summary 𝜗𝜚 the moment they realize they're in love. balor, eiland, hayden, march, ryis x reader (gn in all parts. no use of y/n.) genre fluff, non-established relationship. cw reader is pretty mad at balor in his part. kissing in eiland's. ryis' is a little bittersweet </3. not proofread. wc 4.3k (approx. 750-900 per)
note from zanna first request! i spent practically all day writing this i was fr locked in lol <3 but i had so much fun with this! and happy to have included hayden in the scenario this time he always gives me such domestic cozy thoughts </3 tell me why i struggled with ryis' HE NEEDS TO STOP DOING THIS TO ME i wanted to add more to it but it was giving me such a headache as well. fav one is probably balor's (once again) lmfao. for the bachelor who's personality stumped me the most at first he's become the one that i always get carried away writing for (and i'm not complaining).
BALOR
Balor has broken the news to almost everyone in town already. An offer too good for him to not accept has come up, an opportunity that only presents itself once in a lifetime. The job is all-inclusive: food and housing covered completely, and a hefty income every month to seal the deal. It's nearly three times as good as his current work in Mistria. If Balor had any sense at all, he would snatch up the offer as quickly as possible without a second thought. But for the first time, he finds himself delaying for a reason he's too scared to admit.
The thought of telling you hurts. He can imagine the questions you'd ask him, the look of disappointment on your face, the betrayal you might feel by it. He's hates the thought of turning his back on you like that. Months ago, he had promised you that you would be helping Mistria get on its feet again together. All your work has been intertwined since that day. Every morning when Balor comes to check on your shipping bin before the sun has even risen solidifies that. It's a truth he can't ignore. He works better by your side.
It's the first time he's ever had a partnership quite like this, and he fears it will be the last time, too. Moving away from Mistria for better pay means leaving you behind. There's no world in which he can have both. And now, he has to make the choice. A glamorous life working far, far away from Mistria, or staying in the one place he's started to feel is home.
The decision is tearing him apart piece by piece, and he's never once felt this fragile or indecisive. Months, even weeks ago, he would have packed his bags overnight and left before morning, chasing opportunities as fast as the wind. He's always been selfish, self-preserving, self-obsessed, and any other vain word one could describe him as. Balor has heard them all, and every time has been unable to defend it. It's the truth, after all. There is nothing that drives him quite as much as tesserae in his pocket. Over time, he's tried to embrace it, living year after year as a vagabond.
He's never shown anyone how lonely it can get. No one ever seemed to care. No one, except you.
He's never given his deepest wants any time to consider. He's always been stubborn like that, convinced that this way of life is the only one that suits him. He doesn't deserve stability or a place to settle down. He doesn't need a home—things like that just aren't compatible for him. And who would even want to make a home with him? Who would even give him the chance?
You.
It's always been you, day after day, month after month. Every time you show up at his stall, every morning you eat breakfast with him at the inn, every night you stay up talking in his room at The Sleeping Dragon, spilling your wants and fears and aspirations. You are the first person who has ever made Balor feel a little less alone—that is why he feels so torn at the thought of leaving you. No one has ever cared if he stayed or not, no one bothered to make a strong connection. Only you.
Balor knows as much as he wants to hide this secret from you, word spreads fast in this town. The second he spilled it to Hemlock at breakfast, he knew it was only a matter of time until you got the news.
The knock on his door is desperate and rushed. He doesn't even have time to answer it before you let yourself in, breathless and determined. Balor expected this. There was no way you would let him go without a fight, and that thought makes his heart feel both guilty and loved at the same time.
"You must be out of your damn mind, Balor," you rasp, staring daggers at him. He stands, pushing his hair back in an attempt to get his thoughts together. How is he supposed to say it to your face? How is he supposed to say goodbye to the person who made him feel the most alive?
"Business calls," he mutters, feeling smaller than ever. Where has his shameless pride gone? Why does he feel so shitty about the whole situation? He should be overjoyed. "I answer. You know me… this is what I do."
"So you're leaving just like that?"
"I already overstayed my welcome. Mistria doesn't need me anymore—" Balor tries to argue. It feels weak and useless. He's dancing around the elephant in the room, too scared to address it. You do it for him.
"I need you, Balor. We're supposed to be in this together, a-and now you want to throw it all away for what? A higher salary?" you stammer, your emotions raw on your face.
Balor feels worse than he thought he would. He's quiet, studying you as if you have the answers. The pain in your eyes is clear as day. The crease of your eyebrows is a desperate plea for him to stay, and the way you gnaw at your lip anxiously a silent confession. The realization hits him like a stab to the heart. He can't leave the person he's fallen in love with.
EILAND
Eiland, despite how knowledgeable and observant he can be, is still as dense as the artifacts he discovers. Perhaps its a royal trait passed down on him, or maybe there's a missing connection between his brain and eyes, but he's missed all the signs thus far.
If you weren't so down bad for him you would have found it frustrating. Instead, it's somehow endearing. The entire town is seated for the entertainment of it all—when will Mistria's beloved lord Eiland realize his own feelings?
Juniper has offered to make you a love potion for him to speed up the process. Reina has planned nearly a dozen dinner dates for you, all of which have been perceived as merely platonic by your dear prince. Holt has given you insights to a man's perspective on it, but even he agrees that Eiland is a rare and almost hopeless case. How could someone be so blind to your pursuits?
You're not even sure how much more you can take before you shut up his excited rambling about Aldarian history with your lips. But still, you force yourself to be patient. One of these days, he has to realize your feelings for him, right?
Today is not unlike any other day spent with Eiland. You've made a fresh strawberry cake—sweet whipped cream and juicy berries filling the layers of soft sponge. It's always been Eiland's favourite. You think his excitement every time a dessert is involved is adorable, and you always find yourself feeding his sweet tooth more and more.
Eiland had sent a letter to you this morning about deciphering an ancient scroll he had come across. You make a good team together, uncovering more about Mistria's past than ever before. Eiland gets delighted whenever you find so much as a speck of new information.
Today's work has stumped Eiland. The words you're picking out from the ancient text seems to all be flowery poetry and figuring out what the meaning behind it is proves difficult. The information you have so far is limited. You know the letter is from an old Aldarian king, but neither you or Eiland can figure out who it's addressed to or why the letter was sent.
"Pass over the cake, I'm having no luck with this," Eiland says in defeat. You slide a piece over—already his second—and scoop some up with your spoon. Holding it up to his mouth and prompting him with an 'ah', Eiland doesn't even question it. He opens his mouth and lets you feed him, a satisfied hum following as he closes his eyes to savour the sweet taste. From the corner of the room, you see Elsie winking at you. You smile back knowing exactly what the scene looks like.
There's nothing that says best friends about it. Eiland's desk is a mess of papers and pens, always enough stationary for both of you, always set up for two. His chair is pulled up right next to yours; too close to not suggest something different. And then there's the way he relaxes next to you every time, as if your mere presence reminds him to relax the tension in his shoulders and let his neck have a rest from hunching over his desk all day.
To the outside eye, it couldn't be more clear. But Eiland still lives oblivious day by day.
Your eyes draw back to the scroll laying on the desk, shifting back and forth between the text and feeding Eiland spoonfuls of cake. You notice one of the words at the top of the letter, almost entirely worn away but just barely legible. Juniper had talked about ways ancient Mistrians' referred to their lovers while trying to help you with Eiland. You recognize the word to mean dearest lover.
You straighten in surprise, losing hold of the spoon in the process in a way that causes some cream smear to the side of Eiland's lips. He opens his eyes again in response to your startle, noticing the spark in your eyes as you piece it all together.
"It's a love letter, Eiland! The king was writing to his dearest lover—look here," you exclaim, pointing to the top of the scroll again. Eiland leans down in excitement, gasping at the detail he had somehow missed.
You get lost in the way his lips turn up in a smile and earrings sway. The shimmer in his purple eyes drawing you closer and the bit of whipped cream on his lip tempting you further. You reach out to wipe it away. Eiland's breath catches in his chest. You're suddenly very close, perhaps too close. He tries to distract himself.
"So the ancient nobles used poetry to win over their lovers… How… romantic…" he whispers, eyes drawn back to yours. His cheeks are dusted with blush all over.
"What about modern day nobles?" you ask quietly, drawing yourself ever closer to Eiland. He takes a breath, considering it carefully.
"I think… they tend to be a bit bolder nowadays."
Your heart soars when you hear that, knowing you've finally got him. When you lean in, his lips are sweeter than you could have imagined. Perhaps its the lingering taste of the strawberry cake, but you have a feeling that Eiland always tastes like this. Whichever it is, you'll have many more months to find out, because when Eiland pulls away, flushed a bright red in shyness, he looks at you with only one emotion in his eyes: love.
HAYDEN
The scene is perfectly domestic in a way that makes Hayden almost shiver. The sun is just starting to peek through the windows of his cottage casting golden beams on the counter-top of the kitchen and the couch where you sit. Henrietta is in your arms, happier than he's ever seen her, and something feels unmistakably right about it all.
You had stopped by his farm early this morning, still sleepy and hair clearly not brushed yet, asking if you could have breakfast with him. Who was he to say no to that adorable sight?
Ever since the news of a new farmer moving into town reached Hayden, he's been curious about you. You became good friends within a few weeks, but something started to shift lately. Over the past six months, you've started putting extra effort into ranching on your own farm, and your passion for it is undeniable. Hayden has always loved like-minded people, those who understand his love for animals and how precious they are. Someone who also wants to spend their life caring for them. Seeing you like that made something in his heart shift. You're kind, patient, perseverant… you fit all of Hayden's standards almost too well.
Love is a tricky subject for Hayden to tackle. He's always felt content in his independent life, alone with his animals for company. It's never felt lonely. There was never anything "missing". He's seen Josephine and Hemlock, Nora and Holt be perfect lovebirds, running the town through the strength of their strong marriages. Hayden has watched their families grow and the town become more lively because of it.
But he loves the quiet life, the routines, the farm-work. He loves Mistria with all his heart, even if the town was far too small for the chance of meeting new people. Everyone knew that newcomers arriving to Mistria was rare. The small community was part of its charm. Growth was a hard thing to achieve.
But when you arrived after the earthquake, determination in your eyes, and a goal that everyone could see, you started to shake Hayden's small world. Every improvement you made to the town: helping with repairs, boosting sales, growing more food locally—made impacts bigger than anyone else ever had before. For the first time, the small town of Mistria started to grow bigger than it ever had.
Hayden has always admired your work ethic. You never seem to tire, and are always up for a new challenge. You learn quickly, are amicable with everyone, and generous beyond nature. But he also adores the faults he's seen in you too. How short-tempered you can be when you reach a stumbling block, your mutters under your breath trying to keep up with all your tasks, and your panic whenever you arrive back home so late your animals have fallen asleep outside. You're not perfect, but you always keep moving forward, and Hayden couldn't ask for anything more in a person.
These thoughts surrounding you swirl in his head as he cracks a few eggs into a sizzling frying pan. They're still warm, freshly laid this morning. Next comes beautifully browned pieces of toast, slathered with butter he had mixed up just two days ago from a fresh batch of cream. Hayden takes pride in his animals and their produce. Happy, healthy animals means fresh, nourishing food.
He sets down the plates on the table and you shoot your head up at the smell. Henrietta squawks, hopping off your lap, allowing you to rise and join Hayden at the breakfast table.
"Looks delicious, Hayden! Thank you, this'll wake me right up," you say, rubbing away the last bits of sleep from your eyes and smiling at him. Hayden's breath catches, strong hands gripping the back of his chair. He waits for you to take a seat before settling down too, eyes never able to leave you.
Maybe it's something about the angelic quiet of the morning, or the soft glow of the sun streaming on your face. Hayden can't help but imagine spending every morning just like this, making you breakfast, talking about the plans for the day. A gentle companionship, something that wouldn't take away from the life he's already built. When Hayden thinks about it, he realizes how perfectly you already fit into it. The way you greet his animals on your way inside. The way Henrietta bawks excitedly at your arrival every time. The way his lips can't help but burst into a breathless smile when he sees you.
Maybe—Hayden thinks—this is what love feels like.
MARCH
Your daily routine confuses March. You spend all day running around, completing different errands. Some days you're planting a new field of seeds. Others, you're delivering something for Adeline. And at least three times a week you're at the mines, digging deeper for fresh ore and gemstones. Your schedule has been busy since the first day you arrived, and March cannot imagine having so much energy and excitement for everything. It makes him exhausted just seeing it.
But what keeps him pondering is how you always take time out of your day to talk to him. Usually you have some ore to give him as well. In the beginning, he tried to refuse it, feeling as though accepting it would hurt his pride in some way. After months, he's learned how determined you are. There's no refusing you anything. You'll always find your way to do what you want, and that includes giving him freshly harvested minerals daily.
Your streak is almost impressive… not like March has been keeping track or anything. You're nearing almost six whole months straight without missing a single day. You're always stopping by first thing in the morning or late at night before heading home—not like he's paid close attention to that—so when the clock strikes 1AM and March still hasn't seen you all day, he starts to wonder what's keeping you. You've never been this late before.
March can't sleep. He tosses and turns in his bed; his pillow feels too warm despite it being a chilly Autumn night, and his blankets scratch and irritate his skin. Why didn't he see you today? Have you finally decided to stop pursuing him so stubbornly? Has he finally gotten rid of you for good? No more interrupted work at the forge? No more bracing himself when he sees you across town and knowing you'll start sprinting towards him any second?
If that's the case, then he should be happy. He's wanted that since the first day you arrived and started bothering him like it was your only daily mission. But… he's not happy at the thought. In fact, he feels the opposite. His chest tightens and his mind is cloudy when he thinks of his day ending without seeing you, without talking to you.
At first, your daily conversations were something he tried to end as fast as possible. But now he's gotten used to them, and perhaps even… looks forward to them. But no, he shouldn't care. If you decide to stop whatever routine you've crafted for the past six months, March won't even bat an eye. His life was fine before you came into it. He can easily go back to pretending like you don't exist.
But he still can't sleep, and the thought still continues to bother him throughout the night.
At 5AM, he gives up trying to sleep. A hot shower and fresh clothes does enough to hide his eye bags, and although he's tired, he has enough energy to start on a new order for tools at the forge. It's a bit early to start business, but it beats staring at the ceiling while you race in his mind. He's starting to get annoyed by how you refuse to leave his head. You decided to not stop by to see him, yet you won't let him stop thinking about you for even a second? Unfair.
He's able to ignore the pit in his stomach for a few hours as he works, getting half the order finished by lunch time. There's still been no sign of you. Just as he's accepting that his suspicions are confirmed—you really have decided to give up your daily visits—he squints over at the fountain. There you are.
He averts his eyes immediately. He can't look too excited to see you again, or you'll never let live it down. But still, he sets down his tools and wipes his hands on his apron, preparing for the impending conversation.
"Morning, March!" you say, cheery as ever.
"It's afternoon," he points out, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning towards you. Damn, you look prettier than usual.
"You're right—guess I'm a bit late," you shrug, opening up your bag and sifting through it.
"Where were you yesterday? You didn't stop by," March asks, trying to sound as uninterested as possible, even as his heart races to know the reason. If you've stopped by like usual, then surely his original thought must be wrong. You still like seeing him every day… right?
"Ah, I was at the mines!" you explain, biting back a smile. "I lost track of time, though. By the time I got out, I was about to pass out. Plus, I'm sure you were already asleep. It was way past 1AM." He was definitely still awake at 1. He would've opened the door for you. "And look what I found while I was down there!"
You pull out a shiny piece of metal from your bag and plop it into March's hands. He holds it up, studying it. The most perfect gold ore he has ever seen. It's too rare to be turned into a regular bar—heck, it should probably get displayed somewhere. He's never seen a piece of metal so flawless.
"For you!" you grin, eagerly awaiting a response. March just gulps, hoping his red ears don't give him away completely.
God, what have you done to him?
RYIS
When Ryis first started taking orders over from his uncle, he often found it overwhelming doing everything by himself. He's good at his craft, and enjoys it fully, but the demand could easily overload his own ability to keep supplying. But, ever since you've started taking on more jobs with him, he's felt that burden lessen. You're not just a great farmer, but an excellent carpenter, too. Ryis has always found himself drawn to passionate people. Perhaps your talent is what keeps him so invested in you. Hours a week spent in your company still isn't enough for what he craves.
You've been quite productive this morning, stopping by the shop early and getting straight to work on a new set of bookshelves for a library commission. The birds singing has been your background noise, and you flow together with Ryis so naturally anyone would think you've been working together for years. In truth, it's only been a few weeks.
"You know, you're quite like a bird yourself," you say offhandedly, catching Ryis' attention from the other side of the porch. He's at his workbench, biting at his pencil (a habit he can't seem to quit) while thinking of what type of wood would hold up the best for the main bookshelf. It'll have to hold a lot of weight, and given the ornaments and embellishments the commissioner wants, he'll need to pick a wood both sturdy and easy to carve. Mahogany is probably his best bet, although it'll be expensive to supply. You're sorting through some of Landen's old toolboxes, searching for broken pieces and signs of wear.
"How so?" Ryis prompts, turning a fresh piece of paper over to sketch a new print idea.
"You and all your sisters growing up together in your parent's bakery—your "nest", so to speak. But you couldn't stay forever. Birds have to learn to fly on their own eventually. I think it's brave of you to be the first one to take that step. You took a leap of faith, and now look at you? You're soaring," you grin.
Ryis flushes a little. You spell out the thought that he's has had for a long time so clearly. Like you extracted the exact ideas he's had in his head and put them into words. His fascination with birds has always come from a feeling of solidarity. But it's also mixed with admiration (he's sure that anyone could tell that much).
He envies their innate ability to survive and adjust. Birds, upon close observation, have distinct patterns and behaviours. They always seem to know exactly what to do during each stage of life. Migrating south, returning to certain forests for mating, or even the best spots to find food for their young. The many guidebooks he owns on them gives him all the secrets he needs to appreciate all the native species. Their similarities and their differences. He finds a piece of himself in all of them.
Ryis wishes there were a similar guidebook to tell him what he should be doing with his life. You tell him that he's soaring, but most day's he isn't too sure. He misses home; his parents, his sisters, the bakery. At the same time, he's doing his best to make a new home for himself here. He loves living with his uncle and taking over the carpentry business. It feels fulfilling enough. But he feels lonely sometimes too.
"You seem quiet. Thinking?" you inquire, walking over to his bench and pulling up a stool.
"You know, I've always felt a little conflicted. Most days, I feel so glad I took the risk and moved here. I love how closely-knit the town feels. I love seeing how much I can help out. I love having nature in my backyard and waking up to the sound of birds chirping," he smiles. You can't fully decipher the mix of emotions behind his eyes.
"But I also miss the Capital. My family was always busy with business. Even with me and all my sisters, we somehow always felt short-staffed at the bakery. It was always loud… chaotic at times, too. But it felt like home, you know? And, I miss it…"
You pass him a sympathetic smile. "Homesick?"
He nods, biting on his pencil again. Melancholy is an emotion you don't like on Ryis. For someone who shines so brightly in your eyes, he looks deflated. But even in his down-turned state, he's still beautiful. You trace your eyes over his chocolate skin, strong calloused hands that suggest the years he's put into his craft, his deep brown eyes that have stared at you with both wonder and excitement.
Ryis glances back at you, granting a smile that tell you not to worry. He doesn't have to say it out loud for you to know. You make Mistria feel more and more like home every day. With every look and every conversation. Every project you complete together, and each hour you spend birdwatching with him. It's all been adding up faster than Ryis can keep up, but he doesn't need a guidebook to know that he's fallen so in love with you.
Can I request some headcanons for March, as in a long-established relationship? I'm a sucker for slice-of-life stuff...
Thank you so much for the ask! Aaaah I absolutely love slice-of-life as well. This was so fun to think about <3 Sorry this turned into some proposal HCs as well! Let me know if you want some wedding/married life HCs because I'd love to write that :)
March has been alone for a really long time, basically his whole life. The only person he has is Olric. But now he has you!
Because of this, you two get really intertwined in each other's lives. You basically become family as soon as you start dating.
Even after dating for some time, you both keep your lives and your work. It's just better now, because you're doing it together. You wake up together, eat breakfast together at home or at the Inn, go off and work (while thinking of each other), have dinner together, and go to sleep together. It's the easiest and most wonderful thing in the world.
March is surprisingly considerate of you. That's how he shows his love. He's not good with words, even after you're together for a long time, but he thinks of you and your well-being often more than you think of it for yourself.
This includes helping you a lot with work around the farm. He's always very busy with his own work, but will never allow you to lift anything too heavy or repair things yourself after your start dating. He loves taking care of you and helping you take on your responsibilities, just like you do for him.
He's also always excited to smelt and create things for you any chance he gets. He loves his work, and he loves it even more when he's making something for you.
That includes swords and armor for your trips to the mines, yes, but also jewelry or charms or anything else he can think of that might make you smile. It helps on those days when he can't stop thinking about you while you're both off working.
On special occasions, he'll spend days to weeks working on something really special, all while keeping it secret from you and shoving off any teasing comments from Olric.
When you first start dating, he's still embarrassed at all the comments from the townsfolk. He's never experienced a relationship like this and he's not really sure what to do with this pride. But after a while of dating, he's extremely proud of his relationship with you and doesn't attempt to hide or minimize it at all. It's just the most obvious fact that you'd be together, and he can't even try to deny that being with you makes life so much better.
He's not very into PDA usually. Hand-holding or an arm around your waist or shoulder is as far as he'll usually go around others. Unless he's drunk. Then he's all over you, to the point where you're nearly fighting off your own embarrassment (and pretending not to love every second of it).
Olric and Ryis are so happy that you're together with March, and truly feel that you bring out the best in him. It's a side they've never seen, and they appreciate how you've accepted and loved him. You spend a lot of nights hanging out with them and March and they fully embrace you as family.
Your friends are so happy about your relationship too. They've heard all the miscommunications and anxiety you went through when you both were coming to terms with your feelings for each other and were so happy when you finally told them you were officially together. They really see March in a new light after seeing how much he cares for you.
Everyone in town notices and appreciates that March loses a bit of his rough exterior after meeting you. He's still a bit standoff-ish, sure, but that slightly mean edge noticeably lessens. He just seems happy, everyone in town can feel it.
That goes for your relationship too. Before dating, March wouldn't be shy to dish out biting comments that could even hurt. It caused a number of misunderstandings and arguments before you finally understood each other's feelings. Now he's rarely mean to you or anyone else in town.
You do bicker about silly things sometimes, but it's always clear that the conversation is light. Real fights and arguments are rare, and it really only happens when March lets his secret insecurities get the better of him and shows some jealousy towards you.
With time, he learns that he can truly trust you and that gets better.
Although you spend many nights over at each other's houses, March would be hesitant to move onto the farm at first. He's just worried about leaving Olric alone there. Who would be there to make sure he's eating enough vegetables?
But March surprises himself with his love for you, and even having separate places to live seems stupid and pointless pretty quickly.
You don't start to live together until you're engaged though, which would come pretty quickly too. March doesn't see a point in waiting when he knows you're going to be together for the rest of your lives anyways.
The idea of getting married makes March nervous at first, but only for a short time. As soon as he realizes that that could be possible for him with you, it means everything to him. I mean, the most incredible person in the world wants to be with him? He can't mess it up.
He smelts a ring from perfect gold ore and a diamond he mined himself on days you were busy running errands for the townsfolk. He keeps it in his pocket for weeks, always trying to hype himself up to finally ask but getting too nervous each time.
It's not that he thinks that you'll say no. It's just that he can't believe that he's living this reality with you. He didn't think anyone as lovely and kind as you could be with him. And he doesn't want to fuck up.
He thinks of so many different ways to ask, but always backtracks and worries that it won't come off right. He's rehearsed what he wanted to say to you so many times, but curses inwardly when he can't explain himself properly. Why can't he speak as kindly and carefully as you? Fuck.
Ryis is the only person he tells for a while. knowing how supportive he'd be and wanting his advice. He can't even bring himself to tell Olric his plan for a while, unable to take the teasing he'd get from his big brother.
He even consults with Elsie, who corners him one day after her "someone-in-Mistria-is-about-to-propose" senses start tingling. She swoons at the idea that he's so nervous to ask you, and offers the advice that you'll be over the moon no matter how he decides to propose.
It ends up happening pretty suddenly. You're sitting together at the summit at night, not an unusual spot for you two. You lean into his arm around you, using his body for warmth and he pulls you closer. And in that moment, thinking of how he could imagine sitting here with you when you're old and grey, he can't help but say "let's get married."
When you look up at him, he's staring out at the view before turning to look at you. Before you have time to ask if he's being serious, he pulls out the ring from his pocket, takes your hand, and places it on your finger. He doesn't give you time to object or say no (not that you would).
What he didn't expect, though, is your tears of happiness as you kiss him and nod your head. Now it's real, and it's forever, and he can't remember ever feeling this happy in his whole life.
march (fields of mistria)/f! reader | 7.4k | read it on ao3
march has a problem. he's got this frustrating feeling coming from the depth of his chest at the lack of interaction with you. so when he's already stomped off out of the inn barely having seen you all day, his anger is tested when the face he's been dying to see greets him by his front door.
smut, dry humping, headlock, piv, thigh job, no use of y/n
i highly recommend reading this fic as well, another march/reader so incredibly well done it has me in a chokehold (hehe)
⁺₊⋆main masterlist < moved to the new blog
the weather in mistria has only just started to become bearable again.
the forge is another story altogether, searing white hot metal never giving march any respite from the high temperatures, so when the gusts of colder wind started getting more common, he took a deep whiff of the early autumn air. yeah, it's getting better now. what hasn't been getting better, though, is the heat he still felt on the back of his neck, spreading down to his chest and up into his cheeks — the shade of which could rival that of his hair when freshly dyed — every time you came by to say hi.
really, he shouldn't have stuttered that much, not when all he did was echo your own words, but there's something about the way you seem to see him that has him stumble over his words and feet, not knowing where to look first, your smile or your outstretched hand that's handing him the most perfect iron ore he's ever laid eyes on or… something even more perfect. something that he definitely shouldn't be staring at like some kind of pervert, definitely shouldn't be plagued with images of how it would feel to touch, squeeze, kiss, bite, fuck… no, he definitely shouldn't be thinking about your breasts.
despite telling himself it's probably a normal reaction to seeing someone you're deeply attracted to — though it took him an eternity to admit even that to himself — march still feels a little bit of shame, awkwardness, an unsettling bubbling at the bottom of his stomach that keeps reminding him that he's no longer just satisfied being good at what he does… no, sometimes he curses the feeling of want that bubbles up in his chest and head and… abdomen. the want that follows him for the rest of the day when he's left there trying to remember what the glob of red hot metal on the anvil is supposed to be turning into.
you seemed to have become really good at this in such a short time, at scrambling his brains to the point where he stopped knowing when his thinking got sidetracked from work, work, more work, and work again. and work is the furthest thing from his mind now, when all he's focused on is the fact that you only came by for a second, already on your way to the museum… or the mines… or fishing. he didn't register the words you chirped at him and eiland. he couldn't have, when you waved and smiled and just… looked like that.
it bothers him now that you barely breezed past him all day today, he couldn't help but wonder when you'd come by to actually talk to him so he could talk to someone other than olric and ryis that he actually enjoys being around while he's sober.
not that he'd admit it, of course. at least not quite yet.
it's already so late that the street lights have started attracting bugs, everyone has gathered at the inn, and he's scanning the room in hopes of seeing your figure mingling with the townspeople, grabbing something to eat from reina, playing along with whatever elsie may be gossiping about, or really just sitting there trying not to get lost in the endless swirling sea of chatter. but nothing. not a peep, not a glimmer of your grin at the large door. the night keeps getting more and more hopeless for march.
the crowd stays as lively as ever, and he usually doesn't mind, not when he's slowly feeling lighter and lighter, gently swaying on his feet as he hiccups and slurs along with the rest of the townsfolk when they decide it's high time for a sing-along. tonight, though, whatever drink hits his tongue feels like ash, dead and grey and horrid, making his stomach turn.
"where ya goin'?" olric looks at him, one eye open and leaning back on his chair. a dangerous choice, march imagines at least five tragic outcomes of this action.
"home. not feeling well." he rubs a hand on his stomach to emphasise his point, though he's been sour all evening, nobody could doubt him even if they were sober enough to do so. and with a halfhearted wave of his hand he turns and leaves them all behind as he walks out into the night. march gives himself exactly two seconds to feel the breeze in the air before his face returns to the scowl that so many people know on him.
an entire day has passed, he thinks while making his way back home, and you barely came by. an entire day and you gave him the same smile that you give everyone else. even eiland got the same treatment, he got to smell your very light perfume as you fluttered past them on your way west with a sword strapped to your back. now his mood sours even more.
a rock lands a few steps ahead as he's kicking it on the way to his house, focusing more on its path to avoid his mind going to other places. the places he really shouldn't be entertaining. the places where his jealousy will get the better of him. where he'll imagine the rock is eil—
"fuck!" he groans, shaking the thought out of his head, knowing it will get him nowhere other than into a spiral of jealousy and hardly covered up aggression towards everyone that speaks to him — something he knows he should work on, but not when it means admitting that he wanted to be the special one, the person you'd smile at the most, the person that could make you at least as flustered as you make him.
"march, hi!" a voice as light as the breeze stops him as he's about to forcefully push open the front door. his head whips around, ears as hot as the sand in the summer, cheeks tingling with the blush that's spreading across them with no help from the beer this time.
"h-hi."
march tries, he really does, to keep a hold on at least some of that frustration, because what's coming for him may be worse. he keeps a grip on the corners of his lips, willing them not to rise. he keeps his fists balled up, not letting himself run a hand through his hair, though there's no point in fixing it since you've already seen him in all his sweaty and messy glory.
"back so early?" you chirp, leaning against the anvil by the entrance, standing at a very comfortable distance from him. maybe a little too comfortable.
"not feeling the crowd. and you? back so late?" he nods at you, keeping one fist against the door where he froze it when you caught up to him.
"got… a little sidetracked." you chuckle, a devastating sound. "not feeling the crowd either."
he lowers his gaze, seeing the way your leg slightly wobbles, almost struggling to hold your weight. the way you still smile at him despite so clearly being hurt is enough to make his walls drop, at least until he can be mad at you safely again.
"what's up with your leg?" he asks, as cold as he can make himself be when all he wants is to kneel in front of you and fix you up if you let him.
"ah! it's fine, actually, just a sprain probably."
"a sprain doesn't bleed." march scoffs, pushing himself off the door and allowing himself a few steps towards you, where he can now see just how tightly your fingers are gripping the edge of the anvil, knuckles going pale against the dark steel. "either you walk inside with me or i throw you over my shoulder. your choice."
he watches you squirm, not that bright and cheerful anymore, not when you need to accept help. from him. a breath of relief escapes him when you let go of the anvil and hobble along with him, walking into the shop while he secures the lock after you. march should be used to seeing you here at this point. it's been the place where you bothered him the most at first, always chatting away with olric while he was concentrating on very detailed work at his desk, but at the same time trying to will his ears not to perk up every time you giggled at something his brother said. he can't have been that funny…
every so often he caught you looking over his shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at his latest project, and every time he'd go to protect it from your view out of pure habit, not thinking you would be interested in what he's doing but instead tease him for it. it feels weird to him not to try and cover up everything he's worked on this time, to just let you limp over to his chair and nearly sit, but it slides away from you, and you're falling, falling…
"done playing brave and strong?" he huffs, having lunged forward to grab you before you managed to land on the floor. you serve him a smile, a sly little curve barely visible in the darkness before the lights flicker on, but he just clicks his tongue, refusing to feel the warmth that crawls up to his cheeks. it's not fair, not fair at all how you get him flustered at the drop of the hat. it's not fair how his heart keeps hammering against his ribs, so loud in his ears, echoing so hard he's half-certain you could hear it. his grip on you tightens, and without much ceremony he lifts you up, hooking his other arm under your knees.
that might have been a mistake on his part, because as he's making his way to his bedroom — where the bed he's planning to place you on won't slip from under you — all he can smell is your scent. in his head he's seeing you breeze past him like so many times already, making him want to drop everything and follow in your every step like a puppy, the same way that he wanted to drop his hammer this morning, eiland's requests be damned…
march grits his teeth, not caring that you can so clearly hear it as your head is leaning against his chest — a feeling he knows he'll definitely revisit when he's not trying to push down the betrayal rising in his stomach — but the sight of your brilliant smile as your light steps took you away today keeps flashing before his eyes. he pushes the door open with his knee, slowly lowering you down onto the edge of the bed where you immediately sink into the mattress with your wounded leg outstretched. without a word, he reaches for the box of random stuff he got from valen a while ago where it sits forgotten on the bottom shelf.
just from a quick glance your way — another mistake on his part — he decides not to believe his eyes. you most certainly, definitely, absolutely did not just check him out. at least as far as he's ready to believe. not when he's bent over like that, his trousers maybe a little too short now, in need of fixing some stitching… no, it must have been his mind playing tricks. he feels his cheeks warm up too fast, damn it, and he hides the colour in his face in the darkness, avoiding the little lamp on his bedside table as much as he can.
he puts the box down on the bed beside you, glad to have an excuse not to look you in the eyes as he kneels down in front of you, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it over the chest at the foot of the bed before carefully taking the leg you've been sparing into his hands and examining it. not too bad, he decides as the box opens and he fishes out everything he needs, just in a very awkward place. you shouldn't be moving your foot too much as you'd most likely just keep it agitated, not allowing the wound to close properly if it doesn't get any rest. and knowing you…
"how did you manage this?" he says with a scoff.
you shift on the mattress, no doubt trying to see his careful hands working the bandage around your ankle and calf with such precision.
"stupid rock exploded too close to me." you murmur, still looking down at him, a fact he's a little too aware of now, feeling your eyes pierce his skin like a million heated needles.
"i— exploded?" he lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows. but that… that may have been the biggest mistake he's made so far with you. because what meets him there is your pretty face illuminated only by the warm glow of the lamp beside you, keeping half of your face hidden in the shadow, but the side that's light? golden. like the sun itself. march has to remind himself to breathe in that moment, replaying the last few seconds of your conversation to himself as if to restart at the last chapter. "what the hell is happening in those mines?"
you chuckle, sighing once he returns to tightening the bandage on your leg. "stuff i neither can nor want to think about right now. it's… interesting down there. full of wonders. oh, and—" you reach into your pocket and take out a small, but brilliant piece of what seems to be—
march inhales sharply, nearly dropping your leg on the floor. your heel rests on his thigh as his hands fly upwards to cup the item you're handing him. the most incredible, beautiful piece of gold ore he's seen in his life. gold. actual perfect gold ore. the exact size he would need to examine on his desk, too. he takes it from your hand, gulping as your fingers brush against each other, and leans over to the light to get a better view. his breath hits your hand, something he becomes aware mere moments after it happens. his chest is pressing against your legs, face so close to your thighs he can feel the warmth radiating from your body.
he dares not move for a while. even if it kills him.
pretty sure his heart stopped there for a few moments and started again when you cleared your throat and spoke, march pulls away to move from you. he busies himself with putting the rest of the bandages into the box and crawling away to put it back on the shelf, not trusting his legs to work after this.
"so you like it?" you ask, not letting your eyes leave his figure while he's making himself not return the gaze.
"like it?" he scoffs, finally sitting on the floor in front of you. "it's perfect. it's literally in the name. perfect gold ore. i love it."
however, his face drops when that quick mind of his lands on something he doesn't want to think about anymore. was this really for him or was it as fleeting a gift as your smile that morning. he can't believe he's still bothered by it, it shouldn't matter, not when you're right here in front of him, and if he were to look at you properly instead of relying on his peripheral vision, he'd see a softer version of that same curve on your lips, this time just for him.
"well good," you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees as he puts the piece of ore away, "because i had a feelin' you'd like it. love it, whichever. that's the only reason why i went to get it." march tilts his head to the side, raising a brow at you. "what? i really did. knew i should've gone back up to the surface at that point, at least to catch you before you go to the inn but—"
the bed barely has time to creak before march shuts you up with his lips on yours.
his hand is warm, rough, cupping the side of your head almost too tenderly, as if he's afraid you'll melt like a piece of metal on his anvil. his lips are clumsy, trying to give and take at the same time, unsure of what he actually wants to do, but luckily you're moving along with him, letting him try to kiss you with the intensity that he feels in his chest. his breath escapes into your mouth between two very needy kisses, hot and quick, and it takes a second before you're reaching behind his back and tangling your fingers into his hair.
it's hard to stop once he starts, nearly impossible, because you're responding so perfectly. because all of a sudden march's knees are digging into the mattress too, and he's pressing you down into it, caging you between strong arms flexing when he's holding up his weight on them and the knee that's slotted between your thighs. your hands, your damn hands gently go along the back of his head, making his entire body shiver and nearly collapse on top of you. he's barely holding onto the reins his own desire, the beast that's been banging on the inside of his chest for far too long to be contained now, it's demanding to be fed, demanding to get satisfaction between your bodies.
your little moan against his bottom lip almost ends him.
march is almost completely surrendered when you slide his headband off and toss it aside, making space to trail your wandering hands all over his scalp. it's nearly burning up with excitement, but fear as well. fear that he's not doing it right, that he's messing up by being too eager — something he doesn't even know how to stop at this point — but your body arches up into him regardless, and that thought simply evaporates out of his mind.
it feels natural, having your curves pressed against his body, feeling your waist under his callused palm so warm to touch. march never thought he'd get here, feeling your softness and the goosebumps on your sides. but now that he is, he's not ready to part with the sensation.
until you tug on his hair.
and he fucking groans into your mouth.
and you buck your hips upward, rubbing yourself against his thigh.
and he's sinking deeper into this spiral of want.
and sinking.
and losing his mind.
and his lips find your neck, deciding to kiss it just to feel your pulse quicken under them.
driven completely by his body moving before he has time to think, he lowers his body against yours, not completely stopping you from rutting against his thigh, but making it a little harder, in turn feeling your movements against his crotch. he's beyond saving as soon as his hips move as well. rolling with the grace he never knew he had, what may only be described as a desperate rolling of waves one over another, he's breathing hard against your neck, fighting the urge to bite you — as punishment for making him so needy. as punishment for ignoring him. as punishment for being so tantalising with your soft yet strong body and your warm neck and your pretty, pretty moans that have him scrambling to stay alive.
the heat from his body seems to be pooling in his cheeks as well as in his abdomen, that tightness that he's somewhat used to now increasing at least tenfold, overwhelming when he's rolling his hips against you, and he's certain there is only one way this can end. march can't hold it in anymore, he licks a stripe up your neck and bites down, letting himself groan against your wet skin, gripping your pliant body like he needs it to stay afloat. the pleasure is quickly taking over him, taking over any and every molecule of his being that's telling him to pull back, pull himself together, pull away and stay calm. he's done staying calm.
the way you throw your head back might just be his undoing. he's moving faster, chasing after something he thought he shouldn't want while you helplessly lift your hips to rub yourself against his leg like that, moaning and whimpering in frustration, like it's there for you as well — that finish line glowing golden behind your eyelids. march tightens his hold on your waist, lying pressed against you while your fingers tug on his hair. it's right there, he can feel it, if only he can—
the whine that leaves your lips is heavy. he's never heard a sound so powerful, and with a stutter of your hips he knows you've found your peak. the heat is even stronger in his abdomen, he presses a little harder against you, replaying that tight sound in his mind until he's cursing into the warm skin of your neck, bucking his hips like a desperate animal while release takes over him, covers his brain with wool, stuffs his ears with it, until the only things he can feel are the echo of your pleasure in his mind and the cum leaking from his oversensitive cock.
the only sounds in march's room are two breathing patterns intertwined together as you lie trapped underneath him.
somewhat tentatively, your hand leaves the messy strands of his fiery red hair to glide down between his shoulder blades. he shivers at the tenderness with which your fingers touch him, sliding just under the fabric of his shirt to feel the muscles underneath. he should move. he really should. he should get off you and make sure he doesn't catch your leg that should be resting, get cleaned up… should he help you clean up as well? probably, maybe it would be the nice thing to do when he just used your body to get off, even if it is in his pants.
but you just keep… holding him there. not pushing him away, not making him get off you once you got your fill too, so he just tries to… lean into it. he lets go of your waist and instead digs his hands under your body to embrace you and hold you against him. he hasn't done that before, and yet the touch feels familiar. like something he's been craving but didn't know it. like something he might even be able to get used to.
but it soon comes to an end when you squirm underneath him, adjusting your hips so he's not crushing you completely.
"can you… i need to take these off." you request, and it takes him a moment to realise you mean your underwear. oh. he scrambles off you, cursing as he knocks the edge of the bed with his foot, and he helps you sit up. as he stands there in front of you he can hardly look away, not when you pause with your fingers hooked under the waistband of your pants, not when you chuckle and continue the movements anyway, not when he can feel the wet patch on his pants, not even when he gets hard again, only minutes after blowing his load to the feel of you.
"you're just gonna—" he starts, but one look at your smirk only tells him he should be making a move himself.
"are you not gonna give me something to change into?"
he's forgetting where his clothes are, where his mind has gone, where he is. quickly, he grabs the first thing he can reach, a change of clothes that should be okay for you, but there's no way he's letting you walk out of here, at least not tonight. wounded leg and all, of course.
you've already changed into his clothes by the time he decides he probably should've looked away, the blush on his face may as well be permanent, the way it creeps back as soon as he shakes off the dream-like feeling that wraps around his body and mind every few moments. wow, you must think he's some kind of a loser, the way he reacted as soon as you told him you had done something for him just because. and he might be… he very well might be. an absolute loser, who can't think much further than how he's going to do that with you again, get you to touch him like you just did, gently caressing his back like you don't want to ignore him and breeze past him in the mornings.
"come on." you murmur, and he notices that you've already got yourself into his bed.
into it. not on. covered with his duvet, pushing your hair to the side as you lie down on the cold white pillow.
"you want me to—" he points at the empty space behind you, and you wreck him by giggling.
"i'm not going home tonight, march." you say as if it's the most normal sentence in the world. "and i'm not sleeping on the floor. neither are you, come on."
march moves in slow motion.
his steps are a line of half-remembered movements that somehow lead him to the edge of the bed again. he grumbles as he takes his shirt off, throwing it over the jacket on the chest at the foot of the bed, following it by his pants and underwear that he replaces when he turns around to not risk you taking an accidental glance. almost naked, almost completely bare, he slides under the covers and immediately faces away from you, but there's no escaping the feeling of your body so close to him. surely there's no way he got addicted to feeling your touch after only a few minutes… surely, it must be something else, it must be the weather getting into the real autumn mood, the air cooling down enough to where he's going to have to think about wearing actual clothes to bed instead of barely covering himself in order to not soak the sheets with sweat.
then he feels the duvet shake a little as your body shivers.
"what was that?" he murmurs, half turning to your side of the bed. well, his side, but yours for the night.
"what?" you ask, pulling the covers over you a little tighter.
"you're cold?"
"yep."
he sighs, trying to find a way out of this. there isn't a spare blanket, but he could give you more clothes. he's about to get up and hand you some when your hand closes around his.
"come closer."
now a shiver runs down his spine. march turns his head and sees you curled up on the side of his bed, so still, odd when he's used to you fluttering around town always on your way to the next thing. but you're gently pulling him a little closer — and he gives in.
his body slots against yours like a puzzle piece.
march tries not to breathe as he lies down again, his chest pressed against your back, very keenly aware of the softness of your ass against his crotch. still hard. unlikely to go down soon. or ever. you don't let go of his hand, instead leading him to drape his arm over your torso, leaving his palm to just… sort of dangle there. halfway between your navel and your chest, and march knows where he'd rather have it — if he were brave enough, of course. still, he keeps a little bit of distance between his face and the back of your head, just so he's not forced to inhale your scent and get lost in it all over again. it has to get easier, he can't be aware of every heartbeat in these four walls forever.
"you're doing this on purpose," he accuses you, huffing as he flexes his fingers across the slightly uncovered skin of your stomach, "enjoy playing with my feelings?"
your laugh is quick, soft, and completely disarming.
"stars forbid a girl wants some body heat from a cute blacksmith."
march shakes his head, refusing to let the corners of his lips quirk up at that. "cute?"
"aren't you?" he can hear the smile in your voice. you're bold. toying with him like this when he doesn't even know where he stands with you… or even himself.
"shouldn't you tell me that?"
"i wouldn't do this… with just anyone, march." he rolls his eyes at you. "i'll tell you again… in the morning when i'm not as… tired." your voice keeps trailing off, so he knows you must be telling the truth, you're surely about to pass out any second now, what from the exhaustion of mining, what from the drop in adrenaline of… he chases the memory out of his head.
"sure. good night." march closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind of the images of you. you from just a few minutes ago, arching into him seeking release. you from earlier tonight, smiling at him like you're ecstatic to have run into him before he made it to bed. you from this morning, smiling at him — and only him in his head — as you waved and hurried off to find something to gift him. sometimes he feels like an absolute idiot, pining in silence and torturing himself instead of just laying it out there and giving you a chance to accept him as he is — flustered, clueless, and desperately horny for you.
march can feel your breathing slow down as the clock ticks on.
he's already used up his bravery for the day — hell, maybe even a month — but your skin is so warm he can't resist but slowly move his hand until it's resting above your heartbeat. there's something soothing about it, the rhythm even and constant, that makes march's head feel lighter, lighter, lighter as he rests with his eyes closed and finally decides he can let go of consciousness.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
the door to march's bedroom open with a loud creak.
olric stumbles into the room, apologising to the hinges, the floor, the wall, and march takes those few seconds to snap out of the initial panic and… panic even more once he realises you're still in his bed. that wasn't a dream, and he can't have his brother finding out about it, even if he is completely wasted by the sounds of it.
"h-hey march!" he slurs, half-yelling as he holds onto the door frame. "ya missed out! ha, reina mixed sum stuff an' let m' be her guinea pig!"
in a moment of sheer desperation, march tries to cover you up as much as possible, shielding you from view with his body and the covers. your soft, cold hand rests on his forearm where it presses against your neck, and only then does he realise he's got you in a headlock. but… you're not pulling it away. if he could show his reaction to you, he might even be shocked, albeit a little aroused as well, but you're holding his arm like this is the best placement for it.
"what the shit?" march mumbles, louder than intended. thankfully, olric took it as a reply to him.
"he-hey man, tomorrow! you gotta come t'morrow! don't ca— oh damn," he stumbles, barely saving himself from the fall by grabbing onto the door knob, "care if yer stomach hurts you goooootta come!"
you're quiet, march has to give you credit for it, but your pulse is quickening under his forearm, and it's doing something to him. he's getting uncomfortably hard, the bulge in his underwear precisely pressing against your body, the feeling of which is not helping him right now. march can feel your smile widen, the muscles on your cheeks shifting and he reflexively tightens his hold on you, saying this is not the moment. but you've never been one to listen.
with slow, barely there movements, you're lowering your hands under the covers and march has to try and move along with you to not put unnecessary attention to what's really going on in his bed.
"olric, leave me alone, i was just about to fall asleep." march grumbles, loud enough to cover up the sound of fabric being dragged along the sheets. you've successfully taken off the clothes that he gave you earlier. oh he's done for. rock hard and in a pickle, trying to be loud enough for his brother to not hear, but not loud enough to draw attention to his movements. "we'll talk tomorrow, just… let me sleep." his arm flexes against your neck, bicep twitching on your cheek to try and warn you, but you don't stop. instead, you're already shifting, hand reaching behind you to brush against his aching bulge, and he's doing all he can — which is really nothing — to stop himself from bucking into your touch.
he recalls the feeling of your pliant body as he was grinding his hips against you, your hands tugging on his hair, your moans… he needs it all again, but this time he's not sure he could be satisfied with just that. it's a slippery slope, having you here freshly undressed and looking for trouble, because you're already reaching into his underwear, wrapping that cold hand around his cock. his brother is apologising to the door for bumping into it again, but march can't even roll his eyes at it because fuck you feel so good, slowly stroking him so good he's instinctively pressing closer against you in search for more of your warmth. you're so soft, his cock is flush against your ass now and it takes him more self-control than he has available to stop himself groaning against the back of your head.
"you said sumthin?" olric murmurs, finally having finished his conversation with the door.
"no!" march exclaims, too loud, too panicked, "just go…" he can't take it anymore, not with your gentle hand guiding him, your legs parting slightly, your… your damn wet pussy just perfect as he nudges it with his tip when you release his cock. march is so gone, head swimming with desire, with the wish to feel you but also punish you for being such a temptation for him. for making him act like a fool, for making him scramble to make up a believable lie to his brother, for making him panic and try to hold you as close to his body as possible to not get found out, for enjoying his arm around your neck holding you in place.
his reward for holding out this long is just a touch away now, and all march has to do is to angle his hips a little, trying to be inconspicuous and not make a damn noise. it's proving to be more difficult than anticipated, especially when he feels your breath hitch, a dainty little huff against his forearm that he reflexively tightens and groans to cover up the sound of your moan.
"'m gonna go t' bed now," olric announces, to which march can't help but sigh in relief, "but… one more thing…"
march can't do it anymore, he nudges your soft folds apart, olric be damned, and now he finds himself in the warmest, softest dream he's ever had. his arm is tight around your neck, a warning not to be loud, and your hand rests on his forearm, as if grounding you while his cock sinks into you, pushing into your slippery, squishy cunt.
"… i know yer all sulky today because of the farmer not comin' by. 's a little obvious…" olric continues, and march can hardly take in half of his words as he's struggling to stay afloat while your pussy squeezes him as you adjust. "give 'er a break, march… she's doin' her best, so… maybe be nicer to 'er, yeah?"
march breathes heavily against the back of your head, pressing you into his chest as he tries to get enough breath to speak.
"yea. fine." he squeezes through his teeth. "good night."
without another word, but with plenty of stumbling noise, olric closes the door to march's room and leaves you all alone again.
"be…" you start, straining against his forearm, "nicer to me, huh?"
march huffs. you've made it all but easy for him. tonight and all the times before, with your fleeting smiles and offhanded touches, with your gifts and your attention and your goddamn teasing. he moves his hips now, slightly pulling back before snapping them forward like he's been dying to do to you.
"you liked that, did ya?" he grunts into your hair, holding you in place as he takes you like he wants. "liked bein' a menace while my brother was here? liked makin' me work extra hard to be quiet?" his hips snap forward again, this time not giving a shit if you squeal or not… in fact, hoping you do. "or did you wanna get caught?"
the noise you're making has him roll his eyes as your warm walls squeeze around him, making his hips stutter while he's moving them, repeatedly thrusting into you. his anger is bubbling up, frustration growing thicker in the air as he fucks into you, harder, harder, snapping quick punishing thrusts into your cunt like it doesn't matter that his heart is racing. because you will be the end of him with how well you take him. the pulses of your squelching cunt — and now he doesn't give a damn that you're noisy — the tiny little whimpers as your nails dig into his forearm, everything about you screams to him that you're right where you want to be, fucked out of your mischievous mind on his bed.
now, when the danger is gone, when the door to his room is shut, when the creaking of the bed is only between the two of you, he grunts and curses against your ear, baring his teeth as the tip of his cock hits a beautiful spot in you, the spot that has you whimpering into the darkness.
march really has no idea what he's doing. all that his mind and body are agreeing upon is that he simply has to keep fucking you as long as you're making those sounds and clenching around his shaft like that. and for now, that's all he needs to keep him thrusting. the symphony of your choked little breaths and stuttered curses keeps his rhythm steady, keeps his mission clear even when his brain is chock-full of static, the electricity sparking in the code of your name.
it's infuriating, the power you have over him, how he wants to have you even when you're doing your best to bring him down to his knees like he was mere hours ago when he wrapped your leg in bandages, to make him flustered like every time you say hi in that stupid giggly tone that leaves him stunned for a full minute.
a harder thrust, a higher pitched whine. he's enjoying turning the tables on you, now you're the one who can't even form a word that doesn't sound like his name, you're the one blushing and begging and tightening with every pointed thrust of his thick cock into your spongy walls, like you're trying to keep him there forever. oh how it feels to have the higher ground now, he grazes the shell of your ear with his teeth, just as he feels the pressure in his abdomen get impossible to handle without breaking into pieces. he won't choke you any tighter, though you sound like you're exactly where you're supposed to be — on the precipice of pleasure with him stuffed inside you.
"f-fuck march i'm gonna—" the sweetness of your moan mixed with the filthy slapping sound of his hips on your flesh makes for a concoction that march will never be able to get out of his head.
he shakes out of a haze at your words, gritting his teeth against the side of your head. "yeah? fuck… you're that filthy are you? getting off to me puttin' you in a headlock?" he struggles to taunt you any more, being so damn close himself. he's losing the thread, all the words he wants to say just turn into a long string of fuck please please need you in his mouth. your soft hand leaves its place on his forearm, reaching down between your legs to rub little circles on your swollen clit, something he heard felt good from juniper's countless tipsy lectures at the inn. seems like something actually stuck in march's head, because he's feeling the effects of your movements in the fast fluttering of your perfect pussy around him.
march is so close to tumbling over the edge with you when your entire body shudders and he feels his cock get coated in slick, warm release, fucking you through it all. you're moaning more softly now, all satisfied as you pulse for him, curses slipping from your lips like praises. he groans one last time as you squeeze around him and pulls out reluctantly, keeping his cock between your warm thighs as he thrusts between them, whispering nonsensical babbles and finally… finally letting go. orgasm wrecks him like a carriage, knocking him sideways as you squeeze your thighs together and his tip spills pearlescent white cum between them. he fucks your thighs all through it, stuttering in his rhythm as he feels more and more weightless, loosening his arm around your neck.
everything goes quiet.
save for your heartbeats.
there's no other sound that echoes in march's head, no other distraction from the feeling of your soft, sweat-slicked skin against his. he flexes his hand, until then tightly balled into a fist, and glides it down your torso, almost as if making sure you're really there and it hasn't been a sick trick of his imagination. your breathing gets a little deeper once your neck is free of the pressure of his forearm, and it takes only a few moments for your hand to reach his, resting atop his rough palm. it's no longer cold like it was when you reached for him to come closer, now it feels like comfort.
march is not thinking clearly. he presses his lips against your bare shoulder, instinctively trailing kisses up to your neck like he knows on some level it would beat with the rhythm of your heart and he would be able to tell that you don't regret this. he needs to know you don't regret this.
"march…" you begin, and he freezes. "not to be a pain, but… i don't wanna lie in a puddle of your cum."
he blinks the haze away, then blinks again, registering what you said. "my…"
"march—" you snicker, body shaking against his chest while his hand rests on the top of your thigh, gently squeezing, not even realising he's doing it. damn, the way you say his name in the bliss of pleasure does damage to his heart, stabbing it with arrows adorned with feathers of your voice, devastating him to the point he wants to make you cum again, and again, if anything just to hear that noise again.
"right… sorry." he pulls back, gasping as his softened cock slips from between your thighs, slick with your release. "but i'm not doing that now."
he can tell you're about to protest, but before you get the chance he grips you tighter and flips you over his body to the other side of the bed where you land unceremoniously, holding onto his forearms. once you're settled again, he pulls you into his chest, warm like you never left. like an overgrown cat, reluctantly accepting affection, he glides his other hand up and down your side, in what seems almost unconscious movements. it feels nice under his fingertips, though, the softness of your skin so different from the tools he is used to.
"gross." you wrinkle your nose and he really can't care less about the puddle currently drying on the other side of the bed.
"you're gross." he murmurs through what can maybe even be classed as a smile. a sweet, soft little curve of his lips as he buries his face into the back of your head. at least until the morning.
march doesn't think about what will come after. not about the explanation for why he's keeping olric staring at something on his desk while you take the chance to sneak out of the house, not about the annoying wash he will need to do to clean the sheets, not even about how the hell he will be able to function around you knowing about what you did tonight. instead, he thinks about tonight, not about tomorrow. all of that will happen at some later point, after he's done taking this moment and finally understand that he is special. at least a little bit. at least to you.
♡ if you enjoyed this, consider leaving a like, reblog, or a comment. interaction helps keep your writers motivated! also, feral or any other comments keep me giggling and kicking my feet, and you really want to do that i think.
♡ dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/cursed-carmine
⁺₊⋆ @pixelcafe-network
Synopsis: That General who is so full of himself, who never misses a chance to put you into your place. And you? A hot-headed nurse with outstanding tactical abilities and a big mouth. What can possibly go wrong?
Warnings: enemies to lovers y'all, why is it always the side characters on this blog 😭 language, injuries, heated kisses hehehe
You never thought you’d end up here - stuck in the middle of the Imperial Palace’s tangled web, tasked with not only saving lives but also becoming a strategic advisor in matters of war. Did you even dare to dream of taking in this role at the palace?
Not once.
Despite being the head nurse of the Imperial Army’s medical corps, your knowledge stretches far beyond medical healing. You’ve studied the anatomy of war, how to break down the enemy’s tactics, and how to keep the army fighting even when the odds seem overwhelming.
After all, your father was a general himself before he found his own end on the battlefield, leaving you behind with nothing but the knowledge you’ve gained from his mission reports and books.
To be honest, the anatomy of the body and war never differed that much to you anyway. It took you no effort to catch attention by the medical corps of the Imperial Palace by a very young age, to outshine even some of the doctors and Generals with your expertise.
But Gao Basen, the General of the imperial forces, refuses to acknowledge any of this.It’s not that he’s rude. No, Basen is far too well-mannered for that. He simply doesn’t take you seriously.
To him, you’re just a nurse, someone to bandage wounds, prepare medicines, and keep the soldiers on his trenches alive. The fact that you have a better understanding of battlefield strategy than most generals seems lost on him.
Every time you try to offer a suggestion, he dismisses it with a wave of his hand.
“Stay out of this, nurse,” he barked at you during one of the many operations you’ve been forced to collaborate on.
His tone wasn’t unkind, but it carried that arrogance that made you want to punch him in his oh so perfectly-shaped face.
“Leave the tactics to us.”
That was before the rebellion reached its peak, though. Now, the battlefield is everywhere - the palace, the streets, even the walls of the very city you swore to protect. The emperor’s will is being challenged, and General Gao Basen is leading the charge.
Well, at least he thinks he does.
The first real test of your worth comes when the emperor orders a new assault on a rebel refuge. The battle is expected to be brutal, and the medical corps is rushing to prepare under your command.
But even in the chaos, you’re needed beyond your station. You, who can read a battlefield like a map, who understands how to turn the tides of war by just knowing where to place your forces and where to strike, are called in to offer strategy.
Oh, you know a certain someone who will be absolutely fuming about this.
“You’ve all seen the plan,” Jinshi states, voice cool and collected, his eyes flicking between the generals and advisors gathered around the table.
“But we have little time. I’d like to hear your thoughts, head nurse.”
You take your place at the table, your gaze meeting Basen’s across the room while you’re barely able to hold yourself together. He looks at you, his face unreadable, but his posture stiffens ever so slightly. It’s as if he’s already decided you don’t belong here, as if the sheer fact that you breathe the same air as him almost drives him over the edge.
What a sight.
Ignoring him with that feeling of satisfaction filling you to the brim, you pull a map towards you, running your finger along the terrain.
“We need to utilize the terrain to our advantage,” you begin, your voice steady and confident.
“The rebels have set up in the valley, but there are high ground positions on the left and right. We could use those as staging points for a two-branched attack while simultaneously sending a smaller unit to flank from behind.”
One of the generals gives a soft grunt of approval. Except for Basen, everyone silently acknowledged you a long time ago.
“But what about the cavalry?”
“That’s where we’ll hit them hardest,” you respond quickly, already sketching the next steps on the map.
“The cavalry has been spread too thin. A concentrated effort here”, you point to a key point on the map, “will take them out before they can reinforce.”
For a moment, there is silence. You’re aware of Basen’s gaze on you, the sharpness of his eyes, the way his jaw tightens. You know he doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like you in the war room at all. You, a feisty woman, nothing but a nurse in his eyes. But the others are nodding, murmuring their agreement. Even Gao Shun, the general who raised Basen, looks at the map thoughtfully, his hands resting on the table.
“This could work,” he remarks gruffly.
“But what if the enemy has hidden reserves?”
You smile a little, the answer already forming in your mind. As if you didn’t already think about that beforehand.
“We keep a unit in reserve, hidden by the eastern ridge. If we’re caught in a trap, they can flank and assist us from behind.”
Finally, Basen speaks, his voice cold and cutting.
“You’ve had a lot to say for a nurse. I’ll admit, you know your battlefield tactics, but I’m still in charge of the military strategy.”
You don’t flinch, even though his words sting. After all these years of assisting him while watching him take on the role of a General, this is everything he has to say about you?
“I’m simply offering suggestions, General Gao Basen,” you remark, your tone calm and composed.
“I don’t need your approval.”
Thick anger rises up your veins before you can stop it.Who does he think he is? That son of a high-ranked General who never had to work as hard as you. What does he know about you, your status, your abilities?
A long silence follows before Jinshi speaks up, his voice laced with amusement.
“It seems we’re in agreement. Let’s put it into action.”
The battle rages on in your pounding ears. The rebel forces are relentless, and the wounded are going to the roof. As the battle shifts in your favor, the injured flood in, and you’re forced to treat one soldier after another, your hands moving quickly, efficiently, but your mind on edge. You can feel the heat of the conflict seeping into the very walls of the palace - this is more than just a rebellion now. It’s a war for survival.
In the midst of the chaos, Basen is everywhere. His presence is a force of nature on the battlefield, his commanding voice cutting through the fog of war and the walls of your tent. You can’t help but peak through the curtains, to watch him from afar.
That smug bastard. He moves with precision, taking down rebels and barking orders, his form a living testament to his father’s iron rule.
But even someone like Basen can be overwhelmed.
You’re in the middle of stitching a soldier’s gash when you hear it - a scream, followed by the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground. Your heart skips a beat, and your eyes snap to the scene unfolding before you.
There he is.
Basen, bloodied, injured, and holding his side where a deep wound has opened. He’s trying to walk, but the blood pouring from him makes it clear he can’t keep going much longer. His men rush to help him, but he punches them away, his teeth gritted in pain.
You barely register the distance between you before you're already on the move, pushing through the chaos to reach him out of instinct.
“Basen!” you shout, voice cutting through the noise.
He looks at you with cold, narrowed eyes.
“I don’t need your help. And it’s General Gao Basen to you,” he grunts, his voice a low snarl as he stumbles slightly, trying to steady himself.
You ignore the words, rushing to him and pulling him toward the nearest medical station.
“You’re bleeding out, Basen! Let me treat you, idiot!”
Your hands are already at his side, but he jerks back, glaring at you with all the stubbornness and pride you’ve come to expect from him.
“I told you,” he snaps, voice sharp as a whip, “I don’t need a nurse to patch me up. I’m not some weakling who needs tending to. And if you call your General an idiot one more time, I’ll make sure you’ll get punished.”
His refusal and harsh words sting like they usually do, but you don’t let it show. Not now, not when he might bleed out in front of your very own eyes if you continue standing there.
“You’ll die if I don’t treat you, Basen!” you reply, frustration boiling over, your hands gripping his arm to keep him in place.
He recoils violently, his face flushed with anger.
“I don’t need you to save me,” he growls, his breath ragged.
“You think I care about your medicines and bandages? You think I’m some soldier who needs to be babysat?”
“Stop acting like a damn fool!”
The words fly out before you can stop them, the tension that’s been building between you both finally snapping.
“You’re not unshakable, Basen. You can’t fight everything on your own.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to walk away again. But instead, he takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. His eyes flicker with something dark, something intense, before he takes a step closer to you.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous.
“To always be expected to be perfect. To always have people looking to you for answers. To be the one everyone depends on and never let down. I can’t… I won’t be weak.”
The raw emotion in his voice hits you harder than you expect. You take a step forward, your hand reaching out almost instinctively to touch his arm, to comfort him in the way you know how - by offering your help, by showing him that you care, that you’re not judging him.
But before your fingers can make contact, Basen moves. His hand shoots out, gripping your wrist tightly, and with a sudden, jerking motion, he pulls you closer.
The shock of his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. You look up at him, his eyes wild, burning with frustration, with something else.
“I don’t need your pity,” he hisses, but his voice wavers for just a second.
You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Basen pulls you the rest of the way toward him, his lips crashing into yours with a force that leaves you breathless.
It’s hot. It’s furious. His mouth is demanding, his kiss claiming, as if he’s trying to drown the fury and frustration he feels inside, trying to lock it all away in this moment.
You’re too stunned to move at first, the shock of it all coursing through your veins.
But then, instinct kicks in.
You kiss him back. You’re not sure what drives you. Anger, desire, or the way his entire body is shaking with unexpended emotion? But it doesn’t matter. There’s no turning back now.
His hands tighten around you, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you, his heartbeat loud in your chest as his grip on your wrist shifts to your waist.For a moment, all the anger, all the long lived hostility between you, melts away.
It’s just him, just you, the heat of the battle fading into the background as his kiss deepens, becoming more desperate, more primal. You pull away just enough to breathe, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears. His face is inches from yours, and his breath is just as ragged as yours.
You…hate him, don’t you? You always hated Basen with all of your heart. Hated the way he looks down at you, hated his cold gaze, hated how he always urged to be in charge, to be the one in control. Gao Basen is the epitome of all the things you have, and yet…
“Don’t ever… do that again,” you whisper, your voice shaking.
You can’t tell if you’re angry, confused, or something else entirely, but your chest feels tight, as if your breath is trapped beneath his hands.
Basen doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans his forehead against yours, his voice a low rasp.
“I don’t know what this is. But I can’t stand seeing you with anyone else, not even with Master Jinshi. Can’t stand you not being by my side, can’t stand you putting yourself on display for danger almost every single day… can’t stand it…”
You don’t know what to say to that. You don’t know how to respond to the confession that feels raw and completely out of place in this moment. Instead, you step back, shaking your head slowly, even as your heart races faster than you can understand.
“You’re an idiot,” you murmur, but there’s no real heat in your words anymore.
You’re too confused, too overwhelmed to be angry. Was all of this just a dream? Those words, the desperation in his gaze?
No.
You shake your head ever so slightly, eyes shifting to the gaping wound on his side.
“And I’m still treating that wound.”
Basen’s eyes narrow, his pride not letting him fully back down. But there’s a shift in his look, a flicker of something deeper, something softer that you can’t quite place.
“You’re stubborn,” he mutters, his voice still rough.
“And you’re insufferable…kissing me in the middle of the battlefield like that…”
Seeing Basen in uniform for the first time reader.exe has stopped working
Pairing: Basen x fem!reader
Word Count: 1,8k
Synopsis: You've seen him casual, dressy, serious as usual , even half naked. But seeing him in the armor of the forbidden army.
Warnings: this is hilarious y'all, I love Basen, just imagine their faces in the end I'm dying
You know something’s off the minute you catch a glimpse and the flying lights outside. Out of instinct, you get up from your futon and wrap yourself up in a random yukata you find nearby as fast as possible.
Oh, you waited for this day way too long by now. The day master Jinshi finally springs into action and reveals his true colors, the day you get your friend back. Is Maomao doing alright, will it be too late when they finally get there?
The cold air of the night hits you like a wall, but you couldn’t care less. You have to find Gao-Shun or Basen, look out for something you can do, something you can help with. After all, Maomao is your only true friend within the lonely walls of the inner palace, the only one who understands how messy being the personal servant of master Jinshi can be – even though she doesn’t know how much yet. You just have to help, you just have to be useful-
“(y/n)? What are you doing out here all alone and without a coat? You’ll get cold walking around like that.”
Suddenly you forget how to exist. Within the split of a second, your usual fussy mouth goes dry like the desert, your eyes widen despite the torch he holds straight into your face. You can literally feel the heat rushing up your cheeks, your pulse spiking in a truly concerning way.
There he stands, the boy you know since childhood. You’ve seen him wearing his civil servant uniform, somehow casual robes, his training gear, but never in your life…
You’ve never seen him wearing the full guard armor of the forbidden army. The way the breastplate and shoulder guards hug is already tight muscles even more, how well those few strands of hair frame his oh so serious face.
“What is it with men wearing uniform…,” you mutter to yourself while soaking up every last bit of his appearance.
To be honest, you were more than keen to see Basen as nothing more than a friend, a pain in the ass created by Gao-Shun to annoy you every single minute of your life. But the older you get, the more you start seeing him in a completely different angle. The more you look at him, the more you actually like what you see.
Just like now.
Basen tilts his head slightly, squinting at you with a mix of confusion and concern, his torch flickering shadows across the angles of his face.
“You’re flushed,” he comments, stepping forward without hesitation.
“Are you feverish?”
No, but I might be dying of something else entirely, you think, heart practically punching your ribs from the inside.
“I—I’m fine,” you stammer, clutching the yukata tighter around your body as if that’ll somehow keep your composure from unraveling completely.
He frowns, not convinced. Typical Basen. Typical “I know everything better than everyone anyway” behaviour.
“It’s the middle of the night,” he mutters, voice quieter now, more serious.
“You shouldn’t be out here. The palace is crawling with patrols, and… it might not be safe soon.”
You catch the faintest glimpse of something in his expression. Not the usual frustrated patience he reserves just for you, but something heavier - tense. There’s something going on, and it’s not just about Maomao and the stinging fact that he’s wearing that damned uniform.
Oh god, that uniform.
“Then let me help,” you blurt out in a desperate attempt to punch some mind back into your brain.
“You know I can be useful. I’ve trained, I’ve studied. I... I can’t just stand here and do nothing.”
I can’t just stand here and think about what you might look like without that uniform.
Basen breathes in sharply, clearly caught off guard by your sudden twist of behaviour.
“Listen, I know you’re a decent fighter, but this isn’t a game. There are lines. Orders. Even Jinshi-”
“Damn the orders, Basen!” you snap, louder than intended, surprising even yourself.
His eyes widen slightly, and you see something shift, something crack through that soldier mask he’s worn ever since Gao-Shun dragged him into the royal machinery.
He moves fast. One step forward and he’s right in front of you, towering slightly, his armor glinting in the low firelight.
“You’ll freeze,” he mutters again, softer now, and then, to your disbelief, he shrugs off his outer cloak and drapes it over your shoulders without waiting for permission.
The warmth of the fabric is nothing compared to the warmth of his hands when they linger just a second too long on your shoulders.
You don't breathe.
You can't breathe.
Basen is standing too close. His armor smells faintly of iron and smoke and something uniquely him, something clean and grounding like pine bark after rain. His face is calm, impassive, focused on your wellbeing like he’s been trained to be. But you? You’re spiraling.
His hand brushes the side of your neck as he adjusts the cloak and your knees very nearly give out.
You silently curse the gods, the empire, the armor, and his unreasonably shaped shoulders.
He finally steps back, seemingly satisfied that you're not about to drop dead of hypothermia in the middle of the courtyard.
“There, that’s better.”
No. It is absolutely not better.
You’re flushed from your ears to your toes, cheeks burning in a way that no winter night could ever explain. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing since he called your name, and every time you blink you see him standing there in that uniform. The fitted breastplate. The precise lines. The way his hair is half pulled back, framing the sharpness of his cheekbones like he was plucked from a painting of a war hero and dropped right into your unfortunate love life.
You’re not even thinking intelligible thoughts anymore. Just a string of curses, embarrassing daydreams, and internal screaming.
He doesn't notice.
Of course he doesn’t.
Basen, brilliant soldier, deadpan expert, emotional wall since age twelve - he just nods once and says, “I’ll find Maomao. Go back inside. It’s safer.”
You force a nod, trying to look brave and competent and not like you’re currently writing mental poetry about his chestplate.
He turns, footsteps heavy against the stone, torchlight throwing long shadows as he disappears into the dark.
And you just stand there. Dumbstruck. Cloaked in his scent. Still red in the face.
Bonus:
You’re gone when Basen returns—off on an errand, apparently, or avoiding him like the plague, which is fair. Since your stinging question about his wellbeing was answered positive, the embarrassment started creeping right back in.
He doesn’t think much of it.
Until Gao-Shun levels one of his dad stares at him across the table.
“What?” Basen grumbles, sitting down to remove his boots.
Gao-Shun sighs through his nose, the way he does when he’s halfway between disappointment and secondhand embarrassment.
“You really didn’t notice, didn’t you?”
“Notice what?”
“The way she looked at you. Last night.”
He gives Basen a long look.
“In full uniform.”
Basen pauses, brow furrowing.
“She was cold. I gave her my cloak.”
“She looked like she was going to pass out.”
“She said she was fine.”
“She lied, you idiot. She was blushing so hard she could’ve heated the whole palace.”
Basen blinks. A beat. Two.
“She…what?”
Gao-Shun leans back, all dry amusement now.
“Maybe next time, wear the uniform less often. Or more. Depending on your goals.”
Basen sits in stunned silence, brain finally connecting dots it’s never bothered to examine before. The sharp words. The nervous stammering. The way you looked like your soul left your body the moment he showed up.
“…I gave her my cloak,” he mutters again, like it’s somehow the most intimate gesture known to mankind.
Gao-Shun doesn’t even try to hide the amused huff that escapes his nose.
That’s when the shoji door slides open.
And chaos starts to reach its peak.
“Ah, speak of the devil,” Gao-Shun says without turning his head.
You step into the room with master Jinshi by your side, arms still tucked inside that very same cloak Basen wrapped around you last night - big, warm, his. You freeze the moment you see them, your foot half-raised, halfway through a greeting that promptly died in your throat.
Three pairs of eyes land on you.
Basen stiffens so hard he looks like someone dropped an arrow down his backplate.
Gao-Shun just calmly takes a sip of tea like he’s watching his matchmaking efforts unfold in real time.
And then-
“Oh my.” Jinshi grins like a fox let loose in a henhouse, folding his arms as he leans ever-so-casually against the nearest beam like the two of you didn’t just enter the room together.
“Is that Basen’s cloak? How… intimate.”
You feel the blood drain from your face and then immediately flood back in with double the force. No, he can’t be serious about that. What on earth is Master Jinshi revering to? And why now? With him sitting right there?
“Excuse me?!” you manage, eyes wide in horror.
“It was cold!”
Basen abruptly stands up - too fast, nearly tripping over his own boot which is more than unusual for him.
“She was cold,” he blurts out, expression full deer-in-the-torchlight now.
“It was…I gave her the cloak, she didn’t…it’s not…”
Jinshi raises an elegant eyebrow.
“You mean you voluntarily gave her the cloak off your back? How noble. How selfless. How... very telling.”
“I hate everything happening right now,” you mumble into the collar of the cloak, which for some godforsaken reason still smells like him.
“I hate all of you.”
Gao-Shun chuckles under his breath.
“Well, at least now it’s mutual confusion.”
Basen, cheeks slowly turning red for once, dares to look at you.
“You…you really looked like you were going to pass out?”
You glare at Jinshi, who is still grinning like he’s watching the juiciest court drama unfold live. Who of these two traitors spied on the two of you the night before Basen left?
“I was fine. Just... warm.”
Jinshi tilts his head oh so innocently.
“From the gesture or from the uniform?”
You choke on your own saliva.
Gao-Shun puts his cup down.
“Basen, next time, try actually talking to her before dragging her into a political storm and a romantic crisis.”
“I wasn’t- it wasn’t-!”
Nope, that’s more than you can take. You turn around and march right back out the door, shouting over your shoulder: “I’M RETURNING THIS STUPID CLOAK LATER!”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Basen, breathlessly: “She said ‘later.’”
Gao-Shun and Jinshi answer in unison, dry as sand:
Here's part 2! I’m so sorry for the late update! It’s hard to write smart characters when your brain is fried from work every day.
Lahan x reader fanfic where you are the mastermind behind your clan and Lahan has made it his mission to unravel you and everything about you.
Summary: Navigating your new relationship with Lahan, you try to figure out why you were invited to the La estate. Will you fall for Lahan first or his father's schemes?
Part 1
Divider by @uzmacchiato
"You called for me?"
Your voice rings out as you step into your father's chambers. Hearing the doors close behind you, you turn and let your eyes follow the disappearing figure of the servant who summoned you. It's not until you hear the sound of footsteps fall silent do you make your way deeper into the room.
It’s been a few days since you’ve met with your father in private. You could use the excuse that you'd done it to squash any suspicions of your connection to your father's political activities, but that wouldn't be the full truth. In reality, it’s because Lahan has been a thorn in your side ever since your go game.
Following you everywhere, inviting you to meals and teas, he’s kept a better eye on you than a prison steward. From the moment the sun rose to when the moon glimmers in the night sky, he seems to have made it his mission to keep you busy the entire day. When you do finally gain a moment to yourself, you’re too exhausted to even think about leaving your bed.
And yet, you can’t lie and say you were completely bothered by him. No, these past few days have been the most fun you've had in a while. But you would never admit that to him.
No, doing that would feel like losing.
You find your father sitting at his desk, stacks upon stacks of paper surround him. The moment he senses your presence, his frantic eyes raise from the mess. “Y/n, whan do we do?” he asks, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can sit through another meeting.”
Your eyes soften at him in pity. Walking over to him, you kneel slightly beside his chair, your hand clasping his own to soothe him. “I know, father. You have done so well this past week.”
From this distance, you notice how old he’s grown. The corner of his eyes wrinkles when he looks at you, the frown lines on his face are deeper, and his hair is whiter than not. They are a heavy reminder that he's no longer fit for things kinds of things. A reminder that he should be at home enjoying his retirement, not here as a political puppet.
You mustn't forget why you are here. You mustn't forget your goals.
Keeping your words vague in fear of being overheard, you speak softly to your father. "Don't worry, Father. All will be done soon." You watch as he visibly relaxes at the sureness of your voice. You smile softly at his trust in you. You didn't need to voice your plans out loud to him—he trusted you unwaveringly.
Before leaving, you had pre-emptively organized with your estate that if you were kept at the La estate for too long, a message would be delivered requesting your urgent return.
The message would be delivered to both you and Lakan. However, Lakan's would be delivered first. You found it suspicious how Lakan’s invitation to your father had mentioned that you were welcome to join as well. Yes, you had built a reputation for yourself as someone who clung to their father. But the way he had mentioned your name specifically instead of just ‘daughter’ made you deeply unsettled. You weren’t supposed to be important; Your name shouldn't have been worth remembering. So why did he go out of his way to explicitly mention you?
Was there a hidden objective to this invitation?
You plan on finding out. The first message sent privately to Lakan will reveal his intentions. Will he tell you right away? Or will he withhold the information. Since it would be an urgent request, he has the responsibility to inform your father immediately upon receiving it. However, knowing his insatiable nature, if he’s not yet satisfied with your stay, he may delay your return.
This delay will confirm your suspicions that Lakan had an ulterior motive to inviting you to his estate. But more importantly, the delay will confirm that he hasn't obtained whatever it is that he had schemed for.
If so, then you need to leave immediately. And that’s what the second messenger is for.
Even if Lakan decides to withhold the message, it will reach you anyway. He wouldn't be able to further delay your departure. The excuse would be that since the message was important, they had to be sure it got to you. With a rise in robberies and bandits in-between your territories, your household simply sent another messenger as a contingency plan should the first messenger fail.
You squeeze your father's hand in one last act of assurance. Rising up from your kneeling position, you look towards the window. The messenger should arrive tomorrow. It's time to go home, you think to yourself.
A pair of fox-like eyes flash through your mind.
You shake your head to get rid of the vexing thought. "Y/n?" Your father asks, concern tinting his voice.
"It's nothing," you respond. "I'm just a bit tired, that's all."
The hues of the setting sun shine through the windows and stain your skin pink and orange. The room is illuminated by the warmth of these colours, and it all starts to seem so unreal.
Your father gives you an equally warm smile. "Then please go rest. I'll see you tomorrow.” He pats your hand softly. “Have a good rest, dear."
"As do you, father. Have a peaceful night." You bow your head at your father and make your way out of his chambers. Closing the two doors, you pause for a moment. The palm of your hand rests against the smooth, ornate wood. You close your eyes as you appreciate the gentle breeze that blows through your hair. A soft sigh escapes you as you try to mentally prepare for what’s to come.
"Oh? What a coincidence seeing you here."
And with just that sentence alone, reality comes crashing down on you. The sigh you let out this time is more exasperated. You slowly turn around to greet the owner of the honey voice.
"Lahan-sama, good evening. What brings you here?" You say politely with an overly curated smile.
Standing a few steps away from you is the man you thought you got a break from today. With his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes carry a hint of mischief. "Ah, I was just taking a stroll. Care to join me?"
Ok, maybe more than a hint.
You can't help but roll your eyes at him. You should be concerned about maintaining your image, but the thought that this might be your last meeting spurs something in you.
"Is that your wish, Lahan-sama?" You ask, the corner of your mouth pulling into a small grin.
He responds in kind. "If I said it wasn't, would you still join me?"
"Who knows?" You retort, playfulness twinkling in your eyes.
At that, Lahan couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. His head shakes in a way that appears fond. "Well, it's not my wish but if you join me, maybe I'll tell you," he says, tilting his head in a way that makes him resemble more like a puppy than a fox.
You pretend to be pensive. But even you knew there was only ever going to be one answer you’d give him. "Hmmm, that’s quite an interesting proposition.”
You move to walk towards him, enjoying the way his eyes follow you. You let your arm barely graze his as you pass him. Your head peers back playfully, “lead the way."
Lahan laughs once again as he steps towards you. He offers his arm, and you take it—allowing him to guide you out of the guest’s wing. The warmth of his arm comforts you as well as his faint scent of something woody and fresh. Glancing up at his face, you can’t help but be enamored by the way the sun melts into his skin. From this walk, from this distance, from the easiness of it all, you start to forget about your nerves for the day to come.
"Well, will you tell me the real reason why you came to my father's chambers?" You ask after a moment of comfortable silence.
"Hmm?" He hums as if he was lost in thought. "Oh yes, it's because I heard you were asking for me,” he continues.
You narrow your eyes at him in response. You never asked for him, though? Unless... oh. He must be talking about the guard you had ordered to spy on him. Seems like you've been busted.
You needed to make sure he hadn’t done anything with his new knowledge. You thought that he’d use your secret against you like how he’d done countless of times to others. Yet, contrary to your beliefs, he hadn’t done anything with your secret. Maybe he’s just waiting for the perfect time to strike.
You scoff. "More like asking about," you mutter under your breath.
"Same difference," he says with a shrug. "Why ask a guard when you can ask the real deal? If you're so curious about me, I could always answer your questions," he says, his eyes gleaming. "But off course for a small price," he says, rubbing his fingers together.
"And how much more are you trying to take from me?" You let out an amused huff in disbelief at his greed. He already has his wish to use, and now he's asking for more?
His pace falls slightly. "I'd take everything, if I could," he confesses casually, words falling out as easy as a breath.
Heat floods your ears, and you can't help but stare incredulously at him. You turn your eyes away from him, raising your sleeved hand to hide your face. You start to pull away, but his other hand goes to rest on top of yours, keeping your arm linked into his. If anything, he pulls you closer, his body now facing yours. His head tilts down to yours, his eyes focused on your face.
"Don't move."
You look at him, confused and embarrassed at his random command. Your hand falls for a moment as you watch his eyes roam your face.
"Interesting,” he says. He lifts his finger slowly and gently caresses your cheek, moving a stray strand of hair to the side. “I thought I only enjoyed your cunning look, but this is equally enjoyable." His shifts his hand to palm the side of your cheek.
"So, red." His gaze flickers down a little too low and long for your liking. "I wonder how low it goes."
"You!" You immediately pull yourself from him. Marching away from him as quickly as you can, you press your hands to your cheeks to try to cool them.
You start to walk a little faster when you hear Lahan's bright and carefree laughter behind you. "Haha, sorry, I- wait! Come back here!" His smile is radiant when he catches up to you.
"You scoundrel," you say annoyance coating your voice, although fondness seeps through. "I'm returning to my chambers," you tut.
At least he has the gall to look a little apologetic. "Please, at least let me escort you back," he says with a lilt in his voice.
You don't respond to him, but you don’t hasten your pace either. He stands tall beside you, walking with his hands clasped together underneath his sleeves respectfully. Although he is now a respectful distance away from you, you can feel his eyes land on you every once in a while.
They were curious eyes. Eyes that seem to be tracing every part of you, as if committing them to memory. You want to speak up, but you're afraid your embarrassment at his devoted attention would show.
The sun is fully set by the time he escorts you to your door. You turn to face him before entering your chambers.
"You've promised me something."
"Oh, have I?" He lilts with his head tilting towards you.
"Here's the part where you tell me your wish," you respond, arms crossed in front of your chest expectantly.
His smile is crooked when he speaks. "I only said maybe, didn't I?" With one hand, he slowly unfurls yours from your guarded stance and brings it to his lips. His kiss against your knuckle is tender and chaste.
"This is the part where I bid you goodnight, Lady y/n. " He says sweetly, the softness of his eyes contrasting their sharp shape.
Your mouth curves into a small smile. “Fine, I'll let you off this time." Letting your hand fall from his, you open the door and step into your room. Hugging the door before closing it, you give him one last mischievous smile. "But only this time."
The laughter that responds is melodic. It makes your heart sing. "I won't take your generosity for granted," he says with shining eyes.
"Goodnight, y/n.”
"Goodnight, Lahan."
The morning cold bites at your skin as you lean against your window the next day. The sun has barely risen, but the sky has already shifted into a brighter shade of blue and yellow. The only ones awake are a few servants who sluggishly move through the halls to start their tasks.
Closing your window, you sit back down on your bed. It will take another hour or two for your servants to come and prepare you for the day. Too anxious to fully lie down, you simply wait and listen to the sound of chirps from the morning birds. If all things go according to plan, the message should be delivered any minute now.
And yet you hear nothing. You don't hear the scurrying of feet outside your room or the sound of alarmed voices. Even after you've been dressed and served breakfast, there is no disturbance in the peaceful morning.
Your heart starts to thump against your ribs when your second meal is served to you. No one has come to talk to you at all. Not your guard, not your father, not even Lahan. The stillness of it all is driving you up the wall.
Did your plan fail? There's no possible way that one of your most trusted messengers had failed to deliver your message on time. Surely, this must mean that Lakan has received the message and has chosen to hide it. But then, why hasn’t your messenger given you the signal that he's delivered the message already? If he made contact, a servant was supposed to serve you a special tea that's only unique to your territory. Your messenger would give it to them in the guise that your estate had sent it because you must've missed it during your time away.
But the tea they have given you is merely green tea.
Looking up at the young maid assigned to you, you ask her if there were any other teas. She looks at you for a minute before listing out all the tea leaves at the estate with no mention of receiving anything from your messenger.
Something is wrong.
You thank her, and it’s not until she leaves your chambers do you realize how tightly clenched your fists are under the table.
You breathe in and out slowly. You are not going to stumble just because a few things aren't going to plan. No, you're better than that.
You get up from your chair and immediately slip out of your room without alerting the guards. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and the feeling in your gut is making you increasingly uneasy. You must go to your father at once and see if he has any updates on the situat-
"In a rush?"
That sing-song voice stops you in your tracks. Your heart flies to your throat as you come to a halt.
Slowly turning your head to the side, you see the La Clan member you wanted to avoid the most. The one who puts you on edge by his mere presence.
"What a coincidence, just as I was about to go see you," Lakan smiles eerily at you.
The sudden sense of déjà vu doesn't help the disorientation. Your heart is too rapid, and your senses too heightened to calm down. With closed eyes, you breathe in a deep and long breath before you turn and bow at the head clan member.
"Good afternoon, Lakan-sama," you begin, your arms raised in front of your face in an act of respect and fealty. You don't dare to raise your face in the fear that he'll see how shaken you are.
"Please, please, don't be so formal. Especially to me!" He says disarmingly, an easygoing facade washes over him. "I just wanted to stop by to see if you'd join me for tea?"
Rising up to your full height, you look at the older man in front of you. Although he is standing a couple of steps below you in the courtyard, his presence is bigger than ever. His smile might be light, but his eyes are focused and solid on your form.
"Or were you heading somewhere?" He asks, his eyes daring you to reject him.
"Oh, how could I refuse?" You say with a cheery smile—even if the true meaning behind those words were more sardonic and accusatory. "I was just heading to my father to see if he was free to have tea with me. Shall I ask him to join us?"
His eyes appear crescent like when he smiles again. "He can join us later." Walking up the steps, he reaches you in no time. He stands in front of you and simply stares down at you. His entire demeanour screams, 'do you have a problem with that?' Your mouth is dry as you look back at him, not one to back down.
Your brain is working overtime as you try to think of what expression you're supposed to give him. Should you pretend to be sad at this and beg him to let your father be with you? Or should you pretend to be surprised and then ask him why? Would he be offended by your quasi-rejection?
As if waiting for a reaction that he doesn't get, he lets out a shallow sigh before turning and heading to his office without so much as another word.
Your eyes widen at his actions, but you know better than to drag your feet. You walk swiftly to fall in line behind him. Glaring at the back of his head, you wished you could read his mind or at least ask him for an explanation.
When you reach his office, his guard opens the door and usher the two of you in. You see him talk to his servant before he gestures for you to take a seat at the table. "Tea will be ready soon."
You nod as naturally as you can before gracefully sitting down on your chair. Without the tea, anyone would mistake this interaction as a meeting. With nothing to hide behind or to distract yourself, you're forced to give your full and undivided attention to the dangerous man in front of you. Looking up at the man seated across from you, you can't help but notice the resemblance. His eyes were just as sharp as Lahan’s, but they held a weight that could only be obtained from age and experience. There was a heaviness that made them appear solemn in some lights. They looked like they were looking through you.
"Is there any reason in particular that you wished to see me, Lakan-sama?" You begin the discussion slowly, your blood thrumming in your veins. "I can't imagine that I'd be an entertaining tea guest."
"I just thought it was about time that we talked." He responds cooly, leaning forward slightly with his hands clasped together on the table. "You seem to be getting along well with my son."
Your blood freezes. Did he tell him? Were you so foolish as to trust him?
"Yes, he's been a kind and generous host."
"Pfft" Lakan chuckles. "I don't know if I'd use those words to describe him. He's a bit on the weird side, but," he continues, "he takes care of what's his with the upmost devotion and respect."
"Right..." you respond unsure, your voice nearly inclining into a question.
Lakan speaks on. "Although, I guess it runs in the family. People like to say our family is a bit eccentric."
Only a bit?
You clear your throat. "Does that bother you?" You ask.
"Should it bother us?" He asks back. "It’s not like they can do anything about it. Judge all they want; they can’t say anything about our results.” He looks a bit sheepish when he continues. "They also never really say it to our faces."
You can't lie and say you haven't heard about the gossip around the La Clan. How they're hard to get along with and borderline crazy. Nonetheless, people still fight tooth and nail just to get a seat at the table with them. Strong and dangerous, they’ve made it so that no one could ever hurt them even if they wanted to.
“I see,” you say cautiously. You’re at a loss for words on how to continue this conversation.
“But you know what else they say about our family?” he carries on, seemingly oblivious to your dry responses. “That we’re strategic, cunning, smart, and competent.” He studies your expression well before he continues. “Do you happen to know someone like that?”
Your heart drops at his question. You clench your hand on your lap as you attempt to hide your reaction. Should you say your father? No, that feels wrong. “Why, I don’t think anyone could ever be on par with your family, Lakan-sama," you respond, deciding flattery was the safest option.
“Well, that’s a shame,” a knock on the door interrupts him. A servant comes bringing tea. “Because I’d love to have them in the family.”
You don’t think much about his statement because all you feel is a sense of relief. You have never been so grateful in your life for someone interrupting your conversation. If only they could remove you from this conversation altogether.
“Oh, that reminds me, I have another matter I wanted to discuss with you.”
You nod your head attentively as you raise your cup to your lips. The fragrance of the tea halts you in your motion.
It was your tea. The tea that the messenger should've given your servant.
Glancing up at Lahan, you're met with a knowing smirk. “But you probably already know what I want to talk about, don’t you?”
Setting down your cup, you rest your hands around it to try to steal its warmth and comfort. “Any important matters should be discussed with my father,” you state flatly, neither agreeing nor denying.
“Why should I do that when he’s going to relay it to you anyway?” He responds, his mouth pulling into a satisfied smile for the first time since this conversation started. Both of you stare at each other, analyzing each other.
“Let’s say that I did know what you wish to speak about.” You begin, slowly giving in to his ploy. “How sure are you that I will give you the answer you want.”
“It’s not you who I’m betting on.”
“Oh? Who is it? My father?”
“Him? I wouldn’t need to convince him to make him do my bidding. I’m just trying to hurry things along”
Hurry? What did he mean by hurry?
"Pardon me, Lakan-sama, but what do you mean by that?"
"Hmm? Well, it's been a few weeks, so I thought by now...uh," he trails on with his sentence unfinished. He looks like he's struggling to find the right words, but even if he did speak again, they would fall on deaf ears.
Did you read Lakan wrong? Has he already found what he needed from you and your father? Did you overestimate his interest in you? The thoughts swirling around your head are only amplified by the sting of disappointment.
“I-I must apologize on behalf of me and my father for overstaying and exploiting your kindness. I wasn't aware that we were taking too much of your time.” You say immediately, bowing your head in reverence. "We will leave immediately."
“Oh no, no, please," Lakan says. "At least allow us to host a farewell banquet tonight.” Lakan waves his hand reassuringly. “We wouldn’t want people thinking you scurried home after a cup of tea now, would we?”
He didn't deny your statement. Oh, how foolish you were to think of yourself so highly.
“Why of course, thank you so much for showing us generosity time and time again.” You lift your head from your bow. “I will tell my father at once.”
With a nod from Lakan, you stand up from your seat but your legs wobble slightly. You feel sick but you mask it by bowing deeply at him again. As you exit his office you hear him call out.
“I look forward to tonight!”
You feel numb when you look at your reflection and watch the servants comb your hair for the banquet. Although you know you should feel beautiful and excited at the way they've done your makeup and adorned you in such finery, you feel repulsed at yourself. Shame flashes through your body at your presumptuousness.
A dreaded thought enters your mind. Were you also reading too much into Lahan’s actions? Or worse, did Lahan lose his interest in you, too? Would he kick you out just like his father after he was done with you? You don’t think you could handle seeing his disinterested gaze or his bored expression directed at you.
After the banquet, you were leaving. There was no room for discussion. Your father tried to reason with you that you should leave in the morning, but when he saw your facade crumble ever so slightly, he closed his mouth and accepted your request.
With a forlorn sigh, you glance back at the mirror, and you nearly jump when you notice another person reflected. Leaning on the wall studying you was Lahan.
He waves his hand dismissively, and the servants bow before leaving the room. You don’t have the heart to turn around and face him.
"What do I hear about you leaving so quickly?" He asks, making his way towards you.
"Quickly? I've been here for more than we initially planned. It's about high time that I return home." You quip back, posture growing more rigid as you anticipate his arrival at your side.
"I heard from my father that it's urgent, but both you and I know that that's a lie." He says angrily as he places his hand down on your vanity. "There's nothing going on in your territory, and you know it."
"There is, or there isn't. It doesn't change the fact that I must go home." You say watching the way his fingers curl on the table. "Besides, it's not like this is goodbye forever. You can always send another invitation," you try to reason, but even to your ears, it sounds like a lie.
At that he scoffs, his hand falls back to his side as he takes a moment to look at you. A silent moment falls, and although you want to see what expression he was making, you keep your eyes forward on the mirror.
"But will you accept it?" He asks, his voice a bit rough and shaken. "I have a feeling that if I let you go now, I won't see you again, will I?"
No you won't.
You've already done more damage to your security than you could imagine. Now that you've revealed your hand to the La Clan, there's no telling what is going to happen to you. The best thing you can do is damage control. Yes, that's why you're running away. Not because you're scared of getting hurt.
He leans towards you, but this time, he approaches you as if you would disappear if he was too haste. He gently lifts your face to face his. "So what can I do to make you stay?" He asks in a way that's tinged with desparation, making your heart squeeze.
The way his eyes searches yours, hoping, begging for you to tell him anything. The way he holds your face as if you're about to crumble, as if you're a delicate porcelain. It's too much for you to handle.
You rip yourself from his embrace, standing up and moving away from him. You don't turn around because you're scared of seeing the hurt across his face.
"And if I told you I want to leave? That it's not the urgent message that's driving me home but my own desires? Will you force me to stay?" You exclaim, your back towards him.
"I know that's not what you want. I know that you want to stay with me just as much as I want to stay with you-"
"There is nothing between us but surface level infatuation." You blow up, interrupting him. "You think you like me, but it's only a matter of time before you get bored of me and move on to the next best thing."
His posture goes rigid. "What?"
"You'll soon forget about me as nothing more than a passing phase. You'll find something else that sparks your curiosity and is worthy of garnering your obsession." You say. "This infatuation of yours is only but a temporary reaction to something new."
His dry laughter makes your head snap to him. "And what makes you think that you know me so well?"
He stalks towards you, and you take steps back until you're pressed to the edge of a table.
"It's not good to rely on conjecture, Lady y/n." He chastises as he places an arm on either side of you onto the table trapping you. "Tell me, have I done anything to support this hypothesis?"
His eyes bear into your soul. "Have I said something? Have I acted in any way that made you feel replaceable?" The intensity of his stare makes your heart quicken.
"No," you say, using all your will to keep your voice from quivering. "But like you said, I'm not so sure that I know you that well. I can't understand what you could possibly want from me?"
Your question hangs in the air for a moment, and you can't pin what kind of expression is on his face.
He leans irrevocably closer to you. His hand moves to rest on the small of your back, pushing you lightly against him. "Before you asked me how much more I'm to trying to take from you," he confesses. "And I don't think you even fathom how much it is that I want."
His eyes are unwavering and strong. "Your quick wit, your sharp tongue, your bleeding heart. How was I supposed to resist?"
Your heart pounds in your ears, and your fingers dig into his sleeves.
"I want to strategize business with you, discuss military movements with you, I want to see your intelligent brain work openly and unrestricted." He lets out a shaky breath. "I want to go on strolls with you, play go with you, I want to hear your sweet laughter."
You almost miss the heat in his eyes when he leans into you. "You've made me insatiable. I have wanted like I've never wanted before," he growls into the shell of your ear. A shiver goes up your spine, and you wonder if he can feel it with the hand that's burning hot on your back.
"To take from or to take, the line is blurring so quickly every day, and I can't decide," he breathes out, his words softly caressing your skin.
He leans back to look down into your eyes. "Oh, how I want to take you," he whispers, eyes half-lidded and full of restrained want. You inhale sharply when you feel his other hand rise to your cheek.
"Tell me," he rasps and his eyes penatrate deep into yours. "Will you let me?" Desperation tinges his voice, making it sound almost like a whine. It sends a fluttering panic throughout your whole body. It roots you in your place even though the adrenaline is urging you to move.
He swallows heavily, quivering lips part once more. "Please?"
That one word alone breaks the thick armored walls you've built up for years. Surging towards him like a moth to a flame, you let yourself burn in his kiss. The sting of his teeth, the heat of his mouth, it's dizzying, it's frantic, it's intoxicating and utterly ridiculous.
You break the kiss for air, but he chases after you again. His insatiable greed suffocates you with desire. The taste of need is intense in your mouth as he explores it like a starved man. Snaking his arms around your waist, you yelp when you feel him hoist you onto the table, pushing himself in between your legs and into your space. It quickly turns into a moan when one of his hands slides down to squeeze your hip.
He's ravenous against you. You feel as if you're drowning in pleasure and his embrace. It's too much and you're starting to get light-headed from the lack of air. You lock one hand into his hair, and the other onto his back, and you pull. You pull with all your strength to get this man off you. With a heated groan, his head finally pulls back with your hand, but his arms still lock your waist in a deadly grip. A grip that says that you're not allowed to leave him even for a heartbeat.
You're panting heavily, gulping for air as if you had been under water for too long. And he watches. He watches with an intense focus, and his head tilted back—hair still gripped in your hand. His eyes are dark and heavy, too busy looking at the way your lips part to realize that he's panting himself.
Your heaving chest flushes against his, and you're caught off guard by the firmness of his body. That slight moment of hesitancy loosens your grip, and he lunges back forward. Your gasps is muffled as he captures your lips in another fiery kiss. All-consuming and hot, something you would've never associated with the meticulous and careful man in front of you. And yet it's everything you've ever wanted.
It takes your whines and more harsh tugs for him to pull away from you again. Although reluctant, he seems to finally comprehend your need for oxygen.
"Sorry," he apologizes, but it comes out breathless and not sorry at all. He probably meant for that to sound sheepish, but with how his eyes fall back onto your lips, you're not so sure he's even trying.
"That's my first time doing something like that," he attempts to explain.
If that was his first time, you don't want to know what his second will be like.
You can't help but blush at that thought. That seems to compell him to lay quick pecks onto your flushed cheeks. You can't help but laugh at his actions. The knot that has been building in your chest finally loosens. You feel his smile against your neck as he kisses you loud and obnoxious. You move your arms to lay your hands on his chest and push him away from you slightly.
The look he gives you is one like a kicked puppy. "We still have the banquet to go to," you say with an easy smile.
He groans out in annoyance and leans to rest his head into the crook of your neck. "It's not like we need the banquet anymore, anyways," he mutters, voice muffled by your shoulder.
"Lahan," you say one more time in a warning tone. "Alright," he says, letting out a sigh before detangling from you. "But I don't think it should be a farewell banquet anymore," he says slyly with a pleased smile.
You smile back at him. "Oh? What should it be then?"
"An engagement celebration, perhaps?" He says, taking your hand in his.
You laugh. "And who says I'm going to marry you?"
"Well, that's my wish, remember?" he says cheekily, bringing your hand in for a kiss. "Will you do me the honours of granting it?"
You roll your eyes at his grandiose scheme. "So you were really set on that since the beginning, huh? You really are a conniving fox."
"I'm taking that as a yes," he says quickly, stealing a kiss before heading towards the door. "I'll tell our fathers then. You, uh-" He blushes, his hand raises to wipe at his mouth. "Stay put. I'll, uh, call someone to help you get ready."
With that, he takes one last longing look at you before exiting your chambers. Confused at his remark, you go to your mirror and see your clothes and make up in complete disarray. Your lipstick has smudged across your skin, and you're showing more skin than you were supposed to in this outfit.
Your put-together image is ruined, and you should be mortified, but you laugh instead. Your body still hums from his heat, and you still feel drunk from his touches.
You plop down onto your bed, gazing up at the ceiling. You can’t help but bring your fingers to your lips.
Your moment of bliss is immediately ruined by a thought.
Summary: You, who has hidden behind a mask for so long, are about to be unmasked. Or, well, Lahan has made it his mission to unravel you and every thing about you.
Notes: I chose the name jiawei for y/n's dad just cuz f/n looks bad. It also means great/powerful family *hint hint*.
Divider by @uzmacchiato
Part 2
There was something...odd about you.
No, odd wasn't the right word to use. Rather... there was something suspicious.
Lahan's first impression of you was that you were a naive fool. When he met you in the company of your father, he simply assumed you were another pawn ready to be used to infiltrate the La clan.
Watching you daze in and out of conversation, he thought you were as air-headed as you were beautiful.
You were.... how should he put it?
Asymmetrical.
An unbalanced problem where you could've been perfect, but you lacked the right components to be a coherent equation.
Of course, before welcoming you and your father, Lahan did his research. You were a widowed bride, returned to your family as a burden. Not someone worthy of his attention.
So why was it that his eyes couldn't help but come back to you? You who sat idly, sipping tea from afar. You who smelt like warm sunlight on a breezy day. Like fresh lemons laying await on the branches. You, the daughter of a complete imbecile of man sitting in front of him.
He nearly groans as he snaps back into the bland conversation he was forced to partake in. Seated beside his own father, he would roll his eyes if he wasn't so vigilant of his image.
Your father, master Jiawei, was the head of one of the top clans. He was the man who supposedly revived his fallen clan back into a powerhouse. He was the strategist who managed to rebuild his territory into an economic stronghold.
And, he is the same man dodging every question thrown his way.
"Ah, today is a beautiful day, isn't it?"
Is this seriously the same guy? Lakan thinks as he feels a vein pop on his forehead.
"That it is, Jiawei-dono!" Lakan responds cheerily, entertaining who Lahan can only describe as a senile old man.
"I would also love to simply stroll around the garden," he drawls on, raising his cup to his lips. "But," a coldness seeps into his voice, "business calls, right?"
A tense pause stretches through the air. Even Lahan can feel the chill of his adoptive father's calculative stare.
"Bahhhh, don't be so stiff, Jiawei-dono. Relax!" Lakan breaks the silence, his carefree demeanour slipping back on as quickly as it fell. "Let's play go after we finish our discussion," he exclaims with a tight-lipped smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Oh no, father's agitated.
Glancing over at Jiawei-dono, he looks taken aback from Lakan's bipolar behaviour. The hand holding his cup of tea shakes slightly, and Lahan can see a bead of sweat starting to form on his forehead.
Jiawei laughs awkwardly before clearing his throat. "Ah yes, of course. We were talking about...uh"
"Opening a trade route between our territories." Lakan finishes for him, the corner of his smile twitching.
Exasperated from the conversation, Lahan unconsciously glances towards the area where you were sitting, only for his eyes to catch yours. You were sitting across the garden, far away from the business talk, underneath a tree with your own tea and snacks. He wonders why you insist on following your father when all you do during these meetings is sit and wait.
You would be better off staying at home, he thinks absentmindedly as he tries to shrug off the weird ache in his chest as your gaze leaves his for the clouds.
"How about we continue this tomorrow?" His father's voice brings him back into the conversation, annoyance now fully seeping out of him.
Smiling in perhaps relief, Jiawei agrees immediately before settling his cup of tea down.
It's not until Jiawei leaves that Lahan lets out a heavy sigh. "What was that?" He huffs.
Running a hand over his face, "god, if I know," Lakan responds. "It's like he's a completely different person from the reports."
Getting up from his spot, Lahan has no doubts his father was going to go laze off somewhere.
"Hey, maybe it'll be better tomorrow," Lakan says with a final dismissive wave.
Yeah, right.
What the hell.
The next day, Jiawei was like a completely different person. His observations were astute, his suggestions were well thought out, and his reasonings sound.
"Yes, your proposal to construct the route here is quite reasonable. However, keeping in mind the geographical terrain and the rising tension between the towns-"
There is no way this is the same idiot as before, Lahan thinks as he wills his jaw to not drop in disbelief.
And yet, the next day and the day after that, Jiawei was acting how Lahan always pictured him to be.
Lahan would've genuinely believed he made up the first interaction if Jiawei didn't slip up every once in a while.
The only moments where Lahan would realize he didn't make things up was when there was a shift in subject. Then, Jiawei would be the same evasive, clueless idiot as before.
"Father, I heard you invited Jiawei-sama to the general's meeting," Lahan says, returning to his father's office after attending to other matters. "Why would you do that?"
Yawning lazily, Lakan responds, "eh, it could be interesting." His father toys with the edge of his paper. "Who knows if the genius will attend or the bumbling bee."
Eyes narrowing, Lahan was trying to understand his father's game. What was he trying to get at? What was his objective?
His thoughts are interrupted by a loud voice. "Sir, permission to enter?" It calls out from behind the doors.
"Yes, enter," Lakan's authoritative voice rings out in response.
A guard enters the room, bowing in respect to the two clan members. "I am here to report the same findings as the previous nights."
Giving his father a questioning look, Lakan ignores him and gets up from where he's slouched. "I see. Let's pay them a visit, shall we?"
Nodding his head, the guard led them out. Following his father, Lahan soon realizes the direction they were heading in. "Father, what is the meaning of this?"
"Well," Lakan began with mischief shimmering in his eyes, "I had our little friend here keep an eye on our guests. And turns out, they've been having nightly tea parties without us."
Nightly? Lakan raises his eyebrows, "has Jiawei-sama been meeting with someone every night? Is it with an informant?"
Him having help every night would explain how he would become so learned. But that would also mean that he was exposing confidential information to an outsider...
Lost in thought at the various implications of the nightly rendezvous, they reach their destination before he even knew it.
"No, no," Lakan chuckles, "it's someone far more impressive."
Opening the door into the guest's chambers, Lakan's guard announces their presence.
"Ah, Jiawei-dono and Lady y/n. What a lovely night for tea."
Sitting across each other at the table, both seem to freeze at their hosts' sudden arrival. Although, Lahan couldn't tell who was more caught off guard. Them, or him at seeing that you were the secret guest in question.
"Oh my, good evening, Lakan-dono and Lahan. What brings you two here so late at night?" Jiawei begins, setting down his cup.
"Ah, I apologize," Lakan says. "I had just come by hoping to play go with you. I had no idea that I would be intruding on your tea time with your daughter."
"Ah, please, no worries. You are not intruding at all," you say with a quaint smile. "If you wish to speak with my father, I can leave." You begin getting up but not before Lakan waves at you to stay where you are.
"No, no, please! I wouldn't want you to leave just because of us!"
"Ah," you begin, hand covering your mouth in a chaste manner, "if you'll have me, then I'd love to stay," you respond, sitting back down.
"Yes, yes, it's not every night that a father can bond with his children," Lakan says slyly. "Although you two seem to be especially close."
Lahan's eyes focus on the way Jiawei's grip around his cup falters slightly before tightening. "You can say that, but my daughter has only come to drink tea and bid me a good night." Jiawei laughs lightly, "it's nothing exceptional, truly."
"Oh, but I see she also brought you some paper!"
At that, Lahan notices the stack of paper on the table beside their tea set. Papers that are not provided by the La estate.
Lakan continues in a jovial manner. "To go out of her way for her pops when servants could easily deliver the paper," his observant eyes turn to Jiawei, "that is truly one devoted daughter."
Jiawei chuckles nervously. "Thank you for the compliments. But, really, she does so only because she's already on the way."
Although you appear to be zoning out of the conversation, Lahan can tell Jiawei was bristling. There was definitely something suspicious happening.
How interesting.
The first page of the stack is blank, but there might be text hidden in the rest of the papers.
Deciding to make his move, Lahan decides to take a play from his father's books.
Rushing closer to the table, "father, please! We've interrupted them long enough! Let's bid them farewell and be on our way," Lahan pleas, getting in between his father and the table.
It would be a simple mistake. A hurried and reckless swing of an arm sending the tea onto the paper. He would apologize and say how they're ruined, but, of course, he will send for new ones. New ones that wouldn't have been tampered with.
If ruining the papers results in Jiawei bumbling in the next meeting, then that confirms the connection. If it doesn't change anything, then that can rest the theory that you play some sort of role in this.
But as Lahan feels his hand graze the cup, tipping it backward, he never feels it fall.
"Oh dear, do be careful, Lahan-sama," a deceptively gentle voice intercedes.
He turns towards the voice, but his hands feel yours first. He feels how soft they are as they touch his. He thinks about how contrasting it is that these soft hands are also the ones firmly rooting him, the cup, and his plan in place.
However, when his eyes finally look towards you, he thinks nothing could beat the sight before him. You, sitting there with your full attention on him for the first time. Your cunning eyes peer into his soul as if hungrily searching for something. A look so hypnotizing it raises the hair on the back of his neck.
What was it that you were so desperately grasping for? Were you calculating his value? Sizing him up? Looking for what he can do for you? It was like you could see right through him and all his motives.
But in less than a second, those sharp calculating eyes blink back into a clueless look.
You don a mask of stupor again as you mutter some excuse that falls on his deaf ears.
In an instant, a flood of possibilities races through his mind. The small fall of your façade has entered so many new possibilities in his calculations.
But more than that, you, in that split instance, were absolutely perfect. The epitome of beauty. The most mathematically ideal.
He wonders if he can see that captivating look again.
He wonders how he'll get to see it again.
The meek smile gracing your features now brings doubts into his mind. "Well, it is getting late. I should retire to my chambers." You say getting up, taking the stacks of paper with you. "I will put these on your desk, father."
Wait.
Not yet. Don't go.
Not until he can wrap his head about what just happened.
Yet, before he could even think of an idea to prolong the interaction, you seemingly trip on thin air, papers flying onto the floor.
Rushing out an apology, you go to pick up all the papers. Lahan crouches down as well, remembering his mission to look at the papers. Taking the chance to look closely in the guise of helping you, he picks up the papers.
They were all blank.
Every page, every side, every corner.
Nothing is adding up, Lahan thinks to himself. This goes against his entire theory. He takes a chance and looks up to read your expression.
Your eyes stay on the papers, collecting them. You appear embarassed, anxious even, at causing the scene.
Was that really a mistake? As he goes to look away before he's found staring, he could've sworn he caught a twinkle of triumph in those eyes and a growing smirk.
Well, that was a bust, Lahan almost says outloud as he and his father make it back to his office.
"Now don't look so disgruntled," Lakan's voice rings out. "We got what we needed."
"What do you mean, father?"
"Well, we got the fox to come out of hiding, didn't we?" He said with a devious grin, eyes dark yet satisfied.
"But that doesn't explain how that bumbling idiot manages to find his words after the meetings."
The guard had confirmed that your tea time with your father were always silent, save for the occasional small talk. So there is no way you could've known what was spoken in the meetings—let alone coach your father on how to speak in them.
"Lahan," his father says with a voice that makes his posture straighten. "What do we know now?"
"We know that the papers are blank?"
"And?"
"And that they were still important enough for Lady y/n to protect it?"
Lakan drawls out a tired sigh as he rolls his eyes at his adoptive son.
"What was the quality of the paper?"
Lahan closes his mouth. He places his hand under his chin and he ponders. The paper did look of high quality, seemingly thicker than normal, and thus more expensive. Why did they pay to use such expensive paper? Especially when paper is becoming much more expensive...
Ah.
"A heavy weight paper, more resistant to tears and more able to withstand liquids and ink without tearing or warping." Lahan thinks out loud.
"Paper that is always delivered by Lady y/n. Even if it is someone else who delivers the papers, it comes from Lady y/n's chamber. Lady y/n who smells of citrus and lemons..."
And at that moment, he remembers what his brat of his sister was muttering about. Something about invisible ink and a source of heat.
If only he could get his hands on those papers again....
"Now, don't get too ahead of yourself," his dad interrupts his thoughts with a stern look. "Everything so far is only conjecture. To make any conclusion of this nature is to accuse Jiawei-dono of depending on his daughter." Lakan continues raising his glass to his lips. "It would be dishonouring and discreditting his intellect and work up until now."
Looking at his father, Lahan decides to finally ask the question that's been plaguing his mind. "Why did you invite them, father?" Few, if not any, families were invited to the La estate. There was no way his father invited them to discuss something as menial as trade routes.
"No reason!" Lakan says in his annoying 'I'm hiding something' tone.
Huh.
Lahan guesses he'll have to find the answers himself.
*Your POV*
Planning to fortify the borders in the North, huh?
You raise your cup of tea to your lips, blowing lightly at the surface. Like the previous days, you're sitting at the table underneath the plum tree. Despite the servants' pleas for you to go explore the estate or enjoy the other views, you always decline saying that you loved this spot the most.
But that couldn't be further from the truth. In reality, this was the best vantage point to observe the meetings. Sitting out of ear shot under the pavilion is your father, Lakan, and other notable clan members.
The meeting location is truly the most strategic. It is visible enough to quell any suspicions of secrecy or corruption and yet private enough that no one would be able to listen in without being seen.
But, you didn't need to listen to know what's going on. No, you only needed to see.
You picked up the habit of reading lips from a young age. You grew up in a tense environment filled with political unrest and turmoil. A house full of hushed whispers, double meanings, and concealed conspiracies.
It was in that house that your mother went insane. She was a victim of your clan's schemes. Being ousted as a social piranha, she desperately tried to prove herself but was never able to grasp the realities of the situation.
It horrified you. The lengths your mother would go to just to survive in this household. And when she died, you thought it might've been for the best. From that day on, you vowed that you would never end up like her.
So when they would conspire to each other in the dark of the night behind closed doors, you'd press your ear against the wall and listen. When they'd whisper under their breath, you'd watch from afar, piecing together their words like a puzzle.
Watching. Waiting. You lived like a ghost. Slipping through the seams and living as under the radar as possible. You needed to know who to avoid, and who to suck up to. Who to trust and who to keep at arms length. Because of this, you became highly observant.
You also made sure to weaponize yourself as much as possible. From reading books on business strategies to learning noble etiquette to even learning the language of fans, you desperately grasped at ways to protect yourself.
And maybe that's why, somewhere along the line, you donned a mask. A mask of oblivion and stupor all in the name of security. Maybe you did it so that if anyone caught you overhearing or watching, they'd dismiss you as nothing more than a naive fool. You can't exactly pin when you started to play a role, but it's been so long that sometimes, you don't even remember who you really are anymore.
But does that really matter?
You would always play with that question in the back of your mind.
Your father's movement catches your eye. You see his body shake from laughter as he talks to Lakan.
Although your father wasn't the brightest, he had a kind heart. He was your best shot to a happy, secure life. And because of that, you had to make sure he was untouchable. So you cleansed your clan of all the parasites that threatened your father's position. You implemented Western agricultural techniques to rejuvenate your territories. And, you even got married to bring honour to your family's name. To be the perfect man, leader, and father, he needed to have the perfect daughter. For you, that meant fulfilling the role society believes you should fulfill.
But unlike most elite daughters, you had full control over who you got to marry. With your observant eyes, you chose the one who hid his sickness under layers of powder. You played it coy, wailing about needing to fall in love before getting married. So you spread out your meetings over the course of months. Then your engagement dragged on for over half a year. And by the time you had finally wed, he was nothing more than an empty husk, a pliant doll.
Dying without an heir, you were returned to your family without question. And knowing how nobles thought, you knew no one would be willing to re-marry you lest they wanted a soiled bride or bride who brought bad fortune. As such, you continued to live in your clan without any suspicions. You were seen as a pious but unfortunate girl. The type of girl that will never be able to leave her home.
It was perfect.
Yet, there was a bump in the road. And that bump was none other than the La clan.
You couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off when Lakan-sama and Lahan interupted your time with your father. You knew there were eyes and ears everywhere in the estate but to think they'd make a move themselves. Hopefully you steered them away from thinking too deeply about your involvement by showing them the contents of the paper.
You made sure to research the La clan before accepting their invitation. You knew that they were a skulk of cunning foxes that you had to be cautious around.
The one you're most worried about, however, is Lahan. He was the one who exposed his own father to place his adoptive father as the head of the clan. In a way, he was very much the same as you. Except he lived in the limelight. He took his rightful credit and stood proudly beside Lakan as his right hand man.
Your brief moment with Lahan confirmed to you how dangerous he was. Remembering the way he looked at you made your face feel warm. It was a mix of awe, curiosity and something else you couldn't quite pin.
You wonder if he saw it. Saw you. The real you.
But there's no way. You might've slipped up for a second, but that's all that was. There's no way he could've unraveled everything with only one glance. The fact that he didn't seem to question your excuse means that he probably didn't put too much weight onto your actions.
You rub your temple to try to soothe all the thoughts running rampant through your head.
Now is not the time. You look towards your father again, and he appears to be struggling judging by his stiff posture.
I'll have to include a page about the militia in the north-
"Why, hello there, Lady y/n."
Had you not grown up so focused on controlling your features, you would've jumped out of your skin at the sudden voice in your ear.
Turning your head away from the meeting, you almost come nose to nose with Lahan. He's standing beside you, bent down to speak to you with his arms behind his back. His presence envelops all your senses as he towers over you.
His eyes ever fox-like gleam mischievously as he straightens back up. "Ah, apologies. I called out to you, but you didn't seem to hear me." He says with a slanted smile. "Are you that engrossed in the meeting?"
Setting your cup down, you try to regain your composure. "Ah, not really. My head must've been in the clouds," you respond with a polite smile. He turns to the direction you had been looking at, almost as if to try to see what you were seeing.
"Are you not joining them today, Lahan-sama?" You ask attempting to block his train of thought.
He shakes his head. "No, I have other plans today." He gazes towards your tea set.
You wait patiently to see what he'll do next but he doesn't do or say anything. He doesn't even give any indication that he wants to leave. He's just waiting.
Does this basta- guy want me to invite him? Didn't he just say he had plans?
Holding in a sigh, you raise your hand to indicate to the seat across from you.
"Well, if you're in no rush, you may join me if it please you."
He shines a small smile. "Gladly."
Although you had pointed to the chair across the table, he decides to sit in the chair closest to you. So close that if he wants to, his knees could touch yours.
You're taken aback by his forward nature. Nothing in the report said anything about him being a womanizer. The report said that he usually likes to watch his prey squirm before he goes to attack, but you haven't done anything yet?
"So," he continues, resting his chin on his hand with his elbow propped onto the table. "Is this how you like to spend your day?"
Your eyes narrow ever so slightly before becoming doe-like again. "Ah, well, I like to stroll in the garden as well. The La estate is very beautiful."
"I see," he says pensively. "A walk in the garden would be nice."
"But you choose to sit here," he continues, keen eyes watching your reaction. "I can show you many other places that may suit your taste, Lady y/n."
You let out a soft giggle. "Ah, thank you but I'm good here."
"Is it because of your father?" His questioning eyes narrow slightly.
You place both your hands in your lap, clasping them softly together. "I like to see him work."
"Right," Lahan responds quietly, his focus training on the men at the table again. "Seeing. That's all you can really do from this distance, isn't it?" He asks almost rhetorically.
"How about a change of scenery?" He continues as if snapping out of his thoughts.
"To where?"
He turns his full focus to you, his relaxed demeanour turning into something more playful. "My office for a game of go, Perhaps?" He says with his canines flashing.
This...could be dangerous.
You try to reject him. "Sorry, Lahan-sama. I don't know how to play."
"I'm sure you'll learn fast," he returns quickly, already extending his hand out towards you in invitation. It's a presumptuous act. One that radiates with confidence that you won't reject him.
And he'd be right. Because you can't.
You know this is a trap. A clever trap that forces you to become a pawn in his game.
You don't know what he knows about you, but based on the fact he decided to approach you right after the tea incident—this invitation is definitely not innocent. No, you know it's not based on the fact that prior to the incident, he never made any moves to interact with you.
This man is not the sporadic, live in the moment type. No, his actions are always imbued with meaning.
Reject him or accept him, he'll mostly likely gain two insights.
Rejecting him confirms that you're tied to this location. You, the air-headed girl, pitifully waiting for her father, have no reason to deny his invitation. If not for the fact that you are seemingly doing nothing at the moment, social conventions would also force you to accept. After all, he is your host—one courteous enough to house you and your father—so you had the social expectations to repay him with a simple game.
You also couldn't use the excuse of the implications of being alone with him. You were a widowed woman. No one cares about your chastity anymore.
So to reject him based on these facts would raise serious flags.
Accepting him would be less dangerous if you play your cards right. Lahan is most likely trying to remove you from the equation to see if your disappearance impacts your father's behaviour in the next meeting. But unlucky for him, you already have a good understanding of the content of the meeting. Even if you aren't able to guide your father on every issue, his incomprehension can be blamed on being burnt out from the long meeting.
Plus, you can simply lose in go. The game itself won't be able to reveal anything about you if you lose on purpose.
Deciding to entertain his plans, you gracefully place your hand on top of his and he helps you stand up from where you're seated. Keeping one hand on his arm, he guides you through the courtyard back into the corridors.
Once inside his office, you see the go board already set up.
This cunning fox, the corner of your mouth almost lifts up at the ridiculousness of it all.
"Ah, my father and I always play so we like to keep it set up," he explains sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.
Liar.
You can see the warmth of the tea fog the table beside the go board. He had to have prepared this before coming to see you. You said you had other plans, you wanted to accuse but kept it to yourself.
Fine, you'll entertain him.
You allow him to guide you to your seat. "Thank you for inviting me into your office. It is as meticulous as the rumours say."
Looking around the room, it really is hard to believe that this room is used as an office. Shelves with books perfectly aligned, abacus placed perfectly spaced away from the papers and brushes on the table. It looks too tidy to actually be used.
He fills both of your cups with tea. He's treating you with much more reverence than needed. Usually, it should be you, the guest, the woman, to pour the tea. And yet he's been nothing but gentlemanly to you.
Buttering me up, huh? You use your hand to block the smile that threatens to spill on your lips. Too bad for him, your tongue won't loosen that easily.
"I hope it's to your liking," Lahan says as he takes a sip from his own cup.
To your surprise, it is. It's your favourite type of tea. The one you drink to relieve the stress from reviewing all the paper work for your father. Did he know or was it a mere coincidence?
"Yes, it is, thank you."
He offers a satisfied smile before going into the rules. If you didn't know any better, it would appear as if he was setting you up for failure. When he said he'd keep his explanation brief, you didn't think he'd just skim over everything completely. Even a child could explain this better, you think as you watch him place the pieces down on the board as examples.
"Well, it's something you'll learn as you go," he says, placing the pieces back at your respective sides.
You experimentally pick up a stone to examine it. "I-I see, I hope I won't bore you too much with my playing."
"No, I don't think you'll bore me at all," he replies with his head resting on his hand, his elbow on the table, staring intently at you.
You take the time to absorb him fully for the first time. Handsome is the first word that pops into your head. But willing that thought away, your second thought was that when he's sitting like that, he really does resemble a sly fox. His eyes have a scheming look to them. They seem to catch in the light in a way that makes them look like they're glowing.
He places the first stone onto the board. "How about we make things interesting?"
You raise a brow. "Interesting?"
"Yes," he eyes the piece you place down. "If you win, I'll grant you any wish you'd like."
Looking at him cautiously, you ask "and if you win?"
"Well, of course you'll do the same for me," he responds as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You couldn't say you weren't intrigued. What did Lahan wish for that only you could give him? Though, no matter how curious you were, you couldn't let things go too far.
Watching him tactfully place his stone, you don't lift your eyes off the board. "But I have no wish to ask for. Also it would be unfair, wouldn't it?" You say, puffing your cheeks as you pretend to deliberate hard on your next move.
Lahan lets out a low chuckle. "I'll go easy on you." He picks up a stone from his pile. "And the wish can be anything you want. Like a certain dish for dinner or a tea set. It doesn't have to be grand."
You watch as he absentmindedly twirls the stone between his fingers, showing off his comfort with the pieces, the game, and this situation.
He continues, "this can be the practice match." His amused eyes are crescent-like when they meet yours. "We'll play the real match after."
Despite every fiber of your being telling you this is a bad idea—that you should high tail it and leave before it is too late—a more reckless part of you is saying that it's too good of an opportunity to pass up.
You could wish for you and your father to go home. It would be a wish coming from a home sick girl who misses spending time with your father. You can accidentally win, or play in a way that ends in a tie. Staying here any longer would risk unraveling all your work until now.
You can even ask him to forget playing go with you if need be. To forget about you.
Although that thought makes your heart clench for some reason.
Losing would also fit in your character. The only problem now is that it presents an incalculable risk—an unforeseeable consequence. He could ask for something as unimportant as your household records or something more pernicious...
In the end, you let your intuition guide you.
"Well, if you go easy on me," you agree with a smile.
The smile on his face softens into something more genuine. You can't take your eyes off the gentleness of his expression.
"Of course, my lady."
You two continue taking turns placing your stones. You would purposefully place it in spots where he would have to correct you. You even try to move a stone that is already placed on the grid. And it continued like that for a while. Perhaps this will make him pity you and reconsider his bet, you think hopefully.
"Say are you interested in medicine by any chance?" His voice spears through the peaceful silence.
"Well, not particularly, no," you respond.
He shifts his eyes to yours. "Well, I learnt something really interesting recently, care to learn?"
No, not really. "Oh, do please share!"
"You know how alcohol is used to sanitize items?"
Where's he going with this? You nod along slowly.
"Well, alcohol has a lot of different functions based on how it's distilled. It can be something that can get you drunk. Something that can clean your wounds. And something that can be used to write."
Your cup halts before it could reach your lips. Did he know? How?
Gaze flickering to your hand before going back to your face, he continues. "Yes, if you write using alcohol on paper, you won't see anything under the naked eye. But place it against a flame, the paper will burn at a different heat level, and you'll be able to see the hidden words." He leans slightly closer to you. "Isn't that fascinating?"
You keep your cool. "Wow, that's so amazing! You think I can write something with my father's sake?"
Play dumb. Play dumb. Play dumb.
He moves to capture your stones. "Maybe! Who knows, I have never tested it out myself." He responds. "Maybe there are other things that can make invisible texts as well"
He knows. No doubt.
"Maybe."
You play in silence for a while. Neither of you fully taking the slow game seriously. He places the stones in winning spots, and you would mostly defend and misplace stones in worse spots.
Without glancing up from the board, Lahan hums to himself.
Your eyes flicker up to him, but he seems to be too deep in thought to notice.
"Is something on your mind, Lahan-sama?" You ask as you sip your drink.
Lahan glances up at you as he fiddles with the stone in hand. "I was just thinking about making you my wife."
You spit out your tea and cough as your throat burns from swallowing it incorrectly. Eyes almost popping out of your head, you look incredulously at the fox like man in front of you.
He dons a bemused borderline annoying expression as a crooked smile grows on his face. He looks like he's reveling in your reaction.
"Just kidding," he practically beams. "I'd like to see you a couple more times before that."
This man must be insane you think to yourself.
Is that what he'll ask for if he wins? That thought alone drives you to unconsciously place your stone in a strategic position.
"Ooh, excellent move, Lady y/n," he says excitedly as he moves to capture some pieces. "And here I was thinking you were going to fool around for a while longer."
Huh?
Did he just trick you? Is that not actually his wish?
That must be it. It must be a lie he made up to force you to take the game seriously. But if he really did that for this reason, then you've dug yourself into a hole.
"Was that a good spot?" You say trying to salvage what you could. "I just placed it down randomly."
"Oh? The same way how you'd randomly avoid strategic spots?" He says with a smirk. " You know, first time go players act more recklessly than you do."
You feel your face reddening at his assertion. You swear you were being a mix of reckless and meek. It shouldn't have raised any suspicions.
Oh.
Now that you think about it, his explanations of the game focused only on reckless and aggressive tactics.
"I wonder if anyone will object if I were to propose," he says, interrupting the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind.
"Do you think I'll seriously marry you over a game of go?" You scoff before you could control yourself.
"No, but do you think I won't seriously try to if I win?"
"You..."
You're completely scandalized, and no doubt it shows on your face. Somehow, in a manner of a couple of minutes, he's gotten under your skin in a way no one else could. You couldn't tell if it was because of his brazenness or the way he seems so pleased with himself that you just want to knock him off his high horse.
That conniving bastard.
It's too late to turn the tides now in this game. Even if you use the most efficient moves, you've dug yourself too deep of a hole.
As if knowing what you're thinking, Lahan laughs. "Don't worry, this is only the practice match, remember?" He says placing down his stone. You didn't need to fill out the rest of the board to know the ending. With new heat in your veins, your determined eyes lock onto his.
"Then shall we start a new game?"
This game is a lot slower and more meticulous. For the first time ever, you're being driven into a corner. Both with his promise and the game. In order to beat him, you knew you had to genuinely try. You couldn't afford to play it dumb or else his threat of his wish will ruin your plans of living peacefully. Whether you win or lose, it's a lose-lose situation. Either you expose yourself and ruin your plans for your future or ruin your plans for your future.
His stupid bet you accepted on a whim will change everything.
And yet deep down, it excites you. This feeling of being driven to the edge, forced to take action. To be intellectually challenged.
Looking up into his eyes that seem to peer into your soul, the heat behind them stirs something in you. Your once frozen heart quickly beats in your chest. Even you can admit that he intrigues you like none other.
If you're going down, you're going to go down in a fiery blaze. You will not lose this game. And perhaps, he knows this because he plays as if he also has something to lose. Taking his sweet time to deliberate his moves, your game lasts for so long the sun sets.
In the end, you lose by only two measly points. It was a close match and if you could do it again, you know that'll you'll win next time.
Even so, there's a kind of satisfaction that seeps into your bones. One that makes you crave another match with him. Another conversation. Another anything.
Letting out a long sigh in defeat, your words feel heavy yet exciting on your tongue. "So...are you actually going to make me marry you?"
"Hmm? Oh, that?" He says so casually as if that singular idea didn't turn your whole world upside down. "I was just thinking about it. I haven't decided on my wish yet," he says with a boyish grin.
Summary: You're happy. You have a lovely home, a wonderful husband and four bright girls. So, why does Olruggio suddenly make your heart race? And why does Qifrey not seem to mind?
Pairing: Poly!Qifrey/Reader/Olruggio
Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Tags: qifrey is a freak and olruggio has a panic attack; multichapter, Established Relationship, polyamory, love confessions, major character injury, accidental love confessions, angst, hurt/comfort, original characters used as plot devices, cross-posted to AO3, no beta cause i post for fun and for free
Word count: 4,377
Rating: T/M
Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4
The atelier was as it always is, comfortable, safe, and warm. The sun flooded the living room with beams of sunlight and the smell of fresh morning dew seeped inside, soaking into the fabrics of the couch and sinking into the wooden floors.
You were kneeling in front of the record player that sat between the hearth and the stairs. It was a gift from Qifrey, years ago, tuned especially to your tastes. Rich, beautifully polished walnut, with gold faceting and a blooming curved horn to match. It was a masterpiece. Something you had never directly expressed that you wanted but had mentioned it enough that your husband thought it appropriate to buy one. Qifrey has always refused to tell you how much he got it for.
Now, after years of near regular use, a few of its parts were, unsurprisingly, starting to fail. And no matter how much you tried to repair it at home, you couldn’t. You knew that all you needed was a new lever and to rework the spells tattooed on the grain but you needed to understand the sigils first. That was hard to do when they were steadily disappearing. When you’d ask Qifrey if he remembered what they were he bashfully said no and you when tried to redraw them, your hand would always miss something.
They would glow for a slip second before dimming, nothing would follow. They were more complex than you had anticipated and were rooted in a speciality magic you didn’t know.
You sighed as you watched the lever fall for the 20th odd time. With every crank it would play for a few seconds before puttering out expectedly.
“Mama?” You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of a new voice. You staggered, the crouch you were in suddenly off kilter from the interruption.
Richeh stood innocently to the right of you, watching you work carefully.
“Richeh, darling, you’ve got to stop startling me like that.”
She was always so quiet. A soft voice, paired with soft steps and an even softer temperament, left her not forgotten but easily camouflaged. She could slip in and out of a room without being noticed, even with that bright hair of hers.
“What are you working on?” She asked, tilting her head.
You reached for her and she stepped forward. You brought her between your legs, leaving your knees to hover near her hips and you jerked your chin over her shoulder. You pointed at the lever and Richeh, fully immersed in your explanation, pressed her palms into your knees as she leaned back.
“Your music player from Master Qifrey?” Her small hands plucked at your skirt.
You hummed in acknowledgement, “It’s broken, look,” you reached around her and turned it, the player sputtered. Richeh tried it herself, “we can fix it.”
“And do you have an idea of how?” You asked.
She hummed, her lips pursed as she leaned in to examine it, “…no.”
You chuckled, ruffling her hair, “well if you come up with anything, let me know, okay?” Richeh seemed rather engrossed in trying to repair the thing. With her chin on her hand, she studied the smudged sigils that lined the side of it. Volume, speed, and time related spells that kept the thing going without much human interaction. That was as much as you were able to decipher. You weren’t sure if she would understand more, but who knows? She was bright.
“Let’s not ponder too much,” you said, fondly placing your hand on her head, “We’ve got somewhere to be.”
As if on queue you heard incoherent hollering from the girls' rooms. You both looked up and watched as Tetia trapeze down the steps with a bag in her hand and a grin on her face.
“Give that back!” Agott yelled. She came rushing after her, face flushed.
“But I wanted to see!” Tetia cried out as Agott descended upon her. “It’s so pretty, you never make stuff like this! Coco was making one similar yesterday, right? A little ink bag.” The statement only made Agott flush. Coco came stumbling after them, her hands shaking placidly as she tried to calm the two.
“Tetia, that’s Agott’s,” she looked nervous, eyes darting between the girls. You raised your brow curiously. While they did fight, it was extremely rare. Families always had their quarrels and if you knew anything about sisterhood you knew that sometimes they were something vicious. Even if it was just over a little ink.
Tetia, thinking it was better to cause more of a ruckus than end it, darted to the opposite side of the table to avoid Agott, the meager ink pouch held in her hand. From what you could see it was decently constructed if not a bit uneven and patchy.
“What is going—” You tried to gather their attention but their bickering drowned you out.
“Give it back, Tetia!”
“But it’s cute! I want to show Master Qifrey.” Agott’s face was lit aflame.
“Children.”
“Tetia!” Coco squeaked. Now the pink haired girl was pinned between Coco and Agott and she simply found it amusing. Your voice fell on deaf ears and you sighed as you felt an oncoming headache. “My lord, childr—”
“Girls, enough.” All of the children froze, including Richeh who clutched your skirts silently, as Olruggio’s voice commanded them from afar.
“What is goin’ on?” He asked. He moved casually from his perch, descending the stairs and approaching you with a basket in hand. You thanked him appreciatively, it was a woven piece you’d often used for groceries and had broken just a few days ago when you were lugging herbs in from the garden. You’d tripped over a rouge brush buddy and stepped on the handle, cracking it right in half.
You thumbed the newly woven wicker as you watched him.
“N-nothing, Master Olruggio.” Coco started, trying to keep the peace. “Tetia just—!”
“Tetia took my things and won’t give them back!” Agott accused pointing at the girl.
You always admired how Olruggio handled the girls. Both you and Qifrey had a bad habit of letting them get away with things. You were stern but when they looked up at you with those big puppy dog eyes you tended to buckle, and it worked on Qifrey more often than it did you. Olruggio though, the girls had to work to get him to side with them. Olruggio didn’t put up with the bickering and the pouting, he made them stand tall and speak confidently when they wanted something. While he disciplined them far less often, respecting how you and Qifrey were raising them, when he spoke up it meant the children were uncharacteristically out of line.
He ignored Agott’s yelling and Tetia’s whining as he tied his cloak around his shoulders. He nodded towards the two who weren’t creating chaos, “Richeh, Coco, go get yuh coats an’ caps.” The two scurried off obediently.
“Rain shoes girls, the ground is still soft!” You called after them.
Olruggio reached for your cloak, where it lay draped over the banister. He approached you while addressing the girls that remained.
“Tetia, should yuh have taken Agott’s things withou’ permission?” He asked. He shook out your cloak and unbuckled the front clasp before stepping in front of you and swinging it around your shoulders. Your immediate reaction was to tell him he didn’t need to do all of that, but Tetia interrupted you.
“N-no, but—”
“There are no ‘buts’,” Olruggio said, he brushed away the dust at your shoulders and adjusted the fabric that draped over your front. “Tha’ is not yours.” Tetia handed the small pouch back to Agott who quickly shoved it into her pocket.
“Agott,” Olruggio said, as he placed your cap in your hand. It’d been sitting on the coffee table. “Do we yell like that when there’s a problem?”
“...no, sir.”
“What should we have done?”
“Get an adult…” she kicked her toe against the hard wood, gaze low.
“Good, now apologize t’one another an’ go get yuh things. We’re leaving shortly.”
You smiled softly as you watched the two girls offer each other defeated apologies before they left to go gather their cloaks and caps. You looked at Olruggio, “thank you.”
He shrugged, “they’ve been testy lately. Bein’ cooped up in here has done ‘em no good.”
This spring season has been wrought with storms, and you all, more often than not, have had to stay indoors. Today was one of the only clear days the atelier had seen in weeks and thank god, because you were down to your last loaf of bread and a block of cheese that was starting to grow a second life. You needed to head to Kalhn…for both home goods and your sanity.
When the girls were ready and the carriage was secured you all piled in. The wide seats accommodated the children comfortably. You and Olurrgio sat directly across from one another, while the girls split themselves into two beside you and him. When Olruggio tapped the roof, the pegasus jolted and the carriage soared through the sky. The girls spoke amongst one another, much calmer than they were moments ago while you struggled to un-twist the embellishments of your cloak. You sighed in frustration, the tassels had some how managed to hooked themselves carelessly to the buckles.
Olruggio’s large hands settled over yours and gently pulled at the threads.
“Where is Master Qifrey?” Agott asked.
“Meetin’ with a client, he’ll catch with us in Kalhn,” Olruggio said, not looking away from his work. When the tassels fell away he mumbled in satisfaction. The sound made you pause and your eyes caught his as they lingered on your skin that poked out of your collar. When you adjusted your shoulder, the image of your flesh falling away, he cleared his throat and moved to look out of the window. You observed him for only a second before smiling at the girls.
“Now, would we like to play our game this trip?”
Tetia cheered, “Yes!”
You laughed and pulled a set of lists from your pocket, handing each child a page. “Remember, you should all work as a team.” You gave Tetia and Agott a pointed look, “and?”
“Whoever finishes the list first gets to pick something from the Starry Sword!” Coco said cheerfully.
It was a simple game, the girls would race against each other in groups of two to gather all of the items on their list with a limited amount of money. There were never penalties for ‘losing’ but there were rewards for finishing first. You only ever did this when they were willing to. It was a fun activity that taught them time and money management along with speaking and navigational skills. They’d have to talk to vendors to get the best deals, keep track of their cash, pick the right produce and work together to do it all in a decent amount of time. In the future, when they started working with their own clients, they would be far more prepared to negotiate with the more…stubborn ones of the bunch.
“Tetia and Agott,” you started “you will work together today.” Both girls nodded, expecting it.
“That leaves you and me, Richeh!” Coco said.
“Yes.” Richeh replied.
A little game never hurt anyone.
The market was packed, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Which meant you weren’t the only ones who thought it was a good idea to take advantage of the nice weather. Olruggio helped you down from the carriage and just as the girls were about to disappear into the fray, he whistled, “Oi, yuh have two hours and we meet at the park. Understood?” They saluted him, all grins and giggles before ducking into the sea of people.
You chuckled and thanked the man, “a bit of peace and quiet?”
“With this crowd, hardly.” He grumbled. He stood close to you. Heat radiated off of him like a furnace but it was surprisingly comforting in this atmosphere.
“How much money did you give those kids?” He asked as you weaved in and out of the masses. The front stalls were the most crowded but it started to calm as you got closer to the city center.
“Hm…enough.” You said playfully. You always gave them a little extra cash to buy themselves something. You knew what each of them would come back with. Tetia would be carrying a small bag of chocolate. Richeh with a new trinket. Coco with a little accessory for her brushbuddy and Agott would come back with nothing. She hoarded her cash until she saved enough to get something big.
“Yuh spoil ‘em,” he said.
“As if you don’t?” you countered, he looked away. You see what he does for them. It’s often small. Extra servings at dinner, letting them get away with things that Qifrey wouldn’t, offering them contraptions that solve problems that are unique to each girl. He tried to act aloof but he loved seeing them smile and he loved seeing them safe.
You opened your mouth to tease him further but a young man crashed into you nearly sending you to the ground if it wasn’t for Olruggios fast reflexes, “Oi! Watch where you're goin'!” The boy didn’t stop but you figured he wouldn’t. You patted Olruggio’s arm as he balanced you back on your feet.
“Y’alright?” You hummed in response. You were a little startled but not harmed. You heard annoyed cries from the crowd as the kid continued his race. Crowded, indeed.
“Let’s just get off the street,” you said, searching for a stall you recognized. Ah, the repair shop! You grabbed Olruggio’s wrist and tugged him along. He followed without any protest. When you pushed back the curtain you were greeted by a portly man with oil stains on his forehead and an unruly beard.
“Hi, darlin’, what can I help you with?”
“I’m looking for a crank, for an old record player.”
“Ah,” he wiped his greasy hands on his apron, “let me see if I have some, it's been awhile since I’ve sold any. You know how big it needs to be?”
You grimaced, “uh, no, unfortunately.”
He chuckled, “that’s alright just give me a sec.” He disappeared behind the counter, tucking into a room that was piled high with gear and gadgets.
Olruggio observed a cuckoo clock in the corner, it chimed at the 30 minute mark. “What do you need it for?”
“The record player in the living room broke, I’m still trying to figure out the spells used on it but the manual crank needs a replacement. It only plays for a few seconds before it dies.” Olruggio hummed, “ah, an’ do you know what yer doin’?”
You chuckled, “no but I was gonna guess until something worked.” Olruggio chuckled and the sound made your chest ache.
The older man slipped back into the room, digging through a rusted bucket of spare parts, “I don’t think I have what your looking for, must have sold the pieces and forgot. I’m sorry darlin’”
You wave your hand casually, “it’s alright.”
“Try Louis at the end of the street, he’s got parts for instruments. He may have it. Don’t tell him I sent you through.” You smiled and nodded offering him a gentle thank you for his time before stepping back to it into the market place. Bummer, you’d simply have to wait to fix it then. Something was bound to crop up eventually.
“Off to get the food then,” you said, Olruggio used his body to carve you a path. You didn’t really notice but the crowd did, they parted for him like water.
“Are you alright with stew this week? It’s been awhile.” You’d wanted to make some during the rain storms but you didn’t have the ingredients. You needed bones for the broth and the last time you cooked a full chicken was weeks ago.
You smiled and held up a head of cabbage, “if I get some bacon will you make those things again.” Olruggio rolled his eyes, “yeah, just put'em in the basket. I’ll buy.” You silently cheered. You were a well enough cook and actually did most of it out of everyone in the household but there were some dishes that only Olruggio and Qifrey could make. Not because they were difficult but they always tasted so much better made by their hands.
You tapped your chin as you continued down the line, greeting familiar vendors with a warm smile and waving at the little ones that sat stationed in the back. The produce looked divine, surprisingly. The wet weather did little to deter their growth. You plucked tomatoes and carrots from one stall, apples from another. Your favorite flour for dough and some spices for seasonings. You bartered with a gentle tongue and made enough deals to save you some cash.
“Y’okay if I step off for a second. Want to check that place out.” He nodded towards a newly opened contraption shop, run by a younger woman and her father. They made easy to cast contraptions readily available for the public. Olruggio had talked about wanting to visit a few weeks ago.
“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be here.”
When you reached the end of your list you spent a moment looking over the wine at Mrs. Hannah’s stall. She was an interesting woman with only one eye and a pesky cat but she did make the best liquor in Kalhn and you knew the boys were running low.
Qifrey doesn't drink as much as Olruggio does but you knew he liked to partake every so often. You turned the bottle over in your hand, a little to expensive.
You wondered when Qifrey was. He left the atelier much earlier, before the girls even woke. You'd seen him just long enough to get a kiss good morning and a kiss goodbye before he slipped out the door. Him taking a client is extremely rare given his obligations to the girls but he said it was an opportunity he simply couldn’t pass up. When you tried to pry the information out of him, he smiled sweetly and told you not to worry.
Which, honestly, made you worry. A little.
While you were examining a bottle of rich apricot wine you felt a tap on your shoulder. Your head turned. At first you thought it was the boy from before, coming to apologize for the ruckus he caused, but it clearly wasn’t.
“Name's Senaka.” He said confidently. He was a few years older than you based on the smile lines that decorated his face, but still relatively young with warm brown eyes and slightly crooked teeth.
You offered your name politely but didn’t say anything else.
“So, Hannah’s homemade wine?” He mused, “the stuff’s strong.” You caught Mrs. Hannah taking a long drag of her cigarette as she watched your exchange.
“Um, I don’t really drink. It wouldn’t be for me.” You said.
“My girls love a good drink,” he laughed, his smile was charming but that’s all you would give him credit for, “the two of them can put me under the table with how much they can gulp down.” You paused, ah. You knew where this was going. “They’ve even hoping for another drinking buddy, since I can’t keep up.”
He was trying to recruit another wife.
It wasn’t unusual for witches to take more than one partner. It’s an old tradition that can be traced back to the end of the war, where witches would tie themselves to multiple families to ensure the security of their legacies and the safety of their practice. While many of those unions still existed and were legally recognized, they were significantly less common.
No one really wanted their marriages to be treated like a trade. Your hand for mine. His hand for hers. The magic stays in the family, the power comes with the name. The lifestyle does attract a manipulative lot who often took advantage of the system to gain things for themselves. Whether it be more money, more power, more sex, there was a benefit to the exchange that was almost addictive.
While you'd never thought about adding a third to your marriage and Qifrey has never brought up the possibility, you wouldn't be against it if it were the right person.
“Are you married?” He asked.
“Yes.” You said, picking up another bottle. Peach, delicate, sweet, light. Discounted. You reached for the cash in your breast pocket and handed it to Mrs.Hannah. A small black, yellow eyed cat popped up when she went to take it, his tail caressing your wrist, blessing the exchange.
“Hm, children?”
She handed you your change, it’s twice what it should be but from the glint in her eye you knew she did it on purpose. For your troubles.
“A few.”
He whistled, “wow, must be a happy marriage.”
“Very.”
“You’re gorgeous,” he chuckled “so I’m not surprised that you—ah.”
You squeaked when a hand slid along your lower back and settled on your hip.
“Everythin’ alright, honey?” You looked up and nearly choked. Olruggio observed you casually, as if approaching you like this was the most normal thing in the world. His fingers were stretched across your hip; they didn’t press or poke, but they felt like lead weights. Have they always been that big?
“O-oh,” play along you thought to yourself, play along. The ring on your finger glints as you point at your basket. “Look at what I found, your favorite!” Olruggio casually reached for it with his other hand, making sure to pull you in a bit closer as he examined the label thoughtlessly.
Senaka tried to speak again, Olruggio cut him off. “The good stuff, thank you.” He brushed his chin against the side of your head in such a way that the angle looks like he kissed you. His narrowed eyes catch Senaka’s over the crown of your head.
“Can I help you?” He asked but before Senaka could reply he’s interrupted again by your actual husband.
“Darling, there you are! I’m sorry it took so long, I meant to join you all much earlier. But, look at this pen set I found. It’s adorable, perfect for the girls. Do you think—” He paused when he noticed how Olruggio clung to you, how you were tucked carefully into his side as the dark haired man looked at him over his shoulder.
“There y’are,” Olruggio said, “come here. Our wife has a bit of stuff t’carry.”
…our wife? Qifrey blinked. He looked between you and Olruggio. You knew he wouldn’t suspect anything untoward about the situation but you couldn’t help but be nervous under his careful eye. When he noticed Senaka, his face relaxed in realization.
He stepped forward, slipping the package into your basket and grabbed for the handle. He pulled it away delicately and kissed your cheek.
“It’s okay,” you tried to take it back but he held it out of your grasp.
“Let ‘im take it, honey.” There that nickname was again. You shivered.
They slipped into this shared roll a little too easily.
Qifrey’s shoulder brushed yours and for the first time in your life you’re intimidated by them. Not in a way that caused you to fear or made you feel like you needed to cower. It was just…intense and the sensation that filled the pit of your stomach was something you wouldn’t even be able to share in a confessional.
Olruggio’s grip on your waist tightened when the man in front of you examined you like you were a freshly purchased center piece. You felt Qifrey’s hand twitch against the back of yours.
There was a sudden gasp and the tension snapped as you craned your head over your shoulder to find the source.
A middle aged woman clutched her collar as your four children slid around a group of people, nearly toppling into a stray vegetable cart. You winced. No one was hurt and they missed the cart by a hair but the near crash made your heart skip. When they spied you, they rushed forward, crashing into the backs of one another as they skid to a halt. Agott, then Tetia, then Richeh followed by Coco, yelling and waving their purchases like victory pennants.
Olruggio quickly dropped his hand and casually stepped away.
Qifrey smiled crouching to their level. He's well acquainted with their race, he's the one who created it. “and who won?”
“We did!” Both pairs yelled. You laughed, reaching over and prying them apart. You brushed the dust from their cloaks and smoothed down their wild hair, “Oh, a tie?”
Senaka was forgotten as you spoke, standing to the side of the family like a ghost.
“Oh hello, sir. Did you need something?” Coco asked, ever observant. She greeted him kindly and he seemed to receive it well. He opened his mouth to speak but paused when he caught sight of her bright hair and cap. He looked back at Qifrey and then to her. “Nothing, my friend.”
Senaka’s gaze lingered on Coco. She tilted her head, inquiring silently as to why he was there. She doesn't recognize him and it doesn't seem like the adults did either.
“No, he was just leavin’ weren’t yuh?” Olruggio said.
Senaka blinked, prying his gaze away from the girl and looking at you. “Yes, right, well…have a wonderful day.” He bowed with his cap in hand before turning, his cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared into the crowd.
“Curious, I’ve never seen that pattern before.” Qifrey hummed. Most witches recognized each other’s cap designs. It was a calling card, an identifier. You knew what atelier they were a part of, who their teacher was, where they lived. But Senaka’s was unknown to the both of you.
“Neither have I,” you said, watching the man leave.
“Master Olruggio, look what we got!”
“You girls cause nothin’ but trouble.”
“It’s this contraption that Agott found,” Richeh said, “got it from the new store.”
“Let me see that.”
"Alright everyone," Qifrey said, catching the group's attention, "I think it's time we head home."
Soaked to the Bone (Qifrey x Reader x Olruggio Fic)
Summary: Reader is in a polyamorous relationship with Qifrey and Olruggio but has a habit that keeps driving them insane - going out in the rain and coming back completely soaked. Eventually they decide enough is enough and devise an alternative.
Reader is gender neutral. This fic is a bit spicy in certain places, but it's mostly just fluff lmao. This is also my first Witch Hat Atelier fanfic, so please excuse any inaccuracies!
Sidenote, but I'm also wondering about writing a prequel fic for this about how the Reader, Qifrey and Olruggio all got together in the first place. Would anyone want that?
While both of your partners, Qifrey and Olruggio, love you to death… you really do confuse them sometimes. You had all been apprentices together, and after you came to live at the Atelier to help protect and mentor Coco, it wasn't long before you all developed deeper feelings for one another. Thanks to a bit of meddling from the girls, you all got together and started a polyamorous relationship. You adored them, and the apprentices, and they all adored you, though you do have a habit that completely baffles the others.
Whenever it rained or snowed you, without fail, would go outside to sit and enjoy the weather. You'd come inside hours late, absolutely soaked to the bone and often shivering, and yet you did it constantly.
It's a habit that, quite frankly, baffles everyone. You say that you just enjoy the wet weather despite nearly catching your death of cold for the 3rd time this week, giving your partners, and some of the apprentices, minor panic attacks in the process. Qifrey, rather infamously, does not like getting wet, and Olruggio has started wearing his link rings around the house whenever the sky gets even a little bit dark. He complains every time he has to dry you off, of course. It's a good thing that they're so respectful because they probably would have locked you inside if it began to drizzle by now.
Though, while it is a very irksome habit, both Qifrey and Olruggio had to admit that it did have its benefits. Something about seeing you disheveled and drenched in rain was… oddly attractive. Your hair soaked and clinging to your forehead, your clothes wet and sticking to your skin in a mesermizing way… they'd probably rather die than admit it, but you did look stunning whenever they finally managed to bring you indoors.
This latest time, you had snuck out in the dead of night after the girls were asleep, watching as the light emanating from your bedroom cast its glow on every raindrop that fell. There were many reasons why you loved the rain, but it's beauty was probably the main thing that drew you to it. Plus, the world itself always seems to slow down and stop for a minute when it rains - farmers stop tilling their fields, the ordinary hustle and bustle of the outdoors stops and everyone locks themselves inside for a cozy day in, leaving you to enjoy the quiet beauty in peace. Watching the rain at nighttime was especially pleasant. It felt like you were finally granted some peace and quiet after a long day of worry and teaching the girls. As much as you absolutely adore them, they can be quite the handful-
"(Y/N), don't tell me your outside at this time!" You hear Qifrey's voice ring out from your window, breaking your quiet concentration.
Looking back into your room, you see Qifrey holding a floatglow lamp in one hand as the other props open your curtains. It seems that he respectfully closed your bedroom door behind him when you enter, probably after looking around the house for you before realizing that it was still raining.
"What are you thinking sitting outside in the rain at this hour?" He scolds, offering you his hand, "Come in, you'll die out there if you're not careful!"
A fond smile crosses your face as you take his hand, feeling his wince slightly at how cold and wet you are, before he pulls you back inside. You're not even sure how long you were out there, but it must have been a while because you are absolutely soaked. And were you always shivering? You didn't notice it when you were outdoors.
Qifrey sighs and walks towards your bed - apparently, when he realized that you had been outside, he had already prepared some fresh towels for you. Such a gentleman… even when he's clearly frustrated with you. He pats your head down with the towel before wrapping it around your shoulders, then taking your head and leading you away.
"We must take you to Olruggio. You must be freezing." He says as he guides you towards Olly's room, "If you keep overworking him like this, he'll stop helping you eventually, you know?"
"And then I'll catch my death of cold?" You tease, only to sober up when Qifrey's head snaps back towards you.
"Yes. And we can't have that, my love… I wouldn't make it if you did."
Despite the ever-present chill you were feeling, you can feel your cheeks flushing. For as romantic as he can be, Qifrey is still a deeply secretive man. Such vulnerable confessions from him are rare, and it makes your heart skip a beat.
By now Qifrey had knocked on Olruggio's door and politely let you both in, catching Olruggio's attention. His head shoots up from his work desk as he leans over to look at you.
"Don't tell me-" He begins before seeing you standing there, absolutely drenched and dripping onto his glowstone path tiles, "Oh, for hell's sake."
Despite his obvious irritation, he's immediately by your side and activating his link rings, leaving you nice and dry. Still, you know that you're in for the scolding of a lifetime, especially since both of your partners are here. Olly's face pulls back in an angry grimace as he looks you in the eye, his voice stern.
"When are you going to stop doing this, love!? I can't keep drying you off after every stupid attempt on your own life like this! Either you stop this little habit or you'll die when I'm not here to help you!"
"It's already dangerous to be going outside in the cold rain, but to do it at the coldest time of night is particularly deadly." Qifrey adds, gentler than Olly but still just as stern, "Really, you must stop doing this."
"If you keep tempting death like this, someday he'll actually come around." Olruggio scolds, his voice a little softer now, "So just stop doing it, ya here?"
You hang your head in shame, probably looking for all the world like a guilty brushbug that got caught trying to steal a cookie. You try to find the words, but nothing seems good enough. And now that you're all warm and dry, your face begins to flush red with shame. The boys soften a bit as they see your current state. Qifrey gently takes your hand.
"What do you like so much about the rain, love? Perhaps we can find an alternative habit that's less dangerous."
"Well, it's very pretty… but I also really like the quiet. Everything kind of stops when it rains, and at night, so it's comforting after a long busy day. It's like a quiet respite from everything, albeit a rather wet one." You smile a bit to yourself at your attempted joke near the end, which makes Qifrey and Olruggio relax a bit.
"If that's what you're needing…" Olruggio begins, "You could always just come to me. Most of the girls don't bother me in here, and it's plenty quiet." He looks away a bit and blushed, "Besides, I'd be happy to have ya."
Both you and Qifrey laugh a bit at his flustered state, before Qifrey says, "And the same offer goes for me, too, love! I can't always promise that one of the girls won't interrupt us, but I'll make it as peaceful as I can."
Their sincerity makes you chuckle as much as it makes you blush, and you look down at your feet, suddenly feeling bashful.
"I would love that."
Qifrey and Olruggio both breathe sighs of relief, and Olly awkwardly rubs the back of his neck as he looks up towards his work desk.
"You both can hang out in here for a bit now, if ya want. My work does get a bit lonely this time of night."
You all agree and before you know it, you're relaxing on Olruggio's bed as he works, chatting idly while sipping tea. Qifrey is slotted against your back, his arms around your waist as his head rests comfortably against your neck. It's a cozy, though somewhat flustering, position to be in, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
Still, you can't stop thinking about how much trouble you've caused them both. Particularly Olruggio, since he does have to dry you off constantly. Your hear sinks into your chest as you realize how much you've been overworking him, so you slip out of Qifrey's arms for just a moment. Walking over to Olruggio, you place your hands on his shoulders and learn over his back, startling him out of his work.
"Hey Olruggio," You say as you lean over to press a kiss to his neck, "Thank you."
It was just meant to be a guesture of thanks, but it nearly sends Olruggio into a coma. The feeling of your pressed against his back, your lips on his neck and your sweet voice in his ear - he blushes harder than you'd ever seen before, stuttering as he tries to come up with a response but, for once, his mind is drawing a blank. All he can think about is you - in fact, that moment would stick in his mind for the next month or so.
You're surprised at the effect that has on him, but Qifrey only chuckles behind you and comes to wrap his arms around you again.
"And where's my kiss, (Y/N)?"
Without hesitation, you place a gentle hand on his cheek and bring his lips to yours in a sweet, intimate kiss.
By now Olruggio has spun around in his chair, only to see you both kissing, and he feels like his heart may flatline at any moment.
"You two will be the death of me…" He grumbles, bashfully but undoubetdly affectionate.
Synopsis: Even the strongest soldiers can fall prey to hurt feelings and self-doubt.
[x Reader, featuring Narumi Gen and Soshiro Hoshina]
Contents: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Romance.
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato
Narumi Gen
He'd carried his fair share of injuries over time.
Granted, not all of them were known to others, particularly his squad mates.
It was easier to shrug off exasperated hands, a different kind of armour settling across his shoulders, readying him for reprimands, formal and sharp.
So much easier, to conceal the strain on muscles, the searing ache behind the eyes, the pull and tear on an overtaxed body from hours of extra training.
Narumi Gen was no stranger to pain, or isolation, whether self-imposed or not.
Grimacing at the lancing agony that shot from heel to upper thigh, he finally gave up the bracing effect of the suit. Limping the final few paces to the bed in the medical bay, he seated himself gingerly.
As Captain of the First Division, he had prime choice of the latest treatment facilities and med pods, but he'd always made a point to show up later than the others.
Doctors and medical staff would arrive with reluctance, giving him the space and time to lick his own wounds (and wounded pride no less) before approaching him, unless an emergency called for rapid intervention.
Propping up his good leg, he unzipped the suit, peeling it away from his torso and letting it fall around his waist.
Sweat, grime, the pungent scent of kaiju flesh, all brought some level of contamination to the sterile room.
Someone had managed to snag his coat from the chopper he'd descended from, and it hung over a chair in the corner.
No harm in taking a look.
The pocket of the coat yielded a cellphone, the one he used for his public accounts and social media.
The screen protector was cracked and smudged, and he impatiently scrubbed at it, wincing as he settled back onto the bed.
Today's feed was dominated by footage and commentary on the diclonius they'd taken down, not two miles from Ariake Base.
The worst of the gore had been censored out for public viewing, but the viscera sprayed out from the central point of impact was undeniable.
Lips curving, grim and satisfied, Gen scrolled down for more details.
Ah, this time they'd led with his picture, not Ashiro's.
There it was.
And there -
His smile vanished.
The write-up beneath was brief, but no less harsh and critical for its length.
It stated the obvious; another successful take-down by the First Division, but went on to suggest, in no uncertain terms, that "Captain Narumi's tendency towards showboating and flashy entrances caused more damage to infrastructure with falling kaiju parts than necessary."
Scowl deepening, he ignored the voice in his head that sounded awfully similar to Hasegawa's, and read further.
"This isn't the first instance of such publicity-driven behaviour. Other sources also confirm that Captain Narumi's disregard for protocol should come under review, if the reputation of the JAKDF is to be upheld on all fronts, both national and - "
Fuck them.
Dropping the phone onto the bed at his side, he sat, seething, before tugging the boot off his injured foot and flinging it aside.
Out there, in front of his Vice-Captain, his platoon leaders, the officers who had grown to respect him over the years, he could play his role well enough.
He'd rant, rave, pace back and forth, outline all the ways he'd done everything right, and they'd listen to him. Commiserate, even.
If only he could erase it, that hidden spectre, the boy in faded overalls and battered shoes, a manga volume with a missing cover in one hand, hair hanging lank over his eyes.
That boy had wanted it, to hear just once, that he had done well, that someone approved of all that he was.
It wasn't that he'd been neglected at the orphanage.
He'd received the same attention as all the other kids, but people were always wary around him, stepping carefully around his ragged, naked edges, the way one would around a sword that had a mind of its own.
He wanted to scrub it from his memory altogether, that cruel, swooping sensation in his stomach, every time he succeeded, and yet another pair of eyes looked studiously away from him.
It was still with him, even now, all of twenty odd years later, that old clench and drop, something hollowing out a greater space behind the eyes, one that had nothing to do with the strain of his retinal implants.
Fuck them.
Fuck them and all of their -
The door hissed open, and you stood there, framed by the softer light of the corridor beyond.
He'd seen you before, vaguely remembered, one of a long list of doctors who'd attended him over time. Gen was quite sure, however, that you'd never treated him alone before.
Your gaze traveled from the suit bunched around his waist, to the boot on the floor, grimy sock hanging off his injured foot, the messy post-battle hair and his belligerent expression.
He rolled his eyes.
"Get on with it. I've got a briefing to attend, or some shit."
In response, you swung into action, like some sort of Gundam at his command, setting out trays, vials, syringes and sterile dressing packs.
It was almost annoying, that air of unflappable professionalism.
Gen kicked his foot slightly, and the sock dropped to the floor.
If you witnessed this, you gave no sign of it.
Instead, you swiveled around to take him in from head to toe, assessing, but not cold.
"The right leg, Captain? Is that the problem?"
He grunted in reply.
"I'm going to need you to remove the rest of the suit. Do you need assistance?"
Of course, he'd known this. He just hadn't bothered to comply with the obvious.
"No, I fucking don't."
He slid from the bed, placing more of his weight on the left leg as he shucked off the remaining boot, tugging the suit down the rest of the way.
Now in the fitted, standard-issue underwear beneath, he leaned back on the bed once more.
"Pain up to the back of my thigh. Here."
The gesture was offhand, but you followed it like a hawk.
On your datapad, the schematics from the suit appeared, highlighting areas of injury.
"Compression of the sciatic nerve. The problem is further up. I'll administer an anti-inflammatory shot and a patch. Please turn around."
Gen complied, sullen, hooking one finger into the waistband of his underwear to expose his hip. Your touch was unusually light, heralded by the cool swab of sterilizing agent.
He prepared himself for the prick of the needle, all familiar sensations.
The sharp pain never came, and you were now clearing up the station behind him, preparing one of the newly developed nano-gel patches that had seen many an officer return to active duty in record time, even after severe muscle injury.
"Oi."
"Yes, Captain?"
"You gonna give me a jab or what?"
"Already given, sir."
He paused, glancing down, perplexed.
There it was, the small cotton wool plug taped over where you'd injected him.
He'd never even felt the needle go in.
Your professional demeanour had eased slightly, a small smile on your face.
"I'm pretty good with injections."
"Stop bragging."
Your smile grew wider, as even Gen could acknowledge that his words lacked any bite.
"Let me apply the patch, and ... scan says there's an abrasion on your scalp. I'll see to that in a minute."
Surprised, he reached up, realizing that the state of his hair was not just due to the speed of his movement around the battlefield. Somewhere along the line, he'd picked up another injury.
Probably explained why his head was still throbbing like hell.
Muttering profanities, he held still as the edges of the patch were sealed against his hip.
There was something odd about how you handled him.
Gen had grown up in circumstances where mollycoddling never occurred. Medical attention was brusque, efficient, far more emphasis on time management than comfort.
His transition to the force had been a natural progression of that.
Officers received some of the best treatments available, but that same brisk formality bracketed all procedures.
Your hands, tracing out the edges of the patch, were soft, warm, not hesitant, but careful, pausing to give time for adjustment where tell-tale twitches indicated some pain or soreness.
He should have been irritated by this.
For some reason, he wasn't.
When he turned and seated himself once more, he saw that the scathing article was still open on his phone, which had landed face up on the sheet beside him.
It hadn't escaped your notice either, your mouth forming a tight line of displeasure.
The surge of anger he'd expected to feel earlier now came storming to the forefront.
"What? You also been reading that shit? Think I'm all fancy tricks and no - "
"Captain."
"What?"
"Please don't move. Or speak."
There was a note of command in your voice that he was wholly unaccustomed to hearing.
Your fingers were now parting his hair, feeling gently along his scalp to locate the abrasion, and he fell abruptly silent.
This felt ... different.
Nice.
There was no reprimand in the way you touched him.
Instead, your voice washed over him, unhurried, soft, but firm.
"I'm sorry for reading it on your phone. It was open, and I saw your picture there."
His fringe was pressed apart, brushed away lightly from his forehead.
"They have some sort of formula, you know. How to spin it to gain interest. The stronger you are, the more invincible you seem. Easy to pass a critique when they know you'll be there, when you're needed most."
Another pathway dragged along his scalp, searching, the tug and release a soothing rhythm.
"And you know, Captain, it's pretty obvious to anyone who's really looking. They're talking about infrastructure, when you clearly targeted the kaiju before it entered the residential areas. Factories can be rebuilt, and you can't house people in those."
You'd found the sore spot, but your fingertips did not poke or prod, skirting the edges before the cool press of an antiseptic pad filtered through.
It stung, but not because of you.
Gen opened his mouth to reply, to tell you that he didn't need you to inform him of what he already knew, that you needed to mind your own business and not go looking through his social media, that you needed to wrap things up here, but the words died on his lips as one of your fingers applied light pressure against the back of his neck, tilting his head forward.
"There, that's better. I can see it now. Not too bad. I'm just going to place a small pad over it. If it's pulling at your hair, you can remove it later."
"Stop talking to me like I'm some kind of kid."
His voice emerged thicker than he would have liked, and you paused momentarily.
"I'm not."
"Then - "
You're the Captain of this division, and you've saved more lives today than you probably know. And we appreciate you for that."
The gauze was placed with care against the raw spot, taped such that it would cause minimal discomfort.
His hair was smoothed back into place, neater than before, and some inner protest at how brief the contact had been, how much he wanted to lean further into it, curled up within him, a poorly kept secret.
You handed him a loose pair of track bottoms and a t-shirt, kept on hand for officers who needed to be rid of their suits.
Wordlessly, he slid from the bed, pulling the shirt on, then the trousers, not bothering to head to the changing screen present in the corner of the room.
You'd seen a lot more than his unclothed form, that much was evident.
The injection and patch were already going to work, and his leg felt less painful to place weight on, allowing him to draw himself to his full height.
There was no trace of teasing or mockery present, when he lowered his eyes to meet yours.
Your gaze was clear, honest, proud, in line with the small salute you offered.
"Thank you, Captain Narumi. I'm glad I could assist you today."
Whatever emotion had coiled within his chest sprouted wings, their unfurling suffused with a warmth he hadn't felt in ...
"Stop with that formal stuff. I hate it."
"My apologies. Ah, don't forget your phone."
Oh, yeah, he'd almost left it behind.
The article was still open.
300 likes and 46 comments already.
Somehow, he didn't care much, not anymore.
Not when you were looking at him like that.
He swung his head to the side, measured satisfaction in the crack of stiff muscles releasing, before loping towards the door barefoot.
As it slid open, he turned, some of that natural, domineering confidence already seeping back.
"Hey. You got a Z account?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Go comment that Captain Narumi is the coolest, ten times."
This time, you laughed, and it was a better remedy than anything else the damn med bay could throw his way.
Soshiro Hoshina
They were just weapons, he'd told himself.
Disposable.
Replaceable.
He was no samurai, of ages past, who had the luxury of mourning a sword imbued with the experience and soul of a warrior, a product of days of forging.
The broken blade in his grasp, however, aroused feelings that would not be denied, in spite of his best efforts.
Hoshina Soshiro had worked himself to the bone to be where he was today, and his position was one he would not give up for the world.
Captain Ashiro had entrusted him with this duty, just a few months before, to open the path for her own crushing strength.
So why was today any different?
It was a broken weapon, lodged in the unusually hard plating of an armored kaiju.
Okonogi's analysis had pinpointed afterwards that his blow had landed where the chitin was thickest, an anomaly considering his refined and practiced precision.
This was not something he could have foreseen.
All the same, he'd been unusually quiet and sombre during the post-mission briefing, assuaging Mina's pointed concerns before wandering off through the base.
Soshiro wasn't accustomed to aimless pursuits, but today, his mind just refused to allow him to focus on much else.
Soon, he arrived at the break room, making a snap decision to treat himself to some coffee.
There were a few others present, some analysts also on break after the operation.
As he helped himself to a fresh cup from the machine, Soshiro noted that they'd probably spent the entire night on duty, as he had.
He called out a greeting as they left, the cheery, professional persona falling into place ever so naturally.
"Have a good rest! Need y'all fresh for the next batch of kaiju."
A chorus of amused groans followed his wave, and they departed.
His smile fell away, the warm porcelain of the coffee cup now distant, unregistered between his fingers.
This much was good enough.
He was Vice-Captain, and he needed to be strong for them, to look out for his officers, and everyone on base.
That little boy in the muddy hakama, bokken lying discarded on the ground beside him, curled up as he watched the sun set over another resounding defeat, was far in the past.
He was -
"Vice-Captain?"
Ah, he hadn't even noticed you there.
Just how far had his attention strayed?
You were one of the analysts who'd been with the earlier group, but it seemed that you'd stayed behind.
There was a small sinking sensation somewhere in the pit of his stomach.
Now he'd have to keep up the pretence for a little longer, and -
"I'm sorry to intrude, sir, but I was there in the control room. For the mission earlier. I saw what happened to your swords."
What was the phrase?
A twist of the knife.
The irony was not lost on him.
Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, an old habit he'd picked up to counter how intimidating some found him.
"Ah, you saw that, huh? Not my best moment, I'm afraid."
The stare you returned was perplexed.
"What do you - well, if you don't mind sir, I've been reviewing the footage based on the post-mission analysis, and I found something."
He cocked his head, and suddenly, you were stumbling over your words, clear embarrassment stealing into your expression.
"Wait, I should have asked before - I'm sorry for taking such a liberty, but I - "
"Hey, hey, slow down."
He set the cup upon the counter, raising both hands in a placating gesture.
"First, tell me what you've gone and done before you apologise. Then at least I'll know if you really owe me one."
His light, playful tone seemed to have done the trick, even if you still couldn't quite meet his eyes.
The datapad in your hand was passed over, and he raised an eyebrow, taking in the cross section on the screen.
"So ... this is a full scan of the kaiju sub-species that came up earlier. See the tensile strength of its armour plating?"
Soshiro uttered a low whistle, scrolling downward through the calculated figures.
"No wonder my trusty swords didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell. Damn."
"Uh, yes, and that's where I've taken my small liberty. You see, I figured that if we were able to charge the kaiju materials within the sword, as we do the suits when enabling full release, we'd be able to superheat the carbon fibres within. Create an effect similar to a ... laser sword, I suppose. More cutting power specifically for hardened kaiju shells like this one!"
Speechless, he looked back up at you.
The explanation had been delivered with growing confidence, your whole demeanour overcome with enthusiasm.
Even at this hour, you'd stayed up to analyse that battle, come up with a countermeasure tailored specifically to him, took the time to hand it over personally instead of as a formality at R and D.
Since when did anyone have such -
Before he could stop himself, the words were out.
"Provided I handle these blades right. Wouldn't want all that hard work o' yours goin' to waste, huh?"
There it was again, that look of confusion, as if he'd said something truly incomprehensible.
When you spoke, your voice was lower, more contained.
"My - our work is never wasted on you, Vice-Captain. There's nobody who can wield a blade like you. We all know this. We've seen it ourselves."
He was reaching for the mug once more, noting the tepid quality of the brew within.
"Sheesh. I know one guy who could take those words outta your mouth."
"You mean Captain Hoshina of the Sixth Division?"
A moment of silence fell between you, heavy as a rock that carried some dread secret to the ocean floor.
Soshiro kept his tone even, devoid of the pang of recognition that had assailed him.
So even here, at the Third, they knew that there was a superior swordsman out there.
"The one and only."
Soemthing forceful entered your expression, as if you were preparing to hurl yourself from a great height.
"Sir, please forgive me if I'm grossly overstepping, but that's not true at all."
A sip of coffee nearly went down the wrong way.
"Pardon me?"
"Captain Hoshina is your - I mean to say, I'm sure you have ties that are more important than any stats I could stand here and spout at you, but sir ... I've reviewed this from every angle, and it's simply not true!"
Your outburst had rendered him speechless, truly a first.
Undeterred, you continued.
"Your flexibility and dual damage factors equalize things quite effectively when it comes to the reach of a standard katana. Your speed is unmatched, and so is your precision, calculated as an average per strike. In terms of neutralization per mission, your count is higher, and your scores in the JAKDF records remain unchallenged."
You paused, only to snatch the datapad out of his hands, waving it rather threateningly under his nose.
"Our work on these blades would never go to waste, Vice-Captain, for the simple reason that you would work harder than anyone else on the force to master them. And you can tell that to the Sixth."
Whatever it was that you'd been expecting, it obviously hadn't been a peal of laughter, rich and clear.
Soshiro doubled over, clutching his stomach as your mouth opened and closed several times, before your hand flew up to partially cover it, as if you'd only just realized the magnitude of your little speech.
"Oh man," he managed, between gasps, "Ain't never known there was someone watching me so closely. You got a whole filing cabinet on me, stashed away somewhere?"
"Sir, I - this is not just my - I mean to say, several analysts have worked on - "
"Gosh, there's a whole team of ya?"
"Yes. I mean - "
Regaining some of his composure, he leaned back against the table, taking in your flustered countenance.
"Hold up, now. I don't mean to make fun of what you've done here. This is - "
His fingers were winding past yours, the contact sudden, warm, rendering you immobile as he gently took the datapad back into his own possession.
"This is - "
It was his turn, he supposed, to be short of the appropriate phrase.
His hair fell forward, partially obscuring his eyes, a reminder of a time when he'd used this as effectively as any shield to hide his disappointment when his brother proved, yet again, that his own skill set was obsolete, unwanted by anyone.
Soshiro Hoshina, destined to be left behind, a remnant of another time, when those that loved the blade as he did had had their golden moment.
Soshiro, the boy, who'd once dreamed of a place he could truly call his own, carved out with sweat, steel and the desperate prying of his own hands.
Bringing the datapad a little closer to his chest, as if guarding something precious, he took in the schematic once again.
This was no random offering.
This was a detailed and specific design, meant to play to each and every one of his strengths.
Mina wasn't the only one who'd seen him.
There was Ikaruga, and Nakanoshima, Okonogi and Ebina, and all those officers who had embraced everything he'd stood for as the Vice-Captain.
There were the analysts like you, who worked tirelessly behind the scenes, to ensure that he'd never be unprepared for what faced him on the battlefield.
Raising his eyes to meet yours, he saw a startling clarity, an unspoken and complete faith in him.
Somehow, you'd known that he'd needed to see this now, after these same symbols he'd defined himself by had shattered against a kaiju's plating.
Your voice was soft, devoid of its earlier embarrassment.
"Would you like to hang on to that for a while longer, Vice-Captain?"
"If you'd allow me?"
"Of course!"
There was a definite spring in your step as you headed out, one he couldn't help but tease you on further.
"Hold it."
"Sir?"
"If you're buzzin' that much, why don't you skip out on sleep and head over with me to R and D? I'm sure they'd be happy as clams to see two sword junkies as this hour."
It was a suitable reward, he supposed, to see your face light up this much, enough to eclipse the dawn steadily creeping into the room over his shoulder.
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