, Sakyo Furuichi, Taichi Nanao, Omi Fushimi, Azami Izumida, Tsumugi Tsukioka, Tasuku Takato, Homare Arisugawa, Hisoka Mikage, Azuma Yukishiro, Guy, Izumi Tachibana, Matsukawa, Tetsuro, Ken Sakoda

◦ 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 ◦ Riddle Rosehearts, Trey Clover, Cater Diamond, Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Leona Kingscholar, Ruggie Bucchi, Jack Howl, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Jamil Viper, Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Epel Felmier, Idia Shroud, Ortho Shroud, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver, Sebek Zigvolt, Cheka, Che'nya, Neige Leblanche, Grim

◦ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 ◦ Aether, Lumine, Paimon, Dainsleif, Scara/Wanderer, Albedo, Amber, Arataki Itto, Barbara, Beidou, Bennett, Chongyun, Collei, Cyno, Diluc, Diona, Eula, Fischl, Gorou, Hu Tao, Jean, Kaedehara Kazuha, Kaeya, Kamisato Ayaka, Klee, Kujou Sara, Kuki Shinobu, Lisa, Mona, Ningguang, Noelle, Qiqi, Raiden Shogun/Ei, Razor, Rosaria, Sangonomiya Kokomi, Sayu, Shenhe, Shikanoin Heizou, Sucrose, Tartaglia, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Xiangling, Xiao, Xingqiu, Xinyan, Yae Miko, Yanfei, Yelan, Yoimiya, Yun Jin, Zhongli

◦ 𝐅𝐄𝟑𝐇 ◦ Byleth (male and female), Edelgard, Hubert, Ferdinand, Linhardt, Caspar, Bernadetta, Dorothea, Petra, Dimitri, Dedue, Felix, Ashe, Sylvain, Mercedes, Annette, Ingrid, Claude, Lorenz, Raphael, Ignatz, Lysithea, Marianne, Hilda, Leonie, Yuri, Balthus, Constance, Hapi, Flayn

◦ 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 ◦ Vi, Jinx, Ekko, Caitlyn, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

【 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 】

I automatically make the reader gender neutral unless you specifiy otherwise!

I tend to write more general things now for TBHK rather than reader inserts, but I'll still accept requests for X Readers if you wish.

I’ve seen up to Chapter 5 with TWST, along with about half of Chapter 6, so try not to send requests that include spoilers for anything beyond that! It'd be greatly appreciated ^^

For FE3H, I don't write for the Church of Seiros (except for Flayn). I like them all but I just don't enjoy writing for them as much qwq

I’ve watched all of Arcane but I haven’t played League of Legends so if there’s something that I should know about, please let me know!

For any requests involving the fluff alphabet I have, I'll allow a maximum of 5 letters and 5 characters per request. Just remember that the more letters and characters there are, the longer it'll take me to finish.

Regarding suggestive requests, anyone under 16 will not be allowed to have suggestive requests. It just makes me uncomfortable. (Suggestive meaning no full blown NSFW but some mild spice.)

【 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 】

💌.answered prayers — Answered requests!

💌.apprentice's prayers — Non-request writing!

💌.pragma — Romantic and/or Fluff

💌.mania — Angst

💌.eros — Suggestive

💌.philia — Platonic (as Friends)

💌.storge — Platonic (as Family)

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #genshin impact x reader #fire emblem x reader #arcane x reader #fire emblem three houses x reader #tbhk x reader #a3 x reader #💌.apprentice's rules

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fictionparadiso · 7 months

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Kinktober 2023 List

Hello! I have decided to participate in Kinktober this year, writing little ficlets for each day (hopefully). I am using the @kinktober2023 list, but I will be modifying it to make sure I only write for things I feel comfortable with or I have inspiration for.

Each of these will incorporate both the new, more SFW list at the end of the kinktober list (indicated by the kink after the "+"), but will also include the "classic" NSFW with the kinks (and more) as listed before the "+". You can also see the Characters these are written for at the end.

ALL of these will ONLY feature male character(s), somehow be "x Male!Reader" and feature both foreplay and aftercare.

Leather & Latex | Macro/Micro + Hand holding ~ Drayden

Roleplay | Titfucking + Ear Cleaning ~ Iwai

Bootworship | Bukkake + Lap Pillow ~ Jeralt

Teratophilia | Rimming + Nonsexual age play ~ Bigby Wolf

Omorashi | Collaring | Sweat + Embracing ~ Leon

Frottage | Chastity + First Kiss ~ Lucifer

Virginity | Waxplay + Swapping/Sharing clothes ~ Milo

Breeding | Master & Slave + Napping Together ~ Diavolo

Lactation | Stripping + Deep Kissing ~ Asterius

NTR | Praise Kink + Shining Shoes ~ Professor Kukui

Petplay | Humiliation | Sensory Deprivation + Shopping ~ Lysandre

Medical Play | Somnophilia | Costumes + Chaste Kiss ~ Harvey

Size Difference | Heartbeat + Playing with hair ~ Derek

Armpit | Orgasm Denial + Back scratching ~ Scott Howl

Shotgunning | Temperature Play + Massaging ~ Rengoku

Double Penetration in One Hole | Gags | Public + Familiar scents ~ Graves and Twisted Fate

Threesome or moresome | Fisting + Cooking/sharing a meal ~ Archie and Matt

Spanking | Olfactophilia + Sickfic ~ Alex

Uniform | Exhibitionish & Voyeurism | Feet + Tooth brushing ~ Lt. Surge

Watersports | Foodplay + Showering ~ Balthus

Tentacles | Tickling + Bathing ~ Maruki

Intercrural Sex | Bondage + Washing hair ~ Clive

Collaring | Deepthroating & Facesitting + Putting on makeup ~ Bryce

Sex Toys | Oviposition + Getting dressed ~ Turo

Human Furniture | Edgeplay + Dancing together ~ Diamant

Masturbation | Overstimulation + Tying a tie ~ Harumi Takeda

Double Penetration in Two Holes | S&M + Helping with button/zipper ~ All Might and Eraserhead

Daddy & Mommy | Body Worship | Cockbulge + Calling ~ Gladiolus

Breathplay | Feeding/Stuffing + Texts/email ~ Fatgum

Overstimulation | Sounding + Cuddling ~ Gentle Criminal

Combination of any of the above, or free day

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #x reader #x male reader

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gl00my-b · 2 years

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Claude x Male reader “Sunny beach smiles”

A claude x reader oneshot since his beach design on FEH is just stunning to me.

Pronouns: He/Him

Genre: Fluff/minor angst if you squint

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You hadn't expected Lady Rhea to announce that the Golden Deer house would be free to have a free day since you all had won the battle of the Eagle and Lion. Your professor had kindly asked Seteth if there was any good places to go, and when seteth had mentioned a beach not too far from Garrech Mach, your professor knew she couldn't pass that up. So now here you were, sitting in the shade of a few umbrellas that were set up to shade some of the students who didn't want to be in the blistering heat. You were one of those students. You, (Name) Eisner, the younger sibling of byleth, was hiding under one of the bigger umbrellas to hide from the heat. Or so you told yourself. In all reality you were hiding from one person. Claude Von Reigan. Your house leader.

Why were you hiding from him? well, a few days before you had ended up accidentally telling Hilda and Dorothea that you had a crush on him. The two ended up spilling it to some others “accidentally” and later it spread that Claude had heard. You had gotten to know Claude over the few months that you had been at the monastery with your father and sister, and found that you could trust him and he could do the same for you. When you first met you piqued each others interest and grew from there. He had sought you out many a time when he was curious about you and throughout many battles had now found that you were trustworthy enough to hold little of his secrets. He would never be ready to share everything but you never minded, enjoying his company enough. But back to now, you were still hiding. If you weren't at the beach you would rather be shut in your room like Bernadetta, trying to forget that you existed to relieve embarrassment. But now luck was not on your side as Ignatz came to sit near you under the umbrella. “Hey (name)? you under here?” Ignatz bent down to see if you were under there. He had a concerned look on his face as he turned to look behind him before looking back to you. “sorry to bother, but our professor and Claude have been searching for you. Our professor is concerned about you and Claude wanted to talk to you.”

You sighed and told Ignatz that you would go out of hiding in a minute and he left to go over to Lysithea and Raphael. Raphael was hoisting up lysithea while walking into the ocean as she nagged at him to put her down before laughing. you smiled at the scene before turning to look to your right where Claude and your older sister were chatting before they looked over to where you were. farther beyond them was Leonie and Lorenz bickering over something while Cyril tried to break them up. You saw Hilda and Marianne sitting on the beach talking and seeming to collect seashells. Flayn seemed to be fishing with Seteth as the two waited for any new catch. You saw the Ashen wolves, who are now golden deer, chatting with each other and just enjoying being at the beach, the laughing of Constance and Balthus showing how much they were enjoying the beach.

Getting up, you slowly and anxiously made your way over to Claude and Byleth. Your sister immediately perked up when she heard you coming over, giving a small smile and pat on the shoulder which you knew as an “Glad to see you, are you ok?” you nodded at her and she nodded back, heading over to where Flayn and Seteth were.Claude turned to wave at byleth before side eyeing you. Your eyes darted to look everywhere but him, he took notice immediately and grabbed your wrist to drag you away. Byleth gave you a knowing smile and waved. You cursed how evil your sister could be. You felt the pull on your wrist as Claude dragged you away from everyone on the beach, going farther down the sandy walkway to the eastern side of the beach.

You tried to ask where he was taking you, but he gave you a look that made you stop speaking. When he finally stopped, he let go of your wrist but then intertwined your hand with his. “So...you've been avoiding me. I think I know why, but that really hurt me ya’know.” Claude gave you a small smirk, but it was one that never truly reached his eyes. You thought that he could see through you at that moment with how much his eyes glared at you. “I'm sorry It was stupid of me to avoid you-” you were stopped as Claude let out a sigh. “You avoided me for three days. Three days of me worrying if I did something wrong. Three days of me wondering if you didn't want to be near me anymore, but then I heard Hilda and Dorothea talking and I realized. But you didn't have to ignore and avoid me, you could have talked to me.” Claude gave you a hurt look. You spoke quickly, “I avoided you because I cant handle rejection and I was embarrassed that our friendship and trust would be thrown down the drain and I couldn't let that happen.” Claude looked at you then the hand that was still intertwined with his, giving a small smile. “That wasn't the way to do it you know. You could have talked to me and heard about my feelings before rushing off to hide.” Claude gave you a smile as you gave him a shocked and confused look. He rolled his eyes with a smirk before bringing your hand to his lips. Your face flushed and he laughed, “Do you see it now? No matter what people might have said, I love you, and i'm a bit shocked you haven't seen it. But if this was the way to show you then I don't mind.” He smiled at you and turned out to the ocean. You also turned your head to see a beautiful sunset on the horizon. You turned to see Claude's eyes light up a bit as he saw the sunset. In a flare of courage you pecked him on the cheek and smiled. He turned to you a bit surprised. “You missed, love.” he gave you a look and pointed at his lips, you laughed and stared at him for a second, his Cognac skin was illuminated by the suns rays that fell on him beautifully. You gave him a second more of staring before reaching up to grab the side of his face and pulling him down to meet your lips. You both smiled into the kiss and stayed like that for a while more before departing from each other. “Thank you claude, I love you.” you said as you stared at him. You would have to scold Hilda and Dorothea later, but right now you were a happy man.

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AN: I was playing fire emblem heroes while writing this and got jumpscared by claude's dialog, but I also wanted to write a beach oneshot-

#claude von riegan #claude x reader #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem x reader #claude von reigan x reader

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keishnn · 1 year

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FIC REQUESTS: CURRENTLY OPEN

I'm opening up fic requests! You can check out my Ao3 to get an idea of my writing, the type of fics I write, as well as fandoms and ships I've written for in the past.

Please see below the cut for further information, what I won't write, and a list of fandoms and ships I'm open to writing for.

BASIC GUIDELINES

You must be following me to request a fic, and I will not take requests from anons.

Genfic & Shipfic prompts accepted. I have listed a non-exhaustive list of fandoms and ships I'm familiar with below.

Please be specific in your request. The more specific you are the better I can write to what you want.

Be patient. I can't promise to be fast. When writing, I do multiple drafts, line edit, and proofread. Even for a relatively short project, this can end up taking a decent amount of time. Plus, I am an adult with a full-time job, bills to pay, a life offline, etc.

Length will be about 1k-3k words. With my writing style, this is about 1-3 scenes total. If your idea requires more than that, I will only write the first ~3k words. If you want a longer fic, we can discuss commissions privately.

I reserve the right to choose not to fill a request for any reason. Maybe I'm too busy or just don't feel inspired by the idea. However, if you avoid anything under "What I Won't Write" and stick to listed ships and fandoms, there's a greater chance I may get to your request.

WHAT I WON'T WRITE

non-con, pregnancy fics, genderbent aus, A/B/O, character x reader fics

FANDOMS & SHIPS (feel free to ask about others)

Chainsaw Man

Aki / Angel

Final Fantasy VII

Zack / Cloud

Tifa / Aerith

Reno / Rude

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Sylvain / Felix

Dimitri / Claude

Claude / Sylvain

Yuri / Balthus

Genshin Impact

Beidou / Ningguang

Ei / Yae Miko

Itto / Gorou

Ayato / Thoma

Cyno / Tighnari

Kazuha / Scaramouche

Kazuha / Tomo

Alhaitham / Kaveh

God of War

Kratos / Faye

Kratos / Freya

Horizon: Zero Dawn / Horizon: Forbidden West

Aloy / Talanah

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

Caesar / Joseph

Jotaro / Kakyoin

Avdol / Polnareff

Josuke / Okuyasu

Bruno / Abbacchio

Bruno / Mista

Fugo / Narancia

Jolyne / Hermes

Johnny / Gyro

Diego / Hot Pants

Josuke / Yasuho

Kimetsu No Yaiba

Sanemi / Obanai

Sanemi / Giyuu

Inosuke / Zenitsu

Inosuke / Tanjiro

Akaza / Rengoku

Akaza / Douma

#genpact fic #kny fic #jjba fic #fe3h fic #csm fic #fic writing #fic request

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frickingnerd · 1 year

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Ashen Wolves Masterlist

Yuri Leclerc

“you're just a distraction” - oneshot

“i'll get you out of here” - oneshot

being in a poly relationship with the ashen wolves - headcanons

Balthus von Albrecht

balthus with a chubby s/o - headcanons

being in a poly relationship with the ashen wolves - headcanons

Constance von Nuvelle

you belong with me - oneshot

being in a poly relationship with the ashen wolves - headcanons

Hapi

loving you is a losing game - oneshot

being in a poly relationship with the ashen wolves - headcanons

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agent-cupcake · 2 years

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verbosity - Balthus von Albrecht x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: explicit smut, tooth-rotting fluff

It is the birthday of my dearest darlingest sweet himbo slaying snickernut @canadian-bastard and so here is my humble offering. You are one of the most wonderful and best people I know, please enjoy some dickfic from yours truly <3

With Balthus, nothing was ever subtle. He didn’t mask his intentions with pretense, not even attempting innocence as he smiled up at you, the warm light glinting mischievously in his eyes and that lawless lock of hair flopping over his face. It was the same smile—crooked and reckless and wild—that he wore when he could smell violence in the air, when he felt particularly lucky, and, relevant to right now, whenever he got it in his head that he wanted to-

“-do something nice for my special lady,” Balthus explained in response to your pointless question. Just like that too, no shame or hesitation. That smile and its various meanings all amounted to the same thing with him. Desire was desire but he burned just as hot with an insatiable craving for victory, that was as apparent in his dark eyes as the sultry lust. Almost everything was fun and games to Balthus, and he played to win. To his credit, he was quite a bit more skilled in the bedroom than he was at the betting table. “You seemed distracted,” he explained casually. “I was right, yeah?”

“I…” You had been distracted. But only because as soon as the lights got a little dimmer he suddenly found it impossible to keep his hands to himself. Sitting close enough for you to smell his cologne, to feel the heat of his body, to suffer through “accidental” touches as he innocently asked you questions about the movie neither of you was really watching. But still. Still! You blew out a breath, unable to suppress an awkward smile as you looked back down at him. “You don’t have to,” you said slowly.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want me to?” Balthus asked, that damnable grin unwavering and annoyingly cocky as he nudged your knees a little further to make room for his broad shoulders. “I’m game for whatever, but it’s kinda hard to focus on the movie when you keep squirming around.”

“You’re the one who won’t stop talking,” you muttered, your flush getting darker. Just because he was right didn’t mean he had to point it out. But you knew if you gave him that, Balthus wouldn’t let it go.

“Then you’re in luck, pal. Here’s your chance to make me shut up,” he said, waggling his eyebrows like he was even remotely smooth. It worked anyway.

“Do you… do you want to?” you asked in an awkward stammer, stomach flipping at the brazen offer. “I wouldn’t… mind it.” That’s not what you meant, not really. What you meant is that the mere offer set a fire in your belly and the sight of him on his knees for you had your head spinning, but you couldn’t just tell him. You were so infinitely grateful that Balthus never called you out for your awkward inability to outright ask for things you wanted him to do. He seemed to understand anyway, taking your nervous “you don’t have to”-s and “only if you want”-s as the “yes, please”-s they actually were.

Balthus rolled his eyes, countering with an easy, “When do I not?”

And, well, he had you there.

You licked your lips, relaxing a little, letting your legs fall open for him. More awkward rejections buzzed on your tongue with the embarrassment, but you forced them down. If he was offering, it was fine. If you wanted it, that was fine. “Okay.”

Balthus’s grin returned in full force, that hungry, lustful, victorious smile. His hands were big, warm even through the fabric of your leggings as they settled on your legs. They curled slightly, creating indents as they slid from your knee to your inner thigh, his palm dragging with just enough pressure to make your breath quicken. You squirmed, lifting your hips and spreading your legs more. Even if you intended it to be subtle, Balthus was far more perceptive than people gave him credit, wearing a smug look as he finally hooked his fingers into the waistband of your leggings.

“You know,” you said, speaking to hide your embarrassment as he pulled your leggings down and off in an awkward bunch of fabric. They wound up dangling limply from one ankle and neither of you was concerned enough to fix it. “I don’t think we’ve ever watched a movie all the way through.”

Balthus laughed, his callouses rough against your now bare skin as he pushed your legs back open. “Then why do you keep inviting me?” he asked. You didn’t have an answer to that, even if your head wasn’t buzzing with nerves and excitement and desire. “Really makes a guy think.” He licked his lips, his voice lowered slightly, his eyes narrowing as he dragged his thumb over your clothed slit. “Or maybe not. It’s pretty cute how shy you are, but if you get this worked up from just a little touching, you oughta let me know so I can take care of you.”

You exhaled harshly. “Balthus…”

He gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch with a roughness that sent a thrill straight to your core. You expected him to take off your underwear like he had your leggings, but instead he dragged his thumb over the fabric, pushing it between your folds to absorb more of your arousal. You gasped, squirming again, but Balthus’s eyes just flicked up at you with a crooked, no good, completely devious smile.

“You’re real wet, babe,” he said. “Bet it was getting pretty uncomfortable, yeah?”

It was kind of surprising that your body was still functioning considering all of the blood in your body was divided evenly between your aching sex and blazing cheeks. You couldn’t even look straight at him, unsure of what to do or say and desperately hoping he wouldn’t keep teasing because you really didn’t think you could handle it, even to make a joke out of it. “Balthus.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, clearly pleased as he pulled your underwear off in the same fashion as your leggings. Unsurprisingly, they were soaked through on the bottom, dangling in a shameful flag on your ankle. You drew in a sharp breath as he pulled your hips forward again, bracing your foot on his shoulder and pushing the other leg a bit wider.

It was flattering when Balthus appraised your body with appreciation and lust. It was devastatingly sexy when he appraised your pussy like he was eyeing up a meal, spreading your folds in a way that made your body tense up as he licked his lips. They were still upturned, still wearing a little echo of that smile. “That’s hot. You know that?”

You said nothing, waiting, hoping, burning.

“Too shy to talk?” Balthus asked. “I doubt that’ll last. Five bucks says I can make you beg. Deal?”

“Deal?” you echoed, your stomach flipping at hearing him say something so completely depraved in the same tone he used to get you to dare him to drink an entire carton of chocolate milk. The actual contents of the question only registered a second later, but it was too late.

“You’re on, pal,” Balthus said, his big hands running across the flinching skin of your inner thighs before spreading your folds again, his head dipping so he could run his tongue from your entrance to your clit. It made your hips jump despite yourself, the foot on his shoulder pressing down in an odd sort of panic. Being turned on and feeling the vague pulse of pleasure when you squeezed your thighs together was one thing, but the direct contact with his hot, wet tongue was completely different. Balthus forced you to keep your other leg mostly spread to give him room. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the couch, your shirt, digging into your thigh, seeking some form of control by grasping at his hair.

An unfortunately loud moan left your mouth as he continued to tease your clit with light brushes, swirling against the over-sensitive flesh with a borderline sadistic sort of ease. You wanted—needed—more. But that was the deal, wasn’t it? To make you beg? It wasn’t like you had even agreed to play, but you hated the idea of losing. Unable to choke down a needy groan, you screwed your eyes shut, trying to grind your hips upward for more contact, more pressure.

Balthus laughed. It sounded smug. Or indulgent. Or maybe he was just enjoying himself. When he began to tease your entrance with a calloused finger, it was playful, sliding through your slick arousal without doing anything to push in like you so desperately needed him to. He had to be able to feel the way your inner muscles were squeezing around nothing, painfully empty. But Balthus just kept teasing. You moaned, using the leverage of your foot on his shoulder to try to get more, make him finger you like you wanted, to make him eat you out like you needed. Instead, he pulled away.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he said, obviously amused. “You want something, pal?”

You exhaled sharply, weighing the pros and cons. Asking him to do things was embarrassing. Losing was embarrassing. But you were also not sure if you could handle his teasing.

“I’m not paying you,” you said, peering down at him. Balthus didn’t look at all concerned. When you hesitated, he quirked an eyebrow. That stupid smug smile definitely meant he knew he had won anyway. You blew out a big breath, closing your eyes. “Please make me come,” you asked, choking down the excitable shame of asking for something so vulgar. “Finger me and… eat me out. I just need…” You peeked one eye open. “Please, Balthus?”

“Goddamn,” he said softly, darkly. That was the only answer you got before he dipped his head again, his hair tickling your inner thighs. He finally pushed a finger into you, adding another pretty soon. Your pussy pulsed and squeezed them desperately, your toes curling and a collection of very embarrassing sounds leaving your mouth as they quickly found your g-spot. All the while, he messily tongued your clit, finally giving you the pressure you wanted, licking incomprehensible shapes against the hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

You scraped your nails against his scalp, pulling his hair just a little too hard, and Balthus growled, doubling down on your clit as he fucked you with his fingers. Wickedly filthy now, his calloused fingers relentless against that spongy spot inside of you, filling the room with the slick squish of sex. If that weren’t pornographic enough, it’d be the sounds of his mouth, the wet noises of him torturing your clit in tandem with his thick fingers. It was all you could hear, the movie long forgotten in the background and blood pounding in your ears.

Your back arched, your body practically bowing over the couch. There was no way you weren’t putting too much pressure on his shoulder and your hands were rough in the way they tugged his hair but those things only seemed to make Balthus more enthusiastic. You were begging again, although you weren’t sure what for. He was relentlessly working you to orgasm. If anything, it was almost too much, not giving your mind enough time to catch up with your body and appreciate it properly. Then again, you had been uncomfortably close to the edge for too long. If you didn’t come, you were sure you’d burn from the inside out.

Giving in to the unrelenting crush of pure pleasure, that little coil of heat snapped, your body seizing and mouth falling open in a silent scream, your hands shaking as they tugged weakly at his hair, your hips twitching. Balthus had to hold your hips still as he worked you through your orgasm. You were wet enough for it to drip from his fingers, the sound alarmingly lewd. Not that you particularly cared because, by the time you came down from that high, you felt better than you had in… well, since the last time you did this, probably.

Balthus let you go when you were doing little more than twitching and trying to escape overstimulation, pressing a kiss to your ankle before gently setting that foot onto the ground. It was all you could do to catch your breath, the snap of pleasure leaving you hot and dazed.

“More?” Balthus asked, grinning as he sat back, nonchalantly wiping his face like this was normal. Then again, there was nothing normal about the dark focus in his gaze, or the way his tongue slid across his bottom lip.

You opened your mouth to say yes, to tell him that you wanted to blow him or fuck him or pull his face back between your legs, but nothing came out. Balthus laughed, standing up to artlessly shove his pants out of the way, the fabric bunching halfway down his thighs. His cock sprung up, hard and ready, the head flushed a furious shade of red. You could feel the saliva pooling on your tongue, leaning forward with some half-formed idea about letting him fuck your throat. But Balthus fell onto the couch next to you, stroking himself with a confidence that sparked something hot and nervous up your spine right to the base of your skull.

“Come on, babe,” he said invitingly. “Best seat in the house.”

All the nervous tension puffed out from you with a little laugh at the terrible line. It was stupid but—and not that you’d ever tell him—you liked it. You liked how comfortable Balthus was to be with, liked the way he could make this all feel so normal, liked how he made you believe it was fine to enjoy it. “You’re corny,” you muttered as you got your jelly legs to cooperate so you could toss a leg over his to straddle him. Balthus laughed again, the sound rumbling in his chest. Part of you wanted to take a moment to get his shirt out of the way, suddenly a bit insulted that he was wearing one in the first place, but there wasn’t time. Balthus had a way of making you feel like a desperate teenager, fumbling around the dark driven only by hormones and the reckless drive of youth. But you liked that too.

“You know you love me,” he teased, using one hand to slide his dick through your folds. The feeling of the smooth head bumping against your swollen clit before catching on your dripping hole killed whatever clever retort you had planned.

And then it was just Balthus. His big, hot hand on your hip as you slowly sunk down onto him, his cock slowly filling up your cunt, his hard chest beneath your hands. His fingers were fantastic and dexterous, but there was nothing like this. Inexorable fullness, connection. You let out a shaky moan, your eyes closing as your sweaty forehead fell against his. And Balthus, despite how impatient he always seemed to be, let you take it nice and slow, rolling your hips and luxuriating in every inch. He had both hands on your hips now, his fingers flexing just a bit too hard as proof of his anticipation, but he didn’t really groan until you were fully seated. You might have made a sound but it was all lost on you, your mind wiped clean of any coherent thought as you adjusted to his size.

Well, not completely wiped.

“I do love you,” you said, the words catching on a moan from the way his hips jumped at hearing that. Sometimes you got the feeling that those words were more effective than anything else you could say, the thing he truly wanted to hear. Not that you were much different.

“It feels kinda cheap to say it now,” Balthus told you lowly, his voice distracted and low enough to rumble in his chest, you could practically feel it in your own. He was so handsome, so perfect. It struck you right then with an intensity that almost surprised you, your staggering amount of affection for this wild, horrible, wonderful man.

“It’s true,” you insisted, shifting up and getting him to tilt his head with you so you could watch with half-lidded eyes the way his expression changed as you slipped back down. Those big brows furrowed, his lips flushed red and parted, his dark lashes sweeping little shadows over his cheekbones. The body beneath you, inside of you, was hot and tense and solid, straining for more yet not daring to take too much. It was sweet and intimate in the same way it was hot and filthy. Maybe those could all be the same thing too, mixing and melding in the little bubble that surrounded the two of you. A shiver shook through you, pleasure making your walls flutter and squeeze around him, your body just as deliriously depraved as you felt. Exhaling weakly, you rolled your hips just to feel how deep he was, how perfectly your bodies fit together. “I love you,” you whispered, tugging on his hair. Balthus groaned lowly, his head falling back to reveal his perfectly pale neck, the tendons flexing and throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“You know I love you, pal,” he said, a different sort of reverence in his voice. Maybe it should have been cheap like he said, especially when he used that dumb nickname, but he was a rotten liar and when he looked at you, you could practically feel his adoration. “Of course… I’d rather just show you.”

“Then do,” you whispered, emboldened by the thrill of lust and love.

Balthus groaned, rolling his hips, pulling you off his cock enough to properly thrust into you. The next time, you lifted yourself, moaning loudly when his hips caught yours on the way down, the edge of roughness making the pleasure that much more intense. So full, you swore you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock against your sensitive walls, feel the way your pussy tried to suck him deeper every time you pulled off. Your mouth fell open, hands tightening on his shoulders. The couch creaked as you picked up the pace, needing more. Always more, always faster, hotter, always Balthus.

When you peered at him from beneath your eyelashes, you could see the smile that nudged up the corner of his mouth, cocky and excited. Awful, terrible man. He was the worst. Probably the most horrible man in the world. And you loved him desperately. Your hands let go from bracing on his shoulders to cup his face, pulling his mouth to yours in an attempt to wipe away that smug look. But Balthus’s mouth tasted like you, salty and musky and unspeakably erotic, and even as he deepened the kiss, you got the sense he was smiling that wild, victorious smile.

#balthus von albrecht #fe balthus #balthus #balthus von albrecht x reader #fe balthus x reader #balthus x reader #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #my writing #not sfw #writing smut while not listening to horror music is weird #i love you kane

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