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agent-cupcake · 2 years

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Asteria

Pairing: Yuri Leclerc x f!reader

Synopsis: After moving to the big city and starting a new job working for the lawyer Aelfric Dahlman, you meet Yuri Leclerc. And then the dreams begin.

Warnings: explicit smut, dubcon (dream sex)

Tags: incubi, modern AU, more plot than porn, manipulation, naïve reader, some light drugging

Notes: @pastrycreams asked for Yuri with the prompt of "Dreams" and specified incubi and this fell out of my fingers. It's similar to Somnambulant with Linhardt but I tried to keep it from being same-y.

Please note that this is wildly inaccurate. Christian Louboutin does not make spiked Chelsea boots in white.

Word Count: 10.9k

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

The smooth voice startled you enough to let out a little squeak, falling out of your crouch beneath the desk where you had been, with middling success, trying to untangle the mess of wires. You hadn’t even heard someone come in. Sitting in an embarrassing splay on the cold tile, you looked at the speaker, scanning from a pair of shiny white spiked Chelsea boots with red soles and up to a set of eyeliner-winged eyes. Long-ish lavender hair tied in a tail, smiling pink lips, and well dressed in what you could only describe as fashionably androgynous, the man’s appearance in the context of a shiny professional law firm was nearly as surprising as the suddenness of his interruption.

“My apologies,” he said, offering you a hand and a warm grin and a distinct lack of contrition. “I had no intention of scaring you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you said hurriedly, accepting his hand to stand up with no small amount of hot-faced embarrassment. Despite all appearances, he lifted you up with ease, his grip firm and steady. Rather than releasing you right away, his touch lingered, fingertips trailing over your palm as he pulled away. Was that intentional? It made your stomach buzz with butterflies. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” he told you. “Maybe you can help me in return. I’m here to see Aelfric, is he in?”

“Yes, he is,” you said, caught off guard all over again. Flustered for entirely non-professional reasons and hoping desperately he couldn’t tell. You pressed the button on the phone to call Mr. Dahlman.

“You have a… visitor, sir,” you said, stammering upon the realization that you hadn’t asked for a name.

“I’ll be right out,” he replied over the speaker.

“I’m really sorry,” you told said visitor. “I didn’t know Mr. Dahlman had any appointments this afternoon.”

“He doesn’t, that’s precisely why I’m here,” he said, giving no further explanation.

You frowned, unsure how to interpret that. “I… see.”

“I’m Yuri, by the way,” he told you, brushing past your confusion with ease. “You’re Aelfric’s new receptionist, yeah?” His eyes slowly gave you a very obvious once over, not so lecherous as it was admiring. Or maybe those two things were a little less defined with people as pretty as him. “I suppose that means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He smirked. “Look forward to it.”

“Yuri,” Mr. Dahlman said, coming out of his office just in time to graciously save you from having to answer. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Well I wouldn’t want you to get bored,” Yuri said, smiling at Mr. Dahlman with a friendly familiarity. “You didn’t tell me you were looking for a new receptionist.”

“Yes, it was rather short notice.” Mr. Dahlman looked at you. “Mr. Leclerc is a close associate of mine… Yuri, shall we speak in my office? I'm sure she's still busy getting settled in.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Dahlman,” you readily told him. “If there’s anything you need, please let me know. You as well, Mr. Leclerc.”

“Someone’s eager. You’re new to the city, aren’t you,” Yuri said knowingly, a little dryly.

You blinked at him in surprise, looking at Mr. Dahlman and back again before smiling abashedly. “How did you guess?”

“Stick around a while,” Yuri told you. “I’m sure you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

“Um, alright,” you said, nodding because that seemed to be the right response. It made Yuri smile. There was a mirth dancing in his eyes that seemed distinctly amused, even interested.

The two men disappeared back into Mr. Dahlman’s office and you sat down, attempting to turn the computer on only to remember what you had been doing in the first place. Back onto the floor you went, more aware now of how ridiculous you probably looked and hyper aware of the sound of a door opening. Luckily, you avoided further embarrassment and were back in your seat by the time Yuri left Mr. Dahlman’s office.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Leclerc,” you told him with a professional smile. Yuri paused, evaluating you with his head titled slightly.

“You too,” he told you. “And if you have any problems here, be sure to let me know. I’ve got some experience living in the city.”

“Oh. Um, thank you very much, Mr. Leclerc,” you said, hoping your surprise didn’t taint the sincerity of your gratitude. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Yuri said with a warm smile. “I’ve got a feeling you and I are going to get along just fine.”

Again with the butterflies, juvenile as they were. “I hope so, Mr. Leclerc,” you told him.

“Have a good night,” he said. “I don’t doubt we’ll see each other again soon.”

The dusky sky outside the windows behind his desk dyed Mr. Dahlman’s office in rich oranges and yellows, reflecting off of the picturesque skyline view as you stepped into his open doorway. People warned you of the city before you moved here, and you understood why, but sometimes the sights were just so heart-achingly beautiful you couldn’t help but love it.

“Is there anything else you need before I go?” you asked Mr. Dahlman.

“Oh, no,” he said, looking up from whatever he was working on with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. But you didn’t leave right away, chewing on your lip as you considered if it would be okay to ask. Surely there were taboos about what you could speak to your employer about regarding his work, but it wasn’t as if Mr. Dahlman was just your boss. You knew him through the Church, he was an active member and close friend of your local priest. Since you had experience working as a secretary, he agreed to an interview. Everything after that was, as you liked to think of it, a gift from the goddess.

“Is there something else?” Mr. Dahlman asked. You hesitated, knowing that you had been far too obvious lingering in his doorway yet embarrassed to be called out on it.

“That man from earlier, Mr. Leclerc,” you ventured. “He’s not a client?”

“No,” Mr. Dahlman said. “I retain Yuri’s services. I apologize for not warning you beforehand, he has a habit of coming in unannounced.”

“He does this often?” you asked.

“You must forgive his eccentricities,” Mr. Dahlman said. “Yuri is a skilled professional and, if you will forgive my honesty, a personal friend.” His tone was strange. Tense, putting special emphasis on each word to impart his meaning.

“Oh, I-I wasn’t upset or anything,” you quickly told him. “And I didn’t mean to sound rude, I was just curious. I’m sorry to have pried.”

“The goddess would hardly condemn curiosity, and neither will I,” Mr. Dahlman told you warmly, easing your concerns. “I assure you that Yuri is worthy of your trust.”

That assurance made your shoulders relax, letting go of the tension you had barely been aware of. If Mr. Dahlman said someone was trustworthy, you could believe that wholeheartedly. “That’s good then,” you said. “Thank you. Have a good night, Mr. Dahlman.”

“You too,” he said. “Do try to get a full night’s rest, I shudder to think of what your mother would say if you returned ragged and overworked.”

That made you smile as you left.

“Who are you?” you asked, sitting up to get a better look at the figure standing in front of your window. They were indistinct with shadow, outlined in the bluish light from outside. Seeing a stranger in your room didn’t frighten you. Dream logic made the situation entirely normal, natural.

A dream. You couldn’t define how you knew it was, but you did.

“Your room is cute,” the figure said, speaking in a distinctly masculine voice. He turned around. Faintly, you could see his face, the little smile he wore as he considered you. A part of your mind, fanciful and floating, wondered if he was an angel. A spirit sent by the goddess herself. “I didn’t expect you to be an artist, although I can’t say I’m surprised by your faith. It’s not something I mind, but…” He paused, sighing as he approached your bed. “Hiring a sweet, innocent little airhead to be his secretary just to tempt me into continuing to play along was low. He acted as if he has no idea, it was nearly enough to make me reconsider taking the bait. But then again…”

“Wait,” you said, frowning as you tried to make sense of his words. Confused more than anything. Dazed, sluggish in both thought and movement.

“What am I waiting for?” he asked, his voice low and eyes half lidded. With each slow, measured step he’d gotten even closer.

“I don’t know,” you said, frowning. If this was a dream, and you could only surmise that it was, it was the most vivid dream you’d ever had. “We’ve met before?”

“Very good,” he said sarcastically, kneeling on your bed and easily pulling away your blanket. The air wasn’t cold, but goosebumps covered your bare legs. “I don’t suppose you remember my name?”

In the dim light, his hair was darker, but his purple eyes were luminous as they scanned your body, his skin practically glowing with the subtle shine of a star. A ghost, a vision of beauty.

“Mr. Leclerc?" you guessed.

That made him laugh, looking at your face with a smile not all too dissimilar from the one you had seen in the waking world. Yuri Leclerc. The odd, beautiful man with the nice clothes and butterfly inducing smirk. Not an angel at all, then.

“Is that really what you want to call me now?” he asked, leaning in closer, his fingertips trailing up your neck to nudge your chin a little higher. Your breathing was out of control and unsteady, the only part of your body that seemed to be moving in real time and not in the sluggish trance.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. Instead, Yuri entwined his fingers between your own, pinning your hand against the headboard as he crawled fully onto your bed, hovering above you. “Wait,” you protested again, but you weren’t really fighting.

“Why?” Yuri asked, his face so close to your own you could feel the brushing air of that word. You expected him to kiss you, but he didn’t, his lips trailing across your cheek instead. “It’s your dream.”

Did that mean it was okay? You squirmed, all too aware of the weight of his body against your own. It felt real. He felt real.

“It’s… wrong,” you muttered, although there wasn’t much conviction in your voice.

“Do you really think so? I think it’s only natural to dream of what we desire,” Yuri told you. His voice lowered a bit, his eyes hypnotically fixated on your own. “It’s okay to be honest with yourself. The goddess will forgive you for what you can’t control.”

Those words buzzed sweetly in your head, filling you with a floaty sort of warmth. It was okay, that made sense. Just a dream. You used to dream often about all sorts of things, it wasn’t your fault.

“There is something you want, right?” he prompted. You hesitated for a long moment before nodding, a barely perceptible bob of your head. What you wanted. Your eyes dropped down to his mouth, hovering so close to your own, but you couldn’t just ask, the words weren’t there. “A kiss?” Yuri guessed. Your sharp intake of breath was enough of a response for him to smile. “Just a kiss?” he pushed, teasing now.

You squirmed nervously, utterly aware of his proximity and unable to meet his eyes. “What else?” you finally asked, your voice quiet.

He hesitated, and then laughed, pressing his face against yours so you could feel his smile. “You are so very lucky that I’m patient. But you’re right. There’s no need to rush this.”

And then he kissed you.

You had just gotten home from work when your mother called, barely a step past the threshold when you heard the ringtone you’d assigned for her contact.

“Hey mom!” you greeted her on the third ring, toeing off your shoes and dropping your stuff in the entryway. Which was also the living room and kitchen. City living was cramped beyond reason, although you thought your apartment was charming. “Perfect timing, I literally just walked in the door.”

“Oh, that's good! I wasn't sure if it was a bad time, but I called to see how you’re doing,” she told you. Hearing her voice was more than enough to make you desperately homesick, but you pushed that emotion down. “Have you been settling in alright?”

“I am,” you told her.

“Everything’s good at work?”

“Yes, Mr. Dahlman is a great boss,” you responded, dropping sideways onto the little couch you’d managed to fit into the living space. “I’m learning all sorts of things already.”

“And your art?”

“Still working on it, when I have time,” you told her. “I probably won’t have anything ready to submit for a while, but… I love being here, there’s so much to do and see and… But I miss you guys a lot.”

“We miss you too,” she said. Conversation went on from there. She told you about your dad, and about the various goings-on of the small town you had moved out of, and you told her stories of the craziness of city life.

“Have you met any friends?” she asked eventually, an innocent question all things considered. But it gave you pause. Of all things, guilt dropped into your stomach at the idea of meeting someone. It was as instinctual as it was confusing, you hadn’t done anything, had you?

“Uhm—no,” you finally responded. Nerves danced uncertainty within you, causing your eyes to flick from shadow to shadow in search of something you knew wasn’t there.

“Are you okay?” she asked. You blinked a few times, shaking your head at the odd reaction.

“Yeah, just really tired, I think,” you said. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.” Trying to play it off, you laughed a little, although thinking about the night before didn’t help much with the feeling. “Anyway, The people in the congregation are really nice, but most of them are older. You know how it is, I’m sure I’ll meet lots of new people when I start classes.”

Before long, both of you had to leave to figure out the dinner situation. She scolded you about eating too many frozen meals, and you assured her that you wouldn’t be. Boxed macaroni and cheese was completely different.

But that incomprehensible sense of shame returned in full force as you got ready for bed. Focusing too hard on the thought made it scitter away, but you were certain you had dreamed about someone in particular. That didn’t help with the shame, even if it was ridiculous. Obviously you had never entertained a man in your home, let alone in your bedroom. Intimacy was one of those things you expected would come later in life, as a result of being in love, with somebody you cared deeply about. These odd flashes of memory were akin to the strange dreams you had as a child, the nightmares you cried to your parents about.

Not real.

Every time Yuri touched you, your entire body jerked. No matter how lightly his fingertips grazed your skin, how gently he traced little circles over the drenched fabric of your panties, you jolted and strained against your restraints. Whatever bound your arms above your head—in a dream, it didn’t matter, it was merely a part of the set, a part of the hazy unreality—kept you from intervening in his slow torture. And that’s what this was, what it had to be. Torturous.

“Yuri,” you got out, trying to breathe, trying to find purchase in a world crumbling around you, hazy in the overbearing heat of lust. “Please…”

“What’s the matter?” he asked, utterly innocent as his fingers dragged across your clothed slit, pressing the fabric against the oversensitive flesh a little harder. “I’m taking it slow, just like you wanted.”

Vaguely, you knew that was what you had said. To take it slow, to leave your clothes on, to keep from falling truly into the depravity your brain seemed to be reveling in. Was that really what you wanted? At this point, you couldn’t tell. More of this would be your undoing, but if he stopped, your need would burn you from the inside out.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he teased, his hands flattening out across your inner thighs to spread them wider. The way his elegant fingers indented the soft flesh stoked the artist side of you, although that only fed the lust.

“I don’t know,” you said, practically whining with distress.

“There are people who would kill to get an offer like that from me,” Yuri told you, his head tilting to expose his perfectly pale neck. That was all you could see, considering he was still dressed. Even that tiny amount of skin was enough to believe him, to believe that people would kill for this. “But that’s part of why I like you. All buttoned up and proper, oh-so sheltered. Even in a dream, you can’t bring yourself to admit what you want. Of course, I wouldn’t mind a bit more…”

You practically spasmed when he touched your clit, using the extra friction of the fabric to make you shudder, your legs trying to close.

“No?” Yuri asked, forcing your thighs to spread once again. “That’s fine… For now.” He pushed one arm beneath your hips and lowered himself between your legs, ensuring you were watching. You strained once more against the restraints, back arching, muscles so tense you felt close to breaking, but you couldn’t look away as his head dropped. His mouth was warm and wet and you could almost imagine what it would be like without the barrier of your panties in the way. His tongue wetted the fabric further as it traced your clit, refusing to give you pressure where you most needed it.

Yuri just laughed when you tried to grind against his face, pulling away and letting your hips drop back down to the bed. You exhaled heavily, almost like a sob if it weren’t so airy.

“Say the word,” he told you as he sat up, meeting your eyes again. “And I’ll give you exactly what you want.” He hesitated, shrugging one shoulder. “Or, at the very least, I’ll think about it.”

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “But this is… It’s my dream, so why…?”

“You’re right,” Yuri agreed, crawling forward until his face was right in front of your own. His eyes were so clear, so perfectly intense, that you felt right then that this couldn’t possibly be a dream. “You have a filthy mind, you know that?”

“He’ll be with you in a minute,” you said, trying to sound professional.

“No problem, I don’t mind waiting,” Yuri Leclerc said with a charming smile, leaning against your desk instead of sitting in one of the comfortable leather chairs to wait. That didn’t make your predicament any easier because the longer he hung around, the more convinced you were that your sinking suspicions were right.

You were going to scramble your brains to be jarred like the Egyptians did to their Pharaohs. You were going to personally reintroduce the lobotomy to the medical world. You were going to never sleep again if it meant you could wipe away the memory you had of Yuri Leclerc in your dreams. Yuri Leclerc, a man you had met once, kissing you, touching you.

How many times? You could only remember little moments, the fleeting gossamer of dream difficult to pin down in any meaningful way. It had been a few days since your first meeting, but you knew you’d been sleeping rather poorly ever since.

“Do you want something to drink?” you asked, doing your best to act innocent, to push those thoughts down as far as you could manage. “We have Coke. I think there’s also juice. And water, of course.”

“Not right now,” Yuri told you. “Although if the offer’s still on the table later tonight, I’d happily take you up on it. Assuming the drink comes with the pleasure of your company.”

You laughed nervously, trying to be a good sport and not think about how striking his silky black shirt looked against his ivory skin. “Well, we close at six usually, so it can’t be too late.”

His eyes narrowed. No eyeshadow today, although he didn’t exactly need it to make the color of his eyes pop. “Do you work at being adorably clueless, or does it come naturally?” he asked, deadpan.

It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about, especially when your brain shorted out at having been called adorable. “Oh, I…”

“Naturally then,” he said. Seeing your nervous expression, he softened. “Don’t get so worked up, I’m just teasing.”

“Right. Yeah, I know, I’m just-”

“Yuri,” Mr. Dahlman called in greeting, cutting you off.

Yuri looked at you. “Think about that drink, yeah? I’d love to get to know you a little better.”

Usually you left Church services feeling rejuvenated, but the week’s sermon about sin had left you feeling heavy and tired.

Sin wasn’t something you had ever seriously considered. It was natural, of course. Mankind sinned. The goddess knew that, which was why she was a forgiving force. But internal sin, the kind that was determined not by action but by thought, had never seemed as important to you as the sin of deeds or speech. Everyone had ugly thoughts that weren’t representative of them as a person, things that they would never say or act upon. The things you thought about Yuri weren’t exactly ugly, and you could accept that it was normal to be attracted to a man who seemed crafted to invite attraction on both an artistic and intimate level, but you knew it was a sin. A grave, vile sin.

When your mom called that afternoon, the last thing you wanted to do was talk, but you didn’t want to worry her either. Most of it went fine. Talking about home and the city, leaving out a few key details.

“Are you doing okay, hon?” she asked, her concern obvious even over the phone. You realized you’d been a little spaced out, looking with a sickened sense of horror at the pages of your most recent sketches. A dream given life. Far too much life.

“No, things are going really well!” you told her, shutting the notebook and trying to sound positive.

“And with your art?” she asked. “You haven’t mentioned that.”

Of course you hadn’t mentioned that you’d been obsessively rendering the same lovely face to paper and canvas, the same pair of royal eyes, the same smirking lips.

“I’ve been too busy,” you told her. “Since there’s so much construction, there are a lot of dispute cases. But Mr. Dahlman said it’ll be over before classes start, so it’s fine.”

“Do you want to be punished?” Yuri asked, obviously making fun of you. He kept distracting you from what he was saying, his fingers lazily toying with your clit. Panties off this time, although you couldn’t recall when that happened. The sensation of direct touch shot hot, blinding need through you. Even the smallest nudge was nearly more than you could bear, worse because he acted so indifferent. “For this supposed sin, I mean. Or maybe you think you deserve it. Should desire be met with condemnation? Even if you’re not hurting anybody? Even if it results in pleasure for both parties involved?”

Paying attention was difficult when you were so hyper focused on the hand between your legs, but you knew that you needed to because Yuri got testy when he had to repeat himself. For all that you ever thought about taking things slow, or not allowing them at all, you very badly did not want him to stop.

“But it… it doesn’t,” you finally told him, gathering together enough of a thought to speak somewhat clearly. “You’re not real.”

Even though you said that, the pleasure certainly felt real. He smelled real, sweet and fresh. Yuri had taken off his shirt at some point. He was as perfect as you imagined, surprisingly muscular considering his slighter frame. Scars littered his body, old but stark against his soft, pale skin. Beautiful, so lovely that you knew you’d never properly capture it on paper. Above all else, his body was solid, comfortably warm against your own, his hair silken and soft between your fingers.

“Oh, you’re going to hurt my feelings, saying things like that,” Yuri told you, feigning a pout. His hand pulled away, but you didn’t have time to mourn its absence as he pushed you onto your back, splayed beneath him like so many times before. The ceiling glittered with stars. No longer your room, then. You yelped in confusion at the shift, squirming, but he easily kept you pinned. Watching your face intently, his fingers finally pushed past the fluttering muscles of your entrance.

You had tested it a few times while awake, only to be met with disappointment at how poor of a replacement your own hand was for his. When Yuri curled his fingers against your inner walls, your entire self reacted, drawing up taut and your mouth falling open in a moan. Physical sensation, psychological arousal, physiological pleasure, he electrified your entire being so easily, so casually.

“Yuri…” you gasped, clawing at the sheets as he pulled his fingers out, thrusting them into you deeper, a little more roughly. Your pussy squeezed his fingers desperately, your body chasing pleasure independently of you.

“You never did answer my question,” Yuri said, his voice lower but otherwise unaffected. Always so aloof, so detached. God like, almost.

All you had as an answer was a moan, low and filthy and needy. You didn’t want to think, you just wanted him to never stop, to enjoy this dream always, to have him always.

“Do you,” Yuri asked, his fingers pumping into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “think you deserve to be punished?”

You swallowed hard, your head pushing back into the pillows and body straining. Whenever you dared to peek at him, the unfairness of it all was alarming. Here you were in a state of sweaty disarray, bared before him, and Yuri looked so casual, so poised. You groaned in frustration, whimpered when he responded with a harsher thrust.

“I don’t know,” you told him.

“There’s something about you that makes me think you’d enjoy a bit of pain, you know? Whips, chains, that sort of thing. Of course, I would never stoop to such medieval methods,” Yuri said, setting a faster, harder pace. He didn’t usually go too far, unraveling you little by little until pushing you over the edge, but this was different. Yuri seemed entirely focused on getting you off, on overwhelming you with friction, with pleasure. “Something to consider, at least.”

You shook your head, back arching. When his other hand descended to play with your clit, the influx of sensation was nearly enough to confuse you, to delay the breaking point out of something like confusion.

“Yuri, I can’t, I’m—”

“Go ahead, then,” he told you warmly, almost mockingly. “Come for me.”

Your entire body seized up, responding to his words as if they were a command. Maybe they were, Yuri could certainly pass for a kind, generous king, touching you and giving you pleasure as he saw fit. Or an angel, like you first assumed. Or a god, as he so often looked above you.

You gasped, opening your eyes, desperately trying to chase that snapped thread of pleasure, of warmth, only to realize that your room was bright with early morning sunshine. Sweaty and tangled up in your sheets, you were still fully dressed and very, very alone. Need pulsed angrily between your legs, demanding satisfaction in full, but you didn’t dare feed into it. Even as the dream faded, its contents covered with the gauze of unconsciousness, you knew that it had been wrong.

Being left wet and wanting wasn’t the worst thing. Even the sinking, sickening idea that you could dream about things you’d never previously considered before now wasn’t as bad as the loneliness. You hadn’t thought you were lonely before, you hadn’t considered that you would want to have a partner at this point in your life. But now you knew what it was to be without, and it was miserable.

The sound of Mr. Dahlman’s office door opening and closing startled you into hastily shutting the notebook you’d been doodling in, realizing with a jolt of panic that you had been drawing the same familiar shapes and figures.

“Did it go well?” you asked Yuri as he came around to the front.

“It always does,” he responded with that heart-achingly handsome smile. “What about you? Don’t you get bored sitting in here all day?”

“Maybe a little,” you told him. “But it’s a good job.”

“Is it? Heh, well, one day, I’ll get you out of this stuffy office,” Yuri said playfully as he pulled his coat on. Fur, probably not real. Most likely designer, if the other brands you’d seem him flaunt were anything to go by. On most people, it would have looked gaudy, but Yuri wore it effortlessly. “Aelfric can’t keep you in here chained to this desk forever.”

“I’m not chained to anything,” you said, your stomach sinking because something about that word felt uncomfortably familiar.

“Haha,” Yuri said dryly, although he hadn’t stopped smiling. Would he still smile at you if he knew the images your brain conjured of him? The unspeakable things your fevered brain had imagined him doing? “You know what I mean.”

“Maybe, but it’s not like I’m unhappy here,” you said. All that could possibly hope to rival the shame and disgust weighing down your heart like lead was the desire. That was the worst of all. You weren’t sure which was worse, the idea of him accepting your advances or rejecting them. Either way would land you in the same awful, sinful spot, give or take some humiliation.

“We’ll see about that.”

Your stomach clenched, your eyes turning down to avoid his because you swore you could combust if you had to look at that mischievous grin. “Have a nice day, Mr. Leclerc.”

You could sense his frown, even if you didn't see it. “You too.”

It had been a slow day. Mr. Dahlman was out most of it, always running errands here and there. Things weren’t necessarily slowing down in general, but time had an awful tendency to drag on and on at a snails pace when you were in the office alone.

If anything, a man entering the office unannounced with a welcome distraction. At first.

“Can I help you, sir?” you asked. He was not someone you recognized, but that wasn’t alarming in and of itself. What did give you pause was the way he marched through the sleek glass door with a furrowed brow and a vein popping in his shiny forehead. Despite that look of rage, his appearance suggested a professional of some kind, wearing a nice suit with his hair slicked back. You got to your feet when you realized he intended to walk right past your desk, heart fluttering at his thunderous expression. “Sir? Can I help you?”

“Is he here?” he asked, looking past you at Mr. Dahlman’s office.

“No, Mr. Dahlman’s not in right now,” you said. “May I take a message?”

The man exhaled heavily, practically exhaling steam through his nostrils. Tense seconds ticked by, they felt like hours. Eventually, he leveled his glare at you.

“Yeah, tell that bastard he’ll get his fuckin’ money, but he’s going to have to wait for it.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I can’t give him what I haven’t got.” He leveled a single, ringed finger at you. “But if he releases it, he’ll get jack shit. You’ll tell him that?”

“I will,” you agreed quickly, nodding fast to appease him. The man huffed a few more times, looking at Mr. Dahlman’s office, before turning on his heel and leaving. You didn’t sit back down for some time, only realizing long after the fact that you should have called building security.

That’s exactly what Mr. Dahlman told you as well, although he seemed almost entirely unphased by your censored version of the man’s message. He carried on normally throughout your stilted recounting, eventually sitting at his desk and looking at you over folded hands.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” he told you with a sympathetic frown. He didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t inquire about the man’s appearance or offer any explanation. That felt wrong, somehow. His lack of reaction felt wrong.

“It’s okay,” you told him, trying to believe him. “But… what happened? What was he talking about?”

“It is unfortunate,” Mr. Dahlman said. “But, ultimately, unavoidable in my line of work that I should upset people.”

“But you’re not a criminal defense lawyer or anything,” you said. “I didn’t think people would get so angry.”

“People are quick to anger whenever large sums of money are involved,” Mr. Dahlman told you seriously.

You stared into his comforting eyes for a long moment before you nodded, accepting his explanation as fact. Being on edge was normal after experiencing something so uncomfortable, but Mr. Dahlman had never given you reason to doubt him.

It occurred to you later that part of the nervous energy fizzling out your fingertips and making your mind race was because you wanted to tell someone about it, to talk to them, only to realize that there was no one. Nobody. You could tell your mom, but you didn’t want to worry her. Classes wouldn’t start for another few weeks, so you had no friends. Being so busy with work and living in a new place had left you painfully, abysmally isolated.

There was only one person in the city you knew. Well, two, if you were willing to count your dream-conjured apparition. But going down that road was worse than the idea of talking to your family, and far more dangerous.

“Sorry, I’m a bit… Out of sorts,” you said, ruffling through pages to figure out where you’d written down details of Mr. Dahlman’s schedule.

“Have you been sleeping poorly?” Yuri asked. And it was a natural question, clearly without any ulterior motive, but you could physically feel blood drain away from your face with the blinding force of panic. “I know that I don’t sleep very well in the city,” he continued, ignorant of your reaction. “It’s never quiet. Not to mention the light pollution.” He paused, looking at you. “Where did you say you’re from?”

Swallowing hard against a suddenly dry throat, you tried to compose yourself, finding the page you had been looking for and copying down the information with a shaky hand. “I don’t think I did, but I lived upstate. My family owns a ranch about an hour outside of Gideon.”

“You’re kidding,” Yuri said a smile in his voice. When you looked up at him with a frown, slightly confused and embarrassed for reasons you didn’t understand, he began laughing.

“What?” you asked, far too defensive.

“A plucky young woman escapes her small town family’s ranch to pursue her artistic dreams in the city,” he summarized. “It sounds like the plot of a bad movie.”

You deliberated for a moment whether or not that should have upset you before decided that it didn’t. He wasn’t entirely wrong, either. “Okay, maybe it does,” you conceded, smiling sheepishly. “But if I’m the main character, what are you?”

“I’m far too beautiful to be anything other than a villain,” Yuri said, his head tossing back dramatically.

That made you laugh, impressed by his confidence more than anything. Well, maybe a bit more than impressed, but you ignored that feeling. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Not yet,” he allowed. “Setting that all aside, I’m sure you had an excellent view of the stars growing up there." He sighed. "I think that’s what I miss the most.”

“You’re not from here?”

“No,” Yuri said. “Believe it or not, I am a man of humble beginnings. From a place far, far away in a time long, long ago. But that’s a story for another time, I think.”

“If you wanted to tell me, maybe we could finally go get that drink? Tonight? I’m off in a few,” you said, trying desperately to not sound so pathetically hopeful because that was way too embarrassing. But you were desperate. And you were pathetic.

Yuri looked at you and, for the first time, you got the sense of a mask falling. What laid beneath was dark, and intimidating. He replaced it quickly, smiling. Slightly too sharp to be friendly, not lending any amusement to his eyes. “Sorry, I’m busy tonight. My time is in high demand.”

You nodded, hating the way disappointment and embarrassment swelled up in your chest. Hating the fact that he would make something up rather than just be honest. “Ah, that’s fine. Have a good night, Mr. Leclerc.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Maybe it was just an expression of stress, of growing discomfort, through your subconscious. Maybe you had reached your wits end of pretending the threat of torment was enough to keep you from wanting more. Sin or no sin. Then again, overthinking dreams was the surest path to madness. That’s what your mom used to tell you.

“The worst part is knowing that this is on purpose,” Yuri said, flipping you onto your stomach. You yelped, but Yuri seemed disinterested in your reaction, continuing to mutter to himself. He pushed your legs apart, planting his between. “He all but gift wrapped you for me and you don’t even know it. Like a little lamb, you can’t even conceptualize the danger you’re in.”

“Yuri…” you said, confused. More than a little aroused by the suggestive position.

He let out a heavy breath, his arms winding around you from behind so he could palm your breasts, grinding against your ass. Being held like this was different from anything else he'd done, intensely physical because he was hard. You could feel Yuri's yearning, his desire. “I know what you want,” he muttered, amused again. The shift in tone was unnatural, but you followed along because you far preferred teasing and lustful to dark and annoyed. “I guess I want it too. Just a little.”

“I just want you,” you whispered, shuddering when Yuri kissed your neck. So sweet in comparison to his teasing hands as they pinched your nipples, leaving you tense and wanting. “Please…”

“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” Yuri allowed, pushing you down into the pillows. There was no coherency between moments, only that both of you were ready and when he finally—finally, finally—lined up his cock with your entrance, you felt everything else fall away. It might as well have never existed in the first place.

Yuri took it slow, a result of his control and not your own. As soon as you felt the head of his cock press shallowly into your pussy, you realized with a red hot flare that you wanted more. All of it, all of him. He hissed out through his teeth as he slowly sank deeper, making you realize that you hadn’t been breathing the entire time. You didn’t until he was fully inside of you, your inner walls fluttering and squeezing in an attempt to adjust.

“Do you still think I’m not real?” Yuri asked, pulling out just as slowly. You couldn’t articulate words, you couldn’t do much more than gasp, scrambling at the sheets as your brain shorted out with pleasure. The pressure was strange, but it was also right. Like you were meant for this, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yuri,” you sighed, moaning when he thrust back in. “I want to—” You wanted to see him, to hold him, to make this moment special because surely it was. How could something like this not be special? Groundbreaking, revolutionary. Feeling him inside of you was the most complete you’d ever felt, you felt very certain that was a fact.

“Oh no you don’t,” Yuri said, grabbing your hips to pull you back down when you tried to twist around, keeping you in place beneath him. You whined, reduced down to a shuddering mess at how deep he went with each thrust, how hyper sensitized your cunt was to the drag of his cock.

“I want to… to kiss you,” you said, admitting it aloud for the first time. Yuri just groaned, his fingernails digging into your hips as he pulled out slowly only to pull you back down. You could feel the way your pussy tightened around him as he did it again, your inner walls squeezing as if trying to suck him deeper, to keep him from pulling out.

“It’s a nightmare, isn’t it?” Yuri asked, punctuating the softly spoken question with a hard thrust. The sound of skin slapping together was almost as filthy as the moan you let out in response. “To get what you want but not how you want it.” He laughed, although the sound quickly devolved into a groan. "I guess that makes you my nightmare."

You shouldn’t have opened the document, you knew it wasn’t meant for your eyes. It wasn’t like you understood it, either. Nor did you care. A list of names with attached numbers. Referencial material that wasn’t included. You didn’t care, you really didn’t. You weren’t the nosy type. But the numbers were so high. Money. Huge sums of money.

Out of curiosity, you looked up one of the names, wondering if it had something to do with Mr. Dahlman’s practice. It wasn’t as if you handled most of the actual monetary transactions. But the person was a politician, it made no sense that he’d have anything to do with Mr. Dahlman’s firm.

Something wasn’t right. You knew that in your gut. Something wasn’t right, and all you could think of was the man storming in and insisting that he would pay.

Hands shaking, you deleted the document. It wasn’t meant for you anyway.

Another busy day. You were returning to your desk with a caffeinated soda—the thing that passed for lunch—when you saw the glass door open with a whoosh, revealing a familiar face.

“For you, m’lady,” Yuri said, placing a bouquet of roses on your desk. Their beautiful, vibrant red matched his shirt, pairing beautifully with the hair he’d left loose to drape over his shoulders. Considering the uncomfortable way he’d left the last time you saw him, you had no idea how to respond to the display.

“Mr. Leclerc,” you said. “Um… You shouldn’t have.”

He laughed. “I didn’t. I passed a delivery man on the way up and thought I’d spare him the walk.”

“Oh, right,” you said, flushing at the misunderstanding. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dahlman is out at lunch.”

“Is he?” Yuri asked, although he didn’t look particularly surprised. “Guess I’ll have to come back later.”

“If you wanted, I could take a message?”

“And deprive me the pleasure of seeing you again?” he asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. You had no idea what to say to that, looking at him with a stupid expression as you tried to interpret some meaning other than a flirtatious one. Yuri smiled. “That said, it seems like I’ve got some competition.” He gestured to the flowers. “A secret admirer, perhaps?”

You walked over to look at the attached note, knowing that he was wrong yet embarrassed that he'd say it.

“Whoever he is, he must be in love with you.” There was a sharpness to the words, a meanness. “Why is it always roses, I wonder? They’re the flower of the unimaginative.”

“I like roses,” you said, reading the attached card with a growing smile, your heart swelling with affection. “My mom sent them to cheer me up. Here-” You grabbed a rose from the bunch, intending to give it to Yuri, only to realize the thorns hadn’t been trimmed. “Ouch!” you exclaimed, dropping it onto the floor on instinct.

“Careful,” Yuri said, approaching you, trampling the flower beneath his expensive shoe without any concern, grinding it into the clean white tile. “You’re bleeding—let me see.”

You didn’t have time to draw away before he took your hand to admire the way blood formed little beads on your skin—the same color as the flowers that caused it. Although the slender hand holding your wrist wasn’t violent, it was steel nonetheless, keeping you from withdrawing your arm. As if it were perfectly natural, he licked up the blood from your fingers. Then he peeked up at you with his head bowed, violet eyes scorching beneath his thick eyelashes, and you couldn’t move. Enthralled by his eyes, by the tingling memory of his mouth, by the the intoxicatingly good scent of his cologne.

“Beautiful things are often dangerous,” he said softly, his voice low. “I would think you’d have learned that by now.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said softly, staring at him with equal parts fear and attraction. How could you not? Every single feature of Yuri’s seemed design to draw you in, to enthrall and enamor. Even with discomfort squeezing your heart like a vice, you couldn’t help it.

He let your hand drop to grip your chin instead, lips that had just been smeared with your blood meeting your own, as soft as the petals of the rose he’d crushed underfoot. You squeaked in surprise, but your body relented to his without question. At this point, Yuri was familiar. The kiss filled you with this electric sort of heat, with a raging inferno of desire. Every dream you’d had about him drew to a crescendo, night after night of unfulfilled lust raging to the forefront.

But not real Yuri, not in the workplace, not like this.

“You don’t think I’m dangerous?” Yuri asked, spinning you around to push you onto your desk. With a little effort, he got you to spread your legs enough for him to wedge his hips between, your skirt riding up dangerously high. You barely thought to struggle, holding onto his shoulders so you didn’t fall. “Do you ever worry that my generosity will run out and I’ll demand some form of recompense for my patience? I’ve done everything I could to protect you so far, but even I have a limit.”

“Yuri?” you asked, your voice breathy and confused.

“But not yet,” Yuri said, his hand traveling from your waist and over your thigh, his fingers squeezing the flesh in a nearly possessive way.

“I don’t-”

Faint footsteps echoed down the hall, the telltale sound of someone approaching. Blind panic filled you at the idea of someone walking in on this. Whatever this was, you could only imagine how it would look.

But you looked as the doors open with your heart racing in fear and a crease on your cheek from the edge of your appointment book that you had been using as a pillow on your desk, your back sore from the position. Sleeping. You had fallen asleep on your desk.

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Dahlman said with a smile.

“Yes, good… Good afternoon,” you said, wiping at your mouth and smoothing your hair with the fear fading as you realized it had just been a dream.

“Did someone send you roses?” he asked. You looked at the bouquet, shock striking through you coldly. It had been Yuri who brought those to the office, but that had been a dream. Hadn't it?

“Yeah, my… my mom,” you said, checking the note to make sure. To cheer you up, the note said, just as it had in the dream.

“That was kind of her,” Mr. Dahlman said, circling your desk to go to his office.

“It… It was.”

Mr. Dahlman paused, hanging in the doorway to his office and looking at you with a surprisingly severe expression. “You didn’t happen to receive an email earlier, did you? It would have been blank with an attached document. Do you recall anything like that?”

Your heart sunk, a fresh type of fear and anxiety filling you for reasons you didn’t want to think about. “I didn’t,” you lied. “But I could check my spam folder-”

“No,” Mr. Dahlman said, smiling warmly. “It’s not important. Please let me know when my three o’clock arrives.”

“Ye-yes, of course, Mr. Dahlman.”

Despite the lack of dreams, you were more tired than ever. Frayed and sad and lonely. Those were the excuses you clung to, but you knew you shouldn’t have been listening to a private conversation of Mr. Dahlman’s. He hadn’t properly hung up his office phone and you were just so curious. It wasn’t like you had anything else to occupy you. Another excuse.

But it was wrong. What he was doing was wrong and bad and illegal and maybe you were an airhead and maybe you were a fool but Mr. Dahlman was supposed to be a good man. A man of Seiros, of the goddess.

“You were listening, were you not?” Mr. Dahlman asked, staring at you from behind his desk, his eyes just as warm and gentle as ever. Your stomach twisted, a dizzy sensation in your head.

“That was blackmail,” you said. “You’re blackmailing people, that’s what was on the document.”

“I thought you were lying about that, although it hardly matters. You should be careful of making such accusations,” Mr. Dahlman warned lightly. “They could land you in a great deal of trouble.”

“But you’re…” you sputtered, barely recognizing the insult. “You can’t do this, it’s… it’s wrong, an-and illegal.”

“Please, calm down,” Mr. Dahlman told you. “And keep in mind the non-disclosure agreement you signed when you started work here. I fear there would be grave consequences were to you to begin spreading falsehoods about me and my work, least of all with the Church that helped to support you.”

Grave consequences. You stared at him with wide, wet eyes, terror working its steady, brutal rush through your veins. Mr. Dahlman stood up to approach you. Instead of moving, you just watched as if in slow motion as he put a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t move, you barely dared to breathe.

“For your own sake, I ask that you consider what you intend to do next very carefully. Take tomorrow to think about your future. Should you do the right thing, I’ll see you on Monday,” he told you gently. His hand tightened. Not painfully, but enough. “Should you not… Well, I shall pray that you do.”

You swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“Good,” Mr. Dahlman said, smiling kindly and releasing you. “I do encourage you to be careful. The city can hold many dangers for a girl such as yourself.”

What sort of cruel joke did the universe play on you to run into Yuri Leclerc as soon as you were out of the office building? Literally run into him, spilling your cold coffee from that morning all over yourself and toppling onto the ground. From your spot at his feet, you saw his shock become recognition become worry.

“Are you alright?” Yuri asked. Helping you up. Not even for the first time. How humiliating.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, picking up your stuff with your face turned downward to hide from him. “Mr-Mr. Dahlman is still in the office, but you’ll have to hurry if you want… want to catch him.”

“You’ve been crying,” Yuri said, pulling you out of the line of foot traffic. You let him. A little crease had formed between his perfect eyebrows as he looked at you, and it made your heart ache.

“I’m fine,” you said with a pathetic sniff, wiping your face. Everything was covered in old coffee. You’d have to go on the bus like this, and then you’d be home. And you’d be alone. And Mr. Dahlman had warned you of the dangers of the city. He knew better than anyone else in the world how intimately isolated you were, he knew where you lived and who you knew and there was no escape.

“You’re going home, yeah? You can’t take the bus like this,” Yuri said, unaware of your spiraling thoughts. “Let me get a cab to take you home.”

You were already shaking your head too fast, rejecting the idea with the violence of fear. “I can’t go home.”

He hesitated. “You can’t intend to go out like this.”

“No, I-I can’t. I’m—”

Yuri frowned. “What are you doing then?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s not your problem, I-”

“Shut up for a second,” he told you, waving a hand to cut you off. “Why don’t you come back to my place? I can make you dinner. I’ve been told I’m a fantastic cook.”

Your breath hitched. “I couldn’t.”

“Afraid of being alone with a man?” Yuri asked knowingly. “Well rest assured, you’re safe with me.” Was that what you were afraid of? Yuri had never been anything but a perfect gentleman to you, deplorable dreams notwithstanding. If anything, he was the victim of your own twisted mind.

Another pathetic sniff. “If it’s alright with you, then… I’d love to.”

“Thank you so much for this,” you said softly, wiping down a hot, clean plate after he handed it to you. The shockingly domestic act of washing dishes together had done a lot to ease your nerves, somehow. It was just so normal, so mundane.

“This was my pleasure,” he said, shooting you a sideways smile. “It’s not often I get to cook for people anymore.”

“No, I mean… Well, thank you for everything,” you told him, your voice relaxed now. You had been so tense when he let you into his apartment, teetering on the edge of tears and covered in coffee and uncomfortable enough to crawl out of your own skin. But wearing a clean pair of clothes—his clothes, which you tried not to think too hard about—and eating a hot meal had eased a lot of that tension. Besides, you were getting tired. The day had been stressful, and the hour was hitting hard. “Is that all?” you asked, gesturing to the dishes.

Yuri shut off the water, taking the dish towel from you to dry his hands. “Yep. Do you want to sit down? I don’t have much in the way of dessert, but I do have some Baileys.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“This’ll be a fun surprise then,” he said, going to the refrigerator. You stayed put, uncertainly shifting from foot to foot. But, this was what people did, wasn’t it? With friends. Even alarmingly, devastatingly handsome friends. And you didn’t want to be alone.

You went back out into the living area, taking a seat on the couch. The whole place was nice, but sterile. Like a hotel, almost. Unlived in. Yuri followed a moment later, holding two glasses filled with a creamy liquid and a bottle tucked under his arm.

“Here,” he said, handing you one of the glasses.

“Is it alcohol?” you asked hesitantly, looking at it.

“It’s sweet,” he said, sitting across from you. “And it’s barely alcoholic, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You thought about arguing further, but you trusted Yuri. Besides, if there was ever a time to drink, it was now.

“Thank you,” you said.

To your surprise, it was sweet. There was some burn, but not much.

Yuri smiled, licking the liquor from his lips. “See?”

“Thank you,” you said again, forcing yourself to look back down to keep from staring at his mouth. Even now, you couldn’t force yourself to think normal thoughts.

He poured you more, and this time you drank it without question because you knew what was coming and you wanted a little more of that buzz to face it.

“Now… I hate to pry into your affairs,” Yuri ventured, “but I have to ask-”

“I signed a waver,” you told him, staring at your empty glass. “I can’t tell anyone.”

“So this has to do with the firm.”

You looked up, eyes wide. “No, it-”

“Hey, don’t worry. If anyone’s good at keeping secrets, it’s me. More than that, I’d like to help if I can. Against my better judgment, I like you.” Yuri paused, wearing a look of uncertainty, as if admitting something unpleasant. “Quite a bit, actually. I certainly wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.”

The admission made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol, although you weren’t sure it was a good feeling. As with everything you associated with Yuri, it felt wrong. Deeply, truly unnatural.

“Hey, can I have more?” You held up your empty glass towards him hopefully.

“Sure,” Yuri said, pouring you more with a smooth twist of his wrist. How could somebody make pouring a drink look attractive? It was unfair.

You drank quickly, more intent on the buzz of inebriation than the taste. Then, staring at the last few drops lingering in the glass, you forced the words out before you could consider them too intently. “Mr. Dahlman is… He… He blackmails people,” you said, getting it out all at once. “I found out and confronted him-”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Yuri asked, more incredulous than shocked.

“I thought he was a good man,” you told him, your face falling.

Yuri snorted. “The only virtuous lawyer in town, huh? Well, I can’t blame you for that, he fools a lot of people.”

“So you knew?” you asked.

“More importantly,” Yuri said, “did he threaten you?”

Your breath hiccuped. “Not directly, but…” You shook your head, trying to forget that look in his eye. “Do you think he’d hurt me?” you asked in a small voice.

“No, he won’t,” Yuri said, gently taking your glass and placing his hand on yours. His skin was warm and soft, the gesture heart-achingly innocent.

You wondered if you were actually dreaming. Part of it was the alcohol setting in, the warm little blaze blurring your thoughts. No matter how low the alcohol content, you didn’t drink often enough to have any sort of tolerance. More than that, you were tired. Maybe this was another despicable conjuration of your brain, maybe it was going to take a sharp turn and you’d end up on the counter, or against the wall, or on the couch in the other room, or-

“That’s why he pays men me,” Yuri told you, his expression flattening. Blinking sluggishly, the threatening words struck you discordantly, distantly. You tried to pull your hand away, but Yuri clasped it tightly in his own. “Normally I like to have a bit of fun and then move on, no harm done,” he continued, ignoring your confused attempts to escape him. “But that’s not an option anymore.” He sighed. “It always falls on me to take care of things.”

“Yuri, you’re scaring me.”

“I don’t think its even dawned on you that I’ve been lying the entire time. You’re too trusting.” He paused, smirking ironically. “It’ll get you hurt one of these days.”

“Please let me go,” you asked. Your words were slurring a little, the slowly settling exhaustion and alcohol distancing you from reality.

A dream. You had to be dreaming.

“But I see no reason to keep it up now, it’s not like you’ll remember this,” Yuri said. “It’s true that I offer unique services. Very unique. Aelfric and I have a good thing going. I extract secrets from the pliant subconsciousness of the rich and famous; he uses his connections to properly utilize them. For now, at least. If it makes you feel any better, I intend to put an end to our arrangement as soon as I can. Sooner, with your help.”

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” you asked, although the urgency was ruined by the encroaching wilt of exhaustion. Unlike being drunk, the world becoming vibrant and your skin buzzing, it was as if your body itself was shutting down around you. “This is… is insane, I don’t understand.”

“Think a little, yeah?” Yuri prompted, giving you a familiarly condescending look. “Haven’t you noticed that something’s wrong here? Like having nightly dreams of a strange and sinful nature about a certain someone?” You couldn’t help your shocked intake of breath, the immediate shame that filled you. “Yeah, I know all about those. You might say that I am intimately familiar with them. After all, I am the one who put them there.”

Over and over, you blinked to try and wake yourself up. But the disgust and the fear and the shame weren’t enough to keep you focused, the world was fading and dark on the edges, your chest caving in with heaviness. Breathing alone became a tiresome task, let alone holding yourself up.

“Did you… drug me…?” you asked. It seemed so obvious now that you were becoming consumed with the heaviness. Fighting against the pull of unconsciousness physically hurt.

“Our nighttime escapes aren’t over just yet, I still need you. In more ways than one,” Yuri said, moving even closer to catch you from slumping over when you tried to get up. You grunted, squirming to escape, but it was a pitiful display. He smelled so nice. You didn’t want to fight, not really. “To think, Aelfric thought he could bait me into compliance. But, as always, luck is on my side, and I’ve always got another trick up my sleeve. He should have considered the wisdom of giving me a girl so susceptible to persuasion.”

You grumbled something, your words stifled by the exhaustion and his chest. It probably had been incomprehensible in the first place.

“Let’s get you tucked in,” Yuri said, supporting most of your weight as he helped you up. “Your work isn’t quite finished.” You could barely resist, not that you were trying. He smelled so good, sweet and fresh and intoxicating. You nuzzled your cheek against the front of his shirt, your skin buzzing with it.

And then you fell asleep.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” were not the words you expected to wake up to. You didn’t expect to be woken up by words at all, considering you lived alone. But soon after you recognized that you were being spoken to, you realized that you were not in your own bed. Panic set in then, and your eyes snapped open, getting a blurry view of a purple and white smudge.

“Ngh—ah!” was your eloquent response, and you tried to sit up only for gravity to push you back down. Your vision cleared and you realized that the smudge was a person. A familiar person. “Mr. Leclerc,” you said, meaning it as an exclamation but unable to find the energy.

“Now that you’ve spent the night in my bed, I think you’ve more than earned the right to call me Yuri,” he said, smiling.

“Your bed?” you asked looking around. The room was a tidy sort of mess, filled with books and clothes and other clutter. A fur coat thrown over a chair, a pair of shiny white spiked Chelsea boots. This was Yuri’s room, his real room and not a dreamscape domain of twilight and stars. This was real. “What happened?” you asked, more than a little afraid of the answer. Your head felt heavy, your body filled with lead. You remembered very little. Leaving work crying, quite literally running into Yuri, coming to his apartment.

“You had a bad day at work yesterday, so I invited you over for dinner and drinks,” Yuri told you sympathetically, sitting on the by your knees and handing over a bottle of water. You didn’t feel thirsty, and your head didn’t really ache. More than anything, you just felt heavy. Sluggish. But you drank anyway, hoping it would chase away the sour taste on your tongue. “You’re a real lightweight, you know that?” he continued. “I had no idea how drunk you were until you were already passed out.”

“Did we…” you couldn’t so much as finish the question.

“If something happened between us, you would remember it,” Yuri told you bluntly. “Trust me.”

That made you flush. It was fairly obvious. You were still wearing the clothes he’d given you last night, and the other side of the bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in. If there was ever any memory you would retain, you felt certain it would be having sex with Yuri Leclerc outside of your twisted subconcious. More than that, you’d have to assume in that case that he would ever want you in real life, and that was ridiculous.

“I am so sorry,” you said, embarrassment clouding your discomfort. Yuri patted your head, smoothing out your hair. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked, felt, and likely smelled like someone who had been crying and gotten wasted the night before, and he had the gall to look as handsome as ever.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Yuri told you. “You told me what Aelfric’s been doing, and I promised to help you. Do you remember that much at least?”

Yes. Mr. Dahlman had been committing malpractice, scamming people out of their land for cheap development. Something like that. Your stomach sank sickeningly. There was something more, wasn’t there? “Yeah. But I—I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you said slowly, frowning in confusion at the blankets to avoid his eyes.

“That’s my fault. I should have known you weren’t used to drinking,” he said regretfully.

“No,” you told him quickly, looking up with a lurch of guilt. “It’s not your fault, I should have…” You couldn’t remember last night, but when you met his eyes, you remembered every other night your brain had manufactured with him in the starring role. Every fantasy, every sin. “I should go.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Yuri told you. You breathed in sharply, the harshness of his words making you tense up. But when you looked at him, Yuri just smiled. “Stay a while, yeah? I’ll make it more than worth your while.”

#yuri leclerc #yuri leclerc x reader #fe yuri #fe yuri x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three hopes #not sfw #my writing #tw.dubcon

180 notes · View notes

rekas-writes · 1 year

Text

Blurring Happiness

Pair: Modern + A/B/O AU! Alpha! Yuri Leclerc/M! Omega! Reader Source: Fire Emblem: Three Houses/Fire Emblem: Three Hopes

Type: Drabble - 899 words Genre: Semi-Graphic Smut/NSFT(W)/18+, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort Perspective: Second-Person (You/Your)

Summary: Yuri is the water the quenches the flames and the fan that stokes them ever higher. Or: Suppressed romantic feelings start to catch up as this friends with benefits situation dips into a bittersweet aftertaste

TW: None

Kinks: A/B/O or Omegaverse

Terms Used for Reader: Cock, Hole

A/N: Decided to convert one of the fics I made during my month without Wi-Fi into a reader-insert! This is rather self-indulgent since ABO is a massive weakness for me- It's a little short since I don't like writing long pieces on my phone, but I thought some folks might like it! I also think it's a travesty I haven't written anything for FE:3H at all on this blog, so here's a Yuri fic because I think he's neat! I'm also spiralling into my Fire Emblem hyperfixation again since I bought Three Hopes recently. I know I'm late- ;-;

✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

It’s a blur, simply put.

This whole, strange relationship is a blur.

It’s touches on skin at night, only ever at night- when the Goddess could not see beyond the thick fog, with only mist-filtered moonlight faintly lighting patches of hair and wrinkled clothes. The reflections dance upon exposed skin and floats high on breathy calls and sighs. The highs sing like angels in the dim of night, and those tingly, pleasant feelings bloom like delicate flowers upon your sullied flesh. 'Heavenly', you think vaguely to yourself, before the guilt and scorn of feeling unworthy settles in the afterglow.

It’s hot and cold. Unrelenting heat boils beneath your skin and sighs like steam at his touch, and for just a moment- you're complete. Like the final stroke of a brush against a littered canvas. Entangled as one, it feels like sweet relief that calms the burning inferno inside for just a few minutes. The kettle cools and it’s like the sip of fresh lemonade on a summer’s day, and you're parched beyond belief... But all too soon that euphoria slips away and it’s so hot- too hot again. There’s an aching itch that burns like an addiction, and no matter how much you scratch- it never stops. There is no respite. This heat, this supposed "cycle", only sleeps for what feels like a few minutes. There is no cycle, only a merciless craving that digs its cursed fangs deep into your biology.

It’s a deep-set ache. When you roll to your side, Yuri is gone. Like the whispers of the wind, he’s temporary and loose like grains of sand. A fleeting pleasure, like the haze of a debauched party you can't remember anymore. The only "mark" of his presence is the phantom touches upon your skin. The sickening warmth pooling already in your gut once again that yearns for more, but just a little quieter than usual. When you breath in hard, like the shaky exhale before a sob, you regret it. It reeks of your antidote. Your medicine. An Alpha. It smells like him. Instead, you take a shallower breath; one that strains to calm the throbbing in your chest.

That relief seldom stays, yet the relationship remains all the same.

You would be a fool not to know this wasn't good for you anymore. That this was hurting you. You don't know how much longer you can last, staring into soft, purple eyes that remain guarded even in such a vulnerable position. It's so hollow. That smile. Those sweet nothings. The gentle touch caressing down your body with the mannerism of a lover, but the method of a stranger. It's so painfully empty.

But when Yuri rolls his hips, those thoughts fuzz and blur. Your brain can't think straight when he touches you with such precision and practiced ease that almost made your chest hurt- if you tried to think about it too hard. Stirring up your insides only numbs your head more, body arching into Yuri’s as his tongue laps at yours. It tastes so sweet to be consumed by him, as you lick desperately at his lip to get him to do it again. To consume the rest of your thoughts and drag you further into the abyss. There's this satisfying ache that heat suppressants can’t provide. That being alone can't provide.

In the grand scheme of things, who were you to ask for more in this? You are an omega. Yuri is an alpha. It was only natural you would feel drawn to him. Those desperate, intrusive feelings- that unerring need to be loved by him- they're nothing more than the cruel urge to be fucked until you couldn't think anymore. He didn't even need to help you, but he does. That... That's good enough.

It’s lonely. It’s scary. It’s feverishly cold. It’s bitingly hot.

You curl into yourself, panting beneath the covers as you call a name you don't quite realise you did. You don't know why you did it when it finally registers. As a new presence paces quickly across your room's floor, you can only cry for that name again- borderline pain flickering through your heightened nerves.

Lavender. It smells like lavender and honeyed fruit; it's overwhelming yet comforting. It spins your head pleasantly, in a way that makes you whimper that name again. More slick runs down your leg as arousal spikes deep in your core despite your confusion. Your hand reaches below your waistband, needing to feel something now you decide, as you paw at your already hard cock and slide your hand down to feel the wet trails running down your thighs.

Ah…

You need him again.

When that blur of purple embraces you again, those loud, frightening, confusing feelings dampen. You can ignore your problems as you cling on to him- pulling him as close as possible, listening only to the sound of Yuri mumbling your name. Hands gently push your own away, electrifying your senses as he thumbs at your tip. Simmering in his touch, you gasp and groan when he spreads your hole open with long, dextrous fingers- delicate yet teasing. It’s so easy to lose yourself when he looks at you so kindly like that. When he talks to you so sweetly like that. When he holds you so tenderly like that. Even if it's all fake, in the maddening pit of engulfing heat and heady lust, it’s so easy to pretend that even for just a moment…

You are his.

#fire emblem: three houses #FE3H #yuri x reader #yuri leclerc x reader #x male reader #x trans male reader #x ftm reader #x m reader #yuri leclerc #fe3h fic #fe3h fanfic #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3houses #three houses #fe yuri

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glowingbadger · 2 months

Note

Which of the Three Houses guys will watch their beloved go off on an enemy and have the reaction of "Well mark me down as scared AND horny", do you think?

Ahh, see my dear Friend Anon, this is a nuanced spectrum- but I'll do my best to break it down as I see it:

Scared and Horny:

Claude - has enough common sense to be scared, but definitely hot-blooded enough to be horny about it. A beautiful balance, frankly, though he may tease you about how wild you were.

Raphael - soooo close to qualifying for the "just horny" category, but he is a sweet boy and still wants to check to be sure you're alright (mentally, emotionally, physically) after the battle.

Ignatz - soooo close to qualifying for the "just scared" category lmao. However, as you all know, I see our boy Ignatz as very repressed and very kinky, and seeing you be so powerful and passionate definitely stirs some part of him.

Ferdinand - practically the poster-boy for "scared and horny" tbh; he feels sheepish about it, but he just can't help how your strength and force of will arouse him.

Seteth - also strangely close to the "just horny" category, not that he wants to admit it; seeing you like this really awakens something primal in him from far in his past. Still, his concern for you is ever-present and ultimately pushes aside how entrancing you look conquering your foes so thoroughly.

Sylvain - I almost don't know how to elaborate on this one because, I mean, of course, right? Of course Sylvain is worried, but also just burning inside watching you flushed in the face, damp with sweat, muscles tight, hair wild.......

Just Scared:

Lorenz - oscillating wildly between worried for you and worried for every person around you. Definitely impressed, don't get me wrong- he appreciates battle prowess. But if you're really going berserk, he's worried.

Dedue - while he's likely right there beside you in the fight, he worries about seeing you get particularly aggressive. He's seen what bloodlust has done to the other most valued person in his life, and never wants to see you go too far down that path.

Ashe - it's not as though he can't stomach violence, he just feels that there's a certain responsibility and necessity for rules of engagement when it comes to combat, hence his proclivity for chivalry. Seeing you completely lose yourself worries him, and he'll want to be with you and hold you and make sure you're okay as soon as he can.

Just Horny:

Hubert - I feel like this is more or less self explanatory lmao. Though he does still hope you'll be rational and not do anything unnecessarily risky while eviscerating your foes.

Caspar - again, an obvious choice. Honestly, I think Caspar wants to fuck after just about every battle you two come back from, provided neither of you is hurt too badly.

Jeritza - this is the most obvious one so far lol. Though, when he's more 'himself,' he does silently worry about you sharing in his bloodshed and provoking the Death Knight part of him.

Felix - honestly, it's probably even fiercer than Hubert or Caspar; the lust he feels for you in the heat of battle is both primal and nearly spiritual. This is about his whole life philosophy, after all. After a particularly tough and gruesome fight, he wants nothing more than to absolutely ravage you (and might need to be talked down if he has wounds to attend to first)

Outliers:

Linhardt - ideally, he is not present, as the sight of you "going off" on an enemy is likely to involve waaaaay more blood than he's comfy with. He'll definitely tend to you afterward, and wryly scold you for going overboard (secretly, he was super worried when he heard from your comrades of how ferocious you were out there)

Dimitri - he's in different categories depending on where he's at in his arc tbh. Feral Dimitri is obviously just horny about you diving into the bloodshed with him, while "redeemed" Dimitri has some measure of restraint about it

Yuri - it's more like "amused/impressed and horny," tbh. Though he never looses his head about it- he's still keeping a close eye on you to make sure nothing goes awry. But he won't deny that he enjoys watching, nonetheless.

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claudemblems · 2 years

Note

thx for answering my apology post lol! Is it possible if I could choose for the request yuri picking her up request that I sent between the 2? I don't know if u remember the one specifically!

No worries! I’m always happy to get a request for Yuri 🥺 I miss him sm I really need to play through more of Three Hopes lol

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Sweep Me Off My Feet | Yuri Leclerc Headcanons

Summary: Fluff headcanons of Post Timeskip!Yuri with Reader who loves being picked up, spun around, and carried princess style by him

Notes: I did add just a twinge bit of spice but I felt like it fit with the theme of the request. Nothing too crazy tho! I hope that's all right :) Also this is very long but I'm sure that's not a surprise at this point

Yuri’s not really someone that likes to show affection out in the open. There’s too many eyes on him and, as the boss of Abyss, he has to be alert at all times. But mainly he’s just shy (don’t be fooled by his flirty persona). However, if you truly insist for him to dote on you, he can’t possibly refuse you.

That being said, he does like to save romantic gestures for times such as celebration. He will absolutely pick you up after winning a battle, spinning you around with a relieved grin on his face. What can he say? Few things make him happier than knowing he’s kept the people he loves safe.

And at night time, you’ve noticed that he tends to be more clingy. Perhaps it’s the tiredness talking, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t have to worry about watchful eyes around every corner. But that’s usually when he’ll pick you up by the waist and set you on his lap, silently burying his head into the crook of your neck. He’s just so precious.

He also loves picking you up princess style as much as you do. You joke about him being your knight in shining armor, leaving him playfully rolling his eyes at you. But he does get satisfaction in knowing that you see him as your protector. He’ll swear an oath to you if you have any doubts.

The affection he gives you increases tenfold after the two of you have married. He practically won’t let your feet touch the ground after your wedding night. It’s the perfect chance for him to lavish you in love, so let him enjoy it as much as he can.

Or when it’s just the two of you alone at night, perhaps in the old Ashen Wolves classroom or in a dimly lit hallway in Abyss, clinging onto each other and sharing passionate kisses, he’ll get this unmistakable mischievous glint in his eyes. Next thing you know, he’s swept you off your feet, carrying you to his room. Don’t worry. He’ll make sure you know just how loved and cherished you are by morning.

He just likes to have you all to himself. Sometimes he doesn’t initiate romantic gestures in public not because he’s shy, but because he's incredibly jealous. He won’t tell you that, but it’s not hard to put the pieces together.

Though Yuri’s more inclined to be lovey with you if it’s just the Ashen Wolves around. He’ll pull you onto his lap, lock his fingers with yours, or even pick you up by the waist to help you reach something. Sure, he could just get it for you, but you look so determined and he may or may not like taking every chance he gets to feel your touch. It often leaves Hapi and Constance audibly groaning or Balthus sending teasing jokes his way, but seeing the smile on your face is all that matters.

Yuri may not show it outwardly, but he really is a hopeless romantic. Ask him for anything and he’ll give it to you without hesitation. Best of all, he will never grow tired of doing things that make you happy. As long as you’re safe and smiling, what more could he ask for?

With you by his side, he has everything he needs.

#claudemblems writes #fe3h #fe3h x reader #yuri leclerc #yuri x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #three houses x reader

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mt-musings · 5 days

Text

To Inherit the Night - 17

“Sit still, Magpie, or I’m going to send you up Topside with half a face of makeup.”

“You’re poking my eye,” she retorted, squirming away from his eyeliner brush. He grabbed her jaw to hold her still.

“Suck it up. Beauty is pain.”

“That’s bullshit. I’d be the prettiest person in Fodlan if that was true.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “You are pretty.”

“Pretty fucking ugly.”

“Do you want me to finish you makeup or do you want to have a pity fest? It’s one or the other,” he asked, brow raised. She slunk down in her chair, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“Makeup. Please.”

“Ahh, so you do have manners.”

“No thanks to you.”

He laughed at that, eyes glimmering with mischief. It was no secret that she’d inherited his foul mouth and rapid-fire retorts. She had enough sense most of the time to keep it in Topside, but everyone in Abyss knew to be wary of her tongue.

“I still don’t know why you’re putting in so much effort. It’s lame, as far as balls go.”

“But I’ve never been to one. And everyone else is going to be dressed up and there’s going to be dancing and champagne and—I don’t know. They always sound fun in stories.”

He tried to hide his grin, shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re adorable.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. Are you going to dance with your Prince Charming tonight?”

“Fuck off.”

“Planning on meeting someone in the Goddess Tower?”

“Planning on cutting holes in your socks.”

Yuri snorted, pinning a stray piece of hair back. He took a step back to admire his work. Her hair streamed down her back in perfect waves, half pulled back into braids that encircled her head like a crown. The white didn’t look so stark with the lilac ends woven through, bringing out color in her face. He hadn’t done much in the way of makeup. She didn’t need it, despite what she thought. He’d merely disguised the scars on her cheek as much as he could and emphasized her eyes with a little eye liner and mascara and the smallest amount of shimmer.

“Do I look stupid?”

“Do you think I would make you look stupid?”

“If you thought it was funny.”

“You don’t look stupid. I, as usual, am a genius. Go on, check in the mirror.”

He watched her expression as she took a deep breath, steadying herself before turning to look at the small mirror on his vanity. He watched as she gasped, turning to stare at how faint her scar had become, almost invisible but for the slight divot of the old wound, at how large and thick-lashed her eyes were. She pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes welling with tears.

“Don’t go crying off all my hard work.”

“You—I—Yuri!” She stammered incoherently, nearly tumbling from her chair in her haste to throw her arms around him in a hug. He returned it easily, not bothering to hold back his laughter.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Magpie. It’s just a little makeup, I’ve been offering to teach you for forever.”

“You made me pretty,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Made—Cella, do you really hate your scars that much?”

She didn’t answer, just hugged him harder. He sighed, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. He’d have picked her up her own cosmetics long ago if he’d known seeing herself unscarred would bring her to happy tears. She’d always seemed so indifferent to fashion, to her appearance, he’d simply thought she wasn’t bothered by it. She’d always been more concerned with snooping about, with reading as many books as she could get her hands on, with tinkering and causing problems for a laugh.

She glanced up at him, eyes still shining, grin cemented to her face.

“You’re the best.”

“You’re tolerable.”

She scrunched up her nose at that, smile widening. She stepped back and did a little twirl in her altered skirt, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.

It wasn’t often that Yuri felt like he was truly a good big brother. He ran a gang after all, a gang he’d allowed Cecily to become and integral part of. Sometimes he forgot she was barely sixteen, that she was supposed to still be more of a kid than not. But watching her beam at herself as she did a happy little bounce of a dance made him feel like the best brother in the world.

Blood or not, she’d always be his kid sister, and he’d always do anything it took to do right by her.

~~~

Yuri had been right—the ball was terribly dull.

He’d never been one for such occasions to begin with, but with so little to gain by mingling with his fellow students—it was practically intolerable.

Or it would have been, if Cecily hadn’t been having so much fun.

She’d spent the whole evening dancing, with hardly a break since they’d arrived. He hadn’t the faintest idea where she’d learned—maybe she’d asked Dorothea for lessons. She always went to her for help with classwork.

He’d never seen her smile so much, or laugh. She practically glowed, brimming with joy. It was like watching who she might have been, had she never been kidnapped and tortured, who she would have been had she never gotten mixed up in petty noble disputes.

“Kid’s having a good night.”

Yuri glanced over to find Balthus drop into a seat next to him, propping his boots on the table.

“Looks like it.”

“She’s about the only one. Constance and Hapi already left. What say we follow and continue the night with some proper drinks down at the Wilting Rose?”

“I dunno. Maybe in a bit.”

Balthus followed Yuri’s eye line to where Cecily was dancing with Claude, laughing at something he was whispering in her ear. Balthus laughed, shaking his head.

“You hanging around to scare off any over-eager suitors?”

“Why would I do that? She can take care of herself.”

“I’m not buying that, pal. Worried someone’s going to whisk her off to the Goddess Tower?”

“Terrified,” he retorted, the word dripping with sarcasm.

“Alright then, why stay? You hate these things.”

Yuri just shrugged. “I like seeing her happy.”

“She does look young when she smiles like that. She looks so serious all the time I forget she’s practically a baby.”

“You’re just old.”

“You’re not wrong, especially in this crowd,” he laughed. “Two more songs and you’re coming for a drink with me. You gotta let Little Birdie fly on her own someday.”

“Balthus—“

“Come on! What’s the worst that can happen? It’s a church ball. So she makes out with some kid in the back gardens, it’s a right of passage.”

“This is not a conversation I want to be having.”

“Then you should just agree.”

“I’m not—“

“Hey!” Cecily said, beaming. She came to a halt right in front of the pair of them, beaming, cheeks flushed from dancing.

“Oh, great timing. We’re heading out,” Balthus said, grinning as he glanced sidelong at Yuri. Cecily’s face fell, though she quickly replaced it with a well-practiced smile that never quite met her eyes.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go say bye to Thea.”

“No, no, no—Yuri and I are leaving. You stay and have fun. Besides, you can’t leave your first ball early, it’s bad luck.”

Her eyes flicked to Yuri, never quite believing Balthus at his word when he used that tone. He sighed, giving her a crooked smile.

“Go have fun. I have to get this geezer back home.”

“Hey!”

“Let me know when you get back, okay? I’ll be up.”

“Okay!” She said and grinned, giving both of them a quick hug before darting back towards Dorothea and a handful of the other Black Eagles lingering on the edge of the dance floor.

“See? No harm no foul. She’ll be fine! Come on.”

Yuri grudgingly followed Balthus from the hall, glancing back to find Cecily back on the dance floor being twirled around by Hubert, who’s usual grim demeanor was replaced with something softer, something almost like a smile. He turned on his heel, ready to abandon Balthus in favor of ensuring it was their last dance of the night together, but Balthus grabbed him by the collar and practically dragged him out.

“Leave her alone, she’s a good kid, she deserves some fun.”

~~~

“You look…very nice tonight,” Hubert said, the words careful and measured. He was wrong, of course—his assessment was severely lacking. She looked particularly beautiful—she’d done something to cover her scars, sure, but it was more in the way that her eyes glimmered with excitement, the soft way her hair had been braided back from her face.

She beamed back at him.

“Yuri did it for me. You look really nice too.”

He ignored the faint heat that rose in his cheeks at her words, her smile. Had he seen her smile, really smile, before? Never this much, he was sure.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be so fond of balls.”

“It’s my first one. I’d read about them, of course, but they’re much more fun in person!”

“If you like dancing.”

“Well, that’s the best part! Don’t you think?”

Never in his right mind had Hubert ever enjoyed balls, or fancy parties, least of all dancing—especially the stuffy Court kind. But as he swayed with Cecily in his arms he didn’t think it could be all that bad, not if it made her smile like that.

“I—Yes. I daresay it is.”

She rewarded him with her biggest smile yet. “I wish we had more than just the one here at the monastery. I’d like to do it again.”

“There will always be more balls. Goddess knows the Season is bursting with them.”

“The Season?”

“The social Season, when all the balls and parties are set. There’s scarcely a weekend without one.”

“Oh, how lovely,” she replied, though he could see her smile slip, just a bit. It was an idiot thing to say—of course she didn’t know what the Season was, or how commonplace, really, balls such as this were. He’d wondered why she’d scarcely stopped dancing for ten minutes the whole night, why she’d said yes to everyone who had asked her, even those she didn’t particularly get on with, why she hadn’t followed her fellow Housemates back to their quarters.

For her there would be no more balls, no more nights of dancing and laughter, of idle banter and string quartets.

“If you ever find yourself in Enbarr during the summer I would ask you consider accompanying me to one. I could use an accomplished dance partner.”

She giggled, not in the cruel sort of way he’d grown used to girls laughing at him, but in the way that bubbled up with harmless mischief. “I’m afraid you might have to look elsewhere then. Dorothea only started teaching me two weeks ago.”

“I never would have guessed. You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“Perhaps I merely got all my toe-stepping out of the way earlier in the night.”

“Oh?” He asked, amusement creeping into his voice as he raised an eyebrow. She giggled again, the sound as sweet and bright as bells.

“I might have stepped on Lorenz’s toes. On purpose. Because he said I could be mistaken for having a noble air about me when I was dancing, and I couldn’t have that.”

Hubert surprised himself by letting out a genuine bark of laughter. She fought her own smile, though her eyes shone with it.

She opened her mouth to say something else but the song ended and she shut it again, the mirth once more slipping from her face in favor of a practiced smile, shoulders drooping ever so slightly as she took a step back into a shallow, unbalanced curtsey.

“Thank you very much for the dance, Hubert.”

He tumbled out the words before he had a chance to reconsider. “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask for another?”

Her eyes went wide for a moment before she gave him the sweetest, almost shy smile. She answered with mock seriousness, the glimmer of mischief returned.

“Oh, most certainly, but I daresay I could forgive it.”

He smiled back without thinking. “Then I am ever so lucky,” he said, offering her his hand once more. She took it with the same hint of shyness she’d shown at his request, though it was without hesitation—they easily fell back into rhythm, Hubert depending on over a decade of practice while Cecily followed his lead as if it were as easy as breathing. He wondered, idly, when she’d found the time to practice so diligently with Dorothea—he still wasn’t quite sure how she found time to sleep between her late nights studying and her work with Yuri.

He wished then, that his offer to take her to another ball, to have an excuse to spend an entire night at her side, with her in his arms, hadn’t been a functionally empty one. He’d meant it when he’d said it, meant every word—but the world would be a very different place in a few months, and Enbarr wouldn’t be hosting any balls any time soon. He quite doubted there would be many throughout Fodlan in the next few years, at least until Lady Edelgard was able to unite the continent under a new, Crestless society.

Until then there wasn’t time enough to spare for such frivolity, for such pointless, selfish desires. He could simply allow himself these few moments, moments he—

“Are you alright, Hubert?”

“Of course. I apologize, I simply got lost in thought.”

She searched his face for a moment, her own unreadable. “It can be a treacherous endeavor.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Indeed.”

“Hubert?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what.”

“Being kind to me. Even when I know it’s been burdensome.”

He shook his head. “It’s never burdensome. I promise.”

She smiled at him as the song ended, letting the silence ring out a second before stepping out of his hold.

“Thank you for the dances. I hope the rest of the night treats you well.”

“Are you retiring for the night?” He asked, hating the edge of disappointment that laced his words.

She huffed a laugh, ducking her face to hide her blush. “Well, three dances and people would talk.”

“I didn’t know that you cared about what people thought.”

“I don’t,” she said, something sad creeping onto her face. “But you have to. Goodnight, Hubert.”

“Cecily—“ he called after her but she didn’t turn, disappearing from the ballroom without a second glance.

~~~

Hubert surveyed the ring, the sick feeling in his chest rising. It was objectively perfect—a delicate platinum band with a large, marquis-cut center stone of shimmering alexandrite, flanked by a spray of smaller ebony stones on either side. The center stone alone had cost an exorbitant amount, but it resembled the peculiarity of her eyes so well that he hadn’t blinked.

He thought of how under different circumstances he’d be nearly giddy at the thought of giving it to her. How he would have sat and prepared an entire speech, taken her to the rose garden, away from prying eyes, declared to her his ardor and devotion.

He wondered if she might have liked it, had it not been a shackle. He’d never seen her wear any jewelry other than the silver cuff on her ear engraved with a band of foxglove.

He sighed as he set the ring back in the box. He’d have to give it to her tonight—he wouldn’t be allowed to see her before the ceremony tomorrow, some sort of idiot custom he was supposed to adhere to.

He stood stiffly before he could lose has nerve and strode to Cecily’s apartments, nodding at the guard at the door before stepping inside. She was sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, chin propped up on them as she stared blankly at the flickering shadows on the hearth. She didn’t look up or greet him, though her grip tightened as if it were enough to protect her.

“I thought you should have this before tomorrow,” he said, though he didn’t move to hand her the box. It was another moment before she turned her head to look up at him and it was then that he could see her red-rimmed eyes.

She’d been crying.

His heart twisted painfully in his chest at the realization, but he shoved it down. She might have been crying, but her cheeks weren’t as hollow, her bones no longer as sharp under her skin. She was still too thin, but not in the utterly unhealthy way she’d been when she arrived. She was at least better taken care of in the palace, no longer starved and bruised.

He hesitated a moment before sitting next to her on the floor, ignoring the childish indignity of it. He watched her brows furrow in confusion, all the more so when he pulled out the little leather box.

He handed it to her without preamble or explanation, choosing to watch the flames, rather than her face. She didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that he thought she might not say anything at all.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s for you. I should have given it to you at the start of our engagement, but I admit that I hadn’t yet gotten it.”

She stared at it for a long moment, absently tracing the stone. Then she handed it back to him.

“I do not need a ring, Hubert, nor am I suited for one such as this.”

“It’s a gift, and it was made specifically to suit your features. You will be the Marquess Vestra tomorrow, and will need things befitting such.”

She didn’t say anything, but he watched as she wrung her hands, as she traced the scars that dotted her knuckles, that cut across the backs of her palms. Scars from fighting, from training and surviving. He thought of his own hands, less scarred, though discolored from years of black magic overuse. She’d never seen him without his gloves, no one had, save Edelgard, but she would, tomorrow. She’d have to, to slip his own black band onto his finger.

Surely, if the faint silver scars on her own disgusted her, his hands would prove a horror.

He pulled the ring from the box and reached for her hand, pausing just shy of taking it.

“May I?” he asked, half expecting her to get up and lock herself in the bedroom, as she was prone to do the moment she became utterly sick of him. Instead she stared at his hand for a long moment before placing her own trembling one lightly in his. He was struck by how small it looked in comparison, how something so unassuming could cause such destruction, should she desire it. He slipped the ring on her finger, glad, at least, that he’d gotten the sizing right. He hated the involuntary rush of warmth at seeing it there, knew it had perhaps more to do with the connotation of such a piece than with his satisfaction with the design.

She didn’t pull her hand from his right away as he’d expected, her face unreadable as she stared at it. He wondered if she’d momentarily forgotten her hand was still in his, though he’d be hard pressed to remind her, not when he could revel in the warmth of her touch for just a little longer. He was surprised by the urge to press his lips to her knuckles, the sweet gesture so absolutely out of character for him.

She pulled her hand back gently, wrapping her arms back around her knees. He couldn’t help but glance at where it glinted in the firelight.

“There is to be dancing tomorrow. I remember—I remember how you enjoyed it, at the Academy. I did—I did promise you another dance, in Enbarr.”

He didn’t know why he said it, why he brought up what had been such a happy memory. Maybe he just wanted to fill the silence. Maybe—maybe he wanted her to know that he still held her in the same regard, even now. Maybe he wanted her to know that he still remembered, that it hadn’t been an empty promise.

He watched in horror as her face crumpled and she let out a choked sob. She buried her face in her lap, her breath coming too fast, her shoulders shaking with ragged tears. He sat frozen, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t the most comforting person at the best of times but he was worried now that he’d only make it worse.

He had a strange, foreign compulsion to pull her into his arms and hold her, but he didn’t, instead forcing himself to stand. He poured her a glass of water and set it carefully next to her before taking one of the blankets off the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders. He didn’t want to leave her side, not while she was crying, but seeing as he was the cause he backed up towards the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“I—I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Cecily.”

She didn’t respond. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard him, through her tears. He lingered another moment before forcing himself to go, walking quickly to his own chambers to wallow in his own misery.

~~~

Cecily sat on the roof of the ballroom, watching the light from the windows dance across the gardens. She’d cloaked herself in shadow so no one would be able to see her.

She knew she should just go back to Abyss. Yuri said that he’d be waiting up for her, something she’d most definitely want to avoid, especially coming back red-eyed with all the makeup he’d so carefully applied wiped off on her sleeve.

It was her own fault, for being stupid. She’d forgotten that she was just a little Abyssian rat, just another orphaned urchin who’d gotten good enough at stealing and eavesdropping to keep herself in coin.

Hubert would be a Marquis. He was the closest confidant of the next Emperor of Adrestia. He’d probably attended enough balls that the thought alone of this one had bored him stupid, meanwhile she’d made a fool of herself telling him she’d read about them in story books.

She shouldn’t have come. She’d never belong to that world, never fit in the way Yuri so effortlessly could.

It had been fun though, to pretend, just for a few hours. To laugh and talk and dance—by the Goddess she loved dancing. It left her giddy and breathless and she couldn’t think of anything that had made her so happy.

Unless it had been dancing with Hubert.

That had felt so utterly different, like she’d been floating, like it was just the two of them instead of a crowded hall full of their peers. And he’d smiled, and the softness of the expression suited him perhaps more than that devious smile that she favored, a smile that always meant something was about to get interesting.

But he was the son of a Marquis and she—

She had never even met her father. He’d been some sort of scholar, back in Sreng, or whatever passed for a scholar there. He’d been learned enough try to kill her the moment he’d seen her eyes.

If she was lucky she’d return the favor.

Because that’s what she was—a murderous little monster with a penchant for spying and ruining other people’s plans.

She swiped at a tear running down her face, hating herself for being so stupid, for forgetting her place. She was nothing more than a plaything to these noble brats, would never be anything more than a plaything when it came down to it. After all, she wasn’t pretty, like Dorothea, or scholarly, like Linhardt, or a fierce and tenacious fighter, like Petra. She wasn’t inventive like Constance, or strong like Balthus, or brave, like Hapi, or even half as wily and charming as Yuri.

She was still just a silly little girl, a silly girl who still believed there was truth in story books.

She leaned back on the roof, looking up at the stars. Yuri had always told her that heartstrings were what they tired the noose with, that they were made him so very good at what he did. He could make anyone fall for him, pour riches into his hands in the hopes that it would win them his heart. But it was a game—he’d always told her it was a game as long as you weren’t stupid enough to let anyone close enough to take yours.

And she’d been particularly stupid—of all the people at the Academy she’d let herself fall for not only a noble, but for Hubert, who loved nothing and no one but her Majesty, Lady Edelgard. Who was perhaps even more rigid in his adherence to his noble duty than Ferdinand, but had the good sense to mostly shut up about it.

He was kind to her and she was useful.

Because she was useful. And that’s all they’d ever be. All she’d ever be.

Useful.

She didn’t bother wiping the fresh wave of tears, she knew they’d only just be replaced.

She knew Yuri loved her, beyond her use, had loved her before he’d known, when it was only a burden to him. But beyond that—she’d been enveloped into the Ashen Wolves because of Yuri, rather than anything she had to offer. Balthus looked out for her because Yuri’s asked, Hapi would share a meal with her if they were both around, and Constance—Cecily knew Constance had a good heart buried beneath all that pompousness and inbreeding, but she still hadn’t gotten over the time she’d tried to bully her into being a test subject for one of her experiments and she’d had one of the worst panic attacks of her life.

And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Hubert had smiled at her, how it had felt to have his hand on her waist, to hear him laugh, really laugh. The way he’d look at her when they studied together in the library with the same softened brow, how he’d help her even though it served no benefit to him.

Or maybe it did and she was just dense.

She scrubbed at her face until it felt like she’d wiped off the last of the makeup—she’d been stupid to ask Yuri to do it for her. She wouldn’t have, if she’d known just how much nicer some people would have been just because they couldn’t see her scars.

If she’d known she’d have gotten a tiny taste of what her life might have been like if she’d been pretty.

Surely, she’d have been insufferable, not a door unopened to her.

It would have been nice.

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #fire emblem three houses x reader #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers

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pix3lplays · 4 months

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OK SO I’ll be closing requests at the end of my day since I have SO MANY but first I wanted to ask…

Any other Yuri Leclerc and Balthus von Albrecht lovers out there?? Send in those requests, the boys are on my mind😭😭😭😭other requests welcome too, of course~

#fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #yuri leclerc #balthus von albrecht #Yuri Leclerc x reader #Balthus x reader #fire emblem Yuri x reader #fire emblem Balthus x reader #please please please please please

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owlespresso · 10 months

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gloaming. yuri leclerc.

tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality and vague hints of backstory, sfw, pining

a/n: this is pretty self-indulgent. just fluff.

The night is quiet. Snow-covered fields stretch around you on all sides, leading to a distant tree line full of old, stubborn pines. The winter’s frost has grabbed tight hold of the land, blighting everything above the snow in a fine coating of frost. You can see your breath, like a brief curl of dragon’s smoke right in front of you.

One of the month’s many virtues is its distinct lack of insects. No crickets to chirp and no mosquitos to menace any patch of skin you dare leave uncovered. Not that you’ll have many in this weather. There’s quite a long way to go before winter ebbs into early spring. The patch of land Dimitri allotted you so generously after war’s end will remain in crystalline stasis until the season's turn.

In the distance, over the hills, you can see Fhirdiad’s towering silhouette. Its rough lines and pointed domes and salient spires cast an imperious picture on your east horizon. Did the people of the capital enjoy tonight’s midwinter festival? Did friends and family rush onto the crowded streets to partake in merriment and games and fantastic feasts? The streets played host to an astounding variety of breathtaking ice sculptures all around the noble districts. You wonder if any happened to feature the king.

You look away, back to the treetops painted frosty white, glistening in the eldritch dark of the night. The stone building you’ve chosen to occupy was once a manor and a military outpost, created to overlook these very vistas. The honorable members of House Rowe often utilized it to rest their heads when too exhausted too plod back to their hillside manners out west, leaving their gilded, cushioned carriages to wait in the front yard all evening. Heavens forbid they struggle for even a moment with a minor chill.

You shut your eyes and drink deep the wintry air. The icy sting in the air is sobering, granting you clarity. Dinner was spent alone, enjoying more mixes of wines and liquors than you would prefer to admit. Sometime along the way, you even attempted to wrangle the guards into drinking alongside you. It was at that point that one of them politely inquired if you would like to take a walk.

And now, the fresh air pricks at your numbing cheeks. The hazy remnants of your late night rendezvous with the liquor cabinet are battered back by winter’s embrace and your own irritation.

Across the countless times you have imbibed in your short life, you have discovered that being drunk is fun until it is decidedly not. It’s fun until you require your motor skills, fun until your stream of consciousness rolls into a riptide loosening the leash you keep wrapped ‘round your emotions. The festivities are long over. You're not even sure what occasion they had been celebrating. All of these winter festivals blend together after the first three.

You slump over the flat stone of the wall, bent at the waist. Your fingers don’t even reach the edge. Faint footsteps scruff across the old stone behind her. Quiet, but purposefully loud enough for you to hear. That alone tells you who dares approach.

“Do you believe in god, Yuri?” your ragged voice sounds unfamiliar to yourself. You don't budge from your prone position. The stone cools the overheated side of your face, seeps through your layers. You can feel the wild thrum of your heart begin to slow, cooling the agonizing sear of you pumping blood.

“I believe that it’s long past your bedtime,” Yuri says, a broken piece of glass crunching under his heel. “And I believe in the Goddess. How could I not when she blessed me with you?” The mocking drawl in his voice forces the corners of your lips into a deep frown.

He’s not going to leave, anytime soon, so you slide back onto your feet. The sudden change in position has you swaying on your feet, foot stumbling out of place. Before you can take a tumble and make even more of a fool of yourself, Yuri grasps your shoulder, touch grounding. You regard him with as blank a stare as you can manage. Despite the lashing winds and otherwise unpleasant conditions, Yuri is unflappable as always, long locks of lavender laid atop his shoulder. He’s traded his cape in for a dark cloak, sticked lines of embroidery lacing the cuffs and bottom of the garment, dance around its bone white buttons.

He’s still all purples and reds, but the smokey greys you’ve come to associate with his wardrobe have been traded in for darker shades. And he looks good, like he hasn’t lost a night of sleep in his life.

“Can’t sleep,” you mutter, kicking a nearby pebble. It’s sent skittering under a nearby table. Yuri regards you flatly, lips pressed into a thin, straight line—as thin as his petal plump lips can press, anyways. They’re coated in a subtle shade of pink, tonight, just blush enough to look natural. He rarely ever applies any intense, saturated shades of lipstick or gloss, lest it distract from the keen smolder of his eyes and his natural good looks.

Though, it doesn’t matter much what he wears. He dazzles on every occasion, sways swathes of civilians with his silver tongue and striking smile. He’s horribly, magnificently magnetic. Anyone would be lucky to have him, for what he has and what is underneath it all. He would surely make a marvelous spouse—

He flicks your forehead, sending you stumbling backwards. Before you can take a tumble onto your arse, he does you the good favor of snatching you by the arm to steady you. When had he come so close?

Up close, his chagrin is much more obvious. You shift uncomfortably under his stare. You cannot recall what having a mother was like, but you can imagine this is what being scolded by one would feel like.

“Where do you go in that head of yours?” he says with a sigh, wry smile breaking out across his pink petal lips.

“I… I don’t—” you stammer, scrambling for mental purchase.

“You can tell me all about it later,” Yuri takes your hand with a graceful flourish of his cape, drawing you close to the firm, lean line of him. The scent of faint lilac wreaths around you like an old, comfortable coat. “When you’re a little more sober, at least.” There’s a genteel grace to his steps as he shepherds you towards the stone staircase.

“Where are we going?” You’re left to do aught but follow, a sudden, giddy giggle erupting from your chest as you stumble into his side.

He sighs, belied by his wry smile. He relinquished his hold on your hand to wrap an arm around your waist, the stretch of his body so blessedly warm against your own. He chases the clinging chill away, dizzies your thoughts into paste.

You hardly hear him ask, “Bed. Yours or mine?” His question rattles you out of your drunken stupor. Your eyes go wide as saucers, palms hot with sweat as you struggle to form an adequate answer. Despite having known him for quite some time, his directness still manages to fluster you—an effect he likely intended, given his devious simper. What’s somehow worse is that you can’t bring yourself to be cross with him.

“Y-Yours,” you hardly realize you’ve spoken your mind until Yuri breaks out in a loud, genuine laugh. It’s unlike his typically tame chuckles, a sound of sheer exuberance that makes the inside of your chest twinge. You like hearing him this happy. You want him to be this happy all of the time.

“Bold. I like it.” he teases, jostling you in his grasp.

“Oh shove it—wait!” you huff, but stay in step with him, struggling not to stumble as he shepherds you down the stone stairs A line of torches straddle the descending path. In your drunken haze, you had forgotten about the two guards posted at the bottom. The sight of them shocked you stiff-still. Your fingers curl into the fine brocade of his black cloak, pulling him flush to the wall. “Wait!” you hiss, voice nearly lost in his many layers.

“What? Did you leave something behind?”

“We can’t be seen sneaking around together!” you insist, and are immediately incensed at the eyeroll he gives you.

“And why would that be? Too ashamed to be seen with a charlatan like myself?” he drawls, yet takes you in closer. There’s a mean glint in his eyes, something decidedly wicked as his breath ghosts over your cheek, teasing your ear.

“Of course not!” you protest, eyes wide, cheeks got. How could you have misspoken so terribly? The last thing you wanted was to make him feel judged for the life he led, for the methods he employed in his occupation. “It’s you I’m worried about. What’ll people say if they saw you consorting with the Mad Witch of the Wend? No one would… would…” You draw a trembling hand over his chest, feeling the cool silk under your fingertips.

“You’re worried about my image? How darling.” Yuri coos, clearly disregarding the seriousness of the situation. People talk, servants talk, guards talk. If you two were to be seen on a random, midnight rendezvous, then word would surely get back to the capital, where plenty of available, valuable bachelorettes could hear.

“Of course I am. You could still marry someone nice and rich from the capital. Someone connected…” you reason. You blink your bleary eyes attempting to clear the blur that sticks to your periphery like stubborn burrs. The world at its edges is opaque and slow as melting candle wax. This is precisely why you typically abstain from the absinthe and fine brandies which tradesmen plod through the outpost. It makes your head dull and your words impossible to find.

“Hm. No. I don’t think I will. Noble life never agreed with me.” Yuri gives your cheek a consoling pat. You get the feeling that he is still, for some reason, very amused. Which is preferable to him being offended, or hurt. You don’t mind him laughing at you, you think, not when genuine mirth flatters him so. “If I’m going to make a difference, it’s not going to be with someone else’s spending money.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He tugs you past the posted guards, ushering you within the hollow halls of the outpost. Torches positioned on the wall shed gentle light up and down the small tunnel. You break beyond the thick walls which surround the inner manor—a proud, brutal building that sits a hybrid between the harsh stone architecture meant to shield from the cold and the slender, elegant cathedrals and house manors found en masse within the capital.

“I know.” Yuri shoots you a conspiratorial, knowing look. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your side. You can feel his touch through the two layers you have on, his arm having scooped beneath your outer cloak with dangerous efficiency. “The fact that you still think I could find some nice, doe-eyed girl from the upper crust to fall in love with is adorable, but I’m not interested in all that.”

He pulls you through the inner sanctum with a self-assuredness that would make you think he owned the place. His strides are slow. His voice keeps his strides slow and his voice quiet, sticking to the walls and where the shadow sinks the deepest. His cape swishes and billows around you, keeps you shielded from prying gazes of glancing guardsmen. Every step he takes is quixotically quiet despite his heels.

“I just want you to be happy. With someone nice. Who can help you make your dreams come true.”

He scoffs. “Ugh. When did you become such a ham?” you shove him again, and he laughs. “If you must know, I’ve already found the person I want to spend the rest of my days with.” He herds you to a nondescript wooden door, jamming a key into the lock before thrusting it open. The room is deathly dark, the only light slipping in silvery through a slit in the curtains.

Incredulous and wide-eyed, you gape at him as he draws you inside, wondering if you had heard him properly. While he engaged with a number of brief romances and paramours, he never seemed entirely beholden to the idea of a permanent entanglement. Which you will not judge him for. Only members of the nobility prioritize marriage so persistently, all too eager to shuttle off their children to new, unloving homes for the sake of power. You can’t imagine Yuri buying into such a sham—even if the court’s coffers could fund his ambitions.

“You are? Who is it?” you finally muster up the gumption to ask. There’s a strange, cold feeling at the pit of your stomach. Burgeoning dread you cannot make heads or tails of.

“Worried they’ll steal me away?” Yuri says with a fond smile. He looks at you while he lights the bedside lamp. He does it with magic, you realize, catching the tail end of his somatic gesture, pointer finger aimed straight at the lamp in question, thumb quirked skyward. You’ve seen him do it a few times before in battle, spells interwoven with fast footwork and flashes of forged steel from underneath his half fastened cloak. “You don’t need to worry your pretty head about all that—but you’ll be relieved to know that they live nearby. Very nearby, in fact.” He said, voice slowing to emphasize a point you don’t quite comprehend.

He unlatches the clasps on his cloak, gently dropping it over a nearby wooden chair. He smooths his hands over the back of it before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. If you were perhaps a shred more sober, you would have immediately looked away. But you watch as he deftly sheds the silken garment, exposing planes of leam, pale flesh to the slight candlelight.

He clears his throat, with a knowing smirk. You pointedly snap your gaze downwards, pretending to find sudden interest in the floorboards. They seem to glow a soft, warm brown, aged polish scuffed and scratched with the wear of time.

Hastily, you follow his example, casting off your outermost layers with great haste. It’s second nature to shift down to your undergarments at this point. Despite his teasing, you’re comfortable with Yuri. Word of his cunning and cut-throated customs is rife in both the underbelly and upper crust of Faerghus, but none of the gossip mongers who gab on about him actually know him.

Years spent at his side have let you understand exactly the kind of man he is. Which is also why you know he would never be interested in someone like you. You’re something broken, something bent, misshapen by the malicious hands which made you. The idea of being coveted, of being loved strikes within you an uneasy feeling of wrongness.

Ah, but you’re sure he’s still waiting for an answer…

“Yuri…” you begin. You don’t quite remember what you had been discussing, you realize with a strong swing of dismay. Yuri, blessed with an unfathomable amount of kindness, is quick to remind you.

“What? Does the honored Marquis truly want to know the sordid details of my sex life? How scandalous!” he exclaims. You guffaw, dropping onto the mattress face-first, still in your boots and trousers.

“I just wanna make sure you’re with someone good.” you mumble, pressing your face into the pillow. It’s cool, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you burrow further into the cushions. The entire bed smells like him, and if you were possessed of but an ounce more of sobriety you would be too abashed to savor it.

“Again. Adorable. But you should really watch out for yourself,” he hums. His footsteps trail away from the bed, and you’re about to look over your shoulder when his hand wraps around your ankle and tugs, urging you onto your back. “I’m surprised you don’t have a line of suitors breaking down your doors everyday…” His fingers run down your clothed leg, to the leather and latches of your boots. You watch the graceful weave of his fingers as he slides them off, one after the other. He’s taken off his gloves, allowing you to just barely feel the fleeting warmth of his hands as they briefly swipe over your skin. “Though, I suppose I should be grateful.”

“That I’m gonna be lonely forever?” you grumble, turning onto your side.

“That I don’t have any background checks to do.” Yuri says, further away this time. You glance over your shoulder to where he’s gently dropping your boots near the door. So much care and compassion for something so small.

“Oh… Does that mean I can ba…background check the person you like?” you ask, and he smiles.

“Of course,” he says. His fingers weave through his long lilac locks, handily undoing his hair tie. He drops it on the nightstand before slipping underneath the sheets to settle beside you. “I have full confidence in your investigative skills, and you’ll quite like the person I chose.”

“That’s because you have good taste,” you mumble, eyes slipping shut. You wait a moment, and then two, and then three before opening one eye to peer at him. “Can I get a hint?”

“Again, don’t worry about it. At least, not right now. I’ll talk your ear off about it tomorrow, okay?” he says, consoling. His hand runs over your hair, fingers sliding down your neck. A flush of heat rolls through your spine, so silken and sanguine that you can’t suppress a shudder. You retreat to the cool comfort of your pillow, letting his touch sap the tension from your sore muscles. “When you have a better chance of actually remembering what I say.” The meat of his palm presses against your upper back. His heated touch saps the remaining tension from your body, soothing you enough to slip into the beginning phases of sleep.

“...Fine.” you huff, but there’s no real bite behind it. It’s half muffled into the pillowcase. You know Yuri likes being a man of his word, but he’s also a man in demand. There’s no telling if one of his gang members will burst through his door and announce a sudden tragedy that demands his attention. There’s no telling if he’ll be gone in the morning, a note left in his place written in that familiar, tidy cursive.

His roaming touch wanders upwards, warm fingers spanning across the nape of your neck. His thumb rubs soft circles into the skin together, and the touch alone would keep you awake if not for the alcohol muddling your system.

“And I’ll be here when you wake up,” he continues, as if sensing your apprehension. “You have my word on that.”

#fe3h x reader #fe3h/reader #yuri leclerc/reader #yuri leclerc x reader #yuri/reader #yuri leclerc #oz write #featuring fe3h

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