Heyy Can I Please Request Clavis X Fem Reader With The Prompt Nightmare?

Heyy can i please request clavis x fem reader with the prompt nightmare?

A/N: And we're back to angst. Hi @aceuuuuu here you go! I hope you like it 💜Thank you for the request!

Clavis x f! reader

Word Count: circa 1600

Sleep found you easily that night, rocking you in its arms until you fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. What dreams found you were pleasant, drifting in and out of your mind like iridescent bubbles following a light breeze. At the moment, your mind has taken you to a far-away beach. White sand is warm under your bare feet. The salty air tickles your nose. The gentle lapping of the waves soothes your body as you sink slowly into the deeper, darker parts of sleep.......except there, off in the distance, something is pulling at the threads of your peaceful dreaming. You try to ignore it but it is insistent. A tugging at your sleeve. A knocking at a door. A chime that won’t stop ringing. The beach fades away, despite your desperate desire to stay in that warm, safe place. The tugging is more insistent. The knocking grows louder. The chiming fills your mind until you are jerked completely out of sleep’s embrace......to the fitful sounds of your lover in crisis.

Clavis Lelouch

When royalty marries, there are no limits. The already beautiful palace is transformed into something out of a dream: soft, romantic garlands made from only the most perfectly formed pink and white roses are hung from every archway. White drapery, sheer as a fairy’s wings and just as delicate, bedeck the walls. Everyone is gathered in the ballroom, now full of plush, navy blue and gold chairs for its guests. The ornate walls with their silken tapestries are illuminated by hundreds of white taper candles. The nobility is dressed in its very finest, a sea of sumptuous satin, soft velvet, and glittering jewels. Clavis spots the dark, hunter green of Jade. The stormy black of Obsidian. The sea blue of Benitoite. And even more exotic gems and nobles: the sunset orange of Tanzanite. The deep, cobalt blue of Ionite. The world has gathered to witness this event.

Chevalier stands under the arched trellis covered in blood-red roses. He is resplendent in crisp white and blue. His sword hangs at his side, but it will go thirsty today. It is there in an ornamental nature only. His expression is neutral. One who does not know him might even say he looks bored. But Clavis notices the way his white-gloved fingers clench and unclench, minute movements lost on the crowd. He also notes the quick, subtle glances at the ornate double-doors. 

And when those doors finally open, when the figure adorned in swathes of white silk and that heavily embroidered floral veil steps through and into the ballroom, he notices how Chevalier’s shoulders straighten even more. His hawk-like attention is solely focused on the woman in white gliding towards him. Some of the nobility holds its breath, some sigh at the romance of it all. But with each step she takes, Clavis feels his stomach twist. Could it be.....No.....you said you loved him. It can’t be....

She arrives at Chevalier’s side, taking his arm. That scent, the familiar mixture of lavender and roses, hits Clavis’s nose and nausea blossoms within his stomach. No. It can’t be. No. The wedding officiant speaks, unaware of the storm tearing through him, the wild winds of despair and disbelief ripping his rice-paper heart to shreds as Chevalier slowly lifts the opaque veil to reveal YOU. Your beloved face, flushed pink with pleasure, your bright eyes full of stars because they are fixed on him. Your smile, the Northern star guiding him to your boundless well of love and acceptance and desire. His hands take yours in his, his thumbs running lightly over your bare skin. 

The officiant’s words have no shape, no coherent form. Clavis barely registers what is being said as his brother’s face takes on a foreign softness, his head tilting down to gaze into the springtime of your smile. You continue to beam up at the king. Nausea overwhelms the third prince as the remains of his heart are tempest-tossed within his heaving chest. 

Music, discordant and jarring, begins playing as Chevalier leans down and you lean up and time seems to accelerate, everything rushing forward at breakneck speed: You are wrapping your arms around his neck and he’s pulling you against his body and your mouths are pressed together, opening and closing passionately as you kiss each other hungrily and his hands slide down, pulling you harder against him and you are gasping and eager and ready and not at all bothered that you are in front of a crowd that cheers and hollers and claps as if it is normal for the groom to begin ravishing his bride right then and there, his hands impatiently pulling on your dress to your excited, encouraging gasps, his mouth leaving a trail of rose-colored kisses as it travels down your neck, down your collarbones, down to the neckline of your dress which is falling with each passing second—

“Clavis....Clavis!” You repeat his name, hands on his shoulders to keep him from thrashing any further. You try his name one more time, this time louder than before, worry surpassing the concern of being too loud in the quiet of the midnight hour. His eyes fly open, his breath ragged as he adjusts from the shock of his dreams to the reality of your bedroom, enveloped in night’s shadows. You wait, your hands still on his shoulders, anchoring him. He blinks and then pulls away from you, rising and stumbling from your bed. His name is a question whispered to the dark but he does not answer. He makes his way to one of the large windows, reaching over and then flings it open, allowing in a burst of cool air. It is a balm to his overheated skin, to the wild drumming of his heart which feels like it may burst from his chest if he does not manage to claim a few steady lungsful of air.

Frowning, you reach for your dressing gown, wrapping the soft lavender velvet around yourself before walking over to where he is standing, bracing himself on the window sill. “Clavis?” Your voice sounds small even to your own ears. “Are you ok?” His eyes are closed. He’s breathing slowly. Normally he would turn, paint a smile on his face and ask why ever would you be concerned about someone as clever as him? But not this time. He is shaken. His hands tremble as they push his soft hair, damp with sweat, out of his face. You watch the muscles of his abdomen rise and fall with each tremulous breath, the play of soft moonlight over his skin, the way it adds a silvery sheen to his midnight hair. It feels like it is caressing him too, trying to comfort the man you love as much as you want to.

Finally his eyes open, seeking out the night sky. He has not turned to look at you yet. When he speaks, his voice sounds tight, as if there is an invisible hand wrapped around his throat, slowly squeezing. “You.....want this, right? Us?” The shock of his words stings, as if you have been slapped without a moment to brace yourself. Your feet are carrying you toward him before you can think about it. You reach out, taking his hands and turn him away from the window and towards you. Your grip is firm, forcing his mind to focus on it. On you. “Why would you even ask me that?” Shadows have chased the light from his eyes and your heart sinks as he lowers his gaze. He looks ashamed. He looks scared. “I dreamt.....you married the king.” He doesn’t need to say his name. Or what the weight of that kind of dream would have, and the way it would crush his heart.

You swallow hard against the instinct to say that that would never happen. That it was only a dream. Instead you gently use your grip on him to pull him closer. You release his hands only because yours slide around his waist, palms coming to rest against the small of his back. Your head is tilted up to look at him, refusing to look away until he finally meets your gaze.

“Where am I?” you ask quietly. He seems rather caught off guard, but even in his darkest moments, an intriguing question manages to snag his attention. “Your room,” he answers slowly. You nod encouragingly. “What time is it?” He now glances at the small wooden clock on your desk. “Half past one.” Again you nod, adjusting your embrace so that you can step even closer. “And who is in my arms?” He meets your gaze, his brilliant eyes so beautiful even in shadow. “I am,” he whispers. You nod once more. “That’s right. You are. You and only you. Right now. And ever more.” 

There is sunrise in his gaze, a light slowly returning as your words sink in, soothing the scratches across his heart, calming its panicked beat. Your hands slide over the bare skin of his back, warm and comforting and tender. Your gaze never leaves him. You hold him there, physically with your arms, emotionally with the echo of your words, the open love in your soft expression. Time is suspended, the space between the twinkle of stars, and then he leans down, gathering you against him, hoarsely whispering your name before he kisses you. You yield to his roughness, his urgency, your body curving into his, your lips parting. Anything he needs, he can take from you. You would give him the very breath from your lungs, the beat of your heart, if he asked for it. 

Anything, you think as you stumble with him back toward the bed, locked in his impassioned, desperate embrace, anything for the man you love.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @bubblexly

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Heyy can i please request clavis x fem reader with the prompt nightmare?

A/N: And we're back to angst. Hi @aceuuuuu here you go! I hope you like it 💜Thank you for the request!

Clavis x f! reader

Word Count: circa 1600

Sleep found you easily that night, rocking you in its arms until you fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. What dreams found you were pleasant, drifting in and out of your mind like iridescent bubbles following a light breeze. At the moment, your mind has taken you to a far-away beach. White sand is warm under your bare feet. The salty air tickles your nose. The gentle lapping of the waves soothes your body as you sink slowly into the deeper, darker parts of sleep.......except there, off in the distance, something is pulling at the threads of your peaceful dreaming. You try to ignore it but it is insistent. A tugging at your sleeve. A knocking at a door. A chime that won’t stop ringing. The beach fades away, despite your desperate desire to stay in that warm, safe place. The tugging is more insistent. The knocking grows louder. The chiming fills your mind until you are jerked completely out of sleep’s embrace......to the fitful sounds of your lover in crisis.

Clavis Lelouch

When royalty marries, there are no limits. The already beautiful palace is transformed into something out of a dream: soft, romantic garlands made from only the most perfectly formed pink and white roses are hung from every archway. White drapery, sheer as a fairy’s wings and just as delicate, bedeck the walls. Everyone is gathered in the ballroom, now full of plush, navy blue and gold chairs for its guests. The ornate walls with their silken tapestries are illuminated by hundreds of white taper candles. The nobility is dressed in its very finest, a sea of sumptuous satin, soft velvet, and glittering jewels. Clavis spots the dark, hunter green of Jade. The stormy black of Obsidian. The sea blue of Benitoite. And even more exotic gems and nobles: the sunset orange of Tanzanite. The deep, cobalt blue of Ionite. The world has gathered to witness this event.

Chevalier stands under the arched trellis covered in blood-red roses. He is resplendent in crisp white and blue. His sword hangs at his side, but it will go thirsty today. It is there in an ornamental nature only. His expression is neutral. One who does not know him might even say he looks bored. But Clavis notices the way his white-gloved fingers clench and unclench, minute movements lost on the crowd. He also notes the quick, subtle glances at the ornate double-doors. 

And when those doors finally open, when the figure adorned in swathes of white silk and that heavily embroidered floral veil steps through and into the ballroom, he notices how Chevalier’s shoulders straighten even more. His hawk-like attention is solely focused on the woman in white gliding towards him. Some of the nobility holds its breath, some sigh at the romance of it all. But with each step she takes, Clavis feels his stomach twist. Could it be.....No.....you said you loved him. It can’t be....

She arrives at Chevalier’s side, taking his arm. That scent, the familiar mixture of lavender and roses, hits Clavis’s nose and nausea blossoms within his stomach. No. It can’t be. No. The wedding officiant speaks, unaware of the storm tearing through him, the wild winds of despair and disbelief ripping his rice-paper heart to shreds as Chevalier slowly lifts the opaque veil to reveal YOU. Your beloved face, flushed pink with pleasure, your bright eyes full of stars because they are fixed on him. Your smile, the Northern star guiding him to your boundless well of love and acceptance and desire. His hands take yours in his, his thumbs running lightly over your bare skin. 

The officiant’s words have no shape, no coherent form. Clavis barely registers what is being said as his brother’s face takes on a foreign softness, his head tilting down to gaze into the springtime of your smile. You continue to beam up at the king. Nausea overwhelms the third prince as the remains of his heart are tempest-tossed within his heaving chest. 

Music, discordant and jarring, begins playing as Chevalier leans down and you lean up and time seems to accelerate, everything rushing forward at breakneck speed: You are wrapping your arms around his neck and he’s pulling you against his body and your mouths are pressed together, opening and closing passionately as you kiss each other hungrily and his hands slide down, pulling you harder against him and you are gasping and eager and ready and not at all bothered that you are in front of a crowd that cheers and hollers and claps as if it is normal for the groom to begin ravishing his bride right then and there, his hands impatiently pulling on your dress to your excited, encouraging gasps, his mouth leaving a trail of rose-colored kisses as it travels down your neck, down your collarbones, down to the neckline of your dress which is falling with each passing second—

“Clavis....Clavis!” You repeat his name, hands on his shoulders to keep him from thrashing any further. You try his name one more time, this time louder than before, worry surpassing the concern of being too loud in the quiet of the midnight hour. His eyes fly open, his breath ragged as he adjusts from the shock of his dreams to the reality of your bedroom, enveloped in night’s shadows. You wait, your hands still on his shoulders, anchoring him. He blinks and then pulls away from you, rising and stumbling from your bed. His name is a question whispered to the dark but he does not answer. He makes his way to one of the large windows, reaching over and then flings it open, allowing in a burst of cool air. It is a balm to his overheated skin, to the wild drumming of his heart which feels like it may burst from his chest if he does not manage to claim a few steady lungsful of air.

Frowning, you reach for your dressing gown, wrapping the soft lavender velvet around yourself before walking over to where he is standing, bracing himself on the window sill. “Clavis?” Your voice sounds small even to your own ears. “Are you ok?” His eyes are closed. He’s breathing slowly. Normally he would turn, paint a smile on his face and ask why ever would you be concerned about someone as clever as him? But not this time. He is shaken. His hands tremble as they push his soft hair, damp with sweat, out of his face. You watch the muscles of his abdomen rise and fall with each tremulous breath, the play of soft moonlight over his skin, the way it adds a silvery sheen to his midnight hair. It feels like it is caressing him too, trying to comfort the man you love as much as you want to.

Finally his eyes open, seeking out the night sky. He has not turned to look at you yet. When he speaks, his voice sounds tight, as if there is an invisible hand wrapped around his throat, slowly squeezing. “You.....want this, right? Us?” The shock of his words stings, as if you have been slapped without a moment to brace yourself. Your feet are carrying you toward him before you can think about it. You reach out, taking his hands and turn him away from the window and towards you. Your grip is firm, forcing his mind to focus on it. On you. “Why would you even ask me that?” Shadows have chased the light from his eyes and your heart sinks as he lowers his gaze. He looks ashamed. He looks scared. “I dreamt.....you married the king.” He doesn’t need to say his name. Or what the weight of that kind of dream would have, and the way it would crush his heart.

You swallow hard against the instinct to say that that would never happen. That it was only a dream. Instead you gently use your grip on him to pull him closer. You release his hands only because yours slide around his waist, palms coming to rest against the small of his back. Your head is tilted up to look at him, refusing to look away until he finally meets your gaze.

“Where am I?” you ask quietly. He seems rather caught off guard, but even in his darkest moments, an intriguing question manages to snag his attention. “Your room,” he answers slowly. You nod encouragingly. “What time is it?” He now glances at the small wooden clock on your desk. “Half past one.” Again you nod, adjusting your embrace so that you can step even closer. “And who is in my arms?” He meets your gaze, his brilliant eyes so beautiful even in shadow. “I am,” he whispers. You nod once more. “That’s right. You are. You and only you. Right now. And ever more.” 

There is sunrise in his gaze, a light slowly returning as your words sink in, soothing the scratches across his heart, calming its panicked beat. Your hands slide over the bare skin of his back, warm and comforting and tender. Your gaze never leaves him. You hold him there, physically with your arms, emotionally with the echo of your words, the open love in your soft expression. Time is suspended, the space between the twinkle of stars, and then he leans down, gathering you against him, hoarsely whispering your name before he kisses you. You yield to his roughness, his urgency, your body curving into his, your lips parting. Anything he needs, he can take from you. You would give him the very breath from your lungs, the beat of your heart, if he asked for it. 

Anything, you think as you stumble with him back toward the bed, locked in his impassioned, desperate embrace, anything for the man you love.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @bubblexly

It won't let me write more tags, so I'm writing the continuation here🥲🥲

The simplicity and yet complex flavor of the cookie is prepared for him and him enjoying it with his eye closed is so soft and calming, something special that he returns with a kiss🥺💖 Thank you for writing this Violet😭

(Tumblr please don't limit me🥲🥲)

A/N: A break from all the angst! Here are the winners of the Valentine's Day Kiss Headcanon poll. And a special guest from Obsidian who slipped his way in 😘

Princes x f! reader

I wanted these to be shorter but that was not it's destiny so here we are at 2.5k words.

Happy Valentine's Day whoever reads this! Sending you all lots of love 💜

 Morning: Chevalier

The morning sun has dared to reach tentative fingers through the windows of Chevalier’s bedroom. You feel the warmth caress your face and a sigh, soft as silk, escapes you. The day is calling and you know at some point you’ll have to answer. But there is a strong arm holding you tightly against a warm body, one that is curled around you, heavy with sleep. Carefully you turn under the weight of his embrace, pulling your leg out from under his. A small grunt of annoyance is all your movement elicits. Without opening his eyes, he adjusts his hold on you, pulling you close again.

This close, in the pale light of morning, with him still swimming on the edge of sleep, you have a moment to study the face you hold so dear. The almost boyish fall of his pale hair. The sharp line of his cheekbones. The perfect curve of his lips. His lashes are long, framing eyes that to you have come to be the very definition of the word “blue.” They hold the sky at its brightest and the ocean at its most fierce and flawless sapphires and glacial ice all within their beautiful depths. Your hand rises to gently cup that face, to feel the soft skin of his cheek, the curve of his jaw. Your palm cradles him and your heart grows warm with love and affection and pride that you can call this man yours. “Chevalier,” you murmur. “We should get up.”

His eyes open slowly. In them you can see denial. He does not want to get up yet. He would attack the dawn with his sword if he could. He breathes out, stretching his long legs and buries the face you had been so admiring into your bare shoulder. His mouth is warm against your skin when he finally speaks. “Not yet.”

With a smile you reach down, your fingers finding his chin and tilting his face back up. He allows it because it is you. “We really should.” Not able to help yourself, you lean down, capturing his lips in a kiss. Again, only you would ever be allowed to take him prisoner. His response is slow, each movement languid, savoring the feel of your mouths together, of the way your lips lock and unlock. You are the one who deepens the kiss, shifting yet again in his arms, pushing yourself up. Now you are not laying parallel but rise above him, your hair falling to curtain his face.

He reaches up, gathering your loose hair, winding its softness around his hand, all the while kissing you back with an intensity that screams high noon and not mid-morning. You feel the hold he has on you and gasp, your lips leaving his to curl into a smile. He growls, catching your lower lip between his teeth, not wanting you gone even a moment, holding you in place for a heartbeat before releasing you. “Not. yet.” His repeated words are rough with need, sliding over your skin, mirroring the feel of his palms on your body.

This was not quite how you expected to wish him a happy Valentine’s Day. You had plans for the day…. and yet you give yourself over to the trembling ache of wanting him without a moment's hesitation. Everything else can wait.

Afternoon: Leon

You can only feel when the carriage finally rolls to a stop because your eyes are bound by a strip of dark red silk. It’s been hours, rocking back and forth in darkness. You hear Leon open the door and then feel as he takes your hands in his, his hands calloused and strong. Your fingers curl around them tightly as he carefully leads you down and out of the carriage, your boots touching solid ground. He exchanges a few words with the driver and you hear the rattle of the horses’ harnesses, the departing clip-clop of their hooves, muted as they travel over dirt and not cobblestone.

Holding your hands in his, he pulls you along, laughter threaded through his voice like golden strands. Just a bit further he says as the ground under your feet begins to incline and you find yourself clearly walking uphill. He does not allow you to stumble. You are safe in his guidance. You trust him implicitly.

“Leon….I don’t know if I can go much further.” You’re only half jesting when you say the words, your legs starting to shake from the climb. He stops walking and lets go of your hands. A split second passes and then your feet leave the ground. He’s scooped you up into his arms, carrying you as he continues on. Warmth for him blooms in your heart as you wrap your arms around his neck, trusting him to the ends of the earth and back.

The air around you grows cooler, delivering misty kisses upon your skin. Although you are still going uphill, his pace doesn’t slow until you feel the way his hold on you changes, the ground leveling out. Carefully he sets you down and then moves behind you, his touch never leaving you so that you remain steady on your feet.

“Alright, my love. On three. One. Two. Three.” The silk slides off of your eyes and when you finally open them, your breath catches in your throat. You’re standing at the top of a hill, one stretching itself as tall as possible. From your vantage point, you can see down across the lush green fields that blanket the rolling hillside. They are laid out like a green carpet, all the way down to the town. From this height, the buildings you are so familiar with look like miniatures. Even the palace, gleaming white in the midday sun, looks like a child’s magical toy. As you take it all in, you remember a day almost half a year ago, when you had been visiting Leon in his office, admiring a weathered map that hangs on the wall.

“What’s beyond here?” you had asked, pointing to where the map’s green lines ended, blurring into the faded brown parchment. Leon had looked up and smiled slowly. “Shall I show you someday?” You nodded, smiling that smile that sent his heart spinning. And now, when the snow had melted enough, here you were.

“You remembered.” You turn your gaze away from the view to another stunning sight: Leon beaming, your joy lighting him up from within. He reaches for you and you move into his arms, natural as breathing, like falling into a dream. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, holding you close against him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” His voice is soft with affection, the sweet, low tone one he only ever uses when speaking to you. You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against the soft material of his cloak, feeling safe and warm and above everything, loved. 

Evening: Clavis

You’re sitting in the salon, a warm fire blazing in the hearth, throwing soft orange and yellow light across the rich, dark wood and luxurious red velvet of the room. Clavis has disappeared, promising you one last treat. You wonder if your stomach will be able to handle “one last treat”. He’s spent the entire day showering you with little gifts, all of them food. A pancake breakfast with deep green and purple pancakes with some kind of blueish syrup. Lunch was a soup that actually glowed. (He swore it was supposed to do that.) And dinner? You’re not too sure. He claimed it was stew but the meat felt very chewy and the sauce was a bright orange you are certain does not exist in nature. But you ate it. Each meal, every bite. And you thanked him for his effort because you know he did it to make you happy.

But now as you wait for him, hands resting on your abdomen, you find yourself hoping he didn’t make something like the purple “bunny” he had created for your birthday. The one made out of some kind of jelly-like substance that left you smiling through a roiling, queasy stomach for several hours. And had tasted oddly like grass.

The wooden doors open and Clavis enters, holding a silver serving platter, covered by a silver dome. You push yourself upright even as your mind sends silent prayers to whoever may be listening that whatever is under there, it isn’t gelatinous. He kneels in front of where you are sitting on the couch, his eyes two golden pools sparkling with excitement. “Ready, my dear?” You draw a breath, trying to keep your smile steady and positive. “As ever.” He reaches around and removes the silver dome to reveal…

“Clavis….” The word is drawn from your lungs on a gasp. Laying on the silver platter is a small clay heart. It’s a pale lavender but it has a shimmer to it, as if it had been dipped in gold dust. A small hole has been made at the top, run through with a thin strip of soft, black leather. You reach out, taking the necklace in your hand, your heartbeat quickening. When you turn it over, you notice the initials etched into the back. Yours and his, in his signature loopy handwriting. When you look up at him, you see something for the first time today: nervousness shades his smile, uncertainty sparking in the gold of his eyes. “I thought of going to the royal jeweler, but then I remembered you talking about the craftswoman in town who makes these kinds of things and how much you loved her work. With the right persuasion, she helped me make this.” He licks his lips, forcing a smile. “If you’d rather have a gemstone,  we can–”

He is cut off as you throw your arms around him, pressing your lips to his lips. And then his cheek. And then his chin. And other cheek. And forehead. And lips again. Again and again and again you kiss him anywhere you can until the both of you topple over onto the plush carpeting and he breaks out into laughter. “So my darling likes her present.” 

You hug him to you tightly, your eyes closed so they miss the way his cheeks are tinged pink. Your reaction has both thrilled him to no end and surprised him. Sometimes....he can hardly believe that you are his. He returns your embrace, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. His heart beats a rhythm in his chest. I love you, it says. I love you. And yours answers in return: I love you too. I love you too.

Midnight: Gilbert

Valentine’s Day is not a holiday they celebrate in Obsidian. And so you have not mentioned it at all. You went about the day, business as usual. Together you and Gilbert inspected the latest garrison and spoke to its leaders. You met with a group of merchants promising seeds which have been bred to thrive in harsh conditions. You made the rounds of the palace while Gilbert tended to his correspondence. Now, as night falls, you stop by his study to check on him, your hand running over the nape of his neck, comforting and tender. He sends you to bed with a tired kiss to the back of that hand. He has work to do and you, Häschen, cannot help him. He would be happier to know you have gotten rest.

The study door closes behind you and you pause, leaning back against it. You could go to bed as he asked….but you don’t. Because you have an idea. So Gilbert writes, his black feathered quill scratching quietly on parchment, making notes in the margins of letters, and you make your way through the dark stone halls of the palace toward the room at its very heart: the kitchen. Gilbert writes. You work some magic.

It is hours later when Gilbert’s quill finally rests. He stands, stretching out his stiff limbs, one hand rubbing at the corner of his dark red eye. A country teetering on the brink of war requires constant vigilance. A role he understands he must play. But sometimes, wrapped in the secrecy of night’s darkest hour, he wishes he could set it down. The quill, the sword, the weight of Obsidian. And simply be with you.

He is bathed in shadow as he walks toward his bedroom, pushing open the dark, carved double doors. He moves silently, not wanting to wake you, but then he sees the candles still burning and you sitting on the edge of the bed, draped in a dressing gown of pearlescent white satin, holding a plate with something small and dark on it in your hands. He tilts his head, curiosity overcoming exhaustion as he walks over. “What’s this?”

The bed dips as he sits down next to you, his gaze traveling from the plate to your face. You clear your throat. “This….is a small tradition in Rhodolite. It’s Valentine’s Day.” You glance at the small clock on his nightstand, an ornate thing made of silver. “At least for another few minutes. And traditionally, it’s a day to celebrate love with cards and flowers and chocolate.” You shrug your shoulders, feeling suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze. “I didn’t have time to make a nice card and flowers are hard to find here but I knew there was just enough chocolate left from what I brought with me to bake you a cookie.” You had only enough chocolate to make one cookie, a heart-shaped chocolate oatmeal cookie with chopped nuts and raisins inside. Not necessarily what you would enjoy but you knew they were all flavors Gilbert held dear.

He studies the cookie for a moment, silent. You wonder if maybe you’ve made a mistake. Maybe he just wants to go to sleep and not eat anything. Maybe he does not want to hear about a holiday from the country that is threatening his with war. Anxiety swells your heart and at the same time squeezes it with icy chains of uncertainty. This was a bad idea. Why did you even think it would be-

Gilbert lifts the cookie to his lips and takes a bite. His eye closes as he chews and you watch his face, the movement of his jaw. You notice the way his expression softens. There is peace in a face far too used to suspicion, to calculation, to hiding behind smiles and sharp words. There is bliss for a mind that has to think around a thousand corners. A mind that can now, in a moment of respite, simply enjoy the taste of something that you, the woman he loves, has made for him.

He finishes the whole thing with his eye closed. When it is gone, you reach out and take the plate from him, setting it down on the nightstand. When you lean back, he reaches for you. His kiss tastes like chocolate, like the richness of night, like the velvet softness of a love returned.

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