Thewitchofbooks - TheWitchOfBooks

More spoilers

He failed to kill Chevalier, so here he was. And his reasons were:

1. Money

2. Because he knew of Chevalier's dream

IKEPRI JP SPOILERS FOR LUCIAN:

Lucian has known Chevalier for decades (as he said), so he knew him from very young and it turns out he really was an assassin! Chevalier was his former target

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐍𝐮𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞

↬☀️ Napoleon notices your sun-burnt face and he's not happy about the fact that you've yet again failed to take care of yourself...

Napoleon Bonaparte x f!Reader • rating: G • tags: Fluff; Banter; Silliness; Sunburns • wordcount: 756 • masterlist

a/n: It's me. I'm the sunkissed Nunuche in question. While bearing the consequences of my nunucheness I'm staying inside and writing this as a memory of the short holiday I'm on... Looks like Napo is the balm for all my pains, sunburns included lol

"I might be falling asleep on the beach but at least I'm doing it under the shade. Unlike a certain Nunuche."

Your facial muscles twist in a grimace, and even that hurts. That's the last thing you want to hear from the man who would've found himself in the same situation as you - if not in a worse one! - have you not chosen to wake him up as soon as the sun changed its position and gradually crawled across his bared chest. Like the reverse Sleeping Beauty he is, Napoleon is used to capturing your lips in a kiss in order to leave the depths of slumber, and afternoon naps are included in his repertoire as well, as of recently. Spoiling him like that is a no-no, you discovered as soon as he took hold of the hand shaking him awake and pushed himself off the beach chair to find your mouth and claim it. In public. Luckily, you managed to escape in the nick of time. Still! He's just as deserving of being scolded for his actions as you are!

"You're very distracted. Did you not put on sunscreen on your face at all?"

"I did!"

"After you went for a swim?"

"...No."

Napoleon lets out a disappointed sigh, not missing a beat as he finishes dismantling the umbrella while making a gesture for you to take off the beach bag that you've just put over your shoulder. You want to murmur something about him showing off with the number of things he is already carrying, but you realize quickly that he must be worried about the state of your reddened shoulders too. Whoops, another missed spot. As usual, he's not vocal about the little things he does in your favor, while choosing to be vocal with his teasings instead.

As your mind trails off about the kiss that never happened, you find another reason to furrow your brows in a frown. The ever-so-perceptive Napoleon notices the sourness painted across your heated face and leans in closer as you two walk down the beach alley.

"Are you alright, Nunuche? Does it hurt that badly?"

"Uh-huh...I must've gotten another sunburn...here."

Napoleon halts his step to examine the area you've put your palm on, but as you remove it for his eyes, he doesn't see any signs of damage done by the mischievous sun of mid-July. As if hit by a sudden realization as to where exactly you were pointing towards, he tips his chin up, returning his gaze on yours.

"Your heart?"

"Yes. It hurts because... you can always get your wake-up kiss when we get behind closed doors but... I won't get my smooch shower...! Because my cheeks are sunburnt!"

Trying to put so much intuition while keeping your voice down is a challenge, and even more so without emphasizing it with a matching facial expression. But you don't want to sound too serious, otherwise he'd just-

"Pfft. Bahahahaha!"

A person or two look your way, no more. It's more than enough. It's plenty. Your face can't possibly get more heated than that, no matter the embarrassment-powered enhancement. You look again at Napoleon, putting on your best mean glare - you didn't want to sound too serious, but now that he laughed at you, you're incited to stand your ground. To your surprise, he's the one looking offended now.

"First you're not giving me my wake-up kiss, now you've deprived me of the pleasure of kissing your face as a whole."

HUH!

"H-How did you turn things around like that?! That's-"

"You're not taking care of my Nunuche and now I can't give her love properly. I'm looking forward to how you're going to make up for this damage."

Not taking care of his Nunuche... he can't get more absurd than that. All thoughts of tending to yourself once you're home crumble because even now you can see through his words - you've learned how to - and the image of his feather-light touch putting lotion on the sensitive skin appears so very clearly in your mind. Taking a cold shower with him even, if he feels the need to. You know how thoughtful he could get.

"I miss those kisses a whole lot already, so I'll make sure to take proper care of your Nunuche, Napoleon!"

"You miss the kisses? Strange... Are you sure? You've gotten plenty of kisses already, by the looks of it. You're thoroughly sunkissed."

"NAPOLEON! ...Hey, don't speed up your step like that! Wait for me!"

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"doubt thou the stars are fire // doubt that the sun doth move // doubt truth to be a liar // but never doubt that i love (you)" x gilbert (or whoever you feel fits this best)

-revassierum

A/N: Gilbert won the poll so the first fic belongs to him.

This is the fic that comes before this one but I think that you can read this on its own.

Gilbert x Reader

WC: 2.3k

Full quote:

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love you. I love thee, I love but thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old. -William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II, Scene II

His knuckles, hidden under his black leather gloves, are white as he grasps the cold gray parapet. His eye, red as a hellish comet streaking across a midnight sky, surveys the shapes he can make out below, the ones revealed by the twin luminance of moonlight and torches: the shadowy lines of the encampment tents in front of the castle; light winking weakly off the metal of soldiers’ helmets as they move around. Beyond them the ribbon of pale gray road that disappears into the imposing darkness of the treeline, so dark it drinks in all the light without leaving a single drop.

The road holds his gaze, has every ounce of his attention so thoroughly that he doesn’t react to the man who joins him, the one who is silent as he stares at Gilbert, his expression as stoic as the stone Gilbert’s gloves are so tightly clenching. 

After a moment, he speaks.

“Yes, Doctor?”

Walter reaches up, adjusting his glasses.

“The night is chilled. You should be abed, resting for what is to come.”

Few people in the world can speak to Gilbert in such a way, telling him what he should be doing. But Walter is one of them. The man who carries the weight of Obsidian on his broad shoulders doesn’t answer his physician but the tightness of his jawline is enough of a sign that he has heard.

Walter finally turns his head, his pale gaze following Gilbert’s line of sight until he too is looking at the place where the road vanishes into black forest. He remembers a whispered conversation with Roderich, hushed and hurried, quick as a sparrow nervously jumping from branch to branch lest it be snapped up by the jaws of some far-quicker predator.

“If I may speak freely….”

Gilbert waves a hand. “As if that would be something new.” Though there is a faint glimmer of humor in his voice, his gaze is as intensely focused as ever and he does not glance at the doctor.

“You sent her away. Quite….forcefully, if I recall the story.”

That gets his attention. He turns away, a movement as quick and sleek as silvery clouds sliding across the face of the moon.

Walter knows him well enough to read his face. He sees the miniscule flash of surprise in the depths of his crimson eye, the slight drawing of his shoulders. Anyone else would think Gilbert had no reaction. The doctor knows that this particular subject has just set off a cascade of emotion within the Obsidian leader.

“I won’t ask how you know this or else I would be forced to deprive Obsidian of its best healer.” Annoyance lines his words as he turns back to the parapet, as if he cannot help himself, as if staring at the line between the encampment and the forest is necessary. Agitation dances across the tight line of his shoulders, the straight rod of his back.

Walter clears his throat, stifling the urge to place a hand on Gilbert’s arm. 

“Rhodolite may be the enemy. But it is where she is safest.”

His statement is met with silence, as cool as the night breeze winding its way across the battlement, Gilbert’s black cloak dancing in its wake.

“I’ve taken my tonic. I believe your presence is no longer required tonight, Doctor.”

The dismissal doesn’t bother Walter. He knows Gilbert has heard him. His dark head bows in deference.

“Gute Nacht,” he murmurs, casting one last look at the man whose life he is charged with keeping safe. He may be responsible for Gilbert's body but there is no doubt that his heart is within someone else’s hands.

Gilbert waits until the doctor’s footsteps fade into the other sounds of nighttime, the ebbing murmur of his soldiers as they retire for the evening, the faint clanking of armor as guards patrol the grounds, the lone, mournful hoot of an owl. Only when he is certain he is alone does he allow his head to drop, eye closing for a brief moment.

There is little that escapes Gilbert von Obsidian. He is three steps ahead of everyone, always, the human mind a complicated puzzle he is adept at solving. And yet, when he sent you away from his tent, you with your starlight tears and petal-soft mouth, when he watched you flee, eyes as wild as a fearful rabbit, when he told you to return home to your roses and your pale-haired king…..he was not entirely certain you would listen.

The doctor is right. It was the more rational choice. But it was not the one that his heart wanted, the one it is still screaming for. You belong with him. You should be his. 

He has tasted you, knows the sound of his name when it escapes your lips on a wavering sigh of want. His teeth have sunk into the soft skin of your shoulder, his tongue has traced the line of your neck. He has felt the waves of desire as they ripple through your veins, all because of him. All for him. It is all he has wanted for so very long, all that has consumed him….

And yet he had smiled, sharp as the edge of his sword, and told you to run. Sent you away even as your scent of lavender and roses lingered in his tent, settled across his black mantle like a ghost unable to find peace.

What is he even looking for, out here in the night, as the tents darken one by one like candles blown out by the wind. You are halfway back to your kingdom of roses. You chose home and you chose Chevalier.

So why can’t he tear his gaze away from the darkening road?

It becomes a phantom as the torchlight dims and the moon excuses herself, stepping behind a barricade of clouds. And still he lingers, even as the night air turns cold and unwelcoming, and he feels his muscles contracting in response, struggling to support the cry of his heart to stay….just in case.

Teeth clenched like a beast on the edge of growling, he is about to turn and head inside when he sees it. A shadowy shape bursting out of the black treeline, a spectral horse and rider charging down the ribbon of road. 

And he knows.

The castle walls blur as he flies down the spiral stone steps, down down down and then out, past the startled guards. He is a tiger honed in on its prey, eyes flashing with resolve and hunger. 

You’re already off your horse, speaking in that voice to a soldier with his sword raised in your direction. You are, after all, a stranger who has just flown into their camp like a banshee.

When he arrives at the scene, the soldier immediately lowers his sword and drops to one knee. Gilbert does not hear any of his stammered words. Instead he reaches out, his gloved fingers closing around your wrist as he pulls you towards the nearest tent.

“Raus,” he orders the soldier who was just getting ready to bed down for the night. The word is iron, undeniable and final. The man gathers his things quicker than he ever has before in his life and exits, the tent flap falling closed behind him with a soft whooshing sound.

It is a simple foot soldier’s dwelling with an oil lantern still burning next to the untouched bedroll. The wan light throws your shadows across the thick canvas walls, moving like images inside a zoetrope. 

Gilbert is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath, but there is nothing unsteady about the way his eye, the color of wine in moonlight, is fixed on you. With trembling hands you push back the hood of your cloak, white with small red roses embroidered along the hem like drops of blood. Your cheeks are flushed with the urgency and speed of your ride. Your skirts and boots are splattered with mud.

“I know….you warned me to go and I started to.” Your voice is airy but uncontrolled, a tornado forcing its way past your throat. “I got just past the border and stopped at a tavern to rest the horse. Rhodolite soldiers were there, several tankards in, and they were bragging…they’re coming, Gilbert. At first dawn they’ll be here.”

You step forward, your hands reaching to gather the soft folds of his black cloak, fingers curling into it as it could steady you, a bulwark against the storm of information you need to tell him.

“They have weapons. They intercepted an Obsidian transport and they have guns.” He hasn’t said a word yet, hasn’t had a chance in the face of all the words you’re hurling at him but now you pause, searching his face. “Gilbert, did you hear me? They have-”

He finally moves, twisting his leather glove off his hand and tossing it aside fecklessly. The next thing you feel is the cool touch of his palm against your cheek, his fingers curling to cup your face.

“You’re here.” 

The words are husky, maybe because he is still catching his breath. Maybe because he can’t believe it.  Or maybe because he can and he’s basking in the confirmation of his prediction.

“I…..” You need him to understand the urgency of what you are telling him and yet his hand feels so good. The last time he touched you that hand was at your throat. Now it is cradling your face with a gentleness just as dangerous.

Your words drop to a whisper. “Gilbert…..they’re coming and they–” And then, as he raises his other hand to his lips, biting into the tip of his glove and removing it with his teeth, the truth hits you like an avalanche careening down a mountain. The encampment here. Gilbert occupying a castle so close to the border and not heading home.

“You already knew.”

And now he’s holding your face in both hands, the coolness of his skin paradoxically sending waves of something unbearably hot through your limbs. 

“But you didn’t. And you came back, risking everything to tell me.”

The world begins and ends in the red of his eye, the fall of dark hair across his pale forehead. Something inside you breaks, shatters like stained glass struck by stone. You reach up, curling your hands around his wrists.

“I….I couldn’t live with the thought that something could happen to you….I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to stop it, even if it meant-”

The rest is stopped by the savage press of his mouth against yours. He will not even allow you to finish that sentence. The grip of his hands tightens as he hungrily swallows any other words you wanted to say, as he drinks deeply from the gasps of your lungs and the moans of your throat. Over and over he devours you while still holding you between his hands, your own having gone slack at the very first kiss.

He kisses you until your lips ache from the crush of his mouth, the sting of his teeth. Your tongue is full of him, the rich, cool taste of him. It is the sweetest nectar, ambrosia as heady as the starlit sky. It leaves you spinning with satisfaction, dizzy with content. And yet, it leaves you parched, always seeking more and more and more of him as the hot winds of desire blow through your veins.

Gilbert is the one to break away, to gasp a lungful of air, feeling the absence of your lips as keenly as any ache. His eye burns like a singular star, swallowing up the darkness.

“Retreat to the castle.” His hands roam your body as he speaks the order, as if he can’t help but touch you even as he demands you to leave him. “The cellar is safeguarded. My men will go with you-”

You shake your head vehemently, capturing his hands in yours, holding them hostage in your own tight grip.

"I have turned against my country for you. I was ready to face whatever hell awaited me here if it meant keeping you safe.” Your voice is low, trembling as it skirts the bedrock of emotion in your chest. “I'm damn well not leaving your side now."

He recognizes a mind as sharp as his own, a will as iron. As much as he has craved your gentle heart, your kind spirit, those soft, beautiful parts of you, he is equally as drawn to the steel in your nerves, the forge of determination in your bright eyes.

He could have you sent away, dragged by his soldiers down to the underbelly of the castle where you would be safe. But as he reaches up, cradling the nape of your neck with one hand, he realizes you are right. After all, who could protect you as well as him? Who but him would trample the world for you? Would set the night ablaze before allowing anyone or anything to harm you?

One arm winds its way around your waist and pulls you close. He leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. His voice is hushed, but rough, gravelly with emotion.

"When all this is over, my brave Häschen, I will reward you.” He catches your earlobe between his white teeth, his heart fluttering at your gasp. “Over and over until your voice is hoarse with the sound of my name." 

There is no time to catch the breath his words have robbed you off. The distant warning of cannon fire fills the night and the encampment is coming awake, following the carefully laid-out plan in preparation for what is coming.

“Come.” And with your fingers linked with his, you step out of the tent together, into the foreboding night.

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Akatsuki:"Oh no dear, you don't deserve that"

Kogyoku prince:"Aww dad, I understand but—"

Akatsuki:"I wasn't speaking to you"

Akatsuki: *turns to Emma*

Akatsuki:"You deserve so much better darling"

Akatsuki: *turns to prince*

Akatsuki:"How dare you think I was talking to you?"

If Prince Kogyoku's dad is Akatsuki then Akatsuki will get to be Emma's father and father-in-law

I have even more, please forgive me🥲 This has to do with the abuse Chevalier went through from his mother, so please remember the trigger warnings: name calling, blood and injury

Lucian was given a "collar" by Chevalier, but Lucian, after being betrayed by his client, he didn't trust anyone including Chevalier, so he wanted to try him out.

But it was the worst period possible. Chevalier's mother was at the verge of mental collapse and she only had her maid by her side (Clavis' mother)

Flashback:

Little Chevalier:"........."

Previous queen:"No......don't come, don't come!"

Maid (Clavis' mother):"Your highness, please calm down!"

Previous queen:"Because of you! Everything went wrong because of you!"

Previous queen:"Keep out of my sight! Never again! Don't show your face, you monster!"

Little Chevalier:"........"

Maid:"Please no! If you throw a vase at Chevalier-sama——!"

Little Chevalier:"Ngh........."

Maid:"Chevalier-sama! There's blood.....I'll call the court's doctor now!"

Little Chevalier:"Don't make a fuss, it's just a scratch. More importantly, stay away from it"

Then the queen understood what she did and Chevalier asked her if she was satisfied

(To ad in this, in his Epilogue, he took Emma to a hidden place in the garden, where the kings and queens of Rhodolite would have secret rendezvous, but Little Chevalier used it as his safe space after every fight with his mother)

IKEPRI JP SPOILERS FOR LUCIAN:

Lucian has known Chevalier for decades (as he said), so he knew him from very young and it turns out he really was an assassin! Chevalier was his former target