*♦̮̑ɜܓ* ― 𝗔𝗺𝗮𝘆𝗮. 20. She/her. The lover of capable men. We love capable men here. Art student. Eyebags. Looks like a panda. I only live for coffee. People call for more coffee. Full of delusions. In the moon. In another world I would surely be the rain that touches Scaramouche.
꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ ― "Femme Fatale"
This is a +18 blog. There will be writings that are not for the youngest readers. Sometimes they will deal with dark themes for a well-informed audience. Read at your own risk.
English is not my first language
Masterlists
Byleth. Kusuo Saiki. Levi Ackerman. Satoru Gojo. Seven. Silco.
➺ Summary: He has a plan for Zaun, more important than you, more important than your son. For the sake of your people, you turn a blind eye to his negligence. Until he brings home that little girl.
➺ Warning: None.
➺ A/n: It's been a week since I discovered that I have a real soft spot for Silco, thanks to the many excellent fanfics I've had the pleasure of discovering. It's made me want to take another look at Arcane and enjoy all Silco's appearances. I'm new to the fandom, so I hope to do you, long-time readers of Silco fanfics, proud. English is not my first language. Sorry for the mistakes.
A few days had passed since Silco had dropped that bomb. The family dynamic had been turned upside down overnight, making the atmosphere heavy and oppressive. A fragile balance reigned in your home, or was it just your imagination? Silco and the young girl he forced on you seem to be doing just fine, going about their daily father-daughter business. But you know better than to think that it wasn't your imagination. All you had to do was watch your son stand awkwardly, his gaze lowered to the ground over the last few days, as if he wanted to make himself smaller than he already was. He hardly dared to express his opinion. Your child's joyful laughter was replaced by Jinx's. You had nothing against her. You had nothing against her, she is a child who made no inappropriate gestures towards you or your son, we could even say that your relationship with her consisted of a brief exchange of greetings around the breakfast table. But you can't worry about improving your relationship with the girl when your son is suffering because his father is spending more time with her. What will he think if you decide to bond with her in his condition? You know he'll be destroyed.
That's why you decided to put a smile back on your little angel's face. That day, you went into his room early in the morning to surprise him. Impatience buzzed pleasantly in your chest, and you couldn't wait to see your son's reaction. You sit on the edge of his bed, stroking the locks that brush his forehead. His eyelids flutter and his eyebrows furrow, reacting to your gentle caresses.
"Mum…?" He asks in what sounds like a tired whisper.
"Yes, angel." You reply just as softly, keeping the atmosphere private and warm.
"I want to sleep…"
The frown on the young boy's face melts your heart. Even with a grumpy waking attitude, he's still adorable in your eyes. You place a kiss on his forehead, soon followed by another, again and again until he giggles, gently pushing your face away with his small hands.
"Stop it, Mum." He laughs.
"Fine, but only if you listen to me all the way." You say, placing one last kiss on his nose.
No sooner said than done, like a good obedient boy, your son falls silent, looking at you through eyes still misty with sleep.
"We're going on a little trip to Piltover."
No sooner have you finished your sentence than sleep abandons your child's body. His eyes sparkle with joy, a feeling that had left his gaze several days ago. He squeals, holding back his voice at the risk of screaming and waking the whole house.
"Is it true? Really true? True true true?"
"True, true, true" Assert yourself, with all the confidence in the world.
"Thank you so much, Mum! You're the best! I love you!"
"I love you too." You kiss her cheek. "Go and get ready and we'll be off straight away."
"Yes!"
He rushes off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. A minimum of hygiene that you've taught him. You love your husband and you have no doubt that his teeth are the result of little more than a lack of hygiene, but you hope for a different fate for your child. In the meantime, you're preparing his clothes, an outfit that might prevent him from being labelled one of Zaun's children. In Piltover, it's best to avoid showing off your origins in the lower town.
It takes no more than fifteen minutes for your duo to be ready to leave the house. You run your hand through your child's hair one last time in the hope of taming that rebellious lock that's growing back on her head, but it doesn't work. You have to face the facts, this lock just won't flatten out.
"Let's go!" Your son says impatiently.
"Where are you going?" Asks a small voice at the top of the stairs. "…Out…" Your son replies, reluctantly, after a few seconds. He clings to your leg.
"Can I come?" The girl enthuses.
You take the trouble to think about it for two seconds, perhaps this is an opportunity for you to warm up to the young girl. She must also feel lonely in this new house with just Silco to talk to comfortably. This outing would be an opportunity to bond and ease the palpable tension. Your son's grip tightens on your leg and you look down at him. Your heart squeezes painfully. He clings to you as if you were a lifeline. The light is reflected in the tears that threaten to slide down his cheeks. He saw her as a threat. A threat that replaced him, he didn't want his mother taken away from him. But before you can respond, your son surprises you by speaking up.
"No! It's just Mum and me!"
He pulls you by the hand to get you out of the house. You let him, but you can't help glancing at Jinx who is calling out to you to let her come. You can also see the tears welling up in her eyes before the door is forcefully closed by your still angry son. You let a few minutes pass as you make your way through the deserted streets at dawn, when almost everyone is still asleep. The silence is heavy and you feel the weight of remorse beginning to weigh on your child's shoulders now that the anger is slowly but surely subsiding. After some thought, you pat his shoulder, drawing his attention to you.
"First one to the antique shop wins an ice cream."
You start running, or should I say trotting, your head tilted to the side to look over your shoulder at him.
"That's not fair, you're cheating!"
He starts running with all his might, you have to hold back the urge to hug him in front of the determination shining on his face. Sometimes you have to pick up your speed, just a little, to give him the feeling of competition. "I'm not a baby any more, Mum!" A phrase he's uttered to you so often since he turned six. So you make sure he doesn't feel treated like one, despite the fact that he'll always be your baby, even when he's sixty. He arrives before you at the finish line you had set yourself. He gives you the most smug look in the world, as if to say "You see, I've beaten you even though you started first!" You applaud, celebrating his little victory, happy to see a smile curving his lips.
Now comes the tricky part, getting into Piltover from Zaun, especially since security has been stepped up because of the kids who caused quite a ruckus there. But you always manage to do it - discretion is a skill you've developed from an early age, a trait you're determined to pass on so that one day it won't be your son who blows up a building when he's stealing. Even if, on a personal level, you hope for a better life for him.
You manage to blend in with the crowd of locals thanks to your outfits. You look like a mother and son in matching outfits. A respectable family not from Zaun. How long has it been since you've worn something like this? Your gaze lingers on the reaction of your son, who is looking at the shop windows with interest, everything is so new. He pulls you by the hand, pointing to a pastry shop window.
"Do you want to try it?"
He nods fervently. You laugh softly, wondering why you even asked such an obvious question. You enter the patisserie. The sweet, tantalising smell tickles your nose. You find yourself salivating at the very idea of feeling the sweetness of the pastry cream slide over your tongue again. But it seems you're not the most impatient. Your son is practically pressed up against the window, his eyes sparkling with the joy of all his sweet treats, and you have to hold him by the shoulders to stop him smearing the glass with his forehead and fingerprints. Fortunately, the pastry chef, a nice lady, laughs at your son's impatience, smiling kindly at him.
"What would you like, young sir?" She asks, as your son gasps in surprise.
"Young sir? Did you hear Mum? I'm a sir!"
You laugh in agreement with the pastry chef, tenderised by your child's words. You stroke his hair, before turning your attention back to the lady.
"I'll get you an assortment of pastries. With this add two cream puffs and a fruit tartlet, please."
She nods, preparing your order. You pay, thanking the lady for her hospitality, and leave the shop to find a small park where you can sit in the shade of a tree. You take out the various pastries before the dazzled eyes of your child, who can't resist biting into the cream puff. Part of it falls into his lap, clearly not expecting the cream to come out the other side. But he didn't pay any attention, just caught the fallen cream with his finger and licked it off.
You share his enthusiasm, the cream puff is succulent. The sweetness of the cream glides over your taste buds. You can almost feel the weight of recent events melting away like snow in the sun. The sweetness goes perfectly with the fresh, clean air of Piltover, nothing like Zaun, which is still under a cloud of toxins. At this moment, in this small park surrounded by a few families out for a stroll, you can't help but find the scenery magnificent. It's a perfect place to bring up your child. Away from it all. The sight of your son discovering the fruit on his tartlet makes you melt. You can easily imagine a world where you raise your child in such calm surroundings.
The day unfolds slowly. You show him the quiet little streets and the crowded, bustling avenues. You introduce him to a whole host of delicious foods and drinks that you can't find in Zaun. You enjoy his beaming smile, happy to have your little ray of sunshine back. The sky is turning orange. The visit soon comes to an end, but to crown the day, you take him to a toy shop.
"May I? Isn't that too…?" He asks, worried about all the money you've spent on him.
"Don't worry about it, just enjoy it, it's your day."
He nods and gets lost in the many shelves of toys. If he listens to himself, you have no doubt he'd like to buy the whole shop. After a few minutes he returns with two toys, a shy smile on his face.
"Can you buy me two, please?"
"Sure, any particular reason?"
"…" He seems to hesitate.
"Angel?"
"I was a bit mean to Jinx…I need to apologise…"
Surprise marks your features before your eyes soften at the preciousness of your son. How could you refuse to spend a little more? You're proud that you didn't have to intervene for him to decide to make the first move and apologise. He's such a good boy. How can you doubt it? After all, you brought him up! Even if you can't throw yourself all the flowers for his upbringing, Silco isn't there to stop you.
When you finally get home, your son is dozing against you, one arm supporting his weight while the other holds the bag with the toys. You're not going to lie, it's terribly difficult to support him with just one arm, but the close view of your house gives you the last shred of courage you need not to collapse here. You don't know by what miracle, but you manage to open the door to the house. After a day like this, there's nothing like the comfort of home. Or so you thought. But when you see Silco waiting for you on the sofa, his eyes riveted on you, his lips pressed firmly against the filter of a cigarette, you know you're going to have another argument.
You gently shake your son awake. Once you're sure he can stand, you set him down, holding back the sigh of relief at feeling your arm again. Your muscles are screaming with joy.
"Go up to your room, angel." You say.
"No, stay here."
"Silco…" You warn, but your subtle threat goes over his head.
"Why did you refuse to let Jinx accompany you?" He asks calmly, but his gaze is stern.
"I…"
Your son stammers, unable to bear his father's gaze, he looks down, as if he already knows he's going to get reprimanded, again. Yet despite everything, his voice, as weak as a breeze, continues to recount the thoughts running through his head, because he knows that his father doesn't like it when he doesn't get a clear answer.
"I was angry…You've always been with her since she arrived, you talk to her more and spend more time with her. So when Mum said it was just the two of us going out…I…I didn't want her to steal Mum from me too…" He barely finishes the end of his sentence, it was practically inaudible. He looks up, hoping to find understanding and paternal comfort but his hopes are shattered when he meets only Silco's sternness.
"Don't be selfish. She only arrived a few days ago. It's normal that she needs more attention from us, it's no small thing arriving in a new family especially after a trauma." "But-"
"No buts. Don't start that again."
"Dad!"
"Don't complicate things." Silco sighs, massaging his eyes to relieve the tension.
The child takes a step backwards, his legs shaking. Betrayal shows on his face as pain pulses through every fibre of his body. He runs upstairs, not stopping when you call his name. It breaks you. You feel your heart clench painfully. You're unable to protect your son, you can only try to mend the pieces over and over again, but how long could he last? A child is so fragile at that age. He's still developing.
You're angry. Words can't describe the rage you feel. Yet you can't get it out. You learnt years ago that shouting at Silco never gets you anywhere. But you're not going to back down, you need to have a little chat. So you sit down in the square beside him, taking his hand between yours. A silence falls between you, no one speaks, but you can hear the faint sobs of your son. Surprisingly, it's not you who breaks the silence first, but your husband, who lets out a sigh. His thumb strokes the back of your hand in a circular motion.
"I was too harsh, wasn't I?" It wasn't a real question. He knows it wasn't. You know it. He was too harsh. But you take the time to answer anyway.
"Yes, you were too harsh." You leave a moment of silence before continue. "You know that, so why go on?"
"I need him to understand. We've never been able to give him siblings, this is his chance to have someone to rely on later, when we're gone. Someone who won't betray him."
You look at your intertwined hands. His thumb is still caressing the back of your hand, a little gesture he always makes when something is bothering him and weighing on his mind. You know it helps him relax.
"You know it divides them more than anything else?"
He doesn't answer but you can see from the way he squints that he knows you're right. Your anger is still pounding in your chest, you just want to scream at him to make him understand how much he's hurting your son, but you mustn't… You must refrain and keep calm. Perhaps this discussion will allow you to reconcile father and son. You can only hope. The silence drags on, so you decide to speak again.
"You know, he blamed himself. He regretted not taking Jinx with us." You take a toy box out of the bag and place it on your husband's lap. "He wanted to buy her a toy to make up for it, without me having to whisper the idea to him. There's still hope that one day they'll be like real brother and sister, we just have to work together to weld together this ideal family you're talking about."
His gaze lingers on the toy box, a myriad of feelings crossing his pupils without you being able to distinguish them all. You tighten your grip on his hand to offer a touch of comfort before you rise from the sofa, bag in hand.
"I'm going to go and talk to him." Silco sighs. A tired breath.
"I don't think he wants to see you." You say, lips puckered into a thin line. "Just as I don't think you're rested enough for this discussion with him."
"If I wait until tomorrow, he'll spend the night tormenting himself even more."
Uncertain, you stare at your husband for several seconds, before finally holding out your arm, presenting him with the bag containing your son's toy. And when he takes it from your hand, you nod, hoping you're doing the right thing. You can't deny him the right to try and make up. He's made mistakes in the last few weeks, but he's done his best throughout your child's life. He's always been afraid of being a father. How do you raise a child in Zaun? He knows how to govern people, but bringing someone up from the very first minutes of life are two completely different things.
He grabs the handle of the bag, places a kiss on your forehead and walks past you up the stairs. Despite the urge to listen outside your son's bedroom door, you curb this urge and decide to spend a moment alone in the living room to rest from this emotional rollercoaster. The noise of the city cuts through the walls of the house, leaving no moment of real silence. Nothing excessively loud, just a permanent background noise that marks Zaun's busy life. A thin smile curves your lips as Silco's soft whisper reaches your ears. You can't hear the words, just the timbre of his voice, but that doesn't stop you from smiling.
Tomorrow you'll go and talk to Jinx and form a bond with this child.
That'll do. Tomorrow is the day you're going to form the beginnings of a real family.
➺ Summary: He has a plan for Zaun, more important than you, more important than your son. For the sake of your people, you turn a blind eye to his negligence. Until he brings home that little girl.
➺ Warning: Angst.
➺ A/n: It's been a week since I discovered that I have a real soft spot for Silco, thanks to the many excellent fanfics I've had the pleasure of discovering. It's made me want to take another look at Arcane and enjoy all Silco's appearances. I'm new to the fandom, so I hope to do you, long-time readers of Silco fanfics, proud. English is not my first language. Sorry for the mistakes.
"Honestly…Days of silence and he only talks to me to ask me something." You murmur with a weary sigh.
You rummage through his desk, cursing under your breath at the ton of paper that's strewn everywhere. How are you supposed to find a file amongst all this paperwork? You mutter your dissatisfaction with each sheet you briefly examine. Caught up in your own world, you don't notice the door opening slightly or even the faint creaking of the old wooden floor.
"Boo!"
You shout, turning to see a child exploding with laughter, giving you the biggest smile you've ever seen on the face of a Zaun child. A breath of relief escapes you, but in revenge to pat the top of his head with a leaf file you had in your hand. Once you've got over your fright, the air in the room becomes calmer again, with small talk and laughter from the child who is working with you to find the famous file.
After a few minutes, you finally get your hands on what your husband has asked you for. What a relief, you can finally bring it to him without too much delay. You were worried that the last few weeks might have affected his patience.
"Can I come with you? Please, please, please!"
"You know…your father-"
Your next words immediately die in your mouth, unable to continue as your child's eyes shine with a pleading gleam, full of hope and despair. You knew he missed his father. You missed him too. Waking up in the cold, empty bed for weeks didn't ease the weight in your stomach. You knew you shouldn't, but you finally gave in. As you sigh, your son knows he's won. He jumps up on the sofa and laughs with joy.
"Don't jump on the sofa." Scold yourself gently.
He continues to laugh and jump on the sofa. A smile stretches your lips and you roll the sleeves of your shirt up over your elbows.
"You little rascal, come here so I can catch you."
You rush over to him, catching the frail body in your hands, lifting him up by his armpits. You turn together, lifting the little monster above you. He spreads his arms out to either side, as if imitating a flying bird. And when the game ends, he's in your arms, your son clinging to your neck, his legs closed around your hip. One of your arms holds him under his bottom while the other holds the papers firmly.
"Let's go and visit your father. And don't forget-"
"I have to stay close to you and not do anything stupid, or he'll be angry." Repeats your son in a mechanical voice, reciting the rules like a poem instilled in him over and over again until the phrase becomes as natural as breathing.
"Good boy." You kiss his forehead, leaving your house for the warehouse where your husband works.
You don't exaclty know what he's working on, only a few things. But one thing's for sure, you're not going to be in this building with your child for long. The air is thick and heavy. The dilapidated, empty vastness makes your heels thud against the asphalt. Only the purple vines break up the urban aspect of the place with a slimy, terrifying organic aspect. Your grip closes on your child, forcing him even tighter against your chest. The instinct to protect awakens. A lioness ready to sink her fangs into the slightest threat. You summon up all your courage, praying to the gods that your nervousness doesn't affect your son. It seems to be working, as your son shakes his legs, humming happily at the thought of finally being able to see his father. The smile on his lips and his eyes curiously exploring his surroundings, as if his father could be in every shadow of the disused factory.
As the minutes pass and you wander along the corridors, your arm tires. The exhaustion fire spreads through the muscles in your arm, forcing you to lower your son to the ground, taking him by the hand so that he doesn't wander off into this dangerous factory.
And finally you see that glow. The orange flames of the forges. The rhythmic sound of hammers on hot iron echoes in your ears. You're on a catwalk above the workers. Some are striking the glowing iron, others are dipping their hot blades into a bucket of water. A perfectly executed dance. A well-executed secret enterprise. You feel your son tugging at your hand as he leans against the metal railings, intrigued by the novelty.
"Don't lean too far." You say.
"You there."
You turn to see Sevika standing at the other end of the catwalk, arms crossed under her chest, watching you with the utmost indifference. She works for your husband, serving him so faithfully. Perhaps we can even speak of a touch of respect for him, a feeling that doesn't extend to you and even less to the child hiding behind your leg. You see her eyebrows furrow momentarily before she gives you a strange smile.
"This should be fun."
"Where is he?" You ask, ignoring her innuendo.
"In the laboratory. You know the way."
You nod, pulling your son's hand to guide him along with you, passing Sevika whose gaze doesn't linger on you any longer. You pucker your lips into a thin line, was he in a bad mood for her to be amused to see your son here when he is forbidden access? Everything should be fine if he's in your company and under good guard. It's just a short visit, a brief exchange. You calm your inflamed nerves as your steps take you closer and closer to the laboratory. The orange light from the flames of the makeshift forge fades to an unnatural purple. No matter how many times you come here, you can never get used to the creepy atmosphere.
"Silco. Next time, put your papers away, will you? It's hard to find what you want in all this mess." You scoff with a frank laugh as you hand him the file he wanted.
You take a moment to detail his look. His hair is still flat against his head, even if a few rebellious strands caress his forehead. His attire is always impeccable, a great man surrounded by thugs. He looks like a king ruling his people and you have no doubt that he will succeed in achieving his goals. Your eyes are lost on the movement of his fingers as they slide along the papers in a caress that sends you back to your vivid imagination. You can almost feel his fingers sliding up your thighs…
"Thank you, little bird." He says, flicking through the papers briefly before returning to you, a smile at the corners of his lips. He had caught you looking at him, lost in thought. He knew what you were imagining. You quickly look away at the Shimmer, in an attempt to distract yourself. "Do you want to see the Shimmer's progress, before you go home?"
"No thanks, I've already seen the trial phase and had enough violence for a decade at least." You groan in discomfort, clearly remembering that poor cat's corpse being eviscerated by that mouse. Earning a mocking sniff from your lover. "I wouldn't want that-"
A gasp leaves you as you finally realise that your hand that was holding your son's is free. The look on your face confirms what worried you most: your son is no longer with you. As the realisation hits you, a loud noise echoes through the factory as if a great deal of glass has just exploded. Your heart races as anguish tortures your stomach. It doesn't take more than a second for your body to start running towards the source of the noise before your mind decides to do so. Instinct. You bite your lower lip, you should have been more careful!
You hoped you were wrong, but you're not. Standing before you is a storage room covered in shards of glass that glisten in the dark purple liquid. In the middle of this dark spectacle sits your son, his knees bloodied and the palms of his hands bruised by the shattered glass. He is looking at you, his eyes glistening with tears. He is panicking. He is suffering. He is totally incomprehensible. You don’t know what´s happened to bring him to this catastrophe, but you could imagine his discomfort and fear at having to face the wrath of everyone in the room, including his father. His eyes widen, staring at a specific point behind you. Ah. Silco is arrived.
The silence is heavy. You feel your limbs tremble under the pressure. Everyone is waiting for them to get angry or bark virulent reproaches. You force a brave expression onto your face as you approach your child to allay his fears. A vain attempt when he is blinded by the sole presence of his father, who towers far above your tenderness.
"You two, with me". Is all he says before storming off down a corridor, ordering some of the onlookers to mend this mess.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
"I told you not to bring him here." Silco sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in the hope of pushing through an intense headache.
"He wanted to spend time with you. You're his father, but he's seen more of Sevika in a week than he has of you in months." You scold in defence of your son.
"I'm running a project that will revolutionise the way Zaun will live. There's so much to do and not much time to do it in. I don't have time to play tea party with him. You should understand that." He replies, his lips puckered in displeasure.
"He only wanted to come with me to see you. He miss you!"
"And his coming destroyed an important shipment of Shimmer!" He growls, tired of the days of work, tired of the problems that get in his way, tired of his son and tired of you.
"He's a child! He didn't do it on purpose! You can create it again but you've only got one child with a heart you'll end up breaking!"
"Little bird, do you even realise how much effort he has destroyed by his mere presence? It will take us weeks to redo everything, it's far too much! A child's heart is not worth Zaun's future."
You remain silent, unable to shake off the stinging pain in your heart that he has just reduced to nothing. Your throat knots, as if the emotions you're feeling are preventing you from replying. It's your child's pathetic sob, hitherto silent, that jolts you out of your shock. You watch his tear-stained face, struggling to contain his sadness at his father's harsh words, and yet trying with every ounce of his being to remain quiet and dignified so as not to disturb him any further. And it destroys you. You force an impassive expression onto your features as you stare at Silco. Your tongue runs over your dry lips to moisten them. Your throat is pasty but you ignore your discomfort.
"Why did you decide to fight for Zaun?" You ask suddenly. Quiet and monotone.
"For the respect we are due." He replies fervently, driven by ambition and annoyance at previous events.
Your lips part. And suddenly Silco's shoulders slump, as if he's just realised something important. You don't know what's going through his mind, you don't want to know. All you do is take your son in your arms and leave the laboratory without a backward glance, despite the roar of your first name. You refuse to turn back.
Quickly, your footsteps take you out of the factory. You don't even notice that you've been standing in front of your door for minutes. Your chest heaves frantically, as if you've just run a marathon. Perhaps it was, anger pulsing through your veins, providing your muscles with a monstrous source of energy to escape the building. He hadn't followed you…you don't know whether you're glad he didn't or not.
As you enter the house, you place your child on the sofa in the living room. You leave him for a moment to get some disinfectant alcohol and bandages. Accessories that are difficult to access but which you had managed to steal on one of your rare expeditions across the bridge.
"It's going to hurt." You warn.
Your son nods and clenches his shirt into his tiny fists, waiting with closed eyes for a searing pain to shoot through his body. It didn't miss. He sobs painfully as the alcohol soaks into his wounds. He squirms in your grip and you are forced to hold him still to prevent his wounds from becoming infected. Despite your heart aching to see your son cry, you know it's for his own good. You can't afford to let his wounds get any worse.
"I know, I know… it's going to be okay, angel." You whisper against his forehead, your lips kissing the top of his head.
"It's all my fault… It's my fault that if it broke and now dad is angry. It's my fault he's never home… It's my fault you fight."
"No, it's not! Absolutely not! Hey, sweetheart. Look at me." You cup his face between your hands, inviting him to look at you. Your eyes fill with tears at the broken state of your son, who blames himself for everything. "It's not your fault. Dad is just tired, OK? He was very mean but I'm sure he didn't mean it, all right? But it's not all your fault. Daddy is working very hard for our future, that's why he's not here, okay? When he comes home you'll apologise, won't you? I'm sure he'll forgive you."
Your son nods shyly, sniffing at the snot running down his nose. You wipe the tears from his cheeks and then his nose with the sleeve of your shirt, then rock him with affection and love until late at night, when he finally manages to fall asleep in your arms. This argument has affected him enormously…if only you hadn't given in and left him at home. No…it's not entirely your fault, you didn't want to take on all the responsibility and guilt because you know that Silco was also at fault for being cruel to a child.
Tomorrow you'll go and see him again to talk to him once you've put your minds at rest. Maybe you can have a civilised discussion that way. Finally, abandoning the idea of getting into your pyjamas so as not to wake your child, you lie down in your marital bed, looking down at your son curled up against your chest. Silco won't be there all night, so you can leave this little bundle of joy with you.
Tomorrow will be a better day.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The morning goes smoothly. Your son regains a certain youthful gaiety, playing with his toys, close to the front door as if watching for the moment when his father will cross the threshold. You decide not to send him away, perhaps because it reassures him and gives him a certain comfort. You can't blame your son for hoping to reconcile with his father. He was an important figure for him, an idol, a star. You can imagine that for your child, Silco is an important part of his life that he doesn't want to disappoint. A child's desire to please his parents, to have their undivided attention, just like when he was younger. Perhaps Silco's distancing himself from his work is hard for the poor child, who was used to being with two parents instead of one.
You shake your head, pushing your futile conjectures from your thoughts. Instead you return to cook a dish that your older brother used to prepare for you when you were younger and easily saddened. That sweet, warm dish still soothed your torments to this day.
The sound of a key turning in the lock draws you out of the cooking. You strained your ear to hear your son's impatient noises, which brought a smile to your face. Today was definitely going to be a better day.
"Dad, dad is back! Dad I'm sor-"
Your son's voice fades to a whisper without finishing his sentence. Curious, you leave the kitchen, wiping your hands in a dishcloth as you walk to the front door where you see your husband holding a little blue-haired girl in his arms. A frail figure clinging to him like a wild animal cornered by danger. You feel your fingers tighten around the fabric, looking at your husband with apprehension.
"I intend to take care of that girl from now on."
Your eyes widen. He…plans to father another child?
➺ Summary: He has a plan for Zaun, more important than you, more important than your son. For the sake of your people, you turn a blind eye to his negligence. Until he brings home that little girl.
Blessing of the Goddess - (Byleth x afab!reader) - +18
➺ Summary: You looked so beautiful in that dress. All he could think of was taking it off and fucking you in front of everyone to show who you belonged to. Basically Byleth fucking you against the wall of the goddess's tower.
➺ Summary: Levi Ackerman. Duke Ackerman. A mysterious, stern man who never strays from the straight and narrow, whether by choice or because of his hectic schedule, no one knows and no one wants to know, because this social season, they say, he's planning to take a wife. To your best parade ladies, the most coveted bachelor is finally available…
➺ Warning: Misogyny. Women are seen as reproducers. It's not a smut, but it's tendentious.
➺ A/n: I've watched so much Queen Charlotte and Bridgertone that I wanted to write something in that kind of historical universe. Haha… that ties in with my love of historical manhwa. English is not my first language. Sorry for the mistakes.
"Are you ready for the new social season, Ackerman?
Slumped against the comfortable back of the imposing office chair, the principal concerned didn't even bother to look up from his documents. Not out of concentration but to avoid being confronted with the irritating sight of that shit-eating, mocking smile on his friend's lips. His hand, holding a quill, continued to scratch the paper, drowning the sheet under the jet-haired man's beautiful cursive handwriting. He was doing all he could to divert his attention from the noisy, annoying ramblings of this over-talkative individual who doesn't know when to stop talking. The social season was far from his first and he hoped it would be his last. To take a respectable wife and finally be rid of the target that all the carnivorous mothers were staring at behind his back.
"Levi Ackerman. The most coveted bachelor since Duke Smith was taken off the marital market. Smith has found himself a charming little wife who fills him with happiness. And who will you find to warm your cold heart and sour mood? Will you have a sweet little loving wife? Maybe you'll have a carbon copy of yourself, which I wouldn't wish on any of the servants in your homes. Putting up with you alone is enough, so a woman like you…"
"Hange, if you've got nothing better to do, get the hell out of my house."
"Aw Ackerman, you're so rude! I'm sick to my stomach."
Levi looked up briefly from his documents to shoot a bored glance at the person in front of his desk who was feigning a deep wound in his heart. He snorted in disdain before diving back into his urgent business, all the while continuing to ignore Hange's mocking and playful monologue. He didn't need to be reminded of the social seasons. He still remembered perfectly how many people gathered around him at every ball he had the misfortune to attend. At the time, Erwin Smith was also single, which eased some of the pressure from mothers eager to find a good match for their daughters. But now he was married, forcing Levi to face the demons alone in the elegant clothes of a noblewoman called mother. Worst of all, rumour had it that he was planning to take a wife. It wasn't a lie; he intended to declare his intentions and take the hand of a young woman who would meet his standards, which he was forced to lower in the hope of finding someone. However, this rumour would fuel the ambition of these mothers. He could already see himself in a ballroom, unable to take a single step without being interrupted by one of them. Levi could bet his hand that the person behind the rumour was standing right in front of him.
"Erwin was lucky to find someone who makes his heart beat. If I don't rule out love, it's the last thing that's going to enter into my calculations. I need a duchess. A woman who can host and organise receptions and welcome foreign dignitaries. I need someone who can manage high society and the heritage of our estates while giving birth to my children. She must have the shoulders and spirit to handle the duties of a duchess. She must have the dignity and poise that comes with the title."
"You are demanding." Hange sighed, in a melancholy breath.
"I have to be. I can't accept just anyone as Duchess and you know that. Erwin was very lucky. One in a million. Who knows if I could be so lucky as to find in the most capable of women the one I would love."
"Good. You're so serious about this that I can't not lend you a hand."
"Please. I don't need your help which is too often useless and catastrophic. Not to mention shitty."
"Trust me! The Queen has already chosen her diamond, the girl who shines above the rest. I happen to know her personally."
"Don't say it like it's some revolutionary idea. There was nothing more predictable than being interested in the diamond of the season. A girl who is all too often chosen for her beauty rather than her skills. A factor I have no interest in."
"You're depressing Ackerman." Hange complains, her upper body slumped over the paper-free part of the desk.
Levi clicks his tongue against his palate, now having to endure the sighs and complaints of this individual lounging on his wooden desk that is surely worth more than a small estate in the heart of the capital. He makes a mental note to himself to thoroughly clean the wooden surface to remove any germs that Hange might leave on his wonderful desk.
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"Lady [Name]. Miss [Name]. What a pleasure it is to welcome you to our land. I hope British soil suits your tastes."
"It is an honour, Your Majesty. We thank you for your hospitality."
"Isn't there someone missing? Don't you have two daughters?" Asks the Queen, one eyebrow arched.
"My apologies, Your Majesty, my sister could not bear the journey on the ship. She was forced to stay in bed while her illness subsided." You say.
Along with your mother, you bow to Her Majesty the Queen of England. There is no doubt that this woman is of a completely different class to the ladies of the nobility. The Queen is the most noble. The one to whom all eyes naturally turn. You can't help but let your eyes take in the sumptuous details of the lace covering Her Majesty the Queen's dress. A puffed-up dress that breaks with the current trend for empire dresses. Why didn't she follow the current fashion? Wasn't it a silent obligation of society not to step out of line at the risk of being singled out for criticism and harsh words by other nobles? You have abandoned the clothes of your native country to blend in with current British fashion, but you feel a touch of admiration before Her Majesty the Queen. Perhaps you could persuade your mother to let you proudly wear the dresses of your homeland?
"Come, come, come! We have so much to talk about. We'll soon be one big, beautiful family."
"I hope so too, Your Majesty." Your mother affirms, with a discreet, unruffled smile.
With that, you follow in the Queen's rapid and ample footsteps. How can she be so comfortable in clothes that seem so uncomfortable? It's probably a question of habit. A few steps behind her, you try to keep up with the rapid pace through the magnificent corridors decorated with gilding and sculptures that you know are worth more than anything the less fortunate could dream of. On the walls hang paintings depicting the royal couple's life together. When they are young, then soon joined by a multitude of toddlers until these children take on the appearance of young adults. A chronological frieze that tells the story of a hidden family history.
There's nothing like that in your family. There's just a register that takes into account the many members of your clan. Only the hard core share the ancestral domain, while the others are invited every year for a week to maintain a certain union between all the members of your clan. And you… you're the chief's goddaughter. Daughter of the chief's sister. After the chief's daughter, you are the most noble thing in your country. The purest. If your cousin is promised to the prince of your kingdom, you… Are you going to join the jewels of the British Empire? That is a perfectly acceptable future. But are you prepared to give up your family? Your country? The life you've built there? To leave to start a new life with a man whose company you're not sure you'd enjoy?
For a moment, this sumptuous palace looks like a cage. Your future cage.
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"Miss [Name], what's your country like? I'm genuinely curious about the different regions." The princess's voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
"At the risk of committing an act of treason on your soil, I admit that our landscapes have nothing to envy to those of British soil. I would even go so far as to say that they are splendid. I think you'd like it very much."
The princess lets a soft laugh slip from her lips, which she hastens to hide behind her fan. You squint your eyes in delight. The princess doesn't seem to be offended by this little joke; she seems to be enjoying it. You take a sip of the tea you were served a few minutes ago.
Several days have passed since your arrival. You still haven't met the prince who may become your fiancé, but you won't regret not having met him yet. You dread this moment. If you do meet him, it will all become too real for you. These imaginary chains of commitment will be physically represented by a sumptuous ring on your left ring finger. The very thought makes your stomach boil with palpable discomfort. Fortunately, you've been lucky enough to meet a charming princess your own age. Historia Reiss. A soul so sweet and pure that you could swear you'd want to protect her just so she wouldn't encounter any unpleasantness in her life. You could almost find comfort in her presence should you end up marrying one of the princes.
"The first ball of the season will be held at Lord and Lady Yeager's house. Would you be comfortable? I don't know how different the culture of your country is from here."
"Don't worry, your highness. I used to attend quite a few balls in my country, along with my cousins. We never missed an opportunity to socialise. We were an inseparable trio…"
"You seem very close to your family."
"I grew up with them. I can't conceive of a life without them in my life."
"With so many brothers and sisters, I can only understand you. Sometimes they're unbearable but in the end, I wouldn't give them up for anything in the world."
The atmosphere becomes heavy with nostalgia. Memories of numerous family events come back to haunt you and add to the weight on your shoulders. The same dilemma seems to be facing the princess, who is also due to marry in the not too distant future. She too will have to leave her family, perhaps even her homeland, to marry a powerful nobleman from another nation in order to forge ties. Because that's what women are for: to produce heirs and to act as bargaining chips in the political game. Knowing and accepting are two different things. You know your destiny, but can you accept it? Are you even being asked to accept it? No. You are asked to suffer and endure.
The princess coughed in a feeble attempt to lighten the almost ceremonial mood.
"If you wish, I can teach you a few things for your first ball here. I don't doubt your social skills, far from it! But the culture here must still be foreign to you…"
"Thank you, Your Highness, it is with pleasure that I accept your kind offer."
A smile curves your lips. The afternoon is spent talking about the little subtleties of the English court, which you find so lacking. Little protocols, little messages coded behind the tilt of your fan. The language of the fan is different from that of your country. She also teaches you the latest rumours so that you don't feel too out of place, even if you don't really know the protagonists portrayed in her rumours. It would seem, however, that this kingdom is particularly fond of such gossip.
Time passed at an alarming rate and before you knew it it was time to part. The sun was about to set. You both had to get ready for the dinner that was about to begin.
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The evening of the first ball of the season has finally arrived. As expected, as soon as Duke Ackerman arrived, all the mothers with ambition presented themselves to him, their daughters in tow. He didn't hear any family names, all he heard was the roar of lionesses hungry for prestige or the pecking of hens. He almost cursed Erwin for abandoning him to indulge in his newlywed life. While he was genuinely happy for his friend, Levi couldn't help but curse him in this situation. A duke still single…a real dawn to behold. He excused himself briefly with a shake of his head, ignoring the sighs of disappointment, and extricated himself from the flock of ladies to join Hange, who was standing in the company of Erwin and his young wife.
He almost regretted having come to keep them company when he was forced to listen to Hange's mocking laughter, which seemed to find the Duke's distress satisfying in every way. If looks could kill, Hange would already be six feet under rotting and being eaten by worms. Too bad that's not possible.
"I can't wait to find someone nice so I can get away from all this excitement for good." Levi grumbled, his lips against the rim of his champagne glass.
"You talk more than you act. If you keep running away, you won't know any of these girls and you'll end up another season on your own. A real vicious circle." Hange scoffs.
"I'm not running away. I'm running away from this savage horde." Retorts the man concerned.
"She's not wrong. You'll never find anyone at this rate." Erwin agrees, shaking his head.
"Even Smith says so." Hange boasts.
"Oh…I always thought you two would end up married. You're always together…" Lady Smith intervenes in a timid voice, unsure whether to say the words or not.
The other three turned to her. Erwin gently shook his head and calmly explained the situation. Hange couldn't help laughing as if she'd just heard the most hilarious joke, while Levi frowned, not holding back the visible disgust he felt at the very idea of having to share his life more than he already did with this individual. A friendly relationship could be tolerated, but more? Ah, God save him from this dark fate!
"My apologies! I always thought…"
"Don't worry, my dear." Erwin said to soothe her.
"It's common knowledge in the various circles of high society. Your relationship is a trending topic at every turn." Informs Lady Smith, a nervous smile on her lips.
"Please don't say another word about it." Begs Levi, who swears a glass of champagne isn't strong enough to hear that kind of story about him. He needs stronger alcohol.
Fortunately for the Duke, the music ends, replaced immediately by the powerful melody of trumpets, a harbinger of the arrival of the one everyone is waiting for: Her Majesty the Queen of England. The big doors open, revealing the royal figure in her sublime gown of thick ivory with a few touches of blue. The guard at the door announced the Queen's arrival in a firm voice. Then other names were called: that of Princess Historia Reiss. Then the Countess [Name] and her daughter.
All bowed to Her Majesty the Queen, before rising to gaze at the two newcomers to the British court: mother and daughter [Name]. Two foreigners whose features stand out from the rest of the nobility. A refined exoticism that is sure to catch the eye of even the most self-righteous duke. Recognising beauty in the unknown is right up his street.
But perhaps his gaze lingered a little too long on the young miss descending the stairs, as Hange tapped him on the side of the elbow. A single glance was enough for him to see the mischievous gleam in her eyes.
"Don't think about it, four eyes."
Hange shrugged, before pushing him forward, encouraging him to take a step towards the quartet who had finally set foot on the ballroom floor. Levi stumbled on his feet, managing to catch himself in time before hitting the floor. A movement that didn't seem to go unnoticed, on the contrary. He felt the weight of Her Majesty The Queen's gaze, which had just spotted him in the crowd. He refrains from swearing between his teeth, cursing the day Hange was born. With a perfect bow, he presented himself to Her Majesty, without bothering to smile. No one has ever seen him smile, he is thought to be incapable of it.
"Duke Ackerman, what a pleasure it is to honour us with your presence." The Queen begins.
"The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty."
"Have you already met our guests, Lady [Name] and Miss [Name]?"
"I have not had that honour before today."
The Duke analysed the curve of the Queen's smile, then followed the discreet movement of her eyes towards the young miss in silent command. Levi wrinkled his nose briefly, so as not to break his legendary impassivity and reveal his displeasure at his situation. But perhaps he could have picked a worse partner than a young miss who had just arrived on English soil and who certainly didn't know the latest gossip.
He walked around The Queen, his strides guiding him to a respectable distance from the foreign miss, his hand outstretched towards her. His steely eyes gazed into hers, taking in the minute details in her irises. The brilliance of the crystals on the ballroom chandelier was reflected in her eyes, as if a whole galaxy had taken refuge in her.
"Miss [Name], would you do me the honour of a dance?"
꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ
You smooth down the silk of your dress, which covers your body in a beautifully crafted adornment. You feel uncomfortable in this dress, not so much from the corset as from the layers of this empire dress. You weren't sure whether there was too much fabric or not enough. Your breasts, contoured by the corset, bulge out for all to see. Your eyes can't take your eyes off this display of flesh, which now seemed so unseemly just a few seconds before your entrance.
A gentle pressure on your arm rouses you from your obvious discomfort. The princess stands beside you in a pleasant attempt to help you overcome the demons of anxiety. You offer her a gentle smile, thanking her for her kindness.
The double doors open to reveal the bright lights coming from the candles, especially the giant chandelier suspended above the couples of motionless dancers, facing you. All this attention is directed at you. Suddenly, all that nervousness evaporates like snow in the sun. The feeling of being the eye-catching jewel takes you back to the wonderful days when you and your two cousins dominated your country's high society. Your body remembers the small, graceful gestures and discreet, charming smiles of a noble lady. Why were you nervous again? You couldn't remember, but the delight of returning to balls and luxury made you feel like a fish in water.
Behind the Queen, you watch the Duke's silhouette approach you. A very handsome man, the orange glow of the candles emphasising the chiselled, severe features of his face. He doesn't stand out for his height, but the way his expensive suit clings to his muscles, the shadows discreetly emphasise the contours of his sculpted body. You hold your breath as he approaches you. Blimey, you've completely forgotten to follow the discussion that's just taken place. Has he caught you looking at him in the most shameful way possible? To your surprise, he invites you to join him in a dance. You slip your hand into his, a pleasant shiver caressing your spine as he traps your hand between his fingers, drawing you onto the dance floor. You feel his second hand slide down your side to rest on your hip, the perfect place to keep from being indecent. His warmth embraces you with a gentle sensation. It's so different to when you're being held by your cousin for a dance, it's different…because you're in the presence of a man and not a family member you grew up with.
A breath slips from your lips as you feel his fingers tighten their grip on your hip. That simple touch electrifies your nerves. Your eyes gaze into his, searching for his soul for a brief moment. Perhaps it's simply because he's a man… the first man to hold you. Maybe it's because you can feel the firmness of his muscles under his suit.
The music begins, echoing throughout the room. You dance together, following the silent instructions of his body against yours. Around you other couples join in, but in all honesty you're not really paying attention.
"So…you're the most coveted bachelor of the season?" You ask to start a conversation with your dance partner.
"I see you've been made aware of the latest rumours." The Duke resigns himself, his features hardened by the despair of his situation.
You can't help but let a laugh escape you at your dance partner's visible dissatisfaction. It would seem that this is a subject that puts him in an uncomfortable situation.
"The princess seemed well to inform me of the latest intriguing news at court so that I should not find myself out of place."
"Do you intend to stay until the end of the season or will you be staying on British soil?"
"It's a huge upheaval to change countries for good. But I'm beginning to discover the attractions of the British Empire." You reply, your gaze firmly anchored in his.
He opens his lips briefly, like a fish out of water. Then he turns in on himself, becoming once again the cold, stern duke, inflexible in his expressions if only for the tiny expressions that make him human and not a marble statue.
"The princess is a charming person who never fails to brighten my days. Her ladies-in-waiting, though I don't really know them, seem to me to be perfectly benevolent ladies."
The drawing music threatened to end the song. Soon you will have to part with this man whose surname and title you know only. A beauty like that won't struggle to find a wife before the season is over.
"I want to know you more, Your Grace."
No sooner do these words leave your lips than the music stops. The surprised expression on your dance partner's face reflects your own surprise. Tact has never been your strong point according to your twin sister, and today you have just confirmed what you have denied all your life. Are you really going to…propose getting to know another man? When you may end up betrothed to a prince if the discussions between your mother and the Queen come to an agreement.
꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ
Levi didn't know what to expect when he asked her to dance, or what the queen might be thinking. This damsel had not crossed oceans to come here with the intention of seeing some scenery. Everyone could sense that a royal wedding was approaching. The union between two great and powerful families that would make every nobleman in their homeland tremble.
Yet he had to restrain his hand from slipping lower on her hip to feel the curves under her dress that must remain inaccessible to him forever. It wasn't love at first sight, he didn't believe in it and the very concept seemed delirious and implausible. Nevertheless, he recognised the principle of attraction. And the young woman in front of him was one of the few to arouse in him the first shivers of desire. But she was out of reach. She would soon be joining the crown jewels. He was not going to jeopardise this young woman's fine future plans, just as he was not going to ruin the excellent reputation he had built up by staying away from brothels and opera singers looking for stability and finance in the arms of rich men.
The conversation was very casual, nothing interesting, just banal politeness. Despite the tingling in his fingers when his ears were graced by her laughter. He hated the fact that this stupid rumour, although true, was brought to the attention of his dance partner. But unlike the many other suitors, she had no intention of putting a target on his back, as a better partner was presenting herself. She could be a breath of fresh air, if only for a moment. Was it wrong to enjoy this dance? To enjoy this company even for a few minutes? One dance before returning to their respective worlds. Or so he thought, until the words left her lips.
"I want to know you more, Your Grace."
Like a mirror, their surprise was reflected in each other's faces. Those words shouldn't have been spoken, not to a stranger and not to someone you know. Those words imply a lot of things, especially with a woman who was perhaps going to join the crown. He shouldn't accept, he couldn't accept. Perhaps his answer, his refusal, was visible in his eyes, for he needed no words to make her more embarrassed than she already was. Under his hands, he could feel the heat radiating from this body that wanted to bend over and disappear six feet under to save herself the embarrassment. He could feel the movement of her muscles, he could feel her holding back from rushing away and abandoning him on the dance floor, causing a scandal. She held back to avoid causing trouble for him as much as for herself. In the shame of rejection, she knew how to behave and curb her urges to save face. A quality… if it could be described that way.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I beg you to forget what just happened."
She bowed in a curtsy, signalling the end of their dance. He returned the courtesy. And before he knew it, he was with his friends, a glass in his hand to quench his thirst. His gaze lost in the sparkling bubbles of the alcoholic beverage.
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Why did fate seem so set against you? The ball was only a day old and yet you bumped into the man you swore you'd never see again for the sake of your pride. He also seemed taken aback, your eyes unable to tear themselves away from each other. You look away and concentrate on the young woman standing beside Lord Ackerman. She seems to be beaming with delight, ready to pounce on you for questioning or…examination. You feel the need to cover yourself with more than a dress and a thin shawl against the breeze.
"Oh, look at the sun; already so low in the sky. I'll be off, Ackerman! It's every gentleman's duty to keep such a charming damsel as the young miss company!"
Left in utter bewilderment, you bat your eyelashes at the spectacle, unsure of how to deal with the hasty departure of the brown-haired woman already far away from you both. Silently, you arch an eyebrow at Levi, as if to confirm that what has just happened really did happen.
"You…you're in the queen's gardens."
"I am." Levi retorts.
Silence.
This is so uncomfortable, even for you. You decide to take your leave. A meticulously and swiftly executed curtsy, then you make your way back to the palace and hide under the covers of your bed to forget this second shame. You need to regain your composure. Shame doesn't kill, you've faced worse than this in your country! A man a little more handsome than the average is not going to make you forget your means. As you try to convince yourself mentally, you are slow to notice the footsteps at your back, until a hand wraps around your wrist. A gasp escapes your lips, and your body quickly turns towards the person who dares to touch you.
You come face to face with the Duke. So close. Almost as close as when you were dancing. You blink, fighting against the honour you would lose if you were caught alone this close to a man, or the desire to feel that hand slide up your arm and lodge itself in the hollow of your neck.
"Your Grace…" You whisper. "I beg you to let me go. This is unseemly." You manage to stay firm on your feet, pushing deep into your mind that strange feeling that runs through you every time this man lays a finger on you.
"I apologise. No matter how many times I called you, you didn't seem to be able to hear me."
With that, he releases your wrist, taking several steps away from you. A perfectly respectable distance. Your wrist still seemed to be burning from the Duke's touch. An exquisite warmth. Before you can sink any deeper into your thoughts, his voice brings you back to reality.
"I am also on my way to the palace. Allow me to accompany you."
Even now you're wondering what went through your head to accept the proposal of a man you can neither know nor approach for the sake of your mother's discussions. No… It was only a courtesy, there was no implication. It's ridiculous to worry so much about a man you only met a day ago. It's because he's so beautiful that you lose your nerve! It's only attraction, nothing more can come from this beauty.
The journey continues in silence. Honestly, you don't know whether you prefer silence or a conversation filled with banality to fill the void. On reflection, however, the Duke seems to revel in the quiet, preferring words when absolutely necessary. In this respect, he reminds you of your twin sister, who thrives on silence and useful conversation. A smile lights up your face, shy and as light as the cherry blossoms that fall from their tree when the season ends.
"Was that Miss Zoe?" You ask, annoyed at more silence.
"Your ability to learn all the latest society gossip both fascinates and frightens me. you'll make a fine lady of British society." Levi sighed, admitting defeat at your ability to inform yourself on such matters just days after arriving on the soil of the Kingdom of England.
"You flatter me, Your Grace. But I am not. Your person intrigues every person in this company. Almost every rumour revolves around you."
"I intrigue you too, it would seem."
"Don't give yourself too much credit, Your Grace." You reply with a hint of mischief in your voice. Teasing your interlocutor. "You are the prologue to a great book called High Society in the British Empire."
"Oh, but it's when you read the prologue that you decide to continue reading a book. Are you going to continue reading this book, miss?" He snarls, his steely eyes darting into yours in defiance.
"I don't know. I haven't read the whole prologue to be able to decide." You reply with a satisfied smile.
Your smile widens as you hear the Duke chuckle. If you didn't listen carefully, it would be easy to miss his laughter. A soft warmth spreads through your chest, satisfied that for a moment you have been able to break the cold, unruffled expression.
Once outside the glass doors leading to one of the palace's too many halls, your companion stops in his tracks. This is it. The time has come for you to part. There's no need to exchange any more words, just a glance at each other and you already know that you mustn't stay together any longer than that. So you do what your mind tells you rather than the tug of disappointment of interrupting a beautiful discussion. You go your separate ways until fate allows you to see each other again.
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The weeks went by. Invitations to the ball, invitations to tea, days spent with Princess Historia and sometimes, exceptionally, you have the honour of sharing a conversation with the Queen. You never got even a glimpse of the prince who might become part of your future. Nothing was official yet, but wasn't it the least you could do to come and see one of the women who was going to share his life? The Prince shone through his absence from the palace, but rumours spread quickly, even among a young miss who was still new to British society. You've heard the rumours: the Prince favours an opera singer. He flaunts her publicly with no regard for his honour. Historia was trying to protect you, but at the same time she refused to hide her brother's imperfections from you, especially if you were to marry him. This is how you discovered that he had fathered two little bastards whom he was trying to have recognised by his mother so that they could become princes with a right of succession.
Disgusting.
Was this the future fate that awaited you? Waiting for your twin sister? Sharing a life with a man who shows the world his mistress? Unable to do so discreetly like most other nobles.
That should be your main concern, yet you can't help thinking of the duke who shares a few conversations with you when you find yourselves at the same ball. You always shared a dance under your mother's watchful eye. She said nothing, did nothing to prevent you from getting involved with other men. Perhaps she thought, as you did, that it was just a friendly relationship that was developing? Perhaps you were the only one to convince yourself of this lie when you wanted to feel the Duke's hands on your hips. Were you alone in feeling that desire boiling in your chest? Yet here you were, once again, sharing a fleeting moment of happiness that was to end as soon as the ball was over.
On the balcony of the manor house, surrounded by a few souls looking for refreshment, you were chatting with the Duke. Lost in your admiration of the thin smile that lit up the Duke's stern face, at this moment he looked divinely peaceful.
"Come now, Your Grace, these are not noble words to say in public, and not in front of a woman either." You murmur, stifling your mirth behind your fan.
"Are you the best person to speak of noble words? I remember the last ball…" He replies, teasing you.
"Your Grace, you promised never to speak of that again!" You react immediately, urging him with a wave of your hand to lower the volume of his voice in the hope that no one will hear him.
"I didn't…I simply mentioned the last ball. Where have I sinned?"
"You are impertinent."
"Oh, Miss [Name], impertinence is a sin."
You roll your eyes as your lips make contact with your glass of champagne, taking light sips to avoid repeating the same mistakes you made at the previous ball. Even now you regret drinking a little too quickly with so little food in your stomach, the result wasn't bad enough to damage your reputation in the eyes of society but… The Duke witnessed a lot of…freedom on your part.
"Your Grace." A woman's voice breaks the comfortable silence that has just settled.
You both turn towards the woman who has come forward with three daughters on her arms. Ah… A mother has just spotted him, causing the other mothers to come to him with that simple word. You offer a compassionate smile mixed with a touch of mockery as you leave him in the hungry hands of the mothers and daughters. Swallowing the bitter taste of frustration at the very idea that a woman will have the honour of becoming Lady Ackerman. The wife of such a good and kind man… while you…
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When you return to the quarters you have been given for the time of your stay here, your mother is standing on the sofa in the bedroom. She closes the book and puts it down again in a terribly slow gesture. You lick your lips, suddenly nervous about what she might be telling you. There was always that imperturbable smile on your mother's face, but you knew her better than anyone. The slight wrinkle of her nose could only mean one thing: she wasn't satisfied with something. Did the discussions between her and Her Majesty The Queen go badly? You can only imagine the worst.
You take your place at your mother's side, your hands gripping hers in an attempt to comfort her or yourself. You're not sure. The impatience was going to kill you, yet she continued to remain silent. She seemed almost about to give up on telling you.
"Mother, what's the matter?"
"[Your name]…I must say I should be pleased, yet I can't seem to rejoice."
You swallow your saliva with difficulty. Your fingers tighten around your mother's hands. Her fingers caress the backs of your hands in a circular motion, a gentle massage to try and soothe your raw nerves. But it brings no comfort.
"They agree to the marriage…" It wasn't a question. You let the phrase leave your lips in a silent breath.
"Yes. They accept the union between our two families."
"I see…" You fail to express more than those two words.
"They did not specify the name. If a man caught your eye…"
"No, no one caught my eye, I would marry the prince."
"Are you sure, my dear child?"
"Quite sure."
"You still have a few weeks to think about it."
Your mother places a kiss on your forehead, leaving you alone in your room to consider the implications further. It's no longer just about you and your selfish desires. It's about the future of your family.
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"Miss [Name], it is an honour to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine, your royal highness."
Those words stick in your throat, barely holding back the bitterness of disgust as the prince's lips brush the back of your hand. Lips that have whispered words of love to another. That have kissed the lips of another. And unlike other men, he never hid the fact that he had a mistress. Why do women have to be pure and chaste until they get married, while men do unspeakable things to 'enjoy' their youth before they tie the noose around their own necks?
Why does she have to put up with the shame of a future husband who is incapable of controlling himself? Why does she have to put up with the way the prince looks at her?
For the family.
For your family, you will smile politely at the Prince, get to know him and pretend not to be repulsed by his touch. You will turn a blind eye to his actions and accept that he defiles your body with his sinful touch. For the sake of your family. For the sake of your twin sister, you will endure and accept this marriage. You know that your sister is in no state to put up with such a situation for years to come. But are you?
That tea to get to know you was as dull and miserable as the Prince's personality. He didn't want this marriage either, and he showed it shamelessly by hinting at his relationship with this opera singer. You couldn't dislike this woman. She is looking to survive, a prince is an excellent match and a protection against the harshness of everyday life for the less fortunate. You hated the prince. He is the one who initiated this relationship and who brings shame on Her Majesty The Queen and the entire royal family.
But for the sake of your family, you will turn a blind eye to this deplorable moment. You will smile at your mother's questions about your compatibility with the Prince.
"You are as beautiful as they say. Had I known sooner, I want you to know that I would have hastened from my royal duties to come and meet you."
"You flatter me your royal highness. But I would be sad if you had to hasten your duties as prince to come and keep me company." You reply in the kindest tone you can muster.
"You are right, after all, we could well spend the rest of our lives together."
A shiver of horror runs down your spine. Spend your life with him… for eternity. An infinitely long time. A life away from your land and your family to start one with this individual who is supposed to embody the best that the kingdom of England has to offer. But here again, you force a smile onto your face and offer a shy laugh like a sweet young damsel too modest to imagine making a life with a prince.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
How many days since this woman had approached him? She had expressed a desire to get to know him, she had persisted in talking to him despite her situation, and little by little she had dug into the abrupt façade he had built for himself as duke. And here she was, categorically refusing to stand in front of him or give him the slightest glance as she held her prince's hand and let him slide his hand lower than he should during a dance. He had always known how this story would end: badly. Despite all the warnings and dangers that his conversations with her continued to entail, Levi had found himself enjoying her company. Those moments of laughter when she momentarily forgot all about propriety. Those moments when the stars twinkled in her pupils and always fascinated him. Those moments of peace when even the most unhelpful discussions became distractions for him, even though he hates talking in vain.
This woman had forced her way into his life, only to leave as quickly as she had entered. He was angry with her. He blamed himself for having let her do it when he knew full well that a foreigner would not cross the oceans without the intention of marrying a prince.
Yet the sight of her unhappy eyes, of her thin, peaceful smile that can't deceive him… Levi hates having to be a mere witness to her fatal fate. A splendid woman with a mind and heart of gold married to a pathetic excuse for a prince. He hates how his chest boils with dull anger at the sight of this extraordinary woman trapped in invisible chains pulled by adults to gain power. For the sake of these two great families, she will sacrifice herself and accept a miserable marriage. A condemnation to torture for eternity.
But what business is it of the Duke's? None at all. He shouldn't interfere. He should be content to continue his search for a future duchess. Oh… But had he even begun his search? He didn't have the slightest recollection of having really been looking for anyone during this entire social season. For a moment, the face of that terribly annoying woman appeared in his mind. It was her again. Always her. Always [First name] [Last name].
He needed air. Immediately.
The wind hits his face as he sinks into the depths of his hosts' garden. Luckily for him, he's a man, so he's able to walk freely without his honour being called into question. And even if it wasn't, at the moment, he couldn't give a damn about his honour. His rational mind is fighting with his heart, which has decided to awaken a conscience of its own.
It's always that woman's fault.
If only she hadn't come into his life, everything would have been resolved by now. He'd already have a fiancée. He would have settled into a comfortable life far removed from the problems of being a single duke.
A creak drew him out of his thoughts. Someone was in the garden with him. Who would go this far into the gloom if it wasn't another man who was also trying to get away from greedy mothers? No… It wasn't another man, his breath catching in his throat as he laid eyes on the female figure who was the target of his internal battle.
"Miss [Name], are you unconscious? You mustn't be here alone, you're in big trouble." He tries to whisper despite his desire to scold her for such inconsiderate conduct. She was lucky to run into him and no one else, but no other noble soul should see them at the risk of causing a huge scandal.
Yet the harsh, reproving words he was about to say to her disappeared like snow in the sun. His eyes went wide as he witnessed the wet marks on the reddened cheeks of the young woman, who nevertheless had only a smile on her lips, true or false. She is crying. Alone. In the half-light of a garden. Breathing hieratically as if she has just escaped from something… or someone.
"Your Grace. Le…Levi."
A shiver caressed his body as his first name slipped from the miss’s moist lips. A name barely louder than a whisper, yet he could still hear it echoing in his mind. The sensation far surpassed his wildest thoughts. He didn't react until it was too late, when she let herself run straight into his arms. Buried against the hollow of his collarbone, she sobbed her pain, hoping for comfort. He could only guess. What was he supposed to do? Should he embrace her and risk being seen to sully the impeccable reputation of a future princess? Should he push her away and force her to go discreetly to a safer place where she would no longer fear anything? His hands clenched into a fist, he forced himself to stand still. He chose neither of the two options open to him. He couldn't go any further, just as he didn't have the strength to push her away.
"Miss [Name]. You shouldn't do that. It's dangerous."
"I don't care!"
"…You will soon be joining the crown jewels. I believe that soon your engagement will be announced. You must not risk ruining your future."
"I have no future with such a man! You know that…you must have heard the rumours."
Who hasn't? Everyone had heard them. The prince had done everything he could to make sure the whole kingdom knew about his mistress and the two bastards he had fathered with her. He knew deep down that she would not have a bright future. But he also knew that this current situation, even if it didn't affect her, would inevitably lead her to a much more shameful and painful end than marrying an adulterous prince. At least she would have the luxury and comfort of a peaceful and secure life.
"Stand aside." He orders as firmly as he can.
"Then do it." She provokes him. He knows she is trying to make a point. He orders her to step aside to perform a task he cannot. A frown bars the Duke's inexpressive face.
"Miss…"
Only a whisper leaves the Duke's lips as he tilts his head to watch the miss against him embrace him as if her life depended on it. He can feel her breasts dancing against his, the layers of clothing separating them doing nothing to soften the sweet sensation of her breasts against his torso. His gaze wanders over the curve of her breasts, bulging from the corset. Enticing. Inviting. Terribly…irresistible.
"I have no future without you, Levi."
His name again. Again her bloody words to seduce him. To make him stray from the straight and narrow path he'd set for himself. He shouldn't destroy his whole life for one woman. He shouldn't…
Yet he surrendered to a kiss. He revels in the surprised moan of the woman who holds his heart in the palm of her hands. He savours with appetite and delight the faint contractions of her muscles against him, an honest and sincere body enjoying the heated kiss. He's going to engulf her. He feels he is capable of ravishing her essence and soul with this kiss, because he wants everything she has to offer. He wants to be able to caress the radiance she embodies with his fingertips.
꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ
His lips glide down your neck, covering every inch of accessible skin with light, velvety kisses. These simple little touches electrify your raw nerves. Your hands grasp his shoulders, in the faint hope of supporting you as your legs buckle under your own weight. You feel his kisses linger on your sweet spot, a moan slips from your lips but you can't hold it in. The petticoats of your dress lift as the Duke's hands roam over your bare thighs to find your crotch clad in fabric so thin he can feel the moisture seeping through. You collapse under the weight of the new sensations of ecstasy. Pleasure seeps into every pore of your body.
"L-Levi."
His name has become an unholy prayer. A sacred mantra that keeps your mind from slipping into the depths of this new ecstasy. His fingers encircle this sensitive little bud, caressing you through the fabric, actively working to introduce you to a new world. His lips cover yours in an instant, silencing your unholy moans from echoing too loudly in the darkness of the garden.
"[First name]…you are the bane of my existence. You are my dearest sin."
Never mind if you get caught…right now, only the two of you matter.
➺ Summary: That cruise on Saiko's boat ended in a shipwreck, and Saiki should have known that it was impossible for him to have an ordinary day. Luckily, you were there, the only person who didn't irritate him at the slightest word. With your kind, adorable smile. Your hair up in a ponytail revealing the kissable nape of your neck. A swimming costume top that does so little to cover your breasts… Good grief.
➺ Summary: Levi Ackerman. Duke Ackerman. A mysterious, strict man who never strays from the straight and narrow, whether by choice or because of his hectic schedule, no one knows and no one wants to know, because this social season, they say he's planning to take a wife. To your best parade ladies, the most coveted bachelor is finally available…
