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moonbaby26 · 5 months

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Title: Two Conditions

(Chapter 8 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Aokiji/Kuzan x Reader (referenced), Smoker x Reader (referenced)

Chapter Warnings: language, controlling/possessive relationship, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex referenced (female receiving), Doffy considering baby trapping reader, Doffy referencing attraction to reader even when she was still a teen (nothing happened)

Chapter Synopsis: It’s now day two of your three day agreement to stay with Doflamingo. You’re still surviving, even enjoying it at times. But whether that is for better or worse remains to be seen as he’s keen on coercing your full commitment to him as soon as possible.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

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It was clear that you were far more familiar with sharing a bed than Doflamingo was for as deeply as you now slept. Either this or you were just that exhausted from enduring him so many more times throughout the night.

Even his cock was finally feeling a bit sore from so much grinding, lube or not. But he never would have told you that, just watching you sleeping against him still in what was probably now two or three in the morning.

He’d only allowed you out of the bed long enough earlier to eat dinner with him as well as to use the attached master bath to clean up, and occasionally relieve your bladder from the beer you’d had in town and all the wine which came alone with him after.

Dinner had been a quick one out on the balcony, you and he both indulging in a mushroom risotto with scallops. More of that traditional Scyllian fare prepared from the kitchen and personal chefs below. Though those servants would have long gone home by now.

Even as expensive as this place had been to purchase, it was still far smaller than what he was used to. Which also meant that it stayed less crowded inside. Really, not much more than the two of you left except for some useless guards perhaps still patrolling this late at night.

But you had seemed to approve when first seeing the villa. Because of course, what difference did you know? The majority of your quiet hours were likely only had laying in a marine bunk not much bigger than a coffin, having to hear all your other crew moving and breathing around you in the ships you traveled on.

Like an ant in the dirt with all the others.

But he couldn’t stop watching you all the same, so vulnerable beside him. This fascination with you in particular only seeming to worsen exponentially each time that he had you alone.

And he already had thrown down the gauntlet with Tsuru, announcing his intentions to keep pursuing you despite her strong misgivings. So he’d have to be prepared for those consequences soon.

She had promised to air everything she knew about him in an attempt to drive you off. All in the name of protecting you of course. And goddamn that woman did know almost all of it. And even what she had no proof for, she likely still heavily suspected.

But him racing against that clock to capture you fully before she could sabotage him only made things that much more interesting really.

It was obvious that you and Tsuru had yet to connect again since she’d first found out. But the moment she was back on the scene, it’d be a full out battle of wills for your fate he was sure.

And this was the primary reason everything had to be rushed along.

Though, courting you at this speed did agree with his natural impatience too of course. He’d waited long enough to have these chances with you after all.

Whether you accepted it yet or not, he had wanted this from very first sight. And he absolutely would have fucked you senseless in the North Blue too if things had worked out better then. Teenage body or not for you at that time in your life.

Sometimes he still suspected that you and Tsuru had even added a few years onto your official marine record to make you legal for recruitment back then. She’d kept you hidden aboard her ship as a little chore girl well before training you up to let you out into the field with villains like him he was sure.

Because she had learned the hard way not to leave the wrong child behind again hadn’t she?

Doflamingo smirked to himself at those old thoughts, just burying that scarred left side of his face back against you now.

He was going to have to tell you that part of his story eventually. Because she would if he didn’t. The one about the rage filled little boy whose eye and life your insufferable race had tried to steal as they rose up against him.

The bottomless violence of humankind only contrasted in the one older woman he’d met soon after that offered him a brief respite which nearly made him change it all.

He had begged Tsuru not to leave him there. That boy had cried out for a mother’s warmth one last time and been so fatefully denied.

Too young to recruit then she’d said, and with biological family still alive that she wouldn’t remove him from.

Oh how Doflamingo had wondered how many nights she had lain awake ruing that mistake ever since. Especially when her peer Sengoku had found an even younger Rosinante soon after and done for that traitor what she wouldn’t for him. Of course Doflamingo had never learned about Sengoku’s direct involvement until long after his brother’s death.

But now, so much like his bird namesake which sometimes hid their head beneath their wings as they slept, Doflamingo had long since made a habit of burying that blind side of his face and those mistakes of the past within the nearest comfort whenever available.

And tonight, instead of just another cold empty bed and overstuffed pillows alone, that actually meant the safety of the nape of your neck as he breathed in your scent and warmth.

Everything he did still had its own purpose though. Even as entirely uncomfortable as it’d been to let you see him laid bare this soon, he knew he was correct to have made this choice.

Because it was already so obvious in the way you’d touched his face and spoken to him so sincerely after…you were already forgetting how easily that switch within him could still flip.

If he used tenderness as a tool to get his way, it didn’t erase anything else that he was still so capable of. This beast would still bite you, even as an injured one now experiencing your rare kindness.

Especially an an injured one actually when faced with your weakness of affection.

Because no amount of kisses, soft touches, or pretty words could make his pain any less real. Or dampen his inner fear of ever experiencing that level of helplessness again that he had once been dealt from your kind.

If you did sleep beside him enough nights to find out, you’d discover him sweating and thrashing in his sleep eventually. Reliving the ropes cutting into his wrists, the fire at his feet, and the smoke in his lungs as he’d screamed at those vermin. Screamed and threatened to destroy everything and everyone even as their arrows finally hit their mark.

He’d made good on some of those promises too in recent years. But it would never be enough. That rage could never be fully quenched, his suffering from it never lessened.

That pain could only be paused perhaps, or briefly redirected. In the instances where he was receiving something that he also wanted so thoroughly.

He wanted to hold you. He wanted to fuck you. He wanted to fight you. And he wanted to keep you.

His mind had run endless with plans and strategies to do this very thing for so long now. But he absolutely had to seal the deal soon to make this permanent.

Because the only thing he was certain of when it came to these conflicting emotions was that no one else could be allowed to truly claim you again.

As his long body shifted once more, nestling even further against you at every meeting point that he could, his hand still tightened slightly on your lower abdomen.

That was one option he was still considering.

He hadn’t forgotten the crazy things you’d made him say in Sabaody. He’d been so angry with you that day. Likening you to nothing better than livestock for him to shame, abuse, and even impregnate however he’d see fit.

It was still very much a cheat too if he chose to use that. Because as highly as he regarded his own twisted, mother and son like relationship with Tsuru, it also made him not see a chain in this world stronger than that between mothers and their spawn.

No matter what you said or eventually promised him now, he knew you may still try to fly away from him one day. But if there was a child…then no matter where or how far you may wish to run, you would always return right back to any nest he’d made for you. You would do so without hesitation if your chick was the one within his grasp instead. If it was crying out in fear for your protection.

And the immorality of such ideas was not even a concept worth considering. Because of course he could do whatever he wished with his own future blood, or with you, his own desired mate.

It was just the logistics of achieving such a thing.

When his servants had searched your bag earlier, he could have had them throw out those stupid birth control pills of yours then and there.

But you’d just get more as soon as you were back on any marine ship. He knew that. So the fight that would have been with you hadn’t been worth the annoyance to him right now.

Not for such a low chance of making a difference in just three days time anyway.

But he was definitely keeping an eye on that potential. If it really came down to it, he knew other chemicals existed. Things that nullified those pills which could easily be slipped into drinks for instance.

Caesar alone had a treasure trove of old Germa 66 data that’d been stolen. Forced fertility was hardly a complicated affair in all the greater horrors Vinsmoke Judge had committed to his own bloodline.

The reminder to Doflamingo that he had no blood family, outside of the more distant ones that he’d gladly kill if they ever set foot beyond their gilded gates in Mariejois, was a bittersweet one though.

If you really could give him that family back one day, he would absolutely use both you and that child to help with the void those last executions had still left him with. It would be something to finally have the Heart seat filled again too of course like he’d considered before. Doflamingo had lost his heart in more ways than one back then.

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“Doffy.” You said quietly, just this surreal scene something your mind was still trying to accept as you felt his breath warm and soft against your neck in the new light of day.

Well, the dim light of day. The curtains were not pulled shut. But the sky was overcast, gloomy almost.

The perfect morning to never move at all really.

With a sleeping monster coiled all around you, like you were some shiny pebble he’d never let go of again.

But this pebble needed to pee.

Quite badly, with a smaller bladder than him, and all that wine still filtering into it. Something expensive and vintage you couldn’t even properly pronounce, but it’d been that or nothing as thirsty as you’d been last night. As sweaty as you’d been as you’d climbed that pirate as if you’d never see a man again.

Over and over, but somehow you’d still survived him.

If there had been blood again, it’d only been specks. Mostly under his fingernails or yours. And he’d liked it every time. Every claw mark, every bruise and bite. He’d wanted to give as much as receive.

But he was about to receive something worse if he didn’t release you soon.

“I need to pee.” You said a little more insistently. Trying to slide out from between his arms, and those even longer legs wrapped so tightly around you.

But you felt his face press into you even harder. Even that short blond hair now messy, mussed against your skin.

His calves slid against you, warm and tight as a new sound finally greeted your ear.

“….and if I say no?”

His voice was dark, but so thick with sleep still. There was a large hand running down your side again.

“Then I piss on your skinny bird legs.” You threatened.

He made an indistinguishable sound at that, but you felt his lips upturn against your spine.

“Filthy animal.” And now that same hand had moved to enclose on your wrist.

He’d been like this some last night too anytime you’d needed to leave the bed. But he’d been much easier to fight when worn down from all the fucking.

This was now a Doflamingo with a few hours of sleep back in him.

But you still didn’t have the time, deciding to take that challenge. Pulling up your legs so quickly that he couldn’t catch them with his own.

You put the soles of your feet against that hard abdomen of his next as you pushed for all you were worth. Only the strength of one of his hands now pitted against the force of both of your legs.

He cursed at the pain that made for him, and when he twisted his body, your foot nearly slipped down between his legs. Not intentionally on your part, but you and he both realized how close you’d come to annihilating him right in the balls this early in the morning.

He released you immediately too then. And you hadn’t been ready for that, crashing right off the bed with most of the blankets as you’d still been trying to pull away from him.

Yet you jumped right back up, though with the bedsheet cascading off of your hip as you thought he might be coming after you to continue the struggle.

But he was only staring at you. Still laying there on the bed where your fall had fully uncovered him. Like some kind of nude adonis in annoyed repose.

You straightened up at the sight, nude as well and trying not to feel that flush of heat within you all over again.

And he said nothing, but you felt his gaze on you all the way until you’d made it into the bathroom and closed the door for privacy.

But then that was actually worse. Again, just like the night before, not being able to see him meant he could be moving anywhere, doing anything. The same way that snakes and spiders didn’t bother you as long as you could see them. But it was an entirely different matter once they disappeared.

You were trying to listen for any footfalls even as you flushed the toilet and briefly washed your hands over the sink.

But there was nothing and you had opened the door again soon enough.

You saw he had indeed moved, but only to pull the blanket back off of the floor and onto his body. Only his shoulders and head were exposed now. He had the left side of his face buried against the mattress as well in the absence of you. His right eye still watching you, but through a half lidded gaze.

Still that tired then? Poor thing, you thought sardonically.

Yet this was also your chance to get something else done as you tried not to make a big show of grabbing one of the now empty wine glasses off of the dresser. The drinking had started on the balcony with dinner last night, and then moved back inside as he’d herded you into the bed and beneath him once more all those hours ago.

You were absolutely still sore too as you kneeled down by your duffel bag. You unzipped it quietly, just enough to slide your hand in and pop one of your birth control pills out of the foil packet buried within your clothes.

In one smooth movement, you’d slipped the pill into your mouth and stood again. Just walking back to the bathroom to fill the wine glass with enough water from the sink to wash the pill down as you’d swallowed.

“You really are a fucking animal.” His voice cut through rather loudly right as you’d tilted your head back.

You about spit the water out at the sudden gruff voice, glaring back at him through the open bathroom door for startling you.

But the pill did make it down your throat as you’d walked back out.

“What’s your problem? Go back to sleep, pirate!” You fussed, heart rate up now as that’d been so unexpected in the otherwise silence of the dimly lit room.

You left the wine glass back on the dresser as you approached the bed again however.

And that crimson red iris of his right eye was locked in on you, even as he opened the blanket and quickly pulled you back against him once you were close enough.

His grip was stronger than minutes before, painful this time as you felt his cock, already half hard again against your back.

But he didn’t use it right now, just growling a little in your ear. “The problem is that we don’t drink from bathroom sinks, you little savage. If you want water, you ring the help to bring you some. Ice water filtered into a pitcher, not bathroom water from the same room that we shit in…got it?”

And then he was forcing you to turn around again, to face him in the bed before he tightened the blanket back around you both.

Your eyebrows were lowered, knowing he was actually serious but not at all understanding why this was suddenly such a trigger. Why was he so goddamned weird? He’d literally licked his own cum off of your face last night. But drinking from the sink was taboo?

“Yes, Doffy.” You muttered anyway. Intuitive enough to realize that that was also what he wanted to hear.

But he huffed a little regardless. His eye still on yours as he answered. “Watch the bratty tone. I’ll housebreak you yet, little cur.”

And even with the dark clouds outside, enough sunlight was filtering in to start to lose your focus by watching his face again.

He really did have expressive eyes when they weren’t hidden.

So even as much of an asshole as he was already being to you just minutes after waking, you did find yourself touching his face again soon enough.

And him allowing it as well despite that previous condescending talk while he turned his head so that both his eyes could be seen now. His cheek was against your hand as he still watched you.

“What now, love?” He asked abruptly then.

Just like that his tone was different again with your touch. But it felt intentional too. You weren’t as naive as he may think.

Like it was still all a game somehow. From cold to warm, then sweet back to sour again, dangling the lure in front of you, then pulling it away again to try and make you drop your guard.

But he was willing to keep it going even if you weren’t falling for this constant switching back and forth fully yet.

“No, I can’t see out of my left eye if that’s what you’re pondering.” He actually offered without being asked though while you’d watched each other. “Nothing there but shadow and flares of light that bring on the worst migraines anyway. But that left eye was always sensitive to light. Even from birth.”

Well, then he was suited to being some kind of venomous creature living under a rock after all wasn’t he? But he was clearly trying for your sympathy again too.

And he did scowl a little then, that cloudy eye narrowing in tandem with the other. You still weren’t taking the bait to empathize with him as easily as last night he likely realized. Your hormones and desire for him more under control now….mostly.

“But this is obviously a secret you’re now obligated to keep as well, love.” He warned instead. “Being a half blind warlord doesn’t pack quite as much of a threat now does it?”

“I’d bet it just makes you that much meaner actually.” You quipped in return.

His scowl upturned a bit there, a smirk beginning as he didn’t entirely disagree. “Sometimes.”

And really, you would have been fine to leave each other alone from there. An armistice to just lay in Doflamingo’s arms as a lazy morning like you hadn’t had from anyone in much too long.

With Kuzan the last time…and you supposed it really had to be the last time now, he’d been too drunk. Rolling away from you even hours before it was already time to be back up and in uniform.

And with Smoker, even before the breakup he’d been away from you for months. Your last physical time together, actually having been only a quickie in the bathroom of a damned bar. Just a port town both your ships had been in at the same time.

Hardly romantic as you’d been bitching at him not to get ashes in your hair as he’d hiked up your skirt from behind and still not put out those fucking cigars regardless. Thrusting into you just long enough for him to cum, and then he’d been done.

No talk of missing you. No lingering kiss or hold at all. Just a man who’d been alone on a boat for too long and needed something to put it in.

You really should have realized his waning interest in you sooner. You and Smoker hadn’t been much more than friends with benefits by the end, had you? And apparently even that had been too much for him to maintain.

It still pissed you off really. How quickly Smoker had just turned and cut you out when you’d thought it had been more than just sex.

“The fuck are you thinking about now?” Doflamingo interrupted as your eyes flitted back to him in surprise.

Had you been showing that past regret on your face? Hell.

And the pirate was indeed watching you with full judgement.

“It’s just been a while since I’ve gotten to stay with anyone. I don’t know.” You certainly tried to stay non specific there. You couldn’t think of any quicker way to violence than to confess to Donquixote Doflamingo of thinking of another man while in his bed beside him.

But thankfully, he didn’t press this time. Seemingly a bit more interested in the handful of your ass that he was then cupping.

“Well you didn’t slit my throat in my sleep. So I suppose I’ll let you stay again tonight…” He taunted a little, but still sounding somewhat lazy as you remained in his grip.

“Because I’m a sailor, not an assassin.” You replied though, a bit offended at that insinuation before you could even help it.

And he did grin again then. “Oh, I’m well aware. Tsuru’s little protege. You two and your pitiful ethics. But…that predictable nature of yours makes this rare privilege possible for you. You think I’d let a fellow pirate curl up to me like this?”

And there was a look in his eye then that absolutely said he was referring to someone specifically as his words kept on. “My peers may know how to fuck well enough, but we’d kill each other sooner than touch again after the copulating was done. Too much ego between us to make it even one night without murderous intent rearing up.”

“Hate fucking you mean?” You asked, and you didn’t know why you were encouraging him. He’d talk about these crazy things and you’d just start to answer sometimes.

“Exactly! All lust, no trust.” And he did seem amused, both at your response and his own little rhyme there.

“But tell me, marine.” And now those wandering fingers were roaming your inner thighs as his eye looked more curious. “What would you really call this instead? You and I?”

And your nervousness was back. His focus so fully on you then.

“I don’t know.” You said honestly.

“Let’s think about that then.” He said, and you were seeing more of his teeth. That smile that never resembled anything close to friendly.

“Did you like it when I walked you around in public yesterday?” He asked next. “…when I called you my woman in front of those scurrying mice at the store?”

And his voice was dropping too. His fingers gripping you harder in tandem.

“It made you wet didn’t it?” He breathed through that cruel smile. “Because you want so badly to belong to someone.”

Which, that tone only made you think that he must finally be awake enough to start feeling amorous all over again. But those devilish eyes were still thinking, considering deeper things once more.

“I liked the way it felt too.” He said abruptly. “I’ve been thinking of what it’d be like to have you to come back to each night…”

Your lips couldn’t help but part a little again at that when his thumb ran across them. Yet he kept talking, kept suggesting.

“You’re already a captain after all. I’ve no doubt that the rank of commodore will soon follow. And you’ll have your own ship and crew by then, won’t you darling?”

His face had moved in closer to you again then, lips ghosting along your jawline. Hungry little bites made along it, urging you to tilt your head back as he finished his thought. “You do realize that that ship will have to have Dressrosa as its home port, don’t you? I don’t think I’ll be able to accept anything less now…”

Of course you made a sound somewhere between disbelief and disagreement at those new words. But he didn’t care. His tongue was running wet across your pulse point before he bit down abruptly.

And the palm of your hand was against his cheek just as fast to push him off.

You felt his resulting laugh more than you heard it before he did pull back. Yet only enough for him to outright lick your still open palm.

Which earned another look of equal surprise and bewilderment from you as you tried to wipe that spit back away immediately onto the bedding.

“And how the hell would that work?” You did ask irritably though, still clearly flustered by his new ideas. “There’s no marine base in Dressrosa. A home port is where the crew members’ families live. Where we stay between assignments and resupply, and-”

“Yes, it’d be the perfect country for raising a family, wouldn’t it?” His voice was so smooth again at that, unnerving almost as it caught you a little further off guard.

He was stroking you idly again too, down your side and over your hip. “Your subordinates would be kissing your feet to get to live in the comparative paradise of Dressrosan casitas instead of those utilitarian marine barracks they’d find everywhere else.”

“It takes a lot of crew to fully man one of our ships.” You didn’t know why your body was trying to tense again at this subject. Or why you were trying to fight illogical emotions with logical words at all. “That’s not an amount of housing that can just pop up overnight.”

“I’m their fucking king…we’ll designate whatever space I say to. And it’d all be free obviously. Your miserly accountants at HQ could never say no to that.”

“Nothing is free.” You quickly replied.

And Doflamingo did smile again there. Like a magician conceding that his current audience was more cynical than most. You were still seeing some truth even behind the attractive show.

“Well…you’d be the real payment of course.” He murmured, beginning to look a bit more hungry again.

“Funny.” You tried to deflect.

“I’m serious.” He contended. And you could feel his hips shift, a rather hard something now poking against your stomach yet again.

“You actually want me to live in Dressrosa?” It felt like a last ditch effort to try snd show him how insane those words really could sound when strung together.

“Oh no, love. That alone wouldn’t be enough.” And he’d moved again so that long cock of his was now sliding back and forth against your abdomen.

And you looked at him in some confusion. All the while seeing that lust begin to bud all over again in his handsome face.

“Your crew would live in Dressrosa. But you would live in my palace. In my bed. Just like this.”

And he flung the blankets back with those words, before he’d rolled the two of you so that you were fully beneath him once more.

You could see how flushed with blood that throbbing cock already was then, an enlarged vein running beneath it as he’d pulled that lube bottle back into his hand via string.

“Every morning while your ship was in port, woman. This could be us.” He promised even as he was then stroking that lube back over his shaft and the broad head of it. “You could set sail and go ruin as many other pirates as you’d wish…crush my competitors. And then come home, back to me at the end of each voyage. Back to your king.”

You heard that resealed lube bottle clank against the nightstand as he hadn’t even had the patience to set it back down. Him just tossing it before he grabbed you behind the knees and spread your legs while lifting them up simultaneously.

Your ankles were in the air and then pressed against his torso before he shoved that wet cock back inside of you.

It was always painful. And always amazing too as you saw him smile down at your pitiful expression. Just a woman hopelessly conquered, aroused, and desperate all at once for this ruthless man.

You didn’t care about a future that had yet to be. Whatever schemes and plans he had for you…there was no point of being afraid of what wasn’t yet here.

This stretching and heat and need were what was real. Just blooming all over again and pushing everything else from your mind as you finally found the way to beg.

“Fuck me, Doffy….please.” You whined when he’d yet to begin thrusting at all after that first penetration.

He’d been too busy watching you writhe as you’d stretched for him once more.

And the growl that came from him in return to your plea was nothing short of hedonistic. “Of course. Of fucking course, love. Open up and take me…on two conditions.”

You tried to focus, but even as those damnable eyes of his bid you to heed him, his thumb was now pressing over your clit simultaneously. He rubbed it so perfectly as he tightened that metaphorical snare all at once.

Every prior word, every prior action…he’d been waiting for you to succumb like this.

“I’ll be yours, woman. I’ll even let you come and go from my country. Let you continue with that ‘ambitious justice’ that you’ve so claimed.” The sneer on his face at your particular notion of justice made clear how arbitrary and futile he found the term however.

He did begin to slowly thrust his cock in and out of you too then, dragging it almost to extend each and every tease to all those heated nerve endings inside. “But no one else may have your body this way…not without my full consent. No one.”

His finger was still massaging your clit incessantly with each new word, but not letting your own hips buck up into him as they so badly wanted to. He only pinned you even harder into the mattress, almost impatient for you to comply as he gave the final rule.

“And you will always return home to me.” There was no smile then. This was absolutely all or none. “Your only true home will be wherever I am.”

And for the very first time, you may have preferred the red glasses to have been back on his face to cover him. Because that look in his eyes was abruptly unforgiving. But…especially in the wounded left eye actually.

He’d admitted that eye had always been abnormal and sensitive from birth. Even from before whatever incident had later blinded it.

But only in the daylight, and only with it focused on you that dangerously could you now see that larger iris’ outline in full. Its original deep red hazed over to almost a pink beneath the white scar tissue.

And something inside that blinded eye was fully primal. Mad. It was separate of the rest of him in a way you couldn’t explain in that moment. You were afraid of it.

“Doffy…” You tried to call him back to you.

“Swear to me.” He hissed just as quickly though. That pressure from his hand on your clit becoming painful.

He was absolutely hurting you now. Your body caught under his weight as well as he stayed buried as deeply inside of you as he could go. The head of him was pressed hard against your cervix yet again.

You were cornered and you knew it. And even as frightening as that could suddenly be, it didn’t kill your desire for him.

He was absolutely a monster.

But he was still the only thing you kept thinking about. The only one you kept needing. You’d keep coming back to him anyway, as stupid as you were, wouldn’t you? Because everyone else kept throwing you away when you’d tried to do better.

You’d tried to fall in love with marines, and felt like a ship smashed against the rocks both times. Wouldn’t it be insane of you to just keep chasing that same honorable kind of man like Kuzan or Smoker, only to find that you weren’t an honorable enough woman for either of them to ever keep?

“Then what would I be to you?” You pleaded within the pain. Your clit stinging, your cervix aching. “Just your mistress? Your concubine?” Your eyes were starting to sting too. Were you no better than your own brothel working mother in the end? The most you’d ever have in lieu of actual love was just the sexual fixations of a dangerous man?

Yet he spoke these new words into existence and everything else went silent.

“You would be my wife.”

You weren’t breathing, the bed wasn’t creaking. Every muscle on you both was frozen. Just his unnatural eyes staring into yours.

“You can’t mean that.” Your brain felt utterly useless now. Any words just reflex, completely helpless and defeated really.

“Waiting any longer is only for the indecisive. Once I know what I want…why would I leave it for anyone else to take?” And the tone had changed yet again. His thumb was now moving only in gentle circles on your clit once more.

You spread your legs a little more in reflex. Your goddamned body so confused.

“Say yes.” He insisted still though, even as he started to pump his hips again.

All the pain in you was being covered up again by the pleasure he now allowed.

You had no choice. You knew you’d be absolutely mauled if you denied him now. Even with every haki trick you had, you may not even make it out alive from this room, as passionate as he clearly was on having your submission.

So you nodded, feeling like you’d just ceded a piece of your own soul to the being above you. “I accept.”

“No. Swear to me instead.” Those same words came again in immediate reply. But this time was different. There was that very faintest hint of anxiety in the Heavenly Demon’s voice. Like a fisherman seeing the catch of his life teetering on that edge of either fully entering or escaping the net.

“I swear, Doflamingo. I’ll have no one else, and I’ll return to you after every voyage. I’ll even be your wife if I can still remain a marine.”

And were you crazy for still trying to add your own stipulation at the end there?

Yes, of course you were. But you’d seen the way he was hanging on your every word then. Your heart had still had that touch of bravery left to rise at the final moment.

And it worked. You saw his smile instantly reform. But it seemed involuntary, disbelieving almost, and entirely nervous on his face. “You can still be both. I have pull higher than even Sengoku…they can’t terminate you. Can’t demote you. You can be the first royal of modern times still in active service…”

And he was starting to laugh too. He didn’t know what to do with himself as it really began to sink in.

“My queen…” he purred, his hips picking up the pace as the bed started creaking once more. “A warrior queen of the sea at that…fuck, it’s going to be so goddamned fun.”

And he was grinding your g-spot for all he was worth soon enough. Having you moaning for him as he reveled in this sudden and wholly unexpected victory.

You couldn’t think about it much more though. Not as your toes curled and your back arched beneath the now gleeful devil.

It was utterly insane. Him, you, all of it. There was just nothing else that could be done in this moment to save either of you.

———————————

The rest of the daylight hours had been a haze of more fucking, more alcohol, more just being together frankly. Lazing around that beautiful villa together with no one to disturb you. You’d never seen Doflamingo in such a good mood.

At some point you finally had gotten into the shower together though. Which had resulted in more games in the hot steam. You’d gotten pinned against that lovely tile mosaic in the bathroom as he’d actually gotten on his knees to eat you out. Like a starving man who’d never have or want anything else.

It was a hell of a day.

But by the time the sun had set again, you felt like he was missing the attention of everyone else too. He wanted to show you off and parade the both of you to the envy of the other elites.

He wanted to go to the carnival ball.

And what were you supposed to do but entertain him? He had been almost kind to you ever since your agreement this morning. You knew it couldn’t last. Something was bound to set him off again.

But until then, you could do your best to enjoy this rather affectionate warlord that he was currently being.

So you went with him. In the dress he chose for you, in the shoes he chose for you. Your arm around his as you’d gone back out onto the gaslit streets together.

The carnival masks were back on as well. His red one, and your black one. He was in a different suit tonight though. A red one with a black under vest and shirt.

It reminded you even more of the one he’d used to favor in the North Blue. But it was a bit more modern cut, a slightly different shade.

And still you caught yourself staring at him at times. The way he carried himself, the way he smirked at you as he always had to stay in some form of physical contact with you.

He was right in the way you loved the attention. But was he right to say that you did wish to belong to someone?

It looked like you were going to find out. Unless he got tired of you before he went through with this whole Dressrosa as your home port plan.

Gods, you still had no idea what to really think, or how any of it could even work. So you kept trying to live in the moment at least as you’d ended up in the biggest ballroom you’d ever seen.

Royalty and nobility were all around while musicians in tuxedos played more songs Doflamingo knew and you did not.

“Who taught you how to dance anyway?” You had finally asked him as he lead you in another slow spin. Him somehow keeping time to the music even better than all the other couples you were trying to imitate around you.

You weren’t as clumsy as you’d been in the street the day before at least. But it was still far from intuitive to you, though you were trying.

“My mother taught me.” He answered, no real hesitation either that time.

But the way his mouth was downturned slightly, you were quite certain that woman was also no longer alive. Though you supposed rarely would anyone with a loving family feel a need to set out on a life of crime anyway.

You certainly hadn’t had a real maternal figure until you’d met Tsuru. Your own mother had been far too young, and just trying to survive herself. There’d been no room for you really.

“She sounds interesting. Swan owner, dancer…” You dared to continue that topic though. Hoping maybe his good mood was still enough to allow you to pry into him a little more.

After all you’d promised him this morning, that seemed more than fair to know a bit more about the man you’d just tied yourself to.

But then again, this particular man was hardly known for his fairness.

Yet with your hand tightly in his as the violins continued, he did reply. With more than expected actually. “No. She wasn’t interesting at all really. Quiet. Submissive. Wholly fragile and quickly gone…” But the somber tone in his voice still belied more regret than just those plain words. “Like taking a rose from a greenhouse and expecting it to survive in the mud outside with the weeds. Of course she couldn’t do it. She passed away when I was eight.”

Saying sorry would be too pointless. You hated useless platitudes like that. So you wouldn’t do it yourself.

“Was that still in the North Blue then? Is that your home sea?” You asked carefully instead. It should have been a harmless, neutral question really.

But you saw Doflamingo’s chest move as he took in a larger breath.

“I know you’ll figure it out eventually…and yet, we’re having a nice night aren’t we? It’s been an excellent day actually. Is this really what you want to know right now, love?”

And of course you couldn’t understand the change from such a simple question as the opaque lenses in that carnival mask were then looking down from above you.

When the current song ended, he’d led you back away from the dance floor as well.

There were small circular tables all over with flowing table cloths. Wait staff moved effortlessly between them, taking food and drink orders from whoever may wave them down.

“Let’s get something to eat and perhaps we can talk a bit more.” He said as his hand moved against the small of your back, guiding you to a table of his choice.

He still wasn’t angry, just guarded.

But you’d already seen his real face now. And you knew what kind of cutthroat pirate he’d been and still was. What else of his past could be that important to him?

And you did let him do the ordering as soon as a waiter had indeed rushed up. Doflamingo was always going to take charge regardless you were finding. Picking your clothes, picking your food too…

You didn’t care right now, though you should have. It was just more control of course. Even as much as you’d already given him of yourself today.

But food was food in this moment. You’d barely eaten today with all the other in bed activities. So you just idly surveyed the room while the waiter explained the current entrees and the chef’s recommended wine pairings to your warlord date.

It was an old habit of yours maybe. Situational awareness and an idea of who was where, where the exits were, plus the general mood and threat level at any given time when working with a crowd.

Yet here was just a lot of fluff and self serving people putting on displays for one another really. You’d even clocked the father and sons you’d first escorted to this island. They hadn’t recognized you of course. How could they have when they’d never even looked you in the face when on Momonga’s ship? You hadn’t been worth it to them.

The youngest son had spilled wine on his date somehow. She was having a fit, and the father was stepping in with heaps of apologies. She must have been even richer than them then. The fact that there were hierarchies within hierarchies for these people just made it seem all the dumber.

Such a waste of energy. And you were about to give up watching any of them, bored in their manufactured drama and flamboyance before something else caught your attention.

A group of people were moving against the general grain of everyone else. Stiff and organized, something you recognized immediately as tactical. Two in front, two in back, and one on each side.

You stretched to see better, past the socialites and their petty conversations.

That group was moving someone in the center of their formation. A young girl actually, certainly no more than ten or so. Her blue ponytail was swishing side to side, even with her body so tense. Her shoulders were hunched defensively as she was being pushed forward with one of the men’s hands clamped down onto her shoulder from behind.

You could see the silent tears in wet streaks down that girl’s face. That terror in her eyes that you’d seen so many times before. You knew exactly the kind of thing that must be happening, even if no one else did as you immediately stood.

——————————

Doflamingo had just been committing to the fiorentina steak dish and a polenta entree as well for the two of you to sample together when he’d seen you stand.

Belatedly noticed because you’d been on his left. But that spoke of his already increasing trust in you really, letting you guard his blind side even subconsciously. How he’d often keep his officers to his left whenever seated.

Yet that didn’t mean he expected you to actually do anything from that position. He tried to grab your wrist as you’d moved forward. Seeing that tenseness in your body immediately and not understanding it a bit before you’d dodged his touch easily.

The waiter was just as confused and in the way really as Doflamingo stood fully as well. He moved his fingers, ready to stop you if he had to.

“Where the hell are you-“ He started to demand you to explain.

“No time. Stay. I’ll be back.” You said so quickly though. So different and commanding. Before one slightly softer note of, “I promise. I’ll be back.”

And you didn’t even look at him before you’d disappeared, almost in a run then into the crowd. Him left standing at the table, inexplicably hesitating.

You’d told him to do something and he’d actually listened.

He was as dumbfounded as the waiter who now excused themselves just to say they were going to put his order in.

But they didn’t get far.

No one did before the first gunshots rang out.

———————————

T⨂ BE

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

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chaifootsteps · 8 months

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I think there's an argument to be made in favor of showing the reality of what Angel deals with on the day to day, both on the gear he wears and the SA he faces from Val.

but these kinds of scenes can very easily be exploitative; used for cheap shock value & end up fetishizing that abuse by presenting it as titillating. it's long happened to female characters where the violence becomes an excuse to show them brutalized or with their clothes ripped off and given how often Angel is sexualized it can just as easily happen to him.

Addict managed to communicate a whole history of sexual abuse committed by Valentino with just a forced kiss and a hard cut to Angel having a breakdown in his room. The scene focused on Angel's emotional distress rather than the act itself, so it avoided objectifying him further and was still effective

this is part of a wider pattern already established by Helluva Boss, where abuse is treated in the least sensitive, most sledgehammer blunt and cartoony way possible.

going by HB, abusers are:

always obvious and easy to spot,

they're complete monsters devoid of any life or interests of their own,

they have no inner lives whatsoever because they only exist to hurt the victim (Stella stays around the house despite not liking Stolas, Crimson wants to force Moxxie into a gay marriage despite being homophobic - to the guy who put his son in prison in the first place!!) - they're inconsistent and unknowable,

they abuse their victim openly in front of others everyone goes along with and tacitly approves of it (Stella's friends happily laugh at her jokes disparaging a demon prince who could kill them all despite knowing he's in earshot)

they cannot be easily stopped even when they have far less power, either in magic or social standing, than the person they're abusing (Stolas and Stella, again)

they hang around long past when they should despite the cast having ample reason to proactively do something to stop them (everyone leaves Crimson alive despite killing all his minions, Stolas knows Stella has ordered a hit on him but probably still lets Octavia spend weekends with her??)

they are fundamentally Bad People. None of the 'good' characters can every be called out for being abusive, what they do is funny - because they are fundamentally Good People. It doesn't matter how many traits Stolas and Stella have in common, he is Good and she is Bad. It also doesn't matter that Stolas sexually coerced someone for a season and a half, neglected his daughter and abused his servants, and barely feels bad about his own infidelity. He is Good so anything he does can be excused. Same with Loona - beating people is bad, but it's OK for her to give her dad a black eye and beat his head in with a picture frame, because she's one of the Good Guys. Same with Blitzo demeaning Moxxie constantly in the workplace - it's funny when he calls Moxxie fat, it's abuse when Mammon does it to Fizz

Abusers are fundamentally Other from Us, and we never need to examine our own behaviors as long as we know we are fundamentally Good.

like how is any of this making the world a better place? or advancing the understanding of abuse? it's an embarassingly dated and in places actively harmful depiction of what abuse is or isn't (I don't even want to get into the bad takes I've seen surrounding Stol/tz and what coercion is or isn't, but you can probably add that to the list too)

if the Angel scenes are as brutal as they sound then the rating should be an 18. I don't entirely blame Viv for that, I know sometimes ratings boards have a weird habit of treating works that have LGBT content as somehow 'more adult' than movies with straight up rape and SA scenes in them (though HH is both, so idk how literal bondage gear didn't up the rating), but I hope against hope there's some kind of trigger warning for this somewhere, and it isn't just dropped on the viewer's lap in order to shock them further with the world's bluntest and most graphic animated scene of SA it can

This. All of this, every word.

#Anonymous #viv stuff #hazbin hotel critical #actual blog post

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22degreehalo · 1 month

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I think, to me, House of the Dragon s2 has the same base conceptual problem as the Barbie movie: it wants to tell an aspirational story about women succeeding in ways that real women usually aren't able to, by means of a fantastical setting, but also wants most if not all of its messaging to be relevant to real-world women.

To overcome that conflict - to spend so much time making the character 'relatable' while also putting them into an intentionally and purposefully unrelatable position - you have two major options.

Firstly, you can tie in some sort of inherent 'essence' of womanhood: that a woman in that position would be kinder, more generous, and more nurturing than a man would.

House of the Dragon season 1 didn't especially try to do this, but season 2 sure did. Suddenly, characters started telling us that Rhaenyra was the kindest and most peaceful contender for the crown, despite absolutely nothing in season 1 indicating that that was an especially tangible aspect of her personality. It's not clear when or why she started 'valuing the common people', as Mysaria puts it; she simply does, because she is Rhaenyra.

Unfortunately, the most basic possible plot elements of the story struggle against this characterisation: this is about a bloody civil war. If Rhaenyra were truly peaceful, she would not be going to war at all, and if Alicent were the same, she would never have goaded Aegon as she did, or gone along with Otto's plans. Not only does this heavily constrict the action of the story - the two must continually Not Do Things to show how peaceful they are, even as the other characters and audience alike scream for some sort of action on their part - it threatens the very premise of this 'aspirational' figure: Rhaenyra can't claim the throne merely because she deserves it, just like men have done before her, because that would not be Peaceful Enough. So instead, the writers concoct the prophecy - already loosely relevant to Rhaenyra at all - so that her grasping for power can be considered generous and good. Rather than standing her ground and having faith in herself, she instead becomes a passive receptacle for men's dreams (her father's and the original Aegon's alike).

In Barbie, this conflict is less obvious; however, when we consider the next problem below, it becomes quite jarring how much the Barbies' superiority is treated as ultimately inherently kinder than the Kens', without much real evidence. Any action the Barbies take is portrayed as good because it is non-violent, unlike the Kens, despite being intentionally hurtful, deceptive, and cruel.

The second and much more concerning way to find harmony between a high-ranking, high-status female character and the real-world oppression women face? Simply ignore all other oppressions rather than misogyny, and ignore any privilege the aspirational female characters have.

In both Barbie and House of the Dragon, the main character is treated by the narrative as an underdog, despite all evidence to the contrary. Barbie is a member of the elite, of an oppressive class who intentionally keeps her lowers underfoot. That isn't a malicious reading; the Kens are explicitly and intentionally compared to real-world women on multiple occasions (e.g. when it's joked that they might "someday" be able to become Supreme Court Justices). Rhaenyra at least has Aegon and his immediate family to compare herself to, as the currently-reigning king rather than the ousted 'true heir', but she is to literally every single other citizen of Westeros (and possibly Essos, too!) a higher power.

Despite this, House of the Dragon repeatedly shows an unwillingness to consider Rhaenyra's actual, practical power. Other characters gush over her kindness to the smallfolk, but when Rhaenyra comes on to a servant who repeatedly refuses her, is nonetheless treated as the victim due to her gender. And then again, when she begins a relationship with a servant, it's never considered for a second that there might be some abuse of power or coercion, merely because they are both women.

In Barbie, this cognitive dissonance is even stronger: the societal oppression of the Kens is treated as positive, merely because they resemble our world's oppressor class. In this sense, the movie posits an extremely simple, gender essentialist understanding of privilege: Women - inherently and regardless of their material or other circumstances - are victims, and Men are villains at worst and pathetic privileged crybabies at best. There is no room for any greater examination of discrimination; the secondary-character Asian Ken is treated just as much as an oppressor to the (white) Barbie as any other. Womanhood, it seems, is defined by being an underclass, even in a world in which by definition they are the rulers.

But nowhere in House of the Dragon does this mis-match of aims become clearer than in Alicent. Season 1 does well to show the ways in which she, despite being among the heir to a powerful noble family, is nonetheless oppressed on the basis of her gender: she is coerced to marry a man far older than her and to bear him many children regardless of her wishes, and may only wield true power in the realm when her husband is indisposed.

However, that oppression is still contextual - not absolute. Where Season 2 errs is in treating that oppression as fundamental to her entire character and plotline, despite she in truth being a proactive and significant mover of the events of the story.

When Alicent gives up Aegon's life to Rhaenyra - when she is told that she has not sacrificed anything, but must do, and she hesitates and agrees, because only with this will she finally be 'free' - she is treated by the narrative as a woman who has been so thoroughly controlled and degraded she has been driven to extremes. She is presented as a war-torn victim; somebody grasping at this one, limited, terrible piece of leverage in an attempt to save herself from the Hell she has had thrust upon her. For many women in real life, that would be an understandable and harrowing story, but for Alicent, it is simply not true.

Alicent is, in fact, a powerful political operative within Westeros. She had the ear of the King for many years, and attempted to use it to turn him against Rhaenyra and her children. She is the mother to the current reigning king - now barely into adulthood - and has had his whole life to mould him into whoever she wishes he could be, which - again! - she mostly seems to have used to convince Aegon that Rhaenyra is a threat who must be put down. She was not heavily constrained or controlled by the king, and did not fear him; nor did she fear her son, who she on multiple occasions slapped (an entirely ordinary mode of discipline for the time period). When her husband died, we got an entire episode of her conspiring and manipulating to take advantage of her family's position as the first on the scene so as to place Aegon on the throne, despite his lack of will or foreknowledge, in order to further their own ambitions and protect themselves.

Alicent is not merely an innocent victim of the patriarchy, however much the writers would like her to be in order to make the feminist statement they wish they could make. She is in fact far more responsible for this civil war than Aegon himself is, and arguably maintains a high level of influence and control over him even after he was crowned; certainly, once he was badly injured and disabled, it's easily apparent that she has more power than him, something Alicent herself admits when she attempts to defend his life to Rhaenyra.

Misogyny, unfortunately, does not justify her actions. She is simply in too different of a position from ordinary women for that to make any sense at all. If the writers had committed to the aspiration nature of the show and presented her as a powerful woman using everything at her disposal to get her way, just like men have done both within that universe and in our own, they could have told a compelling and unique story. The attempt to simultaneously craft a traditional feminist narrative of persecution and triumph despite the odds, instead, falls horribly and discomfortingly flat.

#hotd #hotd critical #barbie movie critical #barbie movie #pretend I posted this a week ago when I first thought it up and also it was actually relevant #long post #my thoughts

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ang3lwithapen · 3 months

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Okay my question might be a little weird but reading the previous ask about dating history and such. And how a relationship with any MC regardless of gender would obviously need to be hidden.

I just wondered how the ROs feel about kids and especially in the case of a female MC if they were to get pregnant how would the ROs react and more so what would happen with the child?

I'd assume they wouldn't claim them again because of status and noble bullshit. But also would the kid be sent away or treated like a servant around other's.

Sorry if this is a long winded ask lol it just came to my brain now. 🤦‍♀️

Also helloooooo 💕

hiii hope you’re doing well : D

okay I’ll start from stating the obvious: there shall be no pregnancies in this story, for obvious reasons.

As for this hypothetical scenario… hmm. I’m assuming deep in love stage:

- A would not recognize the child and would likely ask MC to keep the fact that they’re their parent a secret. However they would allow the child to grow up in the manor and get taken care of as well as a noble would.

- R would probably run away with MC in order to be a parent. It would break their heart to just abandon their kid.

-S… oh gosh parent!S would not be that good i fear akshsk. I think they wound behave similarly to A, though. Perhaps be less present in the child’s life.

-H would also run away and raise their child in an isolated place with MC. They would be fairly lost on how to act but would genuinely love them.

#scenario!

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sarah-yyy · 2 years

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a few of y’all have asked me about new life begins, and i’m procrastinating over work so............

BASICALLY this story revolves around the royal family of xinchuan (head of the nine states). xinchuan has a tradition wherein the other eight states send eligible women over to marry the xinchuan princes. the show opens with all these women coming into xinchuan for this selection

this is our main character li wei

bbg does Not want to be selected as a bride for any of the princes. she comes from jichuan (one of the least wealthy states, most of them are farmers) wherein people marry for love and men aren’t allowed to have concubines, she is Not Into this xinchuan polygamy bs, and is doing all she can to be sent back home asap so she can live her chill life

this is the sixth prince yin zheng, unloved (for now!) and mostly unnoticed (also for now!!) son of an unfavoured concubine. he’s introduced as being sickly and of little note in the political field. he mostly gets along with his brothers by virtue of having little interaction with them and keeping a real low profile

this boy is way smarter than he presents to outsiders!! he knows that the least favourable political marriage will be assigned to him, so he figures he might as well get ahead of it and voluntarily ask for the nominee from jichuan to be his wife

li wei ends up yin zheng’s concubine!!! which is the worst!!! not only does she have to conform to this xinchuan polygamy bs, she’s not even his main wife!!! she’s depressed for a few days until she catches wind that yin zheng only has a few weeks left to live (fake news) and it just kickstarts a whole bunch of hilarious shenanigans in which she tries to be nice to him before he dies and she gets to go home to jichuan as a widow

cue yin zheng (who doesn’t know what li wei is thinking) going: she’s??? nice to me???? mayhaps..........she be.........in love with me??????

(uhhhh because she’s adorable???? i like her)

ANYWAY y’all get the drift, it’s the whole arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, pining after my spouse vibe that i absolutely love!!!

but it’s not just that!!! it’s also that the female characters are all well-written and the friendships between all of them are so cute!!

first left is shangguan jing, fifth prince’s wife! she’s from danchuan which is a matriarchal society. she’s good at martial arts and very straightforward. does not really want to be married to xinchuan (much less to the fifth prince who starts off liking someone else), but is Doing Her Duty. i am SO INVESTED in her relationship with the fifth prince ahhhh, he’s a wimp (affectionate) who, this far in the show, has come to love his wife and is fretting constantly over how to make her happy/make her love him

first right is hao jia! she’s the second prince’s concubine and li wei’s bff. she’s sweet and well-natured and essentially Good At Everything. the second prince is kind of a dick with obvious dv tendencies, but he’s the eldest son of the emperor’s wife and next in line for the throne. i am just HOPING we get to see hao jia go off on him one day soon 😭 (side note: i’m actually also curious about the second prince’s wife - i wonder if she and hao jia will team up to get rid of the second price ugh)

this is yuan ying junzhu, my li wei’s yin zheng’s wife. hoooo boy folks, when the emperor ordered yin zheng to marry her against his Very Strong Objection, i thought we were going to start in on the angst and the whole jealous wife arc, but!!! she’s got zero interest in him, and they decide that she’ll basically stay at the manor as his advisor/li wei’s tutor! she 100% likes li wei more than she likes yin zheng lbr

not pictured but also a+++ characters that i love: the third prince’s wife + his harem of concubines (he’s named them all after the 24 traditional solar terms); the seventh prince and his wife (both of whom are adorable and just try to stay low-key and out of trouble); song wu²; all the servants at the sixth prince’s manor

ANYWAY this show is light-hearted and fun and an absolute delight to watch!! it’s been awhile since we’ve had a romcom-ish cdrama that’s had actual budget to produce something to this quality 💖 11/10 would rec!!!

where to watch: iqiyi // viki // youtube status: this updates every sunday to wednesday (local chinese time), with 2 eps being released every day. 22/40 eps have aired so far, i think iqiyi subs are up to date with the current airing schedule but i can’t be sure? someone correct me if i’m wrong!

#tv rec #new life begins #cdrama #the amount of serotonin i get from watching this every morning on my way to work is unbelievable 😭💕#thank you new life begins for giving me the will to live every monday to thursday #usual disclaimer: i don't watch cdramas with eng subs so idk the quality of the subs VENTURE IN AT YOUR OWN RISK

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amymbona · 2 months

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do you think people are ever suspicious of the reader and patrick/art/tashi in the royal! au? like ever have a inkling of what’s actually going on

DEFINITELY. The fellow servants in the castle who you had shared a room with noticed you frequent absence. They knew you were called into Art and Tashi's chamber often, first under the impression that you've done something wrong and wished to punish you. But when you came back with flushed cheeks and not a single hint of distress on your face, they began brainstormind.

Over time, the girls became slightly jealous of you, suspecting you are considered the best and most responsible of all servant and perhaps are receiving some special treatment - in the terms of luxury. It wasn't hard to notice the update of uniforms that all of you have received, but there was something more to your dresses. A prettier embroidery and one more ruffly skirt under the layers of clothing. It was obvious to everyone that they somehow made you look prettier than all the other female servants.

And the less time you spent working with your fellow girls, the more jealous and suspicious they became. It never really crossed their mind that the king and the queen have you as their personal sex toy, they were all far too stupid to think that. But they definitely knew something.

But when lord Patrick came for a visit, all the girls were completely smitten by him. They've heard about him, and some that have been working in the castle for a longer while have seen him before too. He has the reputation of quite a feisty man, very extroverted and always shooting an eye over the ladies. But when he didn't look at a single girl, not even at any of the princesses invited to one of the formal events, they were sure there was a woman in his life.

Fortunately for you, the girls could never put the puzzle pieces together and find out you were the actual glue between those three people.

#challengers #patrick zweig #josh o'connor #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson #challengers x you #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x you #art donaldson x you #send asks #challengers smut #patrick zweig smut #ask #royal!au

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

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Beskar Doll - Ch. 47: Plans

You and the Mandalorian work with your allies to save your son. A continuation of Beskar Doll ch. 1-46 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut :D No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 3.8k

You were relieved when Sosha dismissed Pell and a handful of assistants who were hovering just outside the door. She closed you, Donné and Din into the salon and hugged you again, tightly.

“I’ve missed you,” she said quietly. “I never should have sent you away…”

“It was the smart move,” you said, holding onto her, the one person left who knew you before you became what you were now.

“It wasn’t the right thing to do,” she pulled back from you and took your hands before looking at Donné. “Have the others here by morning, we leave first thing. Arrange for the fastest cruiser we have to be ready.”

Donné bowed her head and left the room, too.

“Well, since this is just between friends,” Sosha smiled a little toward Din. “Including some new ones, let’s get you out of those wet clothes and start finding your boy.”

She led the way down a grand hall - all gleaming stone and soaring ceilings - to her chambers.

“Normally, I wouldn’t allow a man back here but, given that he’s your husband, I think we can make an exception,” she led the way to her dressing room and paused, getting you a towel and a robe. It was disconcerting, having Sosha get things for you, look after you. Not that she never had, of course, but the nature of your relationship the last time you’d seen her had been decidedly reversed. She hardly treated you like a servant but you regularly helped her dress in the elaborate robes of the queen - including making sure there enough protective fabrics and plates to keep anyone from taking her out too easily.

“It looks like we’re still the same size,” she said absently, going to her massive closet. “But I’m guessing you don’t wear the kinds of things we used to much anymore…”

“Can’t say I’ve had much of a reason to,” you laughed a little as you toweled off your damp hair and started taking off your wet clothes. “I’ve been spending more time in the… less reputable parts of the galaxy lately. And we’re bounty hunters…”

“You’re a bounty hunter?” She raised her eyebrows. You nodded. She laughed once. “Can’t say I expected that!”

You wrapped yourself in a robe and she pulled a gown out of the closet, one that you knew was simple by the standards of a former queen but was more elaborate than anything you’d worn in years.

“Once you’re dry, so you have something appropriate for dinner,” she said. “Of course, we have more… practical options for when we leave.”

“You mean the things we used to wear to sneak around on Imp bases?” You asked, smiling a little. She smiled a little back.

“So he knows about all the trouble we used to get into?” She asked, looking at Din again. He just looked at you.

“He does,” you said. “We ran into Teav a few years back…”

She nodded slowly, going to something that looked like a vanity. But she pushed a button on the side and it opened to reveal screens and panels. She keyed in a code before stepping aside.

“This has all the information the rebellion had known Imperial bases,” she said. “It’s a lot of data but if you have an idea of how to narrow it down?”

You sat at the vanity, Din standing at your shoulder. He put one of his hands in the middle of your back, his fingers splayed wide, like touching you was making him feel better.

“We can start with research facilities,” you said, looking up at him. “Those are going to be more limited…”

“Anything tied to genetics,” he leaned over, his body curving over your own. “Was there anything you saw? Either when you were on his ship or through Grogu?”

“Not that I remember,” you sighed, adjusting the search parameters and drumming your fingers impatiently against the surface of the vanity. “Do you know what they wanted him for? Besides the obvious?”

“The obvious?” Sosha asked. You felt Din stiffen at your side and you put a hand on his.

“Grogu is… special,” you said. “Remember when my mother told us stories about the Jedi she knew when she was young?”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Handsome sorcerer warriors? Like I’d forget that.”

You smiled a little. Sosha had hung on your mother’s every word when she talked about her time with Amidala. Like she’d known, even when you were both just five or six, that she’d one day be queen, too.

“Grogu is like them,” you said. “He has powers and the Empire wants him. We’re not sure why, outside of research…”

“Who has him?” She asked, coming to sit beside you on the small bench. You moved to the end of the bench, pressing yourself against Din.

“Gideon,” you said. “He’s also particularly interested in old Rebellion information, he wants to know how we moved information, how we embedded spies into Imperial systems…”

“He’s got to be planning something big, then,” Sosha said absently, shifting to information gathered on specific Imperial officers. She pulled up the information on Gideon and a chill ran down your spine when you saw his face. “Looks like he had an interest in cloning…”

She switched back over to the information on bases.

“Just two cloning facilities,” you leaned in closer to the screen.

“That narrows it down,” Sosha frowned. “Any way you can tell which…”

“It’s Phindar,” you said, looking up at Din. “It has to be Phindar. I can feel it, he’s there.”

“How…” Sosha began but you felt Din’s fingers on your back tighten against you.

“He’s taunting us,” he said. “It’s in Mandalorian space. He took him to Mandalorian space. Because he knows I don’t have other Mandalorians to call on for help.”

“Made another Imperial enemy?” Sosha asked, brows raised.

“Something like that,” you ground your teeth.

“Good,” she said. “All the more satisfying when we destroy him.”

“He’s ours,” you said, looking at the image of Gideon on the screen. You let the heat of hate soak you. You wanted him, you wanted his blood, you wanted his pain. He took what was yours, the most precious thing. You wanted to make him pay. “No one kills him but us.”

“He’s yours,” Sosha said, putting a hand on your arm. “All yours.”

She turned her attention to the Mandalorian.

“I’m afraid that during chaos of your arrival, I didn’t catch your name,” she said, looking him over.

You went to give an excuse but he spoke before you had a chance.

“Din,” he said. You looked up at him, surprised. “Djarin.”

“Would you like us to find something for you to wear to dinner, Din?” She asked. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what Mandalorian traditions are, we didn’t have any dealings with your people during my reign so it’s a bit of a blind spot…”

You half smiled at that and wondered if you’d have gotten over Din’s armor sooner if you’d known better.

“I don’t remove my helmet in the presence of anyone but my wife,” he said. “But I appreciate your offer.”

“Really?” Her brows went up. “In that case, I will have something sent to your room after, assuming you’d like to accompany your wife to dinner?”

“I would.”

“Good,” she smiled. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to excuse us while we dress for dinner. I’m sure Captain Pell would love to discuss some finer points of the plan of attack. He always hates it when I sprint things on him…”

“Please tell me you’re not still causing trouble!” You gaped at her. She shrugged. “Sosh! You can’t just…”

“I can do whatever I want,” she smirked a little. “And I believe I’m no longer your concern.”

You glared at her but she just looked proud of herself. You turned your attention back to Din.

“I don’t have to…” you began but he cut you off, cupping your cheek and tilting your chin so his eyes could more easily meet his own.

“Stay, Cyare,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

You watched him go for a moment, a knot forming in your stomach at the distance. You knew you were both safe here, that nothing would happen to him here, but so much had happened within the past few days. The only secure place you had was with him. You’d lost so much, you couldn’t lose him, too.

“You love him,” Sosha said. You spun to face her and she was smiling softly.

“I do,” you smiled a little back, the most you could bring yourself to smile under the circumstances. “I really, really do.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d ever find that again,” she said, getting up and changing the vanity back into a vanity with the press of a button. “I’ve been worried that you were alone but you’ve found someone who is more your match than you could have ever found here.”

She picked up a brush and started running it through your hair.

“Sosh…”

“Oh hush,” she cut you off. “I did your hair now and then when I was queen, too. Let me do this, it’s been far too long.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on the feeling of your oldest friend untangling your hair and starting to plait it. It was a comfort, the knot in your stomach easing.

“So,” she said conspiratorially. “The helmet…”

“Yes?” You asked brows raised, a small smile on your lips.

“Did he really leave it on for EVERYTHING until you were married?” She asked.

“Sosh!” You elbowed her lightly.

“What!” She laughed, pinning a braid into place. “I met a Mandalorian, a few years ago. I think she takes a different approach to the creed, though, as her helmet came off rather quickly… she was plenty talented with her tongue, though…”

“You met another Mandalorian?” You spun, eyes wide. “When? Where? Also, a talented tongue? How fast do you work now that you don’t have to meet the standards of royal decorum?”

“Just fast enough,” she winked before putting her hands on your shoulders and turning you back around. “Now stay put or I’ll never finish. I can find all the information for you, but it was at least four years ago…”

You deflated a bit at that.

“Have you been in touch with her since?” You asked. “I know most of the Mandalorians Din knew were wiped out about a year ago…”

“Oh no,” she frowned. “We haven’t kept in touch, it wasn’t exactly that kind of relationship. But I hope she’s OK…”

“Me too,” you fidgeted with the sleeves on the robe before meeting Sosha’s eyes in the mirror. “How have you been? Are you happy?”

“Now I am,” she nodded a little, focusing on a braid. “It was hard, after the war. You were gone, my reign ended not long after, Naboo was still in tatters when it did… I had a hands on role rebuilding which was a blessing, it kept me busy. Gave me purpose. But I’ve since become the Ambassador to the New Republic, which has been fulfilling. And I’m not married yet but… Well, there is someone.”

“There is?”You smiled turning to look at her.

She rolled her eyes and gripped your shoulders again, facing you to the front.

“Stay put,” she said, stern but smiling. “But yes, there is. Maybe, once we find your son, you can meet him. You’d like him, I think. He’s a flyboy, just your speed.”

You laughed a little.

“You never answered the helmet question, by the way,” she said, sweeping some of your hair back. “Was it really on the whole time?”

“I didn’t see his face until the day we got married,” you said, cheeks hot. “But… he took it off in the dark plenty before that.”

“Good, because I’d have tried to talk you out of marrying him if you were going in that blind,” she teased, pinning the last chunk of hair into place. “Who knows what kind of bad decisions we’d make without each other.”

You laughed once.

“Who knows.”

***

Din liked Pell. The man was smart, thorough, dedicated to Sosha’s safety almost as much as Din was dedicated to yours.

“I’ll have 20 men with me,” he said, pulling up a schematic. “This is what we know of the facility. With the firepower of the ship, we should be able to brute force our way in at this point, it should be away from any holding cells and ensure that your son isn’t in danger.”

“That will put us in a funnel,” he frowned below the helmet.

“Which is why you and I will be the first in,” he said. “We’ll be able to take out the first volley of troops and get Her Highness and the Ladies in quickly. They can disperse from there, searching the facility. I’ll leave five men to hold the entry point, we’ll send three with each Lady. I’ll stay with Her Highness, you will stay with your wife. We’ll keep them in one piece, find your son, kill Gideon and get out.”

Din nodded.

“Gideon is ours,” he said. “He’s too dangerous to leave alive and he’s taken too much from me. He’s ours.”

Pell nodded once.

“I don’t care what makes the man fall as long as he falls,” he said.

“I appreciate…” Din started to say but the words died on his tongue when you came into the sitting room.

He’d never seen you look quite like this, even when you’d gotten them into the party on Coruscant. Your hair was mostly up and back with some hanging in curls around your bared shoulders. He wanted to remove his helmet and trail his lips over those shoulders to your neck, your cheek, your lips. The gown you borrowed from Sosha fit you like a second skin, highlighting every curve, your breasts full and soft and all but spilling over the structured top of the gown, the skirts flowing around your legs while hinting at your shape. You’d done your makeup, too, your lips lush and dark, lashes long. You were living art, something too beautiful for him to touch. But you smiled when you saw him.

“Cyare,” he said, going for you. It was automatic, an instinct. The anxious ache in him eased when his hand went around the back of your neck and your hand held his wrist, your eyes finding his below the helmet. He felt some of the tension leave your body at the contact.

“How’s planning?” You asked, your unoccupied hand finding his waist.

“As far as we can get it for now,” he said. “We’ll need to go by the Crest before we leave. There’s something I want you to have before we leave.”

You frowned a little but nodded once.

“Then, as long as Captain Pell is OK with it,” you glanced around Din. “I’d like to borrow my husband.”

“He’s all yours, My Lady,” Pell bowed his head a little when he finished addressing you and you smiled a little before taking Din’s hand and leading him toward the dining room.

“The other handmaids will be here overnight,” you said, pressing yourself against Din’s side. “I feel so… foolish, getting dressed up and eating and doing anything else right now…”

“We’ve done what we can for the moment,” he gave you a squeeze. “It’s your first visit home in years. We’re getting him back. That’s what matters.”

You just nodded, your hand slipping around his bicep.

“You look beautiful, Cyare,” he said, knowing it was an understatement. But he wasn’t sure how else to say it, especially now. How could he say that stars you loved so much paled in comparison to you? That, in all his travels through the galaxy, you were far and away the loveliest thing he’d ever seen?

“Well I have to try to hold my own against all that beskar,” you gave him a small smile. “You’re always dressed to impress…”

“Not like you,” he tugged you closer. “Never like you.”

Dinner, Din was surprised to find, was a pleasant affair. The other handmaids were still on their way so it was just the two of you with Sosha and Donné.

“Normally, this would have been a much happier evening,” Sosha said. “Reuniting with our sister this way is bittersweet. But, since I know we’d like to know what you’ve been up to and I’m sure you’re only able to think about your son, please, tell us about him.”

You looked at Din and laced your fingers through his below the table.

“Din saved Grogu from an Imperial bounty,” you said, looking at him, your hand tight in his own. “And he’s just the most precious little boy.”

“He’s a troublemaker,” Din smiled a little below the helmet. “Obeying is not his strong suit.”

“And he’s very good at letting you know exactly what he wants,” you smiled broader. “If you don’t get it for him, he’ll figure it out on his own and Maker help you if that happens…”

It felt good to talk about him, to focus on him. It made it easy to forget, for a moment, just how afraid he was. How much he hated standing still, even though he knew that this was the best way to help him.

A meal had been delivered to the room that you were led to after dinner and you closed and locked the doors. Din removed his helmet and caught your arm as you passed, bending and trailing his lips over your shoulder to your collarbone to your jaw.

“Din,” you breathed.

“Just needed to kiss you there while you looked like that,” he whispered against your ear, your cheek against his. You were so close. It was right that you were so close. Having you close was the only safe thing.

You took down your hair and he watched you while he ate. He thought the food must be good but it was hard to taste anything, between the fear and stress and you.

“Are we ready?” You asked, looking at him. “At this point, I don’t care if we are or we aren’t, we have to go get him, I can’t wait anymore…”

“I know,” he said, glad that he could look at you without having to look through the mask right now. It would feel wrong, having that barrier between you when you were this distraught. “But we’re ready. Because of you, we’re ready.”

You nodded, fisting the fabric of your dress in your tense hands.

“Come here, Cyare,” he said, getting up and going to the end of the bed. “Let me help you take that off.”

You just nodded before going to him, sweeping your hair over your shoulder and exposing your back to him. The gown laced up and he removed his gloves before he untied it, sliding his fingers into the spaces between the ribbon, loosening the corset and brushing against your skin as it became exposed.

When it was so loose that you had to hold it up, he slid a hand over your shoulder to your chest, splaying his fingers wide over your rib cage and tugging you back against him, your head on his chest as you looked up at him.

“Do you think you can rest tonight, Cyare?” He asked, his nose brushing yours.

“No,” you breathed.

“Then let me help you,” he said.

You dropped the dress and stepped out of it, exposing your all but naked body to him. He nudged you back down on the bed and slid your underwear - your last remaining stitch of clothing - off your body.

“Din,” you moaned.

“I know,” he said, removing his armor quickly, followed by his flight suit. He left it all with the dress, crawling up your body. He brushed your hair back, searching your eyes.

You were afraid, like him. Hurting, like him. You were his mirror and he was yours and he needed to be one with you.

He kissed you, gently, his hand tracing down your body to the apex of your thighs. He lightly brushed and teased your clit, making you whimper.

“Promise me it will be OK,” you begged him, your lips brushing his own. “I need you to tell me it’s going to be OK…”

“It’s going to be OK,” he said, not sure he believed it himself. He believed you’d given them the best chance, the best hope, of it being OK. He knew he wouldn’t rest until it was OK. “I promise, it will be OK.”

You clung to him and he worked your clit faster, sliding two fingers into your wet heat. Your velvet walls gripped him tight and he groaned, ready for it to be his cock inside of you like this instead of his fingers.

He pressed his fingers into the soft space inside you that he’d claimed as his own over and over again until you came with a gasp around him.

You ran your fingers through his hair, looking at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Need you,” you were panting. “Please, need you close…”

“Need you, too, Cyare,” he said, taking his swollen cock in his hand, spreading your wetness over himself. He notched himself against you for a moment before sinking into you, your fingers digging into his back as he entered you.

Your back arched and he slipped an arm below you to hold you closer, your skin impossibly soft against his. You rocked your hips up against him, hooking a leg over his hip as he pressed into you as deeply as he could, your body tightening around him.

“Din,” you panted, holding your whole body against him, like you couldn’t be too close. “Please…”

“It’s going to be OK, Cyare,” he managed, so focused on how you felt it was hard to be aware of anything else. “It’s going to be OK. I have you, we’re in this together, it’s going to be OK…”

You came with a strangled gasp and the tightness of you set him off, filling you.

He held onto you, your body all but completely wound around his as he enveloped you. He liked it this way. That you needed him to be this close, too.

“I love you, Cyare,” he panted, holding your face in his hand. “I’ll protect you. We’ll save him. It’s going to be OK.”

“I know,” you took a shaky breath and nodded. “I know.”

#fanfic #smut fic #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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milky-aeons · 6 months

Text

[3] — STAR-STRUCK

a/n: i wrote this story during a very tough time of my life, and reading back over it brings me so much bittersweet joy. i hope you guys enjoy chapter three!

warnings: female reader, sexual content, toxic!dazai, mentions of misogyny, mdni, w.c 7.5k

౨ৎ . . . chapter THREE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗. — Pablo Neruda

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄. Needlessly. After Doctor Yosano had seen to the last maid, who was white in the face with fear and confusion at everyone else's reactions to being checked over, each woman was sent to the servant's bathing area.

Two girls who were unfortunate enough to be the first the Head Maid seen to were plastered up against the side of the huge bath. Steam rose in heavy clouds, curling their hair and warming their bones, but nothing could stop them from visibly shaking with trauma.

"[N-Name]," One of them chattered. "Was it the General Practioneer of Yo we were seen by or a worker of the Devil?"

You swallowed beside Naomi, attempting to force your fright to relax. It made your spirit rebel — how a Court Official had this much of an effect on you. But that woman, the Head of all Maids, was no regular Court Official.

"Let us hope..." You said in a quiet whisper. "Let us hope that we do not run into medical troubles while we're here."

Naomi gave a curt nod. "Lets."

At least you weren't totally alone in your terror — every single woman in the baths seemed to have a similar reaction. The heat did nothing to tame the violent shivers breaking across their skin after a medical examination by Doctor Yosano Akiko. Each of them were checked over for any obvious diseases and given a necessary smallpox injection to protect the Royals if it was true they hadn't been vaccinated before. Which, coming from a commoner's background, it was likely they had not.

Whatever other examinations apart from those, you believed, was unique to each and every one of you. And just as terrifying.

It was obvious that now; every training maid of the Yo Palace would think twice about overstepping boundaries. Not when they witnessed just how easily the Head Maid handled a silver scalpel, or the smile on her face as she did so.

"When you were being checked over," Naomi whispered in a small, shaky tone. "Did she—?"

"I think it best not to speak of it." You shot her down. Apparently, the Head Maid had left lasting fear in her recruits that would follow them throughout their time in the palace. And, perhaps a lifetime. "If she is a worker of the Devil, then recounting her actions will only bring about misfortune."

Naomi made a small squeak followed by a rush of water when she slapped a hand to her mouth.

You were beginning to think that simply surviving Palace Life would be a lot harder than you thought, and not at all because of your habitual loose tongue.

"Are you aware of your duty?"

Even though it was not the Captain of the Ko Cavalry asking her the question when the King had assigned him with this task, the severity of it was no less. If she could offer some input, hearing such a question from this man made her wish to be successful even more. Although maybe that was a matter of her heart.

"I am." The blond Spy-woman answered. Dressed to pose a Yo Maid, she wore colours of white and black with a blue ribbon tying her hair securely. Standard servant attire for the Castle of Yo. How these two members of the Ko Court knew as such would be down to the man she was speaking to

Dressed in nothing but black save for the white tips in his hair, he commanded every Spy in the Ko Kingdom as a Spy-Master. His duty was to collect and listen to secrets. And occasionally reprimand those who choose unwisely not to provide them.

"Tell me again what your orders are." He asked her in that smooth, toneless voice.

The Spy-woman steeled her spine. Like an automated machine, she spoke the words; "I am due to arrive at Yo as a servant woman. My duty is to infiltrate the Castle and confirm if Yo really is struggling financially due to a rumoured drought. Once I affirm this, I am to return. Without being caught or discovered."

The deep grey eyes of the Spy-Master, akin to thunderclouds in a vicious storm, regarded his subordinate for a moment. She had a bright and intelligent crimson gaze, fair skin and a neat cut of blonde hair she trained into a knot. If he was an average man of the Court, he would surely be of the popular opinion that Higuchi Ichiyou was a rare beauty. Unfortunately, Ko's Spy-master was nothing but a hollow husk of a man that did nothing but obey what his King asked of him.

It was why he was so good at his job.

It also enabled him to say such unemotional, practical words to his most enthusiastic of subordinates.

"Prove that your useful, Higuchi. If you are caught and executed, then that will be all you were worth."

Higuchi was a trained Spy of the Ko Court, honed like a steel blade and fierce in her work. Although she was a young woman with a huge secret no Spy-woman should have. And it was that secret that allowed the words of her Commander to turn into icicles and pierce her heart. But being a Spy-woman came with the perks of hiding inner-pain, so she simply nodded her head and quietly memorised his pale face and large, dark eyes so she could visit them in her dreams a Kingdom away.

"I will be successful," She assured. "Akutagawa-senpai."

There were three ruling Kingdoms in this mythical land. Each Kingdom decided upon their own colours; Yo preferred neutral colours of blue and white, Ko was obnoxious in their affairs with shady black and reds decorating their hallways. Hama was the largest and most influential Kingdom of all and took a lavish liking to gold and gentle pinks. Together, the Yo-Ko-Hama country was a melting pot of colours and interests to anyone wishing to visit.

You did an experimental twirl in a cracked mirror stationed above your bunk. After the baths, the maids were dried and each given a designated bed inside a drab sleeping chamber with little light and life. Not that you particularly minded, as to your right was, miraculously, Naomi's bed. Your luck was looking up somewhat, you had thought with a sigh upon hearing the news.

The girl was dressed in the same uniform as you, although she was somewhat more ecstatic.

"Oh, [Name]!" Naomi gushed. She took the black skirts up in her grasp and twirled it as you would a ballroom dress. "Isn't it wonderful?"

You pursed your lips and turned back to the mirror. Caked in dust and not at all what you'd expect from Royals, but at the same time, would in a commoner's sleeping room, you inspected your own reflection.

Placing your ongoing spat with the monarchs that ruled over you all aside, you could admit that the Seamstress had a magic touch for fittings.

The basic black dress that collared at the neck and reached just above your ankles was not too heavy nor scratchy, like you had imagined. In hindsight, it was rather comfortable. Paired with the simple white apron typical to maid-wear and the blue ribbon tying your hair back, you could admire that you looked the part of a working woman.

Just not in the job she wished to be in, the thought came to you with a sinking feeling. You found some happiness in Naomi's glee, though. Who had abandoned spinning like a dancer and was attempting to tie the ribbon in her hair. It was with little success.

"Here," You said with a small laugh. Naomi immediately yielded and passed the blue silk over to you.

"It is not as easy as it looks." She muttered with a pout.

"No, it is not."

"Says you! Your bow is perfect."

Stationed in front of Naomi's mirror which was a little cleaner than your own, you carded your fingers through the long tresses. They came easily into a half-up hairdo, making the delicate features of her face more prominent. You smiled at her in the reflection. "I have been tying bows all my life."

"Truly?"

"Truly." You slipped the blue ribbon in place. "I used to work for the Miyazawa Farm. Skirts are not what a woman should wear when uprooting weeds but alas, that is all I had. So, I improvised. A strong bit of ribbon and my skirts became shorts."

Naomi's grey eyes that sometimes appeared violet blinked rapidly at you in the reflection. Her brows shot up, and all at once, she was in a fit of giggles.

You tied the bow with a frown. "What?"

"No, I mean no—no offense, but," Her giggles quietened and in their place was a bright smile. A talent of hers, you were noticing. You were fairly certain Naomi's warmth could ignite even the coldest of hearts. "It's just—Gods, you are the strangest woman I've ever met."

One brow raised at Naomi. With fingers still on the bow, you gave a tug and the ribbon came undone.

Naomi cried, reaching up like a bucket of water had been tipped over her crown. "[Name]!" She whined with fingers digging into her bangs. "You cruel woman!"

Despite it all, there was a smile on each of their faces. A mischievous upturn of your lips and the same sunshine grin on Naomi's, both of you contesting with silly stares. There was a shift in the relationship now; an upgrade from common acquaintances to budding friends. Inside these lying Palace walls and arrogant, sometimes insane Royal Officials, you were glad that at least something good was coming out of this job.

Perhaps it would make surviving that bit easier.

However the friends weren't fortunate enough to continue with their jests. In a second the radiance was shattered with a handful of words;

"Look! The Prince, it's The First Prince!"

The air took a steep fall in temperature once the title was said in an excited, womanly shout. You and Naomi locked eyes at the same time in the mirror, only moving when every other maid did so.

The lady who had spotted him apparently did so from the window — which was where a gaggle of women now squashed into. You secretly slipped your hand around Naomi's arm. You were never one to be overly affectionate, but after the sudden passing of your late parents, protectiveness came fiercely and uninvited into your personality.

Naomi didn't mind. If anything, she brought a hand to yours in quiet thanks.

"Oh, look! There he is!"

"Such a dream, isn't he?"

"A dream? That's too weak a word. Our Prince is a mythical being incarnate! Strong and brave and handsome."

"Ow — do not push!"

"If you were not so selfish, Cathryn, then I could gaze upon him easily also!"

The sickly, almost indoctrinated words of those who were star-struck by the Prince of Yo almost made you feel sick. Prince-struck, you decided upon while watching the maids fight like schoolchildren to get a look at him. Completely unable to help your curiosity, you found a pocket between the bustling bodies and peeked out. With just enough space to see clearly down into the Palace courtyard—

The Prince of Yo.

You had truly, never before seen him in person. As an only child, the First Prince was labelled with the Throne's Heir since he was but a babe. His fate was set in stone before words could come out of his mouth. So ever since then, he has been pampered with extra care and kept moderately inside the Palace Walls. There were rumours that he spent some time in the Kingdom of Ko in his earlier years, but you knew little of those wonders.

He was not what you expected.

The fierce nickname Demon Prince of Yo had some serious connotations. In your imagination, this enigmatic Prince who instilled the fear of God into the hearts of his people was a large, terrifying looking man. Perhaps with facial hair and an eyepatch.

However this man you were looking at was a stark opposite. He wasn't large, he was fairly slender, however towered over the two Guards he was sharing a joke with. You could not see his face as he was turned away and facing the far Gardens, was only greeted by the curly mass of brunet hair that was tossed when he laughed. With Royal attire of blue and white accompanied by golden embellishments that gave his status away, he looked every bit a pampered Royal Boy of a sheltered court.

In summary; not at all what you expected. Which made confusion dampen your nerves, because why did those men sound so afraid of him? Why was he named after a servant of Satan?

Outside the lancet window, you watched as the Prince stiffened slightly. Then turned right around to look up, and smiled at the attention he was receiving. A chorus of excited squeals erupted when he waved at them. That was right when you stumbled backwards thanks to the hip of another Prince-struck maid and your vision of him was cut short.

Naomi was there to steady you, hissing at the rude woman who cut across you so quickly.

You weren't paying attention, too busy analysing the sheer impact of seeing the Prince's face to care that a maid had near sent you to your behind.

Normal.

It was the first adjective that came to mind; his smooth skin flawless and evident of a spoiled life, curved eyes that tugged his smile up, generous thick waves framing his face. Everything about him is so normal, you thought, beside yourself with shock. All this time you entertained the thought that the First Prince was a terrifying man. That, with one look, you'd feel your heart still and skin freeze.

But you felt none of that. None of that at all.

Could it be that the Heir she naturally hated was just an innocent Prince laid victim to delusional drunkards and their nicknaming?

"[Name]? [Name]." Naomi was shaking you hard when you came back into the room. "Oh, [Name], what did that brutish woman do to you?"

Quickly to assure her and stop the said brutish woman from feeling Naomi's wrath — you looked down to her.

"I'm fine. It was nothing." Squeals and frantic waves from the maids were filling the quiet room still. Obviously, The Prince was one for attention and still waving at his new maids.

Naomi's bright eyes were wide with worry. "You were away for a moment. I feared that—" Slow recognition flitted across her face. "The Prince." Was all she said, although it held the weight of a million questions. "Did you see him?"

Partly because you wished to speak of something the other maids didn't agree with, and because said maids were becoming agitating with their over-zealous mewls, you ushered Naomi far to your original beds. The shorter girl didn't at all complain.

You told Naomi to sit back in front of the mirror so it could appear your were just doing her bow.

"Yes." You breathed after a moment. "I did."

Your friend strongly resisted the need to whip right around with a million questions on her tongue. Naomi waited until the maids quietened into a dreamy din when the Prince stopped waving to let her nosiness come through.

And the first question was;

"Is it true?"

Your lips thinned at the obvious loaded question. You were still wondering of the answer to that question, yourself.

Is our Prince truly a Demon?

And all you could offer Naomi was the truth.

"That's the thing," A sharp silence as most maids came back to their beds, many with stars in their eyes. You were careful to lean down to Naomi with a quiet tone. "It... outwardly appears... that it is not?"

This time, Naomi didn't hesitate to swivel right around. The ribbon fell from her hair and framed her saucer-like eyes with wild strands of black. "It is not—!? Mm!"

You had slapped a hand across her loud mouth.

And warranted the attention of a maid with bright red hair and a deep, confused frown. Desperately, you stretched your lips into a false smile that physically hurt and hitched your tone high. "Excited, isn't she? I'm afraid seeing the Prince has left her star-struck."

You had said it with the hopes that this red-headed maid was another Prince Worshiper like the rest of them. Thanks to some heavenly power, your hope was in the right place, because the maid smiled in genuine understanding.

"I can understand," She assured, reaching up to run her hand through her long ribbon-kept tresses. Both eyes glazed. "Our Highness has that effect on people. Especially us. Oh, how I wish to serve him in his room!"

Your laugh was strained and had every possibility of turning into a wheeze. It was a wonder it didn't. When you were sure the maid was whisked off someplace far away, you returned your attention to Naomi and took the hand away from her mouth.

"F-Forgive me." Was the first words off her tongue.

"I never thought it would be me scolding you to keep your tongue in your mouth."

Blush exploded across her cheeks. "I was just—just surprised. You think he is not?" Her brows dipped. "You, [Name], are telling me the rumours are fake?"

"I said no such thing." You countered with a haughty whisper. Your own confusion was taking an agitated route, which was not warranted nor what Naomi deserved. So you stopped, took a deep breath, and carefully turned Naomi back around.

"I said it appears that the Prince is not what those rumours say." You continued quietly while gathering her hair back up once more. "I'm just as shocked as you."

"I'm more relieved than shocked," The shorter woman said. With that confession was an obvious sigh that dropped her shoulders. "But what makes you say so?"

You took a little more time to answer, trifling it out with the very normal image of the rumoured Prince of Demons as you tightened the blue bow.

Mannerly brown eyes, a smile that was polite and loving to the maids, the Guards who laughed with him about a jest.

Naomi looked at you expectantly in the mirror. You sighed tightly.

"On first look," A beats pause. Your brows clashed. "He appeared... everything a Demon's opposite. The Prince was all a spoiled Prince was meant to look. And his smile," You didn't know why your teeth gnashed. It was the confusion, perhaps. "It was kind and warm towards his maids. Deserving of their desperate waves in its genuineness."

With every word, it was as if Naomi's own brows raised higher and higher until they had no room left. When she digested it — a lot better than how you had, very evidentially — she said; "Why is it that I don't feel at all reassured?"

It was a question you had no answer to. And even if you had, wouldn't have been able to, because a sharp bell tinkled through the air which signalled every new maid to duty.

You constructed a faux smile that hid any new found confusion around your Heir and took Naomi's arm to come with you. The girl knew that looking into it would only cause unwanted stress when she was expected to tend to the Castle.

Wonders and worries were reserved to the late nightly hours. Now, they were expected to smile and move ahead.

Although you had an odd feeling in your gut that you knew would stay throughout the entire shift. Confusion and dislike were not a fond mix. It made you constantly revisit The Princes short, snapshot image in your mind for some confirmation. How his smile lit his face up, how he waved in appreciation, the Guards laughing. Not all all the man who made drunk men confess their deepest fears or women tuck their children up safely at night.

Later

Water sloshed about in the tin bucket when you dumped another rag inside. A little too forcefully, but with annoyance steadily brewing in your gut and knuckles rubbed raw with dehydration, you were surprised you hadn't cracked what it was that you polished.

For the worse half of the afternoon, you had been stationed in an expansive hallway in the West Wing of the Palace. Given completely unique duties independent to Naomi, you were in her own company surrounded by the distant murmurs of Guards and consistent, maddening scrubbing of polish against wood.

"Royals, Royals, Royals." You hissed with every scrub. Trust the pompous family to have a simply random cabinet holding nothing but China in the middle of an unused hallway. "They just have all that—that tax money to waste on fruitless things, don't they?" You asked the spotless wood, albeit quietly, as the walls had ears. "What needs does a hallway have for fine China?"

Your reflection answered you. Wild and untamed thing that you were; your hair coming undone from the bow and cheeks dusted rose. Well, if you were to actually succeed as a housemaid for a month, you thought with a huff, reaching to tie the bow neatly again, you should learn not to scrub forcefully enough to shake your hair loose.

When the bow whispered and tightened did you drop your hands into your apron pocket and produced the small notebook every training maid had been gifted. Most women coming to the Castle had very little, if not no educational background. So, for the first few weeks they were permitted to take down their daily tasks instead of memorising them. Whether it was through sentences or broken pictures if they were illiterate enough, Miss Yosano did not mind.

What she did mind was that every task was finished at the time of the last bell. And if it wasn't — a bead of sweat came down your spine at the notion — you didn't want to imagine what punishment could possible await.

Fortunately, despite being against it all, you upheld your promise to Naomi and got every job done. Now, there was only one left;

Rake ashes from Guestroom One. Polish fireplace in Guestroom One. Think of how useless it is to have ten Guestrooms. Perhaps sweep the ashes under the pillow. Pray for strength. Card, beat and straighten Guestroom One's mattress. Check for mites behind Guestroom One's mirrors. For Naomi, for Grandfather. Empty chamber pot in Guestroom Five. Tend to the Guestroom guarded by too many men.

The last task was taken down in a haste, hence its apparent vagueness. A poor, appalled [Name] heard the words empty a chamber-pot come from the Head Maid's mouth and zoned out with shock. It was degrading enough that you were serving under a House of Royals that had no respect for their people, so you were beside yourself upon learning maids dealt first-hand with their utmost private waste, too.

For those curious individuals; you had not a pleasant experience, and secretly used the Guestroom's sink to rinse your hands until the waxy soap began to sting.

Yet you had snapped out of it enough to hear the warning that the room would be "guarded by many men", so that was all you scribbled down. A Lord, perhaps. Most of the Guestrooms you had been tending to today were kept in check by one outstanding Guard. Sometimes not even that. These West-Wing rooms were not used too often, you were told by Yosano before setting off.

However, the East-Wing of the Palace was. And you were also warned to be especially careful of your manners.

Let me see how long I shall last, the amusing wonder came as you walked bristly with the can of water. You thought herself fortunate that you had not bumped into any Royal Officials or — God forbid, the Royals themselves — while on duty. But now, you were entering an area that was apparently crawling with them.

Keep your tongue in, [Name]. For Grandfather, for Naomi.

You considered your execution if you snapped at a Palace Dweller, and then saw an empty bed beside a broken-hearted Naomi. It was what made you swallow tightly and try the damnedest to get this task done quickly as possible. For it was almost dusk; the sky outside the lancet windows was bleeding orange and blush.

The Castle of Yo was situated on a small incline in the Kingdom, far above any village houses or common squares. But you knew everyone existed under the same sky, and wished your Grandfather could see the same gorgeous display of twilight.

Do you miss me, you old wart?

"You better do." You answered, although a smile was on your face. "Who will you play chess with now?"

Images of the chipped board and hand-crafted pieces came with voice and laughter — all trinkets of the past. You were not given the liberty of reminiscing, because you had now turned a corner east. A new Wing of the Palace was where you found yourself. And Yosano had not been kidding, but she had also not been firm enough with her warnings, either—

The place was crawling with Royal Guards!

Everywhere you looked; beside the lavish paintings against the walls, potted plants watered by housemaids more experiences than you, lining every single doorway, there was men with swords and the hilt and hard expressions. Your hands tightened on the bucket, not feeling the nicest with so many eyes suddenly lasered on you. What, am I that threatening? You wished to ask. I'm carrying a bucket, for Gods sake! Hardly a weapon of destruction.

Alas, none of them would take their eyes off of you as you made way to the most protected room of all. An impressive diplomat, he must be behind those doors. With golden lining the wood and four men on each side, you couldn't help but wonder if he was a visiting Guest or a permanent resident. Or just a high-standing man of society who wished for more Guards than he needed.

You would not be at all surprised.

You came to a stop right before the Guard who looked wildly different than the rest of them. He was tall and fierce looking, with grey hair let fall around his shoulder and silver eyes. A wolf, was the first thing you named him while taking in his strange dress. They were definitely not Palace colours. No, this stranger wore a robe of murky green and had a thinner, longer sword sitting at his side.

A foreign diplomat, the man he's guarding must be. The Guard looked at you and you had to straighten your spine. This Guard is not from here.

"What business have you here?" Was the only question he asked you. A level, strong voice. Not commanding, like you initially expected. The aura around this man, the very way he stood. You were quickly understanding that perhaps this foreign man did not command for anything. He simply received it.

Resisting a huff — what do you believe my business is, Guard? I'm in maid's clothes with a maid's pale, you shook the bucket in your hand. "I am to tend to this room, My Lord. It is almost time for the bell and it's the last on my list of duties."

Cool grey eyes slipped down your form in inspection. The Guard deemed you acceptable with a short nod and a step aside.

Although before you entered; "I am no Lord."

Water sloshed dangerous in the bucket when you backtracked to look at him. "Pardon me?"

"You addressed me as a Lord. I am none, nor have I ever been."

Your brows pinched. Truly, such bizarre words from a man of a Royal Court. Perhaps he was not from this Court, but still — it was common to address those higher in society with the appropriate label.

"Then..." You ventured with an unsure, albeit curious tone. "What shall I address you as?"

The strange Guard had his eyes closed now and returned to looking ahead. "Fukuzawa." Was the name he said, a unique one not from this Kingdom.

Was he asking you to use his name? In a Royal Court? Or was this a test?

You thought it probable that this man could be messing with you just to see a poorly maid whipped. In a Palace, no sort of deceit would surprise you. "If that is your name, my Lord, I cannot use it. It is improper."

"Then you may address me as Wolf."

"... Truly?"

"Indeed."

So he does not intend to whip me. He is just another outlier of the Court more stranger than the rest. Although you chose not to protest further with the odd Guard and pushed your way into the room. After all, you were still a training maid, and the time of sunset was almost upon you.

"Wolf. Honestly." You chuckled quietly once inside. Shaking your head, you set the bucket down on the floor. "What type of title is that?"

Although it could not be disputed that he didn't give you the same agitation other Royal Guards did. It was a thought you placed quietly aside, right where the ones of the Prince were to mull over later. Because now it was time for tending—

The wind was knocked right out of your empty stomach.

Gold. Everything in the Guestroom you stood inside was tipped and coated in the finest notes of gold; from the walls to the tables. A huge poster bed with the sheets only creased and not slept in took up most of the room's decor, its silk complimenting the curtains that tossed delicately in the wind. Painted a pale blue with intricate arts of white, the walls were embellished with paintings and the ceiling was high. From there, a chandelier glittered and danced with the settling sun.

You swallowed, having never seen such an obnoxious display of wealth. And then, the wonder and awe soured into sharp anger.

The Royal Family have this much money to spend on Guestrooms when their people are wasting away? Just for a foreign diplomat? A diplomat that didn't even sleep in his bed, but merely lay on top and turned just a few times. Nor did he touch his food tray. The silver platter had a delicious display of cheeses and breads, fruits and candied oranges, cracked eggs that were collecting grey with how long they have been left.

The shamelessly wasted food made your stomach growl and rage thunder. Whoever this man was that lived in here, he ought to be ashamed. To the highest order. Wasting a platter of breakfast and not appreciating a warm bed. But truly, what had I expected from Royals and their contacts? They would throw food and wealth at others to impress, do anything to cover up the breaking pegs of the Kingdom that held it up.

With a new-found shame and disgust at your monarchs, you busied yourself with everything you had conducted in the other Guestroom. Fixing the bedsheets, carding the mattress, polishing even specks of dust on the mirrors, however in this place you did it with a genuine snarl on your lips. Especially when you picked up a full entrée of food you hadn't even tasted before, much less seen, and dumped it right into the waste bucket.

Such a shame. Grandfather would be appalled when she told him. Or perhaps he'd attempt to defend them.

But how could you defend this? Wealth slapped against the walls and wasted food? You saw absolutely nothing but guilt in the action, making your frown deepen.

Although one part of the room that made your skin physically tight with anger allowed the frown soften somewhat.

A chessboard.

Situated on a table of its own with two plush chairs, there sat the most beautiful chess board you had ever cast your eyes upon. It was not out of place in this room of gold, but fond memories of your Grandfather made you look upon this ornament not with hatred, but gentle curiosity.

Oh, but you could not help yourself. You had such a soft spot for the game and the memories it held. Carefully walking over to the table right at the window, you reached out to finger some of the tiles. The stone was cold to the touch — pure marble, and not wood. The pieces were akin to crystals. Glossy, cloudy glass for the white and murky black for the opposing side. You knew it was just another ornament, another gaudy display, but you picked up a piece in anyway.

A pawn. Your lips kicked up when Grandfather's words echoed in your mind;

"My favourite piece? That's easy lass. A pawn."

"A pawn? But—But they're the weakest piece on the board, Grandfather."

"Aye, they may be considered weak. And they are. But at least they never back down."

"They never back down..." You parroted quietly. A steady ache bloomed in your heart when you turned the smooth piece over. Unsurprisingly, you found yourself preferring Grandfather's chipped wooden counterpart; those pieces never felt so cold and unloved.

A sudden creaking of a door behind you.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage and you snapped around — placing the piece blindly back onto the board.

It was the peculiar Guard. Wolf, per his request. He was looking at you with calm eyes, although one brow was raised ever so slightly.

"Miss Maid," He began. "Your service is appreciated, but I thought it worth mentioning the sound of a bell I just heard."

A bell? You frowned, wondering why that applied to you. Although realisation of why it did hit you with the terrifying force of a freight train.

That bell!

"Oh!" You gushed. Then quickly gathered composer with a tight cough. Acting ladylike in front of a Guard, even a strange Wolf Guard, who were you really? "I am done." You affirmed.

Gathering your skirts and rushing to take the bucket, you brushed quickly passed Guard Wolf and into the hallways. This was the first day and you were already behind time. Any other Royal Official and you would have went out of your way to be late. But the overseer of maids in this Castle was a terrifying woman who sent shivers up your spine. You pushed harder, only noticing that you failed to check over the room one last time before leaving.

One final check. Always. Don't you dare leave without it. Yosano's voice in your head. It was obvious that it was more a threat than friendly advice. No matter, you dismissed quickly. That room was untouched enough. You could wager your neck nothing was out of place even without it.

Unfortunate it was for your neck. What this particular training maid failed to consider that in her haste, she had left one item out of place in the room of gold and diamonds.

High, pleasure-riven cries were what filled the small room that the Prince of Yo was wasting some of his time. At present, it was with the most stimulating of distractions; sex.

He steadily eased his long fingers in and out of her — this high-standing Lady-in-Waiting who was becoming a little too frequent for his liking. Attachment of a woman such as herself could indeed prove a headache. But no matter — they were future worries that had no worth in the present. With long, luscious waves of deep red that matched the blush spreading across her cheeks, Rosette was the most impressive Lady of his Court.

He's be foolish, however, to think her anything but the venomous viper that she was.

"Oh—Oh, My Prince," She mewled for him. Rocked her hips into his skilled touch greedily. "There, it's there."

Dazai raised a brow and moved his quick touch to everywhere that wasn't there. "Hmm? Giving your Prince orders, Rosette?"

With a wicked grin unlike the smiling Prince his maids knew him to be, he listened at her agitated cry. It was followed by a rushed apology, of course, and then a desperate plea for him to spare her. That was the one thing Prince Dazai was always sure of - he'd never enjoy his maids in a sexual way. It was, as his Father would reprimand him, an unsightly display and encourager of more labels. Maids had loose tongues when not in Court. But Women-in-Waiting.

He felt her hands on his broad shoulders — a quiet beg, another shift of her hips into the hand underneath her immaculate skirts.

Women-in-Waiting tended to keep their love-affairs to themselves, unless it was to make other Women of the Court jealous. It was, in their minds, a race for the throne after all.

"My Prince—!" Rosette's whine was wanton again. It was becoming irritable, Dazai was noticing. Laced in a false tone that hid her want to cage him, lure with her charm so she could one day be Queen. With her strongly-scented perfume and painted lips, Dazai looked her right in the eyes and lowered his voice.

"You will never be Queen."

Rosette's equally red brows clashed in confusion. Bright, hazel eyes became wide. "My—?"

Although Dazai gave her no time to finish. In a frenzy, and partly because he wished her to silence, he attacked her lips with his and manoeuvred his touch back to where there was. He had it memorised, and whatever confusion was tightening Rosette's muscles melted away. She eagerly returned his attention with quick, tiring movements of her tongue and encouraging moans.

Her hips snapped harder into his touch. He pressed, twirled, sunk his teeth into her bottom lip and her movements stuttered.

"Hah—ah!" The Lady-in-Waiting came undone underneath him. Pressed up against the wall, her hands fisted into his shirt and she threw her head back. "Oh, My—My Prince! Ahh...!"

Dazai removed his fingers from her when she was finished and completely released her. He was cruel in that regard; sex was a passer of time, not an intimate act. Reaching for a cloth in his pocket, he cleaned his hand and hid the strangely cold smile playing on his lips.

Prince Dazai of Yo did not believe in intimacy. Love was difficult for him to feel. Wicked and intelligent, he was given constant praise for being it, so he could comprehend why humans would want to feel love. They were lonely, wishing for a deeper meaning to life than simple existence.

One thing he did not understand, however, was the want to look for a deeper meaning in existence. Sometimes, Dazai felt as if he was the only truly awake one in the room. Life had no meaning, existence was bleak as it was taxing. Humans only felt truly released when they allowed themselves to die, and that was where his opinion ended.

Perhaps that was why he kept seeing such dull, grey walls.

"My Prince?" Rosette called his attention back. Although he did not look to her, he heard how she smoothened down her gown and fixed her mused hair. Happy after-pleasure made her words light. "If I could ask, what was it that you said to me? A few seconds prior? I'm afraid I was too... preoccupied, to really understand."

Clever. Dazai fixed his expression back into Princely charm and lifted his head. Such a bright smile, his eyes closed and curved with it. "Forget it. I was too preoccupied too, it seemed. You do have that effect on men, lovely Rosette~"

The barest flicker behind her soft, hazel eyes. No one except for the Prince of Yo, who was perceptive to a point where it bordered unnatural, could catch it. Sadistic glee raced in his bloodstream — she had heard him. Loud and clear.

And she was far from happy.

It seemed that the most beautiful Lady-in-Waiting was not used to being denied. But he was her Prince, so she was cautious with her wording. "Oh, but allow me to beg you," She reached up to clasp her hands and rest them on her generous breasts. "For it'll haunt my dreams to know. I do respect everything you say, My Prince."

Dazai didn't allow his smile to drop, nor his tone to deepen. Although he made a quick decision that this little triste was coming to its close, and he needed to make himself clear. "Will you insist if I keep my secrets?" He sang with ribbons of playful tease.

"I believed we were past secrets."

There was his reason. Nail stamped in the coffin. "Well, how could any man resist you, Rosette?" The barest tilt of his head left. "I said we should stop seeing each other."

Rosette's face was like a mask had just collapsed right from it. Her false smile went from bright to completely slack, her eyes let their walls down to show nothing but intense hazel fury. "M-My Prince?" Although she could be given credit, for her tone was the same sugar-poison as always.

Dazai opened his eyes and all of a sudden, gone was the happy Prince many in the Court knew him to be. Now, he was appearing how he did to only a handful of unfortunates in the Palace. Blank, deep brown eyes. An uncaring smile. The Demon Prince of Yo saw the fractures in Rosettes plan and decided he'd tear it down until it existed as mere broken shards.

"I said; our triste has gone on long enough, and I wish to end it. I don't particular wish to be collared, and yet you are attempting to collar me. Perhaps there are men of the Court who wish to sleep with a viper who'll bite them after they do, but I am not one of them." Cold, amused laughter. "To answer you properly, I said you would never be Queen. Queens of snakes belong in a small burrow and not a Kingdom's golden throne."

Finding immense pleasure in the way Rosette's skin had drained in shock until it was mere rice-paper, Prince Dazai lifted a hand to the door. "You are free to leave." Was how he ended this distraction, his tone a teasing lilt.

Quiet amusingly, Rosette's ashen complex heated until it was the colour of her hair. With no words to her Prince, because after all, she was a Lady-in-Waiting and he a King's Son, she furiously gathered her skirts and rushed from the room. Leaving behind an unamused Prince who watched her go with unfeeling eyes. The Demon Prince of The Yo Kingdom. A man who cared not for other humans emotions and say everything in life through a lens of grey.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #kunikida doppo #naomi tanizaki #crowns of stardust #headers by astralnymphh #dividers by saradika!#port mafia #armed detective agency #🪄— milky writes #fukuzawa yukichi #akutagawa ryuunosuke #higuchi ichiyo

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foxymoxynoona · 8 months

Text

To Kill A King (Chapter 14)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), public sex, I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

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NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

Old habits die hard. Though Dulce had shifted her purpose to finding some way to prove Nasimiyu and her father were planning to overthrow the Kim family –a thing she hadn’t the faintest idea how to accomplish– an opportunity presented itself in her quest for information that was simply too good to pass up. King Dong-gun quit the palace to go on another of those maniacal cave hunting expeditions, and took most of the palace with him, including Nasimiyu and that ice-cold uncle.

It had almost been funny, that brief moment in which Nasimiyu debated whether to take Dulce. Dulce was back on laundry duty –surprise, surprise– but was carting clean clothes up to the princess’ room. Nasimiyu called for something she could wear on a hunt, then informed Dulce they were going to the caves in the morning, then looked at her in silence for a long moment… before deciding Eula would go. Eula had cried about it all night because she was scared of caves and guns.

Mirta had given Dulce a day’s worth of tasks which she utterly ignored. Was Mirta going to fire her? That would suit her just fine; the only thing keeping her from quitting was needing time to find whatever she could take to Prince Seokjin or King Dong-gun.

As soon as Nasimiyu left for the hunting trip, Dulce ransacked her room. She put everything back so it wouldn’t be obvious, of course, but she dug through all the spaces she normally didn’t care about –the drawers in the writing desk, the false bottom of her jewelry box, the tiara box in the wardrobe that used to house a secret supply of snacks until Nasimiyu ate through them within days of arriving in Priva.

Rooting through the wardrobe made Dulce wonder if Nasimiyu would rat her out about killing the spying man at some point. She could. A princess’ word against a maids would result in nothing other than the death penalty for the maid. Nasimiyu could toss in that Dulce had threatened her about it. It didn’t even have to be true, Nasimiyu could say whatever she wanted and have Dulce’s head off in a moment. Rather than frighten her, this power disparity pissed Dulce off.

She clearly and obviously ought to leave immediately, before that could happen. What was holding Nasimiyu back from doing so this very day? She was clearly angry about Namjoon still, and hadn’t said a word to Dulce since she’d walked in on her and Prince Seokjin fucking. Was she waiting and hoping for Dulce to come groveling to her? Or just biding her time until she could surprise Dulce with an accusation and death?

It didn’t make any sense, and Dulce hated not knowing. She was too close to this one; she wouldn’t be able to leap away before Nasimiyu’s dagger plunged in.

She had to be fast. Faster than this.

But there was nothing incriminating to be found anywhere in Nasimiyu’s room. The letters from her mother were dull and saccharine. There were no letters from her father. She didn’t keep a diary, not even a fake, so there was nothing to betray her as a fiance either, no pining for Namjoon inked onto pages in her hand. Dulce had taught her too well, it seemed.

Dulce paid a visit to the old room Nasimiyu had stayed in, but there likely hadn’t been anything notable there either before it was wiped clean. Same for the rooms Prince Hamisi and Princess Simisola had lived in.

What was Dulce’s next step here? She felt hopelessly out of options. She could approach Prince Seokjin and just tell him… but why would he believe her against his own fiance? He wouldn’t. Dulce was just an out of favor maid. Well, she could tell him more than that if she was willing to sacrifice her own security…

But how did one prove they were an assassin hired to spy and assassinate you? She had no written orders. No secret society brand on her shoulder. No poisoned dagger bearing Prince Hamisi’s emblem or any of the other clues that led to the capture of the villains in the Kalamouche novels. The emblemed dagger in the most recent book she’d read had really done her in, it was nearly enough to make her laugh, it was such a stupid idea. What idiot gave an assassin a clear and obvious connection back to the purse-holder? Dulce had found herself wishing she could meet the author and give him a good thrashing and tell him to do better –nobles were absolute idiots but in a very different way than that. But it had then led to the mental play of Prince Seokjin meeting the author and probably being so exuberant and excited about it because he probably read these ideas and thought they were genius and it had ticked her off so much, this day dream, the fact that she was daydreaming about Prince Seokjin.

What was this man doing to her?! Why?! She had met so many men in her life and this one was… was ignorant and naive and too trusting and… honestly, a clown. And thoughtful and considerate and inappropriately chivalrous and unfortunately almost funny and generous and from what she could see, honest. If he was not honest, he had fooled her. Otherwise, he might be one of the only honest people she had ever met in her life. Everything about him seemed so sincere. Was that true? He did not seem to consider himself when he put himself forward to help someone –a maid who didn’t need rescuing, a crying child, a servant who was secretly his brother and an inherent threat to his throne.

Fuck that guy, he was messing with her head. She had to figure something out and then get the fuck out of here. She’d do her best to find some way to open his eyes to the dangers around him, but she couldn’t die for him. She needed to be gone before Nasimiyu figured it out. Possibly the only thing staying Nasimiyu’s hand right now was that she’d never directly caused someone’s death before. Could that be it? Was there some conscience after all beneath that ridiculous flower crown Prince Seokjin had given Nasimiyu for dinner last night?

She circled the palace trying to look like she had somewhere to be without actually having an aim. Prince Hamisi was too smart to leave anything incriminating in the Kim palace. Nasimiyu never had anything to leave around. She could try interrogating Nasimiyu’s guards or maids for anything but it would raise suspicion on herself unless she killed them afterwards, likely not get her anything, and another death around Nasimiyu would probably send the palace into another frenzy.

How ironic. Dulce was possibly the greatest threat to Nasimiyu, wasn’t she? It occurred to her that striking Nasimiyu down and lying in wait for Prince Hamisi to come running back would be the quickest way to ensure they couldn’t harm Prince Seokjin.

But actually killing Nasimiyu… It made Dulce’s stomach turn. She didn’t need to go that far right now. Dulce was efficient and purposeful, but she wasn’t wasteful. Death was inevitable, but that didn’t mean Dulce was eager to dole it out, not to someone she had so recently been so close to. Honestly, did Nasimiyu deserve to die? She shouldn’t be queen but..

Dulce was compromised. She was too sentimental. The objective truth was that no one person was worth more than the lives of dozens or hundreds of others, but right now Nasimiyu wasn’t a threat to dozens or even hundreds of people. If she died today, there would be a new and probably worse princess betrothed to the prince tomorrow. Nasimiyu was selfish and stubborn but supposedly had good intentions, so in a world where her rule wasn’t a threat to Seokjin’s life, Dulce would have left her alone.

“I have a packet for the King,” a deep voice said, traveling closer up the hallway.

Another voice scoffed, “And I told you, he is not in the palace today so you will have to wait or leave your missives with me.” Dulce recognized the voice of Han-gyeol Jung –that weasley old man constantly looking down his nose at young men and squinting like he could see through the dresses of young women. Allegedly he served as a ‘deportment’ tutor for Prince Seokjin but seemed to leave his more palatable son to do most of the actual refining work.

“I’m in a hurry,” the man said, which struck Dulce as odd. If you had things to deliver to the king, wasn’t that the most important thing you could do? Unless you were just impatient, but he didn’t sound impatient, he sounded… nervous. “They must be delivered directly to the King.”

When Lord Jung or whatever the fuck his proper title was refused to go and physically retrieve the King from the caves, the man snapped that he would try again tomorrow but he wasn’t spending a night here and stomped off. Dulce watched the elder Jung subtly around the corner. He looked completely unbothered by the man’s insistence, as if this sort of urgent entitled demand to see the king was a common occurrence. She found it more curious that he would act as a kind of butler or intermediary for the King in his absence rather than the Castellan or literally anyone else. It seemed outside of his job scope. But what did she know? Besides, most of those people had gone on the hunt.

He strode off to do another task. So the King must not be lying in wait expecting anything urgent, otherwise surely he would let his butler know to fetch him at once should a messenger arrive. Unless Han-gyeol Jung didn’t know anything either and had just unknowingly thwarted something actually very important

Dulce had nothing better to do though (what, maid chores?) and decided to follow the man with the message. He’d not gone far and anyway his steps were loud enough to easily find him, the idiot. She tailed him out of the palace and down into the city, right out the front doors. Nobody looked at him, and she supposed she struck the right balance of looking like a nobody maid that nobody bothered with her either. The man did keep looking anxious around himself but he clearly wasn’t worried about an innocent looking maid with her hair wrapped in a white kerchief the only time he might have seen her over his shoulder.

They moved further into the city. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, which made it easier to keep up with him because his movements were purposeful and obvious. They passed through a couple neighborhoods before he entered an unremarkable tavern, the Bear and Beer.

“Need a room?” the innkeeper asked as the man went straight to the counter.

“Yes, only the night. Middle of the row if you’ve got it,” he said, already dumping coin on the counter as though he knew the cost. They didn’t seem to know each other but he must have been here before; he didn’t wait for further instructions about how to reach “Room 4” before taking the key and heading up. Locking doors meant this was a nicer place, though Dulce could have guessed that from the quiet and decently clean downstairs. The innkeeper kept the keys on a loop that jangled at his hip, which would make it harder to get the spare for Room 4 that he surely kept.

“What about you, need a room?” he called, unfortunately spotting her right away.

Annoyed, she said she was hoping to meet someone and ordered a beer for while she waited. Since it was early in the day, she had her pick of tables where she could watch the few folks who came and went. No one looked suspicious, or even remarkably unsuspicious which could itself be suspicious. Those who came down looked like they’d had a late night to sleep off. Three went up during the time she watched –a maid with an armful of clean linens and a pair with a massive bag between them and the air of disappointment, whatever their business had been that morning.

This was stupid. She was wasting her time on what was likely one of a thousand people who tried to visit the king on any given day and were turned away, and for what reason, because she was bored and frustrated around the palace? She’d have as much luck finding something useful blindly wandering the streets.

She paid for her beer and headed for the door but felt the shuffle of movement close behind her. Turning, she caught only the back of a figure heading purposefully for the stairs as several other people moved around the room at once, getting up to refill mugs of beer or empty tables or step closer to the fire. All normal gestures, but Dulce felt as if the world had thawed quite suddenly, which struck her as odd. Not everyone seemed to be orchestrating something, but rather like something predictable had happened –the waitress had brought in a large tray of food– just as she had risen from the table and others had moved in synchrony too. Coincidence.

But the two people who slipped quickly up the stairs as if they did not wish to be seen felt more intentional. Like people trained to take advantage of a predicted moment of distraction.

Dulce strode forward and bumped into the waitress, who promptly toppled the whole tray onto the table. The patrons leapt up and the waitress leapt back and the innkeeper came running around from the bar squawking about the mess, shoving the waitress out of the way in his rush to apologize –which was just enough physical distraction for Dulce to unhook the ring of keys from his belt. It wasn’t even a twist latch! The fool.

She disappeared up the stairs in the chaos, shedding her cloak and the kerchief in the process, wrapping them into a bundle to mute the jingling of the remaining keys once she’d pulled off the one with the 4 scratched into it.

She put on her best oops wrong room face and rushed through door four… to be met with an empty room. The man had either left or met his fate, but it was definitely his pack still sitting on the bed. She frowned at the stillness and pulled her blade from her pocket, the little shitty one Nasimiyu had given her since it was the closet on hand. If she reached for her boot, he might rush out of the wardrobe or something.

He wasn’t there when she checked though, nor under the bed. Convinced she was alone, she promptly upended his bag. She shoved aside some light clothing, a miniscule bag of money, no more than a handful of jerky and a cheap necklace, and instead focused on the small leatherbound journal –oddly expensive compared to everything else– and a short stack of sealed envelopes. Everything else she shoved back inside, hoping it would buy her some time before the man realized he’d been robbed –of what was probably just a complaint about his neighbor. Dulce realized she was being very rash right now.

A noise in the hallway made her freeze, then leap into the wardrobe mere seconds before the door swung open again. In walked the man she had followed, pulling at his waistband as if he’d just pulled his pants up.

Well shit.

If he had any wits about him, he was going to check the wardrobe in a moment to make sure his room was secure and find her, and what was she going to do? If he was rotten folk, she could kill him and be on her way, but if he wasn’t, she’d rather knock him out.

He didn’t check the wardrobe yet. Instead he sat at the table and produced some cheese and a hunk of bread from his pocket. She held her breath, expecting he’d open his pack for the jerky and notice his precious papers were gone– but he didn’t.

Were people really such fools they didn’t check their rooms first?!

Dulce set the keys in the bottom of the wardrobe with her cloak, moving slowly and carefully so as not to produce even the faintest brushing sound. Then, by the light creeping in through the shoddy cabinetry, she eased open the seal on the first paper and did her best to read. The hand was scratchy and rushed, masculine she thought but couldn’t be sure –her own hand was masculine, she’d been told long ago, as if that mattered.

HD not in Sartia as directed – SD alone

HD crossed border near Ft Gaysa, could not follow, gone 3 days

HD headed north

Dulce’s brow knitted. How annoying to be simultaneously in code but not really. Per request sure sounded like this man had been sent somewhere, to trail this HD to Sartia–

Hamisi Dabo. Dulce was no font of knowledge on famous or infamous persons, but Prince Hamisi had been headed to Sartia with his wife, Simisola Dabo. People were stupid and often the most obvious answer was right.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Was this important? That Prince Hamisi had lied about going to Sartia? What was at Ft Gaysa? If that wasn’t notable, the fact he had crossed the border down there sure was; no one was allowed to cross the southern Therepin border, it would nullify the very precarious treaty after the Therepin Border Wars.

She shoved the note down the front of her dress, blood pounding in her ears as she carefully opened the next. It was in a different hand and dated separately, sealed differently, as if the letters had been sent by two different people completely which left her unsure how they had both wound up with this man.

Summary report on investigation into recent Therepin skirmishes. Full reports arriving separately

1: No witnesses survived. Entire village dead and burned. Civilian deaths: 76.

2: Reliable eyewitness reports invasion of village at dawn. Military arrived 22 minutes later. Military deaths: 1, Assailants: 14 reported - bodies burned could not verify, Citizens: 7.

3: Eyewitness claims assailants came around from the north not south!!! Military arrived in 11 minutes. Military death: 1, Assailants: 13 - bodies burned could not verify, Citizens: 18.

4: Two witnesses survived by hiding under floorboards, have gone missing since interview. Claimed to have heard assailants speak of belonging to Sons of Sunset. Military deaths: 0, Assailants: 32 reported - 3 bodies produced, rest burned could not verify; Civilian deaths: 49 + assuming 2 witnesses

Dulce’s mind was racing. These reports were exactly what she was looking for! Proof that Hamisi was up to something. He shouldn’t be crossing the border, and if the Sons of Sunset were attacking towns and blaming another country, the king needed to know!

But maybe he already knew? She couldn’t tell from just these notes if the King was investigating Prince Hamisi on his own, or if he was just looking into the skirmishes, or what. She knew the royal family had a network of spies, though they tended to be clumsy and easy to identify. This man seemed excessively clumsy though to be carrying such precious documents only to leave them unattended in his room for even a moment. He must not know what he had.

Damn she wished she knew more about what was going on at the border for the notes to make more sense. Namjoon had ranted within earshot at some point but she wasn’t very political and had ignored him. Nonetheless, she would now make sure these landed in the King’s hand directly.

The third didn’t have a seal. Just a dashed, unsigned note on a thin slip of paper.

Delso dead. I’m followed. Take this copy in case I’m done. Watch your back cmdr dsk on the move hunting for squeakers

Cmdr Dsk… Commander Dong-suk Kim? These things weren’t even in code! Any good spy knew the point of code! Though she considered that if the point was to get this information to the King, maybe code wasn’t useful. After all, she was not part of his spy network but understood at least some of the message that needed to make it to the king. It wasn’t actually in the King’s interest for these things to be secret, it was only in the interest of the messengers themselves but by the point someone was reading them, you were likely already dead–

A knock at the door to the room made her head jolt up as quickly as this messenger’s. He rose slowly from the table at another knock. He took a step forward and drew his blade at an even harder knock, nearly enough to take the door off its hinges.

The man started to run for the window, but the act of grabbing his pack from the bed was too slow –he ought to have grabbed and run first, the fool! And he paid dearly for it as the door crashed in, the lock shattering right out of the doorframe as one of the suspicious men she’d seen slide upstairs earlier launched himself through.

A thrown dagger caught the messenger in the back of the neck and he toppled forward, metal protruding through the front. Still his body dragged him forward but there was no fight for life possible and by the time the large man carelessly ripped the bag from his shoulder, he was still and limp.

“Is it the right room this time?” a second voice demanded. He elbowed the door back into place after a peek down the hallway. “You sure it’s him?”

“This is the guy.”

“--Is what you said about the other.”

Dulce waited, calculating. If they’d made short work of someone in another room without even her hearing, they were a trifle better at their jobs than this careless messenger. She could remain hidden and hope they left, but only an idiot wouldn’t check the fucking wardrobe.

Two to one… she’d faced worse odds. All three notes carefully down her bodice, she eased her favorite dagger from under her skirt, touched the one in her boot to make sure it was at hand, took a deep breath, then launched herself from the cabinet.

They’d upended the backpack and the bigger man’s wrist tangled in the straps, which slowed him down enough for Dulce’s blade to slash his upper arm. His other first swung around and would probably have knocked her out cold if she hadn’t ducked just as the smaller man’s blade sliced at her back. Fabric caught and tore thanks to a hook on the tip of his blade that would do even nastier things to skin if she let it, but also presented a weakness. She tried to catch her blade in it to yank it away but misjudged the angle once, twice, three times; their blades struck and slid against each other, the metal grating noise making her skin crawl. It was too much thinking and not enough movement to keep her out of reach of the second man who wasn’t that bothered after all by his cut arm: he plucked her around the waist and threw her against the wall like a rag doll.

“Quiet,” the small man hissed at him after the thud. Dulce groaned and rolled onto her stomach, wheezing. But she’d managed to save some of the breath in her lungs by curling as she flew, and took advantage of their assumption she’d be down. She dragged herself deceptively slowly forward and when the smaller man lifted a leather boot to kick her, she stabbed her smaller blade right down into the toe of his boot as hard as she could. Those fine leather boots of his parted like butter; the toes she stabbed through put up more resistance. He yowled.

“Quiet!” the bigger man mocked and lifted Dulce from the ground by the torn back of her dress, his other blade already slicing at her middle as if to gut her. She slashed at his wrist with the second knife. He tried to knock it away, opening himself up to a straight stab to the gut with the blade from her boot, and another and another. Her blade sank in several inches each time, blood rushing out as she pulled it out, but nowhere deep enough to hit anything vital.

“Fucking whore!” he bellowed and dropped her just as the other man stabbed forward. They weren’t well coordinated and managed to knock into each other while she ducked down and spun away. It only saved her a moment though before both were on her again, small blades biting anywhere they reached. The room’s space was too tight to really maneuver away and they shoved furniture, blundered into the walls, tripped over the body of the messenger, crashed against the bed.

“Just grab her!” the smaller man shouted. Dulce instinctively leapt away from the larger man as his fist clipped the back of her head, but maybe intentionally so, it had been a distraction and the smaller man slashed at her throat, just missing. Dulce struck back but another blow to her back pushed her right into the man’s blade; she knocked it away from her belly but he brought a second around to stab at her back. She slammed her foot onto his thigh and jumped high so that his blade sliced the side of her leg instead, tangling in her ridiculous skirt and tearing fabric and skin both. She returned the favor against the man’s face, an attempt to kill him that sadly missed.

Dulce felt a meaty hand grab the front of her dress and turn her for what was undoubtedly a death blow. She turned faster than the larger man expected and wrapped around him, the strings of her bodice ripping and tangling around his hand as she slid onto his back, her blade dragging across his throat like a caress. It was butchery; she couldn’t risk her cut being too shallow again. He threw himself backwards to avoid the depth, crushing her against the dresser as his blood fountained out and his body began to thrash in in a fit of primal survival. It took all the muscles of her arm to tear that pipe. She managed to slide away from him, diving after the other man who seemed monentarily shocked that she’d managed to down his companion –but not shocked enough to meet the same fate.

He leapt towards her as the other man still flailed, blade extended. Dulce tripped on the dead messenger and it saved her skin; neither she nor the smaller man expected her to drop just then. She rolled around him instead and stabbed at his thigh; the blade sank in but her fingers were locked too tight so when he leapt away it jerked her along too, exposing her side. Her skirt twisted around her leg and later she’d curse herself for wearing such a stupid thing. He took the opportunity, blade going right for her ribs. Her turn dragged it instead across the tops of her breasts, a shallow slice that stung like a bitch. the other side of her torn bodice caught the actual hook of his blade. She stabbed in the direction of his arm.

He surprised her, shoving his hand down the front of her chemise. She thought he was stabbing and tried to twist away.

Instead he pulled out the notes she’d tucked, dashed with her blood and sweat and crumbled beyond belief. He flashed her a grin and was out the window in a heartbeat, unbothered by the knife she threw at his back. Dulce tried to stumble after him, to follow him out, but her legs refused and she merely crawled forward. By the time she reached the, he was long gone and she was alone in the bloodied, broken room with two corpses, the larger one still blinking and gasping but beyond consciousness.

Dulce panted for breath and felt herself, searching for anything fatal. It had all happened so fast. Bruises and cuts she hadn’t noted in the moment competed for attention but adrenaline kept her from surrendering to any of it just yet.

The notes were gone.

Fuck!

That’s what they’d been looking for.

She didn’t have time to think about it right now. They’d been noisy; any moment someone was going to crash through the broken door and she couldn’t be here. She refused to take the fall for whatever she had stumbled into.

Fuck, the notes were gone. It killed her. They were exactly what she had needed! She didn’t want to leave empty handed but pounding steps in the hall told her she had seconds to act. She grabbed the messenger’s coat he had previously hung on the chair and yanked it on over her torn clothes and with her braid tucked down, pulled his hat on low, and rushed towards the door.

“Hey! What’s going on in there!! Open up!” the inn keeper or someone matching his anger shouted ahead of themself, storming down the hall. Dulce weighed her options. She could rush out but didn’t know how many people were there. The other man had gone out the window, so there was a way. He might be waiting but it was her best change.

She grabbed her favorite blade and leapt onto the windowsill, eying the likeliest path he had taken.

Shake all you want, but you’re moving on, she told her legs and took the leap. It was a tight scrabble. Her fingers ached for purchase. She shimmied along the narrow ledge until she reached the lower roof, then tore over it before anyone from the ground would hopefully notice her. The stables on the other side had enough boxes to leap down like a cat and off she raced as soon as her boots touched ground. Some globs of blood dotted the hay-strew ground; she’d got the man good at least once and wished now she’d at least had a good look at his face. She would never recognize him in a room and that pissed her off. He might recognize her.

She noticed the gasps and curious, nervous glances as she sprinted down the street until she knew her legs really were about to buckle. Then she slid into an alley, turned the coat inside out, and did her best to piece herself back together.

In doing so, she discovered she still had one paper: HD not in Sartia as directed – SD alone

Useless on its own.

Now what to fucking do. She was injured, unclear how badly. She knew she looked awful and would raise too many questions if she limped into the palace like that, but where else did she have to go? She didn’t even have the money for a room to wash her face in.

Taehyung or Yoongi? Which could she get to without being seen? Which did she trust to help and not question? What a loss that Nasimiyu couldn’t shield her now.

Neither, she didn’t trust anyone. Ever. People were only loyal as long as it served them. No oath in the world was sacred, even one of love, and they had sworn her nothing.

But she had no other options.

She took her bet and set off, already crafting her story.

“Come on,” Drin cajoled, jostling Seokjin’s arm in the hallway. “You can’t avoid the hunt.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Seokjin lied, lied as big and strong as the angry surf that had crashed against the sea wall all night. It called to him, that sea. Only slightly in a macabre way –and not because of the wedding planning, that was fine. He wasn’t avoiding wedding planning. Why would he be avoiding wedding planning? Nor was he avoiding his uncle, as Drin now gracefully hinted it:

“You’re either avoiding your uncle or the caves but either way, you’re fucked. Your father has sent for you. A tummyache ain’t a good reason to skip the hunt.”

“Actually I find it a very good reason,” Seokjin quipped. “Would he have me shit my horse?”

“You can’t blame a stomach to avoid uncomfortable things, little prince. Turn right around and suit up for the hunt. Wear a baby’s swaddle to hold the shit, if you need to.”

“Does no one take me seriously?”

“We know you’ve a history of avoiding–”

“I’m not avoiding anything, except maybe the kitchen.”

Because god save him if he ran into Dulce there. Not after Dulce had walked in on him… with Nasimiyu… A cold shudder ran through his body, followed by the flush of a fever of mortification. It would have been bad for anyone to walk in –didn’t anyone fucking knock?! But of all people, for it to be Dulce, it just…

He wanted to scream. To cry. To throw up. He’d done none of those things. He had quickly dressed and fled to his room and taken a hot bath to wash the sex off and considered drowning himself more than once. For all he knew, his dick had shriveled into his body and would never emerge. Certainly he was never going to have sex again. He was private about sex, thank you very much, so for an unwelcome guest to intrude–

And for it to be Dulce– on or around her birthday, of all times!

Seokjin was not easy to embarrass. But this had done it. And, with little practice in recovering from an embarrassment he rarely felt, he was, in fact, hiding from a maid. Utter shock had emboldened him to hastily scribble the note with the book and send Jimin to deliver it to wherever Dulce slept and now his interactions with her were done and he would never look her in the eye again. Which meant avoiding any of the places they might ever run into each other, including but not limited to: the kitchen where she went for food, the yard where she sometimes passed by, any of the hallways near Nasimiyu’s room, and possibly the queen’s garden where she seemed to appreciate the flowers. He wondered if Nasimiyu would be willing to come to his room from now on… assuming this hadn’t just rendered him impotent for life.

Honestly wandering into a bullet’s path in the caves seemed like not the worst way to go right now.

Because in truth Seokjin also knew he could not avoid Dulce forever, particularly if she remained Nasimiyu’s maid.

He felt like he’d assaulted Dulce. His note wasn’t enough. He didn’t know what else to do. He’d never been in the wrong in this way towards a woman before! And she might be around any corner in this palace, ready to turn to look right through him with those dark eyes that looked so warm behind a mug of hot chocolate. The whole thing was ghastly. How his father had allegedly carried on orgies in the dining hall was beyond Seokjin. Would it have been less devastating if it was someone else? He decided not to answer that, even to himself.

“Is Nasimiyu really going?” Seokjin asked Jimin over his shoulder. “Who’s she taking with her?” The question probably said too much but Jimin was sworn to loyalty and wouldn’t rat him out, even if he figured out the question behind Seokjin’s question. Which he probably did, seeing as Seokjin had told him what happened and had him deliver the book.

“She is, Sir, and expects you are too. She’s not taking any of her maids.”

That was good enough for Seokjin.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Seokjin said to Drin.

“What now, really?”

“I’ll go change.”

“No, you’re off to hide. You’re dressed fine, just take your jacket off. A fight doesn’t always wait for the prince go get changed into clothes he doesn’t mind bloodying!” Drin barked, and clapped Seokjin on the shoulder. He seemed shockingly sober, likely a result of Uncle Dong-suk’s arrival. The two had served together when they were younger, as peers. But Dong-suk was royal and rose to commander and Drin shattered his arm and decided to train the prince instead of remain on the battlefield. Dong-suk was of the mindset you should die on the battlefield instead of “give in to disability,” which Seokjin thought was rich to say when you had no such injury. As if being the private arms tutor to the prince was a mark of weakness!

“Why are you so eager?” Seokjin demanded, already regretting it. “We aren’t fighting, we’re hunting.”

“Is it different?” Drin cryptically asked and strode ahead, trusting Seokjin to follow to the courtyard where the hunting party gathered.

“Did you really think you could avoid the hunt?” Jungkook asked, sidling up to Seokjin’s elbow as the prince dragged his feet but followed his trainer. Seokjin gave him a look, because obviously yes, he did and would have, even if it meant lying to his father and uncle that he was shitting his brains out. But also no, he had known he couldn’t, because Nasimiyu was going and he couldn’t leave her to hunt alone. Why had she decided to go?! It was that bit of information from Jimin that had dragged Seokjin from his hiding place.

She sat atop her horse with only two of her guards at hand. Taehyung wasn’t far off, a horse lead in each hand, though he looked confused. Seokjin assumed it was concern over whether Seokjin would show and went right to him, hairs on the back of his neck prickling as his father and uncle no doubt noted his late arrival.

“I’m to go with you,” Taehyung said quietly.

“You? Why, you’re a stable boy,” Seokjin scoffed for any who might hear.

“I don’t know, your uncle said so.”

Seokjin glanced over at the two elder Kim men now. Uncle Dong-suk didn’t hide that he was watching.

“Do you think he–” Taehyung broke off and looked away, poorly hiding his nerves.

Seokjin slapped a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder and announced loudly, “Congratulations on winning the honor of joining us on the hunt! Every month we’ll take along someone new from the household staff so that you may all experience the wonder and prestige of spending a day skulking around in the dark, looking for things to kill that aren’t even good to eat. You’ll ride with me today, aren’t you lucky?”

“So lucky,” Taehyung murmured. “Here’s your horse…” He glanced at the path down to the hunting caves as if considering whether he ought to just set out for Paloma now. Seokjin thought he should. This did seem suspicious, for Dong-suk to take any notice of Taehyung. He had visited Priva a couple times since Seokjin brought Taehyung to live here and never even looked at the stablehand, but Seokjin had always assumed his uncle knew and didn’t give a shit, as he didn’t have a direct descendent in line for the throne anyway. Nothing changed for Dong-suk if it was Seokjin’s ass on the throne someday or Taehyung’s.

But this was a change. Either he hadn’t know before and now did, or he was trying to make a point that something had changed now, and Seokjin didn’t like it either way.

“Lady,” he called to Nasimiyu as he mounted his horse, one last prayer of bailing. “Are you well today?”

Nasimiyu’s brow knit as she demanded, clearly offended, “I am, why do you ask?”

“Are you sure this is how you want to spend a day? We might do… anything else your heart desires. Literally anything.”

“Oh there are Lord Jothi and Lord Theo, should we ride with them again?” Nasimiyu asked. “I do hope you’re able to catch something this time.”

“I caught your heart last time, can’t imagine what greater prize there exists then–”

“Let’s ride!” Seokjin’s father called as if recognizing his son was still trying to weasel out of this. The two dozen mounts in the courtyard moved as one, Taehyung rushing to swing into his saddle and pulling into line next to Jungkook in Seokjin’s wake.

Conversation with Nasimiyu ran dry during the ride down. She didn’t seem much inclined to talk, giving him the suspicion he��d done something to anger her, but he couldn’t fix it because he didn’t know what. She hadn’t seemed angry at dinner last night.

“You decided to hunt alone?” he asked as they waited for servants to bring them weapons.

“I have my guards and you. Who else would I want?” Nasimiyu asked with what he thought might be feigned confusion.

“Last time you brought a couple of maids, didn’t you?”

“Yes and they all begged not to come again.” She said it so casually, Seokjin had no reason not to believe her. With any luck, Dulce was avoiding him the same way, and they would never cross paths again despite living in the same palace.

Yay?

Once in the grand entrance cave, Jungkook pulled his horse close to Seokjin and leaned as near he could to murmur, “It’s going to be impossible to keep an eye on Taehyung and you at the same time.”

Seokjin knew he was right. This was the easiest place in the world to kill someone. He’d always thought how stupid that man who’d tried to assassinate him had been, sending a pig to do it, when one could just do it from a ledge or around a corner and no one would ever catch you. It was a wonder more people weren’t killed here –though he had his suspicions that the dark rumors his great-grandfather had hunted men down here for sport might be very true. He suspected Grandfather had too, though the old bastard had died when Seokjin was young enough to not remember much about him except his ice-cold hands.

“Watch him closer,” Seokjin told Jungkook.

“Than–”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. That’s your order.”

“Ok…” Jungkook said as he leaned back in his saddle. He didn’t look pleased about this but he’d never disobeyed an order before.

“I mean it. Jimin will watch after me,” Seokjin said, turning to his right-hand man.

Jimin let out a guffaw and asked, “Did you just assign me bodyguard status? You must be joking, haha.” He hesitated to accept the gun handed to him by a staff of the hunt before taking it with a look of disgust.

Nasimiyu, having heard some bits of this, asked, “Is there a problem? Why is your butler being a bodyguard?”

“It’s just a joke,” Seokjin assured her. “Are we ready? Let’s get a head start.”

“Don’t we have to wait for your father to–”

“I’m the prince so I’ll do as I please,” he said, full of shallow bravado. “Besides, I don’t want to ride with Theo and Jothi again. They were flirting with you last time.”

Nasimiyu looked surprisingly thrilled as she argued, “No they weren’t… were they? I don’t think so…”

“Eager to lead the charge, my son?” Dong-gun called, giving his horse a swift kick to catch up before Seokjin’s party made it through the first cave. Dong-suk pulled up beside his elder brother and Seokjin bit back his frustration.

Instead he teased, “Shall we make a competition of it, father?”

“I’d rather watch your technique and see the catch myself,” Dong-suk interjected, which was of course exactly the opposite of what Seokjin wanted. Did his uncle mean to shoot Taehyung himself?! He brought no guards, only the servant assigned to fetch his kills trotting along beside him, looking terrified by his assignment as if he too realized how disposable he was as a witness.

“Well you shall… certainly be in awe…” Seokjin stammered out as Drin too pulled forward.

“A full party, eh? Just like old times,” he beamed at Dong-suk. Dong-suk did not beam back. “He’s made good progress in arms since you were here last but his sharpshooting is second to none. Fantastic aim, that one’s got.”

Dong-gun clapped his hands and pulled his horse ahead, taking an uncontested lead that Seokjin had no choice at the moment but to follow –with every intention of carving Taehyung and Nasimiyu off to get “lost” down a side cave at the first chance.

Dong-gun and Dong-suk weren’t going to make it easy. They led them, practically boxed them in, down the central corridor, right past all the twisty windy smaller paths that would have made it easier to “take a wrong turn.” No one dared rush past them, so they were the first to enter the grand central cavern with its massive forest and craggy peak –not too dissimilar from the cavern he’d explored with Nasimiyu and Dulce and those bratty upstarts last time, so that an average person might think they were the same place. That was the danger with this place, it was a death trap if you didn’t have a good guide.

Dong-gun and Dong-suk wasted no time along the way shooting anything that moved, no hesitation. Despite his uncle’s constant criticism of Priva and its excesses, he loved the hunt. It was about the only time he saw his uncle smile, just a tight-lipped slant when a deathcry followed the crack of his rifle. He scowled when Dong-gun would get one first, their array of servants running to and fro in the dark with low lanterns trying to find whatever they’d felled or take the long way round to chase what lay strewn against the far cliffs.

“They’re going to shoot someone,” Nasimiyu gasped as a goat went stock still in the distance, illuminated by those shimmering blue lights overhead, then collapsed not too far off from a game master who raised his hands in a silent plea not to be shot next.

Seokjin’s father heard her and scoffed, “Never, Princess. You doubt our aim?”

In one swift motion he’d turned his rifle towards Taehyung on his horse and fired, knocking Taehyung’s hat clean off. A pinch from taking Taehyung’s head with it, most likely.

Taehyung didn’t scream, just tightened his hold on his horse as it took a couple nervous steps.

Seokjin screamed loud enough for both of them. He shouted, “Ah ya, what’s that!? You take aim at our staff guest? Are you confused, old man? Aim your gun that way!” His heart pounded in his chest, his fear urging him to take flight and trust Taehyung to follow and get away from this place. He’d brought his only living brother into a deathtrap, that’s what he’d just done. Was their own father the threat, not Dong-suk? Seokjin was shocked by what had just happened.

His father laughed and pointed out, “See? Horse or man, Privan stallions are made of stern stuff.”

Nasimiyu’s horror showed on her face and Seokjin was glad his father couldn’t see it, afraid it would only encourage him.

“Onwards,” Seokjin gritted out and pulled his horse forward, nudging Taehyung to ride beside him, against the wall.

Seokjin fucking hated it here.

It wasn’t long before Nasimiyu nudged her horse up beside him, forcing Taehyung to fall back, which was probably for the best anyway.

“Shoot something,” she hissed at him.

“What?”

“We’re here to hunt, so hunt, or they’re going to be shooting at you next,” she whispered harshly. “The whole thing is a test, isn’t it? Your uncle is watching you so do something!”

Seokjin didn’t know how to explain a lifetime of misery and fear of his uncle to her. He didn’t think she’d be impressed anyway. What was he going to tell her, that anything more intelligent than a fish he found nauseating to kill? It wasn’t like they were killing to eat out of necessity down here. The game alway tasted like rocks.

He was glad she realized there were politics going on but disappointed she wanted him to play into them, even though he recognized she was probably right.

Drin was right that his aim was good; if he aimed true, he could fell something quickly, appease his father and uncle, impress his bride-to-be, and maybe protect Taehyung in case that had been meant as some kind of weird show of power.

“Very well,” he murmured. “Yes, it’s about time I show off my marksmanship.” He took his time loading his gun as their horses dawdled after the others. He looked around for something inoffensive to murder, but the blue lights gave everything the same unearthly glow and made it hard to distinguish a mouse from a monkey in the trees. He looked at the ridge instead, and in doing so noted a something-or-other silhouetted against the stream trickling through the center of this stretch of cavern.

“Perfect shot, I should think,” Dong-suk mused from ahead, his horse blocking the path for everyone. His gaze tore into Seokjin, digging in deep, finding him lacking as always.

Seokjin raised his gun and aimed. It didn’t matter what it was at this point, he didn’t have a way out without further ridicule. His brother’s life might be in danger. He had to pull the trigger.

He hesitated.

A crack erupted, bouncing around them, echoing in Seokjin’s ears. The black lump slipped from the tree branch. Seokjin wanted to do the same from his horse but remained frozen.

“Fantastic shot, my son!” Dong-gun cheered. “Go fetch it, whatever it was. An owl?”

“I hope not…” Seokjin joked vaguely, and resisted looking except out of his periphery at Taehyung shoving the smoking barrel of his gun out of view under the pretense he was looking down the barrel still trying to find something to shoot.

“That was a great shot, Your Highness,” he called over his shoulder to Seokjin.

“Marvelous,” Nasimiyu agreed. She gave him a smirk, leaving him unsure if she had been fooled or not.

“Hm,” his uncle said. Seokjin doubted he was fooled but either way, didn’t say anything.

It was a kestrel. Beautiful. Seokjin hadn’t even actually killed it and still looked away.

They rode on, into a smaller cave called The Aviary thanks to the hundreds of birds that roosted in the trees that grew up and the vines that dangled down and the clear space in between.

“Can’t miss in here,” Dong-gun called back. “Want a go, Princess? I think your rifle’s still cold.”

“Of course!” she called back. “I’ve just been watching to learn the layout of the caves.” Seokjin started to tell her she didn’t have to –he’d take the attention away– but Nasimiyu lifted her rifle and fired once– twice– nothing. She handed it to her servant to reload, hand waving for them to hurry. Seokjin didn’t think she’d aimed at anything and decided she must be firing wide.

Except her next shot connected. Seokjin didn’t see what it was as he had been watching her face, but the cheer went up, he heard the broken cry behind him, and he saw Nasimiyu’s face –shocked, horrified, for only a moment, and then triumphant. Had she had a change of heart or pulled on a mask?

The bird was brought to her, a beautiful yellow-feathered song bird that draped across her hands, a bright messy red spot on its stomach where her bullet had punctured and killed. She stared at it and then at Seokjin, like she wasn’t sure what to do with this.

“What is it?”

“We call them Sun Singers,” Seokjin told her. “They sing every morning when the sun rises but not down here. They can’t see the sun so they never sing.” Do you understand how fucking sad that is? He was afraid she wouldn’t get it. He felt an innate certainty Dulce would.

“My lady, do you wish to have it stuffed?” the servant asked her.

Her face flickered with emotions he couldn’t name as she asked, “Can it not be eaten?”

“No, they only sing, they aren’t good for eating.”

“Take it away,” she said, thrusting it back at the servant. Dong-gun and Dong-suk had both brought down geese and Taehyung a duck. Rifle cracks left and right made Seokjin flinch. And the niggling worry in his stomach that his uncle knew he’d faked the shot earlier. He felt his uncle’s eyes on him even when they weren’t, the man sitting proudly on his horse obnoxiously nearby, in between Drin and Taehyung. Shit, he didn’t want his uncle anywhere near Taehyung!

In a hurry to cause a commotion and separate them, Seokjin raised his rifle. He’d shoot a bird, a duck if he could manage it, and invite his uncle over to inspect the bird and feel his warm rifle for proof he’d shot it, and then growl at Jungkook and Jimin to bookend Taehyung and not leave his side until they got out of this place.

There, a bird perfectly arching into view. Seokjin aimed, calculated, and pulled the trigger.

No one would be able to say whether it was the shot that spooked the horse or not, except that Jungkook would swear the horse jumped before the shot and Seokjin believed him because Privan horses didn’t spook. It was too quick. He was certain there had been nothing even close to his line of firing at the moment he pulled the trigger and yet suddenly there was Drin, nearly taking a bullet through the head.

This time Seokjin didn’t scream, just dropped from his horse and ran over as Drin did the same, slapping at his head like a bee had stung him.

“Damn horse!” Drin shouted.

Seokjin grabbed his arms but Drin shoved him away in his startle, leaving a bloody handprint on Seokjin’s arm.

I’ve killed him. I’ve fucking killed him.

“Your head’s still on,” Dong-suk called, his voice cutting through the chaos. Seokjin reached for Drin again but Dong-gun took hold of him first and shone a light to the back of Drin’s head where the bullet had grazed but not penetrated. A red line across his scalp wept blood.

“I… I’m sorry…” Seokjin stammered, stumbling backwards.

Suddenly Drin laughed and gestured at Dong-suk, “That’s right, old man. I told you he’s got a good aim, eh? Bends bullets in mid-flight. Could have blown my head off thanks to that damn horse startling!”

But it didn’t make sense. Seokjin was too horrified to figure out what would. All he knew was that he’d almost killed his arms master, one of his friends. He didn’t know how he would have dealt with that. He couldn’t comprehend it.

Drin planted a shaking hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and laughed, “Good one, Sir. Think I’ll head back and get my rock stitched up now, no more hunting competition from me today!”

“I’ll go back with you,” Seokjin insisted.

“Nah, don’t bother. Still need to get your duck for dinner like you vowed!”

A crack over their heads echoed, followed shortly by the thump of a carcass hitting the path not far off. Taehyung lowered his smoking gun.

“I saved you the trouble, Your Highness,” Taehyung said to Seokjin, his brow lowered and serious. “There’s a duck for you.”

Uncle Dong-suk slid from the horse himself to pick it up and mused, “Nice shot, boy.”

“Great. That’s the end of the day for me. Nasimiyu, will you accompany me back to the palace as well? You come too, my horse will only settle for you,” Seokjin rattled off, calling his people to him, prepared for his father and uncle to protest his rapid departure. But terror strengthened his blood to iron and he would have shouted down his own father to get out of there

He’d almost killed Drin.

By the time he was in his saddle, Dong-gun and Dong-suk were laughing at these “children with their brief stamina” and venturing further into the cave.

“I’ll lead us out,” he said. “Drin, are you able to stay horsed?”

“It’s not that bloody bad, nothing a stiff drink won’t pull me through,” the man insisted, sounding more like himself as he fished a flask out of his saddlebag. He needed help getting back into his saddle after the servants finished tying the makeshift bandage around his head, but once there seemed stable enough.

“Do you know the way out?” Nasimiyu asked. She’d been quiet for a while. Seokjin had forgotten all about her, to be honest. What would she make of this? But it almost seemed like she’d missed it all; she kept glancing at the game bag attached to her saddle. She reached out and pushed the golden feathers peeking out deeper into the sack.

“I do,” Seokjin said simply and pulled his horse ahead.

It wasn’t until they were safely in the sunny courtyard, Drin off to the hands of the palace doctors, that Jungkook came right to Seokjin’s side and said quietly, “The horse jumped before the gunshot.”

“I almost killed him,” Seokjin rushed out, grabbing Jungkook’s arm. He felt less steady now than he had in the cave.

“It wouldn’t have been your fault. I’m telling you, the horse jumped at nothing.”

“I don’t think it was nothing,” Taehyung argued. “But whatever he did, I couldn’t see it clearly.”

“Who?” Seokjin asked even though he already knew the answer.

“Your uncle. Had to be him, but I couldn’t see it…”

“There were other servants around and it was dark,” Jimin pointed out. “Could have been someone else.”

“Why would anyone else give Drin’s horse a kick? Everyone around here likes Drin,” Jungkook argued.

It was Taehyung who swallowed and suggested, “Maybe they didn’t mean to kick his horse. Maybe it was supposed to be mine.”

The suggestion made Seokjin feel even clammier than he already did. As bad as it would have been to kill his swordsmaster, to kill Taehyung would be worse. He wasn’t sure he could live with it. He didn’t even want to kill a duck.

Seokjin didn’t know what to do about any of this. He didn’t want Taehyung to go, but clearly he wasn’t safe right now. If Dong-suk wanted him dead, nowhere would be safe though.

“Jungkook, stay with Taehyung. I’m going to my room so I don’t need a guard. Taehyung you should… pack.”

Taehyung’s face shifted quickly into complaint, as if he hadn’t just faced his own death once or possibly twice.

“But I can’t leave yet.”

“Or die? You have to go if I have to wrap you in a carpet and toss you on a ship myself.” He paused, watching Nasimiyu speaking to the servant near her own horse, gesturing with disdain at the game bag the servant kept trying to press on her.

Taehyung stomped off without further comment but clearly pissed. As if Seokjin wanted him to go! He couldn’t put into words how much he wanted Taehyung to stay here. He’d never been good at expressing brotherly devotion of any sort, and Seok-ho was the brother he’d been with for most of his life, but Taehyung must know that Seokjin cared very much for him! They would always be brothers, even if they couldn’t be in the same city, at least for now.

Nasimiyu was gone. Seokjin was glad. He didn’t feel like facing her right now either. He wished he could just disappear. Even his bedroom wasn’t far remote enough, but it’s the only place he had, and so he went.

Nasimiyu bit back her sigh when the summons from Lady Zselyke came. The summons. Obviously it wasn’t worded quite as such but the intention was clear, and for now she had to endure it because until she actually wed Seokjin, the two of them were in an odd inversion of their proper roles. Lady Zselyke was the only female member of the Kim family, and older, and clearly extending her hand in an attempt to be some sort of mentor.

Annoying.

Nasimiyu had begged off the last invitation(s), and planned to do so again, claiming exhaustion from the hunt that morning. A week wouldn’t have been enough time to recover from all that and it had only been a few hours.

But the invitation had included a warning that the party was at risk, and anyway what else was she going to do, pace her room and try to get that dead bird out of her mind? How stupid to be bothered by a dead bird. Not that she thought the bird was the worst part of it, but that was the ghost her mind chose to haunt her with in every still moment right now, rather than the almost two deaths she had witnessed, one at her own fiance’s hand and the other by her father-in-law’s atrocious bravado.

So she went. Lady Zselyke wanted to discuss some of the details of the wedding party –unavoidable. The wedding itself was being carefully managed by the planner, but the party afterwards was supposed to be planned by Nasimiyu as a first show of her critically important role… as the royal party planner.

Annoying.

Nasimiyu put herself into a dress that already had a tricky seam on the verge of ripping, intentionally, so she could do so after an acceptable period of time and excuse herself to have it fixed. That was something Dulce had taught her early on –Nasimiyu could recall it in vivid detail: shortly after they’d finished fucking, Dulce had gone to get her trousers and a heavy ball had fallen out of her pocket and emitted a horrible stench that drove them both coughing from the room. A literal stink bomb. Laughing, Dulce had explained one should always plan an exit, though it was regrettable, she had not intended to use it with Nasimiyu. At least not that day.

Always plan your exit.

Even from an romantic entanglement?, Nasimiyu had teased.

Always.

Nasimiyu frowned at the maid who stepped ahead to open the door of Lady Zselyke’s parlor. Babs. She had Babs, hated that name, hated how overly eager the woman was to do the things Nasimiyu wanted ahead of her even asking. She didn’t like maids who acted like she was a cruel or unfair mistress when she really tried not to be unreasonable. She tried to treat them kindly. For example, when they had all looked horrified about who she would take on the hunt with her since it wasn’t going to be Dulce, she’d decided to take none of them. Kindness! It wasn’t like she wanted to be there either, but she needed the respect of the king and that nightmare military brother of his.

Anyway she had strongly believed Seokjin would beg off anyway and then she would decline the invitation without him… but he’d bloody gone! And shot nothing and nearly killed someone. What sort of man took credit for a stablehand’s shot? Not that she was going to point that out in the moment.

ANNOYING.

Nasimiyu sat across from Lady Zselyke in the elegant, tastefully decorated parlor. So much of the palace was ostentatious but these rooms were slightly less so.

“Did you decorate in here?” Nasimiyu asked when Lady Zselyke had said nothing, only watched with her hands folded, clearly waiting for something.

“I did.”

“Did you decorate the rest of the palace?”

Lady Zselyke’s lips gave a tight tremble before she answered, “Some… it’s largely set by the late Queen’s tastes and the King’s though, and the King requires me to uphold it.”

“That’s a shame. You have lovely taste,” Nasimiyu said. Then, realizing it would be easy to read an insult to her royal in-laws from what she’d said, she appended, “I just mean–”

“You don’t have to excuse flattery towards me. I appreciate a discerning eye. The Queen had other interests. The King has other talents.” She said it in such a coy way that Nasimiyu wanted to recoil from; it sounded sexual. As far as she knew, there was no sex between these cousins, but the gutcheck made her tread a bit more cautiously. She wondered what Dulce would make of that idea…

“Well soon it will be yours to redecorate the palace as you like,” Lady Zselyke mused, looking around her room as though trying to picture it with Nasimiyu’s style. “Will you make it look very different, do you think?”

“Do you mean like home? It would take a monumental effort to make this Privan palace look Marvonese.”

“You will have all the money and workers you could hope for at your disposal. You could make this palace look exactly like… there.” The word sounded loaded, like a single syllable conveyed all Lady Zselyke had to say about Marvonese style. In short, she didn’t like it.

Nasimiyu felt insulted and said archly, “It ought to reflect the convergence of mine and Seokjin’s styles, don’t you think? Where is it you spent your childhood, Lady Zselyke? I don’t think it was here, was it?”

“Sartia.”

“Is that what this style is? I’ve never been to Sartia.”

“I don’t think it would be to your liking, since you don’t like the sea.”

Nasimiyu found it interesting Zselyke knew that about her. She had certainly never admitted that to anyone except Dulce. It made her wonder if Dulce and Zselyke had gotten close. She certainly didn’t know everything Dulce had gotten up to. She couldn’t be trusted after all; maybe she was fucking the king’s cousin to get information, who even knew with that girl anymore?

“Sugar?” Lady Zselyke offered

“No, thank you. The tea here is already so sweet,” Nasimiyu quickly intervened, reaching for the tea cup Lady Zselyke had poured.

“You don’t like sweet things?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“The world runs on sweet things,” Lady Zselyke said, which Nasimiyu didn’t even pretend to understand. Her face must have shown it, because Zselyke clarified, “Any party must have sweet things. The nobles here prefer them. If you mean not to have sweets…”

Nasimiyu’s nose crinkled before she decided, “Why don’t you just choose the sweets for the wedding party then. That’s what we’re here to talk about, right?”

“Yes, we need to, I’m afraid we’re woefully behind schedule, especially if you have any grand ambitions.”

“I really don’t.”

“You should.”

“I’ll be honest, Lady Zselyke, I love attending parties, but I do not love planning them,” Nasimiyu said because she might as well be upfront about it.

Lady Zselyke looked aghast and argued, “You must learn to love it then, because it will be the most important thing you do as queen.”

“I hope that’s not true.”

“The delicate balance of maintaining power by managing the nobles– do you think Seokjin will do that?!” Zselyke screeched at her.

“He’s… charming, isn’t it?” Nasimiyu tried. She had not expected this cousin to shout at her and it caught her off-guard.

“Charming my left foot!” In her anger, she yanked up the teapot and refilled Nasimiyu’s empty cup and seemed to have forgotten Nasimiyu didn’t like sugar because she spooned some right in as she continued to berate, “Do you mean to say you won’t learn these skills and plan to let the social structure of the palace just die? The nobles here expect a certain schedule of entertainment! When important guests arrive from other places, they must be tended to! They–”

“It’s not that I don’t recognize how important it is,” Nasimiyu assured her, lifting her cup. Her own mother had certainly never yelled like this and she didn’t know what to do about it. It ought to fill her with rage but she was genuinely just stupefied. “I just don’t…”

“Like it?!

“Well no, not the planning part. I don’t have any talent for it and you do. Do you like doing it?”

“It is one of the most sacred tasks I’ve had since coming to the palace after the late Queen passed. Her taste in decor may have been questionable but she threw marvelous parties and I knew I needed to carefully maintain that so that her death wouldn’t pitch the nobility and thus the country into absolute chaos.”

“Well if you like it and you’re good at it, why don’t you keep doing it?”

Lady Zselyke’s brow knitted as she explained, “Because I will not be here.”

“Why not?” Nasimiyu set the tea cup down without sipping it, intending to ask for a new one without sugar.

“Because… because you will be queen and not want an older woman here interfering with your work…” Lady Zselyke had stopped yelling and suddenly looked uncertain. “You did not know I would be sent away?”

“Who would send you away? Not I.” Nasimiyu did her best to look sincere about it. Honestly she had no love for this stuffy older woman but it hadn’t occurred to her that Zselyke would be gone. She saw at once how dismal it would be to take on the things Zselyke already managed. Dreary enough that enduring her was likely worth it. Besides, she managed Dong-gun and Seokjin to a degree, and even Dong-suk. She knew a great deal. Maybe it was at least worth keeping her around until they were gone. Nasimiyu couldn’t see Zselyke supporting her as queen if the Kim men were dead, and she might not want that, but… she might. Zselyke might do it, if she didn’t think Nasimiyu had any hands in the deaths. Regardless of her personal feelings about Zselyke, she knew things, she seemed actually quite good at what she did. That could be useful.

Lady Zselyke was watching her with unmasked confusion now and clarified, “You would not make me leave? Queen Soon-hee did the moment she married Dong-gun.”

“Why?”

“Well, that… that’s not something I can know…” she instantly fumbled out, clearly hiding some truth or at least suspicion. “It’s tradition, though. A queen mother will be sent to retire in Sartia and I am almost like a queen mother.” As soon as she said it, she looked like she regretted it.

Nasimiyu grinned. She felt like she had just found a very pretty knife.

“I think you are too,” she agreed. “In a good way. I can’t imagine running this palace without you, it never occurred to me I would need to. I don’t want to. I refuse.”

Zselyke’s light skin turned a fascinating shade of pink, like she’d sat in the sun too long.

“Oh! But…”

“Maybe if the King retires at some point to someplace nice like Sartia, you would want to go with him, but I expect he will remain on the throne for a long time even once Seokjin and I marry.”

“Yes, you won’t be queen but you’ll be the crown princess which is the same thing in the absence of a queen,” Zselyke countered.

“I don’t think tradition should dictate what we do when it’s not… convenient. I don’t see why you should be sent away or robbed of the duties you enjoy just because I’m here.” She mindlessly picked up the teacup again. “I can easily see a world where you maintain your status here and oversee the things you care so much about and are recognized and appreciated for it, which frees me up to attend to the things I care about –like supporting Seokjin, for instance. Raising his children.” She suspected Zselyke would struggle to accept an ambitious political princess just yet.

“He does need a great deal of support,” Lady Zselyke said slowly. “The kingly duties don’t come naturally to him…”

Nasimiyu smiled and nodded, agreeing, “He can learn with a wife nudging him along, and King Dong-gun can rest easier seeing his son take his future role more seriously.”

“Two women have never run the palace together before,” Zselyke said. Her words seemed to be poking at Nasimiyu, trying to find a lie or a threat.

“Women in Marvono know how to work together and rely on each other. I very much want to rely on you, Lady Zselyke. I wouldn’t dream of replacing you. Your balls would be a crucial loss to Priva!”

“I…” Lady Zselyke blinked rapidly at her, heavily stained eyelashes leaving residue on the tops of her cheeks. Clearly none of this had occurred to her.

“Together we can keep the Kim line respectable and strong, don’t you think?” Nasimiyu suggested as her finishing move. She lifted her tea cup to take a dramatic sip.

“Oh dear!” Lady Zselyke gasped, lunging forward. “You don’t like sugar! I put sugar in there! Let me trade that for you.” She wrenched the cup out of Nasimiyu’s hand in the blink of an eye and set it hastily on another saucer. “I think eventually you will need to take over these things from me… but maybe not… and in the meantime you can learn from me. It doesn’t seem you’ve been trained in any of these types of things. Things must be done very differently in Marvono…” She sloshed a little tea out of the cup in her haste to pour Nasimiyu a new one.

The door flung open before Nasimiyu could respond and in strode Mindeulle. Nasimiyu did not miss the way Lady Zselyke’s face hardened, despite Mindeulle’s bright smile and polite curtsy.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, but I’ve been looking for the Princess. Might I have a word?”

“Why don’t you join us?” Lady Zselyke offered instead. “We need to discuss wedding plans and then you can have her.”

“It will only take me a moment.”

“It can wait, I’m sure. Have a seat.” There was an edge to Lady Zselyke’s words that got Mindeulle to promptly do so. “Sugar?”

“No thank you,” Mindeulle muttered as Lady Zselyke poured her a cup. Servants fluttered in at a snap of her finger to refill the pot, which was getting low. Flowers and leaves danced inside the glass pot, briefly mesmerizing Nasimiyu.

“We are discussing Nasimiyu’s elaborate wedding party and what will best capture the deep love she and Seokjin share.”

Do we? was on the tip of Nasimiyu’s tongue. She didn’t say it, but Mindeulle gave her an amused smile as if she had, which gave her a start.

“I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful,” Mindeulle said.

“The wedding of a century,” Zselyke agreed. Nasimiyu did not understand why Zselyke sounded so defensive about it, unless this was just her enthusiasm about remaining here as a royal party planner showing through. “Seokjin has told me to spare no expense, he wants the world to understand how deep his love and devotion to his bride are.”

“That’s lovely,” Mindeulle said.

“It is,” Zselyke agreed.

The fact they hated each other seemed very obvious to Nasimiyu and now it was her turn to smile. If they both remained in the palace with her after she married, that would be perfect. The two of them hating each other would make them eager to be her most trusted and relied upon, and she could trust they would never join forces to work against her.

It amused her to watch them politely bicker as more details of the party were discussed; Mindeulle seemed just as eager for it to be perfect and her own suggestions seemed to rile Lady Zselyke into even grander plans. Nasimiyu would have been happy to eat her olive and thyme biscuits and let them have at it and giggle through whatever resulting wedding party they planned but the door opened again and in came Lidmila.

“It’s a regular party isn’t it? I didn’t plan for this,” Lady Zselyke murmured as Lidmila curtsied and sat in the final chair at the table without being asked.

“I apologize for my unexpected arrival. My parents are here but I wanted to find the Princess for company instead. Is it all right if I join?”

“Yes yes of course. What business do your parents have here?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. Something with the tax collector or the city planner?”

“That seems like business for your father, not your mother,” Lady Zselyke said.

“Sometimes my mother helps with those things, I think…”

Lady Zselyke shook her head at this and sighed, “It’s quite a business, being a wife.”

“Have you never regretted not marrying?” Mindeulle asked, a twinkle coming to her eye that hooked Nasimiyu’s attention.

“Heavens, no! Of course it’s a high calling to be a wife, however…” Lady Zselyke looked embarrassed by her answer and like she wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m sure you will all make good little wives. My hands are quite full supporting the King.”

Honestly, did she hear herself? Probably Dulce could find out in an instant what the real relationship was there but Nasimiyu was not sure she wanted to know.

“But what will you do once Nasimiyu is queen?” Mindeulle asked. “You won’t be needed here anymore.”

“Actually I’ve asked Lady Zselyke to stay and support just the way she does now,” Nasimiyu quickly interjected.

Lady Zselyke gave Mindeulle a smirk and agreed, “Of course I have accepted. Nasimiyu recognizes the value of this work and her own untrained skill for it so it will be an honor.” She dumped a spoonful of sugar in Mindeulle’s drink and poured more black for Nasimiyu. Lidmila had not yet touched the cup on her saucer, Nasimiyu’s discarded sugared tea from earlier, now gone cold.

“Oh, I don’t like sugar in my tea,” Mindeulle said. “May I have a different glass?”

“Dear, I forgot. Well it’s only a little bit of sugar,” Lady Zselyke dismissed.

“I’m sure we can get a new tea cup,” Nasimiyu laughed.

“I don’t mind sugar and I didn’t add any to mine. Why don’t we trade, Mindeulle? It’s a little cold though,” Lidmila suggested, passing hers across the table.

“Don’t be silly, that’s a perfect way to get sick.” Zselyke tutted and blocked the pass with her hand, nudging both cups back towards their original owners. Nasimiyu could not make sense of such crazy behavior but thought it was rather funny. Lidmila and Mindeulle seemed briefly mystified and set their cups back in their sauces.

“I’m not very thirsty. I’ll have a cookie instead,” Mindeulle decided. She nudged her tea setting closer to Lady Zselyke to make room for a plate, helping herself to several different pastries from the trays in the center.

“I’ve had enough tea and I can assure you I’m not ill,” Nasimiyu offered, pushing her cup closer to Mindeulle. “I’ve taken no sugar so you can have my cup.”

“Oh, there’s sugar in mine after all,” Lidmila realized, looking into her cup.

“Have you tasted it?” Lady Zselyke asked her, her voice rising so abruptly in pitch it startled them all. She pounded her chest and couch delicately into a napkin. “Did you like the tea? How much did you try?”

“I haven’t yet. Is it very special? Is it better to taste it without sugar then?” Lidmila considered.

Lady Zselyke nodded and reached for the cup, insisting, “Yes, you’ll like it better without. That’s the Princess’ old cup. We’ll get you a fresh cup.”

“I do like sugar and sweet things though, is it bitter? I don’t mind that it’s cold for a first taste so it won’t burn my tongue.”

“Try it without,” Lady Zselyke insisted, snatching the tea cup away from her. She went to set it on her own saucer but paused, hand hovering over hers and Mindeulle’s cups now right next to each other.

Nasimiyu laughed, “It’s like a game. I’m not sure which is yours anymore, they’re all mixed up. It doesn’t matter though does it? I’m sure we’re all healthy here and close companions can share a tea cup.” She hoped it would encourage a sort of bond between the group to begin forming. Lady Zselyke was older but not old. It would be good to have some close companions who weren’t all younger than herself. She could learn to like Zselyke, probably.

“Oh nonsense, we don’t have to go so far as trading tea cups,” Zselyke immediately intervened. “We need another setting!” she called to the servants with a clap of her hands. “Take these three away,” she commanded. “And bring a fresh bowl of sugar, Miss Lidmila likes her tea sweet.”

Lidmila giggled and pointed to the full sugar bowl, insisting, “I don’t need more than that in my tea!”

“If you like sweet things, I think raw sugar will taste better than this refined stuff,” Lady Zselyke told her. “Minor details matter. A subtle change can have a great impact, it’s an important lesson for young ladies.”

“My brother says the same thing,” Mindeulle chirped.

Lady Zselyke looked down her nose at Mindeulle and insisted, “I don’t think we need to talk about your brother’s words to young ladies. There is more to discuss than men.”

Nasimiyu reached out to grab Mindeulle’s hand, fully expecting her to launch from the table. She did not, just stared at Zselyke so blankly that it felt menacing.

“Like Nasimiyu’s wedding! Oh, but that’s to a man…” Lidmila mused with a thoughtful frown. It was endearing. Nasimiyu found herself chuckling under her breath. Honestly she would have expected to find someone with Lidmila’s innocence obnoxious, but it was actually refreshing to be around someone so sincere and good-intentioned. Nasimiyu wasn’t used to those sorts of people. Lidmila might be one of the only truly good people she had ever met. Simple, but good.

Mindeulle must be on that list too, though the sharpness of her mind as she gradually revealed it made her seem less doe-eyed about the world. She too had that air of enthusiasm as she pressed Lady Zselyke on what else she was thinking of for Nasimiyu’s wedding, and if she intended to plan the honeymoon too. There was an edge to her Nasimiyu liked a lot.

“What do you mean by that? Of course I will, if you’d like me to, Nasimiyu darling.”

“You suggested Sartia before–”

“But you don’t like the sea, so… hm, I will think on it,” Zselyke said.

“You don’t like the sea?” Mindeulle and Lidmila both parroted.

“It’s all right. Maybe I should take Seokjin to Marvono instead…”

“Maybe you’d like Therepin more,” Mindeulle suggested. “It has the elegance and beauty and splendor of Sartia, but no seas.”

Zselyke looked repulsed and gasped, “Therepin is no place for a honeymoon!”

“Why, because you don’t like the government there? I’ve never honeymooned but I don’t think government is very involved…” Mindeulle tittered. Lidmila’s face opened up in surprised laughter and Zselyke seemed angry. “None of us have honeymooned, maybe we should ask someone else to plan it.”

“I am quite capable!” Zselyke scowled. “Less taunting me and more eating, girls, it’s important to keep our strength up until supper.”

“But our figures…” Lidmila pointed out.

Zselyke gave her a gentle smile and assured her, “You have nothing to worry about. And Therepin adheres to no such beauty standards, so Mindeulle’s prospects won’t be upset by some extra padding.”

“Not that I care about my weight, but why would I look for a husband in Therepin?” Mindeulle countered.

Nasimiyu ate her cookies and felt like this was all rather a lot of fun, watching the back and forth. Dulce would hate this, but she found it amusing.

“I suppose your brother and parents will, regardless.”

“They take into account my wishes. They’ll let me choose the partner I want.”

“Will they?” Zselyke pressed and it seemed so pointed, Nasimiyu could tell she must know something and be taunting Mindeulle with it. She wanted to know too –not to taunt, but just to know.

“What does that mean?” Nasimiyu intervened as Mindeulle looked troubled. “Do you have a personal tragedy, Mindeulle? You don’t need to say at the table but if you’d like to talk in private– if there’s anything I can do to aid you–”

Mindeulle pressed a hand to her flushed cheek and insisted, “No, Princess, there’s nothing. Lady Zselyke only speaks in riddles to make it sound like she knows more than she does.”

“Didn’t you come here to find a husband? To Priva, I mean?” Lidmila suggested, perhaps in an attempt to help. “There are so many men here who I’m sure would be honored by your attention.”

“I came with my brother,” Mindeulle said simply, even though Nasimiyu vaguely thought she’d heard Mindeulle mention before she wanted to marry here and remain. Hadn’t that been a hope she had for the ball? She couldn’t recall clearly now.

“Well you certainly aren’t going to find a husband spending all your time with your brother and Seokjin,” Lady Zselyke scoffed. “They are related and taken. I suspect your parents will call you home soon for a match.”

“Not if I don’t wish to marry,” Mindeulle countered. “You have never married, Lady Zselyke, and you spoke moments ago about it as a burden. Surely you had your reasons?”

Lady Zselyke filled their tea cups and said airly, “I did. There are many types of love which are worthy of a life’s devotion. Your devotion to the prince is admirable but inappropriate now that he will have a wife.”

“I–!” Mindeulle gasped. She looked quickly to Nasimiyu and insisted, “It’s not that, I promise. He is like a brother to me!”

“I know that,” Nasimiyu assured her. For all she knew, Mindeulle did have a crush on Seokjin, but it failed to trigger any jealousy in Nasimiyu. There didn’t seem to be anything adult about it if it was there, more like childish admiration. She hadn’t witnessed a single ambitious attempt, nor did Seokjin act any way towards her but brotherly. “I’m sure Lady Zselyke didn’t mean to be a gossip,” Nasimiyu admonished, arching her eyebrow at the older woman smirking to herself as she served Mindeulle more tea.

“Oh yes, I meant nothing by it, except that with men, you can never be too careful. You will have to curb your closeness with him so that it doesn’t cause… problems,” Zselyke scolded as she dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar thoughtlessly into Mindeulle’s tea. “I’m sorry I ruffled your feathers. Have some tea and settle down about it, have another pastry.”

“You’ve put sugar in it again,” Nasimiyu said, deftly reaching for Mindeulle’s tea cup and handing over her own. “Mine has none, we can trade.”

“You don’t like sweet things,” Mindeulle said. Nasimiyu found herself surprised each time the people around her knew things about her she had not explicitly told them. It made her feel very special and admired and flattered her into insisting,

“It’s not a hard rule. My lips are plenty puckered by now, some sweet on my tongue may be a relief.”

“No, the tea is much better without that refined stuff–” Lady Zselyke said, rising from her seat and reaching for Nasimiyu’s cup.

Lidmila suddenly kicked the table hard and cried out, “Ah! My ankle got caught in my skirt and I’ve hit my shin…”

The flurry of commotion was all startling enough that Nasimiyu put her cup down, laughing, “Is there alcohol in the tea? Why is everyone so clumsy suddenly?”

“There is certainly nothing like that in the tea,” Zselyke sniffed. “But if you tire of it, I can bring coffee or wine or juice or–”

“Nothing else, thank you,” Nasimiyu dismissed.

“She’s right that the raw sugar is better though,” Lidmila said, still rubbing her leg beneath the table as she lifted her saucer and passed it over. “Let’s trade.”

“I really don’t mind.”

“You are going to be queen, Nasimiyu, you should let those around you take care of simple things,” Mindeulle insisted. So Nasimiyu was shamed into trading teacups with Lidmila, who looked adorably proud to have made the swap and settled herself with the apparently less-desirable white sugared tea.

However before she could even have a sip, Lady Zselyke reached for a pastry but her dragging sleeve managed to upset the whole sugar bowl and Lidmila’s tea cup.

“Oh goodness,” Zselyke gasped. “I’ve made a mess of my own tea…” She gave Nasimiyu the kindest smile of their acquaintance so far and laughed, “Maybe the tea did get us all a little drunk! It’s only flowers in there… maybe it’s the talk of weddings going to our heads!”

The table was soaked now though, they’d all logged themselves with unsweetened tea, and the pastries were going stale. Nasimiyu thought everyone seemed relieved when she suggested tea come to a close for now, and promised to meet with Zselyke again the next day to resume their wedding chat, and suggested Lidmila take a turn with her in the garden, and Mindeulle too if she wished.

“I would love to, but I really only need to ask you a question and then return a letter to my parents,” Mindeulle said as the three women left Zselyke’s parlor.

“That’s right, you said you needed to speak with me.”

“Yes… privately, if that’s all right? It’s about… some private business,” she murmured, glancing at Lidmila. “I hope you understand.”

“Of course. Why don’t I meet you in the garden, Princess? Have your servant bring a parasol though, it looks like it might rain.”

“Don’t you need one too then?”

“Oh… maybe I can share yours? I didn’t bring one…”

“I’m sure we can,” Nasimiyu said, or else she would bring another, or they could find someplace else to walk, it really wasn’t a big deal. Lidmila seemed content with this plan and flitted off, hopefully not to wander out into the rain before Nasimiyu arrived. She was sweet but perhaps not the brightest.

Mindeulle insisted on leading Nasimiyu into a room with a closed door before she admitted, “I’m sorry if I seem so cryptic, but I’m looking into this mystery with my brother and Çiğdem.”

Nasimiyu instantly cringed and suggested gently, “Does your brother know? He may not want you poking into his personal affairs…”

“So you think he did it then?” Mindeulle caught.

“I don’t know but…” Nasimiyu thought of Namjoon fucking Dulce at the masquerade ball. “I don’t know him well enough to say anything regarding his relationships with women but I think we can all move on.”

“We can’t move on. You saw how Lady Zselyke treated me at tea, and she’s not the only one.”

“You think it was because of that? I suppose that comment was rather… barbed.”

“Lady Zselyke already dislikes me and Namjoon because of the trouble with the Prince’s former fiance… but he has you now, that can be behind us. But this… this wasn’t him either, I’m sure of it! And now the families here want even less to do with us because they think my brother has a habit of leading women on, which he most definitely does not! He’s been framed both times and I intend to figure out who’s doing it.”

“I think you should let it go,” Nasimiyu admitted.

“But we’re being ostracized.”

“Does he care about something like that?”

“No, but… but I do. If society here shuns me I’ll have to go back to Therepin. I want to stay here.”

“I’ll protect you and your reputation, it doesn’t need to be tied to your brother’s.”

“You don’t believe me and won’t help me,” Mindeulle frowned, taking a step away.

“I didn’t say that, I just think…”

“Çiğdem’s family are not kind people. They aren’t the sort of people I want as family enemies. They are going to make you choose and if I can’t prove my brother is innocent, you’ll have to choose them.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“There are politics here you don’t understand yet,” Mindeulle said. When Nasimiyu shifted unhappily, Mindeulle hurried to add, “Only because you are new here and you aren’t used to these families. They are sensitive and vengeful. The only reason they haven’t outright attacked us yet is because it means admitting Çiğdem was writing letters to a man, so they’re trying to figure out something else to pin on us.”

“I’m not interested in their petty accusations–”

“But if you anger them, they will interfere with your marriage,” Mindeulle insisted. “They’re powerful enough to do it.” Mindeulle paused and seemed to think about what she said, then shook her head to clear it. “I need to clear my brother’s name. Please let me at least try.”

Nasimiyu sighed and conceded only, “What help are you asking from me?”

“I need the letters from Çiğdem. So I can compare to my brother’s handwriting and language and prove they aren’t his.” Nasimiyu had to admit that was a good plan.

“What makes you think she still has them?”

Mindeulle looked stunned and nearly laughed, “Why wouldn’t she? Don’t you keep every letter anyone has ever written you?”

“No one has ever written me letters,” Nasimiyu admitted. “Is that strange?”

Mindeulle seemed to think it was very sad.

“Well… I believe she has them,” Mindeulle insisted. “I bet even though she’s angry, she still has them. She might give them to you if you ask.”

“I’m not that close with her.”

“Or if you ask Lidmila to ask for them, even better.”

“I don’t know…

“But Lidmila will do anything you say, she worships the ground you walk on.”

Nasimiyu had to admit that seemed true. So in the end, she agreed to try.

And as Mindeulle predicted, when Nasimiyu brought the subject up of investigating things herself with Lidmila as they strolled through the warm summer rain under a shared parasol, Lidmila readily vowed to try, too –no, to succeed! It wouldn’t be easy but she would convince Çiğdem to let them see the letters under the guise of Nasimiyu wanting to understand Namjoon’s sins for herself. Lidmila admitted Çiğdem seemed to be having a hard time letting go of it all and probably would be eager to share.

All the moving of social chess pieces left Nasimiyu exhausted by the time Lidmila left with her parents and Nasimiyu could finally flee to solitude. She tossed the parasol to the ground and slipped off her damp shoes as soon as she was through the door. She’d take a bath to get that humid sea-city slime off her skin, she decided, and called for the maids to draw the bath.

As she moved around her room undressing, trying not to notice how quiet it seemed in here lately without Dulce emerging from the shadows to slide into the bed or bath with her, she began to notice things. Little things, small things that someone without her eye for detail might not: her gowns twisted in the wardrobe in a way she nor the maids would ever leave them; her shoes lined up too perfectly when she only ever lazily kicked them off; the papers on the wrong side of the desk from where Dulce had sat writing a coded message to send to Prince Hamisi (Nasimiyu sure hadn’t touched them since then), obvious because Dulce was left handed and scratched things out hunched over the right corner of the desk like someone who’d barely learned to hold a pen.

Had someone been here?

She didn’t like that feeling. It didn’t just scare her, it angered her, this idea that someone had come into her room –somehow, despite the guards posted outside. She looked around herself, trying to determine what someone had been looking for, what they might have found, though there weren’t secret things to find. The letters from her mother were nothing but that, nothing notable in them. She didn’t think any of her jewelry was missing, at least none of her favorites. What else would they have taken?

“Did you girls clean in here today?” she asked as she shed her clothing for a bath. The two maids looked at each other, uncertain how to answer. “If someone did, they didn’t do a very good job. My gowns are tangled up in the wardrobe.”

“We’re sorry, Princess,” they quickly said. “We’ll fix it right away.”

Well, mystery solved then. Nasimiyu sank into the bath and washed it all away.

The palace was stifling.

Seokjin had almost killed a man.

Taehyung had almost been killed too.

He had to get out of here. Hiding in his room with the comfort of his fur babies wasn’t enough, but Jungkook wasn’t on duty so Seokjin couldn’t pull off his disguised anonymous jaunt into the city. It would be too much for him right now anyway. He needed to be alone but not alone… he didn’t have a solution for that.

Muhtar followed him at a bothersome distance, not quite far enough, as he set out for the sea wall. The sun was setting, drawing some touristy crowds to admire the vibrant hues brushed across the cloudy sky, but for the most part the people of Priva did not find a regular sunset anything remarkable. They saw this every day. They had other things to do.

Seokjin, however, still found it remarkable. He hoped the day never came that he forgot about the miracle of a sunset, how the air itself became orange and red and that honey warmth seeped into your skin. He paused once a respectable distance from the palace to take it in.

And then saw her.

He should keep walking, he knew immediately. He had no reason to approach. She sat there, legs dangling recklessly over the edge, face cast towards the sun and a hood on so that he shouldn’t have even recognized her. He could not have explained how he did. And he’d been avoiding her for days now! Muhtar was with him; he didn’t trust any of his bodyguards to keep his secrets the way he trusted Jungkook, and sitting to enjoy the sunset with the maid of his fiance was one of those things that deserved to be a secret. The last time he’d seen her, he was fucking said fiance. The last time he’d spoken to her, she’d been furious.

He should keep walking.

He fully intended to keep walking.

He eased himself down on the ledge beside her, careful not to lose his step and plummet to his death because that would just really be the icing on this shit-cake day.

She didn’t even glance at him, as if not surprised at all. Maybe she’d somehow sensed him standing behind him. She so rarely seemed surprised by anything.

She had looked surprised when she walked in on him and Nasimiyu.

“About what you saw…”

“I didn’t see anything,” she said, voice a low murmur weaving through the aggressive crash of waves against the rocks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

So it would be like that. Yes, that was for the best.

“I only see the sunset,” she told him.

“It’s a good one.”

They sat in silence for a while. Gradually Seokjin’s mortification settled into a dull hum in the back of his mind, beat away by the waves. That experience seemed fake. Nasimiyu seemed fake, his engagement seemed fake. Certainly less real than the hues streaking the wispy clouds dawdling over their heads.

“What’s your favorite color in the sunset?” he asked. She didn’t look at him, but he could see enough of her profile to watch her brow pinch.

Why, why was he so desperate to reach out and smooth it down?! She was just some woman. It didn’t make sense. He barely knew her at all, as she had made crystal clear. Why was it so easy to think of a thousand things he wanted to say to her, and equally easy, for once in his life, to say none of them and simply sit there watching the sunset?

“Pink,” she finally said. He’d forgotten the question and gave her a confused look. “I don’t seem like the kind of woman who likes pink?”

“I like that it makes my hair look pink,” he told her. “I think I’d look really good with pink hair.”

“Your hair doesn’t look pink.”

“A little bit.”

“Not at all,” she insisted, so seriously as she looked at it that he couldn’t help the laughter.

It died quickly as he noticed the bruise on her cheek, the bandage on the side of her neck.

“What happened to you?” he asked, quickly turning towards her, reaching only to hover because he had no right to touch her.

“Hm?”

“You’re injured!”

“Oh. Accident in the laundry room,” she said, lifting a hand to her cheek like she’d forgotten all about it. He thought he saw the shadow of another bruise on her jaw and resisted the urge to turn her face and confirm.

“What the hells happened in the laundry room?!”

“Everything is fine. How was the hunting trip?”

He didn’t answer, torn now between the dread of what had already happened and a desire to not be shaken off from her injuries. He wasn’t sure she was telling him the truth. He hadn’t heard of an accident in the laundry that had caused serious harm to a maid. If there were safety issues, they needed to be taken care of immediately!

“What happened in the laundry room?” he tried again.

“How was the hunting trip?”

He narrowed his eyes. She stared a moment, then turned her gaze out at the sunset in a way that made clear she would not be answering his question.

“You know,” he shrugged. “It was… unpleasant. It’s good you didn’t go along today.”

“Might have been better than the laundry room.”

“No.” He thought of Dulce witnessing what had happened. Or, worse, Dulce being involved with what had happened. He didn’t say anything more, uncomfortable with imagining it. A horrible thought came to him, of his uncle somehow figuring out that Dulce was… notable to him. She’d be in grave danger, he was sure of it. A princess had some protection from a sadistic uncle-in-law. A maid had none. He glanced back at Murtah, worried his own bodyguard might report this to his uncle. Could anyone be trusted? Murtah was older, kind, formal, serious. He looked up and down the seawall, always on alert.

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go hunting down there,” Dulce said, a rush of words he hadn’t expected. He raised his eyebrows at her unexpected concern. “It’s too easy for an accident to happen. It feels like it was designed for accidents.”

“Nowhere is safe from accidents. Apparently not even laundry rooms.”

“Your joke makes it clear you’ve never been in one,” she muttered.

He had to admit, “No. Are they dangerous?”

“Yes. But a hunting party in the caves is particularly dangerous for you, I think. You’re the crown prince. You’re never safe.”

“I have a bodyguard,” he said, jerking his head towards Murtah.

“He doesn’t look very good.”

“He is.”

“He’s not even listening to our conversation to know I insulted him.”

“He’s discreet,” Seokjin argued. “He’s like you, he’s not reactive.” Dulce scrutinized the bodyguard like a duel partner, then looked back out at the water. The wind tangled in loose strands of her long hair and danced it around her face. He wondered how wild it would look if she let the hood down and her braid out. It seemed to want to curl around her neck; a perfect ringlet had formed and he had that intrusive urge to reach out and tug it. The hood made her look particularly beautiful.

Brooding. He’d meant she looked particularly brooding.

He felt so calm right now. It was strange, he’d come out here hoping to feel that way but not expecting too. The nervous energy that had kept him restless all day got washed out to sea with each tug of the tide below. It was almost embarrassing for Dulce to see him all calm. He had an image to uphold, after all. Funny, energetic, charming.

He was tired.

“Have you ever been fishing? What’s your favorite fish?” he asked, deciding to make an effort.

“Are you ever just silent– nevermind,” she said quickly. Then, “My apologies, sorry.” He wasn’t sure that she’d ever apologized for being blunt before and was surprised to see her cheeks darken with a flush.

“What?” he laughed. “Say what you were going to say. Am I ever just silent? Not really, even when I’m alone I talk to myself.” Her lips tightened. “What does that face mean?” he laughed.

“It’s just my face.”

“No it’s not. Are you… blushing? About what?”

“I am not,” she snapped, scowling at him, and in any other lifetime he would have grabbed and kissed her right then. He couldn’t explain it. She was so put out with him.

You want to kiss her. You need to get and stay away from her. He knew that was true. He understood this clearly in a way he had danced around for days now. Weeks? He didn’t know how long but he knew he wanted to kiss the bruise on her cheek and the one on her jaw and her fingers and that this feeling of his would get her fired at best. He couldn’t think of the worst.

“You’re quiet when you fuck, that’s what I meant,” she suddenly said, tearing her gaze away from his and crossing her arms. “Maybe that’s the only time.”

“I thought you didn’t see anything,” he cried, now his turn to blush a bright red. Here he was contemplating the tragedy of this woman bringing out the romantic in him when nothing could ever come of it and then she had to wallop him in the face like that.

“I didn’t hear anything either, that’s my point.”

Now silence enveloped them again, a less happy one. Seokjin didn’t know what to say. The thought of having sex with Nasimiyu made him want to run away screaming. Not a great foundation for a marriage but one he was going to have to work through, just like he was going to have to keep distance from Dulce, and neither thing seemed possible right now.

No, he could do it. He would. He was the crown prince, he did tons of things he didn’t want to simply because it was his duty.

He wanted more than a duty marriage with Nasimiyu.

He needed to squash these feelings about Dulce immediately.

“I didn’t mean to criticize,” she murmured, glancing nervously at him. Probably because he was staring. She had a very pretty profile. He bet she would hate it if someone pinched her chin but it was perfectly pinchable. “Nasimiyu speaks… highly of your time together.”

He grabbed for the lifeline she’d thrown him and laughed awkwardly loudly, “Oh, lovely. She speaks of it?”

“Brags, more like.”

He knew he should be flattered. A small part of him was.

“Yes, well, good. What can I say? I have many talents and pleasing women is one of them.” Dear gods what was he saying?

“I don’t need to hear that. When I said you don’t know me, I didn’t mean we should get to know each other,” she said.

He laughed, flat out laughed, “Dulce, why are you so mean?”

“I… sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah for me too but I’m still my pleasant charming self. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. I almost watched my father kill another of my friends. It was the shittiest hunting trip you can imagine.”

“Did you shoot anything?”

“I almost killed another of my friends, does that count?”

“Taehyung?”

“No… what made you think of him?” She shrugged. “No, Master Drin, my arms masters. His horse reared and threw him in the path of bullet right as I aimed at some mysterious creature in the woods that didn’t deserve to be shot at in the first place. Sliced the back of his head open but he lives.” The words poured out, a tirade meant to make her laugh even though it wasn’t funny and he didn’t even mean it to be funny. His laugh cracked as he repeated, “I almost killed someone today.”

“People die.”

“Come now.”

“People die in hunting accidents all the time,” she said again. “That’s what I meant by you shouldn’t go.”

He grinned and nudged her arm without thinking about it, teasing, “Are you worried about me?” She stiffened and he immediately leaned away. Oops.

She didn’t comment on the physical contact, just asked, “Have you never killed anything before?”

“I’ve shot ducks.”

“A dark stain on your soul.”

“I see their eyes every night before I sleep,” he joked. “I remember their names.”

“I don’t,” she said thoughtfully.

“Killed a lot of ducks, have you?”

“A few.” She said it so seriously, he couldn’t decide if she was joking or not. That made things she said even funnier, when he genuinely couldn’t tell. He had an inkling she did it on purpose. He wondered if Nasimiyu knew that about her.

“We’re still talking about ducks, aren’t we?” he teased.

“What would we be talking about?”

“Didn’t you grow up on a farm? I don’t think I have the guts for it.”

“I didn’t tell you that,” Dulce said sharply and Seokjin felt a ridiculous victory at very clearly having guessed something correctly about her. “I seem like a farm girl to you?”

“Is there anything besides farms in Paloma?” Her eyebrows raised and he snickered, “Oh no, did I just insult you?”

“You don’t know anything about Paloma.”

“No but I know you grew up on a farm.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Your reaction gave it away.”

“I don’t react,” she insisted and he felt laughter bubbling brighter in his chest. He had the playful childish urge to knock her over and wrestle now, to crow about his victory.

“You’re wrong. You have very big reactions, if you know what to look for.”

“I do not.”

“The more you deny it…”

Her face twisted in what seemed like a fake rage. She kept her mouth pressed tightly closed and stared at the sky now sliding to purples and blues. What she said earlier might seem right, that darker colors suited her style more, but he loved knowing now that she liked pink.

“I hate farms,” she said, possibly the closest to a confirmation he would ever get. He didn’t think it was a joke. There was an air of sadness to her voice that seemed shockingly sincere.

Or was he projecting it all? He realized that was possible. He might be sitting here feeling like their hearts were stitching together in a way that was going to hurt very much when he stood up, and she was sitting there thinking what a nuisance he was. It wasn’t like she said or did anything that hinted at feelings for him. She endured him. Humored him at best. She had no choice. The power imbalance was real and he’d be a fool not to remember that his company might be less welcome than Namjoon’s –which she may have loudly hinted at before.

He stared out at the water, debating. He should leave her alone. He knew that. Everything in him knew that. But he didn’t want to just yet… could she endure him for a few more minutes? That was the least guilt and horror he had felt all day. He had almost killed Drin.

“You didn’t kill him.”

“Wha?”

“You didn’t kill the man so you shouldn’t let it haunt you. Even if you had, accidents happen.”

He stared at her, eyes wide, stumbling over the words, “How did you–”

“I won’t reveal my methods.”

He was struck dumb for a moment, astonished at her acuity. Could she read minds? Oh, he’d be so fucked if she could read his mind right now. The threat of her seeing what kind of man he actually was –the kind who developed affection and desire for their fiance’s maid– was horror beyond belief.

Just to test it, he thought of some really crazy things. Six foot tall rabbits and a throne made of spaghetti and a giant fish leaping from the water to swallow them and carry them down to meet the king of the sea. She did not seem to read those thoughts.

“If you don’t want people to know what you’re thinking, don’t think so loud.”

“Don’t listen,” he countered. Which clearly brought her up short. She gave him what could only be characterized as a scandalized look, then stared out again at the sunset as if it was the most compelling thing she had ever seen.

He still felt like she was listening. Worse, he felt like he could talk to her. He felt like she could say anything and nothing would surprise him and she’d tell him her direct thoughts, he could count on it. Alone but not alone, that’s how he felt with her.

“I don’t even want to be the cause of someone’s death,” he admitted, verbalizing it this time.

“You’re going to be king. You’ll be the cause of many people’s deaths.” Yep, just like that.

He blew air out and looked down, for a moment allowing the intrusive thought of what it would feel like to just plummet down to the rocks and die. Then he’d never hurt anyone.

“I’ll be a different kind of king,” he tried to convince them both. “No wars, no hunting, no more hunger or… no poverty. I’ll take care of Destin and Paloma and… we’ll just all have good lives reading books and playing games and…”

At least she was kind enough not to tell him what a fucking idiot he was. She struck a nice balance of silence and directness. He appreciated that about her.

“And birthdays!” he said, suddenly recalling. “Is it your birthday soon?”

“What?”

“Is your birthday soon?”

“No, why?”

“Are you telling the truth?” he pressed, leaning closer and scrutinizing her closely.

She batted him away, revealing bandages on her hand that was quickly tucked back under her cloak despite the warm evening.

“My birthday is in the winter,” she said.

“An answer! Or close to one. Look how far we’ve come,” he teased.

“Why do you think my birthday is soon?”

“Nasimiyu asked Yoongi to make a Paloman dish and he thought your birthday was soon.”

Dulce considered this before admitting, “Maybe she thinks it is.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“Do you know the birthdays of your servants?”

“Yes,” he answered easily. “Murtah’s is in late August and then Jungkook’s is September first.”

Dulce didn’t seem to know what to say to this. He watched the pensive look on her face out of the corner of his eye, trying not to look like he was watching her.

“Are your injuries bothering you?” he guessed.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You were hurt at the palace, it’s understandable you should see the palace doctor to make sure–”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you’re fine. You seem…” He couldn’t think of the word. Not that she was usually chatty but she seemed… “Weighed down.”

“So do you.”

“I think I’m my usual charming self.” When she didn’t respond, like she wasn’t buying it, he conceded, “I told you I almost killed my friend. I feel that on my handsome broad shoulders.”

She was silent for a while. He couldn’t tell if she was debating an answer or simply not going to give one. Which was fine. He would like for her to say but it was always unpredictable.

“I think you need to be extra careful,” she said. “You should be more concerned that your bodyguard went missing.”

Seokjin frowned and pressed, “What do you know about that?”

“You don’t think servants notice when one goes missing? You aren’t careful enough. People wish to harm you.”

“Well… yes. I’m the crown prince. That’s always been true and always will be true,” he admitted. “I’ve learned to live without worrying about it. If I die… well, I’ll be dead and won’t care about it anymore, will I?”

Her head snapped up, her face showing how absolutely incomprehensible she found his answer. It made him laugh again, he couldn’t help it.

“Did you think I’d scream and cry and hide away? I don’t want to die but it happens to all of us eventually. My mother, my brother… it won’t change my fate to sit around worrying about it every day.” He couldn’t believe how brave he sounded about it, although the things he said were true. He tried not to think about death every day. He tried to live as best he could.

“You aren’t afraid to die but you’re afraid to kill?”

“Well see… yes. Yes, that’s about right.” He gave her a bright grin. “I don’t want to, but I can endure a lot. Of course I guess you don’t really endure death, at that point you stop enduring–”

“What is a lot to you?”

“I’m still alive, so I suppose I don’t know yet.” She was taking this so seriously and he felt bad about that. “You don’t need to worry about me. I was born into this life and I’ll die in it too someday. But not today. Some days closer than others but…” He shrugged. “Best I don’t go into the laundry room, I guess.”

She didn’t laugh at his joke and he realized it was a bad one. She’d been badly injured in one. He was inclined to march back to the palace and ask someone working in the laundry what the hells had happened, but based on the last time he intervened in Dulce’s well-being, he suspected she would not be pleased. Did he care? It depended how badly she was hurt…

He sighed, not sure how to navigate anything. He wouldn’t intervene. She’d made clear she didn’t want him to. He was supposed to be putting more space between them now. He had promised to respect her wishes. Soon he was going to promise to love and devote his whole heart to Nasimiyu.

He wanted to say something but the longer the silence lasted, the less inclined he felt to. She didn’t demand anything of him, and he felt tired now by what he’d managed for her entertainment. Wrung out. This was a long day. He didn’t know what to do about his father shooting at Taehyung. Who was that a warning for? It would take a couple days to bundle Taehyung off to somewhere else since they were arguing about where that someplace else would be; was it better to spend those days in the palace or in an anonymous inn? Seokjin was debating having Taehyung just sleep in his room, gossip be damned.

“I have something for you,” she said eventually.

He immediately realized his gift must have felt like an obligation instead of an apology, especially since it wasn’t her birthday.

He waved his hand, “No, no, you don’t need to–”

“Not a gift. Someone gave me a letter to pass on to you.” She dug around and pulled it out of a bag across her body, looked at it a moment, then handed it over.

“What is this?” he asked. The front was blank, the envelope crinkled from passage. The red seal on the back immediately brought recognition and understanding –he’d recognize the imprint of his brother’s ring anywhere.

“A letter.”

“Yes I managed to figure that much out on my own,” he snickered. He had an idea who it was from, so instead he asked, “How did you get this?”

“Someone gave it to me while I was out walking here and begged me to put it in your hands,” she said.

“A woman,” Seokjin guessed.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“I didn’t read it,” Dulce said. “She didn’t say.” She looked him right in the face as she said this, direct eye contact that made him want to believe her… and yet he had melted and reattached enough seals to notice the telltale sign of staining on the paper.

“Please keep the existence of this letter between us,” he said lowly, tucking it into the pocket on the inside of his vest so it couldn’t be stolen until he got a chance to read it. After which he would probably need to burn it, depending on what it said, and if he was right about the sender. After all this time, he figured she was dead, in which case this letter might be something different. Either way, it was probably something dangerous for Dulce to know.

“What letter?” she asked, holding her hands out to show they were empty. He believed she would keep the secret, anyway, whatever she could actually glean from the contents. “I thought about not giving it to you, in case it’s trouble,” she admitted.

“I’m glad you did. Not every prince is a damsel who needs protecting, you know.”

“I think you may be a particularly reckless one.”

“How many princes do you know? Nevermind, Prince Hamisi, that was too easy. Well, this prince would be happy to walk you back to the palace now.”

“I’m fine. I’ll stay here a bit longer.”

“Is it safe?”

“It’s no laundry room so…yes.”

He was loath to leave her, but at least guards roamed the sea wall and she was less likely to meet trouble here than anywhere else.

Still, “Will you at least promise to stay out of the laundry room from now on?”

“It’s my job.”

“I can make it illegal for them to put you on laundry duty. I’m a prince. I don’t mind being an eccentric one.” She gave him a baleful look that felt like victory but she shook her head and he wasn’t going to push her. He didn’t want to undo what had felt like progress towards forgiveness.

“Thank you for your company,” he told her with a slight bow. He meant it. The events of the day still troubled him but he felt soothed, despite the fact she hadn’t actually had anything comforting to say –clearly she did not understand the magnitude of what it meant to take, or nearly take, a human life. He was glad of that though.

Murtah shortened the distance between them as they walked back towards the palace so that within a few minutes they were side by side.

“Your Highness.”

“Murtah.”

“This wasn’t wise.”

“I believe you are here to guard, not to advise,” Seokjin pointed out. “I was only watching the sunset.”

“With your fiance’s maid.”

“A coincidence,” Seokjin insisted, then quickly added, “But don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

“It can’t.”

“No, it can’t,” Seokjin agreed with a sigh. He was projecting an attachment on a woman he barely knew. Was he just frightened by his impending promotion to husband and flailing about for diversion?

Her bruises and bandages bothered him more than his own troubles, he couldn’t stop thinking of them.

The safest thing for them both was not to get close enough to notice them next time.

Maybe Taehyung wasn’t the only one he needed to find a safe, cushy place for, far from Priva. How much money would it take Dulce to go away and not tell Nasimiyu why?

Yes, that was the answer. Money. See? Seokjin was already thinking like a king.

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factorydefaultlu · 2 years

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Could do a headcanon of what Aegon would be like in love, and maybe going against what his mother believes just to have the woman, even Alicent firmly thinks that she, the lower class woman, wants to take advantage of her son's power, as he would. reacting to your mother's aggression towards her S/O by going against her.

Hope you like it! ❤️

At first Aegon being in love wouldn't be obvious, he would flirt and harass the woman just as he did all the other female servants. But he would slowly have her doing everything for him; drawing his baths, bringing him wine, accompanying him outside the castle. She was always with him, he commanded it. Many times had he bed her, rough at first. But the more he shared his bed the gentler her got, the longer his lips lingered on her body.

He didn't care if she loved him back, she was lowborn and he was going to he king. Much to his dismay, although it had benefits. He could have anything he wants. He wanted her.

This did not escape Alicent's watchful eye. She had noticed that less servant girls were requesting moon tea, working with less fear. As well as the servant that never seemed to leave Aegon's side.

Alicent could not have this, her son was to be king and he could not be corrupted by someone so low. She had gone to her son, demanding information about the girl. Things she said to him, things she did with him, to him.

Aegon scoffed at his mother, irritated that she would be so concerned over a peasant. He assured her he could not be corrupted by the girl. She's not smart enough for that.

Alicent couldn't get anything more from her son, so she went directly to the source. The girl was interrogated in the great hall, Alicent had told her that if she continued to contaminate her son that she will have her head.

Although this scared the girl, she found it weak of the queen to fuss this much over her son being with a peasant. Was she that paranoid? Despite the queens threat, the girl continued to share Aegon's bed, have private dinners with him, walk with him and even share baths with him. He was completely infatuated with her, she may be starting to love him back. Aegon is her shield and she will use him as long as he will allow.

Damn the queen.

#hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #House of the dragon headcanon #hotd headcanon #headcanons #fluff

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 9 months

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Hii!

I've been looking everywhere for a Tigris x reader fic, and I can't even find one:(

All I want to do is give that girl the comfort and romance that she deserves

So if you could pretty please whenever you have time and if you want, write a romantic tigris x fem!reader please?

Madly in love with Hunter Schafer ❤️

Tigris Snow x Fem! Reader (fluff, romantic headcanons)

Summary: basic romantic headcanons of Tigris and female! reader Contains mention of: Tigris committing sex work, Coriolanus being pressed about what Tigris had to commit, Grandma'am and Coriolanus being odd, talk of Tigris and Snow's fight later in their lives. __

Congratulations, you found one of the only normal, companionate people to date in the Capital!

It's more likely that you met her while working for Fabrica, being in a similar situation where you work under her, less as a clothes maker and more as a servant.

She would be the first to fall in love and it would be obvious. She's not very experienced with things like romance, considering she prioritized other things like her family and getting money. Tigris would never have the time.

But meeting you in such a convenient way, she couldn't help it! You were just so kind and beautiful!

Tigris wouldn't make the first move, but she would make it more obvious she has a thing for you, at least what she would consider more obvious. Like smiling more around you than she would around others, and her pale skin turning a soft pink from blush.

Once you both start dating, she would be more willing to show love and affection to you. Holding hands and kissing are the most prominent.

Tigris is one of the kinder people of the Snow family, not caring if she dates a District or Capital person. That doesn't mean her family doesn't have a problem with you if you aren't Capital.

If you're Capital, Grandma'am will be ok with it. "At least she isn't district." Grandma'am would say to Tigris at being told about her having a girlfriend.

The same can be said for Coriolanus, it's better if you're from a richer family and taking the job with Fabrica for fun. Another reason he would prefer Tigris having a girlfriend would be because it doesn't press as bad of a title compared to "sex worker".

If you're District, her family knows nothing of you, maybe your name would slip when Tigris is with Coriolanus but would never talk about the fact that you're District. It's not because she feels embarrassed about dating a District person, she's just doing it for your own safety.

Tigris would take interest in your life no matter where in Panem you're from, she'd want to know the difference your life and hers.

Lastly, when she stops being a designer in the Hunger Games (if you both stay together long enough), she'll start her clothing store with you, keeping you safe from Snow and what he had become.

My tbosas masterlist

To anyone liking my content, my requests are closed at the moment!

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whiskeynwriting · 2 years

Text

Gluttony

Warrior!Pero Tovar x Curvy!Female Reader

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Word Count: 14k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) again, there's a lot lol

food play (I never know what to call this), alcohol consumption, dirty talk, praise kink, innocence kink, size kink, virginity, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, cum play, mentions of war, mentions of sex work, reader is a little curvy, slight body insecurity

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A/N: Jesus Christ writing for Pero is just always so good.

Co-written with @phnyx, beta-read by both her and @fishingforpike I love you both you amazing people

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Sintober Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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It’s overwhelming, the entirety of it all. The atmosphere loud and bright, jolly and full of life. To think of a celebration that could compare to that of tonight would be to recall events that happened before you were even born. And while your senses have been stimulated to their limit, you can’t help but enjoy the night.

The prediction for war’s end had been nowhere in sight, not a single soul had the slightest clue as to when the men would return. Husbands, uncles, brothers and sons, all gone in order to preserve the place they call home. It was valiant, honorable, and although many women worried, they often boasted about how proud they were of them. And now that they were home, no one could contain their joy.

There was hardly any time allotted for you to prepare. Due to the soldier’s swift victory and even swifter return, you had less than a week to prepare for their arrival. Being that your tavern was the biggest in your small village, it was obvious that the celebration would be held here. You, being a servant at the establishment, were expected to not only attend but work. And you did so happily. Not only were you delighted to welcome the soldiers home, you were thrilled to welcome the hero home.

“When are you going to work up the nerve to visit him?” Another barmaid, Lucia, asks you.

“I don’t know.” You playfully snap, your cheeks becoming hot just at the thought.

“Your job is to fill cups,” She reminds you. “And his will need to be filled very soon.”

You know this, of course you do. Every soldier here was enjoying the feast, but no one was stuffing themselves like he was. After all, he is the guest of honor. You sigh while watching your friend walk off, on to fulfill her duties. You’d be wise to fulfill yours, too.

Every seat in the house is taken, the tables full of meat and bread, aged cheeses and wines, honeyed meads and expensive fruits. Desserts were to be served, too, although the hero of the night already looked to be getting his fill of sweets.

He’s not yours, he’s not anyone’s, but you can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy when you see the women surrounding him. As soon as he stepped inside, he was offered whores left and right; one of the many tributes offered to him tonight, alongside coins of both silver and gold and the grand feast currently being served. He was the reason they returned home so early, the reason they left the battlefield victorious. He should expect this, to be showered in praise and love, complete adoration for protecting the town and bringing the men home. Just because it’s expected, doesn’t mean you can’t feel a bit covetous. Although, while you hate to admit it, those women have so much more to give him. They have experience in pleasing men, he’ll be happy with them.

“Are you waiting for specific instruction?” Priscilla, your boss with quite the heavy accent, suddenly asks.

She comes up from behind you, surprising you into a quick jump. She places both hands on her hips, raising an aggravated eyebrow at you.

“Hm?” She continues to question you, but you just stand there, unsure of what to do. “Go!” She then shouts, turning you around with her hands. “Fill their cups; do what you are told to.”

With a small gasp, you turn, shoved forward by one of her incessant hands. Stumbling onward, you take a few grounding steps before making your way to the head table with confidence. Or at least, what you can muster of it.

The feast smells delicious as you make your way through the crowd, walking down the aisles between each table. The meat has been prepared excellently, the smells of garlic and herbs wafting through the air. Sweet notes are also mixing with the smells from the various alcohol and fruits being served around you. You hadn’t eaten yet, not tonight, and won’t be able to until the celebrations have died down. After that, you’ll get table scraps. And even though your tummy is now growling hungrily, the topic of food is quickly shoved to the back of your mind once you see him.

He sits in the center of the table, laughing while surrounded by his friends. Women sit on either of his armrests with one standing behind him. They each have at least one hand on his body, stroking his shoulders and arms and chest. And he looks magnificent, still adorning his armor only now it has clearly been shined. It’s bright, the metal gleaming due to the surrounding candlelight. You wonder if he’s been bathed since being back home. And then, you find yourself wishing you were one of the tavern staff. Surely that was one of their duties to tend to.

“Girl!” A man to your left shouts, startling you. He chuckles. Looking toward him, you realize he’s holding up his mug, an expecting look on his face.

“Of course,” You manage a smile, shuffling a bit to the left to pour more wine into his cup. And then, you turn to face him, the man of the hour. “Ser?”

Pero looks up to you, a jovial smile on his face. The women continue to caress him, his broad, dominant hand holding one of their naked thighs. His eyes run over your figure, his smile remaining. And then, they dip down to the jug in your hand, giving it a single nod.

“What is it?”

“Wine, ser.” Already, you’re glancing down. You’re nervous, you can’t help it.

Ever since Pero had been gone, things were boring around town. He was the main thing you and the other women would talk about. Pero wasn’t exactly a friendly man, although he seems to be tonight. But even so, none of you minded. In fact, that only added to his allure. He was quiet, stoic, and stern with other men. His complexion was dark and to say the least, he appeared quite mysterious. How could anyone deny the appeal of a strong, brooding warrior protecting your town? And now, he’s considered to be a hero, as if there were anything else that could make you more attracted to this man.

Grabbing his cup, he holds it out to you. “Gracias, hermosa.” (thank you, beautiful)

Leaning forward with a gracious smile, you tilt the jug until the blood-red liquid begins to trickle out. But all too quickly, it runs short.

“Oh,” You frown, and so does he. “I’ll, I will return with more.”

This makes him grin. Attentive, the word floats through his mind. And dutiful, too. He likes that he didn’t have to ask you.

While turning away, Pero’s eyes fall to your hips’ elegant sway. He’d eyed you throughout the night, at first only because he was curious as to why you’d not come to give him more wine. But when he saw you, he was interested in more than just the fermented fluid. Licking his lower lip, those dark brown orbs follow your waistline, your backside, those pretty legs strutting along as you fulfill your duty to serve him. He wonders if you could serve him in more ways than this.

You seem to have stirred some distaste with the woman surrounding this honorable man, because upon your return, you’re greeted with a multitude of glares. Pero is speaking with another man when you come back, so instead of interrupting him, you simply lean forward to fill his mug.

“You brought two?” He raises both eyebrows, immediately returning his attention to you. He even leans forward, removing his hand from the woman’s bare leg. You figured you might as well offer him more than just wine now that you’ve worked up the courage to.

“Yes, ser.” You hold up one jar, “Red wine,” and then the other. “And honeyed mead.”

“Fill my cup with red and I will try the mead next.”

Nodding, you do as he requests. This time, instead of returning to his conversation, he stares at you, watching you pour the liquid into the cup he’d been drinking from throughout the night.

And then, he feels compelled to ask. “Why is this the first time you have served me tonight?”

Swallowing down your anxiety, you return to your upright stance, the nerves that were once subsiding now coming back with an evil vengeance. Your face runs hot, and it’s noticeable, too. But it only makes him smile at you.

“I, um, my apologies, ser.” The women around him laugh quietly at you. They’re clearly older than you, too, and you can’t help but feel inferior to nearly everyone around you in this situation. Averting his gaze, you set one of the pitchers down, rubbing your outer arm.

“I, well…”

“Do I make you nervous, little one?”

That nickname returns your shy eyes back to his much more confident ones. Daring a glance at the other women, you return your look to the ground before inevitably nodding.

“Why is that?”

“You’re so… it’s impressive. Your strength, your battle strategy…” Your heart is pounding in your chest, thundering in your ears.

“Do you think I will use either trait against you?” He muses with a teasing grin. His words seem to lighten the mood, bringing out a bashful smile in you.

“No.” You mutter with a smile, shaking your head.

He continues to eye you, briefly biting down on the corner of his lower lip before making another decision. Placing both hands on one of the women’s hips, he ushers her off the armrest she’d be sitting on. She scoffs lightly, mouth gaping at him in shock. But he pays her no mind.

“Come,” He offers, gesturing to the now empty ‘seat’. “Sit.”

“Oh, I, I would love to, ser. But I…” Turning, you look back at the bar.

“Worrying is for the wretched,” He insists. “Tonight, you will dine with me.”

“A-Are you sure?”

“Niña linda” He almost coos to you, and his tantalizing accent draws your gaze right back to him. “Sit.” (pretty girl)

Setting the second jug on the head table, you awkwardly make your way to the other side, passing the rejected woman on the way. With a tight breath, you slowly begin to maneuver yourself up onto the armrest beside him. You feel like a prize he’s won, and as misogynistic as that feels, you find yourself loving it.

Scoffing, Pero notices your struggle. “Come here, hermosa.” Wrapping an arm around your waist, he easily hauls you onto the thin wooden surface, snuggling you close to his side. (beautiful)

“Oh,” You gasp quietly, feet instantly lifted off the ground. His sheer strength astonishes you, and truthfully, makes the space between your legs burn bright.

Your hair is tied back in an extravagant braid, your face and body cleanly, smelling of fresh linens along with notes from the white lilies and violets you always keep in your room. Your outfit is clean, the colors bright, the outline well hemmed, too. You put a great amount of effort into your appearance tonight, and Pero can tell. But you look nothing like the other women surrounding him. Their hair drapes elegantly over their shoulders and down their backs, truly highlighting their beauty. They are dressed in little to nothing, some wearing jewelry, too, bracelets and necklaces likely bought for them by other men. And beneath your clothing, your body was dissimilar, too. These women had small, perky breasts, thin bodies with tight skin. They looked like goddesses among men, their chest and stomachs smooth, taut backsides with muscular thighs. And although you didn’t eat often, you’re aware that you’re bigger than them. You have a larger bust and backside, a bit of a tummy with wide thighs. Altogether, you didn’t think you even compared. Why did he want you?

“Surely you won’t need them all.” You hear a soldier declare, becoming a bit louder in his conversation with the prized warrior - who still has his arm around your waist, by the way.

“No,” He sighs, taking a large swig of his wine. “I suppose I won’t.”

“Then which do you want?” He offers, leaning back in his seat as he gestures to the three of you surrounding his chair. “Take your pick.” But Pero doesn’t even look around.

“They’re beautiful, each of these tributes.” He grins, flirtatiously raising a brow. “But I know what I want. Village whores cannot give me that.”

“What is it that you want, Tovar?” The man leans forward to rest his forearms on the table, genuinely curious as to what his brother in battle will say.

“I do not wish for a brazen woman.” Pero states, shaking his head. And to this, you listen in. “I want an untouched woman.”

“A virgin.”

“Sí, mi amigo.” Comes his almost eager response, his voice enticingly low. “A woman pure, innocent…” Slowly, he turns his head to you. “Unclaimed.” (yes, my friend)

Gulping, you do your best not to curl in on yourself, to not shy away from what you’re certain isn’t the truth. You were not a tribute for this man, you’re simply here to fill his cup. Surely there is another he could want, any woman aside from you. Why would he want you? You’re probably just here for him to make a show, to boast about how many women he can have on his chair. But if that were true, then why did he get rid of that other woman and replace her with you? Why not keep the both of you?

Amidst your rambling thoughts, you feel the prod of Pero’s pointer finger, placing itself just below your chin. Slowly, he turns your head, forcing you to look at him. And then, his gravely, baritone voice speaks.

“Have you been claimed, dulzura?” (sweet girl)

You’d always assumed that a man would want a woman with experience, someone who could guarantee pleasure for them. But what you didn’t know was that Pero wasn’t like these other men. He liked his women to be virgins. He wanted to be the first one inside them, the first to show them what it felt like to be taken by a man. Pero wanted to hear what they’d sound like while being touched for the first time, touched by his hands, his fingers, his mouth, his cock. They always made the most beautiful noises, always sang the most eloquent songs. And for some reason, Pero could just tell, he just fucking knew no one had ever laid a single finger on you. You’re too shy to have been fucked, properly at least. And while there have been times where Pero has been offered multiple virgins at once, he’d denied this, too. He didn’t need multiple women to indulge in, he just needed one woman who was willing to do whatever he asked of them.

“N-No…” It’s a quiet response, your eyes wide and innocent as his finger stays beneath your chin.

Happily, the warrior chuckles, immediately pulling you into his lap. Your gasp this time is loud, causing a number of heads to turn in your direction. But you don’t have enough time to count them before Pero’s broad hand is on your face, turning you to look him in the eyes once again.

“I will claim you tonight.” He’s leaning forward, towering over you and looking into your eyes with a passion you’ve never before seen directed at you.

“Are… are you sure?” Finally, you find your voice, albeit slightly shaky. “You want m-me?”

“Hermosa…” He grins, thumb swiping across your cheek. You feel like a small child being coddled in his lap, the way you’re sitting, laying across the tops of his broad thighs. “I want you.” (beautiful)

Shuddering at the sudden arousal shooting through your body, you nod, almost whimpering beneath his passionate gaze.

“What, um… what does that mean?”

Again he grins. “Beautiful.”

It seems that the other women don’t quite understand his message. He’s chosen the woman he wants for the night, and still, they continue touching him. The woman standing behind his chair slides both palms down the front of his chest, feeling her own brew of jealousy. And the woman to his right feels the same, looping her arm around his bicep to hold him tight. They want his attention again.

“Enough.” He almost angrily declares, looking to his side. “No more of this.”

While they’re unable to protest, they certainly want to. They’re shocked and honestly angered by his choice. It’s his first night back, how could he reject them like that? Every soldier in here would sacrifice themselves for the chance to lay in bed with more than one whore, and he’s pushing them away like they’re nothing? And for you?

“Are you hungry, sweet girl?” Pero can tell you’re kind. “Have you eaten?”

His question surprises you, so much so that you’re practically unable to form words. No one ever asks you this. The only time you’re given food is when you’re tossed the occasional basket of leftovers from the tavern, but nothing more than that.

“I, well I, I will eat later tonight. I should, anyway…”

“No.” Comes his instant response. “You will eat now.”

Those strong hands fall to your hips, moving your body so you’re now sitting up on his lap. He urges you to lean back against him, and you do, crossing your legs and draping them across his knee.

“Have you had wine, princessa?” He asks, pulse hammering in his veins. He wants to know just how untouched you truly are. (princess)

You shake your head no, following your response with a small correction. “I’m no prin-”

“Tonight,” He interrupts, looking deeply into your eyes. “You are.”

Adrenaline fizzles inside your veins as he lifts his cup to your face, a small request of drink drifting from his lips. While keeping his gaze, you allow the liquid to flow into your mouth and oh, he likes that.

“Perfecto…” It’s hushed, said as if he is in a state of amazement. He has successfully delivered a new experience to you, one of many to come. (perfect)

He goes on to offer you the food from his plate, plucking grapes from the vine before popping them into your mouth. And he continues to feed you, holding you with his free arm while watching you take every bite.

“You must be hungry too, my lord.” In a bold move, at least for you, you place a hand on his armored chest. And he hums at this; you’re getting more comfortable with him.

“Sí, pequeña.” And when you look at him questioningly, he chuckles. “Yes.” (yes, little one)

“Will you… can I…”

He just grins. “The meat first, princessa.” (princess)

Although you’d been fed fruit, cheese, and bread, Pero’s plate remains more than halfway full. You stick his fork into a slice of meat, offering it to him. There’s something so intimate about this, about caring for the other in this way; you’ve never been cared for like this. And he keeps eye contact the entire time, his beautifully full lips taking the food from your delicate fingertips. And when he drinks from the mug you bring to him, you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows it down, a small trickle of the wine flowing from the corner of his mouth. And the longer this goes on, the more ravenous he seems to become. He requests his plate be filled twice more and then a third, replenishing both of your bellies as the night grows late.

“The mead, now.” He requests, breathing heavily against you.

His eyes lower, gawking at the swell of your breasts as they rise and fall with vigor. You’re enjoying this, too.

To complete this request you must step off his lap, bending over the table to reach the pitcher and bring it back to his now empty cup. Pero has yet to touch you since you’ve been resting on him, but now, he reaches out, smoothing a hand over your lower back. It sends tingle through your spine, washing every inch of your skin in an incredible sensation that leaves a shiver in its path. He smiles when he sees it.

“I like the way you dress…” He murmurs, pressing his curved nose to your cheek when you sit back down. And you’re smiling now.

“Every maid is dressed like this.” You giggle in response, watching the brown liquid flow into his cup.

Again, that broad hand finds your face, turning you to look into his eyes.

“I like the way it looks on you.” He very clearly states, his words making your chest squeeze tight. You’re flattered, incredibly so.

Pero’s eyes dip down to your lips when your tongue pokes out to lick them, and you notice this quite obviously. Quickly, they flicker from your own precious orbs back to the pillowy softness of your mouth, a hand rising to the back of your neck as he begins to lean in. Your own hand returns to his chest, allowing him to guide you forward to meet him. And once you do, a firework is set off inside you. It’s the first time a man has kissed you, and for it to be him? How lucky are you…

“Pero,” you gasp when he surges forward for more, the first kiss sweet but the ones afterwards quickly becoming heated.

But he doesn’t let you speak, he just pulls you into him again, holding you against him. Your first true, sexual moan floats out of your throat and directly into his, a wetness pooling between your legs when you feel the beginnings of his tongue sliding in. The hand you’d timidly placed on his chest rises to his face, cupping his jaw while he kisses you breathless. He tastes of the meat and wine he’d been devouring all night, but you don’t mind. You find yourself liking it, actually.

This is what he wanted, this is the excitement he’s fucking needed. He can tell by your reaction that a man has never handled you this way, never pulled you into him to claim your lips with his. And he does so beautifully, gracefully, slipping the wet muscle of his tongue inside and swiping it across your own. And your moan, that girlish, wanton moan, finally makes you realize just how aroused he truly is, the feminine noise provoking a hardness to rise from his lap.

“Pero,” You say again, breathing harshly against him. And this time, he lets you speak, allows you to breathe.

“What is it, preciosidad?” He nearly begs, ducking his head down to your neck. (precious girl)

Suddenly, you realize just how public the space you’re in is, and you feel flush all over again. Biting your lip, you do your best to suppress your moans, but he notices. And he isn't a fan of it. Reaching up, he tugs your bottom lip out from the hold of your teeth.

“Do not hide it from me.” He demands darkly. But he sees your sideways glance, knowing that you’ve now become nervous in your current setting. “Let them hear.” He nearly growls into your ear. “By the end of this night, you will belong to me.”

This gasp is much louder, feeling him bite down on your earlobe with his teeth. And then he returns to your neck, his talented lips dragging over your skin. His ardent passion makes you giggle, the brazenness of it all forcing your excitement to new heights.

“I want to indulge in you, hermosa.” He whispers gruffly to you, both hands holding you tight. One moves down to your thigh, squeezing the sweet flesh of it harshly. “I will see if you are as sweet as the wine you have served me.” (beautiful)

But then, he hears a small rumble in your belly. Truth be told, this was the first time you’d been fed in days. And upon hearing the sound, he lifts himself from your neck.

“You are still hungry?” There’s a hint of worry in his eyes when he asks. But you don’t want to be a burden.

“No. No, I am fine.” But he sees right through you.

“Have more bread, you tiny thing.” He then insists, reaching out for more before bringing it to you. And how can you resist? “Have you had mead, sweetling?”

While chewing the bread, you shake your head. “You will try it with me.” But after filling his cup, he doesn’t bring it to your mouth. Instead, he takes a swig himself.

“I want you to first taste it from my lips.” It comes out breathily, his hand falling to your cheek to bring you into him once again. And you let him.

The taste is bitter, yet overwhelmingly sweet. Regardless, you open your mouth to him once you’ve swallowed your bread, sighing out a romantic breath as his tongue claims dominance over yours once again.

Absentmindedly, you wonder if you’ll be scolded in the morrow. After all, you’ve neglected your duties, having completely left your station. While the man of the hour is able to protect you from any repercussions tonight, what will happen to you when daybreak hits and it’s only you once again? But you shouldn’t worry about such things. It’s like Pero said, worrying is for the wretched.

“Drink.” He demands again, wanting your belly to be as full as his.

He brings his cup to you, and although the mead wasn’t to your taste, you drink, just because he said. All too quickly, you find yourself gulping the alcoholic nectar down, feeling it buzz through your system as the celebration continues. And he’s becoming far too feral, leaning in as soon as he sees a dribble of mead spill from your lips. Sloppily, he lays his tongue out over your jaw, licking over your cheek and up to your mouth.

“Pero…” Comes your girlish sigh, still unable to believe he’s chosen you.

“Tovar has found his precious flower.” One of the men jokes off to the side, another one quickly chiming in. “Flower? What happened to that beautiful garden?”

You expect Pero to continue obsessing over you, but to your surprise, he speaks up. “I am this village’s hero, you all owe me your life.” Breathing heavily, he gives you one last kiss before pulling away. Looking into your eyes, he loudly says, “I have the money to buy every woman this town has to offer, but none of them…”

Lifting his hand, he grabs your angelic face once again. You smirk as he pinches your cheeks with his fingers and thumb, his palm resting directly below your jaw. And then he gives you a little shake, grinning widely while proclaiming, “None of them are as good as this one.”

And it’s true. He’s never had a reaction like this with another woman before, virgin or not. He’s never obsessed over a woman like this in public, not while surrounded by so many people. Pero was a private lover. But the atmosphere adds something quite special to the mix. And besides, you yourself are quite the special thing, too. He’s had whores react to him this way before, but… not a virgin, not a woman with a pureness like you.

Since pulling you into his lap, Pero thought about bringing you back to his lodge. He’d been gifted a lovely cabin to stay in as a permanent residence, one that will do quite nicely for him. It will even accommodate a family, if he so chooses to have it.

“Ser?” Lucia walks up to the head table, offering him a large plate of hot desserts.

Smiling, he pushes his dinner plate aside, making room for the dishes. She eyes you as she sets them down, taking each one of the serving plates and presenting them to Pero. Before turning away, she gives you a wink, a small gesture that makes you remember just how lucky you are. As if you needed to be reminded.

“What do you like?” Pero turns to ask you before he’s even had a bite. “Tell me what you want.” He whispers it against your cheek, making your smile pull even wider.

“The um…” Scanning the table, you come across your favorite dessert. “The custard, the caramel one.”

Immediately, he reaches out, scooping a spoonful of the delicacy up and bringing it to your lips. Happily, you open your mouth, watching as he then feeds himself from the same spoon. Custards of other flavors are served, too, along with puddings, tarts, and marzipan cakes. And he indulges in them all, with you right at his side.

Servants gather the coins that have been offered to him by townspeople giving thanks, collecting them so they may be stored in his new home. And then you wonder, where is his new home? Surely he has been gifted a great lodge. Will he bring you to it?

“Arthur,” Your hero suddenly calls, “Ready the horses.”

A servant to his right steps forward, nodding before scurrying off and out through the doors. You’ve all but finished your food, having stuffed yourself like never before. And you wonder, what will he think of you like this? When he undresses you? You were nervous before but, now with your stomach full of food, you’ll appear even bigger than the other girls.

Abruptly pulling you from your thoughts is Pero’s large hand, landing on your face once again. He pulls you into him, digging the tip of his nose into your cheek as he grunts.

“Do you want me, hermosa?” He grits out passionately, digging his fingers into your cheeks. (beautiful)

He’s drunk by now, and more than ready to take you home. All you can do is whine and nod, his grip not allowing you any other option. He growls, diving in to mouth at your lips. You moan into him, the sound making him happier than ever. Your hand rises to his neck, curling around to card through his unruly hair.

“I will claim you tonight.” He breathes out, his voice rough and energetic. “You will be mine.”

“Pero,” Comes your high whine, pathetic in nature. “Please…”

“You want me to?” He smiles brightly against you. “You want me to ruin you? Ruin you of your innocence? Your purity?”

“Yes.” It’s instantaneous, your response, and it makes him all but lose his goddamn mind.

The celebration will last for days, this is only the first night. So, his exit is discrete, standing and taking you by the wrist as he leads you away. Excitement stirs in your belly as he does it, bringing you out into the coldness of the night. It’s snowing out, the flakes decorating your eyelashes and hair. He smiles at the sight, leaning down to sweep you off of your feet and into his arms.

“Are you cold, sweetling?”

“Yes.” You nod simply, reaching out for his face, fingertips stroking his facial hair.

“Come then,” he coos to you. “Come with me.”

It’s not like you’d actually say no, and you’re already in his arms anyways. And if you thought he was strong when he pulled you up onto his chair, it’s nothing compared to now. He picked you up as if you were a single feather floating in the wind, his movement easy and almost careless. But he cares; you’re a fragile thing.

The servant dubbed Arthur stands beside the carriage clearly waiting for him, and it is a grand one indeed. Decorated in firm, dark oak and glimmering gold adornments, led by four horses, each colored as black as night. It’s an enchanting form, and your breath is fully taken away once the door to it is opened.

Stepping inside, Pero sets you down on a bench opposite the one he takes. And when you sit up to take it all in, you grin. This is the fanciest space you’ve ever been in. Candles hang from the ceiling, each lit inside a glass ball to protect them. The benches are decorated in rich velvet, the color matching that of the horses. There are gold embeds in each cushion with pillows all along it. In the very center of the space is a rug leading to the carriage’s door, with a window on either side of it.

“This is… amazing.” Pero chuckles; he thought so when he first saw it, too.

“Come,” He calls softly for you. “Sit beside me, princessa.” (princess)

And you do as you’re told, returning to his lap and leaning into his firm body. Those wandering hands return with much more excitement now, his fingers grazing the hemline along your bust.

“What is your name, hermosa?” He questions quietly, kissing along your neck. “What should I call you, hm?” (beautiful)

Internally, you feel subconscious about him grabbing your sides, feeling overly full at this point. But he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, he reaches around to grab your belly and hips, a smile growing on his face. And when you tell him your name, it only makes that smile grow.

“Pretty name,” He mumbles, one hand trailing down to the space between your legs. “For a pretty girl.”

“Hm…”

“Tell me,” Pero then says, cupping your clothed sex. It makes you gasp, the sensation of it. “What do you think of me?”

He knows you're excited, but he knows you’re nervous too. And he wants to make sure you want this, want him, want what he’s about to do to you.

“I think you’re…” Your words fall short when he begins to rub you. It feels electric, like a zap of lightning shooting through you. Your smaller body presses back against him, feeling a small hum vibrate through his chest. “So handsome.” You eventually finish, releasing a tight sigh.

“You do?” Pero leans in, kissing the shell of your ear. “Tell me more.”

You hadn’t even noticed it, but you’re moving. The carriage had taken off just as Pero began to touch you, his hands an easy distraction. You’re not sure how long it’s been since the carriage left your tavern, but your town isn’t big. You’ll be arriving at his cabin shortly.

When you don’t immediately go on, his grip on you tightens, a heated breath forcing its way out of Pero’s nose.

“I said more, hermosa. Will you do what I ask of you tonight? Hm?” His words come out stern and you feel an incredible need to please him. (beautiful)

“Yes, I will. I promise, Pero.” Even though your mind betrays you, this is real. And while you have him, you want to make the most of it. “You’re so handsome, so charming. The girls and I, we… don’t know much about you.”

Subconsciously, your hips wiggle into his hand, seeking more pressure from his touch. He chuckles. “It feels good, no?”

Mesmerized, you look down at his hand, your cheeks burning with shame. “Yes…”

Pero’s free hand then rises to your chest, finally fondling your breasts. He grabs one in hand, groaning when you gasp in shock. Pleasure spikes in your nipples when his thumb brushes across one, and you can’t even imagine how wonderful it will feel when the barrier of fabric will no longer hide your body from him.

“We are nearly there, little one.” His breaths are surprisingly calm, his words calculated. “Tell me this one thing, before we arrive.”

“Yes?” You return, intent on pleasing him.

“Do you want more of me when we are inside?”

His question makes you gulp. Of course you do, of course you do. But you’ve never done this before and you don’t know how to say it, you don’t know how to be sexy when you talk to him. So all you reply with is, “I… I do.”

He isn’t happy with your simple answer, so he prods for more. Looking out the window, he can see the cabin nearing.

“What do you want then, hm? My hands?” Slowly, he rubs your covered core, feeling the muscles in your thighs shake. “My fingers, hermosa?” (beautiful)

“Yes,” This time, you respond much quicker, even nodding your head.

“My body?” He continues on, stiffening below your backside.

“Oh, yes…” Sighing, you can only imagine what he feels like. Hopefully, you’ll soon know.

“My mouth?” This time, he inhales deeply. It’s been years since he’s tasted a woman between her thighs. But you don’t necessarily interpret it that way. You assume he means he’ll kiss you more, and of course you want that.

“Yes, Pero.” He likes how sweetly you say it; he knows you’ll be saying it more.

Inside, he shivers. He’s about to say something much more brazen to you.

“Do you want my cock, sweetling?” And this seems to overwhelm him with an intense urge. Upon your sigh he inhales another breath, groaning it out into your ear as he says, “Do you want it inside you, hermosa? Do you want me inside?” (beautiful)

“Yes,” You practically keen for him, feeling him rub his erection into you from behind. “Yes Pero, please.”

As if on command, the carriage comes to a halt, stopping just outside the warrior’s new home. Eagerly, he stands, picking you up with him. Again, Arthur opens the door, and if he hadn’t come so quick you’re sure Pero would have kicked it open himself.

Bright flames burn inside you as he carries you to the cabin’s door, and you loop your arms around his neck while he walks, leaning up to kiss his tawny skin. He’s tanned, his skin a beautiful golden tone. It looks glorious on him, this rich shade.

Once his servant opens the door, Pero marches inside, kicking it shut behind him. And in the throes of your passion, you look up, wanting to see the space around you. Pero’s only been inside once, right before he came to the tavern tonight. Floor to ceiling, everything is either covered in dark oak or rich, reddened velvet. There are gold decorations here and there with lavish furniture in every single room. It blows your mind, the excellence of these rooms. He must have done something truly admirable to be honored with such a space.

Chandeliers hang from the ceiling as Pero walks throughout the space, taking you directly to the main bedroom. There are beautiful curtains made of thick fabric hanging by the windows too, along with candles that have been lit in every room. But none of it compares to the intimate space he calls his own, the space he’s going to share with you.

“You are beautiful.” He expresses while laying you down on his extravagant bedspread. Leaning in, he smiles, kissing the space just below your jaw. “I’m delighted to have you.”

“Pero,” Helplessly, you reach out for him when he lifts himself to move away.

This makes him smirk, chuckling while he begins to undress. And when he does, you quiet down, leaning back on your forearms to watch. He notices this, making a little show of it. His movements are languid, removing his gleaming armor and placing it on a nearby bench. He stands at the foot of the bed as he does it, undressing down to his undershirt and briefs. And your heart stutters in its beat; you’ve never seen a man this way before. Should… should you be undressing yourself, too?

“No,” He answers your silent question, seeing your hands curl around to the ties on your back. “I will undress you, pequeña. Do not lift a finger; let me.” (little one)

Lifting his shirt from his body, you’re met with the incredibly erotic sight of his naked chest. Tanned like the rest of him and adorning a few hairs across his chest. There are some curls leading down his navel, too, and among the hair on his glorious body are also scars. They’re scattered across his body, some long, some short, some wide and others thin. But they astound you all the same. When he steps closer, you reach out to him, immediately brushing your palm across the once-then wounds that have healed yet still remain.

“And what do you think?” He asks, brushing back some of your hair. His palm lands on the top of your head, his own dropping to watch as you explore.

“Beautiful.” Comes your whispered response, “It’s beautiful… your body…”

“Then touch more of it.” Forcefully, he grabs your other hand, pulling it closer to him.

“Oh…” He brings your palm to cup him through his slacks, his head dropping back as he does. Even from the slightest of stimulation, he moans.

He wants to take his cock out, pull it from the confines of his briefs and make you lick the tip. But he wants you to be the one to do it. He knows you want him, but you’re far too shy to show it. But you’ll need to if he’s going to give you it. Apparently though, you have something else in mind.

“Will you lay down?” Pero tilts his head at you questioningly. Rising to your knees, you look into his eyes, smoothing your hands down the tight skin of his chest. “Will you lay down for me? Let me worship you like you should be…”

Pleasantly surprised, he does as you ask, moving to the side and laying down in the very center of the bed. Your passion seems to unravel within you, finally seeing him like this. And it makes you courageous, makes you want to do more with him.

“Touch me, princessa.” Pero grits out impatiently, watching your innocent orbs flicker up to stare directly into his eyes. “Do you want it?” You nod immediately, swallowing timidly. “Then take it.” (princess)

With your heart thundering inside your chest, you look down, reaching out to grab the waistline of his briefs. He pets your hair lovingly with his dominant hand as you begin to pull, releasing a shaky breath as you do. And he lifts his hips for you, allowing you to undress him completely before you.

“Yes…”

You don’t expect his erection to bob out of his pants like it does, smacking his lower stomach and making him groan. It makes you gasp slightly, lips parting in devastating hunger as you stare at him.

“Is this the first time you’ve seen one?” He asks gruffly, reaching down to grab his shaft. “A leaking cock before you?”

And he’s right, he is leaking. He’s uncut and thick, long, too. When he strokes himself he pulls back the skin, revealing his reddened tip. When you see it you whine, exhaling a short and almost pouty breath.

“You don’t have to sit back, you know.” He teases, watching your enticed expression. “Tonight, this is for you.”

“Pero…” Overwhelmed with emotion you lean forward, placing your hands on either side of his hips.

Pero watches you dive down to his pelvis, lips landing on the thin skin of his hips. You kiss him here, sloppily too, dragging your beautiful lips along his sides briefly before moving them to his stomach. He’s so toned and warm, your tongue poking out to just barely slide over the bumped-up lines of his scars. You hope he likes it - you know he does. He groans while watching you, licking his lower lip before it drops.

Your delicate fingers trail over his sides, squeezing his hips and thighs. Soft whimpers escape your lips as you do it, feeling compelled to worship the alluring warrior that saved your home. Grinning, he watches you obsess over him, working yourself up to the point of grinding against his leg. You position yourself over his left thigh, just barely grinding down against him. You feel foolish doing it, like an animal in heat, but you almost can’t help it. How? How did you manage to get your first time to be with him?

But when you move down to his groin, you’re unsure of what to do next. You’re hoping he’ll guide you, teach you the ways of pleasing a man. He asked for a virgin, surely he would expect to do this?

“Do you know what to do with it?” He asks lowly from above you. He still has a hand wrapped around his base, his tip throbbing with anticipation as your lips kiss nearly every inch of him.

“N-No…”

“Hermosa,” Pero leans up, taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Do not be nervous, or shy; not around me.” (beautiful)

This time, he doesn’t force you to look into his eyes, he waits for you to do it on your own. And you do so much quicker this time, a reassuring thing to him.

“Niña preciosa, you are mine tonight.” He promises once again. “I will make you a woman; do you understand?” (precious girl)

“I do.”

“And will you let me teach you?”

“Yes, Pero…” Your reply is soft, feminine, your hands trailing up his stomach.

His words make you feel safe and warm inside, they make you trust him that much more. And with that said and done, he brings you in for a kiss, grinning against you.

“Bueno.” He states, those dark brown eyes opening to look at you. Taking a breath, he then speaks. “Go back down, sweetling.” (good)

You do as he tells you, lowering yourself to his naked sex once again. This time, you get an even better look. You’re much closer than before, settling yourself between his thighs and placing your hands on his hips.

“Open that pretty mouth,” He says it as he sighs, settling further on his luxurious bed.

Reaching down, he places his thumb on your lower lip, smirking when you open your mouth for him.

“That’s it…” Pero whispers to you, the moment as fragile as glass; it’s as if any moment, it could break.

Both of those broad hands now move to your face, holding your cheeks and bringing you closer to him. With a shaky breath, you move in, whining when the tip hits your lip. He slides in past your bottom lip, now coming in contact with your soft tongue. And when he does, a moan floats from your mouth.

“Do you taste it?” He asks, a growl rumbling through his chest. “Can you see the mess you’ve made of me?”

“Me?” You babble quietly around his smooth head, and he groans at the sensation.

“Yes, preciosa - precious girl.” He begins to ramble. “More, give me more. Yes…”

Staring up at the warrior laid out on this bed, you allow him to pull you closer to his sex. Moving forward, your lips surround his head, now fully in the velvety warmth of your no longer innocent mouth.

“Suck,” He gasps from above you. “Suck it.”

And you do, watching as his chest constricts before he moans. Gently, his hips buck up a bit, shoving another inch past your lips.

“More, pequeña, more…” (little one)

Gods, he’s reveling in this, destroying the purity you once had. His precum pools in your mouth, the saltiness of it landing on your tongue. He can feel the wet muscle move beneath him in the humid cavern of your mouth, slowly but surely sucking more of him inside. But you gag when you’re halfway down, making him groan in frustration. But not with you, with how aroused he’s become.

“More,” Pero repeats once again. He applies pressure to the back of your head, forcing you down on him. “You can do more… do it again…”

You’ve never had a man in your mouth before, and doing so now makes your panties pool with wetness. It’s incredibly defiling, erotic, something you find yourself wanting more of. And to him, it practically feels like the first time all over again. He hasn’t touched or been touched in nearly an entire year. He’s needed this.

“Oh,” Pero sighs, lifting his head to watch as you pull away. Situating a pillow to prop his head up, he groans, eyeing the trail of spit you left behind.

You’d gagged on him again, a wet, sporadic noise that made you pull away. Though not too far; you’re still close enough for him to reach. You’re honestly mortified, you want to please him and you’re now finding out that you can’t. You’ve never seen another man’s cock, but you’d have to be a fool to not realize that Pero was big. Bigger than you expected a man to be. But you’re not stopping here, you want to do more for him.

He’s still holding his base when you lean in, laying your entire tongue out beneath him. And his brows furrow furiously, mouth falling agape as he watches you lick him. This is something he wasn’t expecting from you, not at all.

The salty musk of him fills your senses, both your taste and smell. And when you take him back in your mouth again, he removes his hand, returning it to your head. Your own hand replaces his, gripping his base and watching his balls draw up slightly. Pero’s jaw remains dropped, watching as you work him with your hand and mouth.

“Amor…” Again, a hand finds its way to the back of your head, urging you down to his base. And you go much further this time, suppressing the reflex to gag. “Sí, sí bonita, sí.” (Love… yes, yes pretty, yes)

The suction of your throat around him makes him choke, moaning wantonly from the sensation. And your hand continues to grip him, tightening your fingers around the thickness of his erection. While doing so, you happen to look up, immediately meeting his dark eyes.

“So good,” He mutters, only to speak louder to you. “You’re doing so good…”

“Thank you, Pero.” You remove yourself, gasping above him. And while looking down, you see more of the clear liquid pearl out. “I like the taste of it…”

Before he can say anything else, you dive back down, lapping at the liquid. A feral noise is released from his throat, his hips bucking up into your mouth. You engulf him once more, but it’s not long before he removes himself from your throat. Pulling on your hair, he yanks you off of him, hearing your surprised gasp.

“What did I, did I… did I do something wrong?”

Surging forward, Pero grabs your face with his hand, holding your cheek and jaw as he leans in.

“Dulzura,” He growls to you, resting his forehead against your own. You’re leaning forward, resting on your palms as soon as he brought you in. “You’re filthy now. You’re going to make me cum.” Eyes dropping down, he swipes his thumb across the pillowy-soft skin of your lower lip. “And I’m going to; right in this pretty mouth.” (sweet girl)

You’re still gasping for air, and fully dressed, mind you. Right now, any and all pleasure revolves around him. And you’re not complaining one single bit.

His eyes then return to yours, staring right into your fucking soul. “And you’re going to swallow it down, pequeña. Every bit of it.” (little one)

When you don’t respond, he grunts out, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Pero.”

“Oh…” he grips your jaw harder, baring his teeth briefly before he says, “I love when you say that.”

And he really does. You’re just so compliant for him.

“Do you want me to say it more?” You ask sweetly, almost teasingly, and it makes him tilt his head curiously at you.

“Quite the little minx, aren’t you?” He slowly grins, pulling you in sharply by his grip on your jaw. “I will make you say it more. I will make you beg for more.”

His response makes you whine; how much more could you want this man?

“Get on your knees for me.” Your warrior then demands. “I want you to taste it.”

“Taste it?”

“My seed, sweetling, the seed that will soon fill your belly.” And then he kisses you, a harsh and fiery embrace, removing his lips only to say, “Get on your knees.”

The pulse pounding in your veins seems to stutter a beat when he says this, the imagery of him being inside of you almost too much to bear for your inexperienced mind. Regardless, you return to your knees for him, willingly, eagerly, wrapping your lips around his tip and beginning all over again. Well, not all over again. He’s still hard for you, still aching to be touched to completion.

“Like that, little thing,” Comes his punched-out grunt, feeling you take him into your mouth much quicker than before. “So eager for me, aren’t you?” He boasts from above, smiling. “So eager for more…”

Inside your mouth, he pulses against your tongue, his shaft wet and slippery from your spit. You allow it to spill from your lips, drooling over his cock and onto his pelvis. And Pero’s hands return, aiding in the smooth slide of your head as you move up and down on him. Your insides burn with desire, your hips and sex tingling with anticipation. How will it feel when he finally touches you? When he’s inside you? Will he be gentle, or rough? He certainly has the muscles to do whatever he wants, to fuck you into the matress until you’re crying out from it, from him.

“P-Princesa, do not move.” He begs breathily further up on the bed, his eyes pinching shut as his hips begin to move. (princess)

Forcefully they thrust upwards into your mouth, punching himself down your throat. You gag around him so intensely that you go to move back from him, but his hands keep you down.

“Stay still, princessa; breathe. Breathe for me.” (princess)

He’s selfish with it, helplessly indulging in his pleasure. His pure instincts are truly gluttonous, seeking everything for himself without concern for others. But he does his best to think about you, to treat you kindly, gently. But not now, not in this moment. He feels his release coming, and he knows where he wants it to be.

Breathing in through your nose helps to stabilize you, but just as you do, you’re thrown through another loop. Suddenly, a hot rush of liquid fills your mouth, shooting past your lips and begging to slide down your throat. His hips are jerking erratically against you, the strength of his arms allowing you little to no movement and therefore offering no other option than to swallow him. Closing your eyes with a short groan, you do, coaxing the thickness of it down your throat. It’s salty, much saltier than the droplets that slipped from his tip before. He’s pulsing profoundly inside you, throbbing against your tongue as rope after rope is released into your throat. And the sound he makes is sinful to say the least, an incredibly raw and powerful groan forcing itself from his throat.

Pero can feel your nails digging into his thighs, can feel the soft swallowing sounds as you coax him down. Your nose is nearly touching his base, the curly hairs scattering his pelvis just barely brushing your face. And it makes him grin, the crudity of it, having a virgin suck his cock like this. He’s defiled you, yet again; and he can’t wait to do a thousand more unspeakable things to you all over again. Because tonight, you are for him.

“Ugh,” He groans loudly, the muscles in his glorious body flexing.

The remaining remnants of his seed wash over your tongue, trickling out to follow the rest of them down. When the pressure on the back of your head ceases, you immediately release yourself, lifting your mouth off of him. You cough from it, swallowing again as you can still taste him.

“It was overwhelming,” He sits up, his presence pushing you back a bit. “I know.” Pero’s hand finds your cheek, storking it softly. Your face is flush, your hair slightly a mess, and you look so pretty to him like this. “And you did so well.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, your neck, pushing you further back. “It was perfect, mi niña…” (my girl)

In one swift motion he’s turning and shoving you down onto the bed. You land with a huff, his kind words an incredible distraction to you. His body immediately covers yours, his hands sliding between you and the sheets to grab at your ass. He presses himself into you, mouthing hotly at your neck as he truly begins to give in.

“You did so well, bonita, you know that, don’t you?” He’s leaving marks on you, little bites of painful pleasure all over your throat. (pretty)

“Oh…” It’s a small moan, one released with a smile.

Your body wiggles excitedly beneath him, his praise making your confidence bloom brilliantly inside. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand is removing itself from your backside and sliding down your front.

“Let me see,” He mumbles against you. “Let me see the beauty of you.”

Pero’s words make you nervous all over again. Your confidence shrinks just the slightest bit as he travels down your body, untying your small shoes before tugging your stockings off of your legs. Sliding his fingers beneath your dress, he hooks them around your panties to pull them off.

“Mm, Pero…” You whine, feeling his knuckles just barely brush your sex.

“What is it, cariño?” He asks you sweetly, though he doesn’t stop his movements nor does he look up at you. He does kiss your calf though, his lips soft and tender against you. (baby)

“Oh…”

“You’re dripping…” He moans, eyeing the panties he’d just removed from you. Immediately, his hand returns to your still-hidden space, fingers brushing against your naked folds.

“Oh!”

It’s a brief touch though, retracting his hand before you can even experience much. But what he does once he removes his fingers from you… that’s what really gets you.

“Pero,” You release an astonished gasp, eyes widening as you watch him lick the taste of you.

It’s a simple swipe, running his tongue along the thick digits he’d used to touch you. You’d never seen a man do this, never even heard of men doing this. And Pero didn’t do this with every woman, not unless they were a virgin. He’d had sex with whores before sure, but licking the intmate space between their thighs? He reserved that for the most innocent women he could find.

“Sh… you delicate thing.” He murmurs to you, looking deeply into your kind, sweet eyes. “Let me please you, let me see you…” And then his hands are urging you up, fingers quickly fumbling with the strings of your ties.

He undoes them expertly, easily, watching it fall from your form. He doesn’t even drag it away before he’s gawking at you, at the sight of your naked tits. His eyes widen, the look on his face an entirely new expression. He almost goes soft, sweet, just from staring at you. Leaning in, he says, “Asombrosa…” (amazing…)

“Pero…” While watching him cup you with both hands, you whine.

You’re thankful he keeps your dress partly on; it covers most of your stomach. But those grateful thoughts disappear as soon as his hands drop, tugging your remaining clothing away from your body.

“P-Pero, I…” You stutter, hands moving to cover your body.

As he drops your dress to the floor, he looks at you questioningly. He furrows his brows, but not angrily, curiously, almost worried.

“What is it, pequeña?” He asks, moving closer to you, his voice quiet and soft. “Have I made you uncomfortable, sweet thing?” Pero could often be selfish but with women, he did his best to keep their inner emotions in mind. (little one)

“No, no,” Not wanting to worry him, you shake your head. But your hands don’t move. “I just, I don’t want you to be… disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” He tilts his head at you. “How could I be?” Leaning in, he places a gentle kiss on your cheek, and it makes you grin.

“I’m not, I don’t,” Giving up, you release an aggravated breath. “I don’t look like them.” And when you see his unknowing expression, you clarify for him. “The other women that surround you.”

“No?” He questions, raising a brow. “And what do you look like?”

“I’m… bigger.”

“Better.” Comes his immediate response, shuffling closer to you. “More to grab, and bite.” He leans in, nipping at the skin along your collarbone.

“Do you truly think so?”

“Hermosa, why do you presume I chose you?” He questions, and it makes you think. “I told you I liked the way you dressed, the way it looked on you.” (beautiful)

Pero’s voice is low and tantalizing as he whispers into your ear, grinning when he kisses the shell of it. “I want you, hermosa.” He clarifies yet again. “How many times must I say it?” (beautiful)

“Pero…”

“Will you let me pleasure you, now?” He asks almost impatiently, but with a grin. He’s teasing. “Show you how true my words are to you?”

Turning your head to face him, you mirror his delighted expression. Your hands rise to either side of his face, muttering a happy yes before your lips connect.

Immediately after this, his hands fall to your own, removing them from your curvaceous body. Reading his body’s signals, you lay back for him, watching as he advances. When your head hits the pillow he all but dives in, cupping your breasts again and bringing his lips to them. He moans against you, kissing the soft skin of your chest. And pleasure shoots throughout your body, feeling him fondle you like this. His mouth is warm as it moves over you, mouthing at your boobs before biting them gently. He pushes them together, licking up the valley of your cleavage before sucking one of your nipples in.

“Oh…” Immediately, your hands rise to his face, cradling him as he begins to suckle on your nipple like a newborn babe. It’s erotic, the waves in your hips and lower stomach pulsing inside. “Pero, yes…”

He hums contentedly at your wording, removing his mouth to let his tongue lay out. He runs it across your nipple, over and over again, all while his hand works your other breast. He takes your unattended peak between his forefinger and thumb, tweaking it gently. It makes your fingers dig into his hair, makes your nails scrape softly across his scalp while you whine.

To your surprise, Pero moves down your body, kissing your ribcage and stomach in the process. It makes you want to curl in on yourself until he shows you how truly glorious he finds the hills and valleys along your god-like form. He squeezes your breasts one last time before his hands too follow the path his mouth has made. And while continuing to surprise you, he then lands between your legs. Gently, he spreads them, closing his eyes and humming quietly as he works. He knows how to please a woman in more ways than one, and he’s excited to show you.

“Pero, what, what are you…” Curious questions spill from your mouth as you lean up to look at him, wondering what he’ll do. But he doesn’t answer you. Instead, his eyes open, mouth dropping to lay his tongue out against you. You hiss in shock, almost as if you’d touched a surface that had been hot. Your legs twitch beside him, body tensing briefly from the foreign sensation. And he gives you an open-mouthed smile, sliding his tongue up the seam of your soon to be impure sex.

“Oh…”

“How does it feel?” He asks, quickly licking his lips. “To have a man's tongue on you?”

While awaiting your answer, he slides a finger into his mouth, keeping his look directed at you. And when you don’t answer he tuts at you, bringing that same digit down to your center. He slides it along your sensitive lips, smirking when you inhale a tight breath.

“It felt… so new.”

“Yes?” He asks, tilting his head. You nod, “Yes…” It’s said as he slides his finger into you; you’ve never even put your own fingers inside of you.

“Oh,” It comes out dramatically once it’s entirely inside you, that cocky grin creeping across his face.

“This feels good, too?” He asks almost innocently. But he knows what he’s doing to you.

“Yes.” Breathlessly, you nod, feeling him begin to pull it out before sliding it right back into you. “Oh!”

You weren’t expecting his mouth to return, but it does, his tongue flicking across the most sensitive part of your sex.

“Mm…” The sound is muffled by your center as he presses his face into you. And when he does this, he becomes greedy, ravenous, wanting more of you.

While he intended to start out slow, it’s not long before he’s shoving another finger into you and feeling the tight clutch of your walls around them. Gods, he knows he’s going to be such a stretch for you. And lord, you’re writhing for him, squirming on his bed while your hands grip his sheets. He has to lift a hand, pressing it onto your lower belly to keep you down for him. He’s punching them up into you, sloppily lapping at your tingly little bud as it shoots pleasure through you. Before long, you’re freeing the bedsheets of your sporadic grabs and replacing the comforter with his hair. Your fingers cling to him, shamelessly shoving him further into you. And he moans, dear god, the sensation absolutely rolling through you.

It’s all so new, so new and incredibly ethereal to you. Do all men feel like this? Will all men treat you this way?

“Pero,” It’s an incredibly passionate moan, floating freely from your lips as you sing a melodic song for him. “Pero…”

“This will prepare you,” He then grunts out against you, his humid breaths fanning over your sensitive skin. “This will prepare your body for me. Such a tight, tight little thing.”

“Pero, I want you.”

“I know you do, precious thing.” He coos, smoothing his hand over you. He rubs the thin skin of your lower belly, a loving gesture while his mouth and fingers continue to wreck you. “Relax for me, pequeña. Let me feel it unravel within you…” (little one)

The taste of you is a weakness for him, your tangy essence dripping out onto his hand. You’re so wet for him, he’s almost unable to believe it. He can feel himself rising again, wanting to be inside you, to claim you, to ruin you.

When Pero crooks his fingers inside you, pressing them up into an all too pleasurable spot, a sensation begins to overcome you; it’s something that almost feels weightless to you. For a moment, you become numb to it all, numb to the incredible pleasure that you’re feeling. Since the moment he’d slid a finger into you, you felt the gradual build of something entirely new, a sensation growing inside that almost frightens you. You can feel it coming, the intense wave washing over you. Ever so slightly, your body curls, your back then quickly arching.

“I, oh… oh…” You’re not sure what to expect from the first high you’ve ever experienced, but this was more than anything you could have imagined. Your body practically vibrates from it, each limb tightening as your hips now move of their own accord. And Pero only continues, forcing his fingers up against that deliciously delicate spot inside you, all while keeping his lips and tongue pressed to your fluttering heat.

He presses you down, grunting as he brings this euphoria to you. And it flows freely through you, making you grin and giggle quietly as you experience it. A sharp gasp at first, but now a wonderful laugh, a weak one, followed by a chorus of elegant, erotic moans.

“Beautiful thing,” Comes his hurried breaths, lips moving incessantly as he rambles over your slippery lips. “Doing just what I tell you to…” You really do listen so well. In the same breath he removes his fingers, using both hands to spread open your sex.

“Yes, yes…” It’s all you can say, over and over again. Your insides feel as though you’re about to burst, the overt brazenness of it all making you lose your absolute mind.

He leans in, licking into your entrance with small, delicate swipes. And to say you were surprised would be an understatement, though you’re learning to expect the unexpected tonight. He moans boyishly at the taste of your cum, lapping it up as though you were his favorite dessert at the feast less than an hour ago. You can’t believe how much he’s indulging in you tonight.

Before you can even catch your breath, he’s crawling over you, returning his lips to your jawline and neck. He’s grinning, too.

“Will you let me?” Leaning down, he gives your shoulder a small kiss while he asks you. He then runs his curved nose along your jawline, filling his nostrils with the smell of your pretty scent while he continues panting above you. “Will you let me take it, princessa?”(princess)

A heated wave washes over your face, your hands rising to his scruffy cheeks as he continues to kiss your body. He grinds himself into you, into the naked space between your legs.

“Let me take it from you,” He coos, running his nose over the column of your neck. “Let me show you how good it feels.”

“Yes, please.” Gulping, you nod, fingers brushing over the short hairs littering his cheeks. “Take it Pero, take it from me.”

“Mm…” It’s a groan, a long and happy one as he smiles against your throat.

Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses are placed along your neck, shoulder, and collar bone. You can feel his erection pulsing lightly against you, rubbing it over your inner thigh. And the realization of it all seems to hit you at once.

“Will,” Your voice is quivering again. “Will it hurt?”

“Maybe,” He responds honestly, lifting himself to kiss your cheek. “But only for a moment, princessa.” (princess)

Pero knows how rough other men can be, and it sickens him. Women are beautiful creatures, things to be cherished. How could a man ever find pleasure from a woman in discomfort or pain? To him, seeing a woman fall victim to the pleasure he brings makes him thrilled inside. He gets off on it, seeing others happy and at peace with euphoria flowing through their body.

“Do you still want me?” Pero then asks, reaching down to grab himself in hand. He watches your lips part with a small breath when he swipes the head through your folds, furrowing his brows as he takes in your reaction. You nod slowly.

“Yes…”

“Tell me honestly.” He prods further, releasing a short grunt when you press your hips upwards against him.

“Yes Pero,” Comes your breathy response, and this time, you grab his face to make him look into your eyes. “Take me.”

A heated breath forces its way past his lips, all but surging forward to connect your mouth with his. He kisses you until you see stars, moaning gently as you taste his spit and feel his plush lips. And while he distracts you with his mouth, he begins to slide in, a slow and gradual movement as you adjust to him.

“P-Pero,”

“Sh…” He immediately responds, but it’s gentle. “I know, preciosa, I know…” (precious)

“Oh,” Tossing your head back, you give in to him, taking in a large gulp of air as he continues forward.

When he’s halfway in he removes his hand, lifting it to hold the back of your head. He hums against you, both of your eyes closed as he experiences you like this, while you experience him like this.

“Take it for me,” Pero whispers to you, pressing his lips to your ear. “Take it just like you did before.”

His words prompt you to think back to your first act together, when he’d slid himself into your mouth. That was a struggle at first, but before long it was pleasurable, both of you fully enjoying it. And this is just the same. He’s a large stretch for you, a heavy intrusion, but the girthiness of him makes your tummy stir, makes your arousal begin to churn.

“Will you do it again, princesa?” (princess)

“Y-Yes,” You say it as he bottoms out inside you, listening to the forceful hiss he exudes.

“So good,” Comes his instant praise, letting himself rest against you, allowing your body to adjust to him. “Such a good little girl for me.”

“Hm…” You smile, pulsing around him. Gently, your fingers run through his hair, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “No one’s ever spoken to me that way.”

“Only I will.” He declares instantly, “Only me.” And that’s when he starts to move.

Even though it’s a gentle slide, it makes you whine all the same. You smile breathlessly while clenching around him, feeling both of his broad hands make their way down to your ass. He grabs your cheeks harshly while he grinds into you, and the cry you elicit from it makes him choke out a groan. Pero’s heavy and humid breaths return, wetting your skin as he huffs out above you.

“M-More,” You find the courage to whimper out.

“More?” He asks incredulously, shocked by your request.

“More.”

Lowering his head with a growl, he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth before picking up the pace he’s built for you. A shrill whine claws its way out of your chest upon feeling him do so, the steady rocking of his hips continuing with much more force now. He growls against you, the vibrations of it rumbling across your chest while he sucks on you. And his hands roam, too, sliding up from your ass to caress your body, fondle your boobs, feel every single inch of you.

“Pero, Pero… Pero, ah!” Pressing your head back into the pillows, you cry out for him, genuinely surprised by how well you’re taking him. And he is, too.

“This is what I’ve wanted,” He admits, “I’ve wanted you.”

“Ngh,” It’s a harsh, guttural gasp, fingers digging into his dark locks.

He licks your chest while he fucks you, growling as he becomes more and more pent up inside.

“Your gorgeous body,” He gasps out against you, kissing the plump curves of your chest. “It is mine now, you are mine now, princesa.” (princess)

“I know, Pero.” You exhale a breathy laugh, happy to finally admit it aloud. “I know.”

He’s doing his best to be gentle while giving into his own needs, too, but in truth, this isn’t enough for him. He’s enjoying you thoroughly but he needs more of you, needs to do more to you.

“Bonita, mi bonita niña.” He practically begs, removing himself from you. And you cry wantonly when he does, reaching out for him; you desperately crave his touch. “Turn around for me. Please, bebé.” (pretty, my pretty girl) (baby)

It’s almost as if you’re unable to do what he tells you, like your limbs have gone to jelly and your mind is somewhere else. Your body is his, entirely here for him. And it couldn’t be more thrilling to you.

When he sees your struggle he grins, reaching down to grab your hips. Roughly, he flips you over onto your stomach, hauling your hips high into the air in front of him.

“Tired girl,” He teases, “You don’t know what tired is, not yet.” It’s a challenge, one that intimidates you.

Before you can respond in any way, he’s entering you, punching the breath from your lungs even though he does so gently. With a cry of his name, you crumble for him, laying on your forearms while he tightens his grip on your hips. He slides into you much easier this time, though the stretch is still a bit painful for you. But he moves quicker this time around, too, turning any feelings of pain into sweet, unyielding pleasure.

The sounds that fill the room are the filthiest you’ve yet to hear in your lifetime, the sound of his skin slapping against yours, the wet squelch of your soiled sex, your erotic moans and his forecful grunts. It’s so much more than you ever even dreamed of, and you’ve dreamed of this for so long.

“Yes…” He grits out, briefly baring his teeth. With one hand he reaches out, smoothing his palm over your back. It does well to calm you, to help you feel comfortable and secure.

Your body rocks with every movement he makes, shoving you over and over again against the sheets. He’s hitting you so deep, delving into you so hard, it’s as if you can’t even breathe. Every inch of your insides are spasming around him and the act of it all is incredibly overstimulating, even more so when he reaches down you to grab your chest. He’s leaning over you, his firm and muscular torso pressing and rubbing against your back. His mouth returns, too, biting and sucking on the muscles and skin of your upper shoulder and neck.

“Pero!” You wail, jaw dropping as he continues to hammer himself into you.

He’s grunting into your ear, breathing heavily against you. He’s finally fucking you as hard as he wants to, as hard as he’s wanted to fuck a woman since he’s been gone.

“A little more,” He pants out from above you. “A little more, preciosa niña, and then I will care for you.” (precious girl)

You’re not sure what he means, and while his brute force is entirely overbearing, you wouldn’t dare ask him to speed up the process or stop. You want this to last; you don’t know if you’ll get this again.

Pero’s hips jut harshly against you, the strength in his thighs propelling him forward again and again. The hand he isn’t using to lean on fondles you, grabbing your tits and pinching your nipples when he can. It makes the adrenaline and euphoria mix and fizzle inside you, your lungs desperate for air as your fingernails dig into his new sheets.

“Y-es!”

He smiles when he hears your passionate groan, eyeing the way you clutch his sheets. But his smile is quickly replaced with a look of awe, a genuine expression as he groans forcefully. Pero’s muscles tense above you, his body curling into your own. He holds you tightly to his chest, allowing you to feel every one of his deep and erratic breaths. The movements of his hips become sharp and jagged, unlike the rhythm they’d originally began.

“Pero…”

“Stay still,” He quickly demands, still holding you against him. “Stay still for me, cariño.” (baby)

“A-Ah…” You release a stuttered moan, feeling him push your body forward in long, languid rolls.

He pumps himself into you, pulsing as he finally releases exactly where he’s wanted to. And he smiles as he does it, his chest constricting as he feels his seed flow into you. You do as you’re told, too, staying perfectly in position for him.

“You did perfectly, bebita.” He praises you, kissing your shoulder while the last drops of him drip inside you. (baby girl)

“Oh…” You moan, concentrating on the feeling of him flooding your womb. It’s warm, just like it was before, and it makes you shudder beneath him.

Pulling out carefully, he keeps his hands cemented to your hips. You were tired before, surely you’re exhausted now. And his prediction is right, so, he keeps you up for a moment before gently laying you onto your side.

“Pero,” You huff out a whine, holding your hands out to him again. “Please.”

He grins, knowing how much you love body contact. And how could you not? He’s so warm and firm, so strong as he rests above you. He brings himself in, looping his arms around your back and sighing deeply while resting his face in the crook of your neck. This is also something he didn’t often receive when laying with whores, intimacy. And he really likes the feeling of it with you.

“Will you stay with me?” He asks gently, kissing your neck. “Tonight?”

Pero then looks down, lifting himself slightly. He grabs your dominant hand, kissing the top of it, and then makes his way up your arm, dragging his lips across your collarbone before inevitably returning to your neck. He’s already cum but he’s still so affectionate with you. It’s like he can’t get enough, like he doesn’t want this to be over.

“I want more of you.” He whispers, kissing your ear while his hot, sturdy body rests above your nearly limp form.

He isn’t sure what you’ll say, whether or not you’ll accept his offer to stay. But with everything in him, he hopes that you do. He likes you.

“Yes,” It fills your heart with warmth, with joy, hearing him invite you. “Of course I will stay with you.”

Turning your head to the side, you kiss his temple, feeling and hearing him sigh. “I want more of you, too. I really do.”

It’s not that he’s overly concerned with your comfortability, but it helps when you reassure him of it. He takes it into consideration, though. After all, he can’t have a good time if you aren’t having one, too.

“You will lay with me, princesa?” He asks with a smile on his face, again kissing your cheek. (princess)

“Mhm,” You nod, moving a hand down to his chest. You feel the overwhelming need to show appreciation for him, for the man he was on the battlefield and that he chose to be tonight.

Moving with your soft gesture, your position is slowly flipped, mirroring that of the first position the two of you found yourselves in tonight. He watches as you move, happily settling onto his back with a satisfied groan. He finds himself growing tired, too.

“Preciosa,” He calls softly, drawing your attention up to him. “I said I would take care of you.” (precious)

“Well… me first.” You respond girlishly, grinning. And he chuckles at you.

You begin to thank him, slowly working your way down his body all over again. He asks you why you’re being so vocally grateful toward him, and you answer honestly with, “You’ve made me a woman tonight, Pero, and you did so honorably…” Your voice is soft while you speak to him, eyes fluttering shut though his stay open while he watches you work. And you moan happily, sighing contentedly over his skin. You shower him in gratitude, your lips and tongue moving to kiss and lick his scars, his toned muscle and taut skin once again.

He isn’t even sure if he’ll be able to cum again, but he likes the feeling of your mouth. And he likes the fact that you’re willing to try and taste his seed again. And even though it’s overstimulating at this point, he holds your head when you finally go down on him, bucking his hips up toward your mouth and moaning again. He’s tired, but you want to take care of him.

“Princesa… you are mine now. You are a maiden no more now that you’ve laid with me.” Pero wanting to stake his claim over you continues to excite you, smirking before sucking his tip into your mouth. (princess)

“I’ve ruined you for every other man,” He goes on, declaring something you didn’t at all expect. “And I want to keep you with me.”

Happiness blooms inside your chest. So, this won’t be the only time you have with him?

Pero begins to babble while your mouth brings him bliss, feeling you sigh while tasting your own slick on him. He tells you how beautiful you are, how erotic it is to feel your body with his, to experience your reactions to him.

“I’ve claimed you for myself,” Suddenly, he grips your hair harshly, gritting his teeth. “Mine.”

And then he promises something else to you. “I’ve seen you before, preciosa, you don’t deserve to work the way you do. I will protect you, bonita niña. When I return from the next war, I will return to you.” (precious) ( pretty girl)

“You promise me?” Comes your tiny voice, pretty and no longer innocent eyes looking up at him. This isn’t any small promise he’s making to you. He wants you. For more than just one night.

“Yes, mi niña.” He sighs, petting your hair with a loving gaze. “I promise you.” (my girl)

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