#kidd fluff

law: 

#i’d forgive him so fast oops | 3.3k words

With Law, all of your meetings are at midnight or after, he’s painfully careful to ensure that no one has even the slightest clue of what your relationship has begun to blossom into– He’s scared of course. Anything could go wrong; his rationality is placed at risk every time you walk past him and he allows himself to indulge (even if for just a second) in the smell of your perfume– strong and floral. It lingers even after you’ve walked past him, ignoring him just like he asked you to do during the working hours on board the Polar Tang. Law does what he can to suppress the sting he feels when you, oh so obediently, listen to him. You do your job too well, he thinks, not even sparing him a glance if you’re not being directly addressed. ‘This is your own fault’, he has to remind himself. It pains him when the crew stays up late playing poker and cards and drinking alcohol, talking about all your hopes and dreams, when you entertain your crewmates with stories and he hears about how you’re there for them all in times of difficulty, a listening ear, a supporting friend, an emotional anchor to the crew. 

Maybe, he thinks, I should end it. He knows that that’s the right answer, if you’re just friends he might allow himself to be welcomed into the radiance and warmth around you that he denies himself and has instructed you to deny to him. He’s too scared to lose you now.

On late nights, Law lays in bed, his room hazy from the cigarette he lets burn in an ashtray you gifted him and he thinks about the few direct conversations you’ve had about your… situation. That’s what you had called it, “Law,” you had said, “We have to talk about…”

“About what?” He still beats himself up over how he delivered that question, biting and poisonous. He can’t shake the memory of the frown it elicited on your face. 

“Y/n, we don’t have to talk. Please, let’s not talk. Talking means we have to confront the reality of the situation.”

That was what he should’ve said. Instead his tongue betrayed him, acting faster than he could register. About what? Idiot, he thought. 

You took a deep breath before answering him, “About us, Law. Our… situation.” 

He had scoffed at you. Let out an indifferent huff, as though the matter was beneath him. His chest aches when he thinks about it now. The hurt on your face was so obvious. 

“So talk.” 

It was dark that night. He can’t remember if tears pooled on your lower lashes, or if it was a trick of the slight bit of light pouring into the dark room. He chooses to believe the latter option. 

“What are we doing? I can’t… I don’t want to continue like this. Secret and hidden– I want to, I want to be able to talk to you during the day. To tell you about how I am and ask you about yourself I want to help you and be there for you. To kiss you whenever and hold your hand–”

“So do I,” he should have said, “I want that too.”

“You are there for me,” was his reply, instead, “As my trusted crewmate. And I never said you couldn’t talk to me, but I maintain my position. We can’t be discovered, the risks are-”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, sighing, “The risks? Our entire life is a risk. You think the crew would care? And what does it matter what you’ve said– it’s how you act. I’ve tried talking to you and you treat me with such an awful indifference Law. I respect your intelligence and leadership so please don’t act stupid. 

What am I to you?”

He paused. Wrong move.

Your bottom lip trembled as you closed your eyes and inhaled. His memory doesn’t serve him very well but if you did cry that night it was now that the tears flowed. 

“Okay,” you said, your voice incredibly soft. You had accepted defeat. He wanted to tear his skin off. This was agony. Why couldn’t he just say what he felt? 

“I want you,” he says to himself now, picking the cigarette back up, placing it between his lips, “I love you.” 

Three weeks too late, he thinks. The cigarette burns in the back of his throat, his chest filling with an uncomfortable warmth. 

The last few weeks had been uncomfortable to say the least. You refused to talk to him, and he didn’t blame you. He barely saw you, the last time he’d gotten a proper look at your face was six days ago now. You looked beautiful, maybe he should have said something. 

He lost track of time. An hour has passed now since he laid down to smoke, or has it been two? His head is spinning, never has regret gripped his heart so aggressively. 

The aching in his chest tugs him out of bed and into the hallway. He finds himself walking toward the library where he knows you’ll be. 

Where less than a month ago you were sat on his lap, soft arms gently wrapped around his shoulders as he kissed up and down your arms, buried inside you.

He missed your warmth, the way just being in your presence felt like sitting next to a fireplace, drinking a cup of tea. Your touch soft and reassuring, Fuck, he thinks, fuck.

The coolness of the metal floor jolts him out of his daze, he’s moving with a purpose now. 

It’s not too late, he reassures himself. 

The library door is closed, a warm light pours out into the cool, blue hallway from underneath the door. His hand hovers over the door knob for a moment, listening. Silence. 

Law gently opens the door, and is welcomed by the sight of you fast asleep on Shachi’s shoulder, your crewmate’s arm wrapped around you.

Law pauses, Shachi looks up. He subdues the jealousy that quickly spreads throughout his body.

Shachi shoots him a look, as if to say, “I’m doing my best.”

Law’s throat hurts, speaking is too risky. He sends back a puzzled look.

Shachi beckons him over, placing his free hand up to his lips, “Shh.”

Law’s head feels like it’s about to explode. He can’t do this right now. His stomach twists at the sight of his crewmate’s arm around you. He was always so mesmerized by how you slept– envious, even, at how gently your eyes closed, how your soft lips parted once you were out, how deeply you slept. 

His mind slips from him, replaying memories of how you’d cling to him when spending the night in his room, your arms securely around his neck, your face tucked into him. The sound of you giggling in the morning when he’d wake you up with kisses peppered all over your face and neck, trailing down and down your body. He inhales, trying to recollect himself– The memory of your body is overpowering. His hands clench into fists at his sides.

“She’s been asleep for about two hours,” Shachi started. Law’s chest tightened, two hours?

“I didn’t know what to say to her. She’s so… sad. Some guy, I think, broke her heart. Or, is currently breaking it. I don’t want to pry. Maybe you should talk to her?”

Law concentrated all of his efforts on answering his subordinate to avoid collapsing to the floor and begging you for forgiveness right then and there, Shachi be damned. His worst crime, in all of his life, he thought, is to have done this to you. 

The thought of being ‘some guy’ that broke your heart nauseates him, he has to fix this.

“Captain?” Shachi seemed to have picked up on Law’s distress.

“Shachi,” Law started, his eyes fixed on you– his expression must have been something pained, or regretful, “Leave her here. Go to bed.”

Shachi’s brows furrowed. Law tore his eyes away from you to look at him, “I’ll take care of her.” 

The redhead quickly picked up on the subtext and inhaled, about to say something but bit his tongue. Shachi gently removed his arm from around your shoulders, propping your head up on the sofa behind you and stood quietly, making room for Law. 

“Captain,” he started, shooting him a look that wasn’t quite placeable. Disappointment? Anger? It wasn’t either, perhaps something in between, he decided you were capable enough to handle this yourself, “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Law sat down next to you. He wanted to laugh. You had a way about you, even in such a moment of difficulty for Law, that made him want to give into you completely. God knows he had spent every second he’d known you fighting that urge. You slept on, completely undisturbed by any of the commotion around you. A strand of hair fell across your face, an obstruction to an otherwise perfect view. He brought a hand up to it, gently pushing it to the side, tucking it behind your ear. You stir, slightly. 

He hates himself, he thinks as he brings a firm hand to your arm, and gently shakes you to a conscious state. 

You wake with droopy eyelids, sleep still generously distributed throughout your body. It pains him to wake you, he knows you need the rest. He watches your lashes touch your rosy cheeks as you blink your eyes open, gathering your surroundings. You yawn, stretching your hands above your head, your shirt rising just enough to show off your lower tummy. Law curses whatever devil placed you in his life. 

“Mmm.. What time ‘s it, Chi?” you ask. Jealousy rears its ugly head in Law’s chest at the use of a nickname for Shachi. 

Law clears his throat, “One twenty three in the morning.” 

You jolt, straightening your posture, upon recognizing your captain’s unmistakably deep, tired voice. 

“Law,” you say, looking at him, “I was just leaving, actually. Shachi was supposed to wake me up an hour ago..” You adjust the hem of your shirt and push your hair out of your face. An awkward silence filled the room– an awful reminder of how fucked up your… situation had become. 

You can’t bear it, Law can tell, any more than he can. Your discomfort is obvious and he hates to be the root of it. 

“Well, goodnight,” you say standing. Your voice wavers. 

“Y/n,” Law says, “Sit. Please.” 

You wanted nothing more than to tell him to fuck off. You’d even rehearsed it with Ikkaku.

“Fuck you Law,” you’d practiced, “Fuck you and never speak to me again I never want to be around you. You’re so…”

That was usually where Ikkaku would have some suggestions:

“Immature? Selfish? Mean? Evil? Misogynistic? Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah,” you’d agree, “But I don’t think I can say that to him directly, he is the Captain after all.”

“He’s also a doctor,” she’d observed, “But you don’t seem very healed to me.”

These conversations replayed in your head as you sat down, following his orders. 

You kept your gaze focused downward, your bare feet shuffled awkwardly against the carpet. 

“We should vacuum this,” you said, “Feels kinda dusty.” 

Silence settled between the two of you. It was unbearable. 

You continued, “I’ll mention it to Penguin, um, I know he likes stuff cleaned a certain way. And, oh, right, I meant to tell you about the books we’re picking up at the next port. They ran out of the edition of the Watson book you ordered–”

“Y/n.”

You shut up. You could feel the tears start to well in your eyes. No, goddamnit, you thought, Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“I’m… sorry.”

You looked up at him, a puzzled expression on your face. 

“No, you’re not,” you said. If there were any other noise coming from anywhere on the ship he would not have heard you, you spoke so quietly. 

“No, you’re not,” you repeated. 

Law inhaled, guilt had never had such a physically debilitating effect on his body. 

“Y/n, listen. I am. I can’t sleep, or eat, or think, I can’t–”

“Neither can I, so, thanks for that. It’s been a great few weeks for me.”

He swallowed.  

“Please look at me.” 

You look up, your cheeks coated in two parallel streaks of tears. His eyes are red, the bags under them a deep shade of gray. He really hasn’t slept. You curse yourself as you reach a hand up to his face, and scoot yourself into his lap.

His strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, chest to chest, and he places his forehead against yours. 

You feel a small string of tears fall into your lap. He’s crying, you realize. 

“I fucked up,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

He runs a hand up and down your back, it’s unfortunately soothing. You want so badly to push him off of you- deny his touch and affection, but as his hand slows and his grip on you tightens, as he pulls you into him even further and allows himself to indulge in the feeling of your body against his you know that you’ve once again fallen into his trap. 

“I can’t keep doing this, Captain.”

There was a time when hearing his title come from your lips elicited an unspeakably sinful desire within him. Hearing it from your mouth was such a delicious indulgence. Now he knows you use it to distance yourself from him- to avoid using his name. 

“I know, baby,” he says, “I know.”

You sit up in his lap, wiping your tears. 

“I can fix this,” he reassures you, “I promise.”

“How? What is there to fix?”

He’s silent.

“I thought about what you said, that night,” you continue.

‘That night,’ he wants to blow his brains out. That terrible night when he started this, when he couldn’t answer a simple question, when he started the downward spiral of the past three weeks, the tension between the two of you getting worse with each passing day. 

“You’re right, Law,” you went on, “To not have answered my question. We aren’t anything. You’re my captain and I’m your crewmate– nothing more, nothing less.”

You both knew that was a lie. Here you were in the dim candlelight on the library couch, the navy blue ocean stirring just outside the glass window behind you, sitting on his lap letting him hold you. He pulled you into his chest, laying your head down onto his shoulder. You let him. It was a delicate thing, to play such a game of cat and mouse, your roles always shifting back and forth. You let yourself be pulled into him, sinking into his touch, arching your back into his chest doing whatever possible to be closer to him for even just a moment. 

He brought a hand up to run through your hair, and rested his cheek on the side of your head. 

The silence was less bitter this time. You both sit in it for several minutes, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

You try to resist the urge for a split second, and then, as usual, cave into his touch. You place a soft kiss on his neck (a spot of complete and absolute weakness for Law). He responds with a kiss on your head. 

He inhales, and you brace yourself.

“Y/n.”

You don’t respond. 

“I love you.” 

Your cheeks immediately are covered by an onslaught of tears you hadn’t even felt forming. You sniffle, wrapping your arms around him tighter. He squeezes you harder, before making you sit up and look at him, face to face. 

He’s given up. He’s never been more fucked than he is now. He watches you, your expression, for a moment. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, he thinks, cheeks pink from his body heat, lashes damp from the tears.

“Y/n, I am sorry,” he wipes away your tears with one hand, the other tangling itself into your hair. You sniffle, a frown settling on your face.

“I want you,” he confesses, “Always. I think about you always and I can’t sleep and I’ve been telling myself that it’s because of work but it’s you. I can’t sleep without you. I can’t think without you. Everything reminds me of you, my pillow still smells like you, your clothes show up in my laundry, you have jewelry on my desk I can’t escape you. I don’t want to.”

You softened at this admission, but with Law there was always a catch. 

“But?” you ask.

He sighs, “If anything were to happen to you I’d be responsible. It felt better, safer to end, or deny things and keep you safe than keep going and risk your safety.”

“I’m a pirate, Law, I’m at risk anyway. Don’t lie to me, that’s not the only reason.”

He kisses your forehead, “I know, I know. I am worried about the risks of another crew finding out or, god forbid, the navy. But I can’t… be without you. I haven’t slept or eaten or… worked, really. I’m scared you don’t feel the same.”

You don’t what overcomes you in that moment, but the next thing you know your lips are attached to his, his hand pulling you into him by your neck.

You whine when he pulls back, ignoring the tears flowing down your cheeks.

He kisses your nose, your forehead, your cheeks as he wipes your tears whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay… I’m sorry.”

His lips find yours again, and he kisses you more aggressively this time– it’s carnivorous and hungry, his grip on your waist tightens enough to bruise and you wince. 

“L-Law, be gentle,” you whimper.

His grip softens slightly and he pulls away from your mouth to start planting sloppy, wet kisses on your neck.

You mewl, arching your back into him completely melting at his touch. Soft moans escape you as you tug at the hem of his shirt, helping him pull it off.

You run a hand over his abs, savoring the view as he helps you take your own shirt off. 

“Wait, Y/n, wait,” Law manages to get out, his breath heavy and fast, “What are we?”

You laugh, kissing him, slipping your tongue between his lips. He moans and you ignore his question. You pull away a sticky string of saliva connecting your puffy pink lips to his. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, and grind down on it ever so slightly. 

Law bites back a moan, throwing his head back on the couch leaving his neck wide open for you. You gently bite down on his neck, kissing it after. 

You missed him so badly, no one had ever brought out in you what Law did. His confession immediately healed all the previous wounds he’d inflicted on your heart, wounds that only he would have been able to heal anyway.  

“Law, I need you,” you cry.

“I’m here, baby, I’m right here,” he coos, holding you.

“I need you, always. Not conditionally. Not after midnight. Always.”

He sighs, a silent acknowledgement of his wrongs. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I’ve never… felt like this. I didn’t want to mess up, I suppose. Or ruin things between us. I’d rather stop this and still be able to see you every day than have you be mine and lose you for it.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Law. I promise.”

He places another kiss on your forehead, sleep begins to take over in Law.  

“Law,” you pout, sitting up, “It’s cold.”

He blinks, taking a moment to process your words, savoring the way you say his name, “Okay, baby, let’s go to my room. Stay the night? Please?”

You think about it for a second, “Okay.”

“I love you,” he says.

You pause. His chest tightens. 

“I love you, too.”

Law picks you up, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he walks back through the Polar Tang, toward his room. 

He smiles, you’re going to be upset about the smell of smoke. 

“Baby,” he says.

“Hm.”

“Let’s tell everyone at breakfast, tomorrow.”

You perk up, “Tell them what?”

He laughs, and kisses the top of your head, “That you’re mine.”

kidd: 

my fav scottish #pussypounder | 3.9k words

Your vision begins to blur at the edges, as Kidd’s grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly. You’d complain if you were able to form any thoughts other than enjoying the rhythmic slap of his hips against your ass, your mind numb as you begin to drool from the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your clit. You yelp at the sudden sharp pain of Kidd’s metal hand slapping your ass, it energizes you to match his thrusts halfway. Kidd loves watching you fuck yourself on his big, fat dick in doggy-style, his chest swells with pride at his ability to reduce you to such a pathetic, whiny personal slut for him. The sound of sloppy, wet slaps fills the room, a consistent tempo of plap, plap, plap.

“Feel good, lassie?” Kidd laughs, his pace never faltering.

“Mmmff, fuckkk Kidd, please don’t stop!”

“I‘m getting close, love,” his voice now slightly strained, “Where should I finish, hm?”

“Inside,” you beg, “Please, inside!”

You yelp as his metal hand once again makes harsh contact with the fat of your ass, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you let bliss take over, now approaching your own end. 

“Kidd,” you whine, “Gonna… cum!”

“That’s right, lassie, cream all over me,” Kidd growls. 

His thick accent makes your clit throb, and he can feel you tightening around him.

“Ya like when I talk to ya like that?” his hand moved from your neck to the base of your scalp where he roughly grabbed a generous handful of hair, yanking your head back as he bent over to kiss you.

“Mhmmm,” you moan, your mind completely hazy from the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, “Mmf mmm-”

Kidd pulls away, a deep laugh filling the room, “What’s that, love?”

“Gonna.. cum, daddy!”

Your captain’s pace slows ever so slightly, he savors every inch of pleasure he can draw from your drooling pussy– you know he’s close. 

“Cum with me, sweetheart,” he commands.

It only takes a few more strokes before you oblige, sinking further into the mattress as you release your orgasm and feel Kidd finishing inside you. He indulges you in a few more strokes; he loves watching the creamy, wet mixture the two of you produce whenever he cums inside of you.

“Good girl,” he says as he slowly pulls out, before collapsing on the bed next to you.

“C’mere,” he beckons you toward him, patting his chest for you to lay on. You obey. He brings a hand to your neck, and kisses the top of your head before closing his eyes. He starts snoring a few minutes later. 

To say sex with Kidd was amazing would be the understatement of the year, it was heavenly, divine, rough, passionate, wonderful. He knew your body better than his own, being with him was indescribably delicious. The sex you had filled your mind for days and days after, so much so that Kidd had begun to recognize it on your face when you were thinking about your latest encounter. A dazed, hazy look would cloud your eyes during meetings, dinner, days out in the towns you stopped at. It drove Kidd insane, knowing you were thinking about him that much– and, for the most part, he was always happy to indulge. 

Pulling you (and your panties) to the side whenever he had time, Kidd was a very generous man when it came to you, always happy to give you exactly what you needed. After all, he’d tell himself, he needed you functioning at full capacity and if this was how he needed to remind you of that, who was he to complain? 

He was just as entranced by you, though he’d never admit it out loud. More than once he caught himself seeking you out just to talk, to spend time in your presence. He’d come up with poorly thought out, half-assed excuses to be near you.

“Y/n,” he’d say, “Come help me in the workshop lass, you have small enough hands to fix this screw.”

Or, “Come hold this light while I work, love.”

“Come read with me, sweetheart, I need your opinion on the best kind of metal to use.”

“Grab me an apple from the kitchen, will ya, lassie?”

It was obvious to you, of course, given that it was a fault you yourself echoed through your own actions. 

“Kidd, can you zip up my dress for me?”

“Kidd, could you fasten my necklace for me?”

“Kidd, taste this, tell me if it’s good.”

“Kidd, Kidd, Kidd…”

Everyone else on the crew found it endearing, you brought out something mature in their Captain– which they greatly appreciated. 

“Looks like he just needed to be having sex regularly,” Wire joked. 

You couldn’t disagree. 

You and Kidd worked so well together, you’d found yourselves fighting back to back a handful of times now moving in sync with one another, not having to communicate, simply understanding how the other thinks, moves, works. 

You lost count of how many nights you’d spent in his room, and vice versa. It was terrible to admit but you were attached. You slept better with his chest against your back, strong arm wrapped around you. Your day was better when you woke up to his snoring and got to kiss him awake. 

You laid now on his chest, sweat drying on your forehead and back, wincing internally. 

This wasn’t great. 

Yes, you worked well together and the sex was amazing– but you hadn’t quite worked your way up to admitting that maybe there was a deeper attachment brewing, and you knew your Captain was definitely not thinking that way at all. 

Besides, there was something freeing about the casualty of it all. Kidd was there when you were unbearably horny (which had been often, as of late) and you were there when he was (which, again, had been quite often as of late). 

No strings attached! That was a good thing… Right? You were free to do as you wished, see other people, reconnect with old flames you crossed paths with on the open ocean, and there were no worries about childish feelings or getting hurt. 

Right?

Kidd had fallen asleep, you could hear his soft snores and his hand that had been rubbing your back had fallen limp by his side. 

Fuck, you thought. This wouldn’t do. You liked Kidd, but he was the last person on Earth you needed to fall in love with.

You slowly sat up, inching your way to the edge of the bed. You went to stand, when you were jerked back by a metal finger pulling you by the hem of your panties.

“Where’re ya goin’?” He asked, voice deep and raspy with sleep.

You ignored the heat between your legs. 

“To bed, Kidd. Goodnight.”

He laughed, “Come lay down then.”

You were silent. Why shouldn’t you? You’d slept with him hundreds of times before. 

No attachments. 

“I… sleep better in my bed,” you said. Awful excuse, you noted. 

“Alright then,” he sat up, yawning, “Let’s go to your room, then.”

“Kidd…” you started. You didn’t know what to say. What were you feeling? Attachment? Love? Had you ever really been in love before? What did that even feel like? 

The nature of your relationship was unspoken but mutually understood. This, whatever this was, was casual, no strings attached, sexual, non-exclusive. 

He sat up, making his way to the edge of the bed to sit next to you, “Somethin’ wrong?”

This wasn’t supposed to be hard. It was supposed to be fun, easy, a stress reliever. 

“Um, yeah, I just– I started my period so I have to go wash up and stuff. I’ll see you in the morning,” you lied. 

Something’s wrong, Kidd thought. Say something, he urged himself. 

“Let me take care of you, lassie,” he said, gently placing an arm around your waist, “Think a bit of blood bothers Captain Eustass Kidd?”

You let out an unconvincing laugh, “It’s alright Kidd, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You stood, making your way to the door. 

“Alright,” he sighed, lying back down on his bed, sure now that something was wrong with you, “But give me a kiss before ya go.”

You paused at the door, back to your Captain. 

A moment passed.

Another moment. 

“Goodnight then, Y/n.”

You walked out, closing the door behind you, cursing yourself. 

Kidd lied back down, fully awake now. His stomach turned, something resembling nausea settled in his abdomen. Was he too forward? It hardly seemed likely that asking you to stay the night was out of bounds, especially when he had just been buried nine inches deep, emptying a load in you. He sighed, and rolled over onto his stomach as his mind sought a possible explanation. 

You weren’t on your period, that much was certain. Not that he was tracking your cycle, of course. He definitely didn’t go to significant lengths to make sure his schedule was freed up when you ovulated. 

Maybe, he thought, the feeling of nausea increasing, There’s someone else. 

He dismissed the thought quickly, but it ate at him. You leaving so suddenly, not even offering him a kiss goodbye… You didn’t even look at him. 

Kidd, despite the recent calmness he had, was still Kidd and the more he ruminated on the sickening possibility the more real it became. 

That must be it, he convinced himself, What obligation does she have to me anyway? We’re not… together. 

His chest ached, it infuriated him. He spent the better part of the night tossing and turning, contemplating whether he had any right to kick down your door and demand you give him the name of your lover or if he should simply never speak to you again. Should he ask the other members of the crew? He didn’t want to involve them; it was his problem, he decided. 

When inspiration did finally strike around five in the morning, just before the sun had started to rise, he ignored the gut feeling that had begun to indicate that it wasn’t the best idea. 

Tomorrow, he decided, when we stop for supplies I’ll find and flirt with a pretty girl. Give her a taste of her own medicine. With this resolution (that he had absolutely convinced himself was the best approach to the situation) he fell asleep, hard. 

It was too cold, you thought as you lounged in the library of the Victoria Punk, cuddled up by the fire you’d had Heat set for you before he left. You had opted out of going into town, and since you weren’t able to cite lovesickness as a reason you stuck with the period excuse. You didn’t miss how Kidd rolled his eyes at you when you offered the excuse again to him. 

The windows were icy, the temperature continuing to drop as it got later and later. It had quickly heated up in the library, you fanned yourself with an old copy of your favorite book. You passed multiple hours on your reading chair, in a hoodie Kidd had let you borrow months ago. Too bad he’s not here, you thought. You faded in and out of sleep, drowsy from the hot fire and the poor quality of sleep from last night. The sun was set when the peace and quiet was disturbed by the sound of a woman’s light and airy laughter. It carried through the ship, leading you to sit up and turn to look for the source of the sound. 

Your chest tightened at the sight that greeted you, and you were never more desperate for something that could hide the expression of disgust and hurt you felt forming on your face. 

Kidd sauntered on board with his hand around the waist of a woman you’d never seen before. She was wearing a dress notably similar to one you owned that he had complimented multiple times. The longer you looked (though you tried to keep it short) the more you noted similarities between you and her. Similar height, hair color, facial features, bodily assets. The moment you felt your bottom lip tremble you turned back in your chair, standing quickly and gathering your things, making a beeline to your room. 

Kidd made eye contact with you on your way out, eyes slightly widening upon seeing your sweater.

Heat and Wire walked up on board the ship a few minutes later, and shot you a sympathetic look. It was no surprise to them that Kidd was being immature over a simple misunderstanding (he disclosed last night’s events to them in more detail than was necessary) and despite their advice to not follow through with his idiotic plan, he did anyway. 

Kidd immediately knew he had fucked up, bad. The look on your face was enough to tell him that he had crossed a line and clearly had suffered a severe lapse in judgment. He immediately dismissed the woman, leaving Heat and Wire in the extremely awkward position of having to walk her off the ship– they made a mental note to make sure Kidd was on bathroom duty for the next month. He ran after you, but the door to your room was already shut and, he wiggled the handle for a few seconds, locked too.  

He knocked every few minutes, growingly increasingly agitated at your refusal to talk to him. 

Knock, knock. 

“Y/n, c’mon lass, you misunderstood– I don’t even know her!”

“I was just… I was– ugh, I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“I wanted to make you jealous, lass, just open the door so I can explain.”

After the third hour of knocking to no avail Kidd resolved that he would simply wait you out, you had to come out eventually. 

It was another three hours, nearly midnight, by the time you opened your door. Kidd was half asleep when you opened the door, and snapped back to full consciousness when he saw you. 

Your brows were furrowed and you looked at him with more disgust and contempt than usual. He crossed his arms and blocked your path.

“Get out of my way.”

“Talk to me,” he responded.

“About?”

He laughed, your blood boiled, “So you’re not upset? About… anything at all?”

“No, dearest Captain, why on Earth would I be upset?”

“Just tell me what’s wrong.”

You scoffed, “Really, Eustass I didn’t take you for such an idiot. Get out of my way.”

He sighs, a smirk still settled onto his face, and moves to the side, gesturing for you to go ahead.

You walk past him, making your way toward the kitchen. You don’t fail to notice how he tags along beside you. 

“Ugh, Kidd! What? What do you want from me?”

“Tell me why you’re upset.”

“You know why I’m upset, moron.”

“Tsk, tsk, that’s no way to talk to your Captain.”

You bite your lip, “I’m sure she’d talk to you exactly how you want. Stop following me.” You go to take another step, but he grabs your arm pushing you toward the wall of the hallway. He pressed his chest into your back, pinning you against the wall as he bent down bringing his lips to your ear and teasing you with a few kitten licks. 

He grabbed your wrists, holding them against your lower back with an uncharacteristically gentle grip. Like he was daring you to fight back. You relax into his grip, arching your back to rub your ass against his bulge. 

You hate how weak he makes you. 

A deep breath escapes Kidd, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Your thighs are starting to get sticky.  A soft moan escapes your lips as he presses his hard cock into the curve of your ass. 

“Mhm,” Kidd teases, “Somethin’ else ya want to tell me, lassie? Go on, use your words.” 

“I don’t have anything to say to you, asshole,” you snap back, trying to suppress the urge to give him the attention he so desperately needs.

“But how often do you keep yourself busy with other women?”

You break. His grip slightly tightens, his confidence faltering for a split second. 

“Ohh,” he remarks, an infuriating smile settling onto his face, “You’re jealous.”

“No, I’m just bored.”

He moves your wrists into his left hand, his right wrapping around to the front of your hips and under your skirt. He runs his thumb along your slit, your panties dripping with arousal. 

“Doesn’t feel like you’re bored, love,” he says, pressing harder against you, “Please, darling, tell me what’s wrong. I already miss you.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Right. And you really think I’m stupid enough to believe that? I’ve already told you what’s wrong.”

“I do miss you,” he laughs, “And, no you haven’t. You’re too smart to be truly bothered by my little stunt earlier. Somethin’ else is bothering ya– and don’t say it’s your period I know that’s not true.”

You pouted, refusing to answer the question. 

He ran a thumb over your lips, bending slightly to be able to gently kiss you. You don’t fight back. 

He lets go of your wrists and you turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders bringing him in for another kiss.

He picks you up and you wrap your legs around him, he presses you into the wall, slipping his tongue past your lips.

This is hell, you think, Just tell him you’re done.

But, then again, you weren’t. That was the issue. 

Your chest was tight and your brain foggy as you pulled away from the kiss. 

Kidd’s chest heaved with heavy, deep breaths as he began the process of regaining his composure. He slowly lowered you down the wall until your feet touched the floor. He leaned against the wall, his metal arm resting above your head, caging you in. He placed a kiss on your forehead, and cupped your face with his right hand, bringing it up to his own. You stood on the tips of your toes and he bent lower to more easily pepper your face in kisses. 

“‘m sorry lassie,” he said, between kisses, “I’m an arse.”

A huge one, you thought. 

You kissed him back, his lips salty with the taste of sweat. 

“Forgive me? Please? I… You mean a lot to me. Don’t be upset, I can't take it.” 

A smile crept onto your face. You placed a hand on his chest, it felt like touching marble. He was so difficult to resist– but your mind flashed you the image of his arm around another woman and you steeled yourself. You pushed him back, slipping out from beneath his grasp walking out of the hallway back toward your own room. 

He followed after you like a dog on a leash.

“Y/n, bonnie lass, hear me out, baby” he pleaded; You walked just fast enough to stay out of his reach, “I am sorry, love.”

You kept walking, your poor Captain trailing behind you uttering pleas, “Y/n, slow down lass, let me explain. She doesn’t mean anything to me, I just wanted to make you jealous.”

You stopped, finally having arrived at your destination.

“Make me jealous?” you repeated, turning to look at him, an expression of disgust settling on your face, “By bringing her on to OUR ship, hm? That was your genius idea, Captain? How did that work out for you?”

He sheepishly looked down at the floor, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

“Why on Earth would you ever pull some bullshit like that with me? I’d have never done that to you.” 

This did get a rise out of him, “Oh, you’d never? So leaving me last night the way you did– with no explanation and a half-assed excuse is any better? You couldn’t even look at me, you refused to kiss me! Kiss me. It only makes sense you have another man on your mind.”

Your expression slightly relaxed, “Another man– that’s what you really think? That’s what this is all about?”

Kidd was silent, his stubbornness had gotten the better of him.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to offer him an explanation. 

“Last night,” you started, “I got scared–” “Scared? Of me?”

“Kidd!”

“Right, sorry, go on then.”

“I realized…” you paused, it was harder to say to his face than you expected, “I like you.”

Kidd’s countenance softened, “Well, lass, I’d hope you like me by now.”

“No, Kidd, I like you– I love–,” you bit your bottom lip, cutting yourself off. 

Your captain’s eyes widened, before a sly smile began to spread on his face. 

You ignored it, “I get that you don’t feel the same, I know this isn’t anything… serious, but–”

His arm shot out to wrap around you and pull you into him, you brought your own hands in front of yourself to push against his chest, maintaining the distance between the two of you. 

“C’mere, lassie,” he laughed, easily overpowering you and hugging you into him, “You’re a stubborn little thing, ya know?”

You huffed, tears pooling on your lower lash line, this was all so frustrating.

“Look at me,” he said, lifting your gaze with a finger under your chin, “I love you, Y/n.”

You looked up at him and the sight of your pink, pouting lips and watery eyes made him dizzy. 

He kissed you, squeezing your cheeks with his warm hand and squeezing your waist with the metal one. You deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue past his lips, reaching behind you to open the door to his bedroom. 

Kidd understood your request plainly, picking you up and walking to his bed with you. The door shut with a harsh bang, drawing you both out of your momentary reverie. 

Your captain gently placed you on the bed, pulling back to admire you.

“You’re the most beautiful woman on the ocean, you know?”

You smiled, blowing him a kiss. Kidd turned to lock the door and started undressing, giving you a moment to catch your breath. Your anxieties had completely evaporated since his lips touched yours, you took a deep breath to process your confessions to each other. 

A smile made its way onto your features and your cheeks darkened. 

Kidd made his way back onto the bed, and pulled you into him, where you laid on top of him resting your chin on his chest. 

“I do love ya, lassie, I wasn’t joking,” he said.

“I know, Captain,” you said, visibly reassuring him. 

“Shall I help you get these off, sweetness?” he asked, tugging at the hem of your shorts.

You nod but hold up a finger, you weren’t quite done reprimanding him.

“Captain,” you said, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Yes, lovely?”

“If you ever pull some shit like that again, I’ll kill you.”

His smile dropped for a split second before he started laughing, and rolled over to pin you against the mattress. 

He bent down to kiss and suck at your neck. 

“Eustass,” you said, voice flat, “I’m serious.”

“Mmm,” he left one more kiss before answering, “I know you are, trust me.

Now let me make it up to ya.”

Amid the adversity, a glimmer of hope emerged from an unexpected source. The royal family and the council, recognizing the dire circumstances faced by their people, made a compassionate decision. They distributed a portion of their own supply of food to each family in the kingdom. This gesture of generosity transcended mere politics or duty – it was a lifeline extended from those in positions of power to those who struggled to secure their next meal. The significance of this act rippled through the kingdom. Families that had been grappling with hunger and uncertainty now found relief, their burdens temporarily lightened by the provisions provided by their leaders. The gesture carried a profound sense of solidarity, a reminder that even in the face of hardship, the Nostians stood together as a community.

as the snowy ground gave up its hidden treasures, you paced the length of the council room. The air within was thick with the wisdom of the elders – warriors, archers, and herbalists who held the weight of generations on their shoulders. Each one bore the scars of a kingdom’s struggles etched into their very beings. Restlessness gripped you as you grappled with the enormity of the situation. Your people’s history and suffering clashed with your own desires, creating a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The thought of uniting with someone from the empire that had caused so much harm was almost unbearable.

Turning to the council, you sought answers to the questions that consumed you. Your voice was a mix of determination and desperation as you posed the question that had haunted you, “Why must I go through with this marriage? How can we align ourselves with those who have brought us so much pain?” One council member, their face etched with the lines of wisdom, stepped forward to address your concerns. Their voice carried the weight of years as they explained the rationale behind the decision, “Princess, you ask a question that weighs heavily upon us all. Our land faces a dire predicament. The relentless snowstorms have stripped us of our harvest, and the specter of famine looms over us.”

With a steadying gaze, they continued, “The Modora Empire possesses the resources we lack – food that can sustain our people through the trying times ahead. We have negotiated a peace treaty, one that hinges on trade rather than conflict. In exchange for our medicinal herbs and remedies, they will provide us with the sustenance we so desperately need.” Their words resonated in the air, carrying both the wisdom of experience and the urgency of the present. The council member’s voice softened with understanding as they added, “This is not a decision taken lightly. We are bound by the duty to preserve our people and ensure their survival. The alliances we forge today lay the groundwork for a more secure tomorrow.”

As their gaze met yours, you felt the weight of their wisdom and the empathy behind their words. The complexities of leadership were clearer than ever – a delicate balance between personal convictions and the welfare of an entire kingdom. The path you tread was one that would test your strength, challenge your perceptions, and demand sacrifices that transcended individual desires.

——

In the dimly lit chambers of your quarters, you couldn't conceal your discontent. As maids attended to you, their delicate hands guiding you through the evening rituals, you grumbled softly under your breath. Tomorrow morning marked the beginning of your journey to a new life with the enemy prince, a path you had never envisioned for yourself. Amidst your private lament, one of the maids decided to break the tension. With a warm smile, she attempted to lighten your mood. "You know, Your Highness," she ventured, her voice gentle and reassuring, "that crown you received during your coming of age ceremony suits you beautifully. You'll look absolutely regal as you wear it."

Her words were infused with sincerity, an attempt to offer some solace to a princess burdened with the weight of duty and sacrifice. The crown, a symbol of your status and responsibility, held a unique kind of elegance that complemented your grace and strength. Your grumbling softened, if only slightly, as you regarded the maid's kind gesture. In this moment of uncertainty and apprehension, a glimmer of warmth and camaraderie emerged. The challenges of the road ahead remained daunting, but the bond between you and your maids offered a reminder that even in the face of adversity, there were those who would stand by your side. You offered a gracious nod to the maid, appreciating the effort to lift your spirits during this challenging time. As the conversation continued, you couldn't help but think practically about the upcoming journey. Turning to the maid, you inquired, "Will all of my belongings be taken with me on this trip?"

The maid's expression turned thoughtful, and she replied with a tone of caution, "I'm afraid not, Your Highness. For safety reasons, it's best to travel light for now. However, once you've arrived safely at the Modora Empire, arrangements will be made to have more of your belongings sent to you." The consideration for your safety was evident in the maid's response. You understood the necessity of traveling with only the essentials for the time being. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainties, and the decision to keep your possessions to a minimum was a prudent one. You knew that, in due time, your familiar belongings would follow you to the new land that awaited. One of the other maids, as she helped in preparing you for the journey, made a suggestion. “Your Highness,” she began tentatively, “perhaps you could consider taking either your axes or your bow and arrows with you for the travels.”

As the maid made her suggestion, she glanced at the collection of weapons in your room. There, hanging on a wall adorned with trophies from your archery competitions, were your finely crafted axes and your prized bow and arrows. You surveyed the weapons with a sense of nostalgia. Each had its own history, its own story of battles won and challenges overcome. The axes, with their polished blades and ornate handles, were symbols of your strength and determination. The bow, a work of art in itself, had accompanied you on countless hunting trips and had never failed you in times of need. The suggestion to choose one weapon over the other gnawed at you. They were both extensions of your identity, and you couldn’t bear to part with either. After a moment of consideration, you made your decision with unwavering resolve. “I will take both,” you declared firmly, your eyes locking with the maid’s. “Even if I have to be discreet about it.” The prospect of sneaking these cherished companions along on your journey added an element of intrigue and determination to the preparations. It was a secret pact between you and your weapons, a silent promise that no matter what challenges awaited in the Modora Empire, you would be ready to face them with the strength and skills that had defined you as the ice princess of Nosta.

—————-

In the grand corridors of the Modora Empire’s palace, Prince Eustass’s steps reverberated with frustration. His mood was as turbulent as the storm clouds that often shrouded his kingdom. He had stormed out of the council chamber, leaving behind the imposing presence of the council members and their unsettling decree. Grumbling beneath his breath, Eustass navigated the labyrinthine halls of the palace. The news that the council had arranged a political marriage for him, set to commence as early as tomorrow, gnawed at his very core. He had barely returned from his military campaign, bloodied and wearied from the battlefield, only to be thrust into a situation he vehemently opposed.

His steps echoed through the marble corridors as he brooded, his mind filled with thoughts of the impending political union and the implications it held for his future. The weight of responsibility and expectation bore down upon him, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of resentment. As he continued to traverse the palace’s opulent halls, Eustass couldn’t shake the feeling that his life was spiraling into a direction he had not chosen for himself. The clash between duty and personal desires waged on within him, leaving him to grumble and seethe as he contemplated the uncertain path that lay ahead.

Amidst the labyrinthine halls of the palace, Prince Eustass’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. He called out to her, his voice carrying a hint of urgency, “Roxane!” But the glare that met his gaze made it clear that Roxane was in no mood for pleasantries. The General’s daughter remained a picture of resentment, her eyes hard and unyielding. The words exchanged in the council room still hung heavily in the air between them, a stark reminder of the tension that had escalated during the meeting. Eustass hurried to close the distance between them, his voice laced with a desperation to make amends. “Roxane, I promise you, I’ll find a way to override this political marriage,” he implored, his voice earnest and determined. However, Roxane’s response was anything but receptive. She maintained a cold demeanor, addressing him only with the formal title of “Your Highness.” Her words cut through the tension like a sharp blade as she declared, “I don’t care about the political marriage, or even you.”

Eustass was bewildered by her response, unable to comprehend the sudden change in her attitude. In a desperate attempt to understand, he reached out to grasp her hand, his voice softening with concern. “Roxane, what do you mean?” he asked, his gaze searching for answers. But Roxane didn’t linger. She pulled her hand away abruptly, her features frozen in a mask of resolve. Her words came out with a finality that left no room for negotiation. “We need to separate, Your Highness. Permanently. We can’t be together anymore.” With those words, she turned away and walked briskly down the corridor, leaving Eustass standing there, bewildered and hurt. The cold exterior she displayed masked the complex emotions within, and the decision she had just made had left both of them reeling, their connection severed in a heartbeat.

As Eustass stood there, his thoughts in disarray after Roxane's unexpected declaration, his loyal right-hand man, Killer, hurriedly caught up with him. Concern etched across his features, Killer asked, "Are you okay, Eustass?" But Eustass, consumed by a whirlwind of emotions, couldn't find the words to respond. Instead, he brushed off the question with a curt wave of his hand and a voice thick with frustration. "I need some time alone," he muttered, his gaze distant. "I'm going to my room, and I don't want anyone to bother me."

Killer could sense the turmoil within his prince, and he nodded in understanding, albeit with a hint of worry in his eyes. He watched as Eustass retreated down the corridor, his thoughts heavy with the weight of Roxane's cold rejection. The sudden turn of events had left Eustass reeling, and now he sought solitude to grapple with the emotional storm that raged within him.

—————-

As you entered your room, your gaze immediately searched for your journal. Among the few belongings you could take with you, this was one you couldn't bear to leave behind. While you would be living in the empire, you could at least document your experiences and thoughts in its pages. The journal, small and unassuming, held the potential to be a source of solace in the unfamiliar territory that awaited you. It was a private space where you could record your journey, your emotions, and the challenges you would face. Its pages were a repository for your innermost thoughts and a connection to the world you were leaving behind. With a sense of determination, you retrieved the journal and carefully concealed it within your chest binding wrap. It was a precious keepsake, a silent companion that would bear witness to the chapters of your life as you embarked on this unexpected journey, a small act of defiance against the constraints of fate. You offered Trafalgar Law a warm smile and gestured for him to sit, a silent invitation to a more casual conversation. He obliged, taking a seat at the end of your bed.

As he settled in, you let out a sigh, your expression turning slightly pensive. "Trafalgar," you began, your voice devoid of the formalities that usually accompanied royal conversations. "I must admit, I'm feeling a bit nervous about this journey to the Modora Empire. It's not just the political marriage, but the prospect of learning an entirely new way of life." You paused, your thoughts swirling with uncertainty. "I'll be expected to adapt to new traditions, new etiquette, and take on a role as not only the empire's new princess but as the future empress. It's a lot to take in, and I'm not sure what to expect."

As you shared your concerns with your trusted bodyguard, you couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability. It was rare for you to express your fears openly, but in this moment, Trafalgar's presence offered a comforting reassurance that you weren't facing this daunting journey alone.

Trafalgar Law listened attentively to your concerns, his reassuring presence a source of comfort. When you expressed your apprehensions about the journey ahead, he spoke with unwavering support. "Princess, you have my word that I'll be by your side every step of the way," he assured you, his voice filled with sincerity. "I will protect you, and if things take a turn for the worse, I'll do everything in my power to ensure your safety."

His words were a balm to your anxieties, but what he revealed next left you in a state of shock. "And there's something else," he continued, his tone grave. "I have an acquaintance, someone I knew from the Modora Empire." Your eyes widened in astonishment. You were well aware that communication with anyone from the empire, especially given the ongoing tensions, could be considered treasonous. The fact that Trafalgar had such a connection left you both surprised and curious.He went on to explain, "My acquaintance has already been sending scrolls of information about the empire via message birds. It's meant to give us a head start on what to expect, to help us navigate the complexities of the empire."

The revelation was both intriguing and unsettling. You couldn't help but wonder about the nature of this acquaintance and the valuable insights they might provide. Yet, it was a risky venture, and the stakes were high. As you processed this unexpected turn of events, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and caution, knowing that this connection might be crucial in the days to come.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

Emerging from the snow bath, your skin felt invigorated, and you were led to your attire. The dress they chose for you was a masterpiece, meticulously crafted to showcase your heritage and your figure. It bore intricate patterns that told the story of your people, and its design emphasized your strength and grace. With precise strokes, they applied kohl around your eyes, enhancing their allure. The face paint, reminiscent of warrior markings, was an embodiment of your resilience and the strength of your kingdom.

More maids arrived, their nimble fingers weaving through your hair. The elaborate braid they crafted was a work of art, adorned with intricate accessories that held both aesthetic and cultural significance. It was a reflection of your status and the history you carried with you. As the morning's preparations continued, you couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment. Each detail, from the attire to the makeup and the hair adornments, held profound meaning. They were not just ornaments; they were symbols of your identity, your heritage, and the legacy you embodied as the ice princess of Nosta.

Now as you were then brought by the head maid to a dimly lit chamber, two crowns rested upon velvet cushions, each a testament to the authority and power they represented. Your eyes, filled with determination, immediately landed on your late father’s crown. It was a formidable piece, crafted from solid steel and shaped like tall, imposing spikes. Choosing this crown was not just a matter of aesthetics; it was a deliberate declaration. You wanted the Modora Empire to understand that the blood of the former king of the Nosta Kingdom flowed through your veins, and you were not a mere pawn in a political game. You were a ruler with the strength and resolve to defend your people.

The head maid’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she lifted your father’s crown and carefully placed it upon your head. It settled with a weight that served as a constant reminder of the responsibilities that now rested upon your shoulders. You wore it proudly, for it was more than just a piece of metal; it was a symbol of your heritage and your commitment to your kingdom. Outside the castle, the royal council members, their fur cloaks providing a stark contrast to the white landscape, formed two rows to create a path for your departure. Each council member, in their own way, extended a hand to touch you as you passed, their silent farewells a testament to the unity and strength of the Nosta Kingdom. Their touch carried the weight of history, a promise of support as you embarked on this extraordinary journey, ready to face the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead.

As you turned back for one last look at the castle, a pang of bittersweet emotion welled up within you. It was your home, the place where you had grown up, and now you were leaving it behind for a distant land. The sight of your little brother running toward you, his nanny trailing behind, tugged at your heartstrings. He threw his small arms around you, tears streaming down his cheeks as he clung to you. "Big sister," he sobbed, "I'll miss you so much. I don't want you to go." You knelt down, hugging him tightly, and whispered comforting words in his ear. "Shh, don't cry," you said softly, brushing away his tears. "I promise I'll visit as soon as things settle in the empire. And until then, you have to be strong, okay? Train your body and mind, and one day, you'll become a great and formidable king, just like our father." He nodded earnestly, wiping away his tears, and replied, "I'll try, big sister. I'll make you proud."

With a warm smile, you kissed his forehead and watched as he returned to his nanny's side. It was a difficult farewell, but you knew it was a necessary step on your journey. As you turned to leave, you spotted Trafalgar Law with his sword and a bag of the weapons you had hoped to bring. His presence and his support were a source of comfort, and you couldn't help but smile at him before stepping into the carriage. With a heavy heart but a resolute spirit, you embarked on this journey, leaving behind your home and family, and venturing into the unknown world of the Modora Empire.

——

Prince Eustass stood stoically in his expansive room within the Modora Empire, surrounded by a team of maids tasked with removing his armor. The air was filled with an air of formality as the maidens carefully worked to disentangle the intricate pieces from his body. In the midst of this meticulous process, an unintended mishap occurred. The sharp edges of the armor proved unforgiving, resulting in one maid inadvertently cutting her finger. A hushed silence fell over the room as the others quickly suppressed any expression of pain from their wounded companion.

Eustass, seemingly indifferent to the incident, moved away once the armor removal was complete. His room, grand and imposing, rivaled even the size of the emperor’s quarters, befitting his status as the crown prince. The Roman-themed decor, a testament to the Empire’s opulence, had been meticulously designed by the finest architects and decorators at the Empire’s disposal. From his vantage point, Eustass could survey the lands beyond the palace, territories conquered by his father, offering a commanding view of the empire’s dominion.

Suddenly, a torrent of haunting memories flooded Prince Eustass’s mind, a sudden rush of images and screams that transported him to a different time. The vivid recollections of a young boy and his mother in terror overwhelmed his senses, causing him to stumble and eliciting a pained wince. Desperately, he clutched his ears, trying to block out the haunting echoes of the past.

In the room, the maids and servants, bewildered by this unexpected episode, froze in place. Eustass, his voice laced with a mixture of anguish and frustration, barked at them, “GET OUT!” They wasted no time, swiftly evacuating the room, leaving the prince to grapple with the haunting memories that plagued him.

Ever since his time at war, these relentless flashbacks had become a recurring torment, and Eustass found himself grappling with the unsettling question of why these memories continued to haunt him. Alone in his grand chamber, he faced a battle within himself, wrestling with the ghosts of the past that seemed determined to resurface at the most unexpected moments. Frustration boiling over, Prince Eustass seized a nearby amphora vase and hurled it with unrestrained force, the vessel shattering against the wall in a burst of shards. Unbeknownst to him, his father, the emperor, had silently entered the room, observing the display of unbridled emotion.

Furious, thinking a servant had disobeyed his order to stay away, Eustass turned abruptly, ready to reprimand. However, upon realizing it was his father, he swiftly dropped his expression of anger, immediately assuming a posture of deep respect, lowering himself to one knee. Despite the familiarity of their relationship, the emperor demanded the deference owed to his position. Eustass quickly apologized, explaining the misunderstanding and expressing regret for his unintended display of frustration. His father, dismissing the incident with a wave of his hand, chose to sit on Eustass's finely adorned bed, dressed in the richest shades of red fabric. The opulence of the room and the subtle tension between father and son lingered in the air, as the emperor considered his son's tumultuous state.

The Emperor settled on the finely adorned bed, his eyes meeting those of his son with a gravity that bespoke the weight of the forthcoming conversation. Cutting through the air with a directness characteristic of a ruler, he initiated the discussion about the arranged marriage, wasting no time in revealing the underlying reasons. "I won't be around much longer, Eustass," the emperor declared, a stark admission that hung in the room. "The Goddess of Dragons has cast her judgment upon me, a punishment for the relentless attacks and unnecessary bloodshed that marked our past. Our people are suffering, and it's time to make amends."

He continued, the lines etched on his face reflecting the toll of years of rule. "The people of the Nosta Kingdom possess skills that we lack. Their archers are formidable, but it's their expertise in herbalism that holds the key. Their medicines surpass ours in both efficacy and advancement. I've ended the century-long war between us, forging an alliance and establishing trade. Medicine in exchange for peace." The emperor's gaze bore into his son's, a silent plea for understanding and cooperation. "To strengthen this alliance, a marriage between our royal heirs has been arranged. It is a necessary step, Eustass, for the well-being of our people and the future of the empire."

Eustass listened with a mix of shock and composure as his father revealed the true reason behind the arranged marriage. Despite the gravity of the situation, he kept his emotions in check, maintaining a composed front in the presence of the emperor. The emperor, aware of the challenges this union might pose, expressed his concerns about the differences in cultures and traditions between the two kingdoms. However, he affirmed that, for the sake of the alliance and the greater good, the wedding must proceed.

Attempting to lighten the mood, the emperor jestingly warned Eustass to keep his guard up in front of the Nosta princess, playfully suggesting that she might charm him to literal death. Eustass chuckled at the playful admonition, countering with the belief that the princess was probably unappealing. The emperor swiftly corrected him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Rumors say otherwise, my son. She’s rumored to possess near-extreme beauty, alongside her strength and warrior skills.”

Eustass, caught off guard by this revelation, flustered at the thought, eliciting hearty laughter from his father. The emperor playfully patted him on the shoulder, acknowledging the humorous twist of fate that awaited the crown prince. 

“I guess…we’ll see”

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.