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separatist-apologist · 2 days

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Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

major thanks to @velidewrites for both the moodboard and the fic title. I owe you my life, my sword, my fealty.

Elain Archeron was six years old when she learned the news.

“...and Elain shall wed Lucien Vanserra,” her mother said to a friend, face beaming. Oh, how it had all been worked out. Three matches to three men, all before her eldest turned ten. With secured futures, her mama could relax. Elain couldn’t, though.

She learned to hate the young Lucien Vanserra. He was four years older than her, with a shock of red hair and brown eyes that skewed to gold in the right light. Every time he saw her, he’d bow with perfunctory politeness, his face a mask of placid emotion.

“Lady,” he’d say, eyes looking anywhere but at her face.

“Lord,” she’d reply, hoping he could feel her radiating contempt.

To try and get out of the marriage was unheard of. Ruinous, even, for not just herself but her sisters and their own matches. And so, Elain hoped Lucien ruined his own reputation and she could somehow escape with her own poor reputation intact. His own father had a reputation as a philanderer, and Elain heard rumors that some people didn’t believe Lucien to even be a true Vanserra.

Bastard, she’d heard one of her father’s friends murmur before the study door closed in her face. The word was followed by laughter and then someone shushing them all. Elain didn’t know if that was true, or not. Lucien’s skin was a far darker shade of brown than his pale father, but his hair was just as red as his brothers, his eyes a near match for Beron’s.

The only saving grace, as far as Elain was concerned, was the distance between them. Lucien was a son of Autumn, Elain a lady of Spring. Their courts bordered each other, but permission to visit was limited and met with resistance. She saw Lucien twice a year, less if she was lucky.

His presence loomed, though. As she grew into adulthood, Elain couldn’t get Lucien Vanserra from her mind.

Even when whispers of his reputation made its way to Spring. They said he tried to abscond with another female—a lesser fae female, no less. And rumors swirled that his father had the female executed for disrespect. No one could prove it, of course—Elain had seen Lucien not long after she’d heard the giggled whispers from her own friends at court.

Maybe you’ll be free of the Autumn sons, they’d giggled behind their hands.

When he arrived three weeks later, he’d seemed perfectly fine. He’d bowed, refused to look at her, and called her lady all over again before vanishing with Tamlin to talk. Surely that wasn’t the face of a male who’d watched the female he loved die. Was he cold? Did he not care?

The questions swirled around Elain’s mind as her wedding loomed closer. She was going first—Tamlin, who was betrothed to Nesta, had put it off for another year, citing problems on the border that would take him away from a new wife.

In truth, everyone knew Tamlin was fascinated with Feyre and Elain, who had watched the way he talked with her sister, knew he was angling for a way to change his fortune without ruining Nesta.

And Feyre, who was betrothed to a young nobleman in Summer, could simply not just swap places with Nesta. It was expected Nesta would make the most advantageous match with very few High Lords interested in the nobility from Spring. There was Helion, of course, who was deemed too old for Nesta, and the High Lord of Night that no one ever saw…and Tamlin, who had been promised to Nesta when his father was still alive. Elain wanted to stick around and see how it all played out. There was little love lost between Nesta and Tamlin, who interacted well enough but were content to avoid the other, too.

Elain knew Tamlin was hoping for a mating bond with Feyre. That was the only way out for any of them…and she was certain she simply did not have one.

And Lucien…

“They say she was his mate,” her friend had whispered to her the same night she’d learned the female was dead. The pain was said to be immense. Miserable. Intolerable. The most horrific thing a person could experience.

And he’d bowed with that easy expression. Was he a cold, unfeeling monster? Or were the rumors merely that?

With her wedding weeks away, Elain set out to uncover the truth for herself. If her soon-to-be husband had attempted to marry another woman, she deserved to know. Selfishly, she believed she could petition her parents to free her of her duty under the guise of embarrassment. He’d already broken their arrangement, hadn’t he?

Maybe he’d thank her.

Maybe not.

Tamlin knew him best and Elain decided to try her luck with the notoriously tightlipped High Lord. He often walked around his garden at noon, clearly deep in thought. No one ever bothered him, but perhaps he’d make an exception for her. Elain didn’t try and sneak up on him, catching his mossy green gaze as she cut a path through the azaleas. There was a look of resignation in his face—as if he’d been waiting for her.

“Lady Elain,” he said pleasantly, if not a little gruffly. “If you’ve come to beg for my assistance, I cannot give it to you.”

Elain was taken aback. “I—no, I wasn’t, I…”

Tamlin didn’t look as if he believed her. “What can I do for you?”

“You know Lucien Vanserra. Tell me about him.”

Tamlin considered her words for a moment. “He’ll make a good husband.”

That…wasn’t what she’d been asking, but Elain didn’t know how else to ask Tamlin without just asking. He was giving her nothing to work with.

“What makes you say so?” she pressed, trying anyway.

Tamlin sighed again. “We’ve been friends our whole lives. I’ve seen the way he treats people. He’ll treat you well.”

“Does he not…is there no one he would prefer?” she tried. One last bid before she gave up on Tamlin entirely.

Tamlin set his jaw. “No, Lady Elain, I do not believe there is.”

She knew better than to press any further. Tamlin would not be of any assistance—he was forbidden from interfering unless Elain had a legitimate complaint. As far as anyone was concerned, she was practically Lucien’s property.

It had occurred to her that she ought to deny him the pleasure of being the only male she’d ever touched. What would Tamlin do if Lucien complained? Some males did, some didn’t—the rules were never uniformly applied. Some males cared so much they’d start whole duels over it and other males encouraged it and hoped for a wife who had some semblance of experience.

Which did Lucien prefer, so she could do the opposite?

Elain found her mother in the parlor, paler than she usually was and yet still beautiful. She held court on the piano seat, her friends around her talking animatedly with bright, shiny eyes. When their eyes met, her mother beamed.

“There you are, pretty thing,” she began, talking as though Elain were still a little girl toddling about in shoes laced with ribbon. “Where have you been all afternoon?”

“Talking with Tamlin about Lucien,” she said without thinking, wishing for a moment she had the sort of mother that would assuage her fears.

The room erupted into giggles, forcing Elain back to reality.

“Excited?” her mother asked, clapping her hands together in front of her too thin throat. Her mother had once been so beautiful—the kind of female even the High Lord had courted before he met his mate. Now she was skin stretched over bone, still beautiful but with an exhausted quality Elain didn’t quite understand.

They never spoke about it. Feyre had tried, in her clumsy, tactless way and everyone had hastened to shush her as their mother turned her face, cheeks red with either anger or humiliation. Their father was unchanged, was just as handsome and healthy as he’d ever been. Elain assumed he must know.

He loved her mother. They weren’t mates, but they might as well have been. Their marriage had been arranged and they’d fallen in love before they ever walked down the aisle. Elain had once hoped for the same.

Lucien Vanserra had made that all but impossible. Sure, Elain had been difficult but wasn’t it a man's job to court a female? He’d never bothered.

Elain offered up her best smile. Good daughters did as they were told and aided in their family’s reputation. It could be worse, she told herself even as she struggled to imagine how. She’d be isolated from her family, alone in the most ruthless court short of the Night Court, with a male who didn’t care about her one way or the other.

“I am,” Elain lied, remembering she’d been asked a question.

“He is quite handsome,” one of the other ladies quipped as another quickly interjected.

“It was a shame to see the eldest end up with that cast off from Day. He nearly had one of the Night Court princesses.”

“They’re mates, are they not?” a third lady giggled from behind a pink and cream fan.

“That doesn’t make it less of a tragedy.”

Elain excused herself before, disappointed to leave the gossiping females for silence. Elain adored gossip so long as it didn’t involve her. How long before she was the thing they all felt was a shame? Did that Day Court female even have a say? Or had her bond snapped and she’d been shipped off to live with a male she didn’t know simply because fate was cruel and capricious?

Elain sighed.

She doubted she’d weather the Vanserra storm any better and yet she still hoped.

LUCIEN:

Pacing the floors of his bedroom, Lucien considered leaving once again. And once again it was Eris, leaned against the door that adjoined his room to the sitting chamber, arms crossed over his chest while his wife sat cross-legged on Lucien’s bed.

“I’m going to do it,” Lucien threatened, looking at Arina.

“Do it,” Eris replied, clearly bored. “Jump to your death, spare me the melodrama.”

“It’s not–”

“She’s alive, Lucien,” Arina murmured for the hundredth time. “She’s safe.”

And she was gone. Arina had smuggled Jesminda somewhere safe and far from Beron Vanserra’s reaches while Eris had paid off her family to swear Jes had killed herself rather than face the humiliation of disappointing her High Lord. Beron got to torture Lucien a little—a week being tortured in the dungeon was worth everything if Jes was alive and well.

But she was gone and Lucien was going half wild missing her.

“I need to see her,” Lucien protested, needing to hear his brother remind him of all the reasons why it was a bad idea.

Eris had simply had enough. “Why? You’re disappointed you didn’t get to watch her die the first time?”

“We’re mates—”

“You’re not—” Eris snarled, silenced by a cutting look from Arina.

“Lucien…if there was a bond, you would have felt it by now. It’s been years.”

“It can take time—”

“Not like that,” Eris interrupted again, running a hand through his immaculate hair. “But it wouldn’t matter even if she was. Father will see you married to the Archeron girl, and if you’re smart and you love Jesminda, you’ll do it.”

Lucien couldn’t help the small growl that rumbled in his chest. It was a betrayal to the love he felt to marry another female, and a double betrayal for that wife to be Elain. Bland, but pretty, Elain Archeron was something from his nightmares. Everything Lucien had ever seen of her told him she was more interested in ribbons and gossip than anything else.

She’d fit right into the Autumn Court, but not with him. He’d tried, over the years, to imagine what it would be like to be with her. To lay her out in his bed, to subject her to all the things he’d found so much pleasure doing with other females. And every time, Lucien’s mind reminded him that Elain was likely the type to silently lay there crying, unmoving and uninterested. Did she read? Have opinions? He doubted it.

But she was pretty.

Beautiful, even—the most beautiful female he’d ever seen, though it pained him to admit it. What good was all that beauty if she couldn’t hold a conversation. Tamlin had once described her as unspeakably dull, which was all Lucien needed to know.

In a month, she’d be his wife.

Lucien turned back toward the balcony that dropped to the leaf strewn ground, wondering how badly he’d hurt himself. He wouldn’t die…but he might rupture his knee, and that would take far too long to heal.

“She's safe?”

“I swear,” Arina said, biting her lower lip. “Don’t ask me where, Lucien. I made her swear never to contact you.”

“If you try, I’ll have someone take her memories,” Eris added, obnoxious until the very last. “Don’t think I won’t, either.” It was the kind of thing Eris would love doing. Lucien, cursed to remember everything while Jesminda never knew he existed. Maybe that was kinder—maybe he could have his memories stolen, too.

Guessing the slant of his thoughts, Arina rose and put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know you’ll be miserable in your marriage.”

Lucien looked at her, frustrated. Arina should have been miserable, too. She had been when she first arrived, hands clenched to fists, eyes glassy with unshed tears. No one expected her to be happy here, Lucien included. He’d been quick to make her his friend, if only to keep her close at hand without leaving her to the vipers nest that comprised the ladies of court.

Lucien had never asked what magic Eris worked to win her over. He didn’t want to hear about it, didn’t want to be subjected to the inevitability that he, too, might love his wife. Arina was Eris’s mate. It made sense he’d been obsessed with her, that they’d found a way to make it work.

Elain was nothing but a female his father had arranged for him before he’d had hair on his chest.

“Thanks,” he said, trying to muster up a smile that would send Arina away. She must have guessed, because she returned to his bed and plopped down against the rumpled gold sheets, hands behind her thick, blonde hair.

Eris groaned when he saw. “Not another night with Lucien. Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Not by far,” she replied, flashing him a pretty smile. “You could stay—”

“You two have fun,” he called over his shoulder as he turned to leave, waving them off.

“I don’t need to be watched.”

“Yes you do,” Arina disagreed, patting the space beside her. “You forget, but I haven’t—I was you, this time last year.”

“I heard you made it all the way to the border of Night,” Lucien said, giving voice to the rumors that had swirled through court.

She smiled. “Their bastard High Lord has the borders warded. How was I supposed to know if you walked through uninvited, you’d forget your very purpose in life.”

Lucien couldn’t help his laugh. “Where did they find you?”

“Wandering by a river bank,” she said ruefully. “Afterward, I was locked up in one of the spires until Eris came to collect me. He was furious.”

Lucien remembered that. Eris had raged in private, though there were no secrets even in the Forest House. Had it been his brothers idea—or more likely, his demand—that Arina be locked away?

“I can’t think of one way out of this marriage,” Lucien said, joining Arina on the bed. He hadn’t conceded—not yet. But his prospects were growing dimmer by the minute.

“There isn’t one, Lucien. Not unless you want to condemn yourself and this poor female who also didn’t ask to be married to you. Everything I’ve heard about Elain Archeron suggests she’s nice.”

“And boring,” she grumbled.

“Boring and nice are better than cruel and unkind,” Arina reminded him gently. “Maybe she lacks Jesminda’s fire and ambition. You can’t hold that against her.”

“Of course I can. What am I supposed to do with a wife who doesn’t have any interest in living life?”

“Maybe she’ll find joy in marital life. Maybe she’ll be an excellent mother—”

“Do not,” he warned.

Arina smothered a smile “I’m just saying, your assumptions might not even be true.”

“Please spare me the lecture about what a good male Eris is.”

“I would ever call Eris a good male,” she reminded him, elbowing Lucien in the ribs. “Not out loud, anyway, where someone might hear.”

“It’s different,” Lucien said with a sigh. “You never knew the kind of love before—”

“You don’t know that.”

“Did you?”

Arina averted her eyes. “No. But you’re judging her too harshly for things you don’t even know will be true. Maybe she’s scared of you, Lucien. Your family does not have the kindest reputation.”

“Her older sister is a viper, her younger a wildling. She’s simply dull,” he said with a sigh. “Trust me. In a month you’ll be right back here helping me escape.”

“Cowardice is ugly on you, Lucien,” Arina chided.

Was it cowardice or simply self-preservation? What was the logic of bringing any female into court? Arina held her own against Beron simply by playing the sweet, demure wife while Eris dressed her up like his plaything. At least Elain wouldn’t cause problems like the female Cadmus had nearly married. Of course, she’d also been married, though none of them knew it at the time. If he’d cared to ask, he might have learned how Cadmus moved on when she was removed from court.

But he didn’t.

Lucien barely slept for the next week, his thoughts drifting back to Jes. He’d forgotten the wedding entirely until his mother came to him with the traditional garb of Autumn and a crown fitted specifically for his head.

“Will you cut your hair?” she asked, fingering a long lock.

“No,” Lucien replied dully, certain Elain Archeron would hate it. He bet she’d grown up wishing for a male like Tamlin. She’d get him instead.

His mother sighed, setting the folded clothes on the end of his bed. There were a thousand unspoken words in that sigh, trailing behind her as she left him to his brooding. His mother wasn’t Arina, wasn’t about to try and sell him on the joys of an arranged marriage. She’d made hers work all these long centuries but no one believed she was genuinely happy. Lucien might have returned to his plan to jump from his bedroom window if she had.

Elain Archeron was supposed to be remanded into his custody two weeks before the wedding to help her acclimate, though in Lucien’s mind, it sounded more like a hostage situation. The closer they got to the actual date, the more precarious everything became. If she lived in Autumn, she’d become his mothers ward until he tied a ribbon around her wrist, binding her to him. Lucien didn’t want her here beforehand, didn’t want to feel responsible for her safety or have to care about her at all.

He certainly didn’t like when his bedchambers was moved, pulling him further into the interior of the palace where more people could watch. He’d need the space with a wife they said, always with a wink that betrayed their expectations.

Lucien wasn’t putting a child in Elain before Eris put one in Arina. He could waste a whole decade doing nothing at all if he was careful and she didn’t go crying to her father about it. It seemed humiliating to imagine and who knew—maybe she’d want out just as badly as he did.

In his daydreams, she came to him with stories of a lover she missed desperately. She asked him for his help to escape and Lucien provided it, along with his blessing. She vanished and he was blameless, left wifeless and perhaps a little humiliated but without the responsibility of her.

Reality was something different.

Reality was waking up knowing Elain Archeron was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Thirty years of trying to avoid her, of hoping she’d do something so offensive he’d be freed of her, all came crashing down. All the love Lucien had known, the life he’d dreamt of—all of it was done.

Left, instead, for the female standing between her mother and father, fingers nervously fingering the pale lilac of her gown. Lucien hated her beautiful face, made to look even more beautiful with cosmetics. He hated her thick, dark hair that tumbled down her shoulders, twisted carefully from her temples so nothing could hide her appealing face. She’d been packaged up, pretty as a picture, to be delivered straight to him.

And Lucien hated her for that most of all.

ELAIN:

There was no use begging or pleading, so Elain didn’t. She let the maids dress her beneath her mothers watchful gaze, tuning out the chatter about marital bliss.

Especially when the topic shifted. “Do you understand how children are made?”

Yes, Elain thought bitterly. She wasn’t stupid—she’d seen horses go at it as a girl, and servants tumbling about the stables. Had she not seen it, Elain had certainly spent enough time around lewd males and their crude gestures and their suggestive comments. Not to mention that book of Nesta’s she’d once read once…okay twice.

Three times.

Elain dreaded having to submit to Lucien Vanserra. The expectation that she was going to let him do anything to her naked body made Elain want to scream with rage. What about what she wanted? Did it matter at all? Would anyone care if she said no?

Elain suspected not, which made the whole ordeal easier. She could simply stop trying at all and move entirely in her head where she’d remain safe. No one noticed—not when her hair was pinned or her body made more shapely with stays and not when she was winnowed off, courtesy of the High Lord, straight to Autumn’s doorstep.

It was exactly as she imagined. Cool and blustery, the ground soggy with jewel-bright leaves and a rolling fog that threatened to swallow her up. This was to be her home? Elain wanted to cry. At least Spring was bright and lovely in between the violent storms. Did the sun ever shine?

The weather felt like an omen, made worse when Elain was led into the Forest House, guarded by sentries holding bows strung tight.

Inside, beneath a hanging chandelier, Elain was greeted by the High Lord and his family. All five of his sons, his wife, and his eldest’s stolen wife all looked at her as Elain made her way toward them. Vipers, she thought, wondering what Nesta would make of the entire thing. Nesta was gone, accompanying Feyre in Summer which felt strategic. By the time they returned, Elain would be making a death march through a temple, bound and perhaps even gagged by her new husband.

She hated how handsome he looked in his navy jacket and tight, cream pants. His hair was long like all his brothers save for Eris, and tied back with a leather strap. Lucien looked at her with hidden contempt even as he stood forward to offer her a broad hand.

I hate you too, she tried to say silently, even as she forced herself to smile.

Lucien bowed, taking her hand in his to almost kiss her skin. His lips never made contact, though it must have looked as if they did. This was pure theater and he was an actor on stage. “Lady Elain,” he said, just as he always did.

“Husband,” she replied, because she knew her mother wanted to hear her say it. Wanted to know that when she left, Elain would be content.

The blonde rolled bright, green eyes as an amused smile spread over her pretty face. So much for making friends, she supposed.

Lucien dropped her hand as if she’d burned him. He’d have to do better than that if he was trying to sell this. Maybe he simply didn’t care. His father stepped forward, unconcerned with his son, to speak with Elain’s father.

“Please,” he said, gesturing behind him, “allow me the pleasure of showing you to my home.”

Another eye roll, this time from both the blonde and her mate. It was good to know they were all phonies, she supposed.

“Lucien,” the Lady of Autumn began, eyes sparkling with delight. “Why don’t you show Elain to her room?”

“Our room, you mean?” he said, voice syrupy sweet. His mother’s eyes flashed a warning, silencing her adult son without so much as a word uttered. “Yes, mother.”

Elain started to turn to her mother, to plead silently not to be left alone in Lucien’s company, but her mother looped her arm with the Lady of Autumn, a female that also seemed far too thin and somehow looked healthy and vibrant compared to Elain’s mother. Both Elain and Lucien stood there watching them retreat and Elain wondered if Lucien ever felt compelled to count the notches in his own mothers spine the way she did.

“Come,” Lucien said, his voice neither soft nor gentle. He didn’t wait to see if she followed and some part of her wanted to spite him and remain where she was, to force him to drag her down wide halls made entirely of wood and open, glass windows. Brass sconces held lit candles that illuminated through the gloom while overhead chandeliers of faelights did the rest.

Elain tried to memorize the path he took her on, counting in her head until she was dizzy and confused. Had it been left, or right last? Did it matter?

Lucien pulled open a rounded door with heavy, gold knobs and Elain nearly sobbed. Reaching for the molding to steady her shaking knees, Elain looked at the room that would belong not to her, but them.

Lucien glanced over his shoulder, eyes rolling just a little. “Are you afraid of sitting furniture, lady?”

She hated him. Forcing herself inside where the scent of him was so overwhelming it was all she could smell, Elain sood right in the middle of that large, cream colored rug. “I don’t want you in here.”

Lucien flashed her a smile. “Then we agree. I have no intention of spending a minute more in this room before I have to, wife, so you can stop your trembling.”

“Is this amusing to you?” she demanded, wanting to launch herself at him and pummel him with her fists like Feyre had used to do to Nesta when they were children. Lucien was taller than her by a good head and shoulders and beneath his fine clothes, she bet he was packed with muscle. There was no way she could take him in a fight—she likely couldn’t knock him down, either.

Still, it might make her feel better to try.

He looked as if he’d guessed the slant of her thoughts.

“No, lady, I don't find any of this amusing.”

“And yet you mock me.”

Lucien, unable or unwilling to deny her claims, merely sank into a deep bow. “Did you expect sonnets?”

“I expected manners.”

“Well, I suppose you know better now, don’t you?”

Artfully dodging her, Lucien made his way out of the room without another word. She supposed getting the last one was enough for him. Once he was gone, Elain exhaled some of her panic. This was happening.

There was no escaping any of it, no backing out now. She tried to find some positives in the situation. Her husband was handsome, she supposed. That was nice. And the room was big, with space to entertain potential friends if she wanted. As Elain moved through the room, she found a bedroom twice as large as the sitting room, with an attached bathing chamber she could have put her bed back home in.

It felt cozy. Warm hues of orange and brown and green decorated the room, trimmed in gold and dark herringbone wood floors. The ornately carved headboard looked a bit like a carriage she’d seen in pictures from Winter, though Elain had never been. A mountain of pillows invited her to lay down, though it was the glass double doors hidden behind sheer curtains that drew her attention.

Elain opened them to find a balcony overlooking an expansive forest. It was a sea of color, dimmed in the moody fog hanging between the colorful treetops and swaying trunks. In the distance, Elain thought she saw the edges of mountains, though maybe that was her mind filling in the gaps of what should be there.

Something pressed against the corner of her mind—a vision that wanted recognition. Elain was curious, though now wasn’t the time to fall into a trance. She pushed it back, promising she’d return to it once night fell and the doors were all locked. Seers were rare—the last thing she needed was her rude husband to learn he had something valuable on his hands.

Was this her home now? Elain ran her fingers over the damp, wood railing as she tried to find something nice to say about it. It was a place, certainly…she wouldn’t have chosen this place willingly, but that was beside the point.

Elain tried to make herself believe this would be a good thing. That some good would come from it, or that she could find happiness but Elain felt heavy. Stones filled her stomach, weighing her down until she retreated back into the warmth of the room and cheerful, crackling fire keeping her company.

She thought she was alone. Shuffling her feet toward the sitting room, Elain found the blonde sitting in a chair, fingers drumming on the white fabric.

“Done brooding?” she asked, flashing Elain a pretty smile.

“I’m not–”

“Oh, no need to lie,” she said, waving a hand. The red ruby and gold band that encircled her ring finger caught in the faelight, making it seem like a true firestone. Maybe it was. “I tried to scale my own balcony the first day I arrived.”

Elain paused. “Why?”

She smiled wider, the only bright thing in the gloomy room. This was the Day Court female—if her warm, brown skin and golden hair hadn’t given her away, the faint glow that seemed to shimmer off her certainly did. And yet, somehow, she looked Autumn to Elain, though Elain couldn’t quite articulate how.

“I suspect it's a right of passage for all females betrothed to a Vanserra. I would warn you not to try, but Eris told me not to interfere.”

That irritated Elain. “And you do everything he tells you to?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Had she come to try and sell Elain on marital bliss? On the joys of being a good, meek, submissive wife?

The female laughed. “In his fantasies, perhaps. But in real life? No. If I were warning you, I’d tell you that Eris has twelve hunting dogs faster than horses and with more stamina than a hundred soldiers. I might also tell you that they’ll drag you back with their teeth and no one would bat an eye because you’ll heal up nice enough. But I’m not warning you, because maybe you’ll get lucky and get through a hundred miles of unbroken forest, the sentries guarding every major road in and out of Autumn, and your parents won’t mind when they learn you’ve vanished.”

“I never said I was trying to escape,” Elain said through gritted teeth. “I was just standing on the balcony.”

The blonde stood. “Of course,” she agreed, hands smoothing out the crushed red velvet of her dress. “Would you like to see the orchard?”

“I—” Elain paused, the words she’d been about to speak far too rude to be uttered aloud. “Of course.”

“Arina,” the blonde told her, offering a warm hand. Elain took it like a lifeline, thinking of the eye roll from earlier. Maybe it hadn’t been at her expense…but Luciens. Elain wanted to ask this female every question she could think of, none of which would engender warm feelings. And Elain, alone in this new place, wanted a friend more than she wanted anything else. Or, if not a friend, at least an ally—someone she could trust.

“Elain.”

Arina’s smile was pretty. Elain supposed it made sense that Eris Vanserra would want her. What didn’t make sense was Arina’s apparent serene happiness. The unspoken words between them seemed to suggest Elain, too, would find what Arina had. Would be glad for how things worked out, even if they were difficult in the beginning.

Maybe it had worked out for Arina. Elain knew the best she could hope for was perhaps, understanding. Her and Lucien could live parallel lives if he was willing. She’d look the other way if he wanted to carry on in exchange for…for what, exactly? Did she want children? Someday, she thought, but not soon. Elain wanted to travel. Would he let her?

Vowing she’d feel him out before asking, just to spare herself the humiliation and betray her own feelings, Elain trailed behind Arina.

Arina offered Elain to ask her anything she liked. And Elain wanted to—oh, how she had so many questions. But in the end, Elain said little at all.

Better to be safe than reveal to much of her hand, after all.

LUCIEN:

Somewhere in Lucien’s home, his soon-to-be wife slept soundly. Not him, though. Lucien had begun drinking just after dinner, grateful his parents carried the conversation with Elain’s parents so he didn’t have to speak to her at all. Sitting beside her, Lucien felt frustrated and uncomfortable. Her scent had lodged itself in his nose and try as he might, he couldn’t get it out. The scent of jasmine and honey trailed after him all day, driving Lucien to drink. It was like her mere presence in the palace had infected every private space he’d once cherished, reminding him that he could not escape her no matter how he tried.

Arina floated into the study, eyeing the decanter of whiskey sitting on the side table. Lucien held a glass in hand, the ice long since melted.

Dressed in casual, white linen pants and a black top without sleeves, Arina was clearly getting ready for bed before she thought better of it. “Shouldn’t you be getting to know your new wife?”

“Remind me, how well did that go for Eris?” Lucien grumbled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Arina flopped to the couch beside him. “I held a knife to his balls,” she said with a laugh. Lucien snorted—he didn’t think he’d heard that version of events.

“And they say romance is dead,” he muttered, trying not to think too much about whether his brother would enjoy that or not. There were some things he didn’t need or want to know about, and what Eris did with Arina was one of them. Arina was his friend—his sister, truly. And the thought of his brother touching him was simply too disturbing for Lucien.

“I took her to the orchard today. She’s…” Arina bit her bottom lip.

“Boring?”

“Nervous,” Arina supplied, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Did you see her mother?”

Lucien’s stomach flipped. Yeah, he had seen the matriarch of the Archeron family and it made him wonder what Elain’s father was like. She made his own mother look healthy and vibrant.

“I don’t need to see her before the wedding.”

“Ah, yes, the classic make-her-fall-in-love-with-me-by-ignoring her tactic. Works every time.”

“I don’t want her to fall in love with me,” Lucien said with too much conviction. Arina arched a brow before rolling her eyes.

“You’re going to spend your immortal existence in a miserable marriage?”

“Not immortal—father will die, her parents will too and I’ll—”

“Ruin her?” Arina interrupted, arms crossed over her chest. “Kick her out of your home, keep your shared children—”

“There will be no children,” Lucien half growled, frustrated by the way his whole body seemed to ignite at the thought. How long had it been since he’d last touched a female? Not since Jesminda had been exiled, he realized. Months, then. No wonder his body was interested in the female currently occupying a bed meant for him.

Arina sighed. “I expect this kind of obstinance from Eris. He always has to be right. But not from you.”

“If you’d known true love before Eris, would you…?” Gods, he couldn’t even get the words out. None of them understood. They thought Jesminda had merely been a rebellion, a passing fancy that was easily forgotten without understanding that Lucien had been willing to trade his whole life for her. His money, his crown, his title—all of it for a simple life with Jesminda.

And now she was gone, hidden away where he’d never find her. Was she as miserable as he was? Desperate to get back to him? Or had she made peace with her circumstances? Jesminda had a practical streak to her and when she made up her mind, there was no changing it. If Eris had managed to get her out of Autumn, and Arina had warned her of what would happen to her should she return, and Jesminda hadn’t written him, gotten word, or otherwise come looking for him, then she was unlikely to do so in the future.

The realization made Lucien want to die.

“Even if Elain wasn’t here, your father was never going to let you leave with Jes,” Arina said, reaching for Lucien’s hand. “He was going to kill her.”

Lucien had heard. Eris had gotten word and raced home, sending a letter to Arina to get Jesminda out before Beron’s sentries dragged her to the Forest House. They’d been lucky, if one could call being tortured for weeks lucky. Beron wouldn’t kill one of his sons, though, and certainly not all of them. None of them had claimed responsibility, which, in Beron’s mind, made them all responsible. Lucien had bore the brunt of his fury, but he’d seen Eris limp up the stairs of the dungeon, face paler than usual, eyes hollow and bruised.

“I know,” Lucien said, though it did little to soothe the ache in his heart or fill the hole in his stomach. “Is she safe? Happy?”

“Yes,” Arina said with conviction. “And you know she’d want the same for you. I made her swear to let you go, Lucien. She knows…she knows who you are, your position…the expectations placed on you. It was a good dream. In a better world, you could have…but you can’t. And the longer you hold on, the worse you’ll feel.”

“That doesn’t mean I want Elain Archeron.”

“You don’t even know her,” Arina protested, but on this, Lucien was unwilling to budge. Would Beron have cared as much if Lucien hadn’t already been promised to another female? Beron had never been interested in Lucien. By the time he’d come around, Beron already had four other sons. Lucien wasn’t even a spare, he was simply unneeded. His whole life, he’d been left to his own devices save for his fathers political machinations. Marrying Elain tied him to one of the most powerful families in Spring. Lucien knew Tamlin was engaged to Elain’s eldest sister. Beron would have sway if he needed Spring for anything.

It wasn’t Elain’s fault and yet there was simply no one else to blame. She was the face of his misery.

“Go to bed, Lucien.”

Lucien rose, suddenly annoyed with Arina. He’d supported her back when she’d been desperately trying to find a way out of her own marriage and yet here she was, urging him to just give up and give in. Lucien might be stuck with Elain, but he’d be damned if he was going to try and enjoy himself.

Maybe he was a little drunk. And maybe it was the alcohol bolstering him, that drove him to the bedchamber that would soon belong to them. Lucien intended to tell Elain not to ask him for anything, and in return he would leave her alone. She could carry on some clandestine affair like so many other females at court did. Their husbands pretended not to notice so long as it was not obvious and all their children could be reasonably accounted for.

Lucien pushed through the sitting room to the bedroom where Elain was. She was perched on the edge of the bed, hairbrush in hand. The smell of salt hung heavy in the air and when she turned her big, brown eyes to him, he could see she’d been crying. Lucien paused, some of his anger fizzling to shame.

“Ah…lady. Did something happen?” he asked awkwardly.

Elain cleared her throat and pasted a smile on her face he’d seen a thousand times before on his own mother. “Of course not. It’s simply the pollen in the air.”

Pollen? She was from Spring. Did she think he was stupid? Lucien opened his mouth to argue with her before remembering that she was likely crying because of him. Some of his courtly manners flooded into his awareness.

“Should I shut the window?”

“No,” she breathed, lunging forward as if to physically stop him. The thought was oddly charming. Could she? What did they teach females in Spring, anyway? Arina had come with a dagger hidden in her skirts, apparently, and with enough knowledge to threaten his brother. Should he worry Elain, too, had intentions to castrate him should he offend her?

“Do…can I get you something?”

Elain eyed him suspiciously. “No?”

“Is that a question?” he asked, trying to figure her out.

“I’m fine, lord,” she murmured, dropping her eyes back to the bed. Go away now, seemed her unspoken request. Lucien knew when he wasn’t wanted and in some ways, it was a relief to be dismissed by her. He didn’t have to try so hard.

Try at all, truly. She didn’t have any interest in his company.

Well, fine.

Lucien offered her a bow, well aware he was still mocking her. Elain’s eyes were narrowed to slit when he straightened his spine again, cheeks red not from tears, but anger. Yell at me, he urged silently. Maybe he’d like her better if she showed a little spirit.

Elain took a breath and offered another fake smile. “Sleep well.”

Lucien grumbled something back, turning and closing the door behind him. He was tempted to go back to his own bedroom and enjoy what little freedom he had left to him, but the sound of her soft sobs floated beneath the crack and Lucien was frozen in place. Of course he’d known she was crying and yet to hear it…Lucien swallowed.

He didn’t want to be his father.

Hesitating, he knew there was no point in going back into the bedroom other than to make her feel bad for being miserable. But maybe he didn’t need to leave her wholly alone, either. That was a decent compromise, he thought to himself. Lucien padded out, down the hall to his own room for a pillow, a few blankets, and the things he needed to sleep. He doubted Elain would appreciate learning that he preferred to sleep in the nude and truthfully, he didn’t want her to see him undressed, either.

Not yet. Not until they had to. He figured he might be able to put it off for a while, but eventually he was going to have to lay with his wife, if only to keep her from running off to her father and making any number of claims about him.

The thought of being labeled impitent offended his masculine pride.

Lucien skipped a shirt after tossing and turning on the small couch, annoyed by the fabric hugging his skin and the lumpiness of the cushions beneath him. As he pulled it off over his head, Lucien heard Elain swear softly from behind her bedroom door.

Walking to the window and pushing the curtains gently aside, he saw her swing a leg over the ledge. Her nightdress rode up her slim thigh and once again his body reacted with fascination.

Not the time, he reminded himself with mounting frustrations. With a loud sigh he was certain she hadn’t heard, Lucien merely closed his eyes and winnowed onto the balcony. A light mist fell against his overheated skin, soothing him a little.

“You’ll kill yourself trying that,” he warned.

Elain shrieked, pitching forward to what would have been a very painful fall had he not caught her by the waist and dragged her back. The smell of her hair was too much, intoxicating and sweet and her skin softer than he’d expected.

Lucien released her instantly, stepping far enough away to clear his head. Would she be angry if he took his frustration out on a lady at court? Just to clear his head? What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her…right?

“Don’t touch me,” she warned, holding out a finger like a weapon. Lucien’s hands moved upward defensively, palms out in surrender.

“You won’t last a night in those woods,” he warned her.

“Because of the dogs?” she demanded.

Arina.

Lucien was going to murder her in the morning.

“No, not just the dogs. The dogs will merely bring us to your shredded body,” Lucien retorted hotly, frustrated with the situation and himself. “There are far worse things in the forest than Eris’s animals and though I’m not thrilled about this marriage either, I would rather not be a widow before the ink has dried on our certificate.”

“I would have thought—”

“Then think less,” he snapped angrily. “But do not convince yourself I am hoping you will die.”

Elain’s cheeks reddened. “If you’d let me finish, lord, you would have heard me say that I would have thought you’d be delighted to see me leave.”

Lucien would be delighted, though he had no intention of giving her the satisfaction of being right. “If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else.”

“Maybe someone you’ll like.”

“Or someone my father likes,” he replied a little too honestly. “If you want to scream and rage in private, be my guest. I welcome it. But do not embarrass me or yourself by trying to escape.”

Lucien didn’t bother mentioning that if Beron believed he couldn’t control his wife, he would do it for the pair of them. Lucien could not imagine Elain withstanding Beron’s machinations, which meant he’d have to step in for her.

Better to simply get her under control now, if only to protect his back from the lash.

Elain turned, shoulders slumped. “I don’t know where I thought I’d go. Perhaps a cabin up in the mountains?”

“Eris has one,” Lucien told her as he trailed behind, not bothering to mention that cabin was a loose term for what Eris had built up there. “You could probably use it, if you like.”

She only shrugged, eyes glassy again. Lucien didn’t know what he’d do if she began crying, so he stood awkwardly in the door frame between the balcony and bedroom, too aware he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Elain wouldn’t meet his gaze which only made things worse.

Or, so Lucien thought.

His brain hadn’t quite caught up with his mouth. He heard himself blurt out, “Does my form offend you?”

“All of you offends me,” she retorted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If I promise not to leave this room, will you close the door behind you?”

Lucien scowled, running a hand down his naked torso. He’d never met a female that thought he was offensive and nearly told her so. Was he not more handsome than the males in Spring? Handsome enough to be a husband?

Why do you care?

“Fine,” he grumbled, stalking through the room for the locked door. “But the next time you try that, I’ll tie you to the bed.”

“I’ll scream,” she threatened him.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he bit back before slamming the door behind him.

At least he got the last word.

#elucien #see i can still write elucien so long as im just rewriting the same story over and over and over and over and ov

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fhatbhabiee · 20 hours

Text

Cuz I Loved You | Part 2

DBF!Joel Miller x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: very light smut, joel being an ass, pregnancy, dad lectures, flashback, break up

part 1

It was quiet. Almost a bit too quiet. Your eyes scanned the small waiting room, glancing over the faces of the other people there.

Guess what they say is true- you really aren't alone.

The nurse opened the door and called out your name. When you walked back with her you could feel the world moving in slow motion. All the sounds around you were muffled but you could sure as hell hear your heart about to beat out of your chest.

It didn't take as long as you thought- in and out but you left with a souvenir. You smiled at the black and white photo, admiring the tiny little bean growing inside of you.

“We're gonna be just fine, bean. I promise you.”

— • —

They both stumbled into Joel's house and up to his bedroom. He flung his t-shirt off the same time she pulled her skirt down and kicked it somewhere in the room. Joel had picked her up at the bar, wanting- well more like needing something to stick his dick in and he was getting tired of his hand.

She was about to drop to her knees but he grabbed her wrist.

“Bed.” he demanded. She finished getting undressed and laid down on his bed facing him. He walked over and quickly flipped her on her stomach, grabbing her waist and flipping her over.

He thrusted into her, groaning at the sensational feeling he missed so much. It wasn't you but it'll do.

Fuck. Why did he have to think about you? He shook his head trying to get your face out of his mind but it wasn't working. Your smile was burned in the backs of his eye lids, the sound of your voice echoed through his ears. No matter what he thought of, your face popped up.

“Get out.” he let out a frustrated grunt as he pulled out and tucked himself back in his jeans.

“What?” she asked, confused

“I said get out!” she quickly got up from the bed and got redressed. She grabbed her shoes and left without saying anything else.

—

“Joel, we gotta go!” Tommy yelled out as he knocked on Joel's bedroom door. Joel jerked awake, headache hitting him like a truck the second he opened his eyes. He slowly got up and opened the door, the smell of alcohol hitting Tommy in the face.

“Jesus…” he muttered under his breath. “What did you do last night?”

Joel shrugged his shoulders as he walked back over to his bed. “Remember kicking a girl out of here last night. That's about it.”

“Why did you-”

“Can't stop thinking about her.” Joel muttered, cutting Tommy off. Tommy let out a small sigh and sat down next to Joel. He knew exactly who Joel was talking about.

“Brother I hate to break it to you but you can't get all sad and upset about missing her when you were the one that broke it off.”

“You don't get it…”

Tommy scoffed. “Joel, I know you better than anyone. Things got too serious between the two of you and you got scared- scared because the last time you had something serious she left you with a kid to raise on your own.”

Joel stayed quiet. He knew Tommy wasn't wrong. He really did want a life with you, he just let his fears get in the way. He hoped that after your dads birthday party he'd hear from you but it's been months and still nothing. He pushed you away and that's his own fault.

“Get dressed, we gotta get to work.” Tommy said before walking out of his bedroom.

— • —

“This damned thing.” you grunted, struggling to clip the baby seat in the back of your car. You felt a strong hand on your back, grabbing your attention.

“Let me get it.” Your dad said, reaching over the car seat and clipping it in within seconds.

“I totally had it.”

“Mhm.” he muttered as the closed the back door of the car.

“So…” Your dad started, leaning against your car. “I told your mom I wasn't gonna say anything but-”

“Dad if its about Joel-”

“He deserves to know.” You let out a sigh, annoyed that he's about to give you the same lecture again. “This is his kid too.”

“Yeah and he's the one that said he didn't want to start over. He's the one that broke up with me.”

“You need to stop being selfish and think about what that kid is gonna think when it grows up without a father. Get it through your head.”

“I'm being selfish? Joel wants nothing to do with this!”

“How do you know if you haven't even told him?”

You stayed quiet, secretly hating the fact that your dad was right. You still haven't told Joel and if you're being honest you hadn't planned on it. He made it clear when you broke up; he didn't want to start over. So why tell him?

“I gotta get going…” you muttered before getting in your car. Your dad grabbed the door before you closed it all the way.

“Do me a favor and think about it.” he muttered before closing the door.

—

After leaving your parents you decided to stop by the baby store and browse around- bit of retail therapy. You were walking around the store, searching for new clothes for the baby when you heard a deep voice call out your name.

You turned around and there he was.

“No way…” he muttered, eyes going straight to your swollen belly.

“Tommy.”

“H-How far along are you?”

“Almost 7 months.”

“Almost time then huh?”

“Yeah… Tommy I don't mean to be rude but what are you doing in a baby store?”

“Maria’s pregnant.” he smiled.

“Oh congratulations.” you said pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you. I'm so nervous but excited.” he chuckled, hugging you back.

“Oh you're gonna be a great dad Tommy don't sweat it.”

“Speaking of…” he trailed off, eyes going back to your belly. You crossed your arms over your chest, taking a step back from Tommy.

“It was good seeing you Tommy.” You flashed him a quick smile before walking away. The entire car ride back to your house you knew that Tommy was gonna tell Joel. Only thing is- what was Joel gonna do when he did find out?

— • —

“Wanted to talk to you about something.” You said as you sat in Joels lap and wrapped your arm around his neck.

“Talk to me baby.”

“Have you ever thought about maybe… having another baby?”

He chuckled. “Honey I'm 54, I tossed out that card a long time ago.”

“I know but maybe-”

“There is no maybe. I'm not having another kid.” He snapped. You gave him a small nod and got off his lap, walking up to the bedroom.

Joel didnt speak to you the rest of the day, until later that night when he walked upstairs and found you typing away on your laptop.

“What's with the baby talk earlier?” He asked. You closed your computer and set it on the nightstand.

“It was just a question Joel.”

“Okay, well then, do you want a baby?”

“Yeah.” You paused. “Not right now but I'd love to have a baby somewhere down the line.”

“It's not gonna be with me sweetheart I can tell you that now.”

You felt the familiar lump form in your throat- sensing a feeling in your gut on what was about to happen.

“So is it a deal breaker?” You asked, scared to know the answer.

“Yeah.” He muttered. “It's a deal breaker.”

—

Joel sat back, processing everything that he was just told. “How far along?” He whispered.

“7 months now.”

Joel looked over at him and gave him a small nod. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You deserved to know.”

beta'd: @dancingtotuyo & @clawdee thank you so much 🤍

divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #tw pregnancy #tw light smut #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel

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green-eyedfirework · 17 hours

Text

“No.”

“Bruce—”

“Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what you’re proposing?”

“It’s not a proposal,” Dick said with a calm he didn’t feel. He’d already numbed himself to the idea. “I am not asking you, Bruce. I’m telling you.”

“I am not letting my son walk straight into the hands of someone who wants him dead,” Bruce snapped, eyes flashing, as he shoved upright from the council table.

“And I,” Dick replied levelly, meeting Bruce’s gaze, “am not letting someone else suffer for a war I caused.”

Bruce shook his head, deflating slightly as his expression pinched. “You didn’t cause it, Dick,” he said quietly. “It was a set-up. You know this. King Slade knows this.”

Dick’s mouth firmed to a thin line. It didn’t matter if Slade knew now that his son had been captured by extremists and tortured until he was a weapon aimed at Gotham. It was still Dick’s sword that had ended his life. “I killed him,” Dick said softly. “I killed Prince Grant and Slade will never forget that.” Never forgive that, never mind the grudging treaty created when Hive’s treachery had come to light. “I will not let someone else take my place as a target of his rage.”

No one trusted the treaty. Not in Gotham, not in Defiance. The hostage exchange was the only thing grounding the flimsy sheet of paper—one noble from Defiance, one noble from Gotham, each with a permanent stay in the other kingdom’s court.

“Dick,” Bruce said slowly, “you’re the Crown Prince.”

“I’ve been removed from the succession,” Dick said, half-shrugging. “Your advisors won’t let you reinstate me.” Hot-headed, impetuous, reckless—whatever Bruce believed, Dick had started a war by killing a prince, and several nobles in Gotham had never wanted the son of aerialists to ascend to the throne.

“Dick—”

“You can’t stop me,” Dick crossed his arms. This was his mess, and he was going to clean it up, whether Bruce liked it or not.

Bruce slumped back into his chair, and buried his head in his hands. “Dick,” he said quietly, “please.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Dick said, equally quiet. “But I can’t watch someone else take my place.”

Bruce let out a slow, shuddering breath. Finally, he spoke, “You won’t go as a prince.”

“What?”

“You won’t go as a prince. Under your real name. King Slade has never seen you—” That was true, once Bruce had realized why an army was at their border, Dick had been carefully guarded. “He won’t know who you are. We can make up a minor noble family for you. A lordship on the other side of Gotham.”

“But—”

“Dick,” Bruce looked him in the eyes, his face grave and pale. “He despises you. And I will not send my son to his death, do you understand?”

Dick nodded mutely, the words ringing in his head.

He despises you.

And Slade had every right to.

~#~

It was safe to say that Slade wasn’t in a good mood. Hadn’t been in a good mood since he’d received word that his firstborn was dead, and his initial fury had receded to an ever-simmering flame of rage, a perpetual bad temper that sent everyone fleeing.

If he’d had his way, he would’ve razed Gotham to the ground and stuck every member of its royal family on a pike before he stopped. Unfortunately, King Bruce had managed to find evidence that the terrorist group Hive had been involved, muddying the facts to claim that Prince Richard had merely been acting in self-defense, and it had been enough to sour Slade’s kingdom on a costly war.

So now he was supposed to play nice with the kingdom his son had died in, signing a treaty that wasn’t worth the paper and ink, biding his time until he could have his revenge. Gotham was sticking to its best behavior for the time being and Prince Richard had vanished after he’d been removed from the line of succession, leaving Slade uselessly seething.

He glared at Wintergreen as he approached the throne. “Is that it?” he asked, gesturing to the near-empty throne room. “No petitioners to hear today?” Very few dared to show up, all of them showing a healthy fear of his temper.

“The Lord of Owlcourt has arrived,” Wintergreen said. Right. Their noble hostage. Slade had sent Drakon to Gotham days ago with careful instructions to watch and listen but do nothing unprovoked. He doubted that Gotham would give him an easy excuse to go to war, the kingdom wasn’t as cutthroat as its neighbors.

With the exception of its reckless prince.

“And I have to be here for that?” He didn’t want to greet whatever sacrificial lamb Gotham had sent, he didn’t even want to acknowledge that they existed. As minor a lord as they could find, most likely, or maybe even a merchant willing to play at being a lord for a generous payout to his family. According to Wintergreen, Owlcourt had been a royal territory until very recently, which meant that Gotham had magicked this lordship out of thin air.

Wintergreen gave him a sharp look, but didn’t start the long lecture Slade was half-expecting. Everyone was treating him like he was a piece of fucking glass, and Slade dearly wanted a fight. Wanted to draw his sword and hack away until everyone that would hurt him, hurt his children, were dead.

In his imaginings, the bodies all had dark hair and golden crowns.

“The Lord of Owlcourt,” the guards announced as they opened the doors, and Slade got his first look at the noble.

Young, younger than Slade had been expecting, dark-haired and light-eyed, expression steady as he flicked his gaze around the room, not shivering or scared. Slade flicked a glance at Wintergreen to make sure he wasn’t overthinking things. His steward had his mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed.

Slade wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a taunt or a deliberate provocation, but if they wanted him to lose his composure, they’d have to try harder than sending a lookalike of their prince.

“Your Majesty,” the lordling dipped into a low bow. Lower than a lord to a foreign king usually bowed. The idea that they’d foisted a lordship on some random commoner was looking more and more likely. “My name is Dick Grayson, and I’m—”

“The Lord of Owlcourt, yes, we did receive the message,” Slade said, cutting him off. He made no attempt to hide his glower as Grayson straightened. “Neither of us need to pretend this is anything but what it is.” His noble hostage could rot in a tower for all Slade cared. “You will obey our rules. You will not leave the castle without permission. You want anything, you will ask Wintergreen and he’ll see if it’s necessary.” His steward inclined his head as Grayson darted a glance at him. “If you’re on anything less than your best behavior,” Slade paused, scanning the young lordling’s face. Wariness aplenty, but no outright fear. “There will be consequences.”

“Understood, Your Majesty,” Grayson dropped into another bow. Someone should teach him some etiquette before the whole court figured out he wasn’t a noble. “Thank you for your hospit—”

Slade got up from the throne and walked out before he could finish. The pleasantries had been met, and he had no intention of getting closer to a Gotham lord. Especially not one who looked so similar to the man that killed his son.

This time, when Slade dreamed of destroying his enemies and venting his grief, the corpses looked like the young Lord of Owlcourt.

~#~

Dick had half been expecting them to throw him in the dungeons and was pleasantly surprised when he was led to a room. Nowhere near as large as his quarters in Gotham, and the simplicity was clearly intended as a slight, but the room had a writing desk and a window, and didn’t seem overly cold.

“Your trunk will be brought up after it’s searched,” the steward said—Wintergreen, Dick remembered, cold eyes watching him with eerie intensity. “Anything we deem too dangerous to let you have will be destroyed.”

Dick took a breath and nodded. He hadn’t brought anything valuable with him, had correctly assumed that Defiance wouldn’t treat his possessions with any sort of courtesy.

“It should go without saying, but your best option is to keep your head down,” Wintergreen said sharply. “Do not test the King’s temper. War has been narrowly avoided, I suggest you try not to court it again.”

Don’t flinch, Dick chanted mentally in his head. Wintergreen didn’t know who he was talking to. Didn’t know how accurate his words really were.

“If there is something you require, you come to me. You will not be assigned a chaperone or a guard, and you will be stopped if trying to enter a restricted area. Meals will be served in the Great Hall, the library is open if you wish to read, and the training areas are usually empty in early morning. You will not be allowed sharpened weapons.”

That was more freedom than Dick had expected. There weren’t bars on the windows and the door appeared to lock from the inside.

“Do you have any questions?” Wintergreen asked, tone perfunctory. Dick shook his head, throat still dry from his interaction with the King.

“Very well,” Wintergreen inclined his head. “Lord Grayson.” He swept from the room before Dick could breathe through the sting of the title. No longer a prince. Never a prince again.

He’d half been prepared for his disguise to fall apart the moment he’d reached the castle’s gates. The steward’s eyes had narrowed dangerously when he’d seen him, and Dick had seen the way King Slade’s expression had flickered with surprise before cooling. They might not have seen him before, but clearly they’d heard of his appearance.

He’d thought about dying his hair, but he couldn’t bank on getting the materials to keep it up in Defiance. His only shield was a name lost to time and the prayer that they wouldn’t put it together.

Dick sank down into the chair and exhaled slowly.

It had worked.

~#~

Unfortunately, the Lord of Owlcourt was a model guest. He’d made no demur over his sword and dagger being seized, no protest at being forced to file a formal request for every additional piece of furniture for his rooms, no complaint at being ordered to attend every meal in the Great Hall.

The last had been Wintergreen’s idea. If it was up to Slade, he would’ve locked Grayson in a cell and thrown away the key, but Wintergreen had pointed out that Slade had sworn to treat the hostage with courtesy.

So Grayson had a decent set of rooms in the guest wing, had meals with everyone else, was allowed to roam the castle without fear of retaliation. It helped that he was an unrecognizable face—Slade didn’t doubt that Grayson had fought in the war, his hands bore sword calluses, but no one in Slade’s court had any personal animosity with the young lordling.

It also helped that the Lord of Owlcourt was charming.

~#~ ~#~

Slade turned back when he reached the door, and had to fight his twitching lips. Dick had spread out on the bed, curling up in the warmth Slade had left behind, and had pulled the blankets over his head to block out the sun.

Not a morning bird, then, but a cat. Slade shook his head as he left his room, and refused to call the emotion fondness. He wasn’t getting fond of the Lord of Owlcourt.

And what if you are? a tiny voice asked in his head.

…And what if he was. Dick was from Gotham, true, but he would be staying permanently in Slade’s court. No one had heard of Owlcourt in Defiance, so it wouldn’t ruffle any feathers amongst his court. And—and Slade couldn’t spend the rest of his life wrapped up in misery.

Dick was amusing, and a challenge. Smart and fierce and bold. Good at politics too. He was everything Slade looked for in a partner, and Slade had to admit that what was supposed to be a temporary relief had turned into a more permanent arrangement.

He recalled the way blue eyes sparkled as Slade pinned Dick to the bed, dark hair ruffled by the pillows—as much as Slade detested the underhandedness of the Waynes, Slade wouldn’t have gotten this if they hadn’t tried to provoke him.

For a moment, Slade tried to imagine what it would’ve been like if they’d actually sent over Prince Richard. If Slade, or someone else, didn’t kill him, Richard would’ve probably spent the entire time locked up in his rooms, perhaps plotting how to murder the rest of them in their sleep. There was certainly no way they would’ve ended up sleeping together.

The very thought was ridiculous. As if Prince Richard would’ve ever—

“I volunteered.”

“My cousin. She’s a tutor for the youngest prince.”

“I learned swordsmanship from the very best, Your Majesty.”

Slade came to a stop in the middle of the corridor.

No.

That was—impossible.

No one would ever—

Dick, on his knees, almost trembling, and the snarl of what did they teach in Gotham, that he thought Slade would ever do such a thing forestalled by his fury for the young lordling, what kind of royal family sent someone to sacrifice everything for their mistakes?

“The King is a good man,” Dick sighed, “And his family are good people.”

“It’s my duty,” Dick said quietly, “For my kingdom.”

My.

But no king would ever send his heir as hostage if there was another choice. No father would ever send his son to someone who wanted him dead.

Slade was being ridiculous. Dick was just a noble’s bastard son with a passing resemblance to the Crown Prince of Gotham.

…Dick was a short form of Richard.

~#~

“It’s a pity,” Slade said softly, “That we don’t have Prince Richard to explain away this one too.”

The courtiers laughed. Dick didn’t.

Slade was staring directly at him.

~#~ ~#~

Dick laced his fingers around the cup, and took another sip. It was refreshing. It was water. It was something to do that wasn’t looking up at Slade, because he didn’t think he could handle looking up at Slade right now.

He’d been ready, when he approached the castle, for his paper-thin disguise to fall apart. For Slade to kill him where he stood, and know that at least in death he kept his kingdom safe. He—he had not been prepared to watch Slade’s face twist into hate after softening, after he knew what Slade looked like grinning sharp and victorious, or solemn, or sleepily content with the early morning sun splayed over his face. It…hurt.

Dick took another small sip of water. The cup was already three-quarters empty. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could drag this out.

The door opened again, and Dick’s fingers tightened on the cup. The boots in front of him jerked, and turned to face the newcomer, but Dick didn’t look up. It wouldn’t make a difference.

“Wintergreen,” Slade said flatly, sounding both confused and displeased at once.

“Slade,” the steward answered in the same flat tone, “And here I was half-expecting he’d already be dead.”

Dick raised his head, bewildered. The way Wintergreen had said that—

“You knew?” Oh, Slade sounded furious now. “Since when?”

Wintergreen didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by his king’s agitation, instead studying Dick as Slade growled. “A week or so after his arrival. Before you, I wager.” Dick’s stomach twisted—how long had Slade known? Dick hadn’t noticed any sudden difference in him, anything to suggest that he knew Dick was the person that had killed his son.

Before sleeping with him?

After?

“How?” Slade demanded.

“I already told you of my findings regarding Owlcourt,” Wintergreen said mildly, “But if he was some merchant’s son or a farmer, no amount of drilling in manners would’ve been able to replicate being raised a noble. So that must mean he’s a noble. But then why hide his real title, why give him some random royal territory?” Wintergreen shrugged lightly, “If he looks so much like the prince, then perhaps he is the prince.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” Slade bit back. Dick took another quiet sip of water.

“No, Slade, I didn’t tell you, because you would’ve killed him,” Wintergreen snapped back, “And started another war, hostage or not, by murdering Gotham’s Crown Prince.”

“I’m not,” rang out into sudden silence. Dick winced, but—but he couldn’t stay silent forever. “I’m not the Crown Prince,” he said quietly.

Slade and Wintergreen were both staring at him now. Dick fought the urge to hide.

“We just went over this,” Slade began, but Dick cut him off.

“No, not—I was the Crown Prince. I’m not anymore.”

Slade narrowed his eyes, but it was Wintergreen who spoke. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“The council,” Dick explained, “One of their conditions was that my adoption be revoked.” Bruce had been furious, but his court had agreed that it was an elegant solution—if a prince had not slaughtered a prince, the consequence would never have been war—and by that time, Dick had already made up his mind to go so it had been a moot point. “So I’m not. A prince or a Wayne. I—Owlcourt is a royal territory, yes, but I have a claim to it, through my great-grandfather. My name was Grayson, before Bruce adopted me. It—wasn’t a lie.”

Slade and Wintergreen were staring at him, silent. Dick swallowed, and bowed his head.

“But it’s a deliberate omission,” Dick said quietly, “I understand why you’re angry.” Still two sips of water left in the cup, but Dick put it down, before shifting forward to fold onto his knees. “Killing me won’t start a war,” Dick almost whispered, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Another stretching silence, before boots came closer. “Out of curiosity,” Slade said, his voice level, “How long did you think you’d get away with it?”

Dick—didn’t know. There had always been an end date in sight. All he could do was push it another day away. “Hopefully long enough that tensions would’ve died down,” Dick said quietly, because he was still a hostage, and if Slade killed him without provocation, the treaty would be in turmoil. Too soon after the war, and angry, grieving people might seize the opportunity to attack again.

Slade made an irritated sound. “I’m not going to kill you,” he snapped, one boot nudging his knee, “Get up.”

Dick processed the order before he processed the statement, so he stuttered halfway up, nearly falling back down before he recovered and straightened fully. Slade wasn’t looking at him, but his face was set in a glower. Wintergreen looked…mildly amused. Or satisfied.

#my snippets #sladick #royalty au #royal hostage #identity reveal #snippets from various parts of the story #self sacrifice #mistaken identity

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beatrixstonehill2 · 20 hours

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"Mmmm, my transition is going better than I ever could've dreamed. My doctor just upped my dose of estrogen a couple months ago and put me on progesterone. Look at these tits I'm growing! They're so suckable, so perfect for grabbing and slapping around. They're totally perfect! My hips are getting wide and I'm finally getting a girl-butt, it already jiggles as I walk. So do my thighs. I've put on like thirty pounds in two months but my doctor says it's totally normal and not to worry at all. He said I should expect to put on more weight, that it's just my body naturally finding its perfect size as a woman, every trans girl goes through it! I can also expect my boobs to grow. And apparently my libido!

Before starting on these drugs I had like zero libido. My cock rarely got hard. I'm tucking it and pushing it against me bed right now but my cock is actually really hard, which feels kinda nice even if it's pretty embarrassing. I've started humping my pillows and other things around the house, I'm just so horny, I can't help it. My cock grew out of nowhere from about two inches to six! My doctor said that's normal, too, and not to worry, if my cock gets too big we can always remove it. But I confided that I sorta liked the idea of having a big dick, and he said most trans girls secretly do.... Guess I'm not alone! The only thing that even remotely helps soothe my constant horniness is eating. So, I miiiight have started stuffing my face when I'm super horny. Hey, my doctor said I can expect to gain weight. What's the harm? I can't go around constantly shooting ropes in my panties all day. Well, I could but I don't want people to judge me negatively as some kind of nympho. Even if it's totally true! ❤️"

"Urpppp..... ugh.... Fuck, look at how big my gut's getting guys. You can't even see my huge cock under all this blubber. It feels so good when I drop it and it smacks into my fupa and thighs. Fuck! Why does being this fat turn me on so much? This is so disgusting. I only shower once a month..... I should've told my doctor to take me off progesterone back when I was still thin and sexy and not such a goddamn pile of lard. Who gains this much weight in two years? I'm 630lbs! I guess that means I'm piling on about 260lbs a year..... Over 20lbs a month! And my doctor couldn't be happier. I think it turns him on to see me get this big. Every time he checks my blood pressure and sees how bad it is, or tells me how my diabetes is advancing, you can tell his cock is getting rock hard. He loves seeing girls get fat! I can't believe I didn't realize he was turned on by it sooner.

My family is already prepping our house for me to become immobile like it's totally inevitable. I can't stand it, but I'm also morbidly turned on but just how much fat I've piled on so quickly. Just a couple years ago I was a perfect, curvy trans girl, big perky boobs, my cock was like ten inches and crazy thick from me playing with it all day, especially as I ate. Guys loved my body and it felt so cathartic to be so desired. I loved being fucked in public, or even just having men come up to me to reach up my skirt and jerk me off on the bus or on the train. My thick thighs would jiggle, my tits would bounce as I'd roll back my head and eyes, moaning as these strangers would come up just to grab my fat cock and jerk it off for all to see. Now my pretty boobs are just fat folds, barely distinguishable from the rest. My cock is about twenty inches but it's so buried by rolls and folds of lard you wouldn't even know I'm trans. Guess I finally pass.....

I can't even jerk off anymore. At best I can push my thighs together and press my belly down to crush my cock to masturbate, but that's about it..... I'm just a filthy, sweaty, pile of lard. A total pig. My parents are just as much enablers as my doctor. They bring me food all day, even rub my belly and compliment how fat I'm getting. Once I got over 300lbs and stopped going out as much because walking wore me out so fast, my mom started jerking me off as I ate, because she saw I was getting too fat and weak to masturbate on my own. My mom still relieves my cock but it's much more humiliating now. She'll comment on how I never shower, how much I stink, laughing at my uncontrollable gas and constant stomach gurgles and loud noises. She calls me a hopeless cow and says this is what I get for wanting to be a girl. That finally I have a real woman's body and she hopes I'm happy with myself.....

She'll push through my fat folds as I lie back and grab my oversized cock. She'll smack my balls, each the size of coconuts, really hard to 'get me going', then she'll jerk my cock and usually shove two or three fingers in my urethra to fuck it. She'll do this until I climax, all the while calling me a fat, hopeless pig who's gonna weigh over 1000lbs. My dad runs my old social media pages and films these jerk off sessions to upload to all my old pages, so everyone can see what a disgusting fat pig I've become. My dad will gloat, walking in as I sit in a huge pile of my own mess, sweating, belching, my heart pounding through my chest as my body forces more of the junk I pile into my mouth out all around me. I'm just way too fat and lazy to get up and use the toilet.

They let me suffer and sit in my messes for a day or two before they hire a crew to come in and clean me off, treating my body like an oversized object instead of a person. Pushing and pulling me every which way, hosing me down, scrubbing with long brushes between my folds. I still try to shower on my own every month or so but I know I won't be able to much longer. I'm just getting way too fat..... It's all my doctor's fault! And there's no way he'll ever help me lose a pound. The faster I'm headed for a heart attack, the more it turns him on. I wonder just how many trans girls he's done this to? Judging by his Instagram page and the girls commenting on his posts, I'd say hundreds..... Most of them are thanking him for getting them so fat, so maybe I'm just ungrateful? Next time I see him I should tell him to fuck some of my rolls if he wants. He got me this fat, he might as well enjoy his work....."

#trans feedee #trans ssbbw #incest kink #trans weight gain #mtf weight gain #weight gain kink #slob kink #immobile kink #morbid feedism

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lemon-natalia · 14 hours

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Harrow the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 52

Augustine & Mercy are having a very intense convo about how they just murdered GOD and are dooming themselves, and Gideon 1.0, Gideon 2: Electric Boogaloo, and Ianthe are just … standing there

oh shit and Dominicus is gonna die and become a black hole? i mean given there’s a whole other book not sure where this is gonna go, maybe he was lying to everyone about that as well?

when Ianthe of all people is the one advocating to try and save people out of the goodness of her heart, you know you’re fucked

‘Well, Augustine, there’s something you should know’ could someone please say something in this series that isn’t ridiculously cryptic. also i totally forgot this guy was wearing Gid’s sunglasses the whole time lol

OH WAIT THE BITCH IS BACK. i knew it was too good to be true

also YIKES poor Mercy, she was not my favourite character but god she did not deserve that

also ah. hm. the above comment did not age well

oh this guys whole persona has just shifted. He’s still got that kinda irreverent jokiness & affability but he’s also evidently very pissed off, a lot less ‘lets have tea’ and more ‘do what i say or get fucked’

'then he looked at us, gave a crooked half smile’ ohhhh he has the same. fucking. crooked smile. that Gideon has in the BARI-star dream what the fuck

and he WAS the one who ordered Gideon-Part-1 to kill Harrow, for fucks sake. at least Harrow had Ortus be nice to her briefly cuz she’s three for three on her other parental figures trying to kill her at some point

Gideon found out her bio dad is GOD, saw him die, saw him come back to live naked, and now found out he tried to kill her (kinda maybe its complicated) girlfriend. thats just ... so many different levels of traumatising

also i keep forgetting Gideon is literally looking like Harrow for all of this

GIDEON 1.0 ISN’T GIDEON, ITS PYRRHA DVE HIS CAV?!?!? yknow what so much else is going on rn i barely have the capacity to process that

and she was also sleeping with Commander Wake, was everyone just fucking eachother????? and i thought the love quadrangle in the last book was complicated. i’m guessing she shot Wake to stop her from potentially revealing the whole ‘i’m actually alive’ thing to the Emperor then?

also wow there’s a lot of consent issues being raised in the last couple chapters and this one, not just with dios apate major, but also like … you’re having sex with someone while possessing someone else’s body without their knowledge, but also also its the only body you have because they (presumably) killed you to absorb your soul. like what.

the drama and vast existential horror of this scene is only mildly undercut by the fact that the Emperor is having this crazy fight wearing only what is essentially an opalescent bathrobe

also why are there fucking TEETH at the bottom of the River? and Tongues?? and it thinks he’s a Resurrection Beast? i feel like there’s so much more to the River that we haven’t uncovered yet

and Augustine wasn’t wrong with what he said wayy before, the Emperor really did grant him more leniency than he did Mercy, at least he gave him a chance before murdering him

also cmon Ianthe you’re really gonna save that guy, really?

'Hands pressed. We died’ AGAIN?? i mean at least this time there’s a chance for her to come back given she’s done it once before?? also i do not know what to make of her seeing Alecto before she dies at all

#lemon natalia reads the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb #the locked tomb liveblog #harrow the ninth

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hiraeth-sonder · 4 hours

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Spring Dream - Ruzhu Hall

Yan! OC x Reader

OC x Reader

You will always have him, no matter your vice, he will always be there

TW: Incest, manipulative and toxic behaviour, really badly written sex, maybe just bad writing in general, extremely unreliable narrator

//This isn't historically accurate at all and I have no idea what I wrote. If anyone has read a fic called True Colour on AO3 or Quotev, this is just a continuation. You don't have to read one or the other to get the whole plot but I can't tell you what to do sooo

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————春芯王—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

The role of Lord of Chunxin is not an easy one, perhaps made especially so by your being a woman. Times have been hectic in the recent year and with nosy officials poking in to question your marital status, you have taken it upon yourself to solve this issue.

The time has once again come for a myriad of eligible young lords and ladies to express their intention of courting, whether for reasons political or not, it is ultimately inevitable for you to receive some offers. Your suitors, of course, would have to remain in your estate and care until you came to a decision on their status. It is by no means a paltry position, for many acquiring Chunxin would mean enjoying the wealth of a merchant and trade hub as well as the strategic location that aided with its peace. No matter the fact that you are a young woman of comely features and skill to run a whole commandery on your own, there was bound to be some fool of a noble willing to try his hand at courting you.

To marry a man would mean that Chunxin would very likely be absorbed into whatever territory they ruled over, or perhaps worse still, they would deem themself more worthy to rule. It is very well said that their arrogance may cast the careful tranquillity you have crafted into the abyss, and as you have dedicated 8 years of your life into this commandery you call home, you would quite prefer for your hard work to not go to waste.

This period of receiving has a long time to end, yet you were keen to complete this phase of your life as soon as possible. To pick a suitable husband never has been such an arduous task.

Beneath the warm sunlight streaming through verdant leaves, a soft sigh escapes you as your older brother sits opposite with a tea set between the two of you. His eyes are closed, expression placid as he takes in a breath. The wind is gentle and brings about the fragrance of blooming flowers, the start of spring has arrived and it only seems fitting for the start of your toil to coincide with such a prosperous symbol.

Your attendant A’yan approaches you and hands over a bundle of letters, three in total and each more solemn than the last. She holds a hand to her chest as she bows, she affirms, “My lord, here are the offers we have received.”

Heavy in your hands, you flip through each scroll to take cursory glances, eyes scanning over surnames and territories. It mattered not their age, so long as it did not go above thirty five, you had no qualms. Though perhaps your focus was more on their date of arrivals, and knowing some of the families that have sent their responses, punctuality is to be expected and not suggested.

“How convenient that they should not arrive all at the same time, at the very least I may spend more time getting to know them,” Letting out an amused huff, your eyes look upon a certain family’s especially early arrival.

Your older brother picks up another of the scrolls, phoenix eyes narrowing in vexation for a moment before they return to his usual placidity. His voice is low, serene and sonorous, “How convenient indeed.”

As though sensing the ensuing conversation to be shared between family, A’yan excuses herself and moves to watch over the two of you from a distance. At this, you send him a knowing look as you put down the scroll in your hand.

“Will you promise to behave when they come around?”

Zhou Chen only cocks his head, long auburn hair bound loosely framing his alluring apertures along with the movement. He raises a brow and hums, “You make it sound as if I am cruel enough to burden others.” Amber eyes bearing a kind of aggrievedness as those long lashes flutter, akin to emphasising his hurt, “Meimei, do you truly think so low of me?”

You laugh at such a display, mirth pulling at your lips as you smile, “You always find something to gripe about whenever someone shows interest, am I wrong?”

His hand, slender with well-defined joints, reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the contact gentle and familiar as the cold touch of jade and gold press against your skin. You lean into his touch ever so slightly, more a sign on your accruing stress than anything else. A soft sigh escapes you, and for a moment your eyes meet.

“My dearest meimei is far too good for any person, it is only right that as your brother, I weed them out for you,” He murmurs, amity all but spilling from his words.

You breathe out, voice discordant and scraping out your throat, “Promise me, please.”

Your dearest brother, your only bastion of assuage before the chaos that is soon to emerge, whenever he speaks to you as such, it feels as though everything in this world shall resolve itself favourably.

“Anything for you.”

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————宋曦渊—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

Lord Song Ze, courtesy name Xiyuan, of Ningshan is a face you did not expect to see at your door first thing in the morning. Or rather you did not actually expect to see him at all.

The Song family were the descendents of a particularly pious monk, following more along the path of immortals than those of mortality. You could perhaps recount the last time you have seen a member of this family from your childhood of living among celestial beings, though you are not sure you have ever seen Xiyuan before.

The name is one that bears a kind of distance, one that has been cultivated through his almost ethereal appearance and deeds. When one thinks of benevolence, the image that is conjured is that of white robes and sweeping sleeves. Though the Song family has notoriously been above many of the conflicts that plague other commanderies and territories, so it is of course a surprise that they not only sent an offer, but also that the head of the family himself would so magnanimously offer himself. Their response was vague, promising only that a favourable member had taken it upon himself to make the journey to Chunxin and try his hand upon the sixth day of the month.

So you must be excused for the clear and evident shock on your face when a carriage pulls up in front of your estate only for a tall and slender immortal with a smile on his face to emerge.

“Lord Song, it is a pleasure to have you in our humble lands,” You bow as your eyes subtly shift to look for another that may indicate his being as political, as a figure to ascertain negotiations for another. Yet when no other steps down from the carriage, you take in a soft breath. “I believe this is our first time meeting.”

For a moment, you think you see a complicated emotion flash across aureate eyes, though it is quick to disappear as he urges you from your formality, “Please, no need for such courtesy, we are to get to know one another soon.”

“Of course. Then, would you be keen for some tea?”

Xiyuan nods, an elegant move that barely disturbs the strands of hair that drape upon his broad shoulders. He is so much taller than you, he must tip his head just to perceive you fully and you must raise yours, the stark difference only makes you feel small. Though you gesture for him to go ahead, when the rest of your servants come to take his luggage, he is quick to thank them, a sunny smile pulling across thin lips. His voice is light and gentle, if you must compare it then it should be to the first rays of light in the morning. Perhaps what you do not expect is that when they struggle to carry it, he reaches out and with inordinate ease, lifts what may be a few catties and instead offers to bring it to his room himself.

Throughout this entire process, you could only watch in awe as he does not show even a sign of struggle, maintaining the elegant gait as he accompanies you to your drawing room. It was almost horrifying to see, though you have little time to ponder the reason behind such ability when he has settled in his seat and is looking to you with an expectant gaze.

With a slight quirk of your lips, you inquire the reasoning behind his being here, “I am truly honoured that you have made the journey to Chunxin, though may I ask, why exactly did you choose to court me?”

Xiyuan takes a moment to answer, his expression tranquil as he gathers his thoughts. Then, he speaks, clear and true.

“You are a woman of repute, it is undeniable even in Ningshan that your ability and your generosity is rare among commandery lords.” His eyes persist firmly on yours, unwavering and stalwart. He takes a breath, and his eyes crinkle in slight mirth as that smile of his, clement as a spring’s day, remains upon his lips, “There is little I do not admire about you, and when time came around, I believed it a chance to speak with you.”

Your chest tightens, and though you respond, it comes out weak and gawky, not at all the refined lord you attempted to convey, “Well, it is very kind of you to say so. Before I may continue asking, do you have any concerns you wish to be addressed?”

He merely shakes his head, and gestures for you to resume your pseudo-interrogation, a notion you readily accept.

“I have a duty to Chunxin and so I worry that should we get married, my presence would be required most in Ningshan.”

Though Ningshan was only a journey taken by a few days, you wished not for an event where you would be forced to watch your people suffer from afar. You may be unsure of the manner in which the Song family treats spouses, however there is one thing that you are certain and that is, becoming the wife of a person as important as the Lord of Ningshan would mean dedicating your prowess and time to it, leaving Chunxin.

You would not take it, you had made that clear in your soul the moment you had to send that announcement to the world. In your heart, you already knew the answer you would receive, you merely wished that you would be proven wrong.

“I understand, and I must apologise but as my wife, you would be required to remain by my side,” Xiyuan’s response is as you expected, a slight mournful glint in his eyes.

Yet still, he is swift to reassure you, “However, I can promise that Chunxin will remain entirely under your dominion, we have no intention of absorbing or conquering your lands.”

At that, you can only let out a soft sigh, “That is a relief, I will admit.”

Though your words said so, internally you have likewise expected such a concept. The Song family would not engage in conflict unnecessarily, even if it should benefit them. You do not have much else to ask him if you had to be honest, your main worry out of the way, so you merely hold your teacup to your lips, sipping in slow practised bouts as you attempt to think of conversation.

“Do you have siblings?” Hesitantly, you broach the silence that befell the two of you.

He responds, another smile upon his lips, “A younger brother, I believe he should be around your age.”

“That’s nice, I should like to meet him one day.”

Just as stiff as it started, it ends. Truly, it was difficult to find something to talk about when you knew little of each other, made especially inconvenient by the strict courtesy that bound the two of you. Taking another sip of your tea, the floral liquid tinging your tongue. As his arrival had been so early in the morning, you had yet to break your fast and so in an admittedly, utterly embarrassing moment, your stomach grumbles. The sound is like a knife through the air, horrifically obvious with no method to hide its journey.

Though your thin face attempts to retain some of your dignity, your eye twitches just the slightest. Yet just from a minute glance, Xiyuan does not seem to scorn your break of propriety. Rather, that smile of his softens, melting into something much fonder, as though looking upon a beloved.

“I must ask, do you enjoy pastries?”

“Yes, I…” You are not sure how best to put together your response. There are a myriad of reasons yet the one you decide to share, as well as the one bearing some truth, was one that seemed to imply unwell. Admitting to an odd shyness, you let a smile creep up in an attempt to lighten the mood, “They help me with my energy throughout the day.”

He appears pleased at this response, and though you wondered the reason for such for a moment, it is quickly dispersed when he retrieves a small box wrapped in fabric. You recognise the manner of wrapping, the colour and the very wood of the container. How could you not? Whether by pure coincidence or scheme, he has managed to purchase pastries from your favourite shop.

“Well, if I am not overstepping, I have brought some for you.” He offers the gift to you, the vessel almost dwarfed in his hands.

You have little choice but to accept, taking it into your hands and ignoring the slight brush of contact you share. “Thank you.”

You had fully intended to partake of them later, however by his gesture and anticipating look, you decide to abide so, if only to fulfil his request and your insolent stomach. Unwrapping the fabric with careful fingers, you open the box to reveal delicate spheres dusted with flour, glutinous rice flour encasing a sesame peanut filling. Once again, your favourite. As elegantly as you can, you pinch the ball between your fingers and take a bite, sweet yet tastefully salty, it more than satisfies your stomach when a soft hum escapes you.

Now fully aware of the sound you made, your eyes shift to Xiyuan only to find him gazing upon you, almond eyes all but seeping his solicitous amusement. With his shoulders squared and his posture ramrod perfect, it almost made a quaint sight, that a person could truly be so kind.

Just as you place the rest of the pastry down and open your mouth to speak, you are interrupted by the door sliding open, a familiar figure blocking the sunlight that enters as he stands tall.

“Lord Song,” Your brother’s voice is placid, unlilting and impregnable of emotion.

The man in question merely smiles, not a shred of vexation or annoyance present, “Lieutenant General Zhou, I had not expected that you would be here.”

“Lord Zhou is my sister, I naturally came to check on her,” He answers. The sentiment behind his placidity perhaps enhanced by the natural monotone of his accent.

Though he says as such, he merely takes a glance at you before keeping his attention on Xiyuan. In his hands are a bundle of official documents rather than his beloved qin, so you can only assume that he fully intended to camp the rest of the day in your office either asleep or actually doing work. This quick stop of his must have been impulsive rather than any well-thought out scheme.

Before he may take his leave, Xiyuan invites him in with a lilting hum, “Do come in, I would like to get to know you better as well, your reputation precedes you.”

Your brother only glances at you, and when you send him a minute nod, he obliges. With an elegant gait marred only by the weariness of work, he takes the seat opposite of your guest’s, regarding him with a cool gaze as he speaks slow and practised.

“Yours as well, I hope that should my meimei decide to let you court her, you will not mind my presence.”

“I would not dare. Oftentimes, a brother is as good as a father,” ever the kindly soul, he reassures him.

A small huff escapes you, this good brother of yours may very well be the only male relative you had left. He who was raised by your mother, and you who was whisked away by immortals, neither of you even knew what happened to your father let alone whether he would be as obliging as Zhou Chen. Still, you keep your expression pleasant as your brother seems to think of some matter to discuss.

“I have heard that you are exceptionally talented in playing the xiao, though I am more interested in your supposed ability with the qin. It is quite prodigious to master both,” He hums, long lashes lowered as his gaze sweeps to the man’s side.

“You flatter me, surely my ability could not match up to yours,” Xiyuan deflects the compliment, instead gesturing towards your brother with a kind smile. As naturally as breathing, more praise seems to tumble out, “Is it not true that you can hear a wrong note even in a symphony of instruments?”

Just like that, you may very well be effectively barred from understanding the rest of the conversation. Terms far too technical for you to hope to understand and spoken with enthusiasm far more vigorous than you have ever seen from your serene brother, you could only hide behind your tea and pastries, hoping that this conversation will not drag too far into the future.

Lying beneath your covers as your head rests upon your ceramic pillow, you find that you have been very rudely awakened from meagre sleep due to reasons unknown. Though you have attempted to wrestle your conscious back to restful slumber, your body appears to resist any and all attempts, merely maintaining that sore strain that seems to plague your form upon awakening.

The sun has yet to peek its head from above the morning mist, the birds yet to sing and with little to do, you force yourself to rise. A breeze of cool wind caresses your skin, and it takes everything within you to not retreat back to warmth, instead dressing yourself as respectfully and warmly as possible. As you step out of your room, careful to not make much noise, you let your feet carry you to wherever it desires, eventually stopping outside the a courtyard of youthful pinks and picturesque reds, the plum blossom tree that stands tall acting as a canopy for an unexpected visitor. Though servants milled about to catch glimpses of him, he still appeared a lonely pillar.

“The morning dew has yet to drip and yet you have already awakened.”

He turns to you, a kind of wistfulness in his eyes that returns to the depths of his sunlit eyes as you approach him. There is nothing to deter you, so you come to his side as the two of you remain beneath the tree’s grace. The silence that had once been stiff and stilted, has become more tranquil in such a setting, a context that requires no conversation of grace but rather cherished the fleeting moment of respite.

“Had you remained awake throughout the night?” He inquires, gentle yet concerned.

You only shake your head, your voice still hoarse from disuse, “I could not return to sleep, and you?”

A tightlipped smile appears across his face, though it did not detract from his visage, he nods.

“May I ask what you are doing here?”

“This tree merely reminds me of old memories, when I was younger and more naive.”

There is that smile once more, bearing a kind of emotion distantly related to that gleam just a day ago. You have yet to clue in on what exactly his intentions truly are, to offer himself on a platter when he must surely have options much more willing to be Madam Song than you. Your attendants could find not hide nor hair of intent, nothing to leverage and nothing to use. Song Xiyuan is a man you could not understand at this very moment.

Why did he look at you so? For what reason did he descend if only to make connections with your paltry Chunxin?

“I had this tree grown here in honour of my master, I am unable to visit him as often so knowing there is some part of him I can pay homage to is…” Your gaze averts towards the ground, and even you are not sure what, who, you are trying to avoid looking at. Still, you manage to whisper out, “Comforting.”

“The immortal Xu Yuanzhen, yes?”

His reveal of information, a detail that only your most intimate knew of you takes you more than just off guard. Turning to him, it is unease that pumps through your veins and rushes to your head. For him to have acquired such an aspect about you, there was little explanation for retrieval.

“You would be right,” You breathe out, your eyes wide and your chest tight.

Still, you manage to continue, “How do you know that?”

He glances away for only a moment, only a second before they redirect to you. His hands clasp together in a mock of nerve as he took in a breath. When he speaks, finally speaks and removes you from your disquiet, it is quiet.

“I fear that I may have been keeping some matters secret from you, but I suppose it is only right I tell you.”

In an attempt to maintain your composure, you meet his gaze. He starts his story, speaking with a soothing cadence as he recalls a time long gone, “When I was younger, my uncle took me to a conference and it was there that I met this girl. She was younger than me and was holding the hand of a man with pale apertures and garbed in white robes.”

“She cared not for my status as the Song family heir, and though she was shy at first, it took little for us to start talking.” A kind of mirth tinges his words upon this reveal, fondness practically overfilled.

“I had little contact with other children, and the time I spent with her was exhilarating. When we had to leave, she gave me the string bracelet she had around her wrist and made me promise to play with her again.”

From his wide sleeves and many layers, you see it. The thin little string of dull yellow peeking from behind robes of white, tightly entwined around his wrist and pulling memories from a time you thought lost to you.

“I never saw her again, not when her master rarely descended nor my family’s preference for isolation. I was ready to spend the rest of my life unbound, if only because she had taken my heart with her all those years ago,” He admits with a kind of sardonic irony, one made only more wry by the soft smile on his lips.

“When the news came of Chunxin’s incident, I had an inkling that it could have been you.”

He turns to face you fully, that wistful gleam now one you recognise as sentiment. It is now that you may behold him, the ethereal Lord Song deemed a man too kindly to be mortal, is only so, so very human. Peach blossom eyes that have beared weariness unknown to so many, the subtle wrinkles upon thin lips, the unevenness of his lashes. Human, so wonderfully human and so horrifyingly adoring of you.

“Xiyuan…” Your voice seems to betray you, breathless and stupefied.

For a moment, his hands move as though they sought to hold yours within them, yet even that is suppressed. He pleads softly, anymore and he would have been begging, “Please, just call me Song Ze.”

“I have waited for you for 17 years,” His confession is quiet, as every part of his longing has been yet still contained an ardour that finally breached the surface of the abyss called time. “I do not know how much longer I can wait now that I know you have always been so close.”

“I will ask your brother for permission, if not I will wait outside Lianyue Pavilion for your master’s.”

Under the falling leaves of the perennial plum blossom tree, Xiyuan’s eyes of sunlit gleam. You step closer towards him, allowing yourself to bask in his presence as the sheer attention he gives you, so freely offers to you, almost makes you scared. That though his very presence, a bubble of allaying sandalwood and incense, should bring about some kind of solace, your head only squeezes in ache.

“You barely know anything about me, you would find me appalling if you knew what I have done.”

He shakes his head, and when he finally takes your hands in his, you find that they are extraordinarily warm, like sunlight shining upon your skin. He only smiles, “But it is still you, and I am willing to spend the rest of my life learning everything about you, if you will only let me.”

A part of you wonders why exactly your heart tightens at the sight of his paradisiacal vulnerability.

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————陈伯裕—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

By the fourth day, it seems the entirety of Hedong has arrived at your estate. Stuffed into a singular carriage, the whole Chen family had been all but ecstatic, rushing out of the little vessel to swarm you and your brother. Perhaps if this was another noble family, you would have been more inclined to accept the affection, however, every single one of them just had to be freakishly robust.

Before you can be questioned by the lord and lady, you greet their three children with a small bow and light smile, “Boyu, Zhongyuan, Jiaxiang.”

It is just as you finish your pleasantries that Madam Chen scoops you into her embrace as she wraps her arms around you, leaving you so breathless that you can only manage a breathy and wheezing, “Lord Chen, Madam Chen.”

“Have you lost weight? Oh look at you, it must have been so hard handling everything on your own,” She notes, her voice tinged with concerned as she pulls away, soft hands placed on your face as she scans over you

Lord Chen, an older man with smile lines and crow's feet decorating his face, only enhances those features when he points out their gifts, “Not to worry, we brought some pastries just for that.”

“Oh, and we just couldn’t help bringing some extra things, just a little bit though.”

While you are all but smothered by the two, practically engulfed if you will, you notice your brother likewise receiving the same treatment by the three Chen children. Wrapped up in a hug by the eldest son and the youngest daughter, the middle son was the only one who abided by the rules of propriety and greeted him as usual.

“Yijin!” The sound of a boyishly charming voice rings through your ears, his words enhanced through the natural draw of his youth.

Another one sounds, a young girl’s playful tone ringing through the air as clear as bird song, “Zhou-ge!”

“Shifu.” The last is controlled, a young man’s calm lilt among the chaos.

Equally helpless to the vigour that is the Chen family, the two of you can only let yourselves be asked of everything under the sun and have your ears rambled off. Still, you take it all with a pleasant gleam in your eyes and liveliness befitting such people. When the revelry dies down just the slightest, you have one of your attendants, Xue’er, show the family to their rooms while A’yan settles their bountiful luggage. Lord and Madam Chen drag your brother off at the first notice, asking of this and that while their younger children bicker and tease.

Though, there seems to be one exception to your arrangements. As the carriage departs and the dust settles, you are left completely and utterly alone with the little tyrant of the south, boyish Chen Boyu. Illuminated by bright sunlight, you must look up to meet his gaze, soft brown peach blossoms eyes bearing joy and gaiety, the corners of his lips deep with a smile.

When you look upon him, it is hard to determine the emotions you feel. Though there is one that you can accurately pin down in that labyrinth you may call a head.

An emotion distantly related to playfulness tinges your voice as you hum, “I see you’ve decided to try again.”

“I won’t be giving up anytime soon,” He responds, equally spirited as his voice takes on a pitch just the slightest higher.

At this, you let out an amused snort. With mock aggrieve, you roll your eyes as you whack him, the back of your hand being met with the musculature of his arm.

“You certainly have more noteworthy competition this year.”

Boyu, ever the dramatic, puts a hand to his chest as an offended expression takes form onto his face. Deep eyebrows raised in shock and eyes wide, there is still a smile on his lips despite this, a cheeky lilt to his words, “But compared to them, surely I’m much better?”

“If you want to compete with Lord Song and Qiugu’s general, go ahead,” You bite back, the corners of your lips tugging upwards.

“They don’t have what we have though,” With his musing, he turns away from you. Though it is one that is brief, a moment of drama for an otherwise playful moment. “A bond.”

On instinct, you only shake your head and let out a soft sigh, your eyes squeezed in amusement as you walk ahead of him, at least not before turning back to direct him to his room.

“Go rest up, we still have time before dinner.”

Your relationship with Boyu is not one you say you dislike, nor one you absolutely adore. While you are appreciative for the aid and protection that allying with Hedong has given you, given that you had very little armed forces, there has been a profuse shame welling within your very form since the day you met.

You have never been unaware of his feelings for you, the adoration that seemed to spring from his very being the moment he laid his eyes upon yours. One look and he had suddenly turned from the confident young warlord to a stuttering blushing mess, it was illogical and irrational. Six years of collaboration and his attempts to court you, spend more time with you and get to know you, it granted a relationship akin to bosom friends yet that was only your perception.

You bore no possibility for affection, no room in your heart for him and for all your cruelty, you could not break such news that you could not see him as such. A political marriage may very well be an option but you knew he desired affection, some kind of companionship you could not give. It is because of that very fact that you worry what may come of this moment.

When you return to your office, you find your brother waiting for you, his pipe in hand as languid tendrils of smoke escape his rosy lips. His eyes are closed, but when he hears your steps upon the wooden floors, he directs his gaze to you. There is a weariness to his features, dark circles beneath his eyes and yet that did not detract from his beauty. Approaching his seating by your desk, you pour yourself a cup of herbal tea.

“Why do you look so tired, hm?” You ask, sending him a side glance from the corner of your eye.

He only hums, voice low and steady, “I was up late finishing official documents.”

As you place down your cup, you raise a brow as a concern tinges your voice. From outside and through the window, you see Jiaxiang and Xue’er chatting away, the rest of the family very clearly not resting and rather seemingly, having managed to drag Xiyuan into conversation. Though you are unable to hear exactly what is being said, you can hear snippets of praise being exchanged.

“Do you want to take a nap? We have about two shichen before dinner.”

“No,” He sighs, closing his eyes as he takes another inhale from his pipe. The sweet smell of tobacco fills the room, broad shoulders rolling back before his long lashes flutter open, a detached gleam in his eyes as he looks out to the busy courtyard. He only notes with steady lilt, “They won’t let me anyways.”

Your heart does not quite ache for your brother, but more so tightens. You have seen the kind of work he must do, to the point that he had apparently brought it with him when helping a friend at a matchmaking session. Rest did not come to him easily, not even when in your estate. Your brows raise in helplessness, shutting the window before rising to shut your office doors.

“Sleep. If I say I won’t take guests, they won’t push it,” Humming, you take his hand in yours.

Zhou Chen only lets out a soft breath, though he is quick to lean his head against your shoulder, his chest rising and descending in rhythmic pattern before eventually, the only thing that fills your ears is your brother’s exhales.

Dinner is at present, an event hosting the Chen family, you and your brother. Small tables arranged in perfectly linear fashion, evenly spaced and in fine wood. Atop each and every single one were seasonal dishes as prepared by the kitchens, planned ahead of time down to the very presentation. Though you have yet to partake in the meal,

“This really is quite generous of you to give so many things, I cannot possibly return your favour.”

“It's nothing, we aren’t lacking anything!” The older woman is quick to dismiss your excessive humility, though it is as if a new thought springs to her mind as she brings up a sleeve and a knowing gleam glints in her tawny eyes, “Although maybe we are lacking a daughter in law.”

Quicker still, she corrects her previous statement, “Even if you don’t marry our Boyu, it's still nice to see you.”

“Mooomm, don’t say that!” Jiaxiang whines with clear mock aggrievedness.

Lord Chen only sighs with the kind of resigned fondness every father has for his daughter, “She has such good options, don’t pressure her.”

Your gaze shifts between all of them, briefly lingering to make contact with each member before it eventually lands upon a pair of brown eyes, even still filled with fondness that uneases you. You still do not know how you will tell him, whether you will tell him. You turn away, bringing your tea up to drink as your sleeve conceals your expression. He does not look away, but does so when the conversation turns to focus on your brother.

“Yijin, how have you been?”

Zhou Chen hums, his voice less severe and softer, yet still that gentle smile upon his lips bore a distance unknown by others, “Good, I’ve been busy with work.”

“With the way you keep coming over here, we thought you abandoned us,” Lord Chen laughs, a hearty sound that comes from his lungs.

Lowering his eyes, there appears to be a contrition in his next words, his Adam's apple bobbing as he speaks.

“Forgive me, my sister has little confidants.”

His admittance has a few eyes turning to you, that burning feeling of pity brought upon your form as you vaguely hear Madam Chen’s sympathies fall from her lips. You do not quite understand why he has to mention your lack of advisers, though you suppose there was no other reasonable explanation for a lieutenant general to maintain such costly travels. Still, though you move to say something, you are interrupted by a condoling voice.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Boyu is all but swift to prevent your rueful formalities, bringing up a hand as a blithe smile appears across his lips, “If I could, I would have rushed over to help.”

“How could we? Ai, we all heard about the incident and yet look at the town, everything’s back to normal,” Lord Chen notes, and though you had not wished to say it, that pride he has in his voice, it would make one believe you were his daughter.

With a tender-hearted quirk of her lips and her gentle tone, Madam Chen is the last and yet the most salient of the three to speak, “You must have worked very hard.”

“So don’t worry about taking Yijin for a month or two, we still have the others.”

A kind of excessive sentiment seems to fill your chest, an emotion you are only most familiar with another. It was quite common for your brother to throw all caution to the wind and come to Chunxin for long periods of time, extending discussions that usually lasted a few days to weeks, dragging diplomatic visits from weeks to months. As if he had no obligations to fulfil back in Hedong, though you have always worried and though he has always reassured you, hearing such comfort from them was perhaps more than you needed.

Nodding, you thank them and thankfully, dinner passes without much issue. Albeit, perhaps that is a statement only applicable to the unique situation of the Chen Family. For instead of having to replace four low desks and multiple candleholders, only one has been smashed in the ensuing mayhem that is sure to happen with them. You can only thank the gods that your brother did not bring his qin, lest you find yourself comforting him on his deescalation methods.

With the moonlight shining upon your courtyard and the cool spring wind blowing, the family has since retired to their quarters in preparation for slumber. Your attendants likewise have been dismissed, sent to rest early while you take a walk around the estate. Your footsteps are light, the only sound that came from your movement coming from long robes fluttering along. Each room that surrounded the courtyard dimmed, low candlelight illuminating from within before eventually being snuffed. There is only one room that remains at the very end, your office, doors shut and candles flame put out yet at the very front are a pair of conversing figures.

The two are of similar heights, the one just slightly taller bearing more visible musculature while the shorter of the two bore a more regal physique, no less stalwart than one or the other. They speak in low tones, and from your admittedly distant position, you are scarce to hear only bits and pieces of their conversation. Boyu speaks, posture much tenser than you have ever seen as your brother pulls his pipe away from his lips.

Low in your ears and bearing a vulnerability so easily come to him, the young heir entreats his closest friend, “Will you grant me your blessing to court your sister?”

Clouds of smoke leave his flushed lips, his eyes closed as he takes a breath. His lord waits expectantly, to no avail, for your brother remains steadfast in his notions of your suitors, no matter their identity and no matter their abilities.

“No.”

Zhou Chen turns to him, those eyes that once bore amity glazes over, freezing to a cool mirror as he speaks. His voice maintains his usual monotone lilt, and it is such that you can tell that this was a decision he has made long ago.

“You excel in war and combat, yet when asked to settle civil matters you are unable to be discrete nor courteous.”

“Have you not noticed how every discussion in the household always turns to a screaming match or violence?” He raises a brow, ignoring the way Boyu attempts to stammer out a response. He continues, “Will you bring my sister into such a place?”

His next inquiry is further still loaded, the dulcet tones of his voice growing ever agitated at the edges of his words, “Though Chunxin has remained safe from invading territories despite the raging war of succession due to our intervention, what happens when you must aid my sister with laws and merchantry?”

“Will you come to me, your lieutenant generals?”

He takes another drag of his pipe, the weariness he has been burdened with now all the more visible under such a situation. His shoulders rise and fall, descending to forcibly calm himself lest he acts impromptu. His friend does not interrupt him, yet still his figure that had been hopeful now has slumped ever so slightly with each new dig your brother brings up.

“There will come a day where she will face public contention, when the time comes, will you defend her?” Your brother asks, the question nonplussed yet seemingly targeted. For this is the inquiry that has his eyes, beautiful amber which reveal nothing of the internal tempest that must rage within him seep just the hint of it.

Quick to answer, such a request is nothing short of obvious to the young man, “Of course I would!”

“Even above the threat of Hedong’s collapse?”

Yet, this last query is the one that stumps Boyu, and to no wonder. For someone who grew up in the rivers and towns of Hedong, to protect the place that loves him or to protect the woman he adores, it becomes the ultimatum only your brother would think to spring upon him. It is cruel, yes, but for men who rule, it is necessary.

When he does not respond, Zhou Chen only places a hand on his shoulder and tips his head, long brindle hair falling to act as a curtain, concealing his delicate apertures from your gaze. Though you still manage to hear his last words to his lord.

“You are a good general, but I will not let my sister marry a man who cannot devote his very being to her. Good night, Chen Fu.”

At this, he glides away from the man, paced and even steps that bring his form to you. His eyes soften and he pats your head with a gentle hand before he pulls away, disappearing into the estate with nothing but a glance. Your friend seems to notice your presence then, his eyes lightening up and his posture straightening just the slightest. Yet, he kept that defeat with him. You approach him, despite everything you find yourself unsure on how to comfort him. Stood so close, you can smell just the hint of his scent, fresh and clean, it hurts your head.

You keep your voice soft, calling for him with a tone hushed as your brows raise in concern, “Boyu.”

“Do you think he hates me?” He asks, just as quietly if not more so. It is as if any more and he would have been tried for public disturbance.

Shaking your head, a soft sigh only escapes you, “You know he doesn’t.”

“I just don’t…” For once, genuine and actual forlorn stains his very being. His usually squared shoulders almost hunched in dismay and his voice soft, so much softer than you were used to. Thick brows furrowed in worry, the hint of a glassy quality seems to form over his bronze eyes, the plump of his cheeks rosy from the wind and emotion. His voice loses that usual higher pitch, “Understand why he’s never approved of me.”

A strained expression comes across your visage, your hand resting on his forearm as you make a comparison, “See it this way, if he tried to court Jiaxiang for so long without success, you’d be a little iffy too, right?”

His face twists into dismay, then disgust before finally landing on exaggerated understanding. He nods yet it does little to actually lighten his mood. Boyu’s desire for your brother’s acknowledgement is understandable, yet it is his consistency and persistence that worries you. Though you have never actually expressed it, he picks up on your palatable concern.

“You’re right, it's just that he’s important to you, and he’s your older brother. So I want to be doing this right,” Confessing, a helpless smile tugs at his lips.

A reticence falls upon the two of you, and in the distance you hear the soothing melody of a xiao, humming a gentle tune that merely appeared sonorous in such a moment. Though you have turned away from each other, and though you had intended to leave the conversation in fear of buried sentiments being brought up, he once again takes the opportunity to make you face your unspoken regrets.

“Will you be honest with me?” That boyish voice has long lost its higher pitch, and you wonder when exactly you started missing it.

“In our six years of knowing each other, have you ever thought of me romantically?”

You should have seen this moment coming, you should have known that you would have to eventually tell him. To lie to him that you have and yet to turn around and deny his affections would be far crueller than to tell him the truth, and yet still the truth was but a stone in your throat, lodged within and scraping to vomit out. Meeting his gaze with a glance you are not sure is kindly or forthcoming, you let yourself speak.

“You are dear to me, but to call it love is…” Your voice trails off into the night wind, doing everything in your power to keep your throat from closing up and to maintain the composure you tried so hard to display. Yet when you look at him, look at those wide brown eyes so filled with youthful ardour, you are just unable to. “I’m sorry, maybe I’m the problem here.”

“For all the years we’ve known one another, I’ve always felt this gnawing guilt,” You admit though a cracking voice, the weight of such a burden finally lifted yet it was not a relief that flooded, but rather more contrition that had no rational reason to exist within you.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Boyu insists, he shakes his head as his eyes, wide and just the slightest teary, seem to bear the determination he has always had. “You don’t have to love me back.”

“You never had to love me back.”

He pleads, desperate and all too willing, far too willing, “If you’ll just let me stay by your side, I’m okay with that too.”

“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”

Staring at him, the truth of your relationship has finally come to light, yet it is his devotion that remains steadfast. For how much of it is true, you do not know and you only fear that it is far more truthful than any facade you have played.

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————蔡奉汐—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

The third and last suitor arrives late into the seventh day, there is no rumble of carriage wheels that announces his arrival, no thumping of luggage against wood, the only sign of life is the howling wind.

You are resting in your room, eyes scanning over the last remains of the pile of documents once amassed in your office. The skillful plucking of a qin fills your ears, low notes strum to perfection from just a few footsteps away. Zhou Chen plays with a languidity, almost lazy despite the dulcet melody that he plucked. Your eyes, which yearn for rest yet remain awake in accordance to the brain, flutter between open and close. Words of ink seemingly meld together into a blurry mess, yet you continue.

There is a knock at your door, a crisp interruptance that has your head snapping towards it. The tune stops just as abruptly, and A’yan shifts the door open just the slightest, enough for you to acknowledge her presence and for her voice to travel in.

General Cai Fengxi, The Devourer of Qiugu has arrived.

Garbed in dark robes and holding the reins of an even darker horse, this man that stood before you bore nothing else beyond a small pouch and the cloak around his shoulders. With not even the moonlight to illuminate his apertures, the sharp and almost gaunt features you could make out had almost sent a chill down your spine. The general’s eyes almost seemed to glow, a deep gold set in pale skin and peeking from behind pin-straight hair, still as dead waters as A’yan guides the horse towards the stables.

“General Cai, it is an honour to have you here,” Your welcome is stilted and stiff as though to pair with your rigid bow. You notice how needly his fingers are, skin stretched taut over the bones. When you rise to meet his eyes, you find that he has yet to move, expression forbidding. Still, you gesture for his entrance, “Your room has already been prepared, please let me show you to your quarters.”

It is only then that he shows some signs of response, following your steps as his footfalls land inaudibly. You would dare say it appeared more so as gliding than walking. His very presence loomed from behind you, intimately feeling the heavy burden of his severe regard upon your form. In an attempt to spurn such a notion from your mind, you open your mouth to speak.

“Was the journey from Qiugu difficult?”

“It was fine,” He responds, curt and low. A deep bass that seems to rumble from within his chest, though quiet you could distinctly feel it in your bones.

You send him a polite smile, “That is good.”

There is no additional effort made to continue such a stiff conversation, not when even your own eyelids have been threatening to shut down against your wishes, let alone what the general must be feeling after making the lone journey. When you arrive to his room, you take it upon yourself to open the door for him, yet he merely looks upon you. You do not know how best to respond, yet it is by instinct that you continue.

“Have a good rest, I shall come visit you in the morning,” You smile once more, bowing before taking your leave.

Scarce to notice his entrance, your return to your room is swiftly granted and one that is very much preferred. A sigh escapes you, and your brother, kindly as he is, remains in his languid seat. As though one with a slug, you slump over and make your way to his side, resting your head on his lap facefirst as you close your eyes.

“I assume the general has arrived,” He hums, voice soft as his fingers remove the pins and stick from your hair.

Through mumbled words and fabric, you are surprised he still managed to discern your sentences. “Might as well have not arrived at all, he only said two words to me.”

“And here I thought men these days would have basic manners at the very least..”

You turn your head to face him, shifting your body so you could behold that face which women envy and men covet. Fine apertures still placid with that hint of fond aggrievedness, your brother’s attempt at cool tranquillity surely did not disguise the snide undertones.

“What are you implying?” Your brow raises as your voice takes on a derisive tinge.

Zhou Chen responds, speaking as though his answer was the most natural concept to humanity, “That men are merely beings of simple lusts, and that my meimei deserves better than that.”

Letting out a yawn, you squeeze out a stray tear as your voice fights to remain audible. It is hard to, especially when one wishes for nothing more than to slumber after a long day and a guest as startling as the general. Still, you think you catch your brother’s sweet laugh when you manage a response.

“If you keep this up, the only person you’ll ever approve of is yourself.”

When morning comes, you are informed that the general has yet to awaken, and that no matter what is done, he will not rise. This news does not surprise you, the ride from Qiugu to Chunxin is approximately 15 days worth of travel, and based on his appearance, he must have rode ceaselessly and through the nights. Waving off their concerns, you assure them of his well being and instead have them call to inform you when he does.

Your brother and his student, Zhongyuan, have been promptly kidnapped by Jiaxiang since his awakening, which leaves you to entertain your three suitors. Dressed in lighter robes for the day, half your hair is bound in a bun and put together with a simple hairstick, suitable for a casual outing that you may hopefully partake in today. You plan to bring the general out to see the town, perhaps try to spark some conversation that will not start and end dreadfully.

As you make your way to the guests’ quarters, you notice Xiyuan and Boyu talking, discussing some matter of thing that even you are not sure pertains to what. Bearing similar heights, you find that the two of them bear an uncanny likeness. Not in visage but rather in bearing, the kind of people who attract admiration effortlessly. They walk into a room and immediately the only kind of attention they receive is kindly.

With a princely gait and visage to match such a form, you have found yourself wondering how exactly Lord Song has yet to marry despite his supposed devotion to you. Likewise with Boyu, boyishly handsome and well-to-do, there was little to dislike. Their very presence in the courtyard brings people to them, passing servants taking their time to stare and talk, with poorly hidden smiles and flushed ears. You only wonder what virtues you may be able to extract from the general.

Approaching the pair, you greet them with a slight bow of your head, “Boyu, Xiyuan, good morning.”

“Good morning to you as well,” Xiyuan greets in response, his voice forbearing with the lilts of his sentence.

In contrast, Boyu only chirps, “Morning!”

You inform the two of them of your upcoming schedule for the third suitor, a tad more occupied as compared to theirs due to discussions of military provisions and arrangements. With a regretful tone, you squeeze out a strained smile as you could only apologise for the inconvenience.

“No worries, we’ll see each other for dinner, right?” The younger man asks, with hopeful eyes as even his companion appears to join in the invite.

“Yeah,” You smile, a huff of breath escaping you when his eyes light up. Keeping your tone fairly cordial despite your amusement, you reassure them, “If we venture out, I’ll come visit when I return.”

Shaking his head, Xiyuan merely responds, “Do not force yourself, you must take care of yourself.”

“Of course.”

It is then that you finally notice a figure looming from behind you, a shadow cast above your vision, and perhaps it is also by Boyu’s slight adjustment of his eyes that has you realising exactly who it is that was behind. Your feet swivel around to face the general, his form still severe as last night. Under the sunlight, you could make out the harsh contours and angles of his face, tall nose and sharp willow eyes. You met his eyes for just a moment, looking down upon you yet the very burden it placed was momentous, a sinner in the oceanic depths.

Ever kindly, Xiyuan greets him with a bow and a pleasant expression, sunny eyes squeezed and hands put together, “General Cai, it is good to see you awake.”

“If you didn’t get up, I think we would’ve just taken her out ourselves,” Boyu jokes, his puerile tone making it only all the more light-hearted.

“Ah…” A breath escapes you, perhaps a sign of your hesitance. Yet, the general does not move, remaining perfectly still as he awaits your input. Involuntarily, you feel that maladroit laugh appear on your lips, “General, could this one perhaps–”

“Fengxi.”

You had not heard wrong last night, what you thought was possibly too low, too harsh for human voice, reaches your ears once more. He speaks as though biting, words escaping from abyssal maws to behold for mortal perception.

When you do not react, he speaks once more, “Call me Fengxi.”

“Of course, Fengxi, would you like to join me for a trip around town?” Quickly recovering from the blunder, you finally make your offer with an outstretched arm and open hand, an invitation.

Yet rather than actually responding, he merely takes your hand, cold bony fingers wrapping around yours. The mere action sends a million warning bells to your head, yet you can only smile and carry on, bringing him towards the carriage that is soon to be prepared.

Left behind in the remnants of confrontation, Xiyuan and Boyu can only look to each other, a kind of disoriented confusion filling them. While Xiyuan had never interacted with the general before, let alone been so up close, he had not realised that there was such a heavy truth to the rumours. Boyu likewise had never seen him as such, only having seen him in the battlefield, looming and quiet, cold dead eyes as the general commanded an army of the dead. At least, that is what they call it.

“Can he actually speak? Or is he just going to be standing there when she talks to him?” He asks the young lord, his head tilted in slight confusion.

Xiyuan looks at him, his voice almost nearing a reprimand if not for the strained smile on his lips, “Boyu.”

“I’m just asking. Besides, I’m pretty sure he shouldn’t have done that.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“The general is likely not as well-versed in noble etiquette, you can’t blame him.”

Rather, ever full of vigour, he crosses his arms and asserts, “No, I can and I will. He should know better.”

Xiyuan can only sigh at that response, a helpless gleam in his eyes. He shakes his head, the people of Hedong are certainly intriguing.

It is while this conversation is happening that you are left with the ever envious task of collecting some errands and messages to be sent to some townsfolk by your servants. A few are easy enough, visiting merchants to pass along lists or merely to send word of their well-being, that being said there was one establishment you would have to visit and you could only hope that the general would not mind.

At the very least, you hoped he would at least voice out his rejection. The carriage ride towards town might as well have been for the dead, for he stared into your form as though you had committed a great crime upon the heavens and he were the jade emperor. You could not describe the situation as anything less than maladroit, any lesser person would wish to crawl into a cave and die when faced with such an individual.

Still, you remained strong and kept a serene expression, maintaining such that even when you broached the idea of your plans, he merely responded with a hum and a gesture. The general does not speak even when you bring him to sellers and farmers offering their wares, remains silent when you visit families and receive baskets, speaks not a word even as he now has realised that the building ahead of you is one of debauchery.

The women of Yunliang House, upon seeing your face rush from within to greet you, their painted lips quirked into smiles as their eyes squeezed in mirth. One of the women grabs you by the hands as she squeals with excitement.

“My lord, it's been so long since you’ve come!”

Another woman leans in closer to your visage, eyes scanning over with objective precision. The scowl on her face is not one that bears good news, “Ahh, look at you, your skin has gotten so dull. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Ai, ladies, our lord doesn’t have the time we do,” A voice comes from behind the crowd, a basket in her arms and a natural sway to her steps. Boxes of rouge and pins, bolts of fabric and assortments of fruits and pastries lay in the basket’s wooden cradle. She turns to the general and hefts it over to him, not before making the same old excuse, “Come, some idiot gave us too many gifts again.”

“I’ll make sure to pass it to them back in the estate,” You laugh, made especially all the more obvious when the ladies fuss over him to ensure nothing falls from the basket.

That same woman only huffs and crosses her arms, rolling her eyes as she remarks, “One of these days you’re going to have to accept these from us.”

“That day shall come when it comes, thank you.”

With that last bow, you are waved goodbye by the ladies and set to return to the carriage. Surrounded by a sea of people all milling about the marketplace, the sounds of haggling and advertising fills your ears, grilled meat and rich spices wafting through the air as even children weave between your forms. When a young child, no older than six years old, takes a small tumble and falls into you, you are quick to help her up. She looks up to you with wide and shaky eyes, yet tears do not fall, instead she thanks you rather loudly than scurries off, her laughter continuing to reach you.

Fengxi decides to speak, and though you believed the very surroundings too much, too loud for his voice, again you are proved wrong. “You treat your people well, it is undeniable that they hold affection for you.”

“Many thanks but I am merely doing for them what I should,” You shake your head, a huff of amusement escaping you.

“You would be surprised.”

As though lost in thought, the general finally moves his gaze away from your form, that heavy weight placed upon your shoulders lifted. His lashes accompany the slow blink he takes, cocking his head ever subtly as sleek pin-straight hair follows along the movement. He does not slow in his pace, the overflowing basket of gifts likely weighing nothing to him, and yet there appears an odd melancholy to him. You do not know what there is to ponder, what exactly has captured that enigmatic mind that a pensiveness should take over. It is when the crowd amasses to that of mountains and seas that he decides to open his mouth once more.

He hums, eyes still looking off into the far distance, “Chunxin is kindly, with clement weather and conditions.” Then, Fengxi redirects that heavy focus back upon you, a dark thin brow raised in jest. “It is no wonder my lord has received such warm suitors.”

“And have you not as well?” You remark, cocking your head as you send him a glance.

For the first time, actual amusement is visible on his face, lips pulling back to reveal pearly teeth as he barks in laughter, “Not many women are keen on becoming the wife of a Qiugu general.”

You notice how sharp his teeth are, perhaps no different than a normal person’s upon first glance, but the narrower tips had sent an odd feeling down your spine. The Devourer, a title earned from war-torn savagery, soldiers tearing through enemy ranks without care of life nor death, and their general who not so much as leads but lunges into battle as eager as his soldiers, ravenous beasts who tear into the throats of men with claw and teeth.

You do not understand him. He is 34 years of age, and has previously held no interest in any sex. There have been rumours that those who have tried, those who have attempted such underhanded tactics would find themselves spurned at best, and in pieces at worst. He says such words, and yet he will ride ceaselessly from Qiugu just to arrive at the soonest possible moment. Why even bother with the effort if he will only act as such?

“Yet you sent an offer to me?”

He does not respond, and the crowd seems to have noticed this gap in conversation, for it grows so congested that you must pull the two of you into an empty alley to prevent either of you from being swept up. In such a constrained space, you keep your voice soft and ask him once more, meeting those severe eyes as a tinge of trepidation grips onto your tendons. Unlike Boyu or Xiyuan who provide warmth upon close contact, there is no heat that radiates off of him, only frigid cool.

“Fengxi, did you send an offer because of some reason unpolitical? Or is this an excuse to soon discuss offers of grain and iron?” Your murmur is gentle, yet he hears it all. A gleam of mirth glints within those eyes.

The general meets your gaze, lowering himself so that he may be eye level with you. “At the start, I did wish to court you out of reasons purely detached, yet...” His words trail off yet it is not out of hesitance but ponderance.

“When I saw you, there was something within you that sparked an interest,” His breath is warm, fanning across your neck. It takes everything within you to not flinch away, look away from those eyes which bear abyssal depths. Rumbling from within his chest with gravelly quality, he hums, “The way you treat your servants, the rest of your suitors, and your townspeople.”

“There is something about you that I cannot put my finger on, yet there is something oddly reminiscent of your very being.”

“It is as though we have known each other for a time yet I doubt it is so.”

You manage a response, your voice even and unlilting despite your unease, breathing, “Perhaps in a past life.”

You do not like the way he looks at you, the way he sizes you up like something to be eaten, peering over every pore on your face, every wrinkle and every curve. His words only confuse you, there is no feeling of familiarity when you think of him, no interest, no knowledge. You do not understand that abyss in human skin, and you hate it. It hurts your head, the sheer inability to understand, you hate it. You hate this feeling of being unable to get under his skin, you hate not knowing what makes him tick.

“Perhaps so.”

“I wonder what it is,” He hums, voice low and rumbling from within that chest of his. Though his face displayed no sign of amusement, that flash of teeth, Fengxi seemed almost all too pleased by your tense shoulders and quickened breath, “Shall we find out together?”

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————春芯王—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

As A’yan and Xue’er comb through your hair, removing pins and hair sticks that relieve the tension on your head, an almost audible sigh of relief escapes you. Another long day of entertaining and appeasing, you had certainly thought yourself capable of an act as simple as talking yet you always find yourself beyond exhausted when night falls. It is as though your bones have liquified and your head squeezed tight with a circlet, so these little moments between you and your attendants have been nothing but a consolation for your troubles.

Xue’er, her smaller hands slick with fragrant oil, parts portions of your hair to reveal scalp, rubbing it into the skin with the heel of her palm. The force she places into each action is perfect, not quite practised but rather habitual. While she is doing so, she puts up a query, her mellow voice soft in your ears.

“My lord, Yongjie has been recovering well. Do you want to visit her tomorrow?”

Meeting her gaze through the bronze mirror, you hum, “I think I may be able to, how is her condition?”

“She can hold conversation, A’yan-jie talks to her when she can,” She notes, glancing towards A’yan who has busied herself with putting away your current pins and preparing tomorrow’s.

Upon this referral, your dearest attendant averts her gaze, speaking low and gentle, “She asks about you, whether you’re taking care of yourself and whether you’ve started a great scandal yet.”

You can only laugh at this. Yongjie would certainly have your head if she knew the kinds of impiety that you have committed. Yet though she has always placed your reputation and image above all else, her query for your wellbeing likewise tugs at your heartstrings.

“Well, she will know when I come to see her. General Cai will understand.”

Xue’er’s expression immediately sours when she hears you mention him, the shift instantaneous. The manner in which she rubs the oil into your head changes as well, a tad more forceful than before.

She sneers, “I don’t like him, he’s weird and he always just stares at me when I have to do things.”

“Xue-er,” A’yan warns.

“My lord, please tell me you'll marry Lord Song,” Her voice is filled with hope, her wide eyes of ivory all but begging you. Almost reminiscent of a puppy, she cites her rather reputable evidence, “At least he always helps us when we need it.”

“A’yan-jie, who do you think our lord should marry?”

Turning her attention towards the stalwart woman, she waits with earnest for her opinion. A’yan approaches your seated form, brushing your oiled hair to one side. Through the fabric of your thin robes, you feel the callouses that litter her hands.

She merely answers, her voice is clear, “Whoever she deems best, no matter who it is, we should support her.”

“You’re right, but still…”

A tired sigh escapes you as a smile that reeks of exasperation tugs at your lips, “Ai, let’s not talk about marriage now. It’s all I’ve had to think about for the past two weeks.”

The two women only snort, but do not press the topic any further, continuing with their respective task until eventually, as all things must do, they finish and rather eagerly take their leave. In fact, Xue’er does not even wait to leave the premises before she is rambling into A’yan’s ear about how much she finds General Cai offputting and how marrying Lord Song or First Master Chen would be far better for you. Perhaps the ongoing betting pool you have caught wind of has likewise found conversation for Xue’er.

You can only let out an overfond huff as your finger plays with the gold band around your finger. It is a wonder that none of them have mentioned the obvious signs of courtship upon your very being, jade bangles, gold hairpins, delicate necklaces and the gold ring wrapped around your finger. They seem to believe the other responsible for such gifts, friendly and courteous with one another yet too prideful to ask.

To be a young woman in today’s society is to have a metaphorical clock above one’s head, ticking away at every shichen she exists without a husband. 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24. As each year passes, the demands grow louder and louder. Though you rule among men, you are still seen as a woman, above all you are a woman.

Yet when the one person you desire most remains forever unavailable to you, so close yet just out of reach, there is little choice on what action to take, little choice to discourage the masses that call for your betrothal.

Though you despised deception, it is necessary.

It has always been a necessary cruelty.

Perhaps it is more cruel of you to admit it so easily, but you have not come to your station by being soft-hearted, not bearing the title Lord of Chunxin by disclosing personal affections.

They are decent men, just not ones you can see sharing your treacherous life with.

So you decided that if you were to remain unwed, you would make it so that no other man that breathes upon this earth would deem you desirable. Invite them into your home and lead them on a little game, let them fall into your hands and into the deception called ‘love’. Then, you would simply rebuff each and every single one of them. The more visible the better, Lord Song, the Chen family heir, the general of Qiugu, a selection that may eventually find their dreams shattered. They shall call you fickle and cruel, a woman undeserving and undesirable.

No matter the notion that these men spoke their flowery words, spilling their heart out as you return those heartfelt gazes with a gleam only distantly related to fondness, let them take your hands in theirs as they swear and swear it can be only you, there was nothing but the yawning abyss within that chest of yours. It mattered not of how much they could attempt to satisfy that avidity, it would not be so unless it was with him.

Yet that did not mean you would not regret hurting them

Like a dream borne of spring-time desire, when they awaken, they will only be left with the lingering shame that accompanies a man’s natural instincts.

Song Xiyuan shall find that his desire to learn all you have to offer, all that you are and all that you have been, snubbed. Ningshan takes but 7 days to travel on lone horseback, and to become Madam Song would therefore mean a partial absorption of Chunxin into Ningshan’s authority. This directly contradicts your terms, and though you enjoyed his presence, his company, you would not allow yourself to separate from your dearest home.

Chen Boyu will see another year of failure, another year of shame to be hung with the previous years. Though he wishes for nothing more than your company, nothing more than to stay by your side, you could not give him what he truly wants. You know him as much as he knows himself, you are after all, most bosom friends. Perhaps you shall offer a sworn oath of siblinghood, and he will accept it, because he is nothing if not adoring.

Cai Fengxi shall return to Qiugu with not marriage but an offer of alliance. He and his army shall swear to serve you and Chunxin, yet remain stationed in Qiugu. A general and his lord, he may discover the truth behind his fascination without tying himself to a title that holds no weight. His loyalty, steadfast and undying, will be useful. To the devourer who has no rival, you can only hope his interest remains so.

And your brother? Your brother will get what he has always wanted.

It is as he desires, always as his desires. Because they are as much his, as they are yours. It is only a question of whose is so iniquitous that it should deem this spring dream never ends.

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————周羿瑾—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

There is something about your brother that you wonder whether is as visible to an outside eye as it is to you.

To outsiders, your brother bears a kind of beauty that men desire and women envy, a kind of appeal that men covet and women long for. After all, with a face such as his, alluring phoenix eyes of warm amber with lashes long enough to kiss the apples of his cheeks, his tall nose and thin rosy lips upon jade white countenance, it is hard to not admire him. When he speaks, it is low and steady, a tune with no discerning cadence. Of course, one could not deny the appeal of his form, garbed in long robes that trail along his path, a tasteful yet scandalous peek of his chest that only enticed the observer for more.

Slender fingers capable of playing the most euphonious melodies and a mind that can memorise a tune with just a single listen, he has always had that talent for musicality. Three rounds of drinks in and he may still pick out a wrong note in a piece. Yet beyond his physical allure, there is perhaps one description you have heard of him that has remained most prominent in your mind. ‘Being with Zhou Yijin is like drinking the finest of wines, you get carried away and before you know it, you’ve become utterly drunk.’

It is a rather apt sentence. Though your brother very often does not enjoy unnecessary ramble, there was a charm to him, an undeniable magnetism to his intellect and mannerisms. Your servants find his visage enticing, so perpetually irresistible that they shall grasp any situation to look at him. Your attendants adore his doting nature, that your vanity be filled with gifts and your desk occupied with pastries at all times. It would explain why Xiyuan has become so enraptured in conversation with him, why Boyu would continue to be with him despite his harsh words, why even Fengxi may engage in drink with him.

Your brother is the perfect image of a noble character. And the perfect brother.

Beyond his surface niceties and nobility, your brother is the person who knows you best. He is the one who understands your heart and stomach, that every blood vessel and bone in your body is known completely and utterly to him. To others, he maintains societal chivalry, but to you he is gentle. With warm hands that seem to be able to hold the world and an adoration in his every action, there is no other man like him.

Since the day you reunited, since the incident, since the day you almost lost him, you have never desired for another to accompany you. Entertaining men you have no interest in courting, no desire to know beyond exchanges of grain and iron for military might, when the day ends and you must retire, it is his embrace you return to.

Within the candle-lit room is your brother and your three suitors, indubitably intoxicated beyond relief, or perhaps more accurately, your three suitors are so drunk that when you open the door, you are greeted with a rather loud greeting and utter chaos. A table has been shoved aside and the floor is littered with empty jars of wine, the sweet yet wheat-like aroma wafting from the room, under the warm lighting, perhaps one might mistake your hall as a cheap brothel than a room in a lord’s estate. You are only surprised that there is nothing more broken than the cheap qin you keep, entirely smashed in as courtesy of a certain someone’s impulse issues.

In the very corner, Fengxi had apparently gotten so inebriated that he is now face first onto the low table, his cup still in hand as his chest rises and descends in slow rhythmic pace. Boyu has since grasped onto your brother’s sleeve, fat tears rolling down his pink cheeks as he begs for something. Xiyuan, the one who called for you with that joyous ring of your name, is flushed from his neck to his ears. Excitedly waving you over, even the wide sleeves of his robes seem to adopt that exuberant aura, his smile wide and unabashed.

In the middle of it all is your brother, his cup still full as his once frigid eyes soften when you approach them. As though a bodhisattva among mortals, he maintains his flawless complexion and upright form, even if he is attempting to console Boyu, who is rather preoccupied with sobbing into his leg. Sitting by Zhou Chen’s side, you cup the young master’s face into your hand as you smile upon the way his watery eyes light up at your presence. He immediately switches to clinging to you, strong arms wrapping around your waist while he looks up to you.

“Boyu, go rest,” You coo, your thumb rubbing his cheek in assuage.

He merely hums, nodding his head as he falls limp into your lap. Your brother clicks his tongue at such a display, and with a quick look to the crowd of help outside, a few rush in to carry Boyu back to his room, at least not without some kind of struggle. With the rather obvious issue out of the way, Zhou Chen rises and offers a hand for you to take, one you accept but it is soon that you realise that another has come to grasp the ends of your long robes, tugging on the ends of it the same manner a child does to his mother.

Xiyuan, his sunlit eyes you are so accustomed to seeing squeezed in mirth, has widened to liken him to a puppy pleading to be let onto the bed. His voice loses the drunken enthusiasm yet retains that same vulnerability, imploring, “Stay a while longer, please?”

“I shall see you tomorrow, alright? It is late now and I would rather you be well rested.” Your hand comes to rest atop his head, an innocent brief pet that he chases after when you pull away.

The lord manages to grasp that hand of yours despite the drunken coordination he has adopted, holding it as he once again pleads, “Promise?”

“Promise,” You smile, a huff of amusement escaping you when he beams as your response. When he has loosened his guard, you are quick to retract your hand, a notion your brother clearly approves of when he pulls you closer towards him, practically encased in his presence.

“Please have them escorted to their rooms,” You turn to your attendants and servants, a few of which wince when they realise that they must soon heft the unconscious general to his room. Still, you muster a smile and bow to them, “Thank you.”

At this, they get to work with swift action, one of the perhaps luckier ones rushing over to the still giggly Lord Song to help to his chambers. You are not sure of what else occurs, for your brother is even swifter to bring the two of you back to your bed chambers, a notion that thankfully has remained innocuous to your people.

His hand rests on your waist, and though the journey back passes by in but a blink of an eye, every moment away from his touch, away from having his sole focus on you is torturous. Only ever in the privacy of your room, tucked away in your office, in spaces that you may never be perceived as Lord Zhou of Chunxin, only then will you be merely you, your older brother’s dearest meimei.

Kept at the farthest end of the estate and in its own little paradise, your bed chambers are lit up by candles emitting their gentle light. Despite your simple attire, you have yet many tasks to settle at your vanity, sitting atop the sandalwood stool as you free your hair from its binds, thick and flowing past your shoulders. Just as your hand places your hairpin down, a larger one comes atop it, far cooler in body temperature.

You say nothing to this. Instead, keeping your voice low, a huff escapes you as you raise a brow in suspicion, “How convenient that you’ve gotten them all so drunk.”

“Have I done something wrong?” His voice is stolid, he tips his head to face you, a hint of amusement along the corners of his eyes.

Zhou Chen maintains his guileless demeanour, letting you fuss over him instead as you urge for him. He places himself between your legs, kneeling obediently as you remove his own hairpin and jade hair-beads that provide his blithe comeliness. Your hand reaches to brush his hair back, remaining atop his head as he looks to you with those warm eyes.

“How did you even manage to get them to drink that much?” You mutter, your eyes lingering on his soft lips.

He hums with not a hint of his usual snide, “They’re eager to impress.”

“Even Fengxi?”

The sudden change of reference, the new intimacy as he perceives it, is not as all welcomed. He furrows his brows as a wronged expression appears on his handsome face. It would be almost cute, such a noble man showing an emotion oft relegated to neglected concubines or petulant children, you cannot help the scrunch of delight that manifests.

“Calling him by his name now, hm?” He huffs with narrowed eyes.

No matter how much mirth you feel from his misplaced discontent, a soft breath escapes you. Watching him ascend from his position, you likewise rise, your footfalls rushing towards him despite his clear stay. When faced with him, you could only sigh, “I know you don’t like me spending so much time with them but I have to.”

Zhou Chen’s expression mellows, returning to that visage of tender concern as he pulls you into a loose clutch, staunch arms enveloping your form. The familiar smell of sweet and spiced tobacco clings to his skin, a creamier note of sandalwood urges you to press your nose against the crook of his neck and doze off. It springs that welling sentiment of assurance, reliance on him.

“I thought we said you’d spend your days with them, not your nights as well yet…”

Twisted with disquieted aggrieve, his voice is soft among the night wind, “...We’ve been having less and less time for each other now.”

“It's only for a few more days,” You sigh, brows furrowed as he rests his hands on your hips, his rings digging ever so slightly into the fat of your flesh. An aggrieved lilt tinges your words, “Can’t you hold on until then?”

He merely raises a brow, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against one another. “Don’t you know how hard it is for your brother? Watching you run around with simpletons, watching you give them that smile of yours so easily, watching you touch them without care for propriety.”

His lowered lashes flutter as he lowers his head, murmuring against your lips, “It makes me want to smash their heads open.”

“Childish,” You scoff, yet with not a single shred of actual vexation could be found in even a blood vessel of your form.

“Do you like them that much?”

“Of course not,” You mutter against his lips, voice soft. It is not hard to tell him your wants, not hard to spill every amorous thought you have of him, not when it is for him, never when it is for him. “The only person I need is you.”

Your brother’s lips are warm when they capture yours, so unlike the rest of his body. He cups the side of your face as though your skin were delicate porcelain, as though any more and you would shatter before his very eyes. And though you have griped over his subtleties, you have missed him more than anything that this world could possibly offer atop a golden platter.

It comes as no shock when you press against his lips harder, and your brother, your perfect brother who always knows how best to hold you, pushing past your lips with his tongue, starved of a hedonism so often indulged. You let him take and take, seizing everything you have until there is nothing but bleary fog in your head.

“You’re so needy, have I been neglecting you?” The raspy quality of his voice only seems all the more sensual so close to your ear, warm breath brushing against the tender shell that it may straighten your tendons.

At this moment, you could only playfully hum, a coy lilt to your voice, “Then, gege will take good care of me, right?”

He smiles, he obliges.

Through moonlit rays and candlelight warmth, you are the sole beholder to the beauty that lies beneath heavy robes. Hidden from prying eyes, an active life campaigning alongside a warlord has allowed him a nearly perfect toned figure. Well-defined collar bones and long lean limbs, broad shoulders and a slim waist, it is difficult to not admire him.

Yet perhaps most surprisingly, your brother’s length is equally beautiful as he is, as though carved from the highest quality of mutton fat jade, the slight flush to the head only made it as alluring as the rest of him. Each protruding vein is almost perfectly placed, that so every time you see it, you cannot help but think that it would be without peer if not for the excessive thickness and length.

How you yearn to revere him as he always does you, always you.

“Gege–” You moan, drunk off need and pure adoration. Glancing down at the way you are stretched for him, letting him in, so intimately intertwined that it seemed almost seamless, the turbid wet mess that now stained your bodies only elicited another tight squeeze.

Hips flush against yours and your legs splayed widely around them, it rips another shameless, ragged sound from your throat. He has already pushed himself into the depths of your body, filled so much of you that you could only heave and beg in choked sobs, beg for more, beg for him. Because you have only ever yearned for him, that his insistence to shallowly rock into you is nothing but torturous. Your swollen bud aching for some attention yet left completely and utterly alone, it hurts despite his very proximity.

Your brother sighs, his usually steady voice thick with desire, “Such a lustful body, how can anyone else satisfy you, hm?”

He pulls out entirely, leaving only the very tip. In instinctual desperation, you can feel yourself squeezing once more, confusedly trying to pull him in. With a coquettish whine, you spread your legs ever wider, his large hand gripping onto the soft plush of your thigh, devoid of the jade and gold that usually decorate his slender fingers.

“Only you…” Softly sighing, you reach for him with what little energy you can muster, eyes watery and begging. He does not oblige you. “Gege… it can only be gege…”

Only then does he react, bending further to press a light kiss to your lips. Yet perhaps what contrasts such a tender action is the harsh buck of his hips, the pace he sets desperate and frenzied, the precision he has always had over your form does not falter, repeatedly hitting that spot as his hand squeezes hard into your skin.

“So good, hah–” He praises, his other hand slipping to grasp onto yours, holding onto you tight as his form presses against yours.

“You’re always so good for me, meimei.”

Under overwhelming pleasure borne of hours of being played and toyed with, your thoughts have been reduced to bear nothing but him and the feeling of him, your brother’s harsh thrusts only pushes broken, needy moans and tears to fall from your eyes. Yet, he is still your perfect brother, kissing your tears away as he tells you how well you are doing, how you are clamping on him so tightly, how much he adores you, how you’ll always be together no matter what happens. No matter, you rely purely on instincts to twist your form to cater to his desires, a mindless smile pulling on your lips.

And then it hits you, far too sudden and hard you barely realise you have reached that peak of pleasure again. How many he must have plucked from you that even now you could care less about the obscene noises that leave your lips. Your toes instinctively curl, yet it is only briefly before your legs hang uselessly in the air.

He does not stall, rubbing against you in that merciless pace before he is smearing hot and messy kisses against your jaw. He pushes his hips flush against yours in one final, gentle thrust as you arch into him, the remnants of your pleasure still searing through your body now only intensified by the thick streams that spill out between the gaps of your legs. Zhou Chen remains within you, pulling back to look at you with a soft sentiment within those amber depths.

Cuddled next to each other, your brother places another kiss to your lips, brushing away the tousled hair from your face with his slender fingers, again chaste yet so filled with the very reverence the two of you work so hard to keep hidden. Wrapped into his embrace and pressed close to his chest, you can hear how his heart beats, thumping in slow rhythmic pace. It beats only for you, He lives only for you.

“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” He mutters beneath his breath, amber eyes peering into yours.

Just as quiet as he had once done so himself, you respond with what little voice you have left, “Promise.”

Zhou Chen holds you closer, as though wrapped in the embrace of a mother you never got to have, you feel the ghost of his lips atop your head, pressing a kiss filled with exaltation true and raw.

You wonder whether an outside eye can truly see the depths of your brother’s affection for you, whether they can see how unfailingly and adoringly he loves you with every fibre of his being. Weaving this dream of spring desires with fingers of jade-white excellance, this shall be one that bears only the two of you, one that shall forever ensure your happiness, one that shall never end.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #oc x reader #x reader #original writing

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cetaitlaverite · 3 days

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Why All This Music?

Masters of the Air - Rosie Rosenthal x OC

i believe an update was requested? ;) masterlist is linked here <3

22. The One Left Behind

When she woke up in an empty hut, Freddie was confused for a few moments. She was lying beneath two blankets, one she recognised as an old blanket from her footlocker and the other was a standard issue quilt everyone who lived at Thorpe Abbotts had. All of the beds in the hut were empty, except the bed beside hers which still had its top sheet and pillow.

Sitting up, Freddie noticed the sound of a shower for the first time. And then she remembered where she was.

It would be Rosie in the shower, trying to wash away the inevitable hangover. And it was his hut she’d been sleeping in because the rest of the Riveters had left yesterday and she hadn’t wanted to leave him alone. He must have laid his duvet over her when he got up.

Sighing, Freddie sat back to lean against the wall. She rubbed her eyes and wiped the corners of her mouth to make sure she hadn’t dribbled, then smoothed out and readjusted her nightdress to make sure nothing was on show that she didn’t want to be. True, Rosie had already seen it all, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to see it now.

The shower turned off. Freddie listened to Rosie dry off and then get changed, then brush his teeth. He was clearly surprised to find her awake when he re-entered the main room.

“Hi,” Freddie greeted softly.

“Hi,” Rosie replied. He looked as though he was holding his breath, waiting for her to start shouting at him or else just to leave. But she simply sat there quietly, looking at him. He lingered only a moment in the doorway, then crossed the room to replace his things in his footlocker.

Freddie watched him idly, fiddling with the blanket in her lap, until she realised she was cold and lifted Rosie’s quilt to drape over her shoulders.

Rosie came to sit on the edge of his bed, facing her with his elbows on his knees. His face was drawn in a frown. “Can we talk?” he ventured carefully. His eyes were clearer than they had been last night and the deep bags under them were slightly less prominent even after one night’s rest. He looked better but still not entirely himself.

Freddie nodded, scrunching up one corner of the quilt in her hands. “I’m already here, so we may as well.”

“I, uh,” Rosie began tentatively, clasping his hands together in the gap between his legs, “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Oh,” Freddie said, caught off guard. “No, that’s - that’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you or cross any lines or anything,” he went on. There was a slight embarrassed hue creeping up his cheeks.

Freddie nodded, looking away so she didn’t stare. “That’s okay.” She fixed her eyes on the bed directly across from her, a skeletal frame with an empty mattress on top of it. These huts were so cosy and joyful when they were full, so cold when they were empty.

“And I know you don’t wanna hear any more explanations but I just wanna make sure you know that I wouldn’t have decided to re-up if I felt that there was any part of me that could get on with my life instead,” Rosie hurried to add when Freddie didn’t say anything more. “I just - I just really had to do it, Fred. And I know it hurts you real bad and that hurts me more than I can say, but I had to do it. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do it.”

Freddie’s eyes fell to the blanket where she was fiddling with it. “I know,” she mumbled quietly, picking at a fraying seam. “You wouldn’t be who you are if you could stand to let someone else take over.” She laughed quietly, reluctantly, sadly. “I already knew this about you, really. I worried from the instant I heard about the brass upping the tours that you would stick around. I just thought you’d discuss it with me first before going ahead and telling the colonel.”

“I know,” Rosie said softly. “I’m sorry. The decision wasn’t made until I stepped into his office. I didn’t know I was gonna do it, I swear.”

“I would have liked to know you were considering it at all, Rosie,” Freddie told him, finally meeting his eyes. “I tell you everything, even when it’s hard.”

“I know,” he said again. “I’m sorry. You were right the other day, I was being a coward.”

Freddie nodded. She wasn’t going to deny it.

“When you’re in a relationship,” she began slowly, keeping her eyes locked on his, “it’s not just you you have to think about anymore. Your decisions don’t just affect you. Even if you didn’t know you were going to decide to do it beforehand, you should have let me in to hear about it and consider how I felt about it, too. And of course we would have fought about it - I would’ve been upset and tried to stop you and you would’ve been angry with me for trying to stop you. But at least I would have been prepared. I shouldn’t have had to accept the reality of the situation without being able to sit with the possibility of it first.”

Rosie nodded, his blue eyes solemn. “I know. I’m real sorry, Fred.”

“I just…” Freddie sighed, letting her head tip back to rest against the wall behind her. The ceiling above her was dirty, its whitewash long since faded to grey. “I need time. And space. I know the decision’s already been made and the damage has already been done but I need to wrap my head around it.”

“Sure,” Rosie agreed immediately. “Of course. Yeah. Absolutely.”

“I need to learn to trust you again, Rosie,” Freddie apprised him quietly.

It was clear he hadn’t been expecting this. The light he’d just started to recover in his eyes went out all at once.

“But I don’t want you to be alone,” Freddie pushed on, forcing some semblance of strength back into her voice. “I don’t want you to sleep here by yourself and then go to breakfast by yourself and spend all day being a leader but having no one to talk to.”

He let a hopeful smile tug at the corner of his lips.

Freddie sighed, her eyes falling closed. “We’ll be friends,” she decided. “Nothing more. Not just yet. But I think you need a friend right now and I think I might be qualified for the position.”

Rosie didn’t say anything for a moment. All Freddie could hear was his quiet breathing.

Prying open her eyes, she glanced over to find him with his own eyes resignedly closed. He looked like he was in pain. “Fred, I love you,” he said.

Freddie smiled sadly. “I know.” And she did know. Every denial of this fact she’d made had been out of anger and hurt and resentment. She knew he loved her, she’d just been trying to protect herself. “I’m not telling you not to love me, Rosie, I’m telling you I need time to let you.”

He dropped his head forward. “I messed up real bad, huh?”

Reluctantly and in spite of herself, Freddie laughed softly. “Kind of, yeah.” She reached out and stroked the back of his hair because she couldn’t help it. In spite of what she needed, what she wanted was to cuddle him and shower him in affection. All she would let herself have was this.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his words directed at the floor.

Freddie smiled sadly. “I know. But it’ll - it’ll work itself out.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You won’t.”

If Freddie had been reluctant to extend an olive branch to Rosie, Millie and Jem were downright throwing a tantrum about it.

“He doesn’t deserve it!” Jem exclaimed as they stood around the back of the mess hall after breakfast. They hadn’t liked walking in to find Freddie and Rosie sitting together.

“He made a mistake, Jem, he’s only human,” Freddie insisted.

“A really fucking big mistake if you ask me, Fred!” Millie argued. “Pretending everything is fine while he’s plotting a second tour, perfectly happy to get you into bed every evening but not to tell you what he’s thinking.”

“If you’re angry about it, imagine how I feel!” Freddie volleyed back. “But I’m so tired of being angry about it! I loved Daniel and I lost him. I thought that was the end of it. Then I find Rosie and he’s everything I could ever have wished for but he makes one mistake - a big one, yes, but still just one - and all of a sudden I’m right back at square one? No. I’m not. I refuse to be. I want him. I’m choosing him. Not right now, because I’m still hurting, but when I’m ready I’ll be with Rosie because that’s what I want. And I never allowed myself to want that before so I’m going to fight for it now.”

Millie sighed and fell back to rest against the mess hall wall. “Oh, Fred.”

“What if he dies?” Jem asked abruptly. “What if he re-ups and he gets shot down and he dies?”

“Jem,” Millie snapped.

“I can’t live my life that way, Jem,” Freddie replied calmly. Even just considering the possibility made her heart drop into her stomach, made it skip over a couple of its beats. “It’s him or it’s no one. I’m not just going to go and find someone else because he won’t be in the line of fire. I want Rosie. I don’t want anyone else. I can either have him now and lose him if that’s the way god’s decided it, or I can never let myself have him at all. I know which one I’d prefer.”

Jem passed a hand over her eyes.

Millie drew in a deep breath. “Alright,” she decided.

Jem let her hand fall to her side and nodded reluctantly. “Alright,” she agreed. “But don’t expect me to be best friends with him. I’m still so pissed at him I could strangle the bastard.”

“We’ll be civil,” Millie declared, shooting a meaningful look at Jem. “But he’s got a lot of work to do before I welcome him back in with open arms.”

Freddie breathed a smile, relieved to have won this battle, at least. “For me as well,” she assured Millie. “But at least he’s getting the chance.”

Freddie moved all of her everyday essential belongings to Rosie’s hut and took to living there while they waited for his new crew to arrive. It was against the rules but no one was going to say anything, not to the two of them.

Meatball couldn’t have been happier about the arrangement, since it meant he got a bed of his own with his little dog bed he’d gotten for Christmas sat on top of it. His bed was the one opposite Rosie’s while Freddie remained in the one beside Rosie’s, the one which used to belong to Pappy.

It was torture for Rosie to live that way, to have Freddie so close but so far. But she wasn’t budging. She needed time and space, and she was being a good friend to him but she’d been serious when she’d told him he’d be getting nothing more. His fingers kept itching to brush her hair back from her face when she read before bed and he’d find himself having to fight the habit of dropping a kiss on her forehead as she passed him to go into the bathroom. This distance he’d fought so hard to close was firmly back in place, even more rigid than it had been before.

The two of them ate breakfast together - well, the two of them and Meatball, of course. After a while Millie joined them, and then Jem and Emma, until Rosie just joined the wireless operators’ table. And they were frosty with him, to be sure, but just because they were protective. They started to warm up as the days went by.

Rosie found his closest confidant in Croz. They’d been friendly before, naturally, but with all of Croz’s friends, the men he’d started all of this with, having gone down in Münster and with all of Rosie’s friends now back in the States, they found in each other someone who could understand the loneliness of being the one left behind better than anyone else.

Croz confided in Rosie about the affair he was having with a British officer of the Auxiliary Territorial Service, a woman named Sandra he’d met while attending a conference in Oxford. The fact of it made Rosie uneasy but he didn’t say anything. Croz was a grown man who made his own decisions and it was probably for the best if Rosie didn’t go ruining one of the only friendships he had left by sticking his opinions in where they weren’t wanted.

Instead, he focused on the fact of Croz visiting Oxford. Rosie had known he was going off base to a conference at a university while he was at the flak house but he hadn’t known he’d gone to Oxford. That was where Freddie went to university before the war.

“Yeah,” Croz told him with a small grin. “They put me up in one of the university dorms. There was obviously some sort of mix up in administration so my roommate - Subaltern Westgate - turned out to be a woman. Sandra.”

“Freddie’s from Oxford,” Rosie informed him.

Croz rolled his eyes. “I know. Just in case you forgot, Rosie, I’ve known her longer than you have.”

“Right.” He gave a sheepish laugh.

Croz laughed at him. “I went to visit her parents when I was there - she asked me to deliver a letter and some chocolate she stole from the mess hall,” he said. “Nice house she’s got, huh? Cute dogs, too. I liked the little one.”

“Earnie,” Rosie supplied, smiling at the memory of the little white dog he’d met over Christmas. “Yeah, I like him too.”

Croz rolled his eyes as he watched Rosie grin at the memory of one of Freddie’s dogs. “When’s the wedding, Rosie?” he teased, smirking into his coffee.

Rosie rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Shut up, Croz.”

When Rosie’s new crew arrived he was a lot more himself again. He helped Freddie move back into her own hut and left her with a kiss on the forehead before heading off to greet the men he’d be flying with from now on. It was so strange to imagine flying with anyone other than Pappy beside him but this was what he’d chosen. This was what he’d risked everything for.

The new guys were alright, they were just green. It was impossible to know how good they’d be at their jobs before they ever went up so Rosie didn’t try to draw any conclusions, he just tried to make them feel comfortable with him.

It was jarring, the way all the men looked at him now. They looked at him the way he’d once looked at Majors Egan and Cleven. He wasn’t just Rosie to his new crew but instead Major Rosenthal, the man who’d survived twenty-five missions and stayed behind to continue the fight. They all looked at him with admiration as he passed, likely in awe of his bravery. He wanted to tell them not to admire him for it - he hadn’t done it out of courage but because he hadn’t been able to not do it, and it had damn near cost him everything.

“How are they?” Freddie wanted to know in the officers’ club that night. “Are they all nervous?” She didn’t speak much to the new boys anymore, not after Münster.

“Yeah,” Rosie admitted, glancing at her sidelong as they leaned against the bar. “They all look at me like I’m so much higher above them.”

“They’ve experienced no combat flying yet,” Freddie reminded him. “You’ve done an entire tour. Plus, you’re a major now. To them you may as well be a hero.”

“Only one hero around here, Fred, and it ain’t me,” Rosie replied, a reference to the night they met. That was the day Freddie had talked a German fighter pilot into landing at Thorpe Abbotts after he’d gotten confused in the air. She wouldn’t now be a leader in her own right if not for that.

Freddie laughed, rolling her eyes and hitting him playfully in the arm.

Rosie ordered and paid for their drinks but they stayed leaning against the bar. Rosie lingered wherever Freddie was these days, soaking up all the time she spared him before she inevitably left him to his own devices.

Freddie turned to face the rest of the room, leaning back against the bar as she sipped her lemonade through her straw, but Rosie turned to face her. He wanted to ask her to dance but knew she wouldn’t let him. The baby steps they were taking now felt slower, even, than the ones he’d had to take before he’d screwed everything up.

“Thoughts?” Freddie asked him, feeling his eyes on her profile.

“I miss you,” Rosie said. These days he liked to make a habit of always saying exactly what he was thinking. He had learned from his mistake and he wanted to prove it.

Freddie smiled at him, her brown eyes warm. “I’m right here.”

So close and yet still so very far.

“I got my first mission with my new crew next week,” Rosie informed her in place of a response to that. There was nothing else constructive he could say on the matter. “Next Thursday.”

Freddie nodded. Rosie was aware she likely already knew - Croz showed her his flight plans in advance in case she had any information on where the Luftwaffe resistance was likely to be the strongest, and she got advance warning to work through manipulation strategies anyway. But he’d wanted to be the one to tell her.

“We’re flying over France,” he added.

“Over Bordeaux,” Freddie acknowledged. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“To Bordeaux?” Rosie asked.

“Mh-hm,” Freddie hummed. “To anywhere in France, really. I’ve always dreamed about Paris.”

“I’ll take you,” Rosie offered. “Once it’s liberated.”

“Then I’ll take you to Vienna,” she decided in return. “It’s only fair.”

Rosie grinned. “Can’t wait.”

Freddie laughed. “I’m counting down the minutes.”

As her laughter slowly faded she considered Rosie thoughtfully, sipping on her lemonade, her fingers holding her straw steady. Her gaze was strong and resolute. Rosie felt like she was analysing every thought he’d ever had.

Finally, satisfied with whatever she saw in him, Freddie smiled. “I have leave this weekend,” she announced. “I’m going back home, naturally. If you can get leave as well then I would like for you to come. Friday to Sunday. I’ll be leaving here at eight Friday morning and getting back probably about six o’clock Sunday evening.”

Rosie nodded. He was fighting to tame his wide smile. He knew what this meant to her, letting him return home with her. He was making progress. “Yeah, I’d love to,” he replied. His heart was racing. “I’ll check with Jack to make sure he doesn’t need me for anything. Since we’ll be back before Monday I don’t see why he would.”

Freddie laughed quietly to herself. “I already checked with Jack.”

“Oh.”

“He says it’s fine. You just have to put in the request with Bennett, and seeing as he doesn’t seem to deny you anything these days I imagine he’ll approve it readily.”

Rosie didn’t know what to do with that little jab about his re-upping so he elected to ignore it. “Right,” he said. “I’ll ask first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Freddie said. “Do. Mum would like to know in advance.”

“Sure,” Rosie agreed. “I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

Freddie eyed him curiously before nodding. “Alright.” Then she left him without another word to go and sit with her friends.

Rosie spent the rest of the evening talking to Croz and Jack, pretending not to look at her. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

#watm #my writing #mota #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #hbo war #hbo war x oc #rosie rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal fanfic #rosie rosenthal fanfiction

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bitethedevil · 21 hours

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Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 6

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Raphael learns that Tav has been up to something. Tav is reminded of the reality of the situation she finds herself in and of who Raphael really is. She also learns that she is beginning to develop a bit of Stockholm Syndrome.

(AN: I can't believe we're already at Chapter 6. I think I started writing this fic early this month. I literally haven't thought of anything else since. I should really try touching some grass...)

TW: Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Blood.

Hope you are still alive and well. What is it that Raphael wants from us and what should we expect if he contacts us?

That was the message that she had received in the morning from Gale. She had to get a message back to her friends, though it would prove difficult as Cassius was watching her with the intensity of a predator waiting for its prey to move before it pounces.

She could take him easily. That was not the problem at all. The problem was that Cassius would not fall for the same trick and he would definitely tattle on her this time if she tried anything. She would have to be very discreet.

She got up from her chair and started slowly walking back and forth in the large main area of the house. Cassius narrowed his eyes at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting some exercise. It’s not like I can go out for a stroll, is it?” Tav answered and stretched her limbs.

“Sit down,” Cassius ordered.

“Free roam of the house~” Tav said, repeating what Raphael had promised her on her first day there. “You are supposed to follow me, not the other way around.”

“I can’t watch you if you keep pacing,” he said with a sneer. “Sit. Down.”

“No,” Tav said and kept walking at a leisurely pace.

There was a quiet growl of frustration from Cassius, but he did not get up from his chair, although he kept watching her intently.

She kept walking around the room, testing if he would get up from his chair if she turned her back on him. She could sense that he tensed up when she did, but he did not move. All she needed was a moment.

She turned her back on him once again. She quickly and quietly mumbled the message she had rehearsed in her mind for Gale.

Unfortunately, Cassius were on her before she could even say the incantation for the sending spell.

“You insolent little bitch,” he hissed.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her backwards, making her land on her back. She opened her mouth to say an incantation, but Cassius was fast. He punched her square in the face, and it took her by surprise. It was clear that he had just been waiting for an excuse to hurt her.

He held her arms down and muffled her with his hand.

“I can’t wait till he sees your true colors,” Cassius said and pressed down the hand that was over her mouth and nose, making it hard for her to breathe.

Tav bit his hand hard and then she worked fast: Thunderwave, Sleep spell.

Cassius flew back and slumped to the floor.

Tav was breathing hard. She closed her eyes for a moment to try and calm her pulse down a bit. She rubbed her face and when she withdrew it, she saw that there was a good amount of blood on it.

She got up from the floor and walked over to Cassius, before casting another spell that would ensure that he would keep sleeping for quite a while before getting up again.

Tav closed her eyes and said the message she would send to Gale:

The Orphic Hammer. I’m in chains. He is trying to lure you here to try and free me. Don’t come here under any circumstances.

She sent the message and then glanced at Cassius on the floor before sending another as well:

I’m safe and well. I’ll probably not be able to contact you any time soon. Too risky. Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out.

Tav sighed. She threw herself down in an armchair and called on one of the servants. The poor halfling woman who entered looked at Cassius’s unconscious body and then at Tav’s bloodied face with widened eyes. Tav smiled politely at her.

“Can you call Raphael here?” Tav asked.

“Yes, miss,” the halfling servant mumbled and nodded.

“Thank you.”

Tav waited and expected the worst when Raphael would come home.

Raphael was in his devil form when he returned home. He looked furious when he entered and saw his warlock unconscious on the floor. He looked even more pissed when his eyes went to Tav.

“Please…” Tav said and held her hands up in defense. “Let me explain…”

“Oh, you will,” Raphael said in a low voice and walked closer to her. “Talk.”

“The day after I got here, I incapacitated Cassius to cast a sending spell to my friends,” she explained hurriedly. “I convinced him not to tell you. Today I did it again. I am being upfront with you, because it’s not my intention to piss you off or to hide anything.”

The latter being a bit of a lie. She would not have told Raphael if she had not been caught in the act by Cassius, and he probably knew that she was only trying to come clean in order to get ahead of Cassius’s allegations.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed at her as he studied her bloodied face. He was quiet for a moment. It was tense and uncomfortable.

“What did he do to you?” Raphael asked. He said it with eerie calmness, but she could hear the anger hiding right under the surface.

That was…not the question she had anticipated. She had been so busy saving her own ass, that she had not really considered the fact that Cassius might be in danger from getting punished as well. It was not that she had a lot of sympathy for the warlock, but she knew what Raphael was capable of doing to people, and she did not like the thought of being responsible for it.

“Oh this?” Tav asked and gestured to her face. Her nose was still slightly bleeding, and she felt that her cheek was starting to swell up slightly. “He only tried to hinder me from attacking him.”

Raphael's eyes narrowed even more.

“Mm…And why are you protecting him, Tav?” Raphael asked in a dangerous tone.

“I’m not,” she said with quietly. “It’s just…he was just doing his job.”

“I am well aware of his incompetence. His job was to call upon me should anything happen. Which he has failed to do twice, if what you are saying is correct,” Raphael said darkly and came closer. He grabbed her chin gently and turned her face to study her injuries. “I did not give him permission to harm you like this, so I will ask you again…Why are you protecting him?”

The intensity of Raphael’s stare and the tone of his voice made her nervous. She swallowed hard and her eyes flicked away from his gaze.

For once, she actually felt like a little mouse, shaking under the paw of the cat, knowing that one wrong move could mean that its claws would sink into her.

“Do you care for him, is that it?” Raphael asked pointedly.

Her eyes went back to his and her brow furrowed at the odd question. Was that…jealousy she saw on his face?

“No,” she answered as if it was obvious. “I don’t. I’ve told you what I think of him before…it’s just…”

“Just what?” Raphael asked, his fiery eyes still boring into hers.

“I just…don’t want to be responsible for what you are going to do to him…” she answered in a quiet voice.

A sadistic smile flickered across his face for a brief moment.

“Do not worry yourself with such matters,” Raphael said in a slightly lighter tone and ran his thumb over her chin before his tone turned dark again. “Cassius, is responsible for what I am going to do to him.”

He let go of her chin and used the same hand to snap his fingers. Korrilla appeared in a flash of smoke and embers. It looked like she had been in the middle of something when she was whisked away. She looked at Tav and Raphael with slight confusion.

“Take her to the boudoir,” Raphael said to Korrilla and then looked at Tav to address her. “You and I will talk later.”

That little sentence and the tone of his voice made her hair stand on end.

Tav was pacing the room with an empty look in her eyes. She was not easy to scare, but now she was terrified of what Raphael might to do her. She had heard the sounds of when he sometimes punished the servants for disobeying his orders.

Whatever he would do to her, it would be personal. She had told Raphael too much. There was way too much for him to use against her and she felt anxiety bubbling in her stomach. She had not felt fear like that for years. She felt like a scared little girl again and she hated it.

“Sit down, Tav,” Korrilla said calmly. “You are going to make a hole in the floor with all that walking back and forth.”

“I think I really fucked up…” Tav mumbled and kept pacing. “What do you think he’ll do? Do you think he’d go after my friends?”

Tav had not even considered that before she said it. He probably would not. It seemed below him, but her anxiety was telling her that he might.

“Sit down, Tav,” Korrilla sighed. ”And calm down.”

“How am I supposed to be calm?” Tav asked and flinched slightly as she heard the muffled sounds of Raphael’s shouting at Cassius through the barrier to the boudoir.

“Tav,” Korrilla said slowly. “Sit down and tell me what happened.”

Tav sighed. She sat down and explained everything to Korrilla. She noticed that Korrilla was suppressing a smile as she explained, which annoyed her to no end.

“What is it that is so fucking funny about this situation?” Tav suddenly snapped at her.

Korrilla chuckled. She put her elbows on the table between them and leaned closer to Tav.

“You’re a smart girl,” Korrilla said in a lowered voice. “Use that brain of yours. You’ve seen his other debtors roaming the halls, haven’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” Tav said with an annoyed expression. “Yes, obviously. So what?”

“Do you see any of them getting treated as well as you? Are any of them dressed in silks, sleeping in their master’s bed?” Korrilla asked.

“No but that’s just because he needs me alive and in one piece to lure my friends here. He said that himself,” Tav said. She was getting frustrated with Korrilla’s calmness.

“Why?” Korrilla asked and then pointed to Tav’s chains around her wrists. “You’re wearing those. You can’t leave the house anyhow, so how would they know that you are 'alive and in one piece'? Wouldn’t it be more motivating for your friends to come and save you if they were told that you are suffering in a dungeon somewhere in the Hells?”

Tav was looking at her with a mix of annoyance and confusion.

“What are you saying?” Tav asked.

“I am saying that had you been any other person who had defied him, you would be in there watching as he made an example of Cassius. Instead, I was ordered to herd you into the only room that is somewhat soundproof in this house,” Korrilla said. “He favors you, Tav. You are not in any danger of getting hurt. Not yet anyhow.”

Tav rubbed her face trying to make sense of it. Of course, she knew that she was being treated surprisingly well for what she had expected when she got there, she was not blind. It just did not make sense, when she was the one who robbed him of his precious Crown of Karsus that he had been hunting for years. It must be some cruel joke and at some point, the hammer would fall.

“But why?” Tav asked.

“Who knows,” Korrilla said with a shrug. “I’ve worked for him for a long time, and I still won’t bother to try to figure out his motivations when it comes to certain matters. It’s a lost cause. Raphael does what Raphael wants. Which is what Cassius is learning for the first time as we speak.”

As if on cue, she heard the muffled sound of a scream from the other side of the barrier.

Tav hid her face in her hands.

“I feel terrible…” Tav said. “I hate the fucker, but he doesn’t deserve that.”

“Do you want me to make it worse?” Korrilla asked.

“No,” Tav mumbled into her hands.

“In the beginning we were given permission to hurt you if it was necessary to stop you, you know?” Korrilla explained anyway. “It sounds like Cassius overreacted, but technically he was not completely out of line. Aside from the fact that he failed to report it when you did it the first time, of course.”

Tav looked up from her hands and her brow furrowed.

“Then why is he even getting punished?” Tav asked in disbelief.

“Half of the job is figuring out Raphael’s whims and fancies…” Korrilla said. “I suppose he changed his mind along the way.”

Tav was quiet for a moment. She was trying to make sense out of it, but with little luck.

“But you haven’t heard any of this from me. Understood?” Korrilla said, as she always did when she had said too much.

Tav nodded. Gods, she loved Korrilla for her tendency to gossip.

“Thank you, Korrilla,” Tav said.

“For what?” she asked. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t common sense…”

Tav flinched as she heard another muffled gut-wrenching scream.

“What should I expect from him when he’s done?” Tav asked.

“My guess? He might yell at you. Perhaps a few threats of what would happen if you do it again,” Korrilla said. “I really can’t imagine that he would hurt you over something like a few sending spells.”

Tav nodded. That helped her calm down somewhat.

Tav and Korrilla went quiet when Raphael entered the boudoir. Korrilla left immediately, leaving Tav alone with him.

He was drying his hands from blood with a handkerchief. He looked Tav up and down. She looked him up and down in return. Her anxiousness was bubbling up in her stomach again. The fact that Raphael’s facial expression revealed nothing, did not help. He was eerily calm. He started walking towards her at a leisurely pace and sat down where Korrilla had sat a moment before.

Tav’s nerves made her break the silence.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked with a tinge of nervousness in her voice.

He looked at her with a slight smile and those same intense eyes he had looked at her earlier.

“Is that fear I hear in your voice, mouse?” he asked. “How delightful it is to see that you do have some sense of self-preservation after all…”

He snapped his fingers and the bloodied handkerchief disappeared.

“Tell me, what did you say to your companions in those messages?” he asked calmly.

Tav hesitated with her answer for a moment. He would most likely know if she was lying, so she decided to tell him the truth.

“Where I was. That I was safe for now…That they should not deal with you no matter what,” she explained.

“Mm…” He hummed in thought. “And this was the day after you arrived, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Raphael said. “And the second message? There were just those two, yes?”

“Well, I sent two today right after each other,” she explained. “I received a message asking what you wanted from them. I explained and once again emphasized that they should not come. Then I told them that it might be my last message, because I anticipated that I would have to come clean to you.”

“I’m glad you did,” he answered calmly. “Cassius will not be guarding you anymore. He won’t even see you if it can be avoided.”

Tav’s brow furrowed in confusion. Surely, Korrilla would not be able to do anything else if she was constantly watching her.

“Who will be then?” she asked.

“No one,” Raphael answered. “You will be granted that privacy you’ve been yearning for. I see no reason why you should not. You haven’t proven to be destructive or shown even the faintest interest in escaping. Not that you would have any luck even if you tried, of course.”

…What?! Tav could not believe it. This had to be a trap, or she was seriously missing something. She was dumbfounded.

“I hurt your warlock twice, I send messages to my friends to discourage them for falling into your trap, and I’m getting rewarded for it?” Tav said in disbelief. “What am I missing here, Raphael?”

“I had expected you to do as much. In fact, I had expected you would do much worse…” Raphael said calmly. “I am rewarding your honesty, not your actions. Besides, I am using a lot of resources on keeping an eye on you and I now find it unnecessary. It is as simple as that.”

Tav was still dumbfounded. She was honestly a bit more nervous about this reaction than she would have been if he had simply punished her or yelled at her. He was up to something. He must be, or it did not make sense.

“Though I need you to understand this…” he said and leaned closer to her. “If I catch you trying anything, I will not let you escape punishment again. I will not let you abuse the trust I am giving you by loosening my grip on your leash. Do you understand?”

She into those fiery eyes of his and nodded.

“Good,” he purred and smiled at her. He studied the injuries on her face from Cassius punching her. “You should get that cleaned up, dear.”

Tav wanted to ask him something, but she hesitated for a moment.

“What did you do to him?” she asked quietly.

There it was again. That look on his face that she could not quite place. Anger? Jealousy? Possessiveness? He quickly replaced it with a smirk.

“I still have a few things to see to before I will return,” Raphael said, ignoring her question and getting up from the chair. “Enjoy your first little taste of privacy, my dear.”

He left her and as promised, no one came to watch her. She was alone for the first time in over a week. There was complete silence. She found herself unable to figure out what to do with herself.

She was left to her thoughts, and it quickly became uncomfortable. She had acted like a good little pet for Raphael, and she was starting to realize that she had almost forgotten that she was there against her will, robbed of her freedom.

She had cowered before him and admitted everything. She had been reminded of what he was capable of and who he really was…and yet…throughout the day she found that she missed him and longed for when he would come home again. And yet, she found herself thinking about what Korrilla had said to her: He favors you, Tav.

Why did that thought excite her? Why did she care that he favored her? She was nothing more than her captor’s favored prisoner, but she found herself feeling warm inside at the thought.

It disgusted her to think of who she was becoming and yet, the feelings were still there...

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #bg3 #raphael bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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serasfanfiction · 2 months

Text

Cw for blood. No gore, tho. Cw in tags as well. Mostly Alastor being Alastor.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

If Lucifer didn't know any better, he would have sworn Alastor was going out of his way to make certain they ran into each other.

He seemed to be everywhere.

It didn't help that whatever he was doing, Alastor had seemingly decided to pull out all the stops. Horrifically enough, he was good at just being there, right as Lucifer would turn around, watching and waiting as if to see how long it would take the little king to notice him.

(And if he had damn near shrieked the first time it had happened? Well, no one else was around, so who would hold him to it?)

After a week of this, Lucifer was starting to feel twitchy. It was difficult to tell if he was actually sensing eyes on him like a second skin or if he was just being paranoid. The only place he felt any relief was in his own room, which he might have taken to hiding in when it all became too much.

It felt like being stalked. Like he was being hunted.

Lucifer growled to himself, frustrated he had been driven to such drastic measures. Yes, he could totally stand up for himself! He was significantly more powerful than that petty little sinner! He just really, really didn't want to deal with all of this. There was a reason he avoided senseless drama.

He groaned, throwing off his covers and forcing himself out of bed. Enough, he thought to himself. This had gone on far too long and it was past time he and a certain Radio Demon had a little chat.

He donned his suit, building up his armor like he was going to war. Which, he supposed, he sort of was. He settled his hat in place and grabbed his cane, aware he was doing all of this over a lowly sinner, Overlord or not, but he felt the uncontrollable urge to remind Alastor which of them was actually the King of Hell and which of them wasn't.

He was self aware enough to appreciate that if this really was just a matter of the Ruler of Hell putting a sinner in his place he wouldn't have needed to have put on his uniform, but Alastor had gotten under his skin and everyone already knew it.

There was no point in looking for Alastor. Based off of previous behavior, the red head would simply come to him.

Lucifer deliberately kept to public enough areas to invite company, while still being private enough that Alastor would be tempted to sneak up on him.

And Alastor did not disappoint.

Lucifer spotted him out of the corner of his eye while getting lunch. Triumphant, he spun around and pointed an accusing finger. "You!"

Alastor's ever present smile ticked ever-so-slightly wider, but it wasn't showing teeth yet. "And how can I help you today, your Majesty?"

"We need to talk," Lucifer stated, tone brokering no disagreements. Not that the other Hellion was protesting. "Now."

Alastor tilted his head to the side at just the right angle to be unnerving, hands folding behind his back. "Are you actually going to talk to me or are you going to run away again?"

Lucifer allowed himself a deep, calming breathe. Allowed Alastor to see it. The released exhale was hot enough for a whisp of smoke to escape.

There was still no teeth, but it seemed like it was only barely.

"We both know the only reason I've tolerated your behavior is because I promised not to fight with you."

Alastor raised on eyebrow, asking without verbalizing it as to if this wasn't a potential fight.

Lucifer crossed his arms to keep from wrapping his hands around that scrawny little neck. "And I want to keep my promise, but to do that, we need to get whatever you've been going through this last week out of your system."

Alastor laughed, false and mocking. "Ha! I assure you, I have no idea what you mean."

The blonde refused to rise to the bait. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but we are doing this." He smiled, tone generous as he added, "I'll even be nice and let you chose if we're having this talk in your room or mine."

Alastor considered him, body language giving away nothing. "You'd give the familiar ground to a potential enemy?"

Lucifer waved a hand at the room in general. "One could argue anywhere in Hell is my territory." He hummed lightly. "But in all honesty, even if your room - the one I built for you - could be considered enemy ground," here he leaned in to make his point, "There's nothing you could do to seriously harm me if I don't let you."

There it was again: the flicker of the dials. It was written all over him that Alastor wanted nothing more than to take that as a challenge and to put that theory to the test.

Lucifer welcomed him to try if it meant they could move on from this - whatever this was. Because that statement wasn't a theory, it was a fact.

Alastor reigned himself back in until not even a hint remained of his control slipping. "My room, if you don't mind. Shall we go?" He held out a hand, gesturing for Lucifer to take the lead.

Which, nope. He was not turning his back on this guy at this point in the game.

With a snap of his fingers, red smoke wrapped itself around them. It was showy and unnecessary, but it was worth it for the way a brief spasm of panic tightened Alastor's smile at just how easily Lucifer could just straight up kidnap him if he wanted to.

Which was good. Let him chew on that tidbit for a while.

They reappeared in the Radio Demon's quarters. The basics had been done per what Vaggie (with a V!) had been able to remember, as she was the only member of the hotel who'd seen Alastor's room. They'd left his personal touches to him, but an honest effort had been put into rebuilding the structure of it.

Glancing off to his right, Lucifer could see that Alastor had rather impressively bent reality (like the elderich creature he was) to morph half of the room into what appeared to be a bayou. It gave the impression that the room was significantly larger than it was. The residue of the magic it took to pull off such a stunt made his teeth itch, the same kind of wrongness the original bar had had.

Various other personal effects had worked their ways around the room. Some of the more interesting ones were the array of trophy skulls, both human and animal, decorating the walls. He had little doubt that Alastor had hunted, skinned, and mounted every one of them himself. The only real question was if they were original to the room pre the hotel's destruction? Or were they... newer?

By the time he turned his attention back to the owner of the room, said owner had had more than enough time to regain his composure. Lucifer was a little sorry he'd allowed Alastor the break, but he did genuinely want to resolve whatever the hell was going on between them. Being stern when needed was fine, but he didn't want to push Alastor so hard he snapped unless he had to.

Lucifer tapped the fingers of his predominant hand against his arm, all weight on one foot and ready to start tapping the other if necessary. He gave Alastor an expectant look. "Well?"

Alastor was nothing if not up for a fight. He may have been knocked off balance, but he was clearly up to being ornery as pay back. With an air of boredom, he inspected his claws, as if looking for nonexistent dirt. "Well, what, my dear king?"

Lucifers fingers didn't pause. "Don't play coy, it doesn't look good on you." He was pleased with the narrowed eyes he got in response. "What has this last week been about? You've been acting weird." Lucfier waved a hand in Alastor's general direction. Added, "Well, weird for you."

Alastor's irritation smoothed out at the implication that Lucifer paid enough attention to him to have come to some conclusion about what might constitute as 'weird behavior.' He hummed lightly, the noise oddly soothing in a way. "Very well, if you must insist. Just don't get angery if you don't like the answer."

Lucifer frowned. Angry? About what?

All thoughts were cut off as Alastor melted away into his shadows (and when the heck had his shadow gotten that close? He hadn't even seen it move). The thought crossed Lucifer's mind that he should have warded the room to keep the sinner from leaving, but ultimately, he needn't have worried.

Well, about Alastor trying to run away.

Because he really should have known better.

He realized where Alastor had gone, just as he could hear the unmistakable sound of someone taking a deep breathe right in his ear.

Lucifer could feel every single one of the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as that breathe was exhaled against his neck, sweat breaking out across his skin as a shiver ran through his body. The only reason he didn't yelp was because he was too busy choking on his own tongue.

Dignity be damned, the King of Hell nearly teleported across the room, hand slapping up against his neck. Eyes widen in horror, he brandished his cane like a rod. "Wha-- what in the seven rings of Hell was that!?"

Alastor watched him like a cat watches a mouse it's having fun playing with. "You asked what had gotten into me." He folded his hands behind his back, as if he hadn't just been sniffing the Devil himself. "That was... curiosity."

Lucifer stared at him incredulously. "Curiosity?" He laughed, a little forced as he tried to reign in his too-fast heartbeat. "If you were curious how I smelled, you could have just asked."

Alastor raised an eyebrow to that and Lucifer belatedly realized he'd just implied all someone potentially had to do was ask to smell him and he might let them do it.

Lucifer flushed but refused to correct his statement.

"Hm, how quaint." Alastor leaned in eye so slightly, just to see Lucifer unconsciously lean back. "Rest assured, it isn't quite so simple."

A pause lulled between them as the blond waited for the rest of the explanation. When he failed to receive one, he waved a hand impatiently for the red head to get on with it.

Alastor turned enough he could look out into his bayou without completely losing track of his guest. The motion drew Lucifer's attention to the area, although he didn't dare take his eyes off the serial killer.

"Has anyone told you what my dish of choice is?"

The question confused Lucifer and his impatience made him feel irritated by what felt like a non-sequitur in the conversation. He'd heard Alastor was a cannibal, so he assumed it was other sinners. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Alastor rolled his eyes, gesturing out into the bayou.

As if on cue, a tree branch snapped closer to the edge of the trees in the distance. Lucifers eyes snapped to whatever had made the noise, making eye contact with ...a deer?

Lucifer stared, that feeling of being hunted roiling over him as it dawned on him what had happened. He didn't have to look at the Radio Demon to know he was watching him like a predator watches his prey.

Lucifer swallowed, hard. "I... I don't know what you..."

There was no mercy, no quarter in Alastor's eyes as he near stalked over to the Devil. His smile was all teeth as he ran a finger along the brim of Lucifer's hat. "When I saw those ears, I was curious if you would still taste like an angel or if you might taste like something more to my ...preferences."

Lucifer was fairly certain his brain was short circuiting. Some wire must have gotten crossed, because what came out of his mouth wasn't 'you're a freak,' it was:

"If you got your taste, you'll back off?"

The two stared at each other, Lucifer unsure who was more surprised by the question.

Alastor's grin was every inch as wicked as everyone only thought the actual Devil was but really wasn't. "Are you offering a deal?" The hand he'd used to near caress Lucifer's hat fell into the offer of a hand shake.

It was Lucifer's turn to roll his eyes. He shook his head vigorously. "Nope! No deals!" He glared, slapping the hand aside. "You'll likely find some wiggle room no sane person would think to look for and I am not interested in being on the menu indefinitely."

Alastor didn't even bother to look contrite. He simply looked disappointed. Since the offer wasn't on the table, he withdrew his hand and straightened his posture. "Then what are you proposing?"

Yes, self, Lucifer thought, what are we proposing? He felt like he'd lost all direction in this conversation because he had no clue how his day had gone from 'put Alastor in his place' to 'let's let an actual cannibal bite us.'

Lucifer grasped for the last shreds of his dignity, realizing that he might have finally found something that ranked high enough to be added to the Top 5 Insane Things I've Done For My Kid list. It didn't stop the ever-so-slight tremor from creeping in, even as he tried for stern, as he offered, "I'll bring back the deer attributes, you get to satify your curiosity, and then we go back to whatever our usual is."

Alastor's eyes narrowed. "To be clear: I get to draw blood and you won't retaliate?"

There was no official deal, but it still felt like they were making one. "Yeah." Lucifer shifted, trying to shake off the last of his nerves and at least seem like he was confident. He was still absolutely sure Alastor couldn't deal him damage faster that he could heal from it, but his nerves didn't want to settle. "You get a freebie, no punishment or retaliation, in exchange for returning to the status quo."

Alastor's teeth sharpened visibly, the room growing darker around them.

"Deal."

Still feeling like this was going to come back and bite him in the ass - or, well, neck or arm, if one was being literal - at some point in the future, Lucifer made his way over to one of the chairs near the room's fireplace. He set his hat down on the seat, before pulling off his coat. He had a feeling this was going to be messy. Neck wounds often were, and he had a feeling Alastor wouldn't be satisfied with being offered anything else. He regretted the amount of layers he'd dressed in, even as he used untying his bow tie and unbuttoning the first several buttons of his shirt as a desperately needed delay tactic to simply breathe through what he was about to do.

Judging by the indulgence he could almost hear coming from Alastor's spot in the room, he held no such disillusions as to if the red head knew that he was stalling.

Taking a deep, steadying breathe, he pulled the shift over himself, falling deeper into it than he had during the trust exercise. Blond ears flicked into existence around small antlers on his head. Goat hooves morphed subtly into deer ones. A fluffy, equally blond tail twitched slightly at the base of his spine, in mirror of his anxiety.

Burrowing it all down, down, down, Lucifer gripped the edge of his shirt, yanking it down as he spun around, finally allowing a grin fit for his reputation to spread across his face from ear to ear. Tilting his head to the side in invitation, he asked, "Well, Alastor? What are you waiting for?"

Alastor control snapped with an audible static screech. Moving across the room with a speed that had kept him alive during his fight with Adam, Alastor near pounced onto his prize. The force of their collision sent them toppling to the floor, Lucifer's head just barely missing the seat of the chair. The impact with the ground drove the air from his lungs, and Lucifer didn't have the chance to even attempt to recover as he felt razor-sharp teeth sink into the tender flesh of his throat.

Lucifer's body spasmed as it attempted to draw in air, lungs needing a second to remember how to work and he was startled by the pain of attack despite knowing it was coming. He was finally able to draw a desperately needed gasp in as those teeth withdrew. Lucifer could feel it even without seeing the damage that of course Alastor had gone deep. It was definitely going to take him a hot second for it to heal, but heal it already was.

The Radio Demon, seeming to realize this, sunk his teeth in again. Lucifer's hands flew up to grab onto Alastor's arms at the new wave of agony coursed through him, squirming as he resisted the urge to shove the larger figure off of him. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood himself as he braced himself for Alastor taking his pound of flesh.

There was a creak, like bone grating against each other. Alastor shifted, teeth unmoving as he moved. As he made himself more comfortable, Lucifer realized as the shock of it finally began to abate and adrenaline flooded his system in response to the trauma. He had to swallow down the urge to laugh, knowing it would be more hysterics than actual humor.

He grunted as those teeth withdrew, surprisingly without taking a chunk of his neck with it. He was confused until he felt a warm, wet tongue slide over the wounds, chasing blood the color of gold regardless of what form the seraphim donned. Without meaning to, Lucifer flinched at the odd sensation. It was not quite pain, but not quite soothing.

As the pain began to recede, Alastor seemingly merely content to fill himself up with one of the rarest delicacies in Hell, Lucifer was able to take stock of his body. The bruises along his back from his fall were already healing almost as fast as they appeared. The deer tail, smaller and thicker than his normal, whip cord one, protested being squished the way it was. His ears twitched as they followed every noise Alastor made, the sensation odd.

Since this appeared it was going to take a moment, unless Alastor decided to go for his throat with his teeth again, he decided to try and relieve his poor tail to distract himself from the fact that it felt like there was a tongue digging into one of the still open wounds.

Alastor's own ears twitched as the shifting of Lucifer's hips caused the sound of clothes rustling to sound through the room like a shot. Lucifer was tempted to reach up and pet one, but that would have moved all of this into territory far too close to something intimate, which this very much wasn't, thank you very much.

When the pain finally disapaited, the lapping of that insidious tongue moving from stinging to something far too close to ticklish for comfort, Lucifer decided he'd had enough. "Alright, I think you've had enough."

He was far too proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake.

Much.

His fingers dug into red sleeves as he could feel Alastor's smile brush up against the base of his ear.

"And if I haven't satisfied my curiosity?"

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

"Nope, you're done." Lucifer bucked, shoving off the grinning asshole, who went with all the grace of someone who'd gotten thier cake and ate it, too. Lucifer sat up, glaring as Alastor looked barely rumbled while he knew he himself looked like a mess.

"There, you've gotten your taste. Agreement upheld." Lucifer pulled back up his shirt, wincing at how much blood had soaked into it.

"Hmm, perhaps." Alastor placed a finger to his lips, eyes half lidded.

Something about the way it was said raised Lucifer's hackles.

Alastor merely stared back, not adding anything to his comment.

Right. Okay. Whatever.

Lucifer stood slowly in an attempt to hide the way his legs trembled. Once he felt stable, he began putting his facade back together. Buttons all buttoned up. Blood vanished with a mere wave of his hand (to Alastor's obvious disappointment).

He was slipping on his coat when Alastor rose to his own feet. Lucifer felt it was massively unfair that all it took was some minor adjustments, and the Radio Demon looked as put together as normal.

(Almost, an insidious voice whispered in the back of Lucifer's mind. Look closer, and he could see the little ways in which Alastor was affected. The slight flush to his cheeks of a successful hunt. Unhinged smile replaced with something more peaceful. The satiated hint of hunger quenched for the first time since they'd met.

This way lays trouble.)

But Lucifer shook it off, just like he shook off the foreboding feeling of Alastor holding the Crown of Hell.

He was already in too deep.

He slipped his hat on, letting the deer attributes he'd donned finally disappear. "Well, see you around, I guess."

Alastor hummed in agreement. For his own sanity, Lucifer refused to read into it any deeper.

And if his portalling out of the room was straight up turning tail and running?

Well, it wasn't like it was the first time he'd done it that month.

Tbc

Part 4

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #deer lucifer fic #tw: blood #cw: blood #i have no idea what theyre doing at this point #im just the writer #know i said that before but its still true #theyll probably let me know what the hecks happening #right as im trying to sleep #like they did this time 🥲#oh god i just remembered i gave the user name to this blog to someone i know irl #whelp too late to turn back now 🙃

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