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"I have just been so exhausted this week. Leading my junior choir and fixing their clothes really took a toll on my eyes. I ended up forgetting to give my prayers before sleeping!" A nun says—Clara, she recognizes her voice, "Please goddess, forgive my insolence."
"She forgives you." Byleth says nonchalantly, but then adds after a beat of consideration, "The goddess values more your day to day actions, than whatever you may mutter in her name. Those kids have found succor in your presence, and in the warm food you share with them. Walk with your head held high, sister. You are leading your flock into a good future."
Unlike her, who almost sent her students to their imminent death in the Sealed Forest, all for her personal desires. She was lucky that none of them perished in her brief absence after Solon sent her to Zahras.
They still got hurt, and someone did die in that chaos—once.
Compartmentalizing violence and death in battle is a needed skill for a sell-sword, or else your focus will weaken. Even so, Dimitri's agonizing scream as a demonic beast tore through his armor, protecting her from that fate, still haunts her at night— she could never grow numb to the ghosts of pulse echoes, less his. Never his.
Obliterating that beast with Aura felt a too merciful end, even if that creature had been a human once. Her hands were red and painful once she depleated most of her magical force, but her crest immediately began healing away.
Dimitri's battered, awestruck face had looked so beautiful while the remnants of her holy magic danced around them, energizing both. Though that expression didn't last long once she grabbed him by the collar of his Cuirass, dragging him back to his uneasy horse and an astonished Dedue.
Not the kindest, purest thoughts to have, but this is a place where everything damning comes to be cleansed.
"Oh, I…thank you, thank you, Your Excellency." Clara says with a sniffle before leaving the confessional booth.
Rain falls harsher over the cathedral's rooftops, obscuring every other sound. She has always disliked working under this weather, even if a field mission is far more difficult than sitting in a wooden cage.
She lets out a long, exhausted sigh that feels bizarre, foreign to her lungs. Out of place, just like the tears that were shed over her father's cold face.
His funeral had rain too.
"In the name of the goddess, I've come to confess my sins." A new, cloying voice comes in—Sylvain. "Release me from my dull evening, beautiful Llewella, for my dreams are plagued by our late trysts in the weak candlelight. Only your presence in my dinner table can cure my weary."
She rubs the trunk of her nose, "Sylvain, this is a place of penance and reconciliation. Get out." Byleth says with no inflection, sliding away the purple curtain that served as a partition. His mischievous, almost not-shocked-at-all-face is still a welcoming sight.
"Whoops, sorry about that professor, got the wrong bishop." He winks, not even kneeling in repentance, "Though, maybe it was in the goddess' plan for us to meet like this. You look absolutely stunning in that regalia by the way. Care to join me for a late night treat in the Knight's Hall?"
With how often Sylvain comes to check on her well-being using follies, she wonders if he has found it in his heart to hate her less. That, or he became goddess-fearing.
The upcoming holy ceremony must have him on edge. He's surveying if his professor has a good head on her shoulders. She can't look weak now; a good leader must make everyone feel safe.
"Just a treat, Sir Gautier?"
He whistles and holds his hips, "Greedy for more than just food, Your Excellency? Or should I say Your Holiness?"
Her chuckle is short and dry, "I'm stationed here until curfew. Let's meet for tea tomorrow instead. An hour before we start our patrol." She closes the curtain on him, "Bring your wooden Tawlbwrrd. If you beat me, I'll take you off sky duty with Ingrid and I for the rest of the year."
"You really are a saint!" Sylvain perks up immediately, "Will you defend or attack the king?"
"Defend." No hesitation.
Sylvain hums in agreement, moving the curtain briefly so their eyes may meet, "His Highness stayed in his room after coming back from his ride, by the way. Seems the rain forced him to relax for once. So don't worry about him too much. Bernadetta is not the only recluse in our class."
…Odd thing to throw in here, but her chest feels warm, more at ease, "Thank you, for letting me know. Good night, Sylvain."
"Anytime, professor. Try not to catch a cold in here, okay? G'night."
The confessional booth remains silent after Sylvain's departure. In this quiet, her posture slumps. She hides her face into her hands, elbows resting over her knees. Time feels at an impasse even without using a pulse.
Byleth has no clue what Rhea exactly expects of her as a bishop and 'oracle'.
Byleth has barely found her footing as a teacher after 10 moons of trial and error, leaning heavily on the adaptability of the Blue Lions, and in the earnest patience of her dutiful house leader. Now, Rhea throws her into another role that left Seteth even more flabbergasted than the time she was given control of The Sword of the Creator.
Her experience with skirmishes and growing up in the roads gave her at least some credentials to lead future leaders as a professor, and fresh soldiers as a tactician, in this military academy. The lull of battle is familiar, Jeralt's tactics branded on her very bones, his lessons seeping through her every action. His one rule always above honor and fairness amidst chaos: survive.
Jeralt would give a long, belly-laugh if he saw her now. Dolled up like a goddess, mint-powdered across every muscle, chaste make-up upon her anointed skin. Exquisitely adorned with enough gold jewelry and purple sateen that could pay off most of his tabs and buy them a nice, comfy home in a fishing port. Never raise a blade for coin ever again.
In his eyes, she would just be his weird brat though. Treat her the same as always.
Better not focus on things that will never come to pass. Wallowing in the past is not what she wishes to do.
In her current situation, she's looking more like her deceased mother with each passing day. Unlike Sitri, Byleth didn't grow up surrounded by the clergy, nor was she an official nun. She went from mercenary turned professor turned bishop(turned god).
A wafer was a foreign thing before coming into Garreg Mach. She's unaware of most Seirosi decrees or commandments. Rhea cares for none of that, blindly trusting in her judgment just because Sothis gave away her divinity. The way the Archbishop looks at her…unsettles her nerves sometimes.
Byleth doesn't mistrust her, but being vulnerable and completely truthful with Rhea feels like a bad idea.
The board of bishops recently looked at Byleth like she had grown a tit for a mouth during one of their meetings. She simply suggested that more resources should be allocated for Abyss, instead of commissioning a grand mural of her being blessed by the goddess. 'Such acts only goad personal egos, not Sothis' wishes' she had said.
It goes without reason, that she hasn't been notified when will the board meet again. They only wanted her as a trophy, a blessed appendage with no independent thought.
Honestly, she could approach Seteth for assistance and support in this new role—after rescuing Flayn, their relationship is full of admiration and respect; his expectations are now modest and sincere. The rest of her coworkers would cooperate immediately if he pressures them, but honestly, she prefers not going back into that room full of ghouls with empty smiles. Bureaucracy relies more on flowery words than simple action.
At least in this confessional, she feels like someone is receiving her immediate help. Solving problems in the heat of the moment is what good tactician's do. This task gives her a small sense of contentment to carry out the days. Lets her forget about her own place in the world now. For a few hours, she can drown in someone's issues instead of hers.
Fatherless, Sothis-less, and with new-mint hair, Byleth feels without a home. Suffering from Hiraeth.
Home has never been a place for a wandering mercenary, it was a person. Her person is now dead.
She's metaphorically halfway to nowhere.
Adding salt to the wound, the only person left that makes her feel not utterly abandoned in a crossroad has heavily closed off—losing sleep and focus ever since the Flame Emperor and Thales appeared in the Outer Area.
A pair of stern, tired blue eyes briefly flash in her mind, increasing the tightness in her chest anew.
The weary voice she wishes to help the most will never whisper in this cedar box.
Dimitri.
A boy that willingly takes blades and spells for her protection. A boy that has died without hesitation for her multiple times, can't disclose his disquieted heart on the same beat, despite he said she was someone that could be trusted. The darkness in his eyes grows ever darker during solemn hours, and even goddess-touched, she pathetically fails for her outstretched hand to be held.
He has refused joining her for tea or a late patrol. His training is getting sloppy. He is sitting all the way on the back of the classroom instead of his usual front desk, and no longer helps her after class—saints, did his absence sting like hot iron. Not even his favorite meals lure him into the dining hall. He has been snapping even at Dedue, of all people.
Her offer of going out for a ride together was rejected today too, even though he was dressed in those stupid, great looking riding pants that only enhance his small waist and defined buttocks. The Blue Lions' box gets flooded with anonymous confessions almost immediately for him whenever he properly dresses for the fields like that, much to the subtle envy of Sylvain and Felix. At first she would deliver him the notes, but recently she just has been burning them, just like Sothis once told her to do.
At least he accepted Jeralt's knight lance as a token of her appreciation. Her father always admired Dimitri's lanceplay the few times they dueled, with Jeralt being the victor, but secretly feeling sore everywhere that required one of her massages in his office.
It felt right for Dimitri to have Jeralt's weapon after he fought closely by her side against Kronya and Solon. Jeralt…respected and liked him. He enjoyed shadowing their conjoined class for the orphans. Sometimes he would even say Dimitri was 'good material', never specifying for what.
Dimitri's face had been indescribable after taking the gift, but swore with a hand against his heart that he would guard it with his life. The intensity and shine of his eyes then made the floor beneath her feel almost non-existent.
Perhaps because he had given her that same smoldering look before when he gave away his unrighteous vow of vengeance in Jeralt's old study, while on a knee and sword drawn, as if he were a pauper and not a prince. Her blade and shield.
She ran away from the stables, terrified by how she began salivating the longer he stared at him.
Ran into the cathedral, changed into these garbs, and hid inside this confessional booth. Trying to conceal the strong emotion that now lives in the deepest part of her marrow. Something private, something forbidden, something alive and gnarly that attempts on choking her. An emotion that makes her reality as a professor and commoner ever torturous.
This intimate connection can never blossom or be explored fully between them. Princes don't marry lowborn tutors. Dimitri is not someone that takes casual lovers either, the ever gentle and loyal soul he is. He probably doesn't even masturbate, saving himself for his highborn, proper lady wife that will take care of him.
That doesn't stop her from trying to quell the urges of her fantasies though. Every night since she came back from the Sealed Forest, she touches herself with only Dimitri at the back of her mind, using the fake cock of her strap to satisfy the emptiness between her legs. Imagine for a few minutes that his warm body is over hers, filling every crevice with his touch and sweet praise. Fucking her like his life depends on it.
The sudden chill reminds her that she's still in the confessional booth. Her hand sliding between her legs does not care. Let this be her own confession here for tonight. "Dimitri…" She shakily says, before rubbing her swollen clit with her fingertips, taking advantage that she wears no undergarments under these garbs. Letting herself be consumed by her thoughts and quiet pleasure in this holy ground.
Before coming to the monastery, Byleth only ever engaged in casual sex a few times by recommendation of the mercs. She has only taken people in her arms to gain things: provisions, intel, coin, a break from monotony. Sex also gave her the opportunity of seeing faces bloom with emotion in one of the most vulnerable times between creatures.
Searching for something that could make her feel anything within her, only to be met with nothing.
She could never fuck to completion on her end in the company of someone, in fear of being left in a disadvantage; solely focusing on her partner's pleasure instead. Never taking anyone into her cunt to avoid pregnancy, though she didn't feel comfortable with someone taking her ass either. Most of her trysts always ended with someone taking her fake cock into their holes, or her mouth meeting their privates.
Her partners never failed giving her cruel feedback in their debauched state, saying things like fucking with her was like sleeping with a doll or corpse. Some found that attractive and wanted more rounds with her, others would dress quickly and leave unceremoniously after they were done, throwing copper chips at her face.
None were to be seen again, not that she wanted them lingering around, even if she felt empty.
Even if she felt lonely and so insignificant. A trite tool.
Dimitri doesn't make her feel like that. Less fantasy Dimitri. Firm and so tall, with perfect callouses and scars on his large hands. He would hold her everywhere with a tight grip. Treasuring her more than any knowledge in the world.
Her orgasm comes in wet and fast, stealing her breath as she silences a moan by biting into her other hand until it bruises. Her breaths are shallow for the next beats of time, but things finally stopped feeling cold.
Rhea would probably get pissed if she knew that she has been masturbating in this holy gown.
Better blow out the candle and go back into her room. She can ask the laundresses for help tomorrow. They never snitch, not after beating Lorenz and Sylvain into a pulp so they would leave them alone.
Something—Someone suddenly crashes on the adjacent chamber of the booth. By the sound of it they fell quite hard on their knees, but make no grunt of pain. She would have been slightly annoyed of the sudden, last minute visitor, but their harsh breathing gave the notion that they were on the verge of an emotional collapse.
Now she does feel a bit guilty for getting hands-on in here. It would have been bad if this person arrived while she was in the middle of her selfish touch.
"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere." She says in a low, less stern voice. The person behind the curtain is still trying to control their breathing.
They sound…male, young, familiar. Their musk is strong, not masked by any perfume or oils. The booth is slowly being permeated with the rich, masculine scent. Oddly, it's soothing.
Familiar, yet again.
"What ails you tonight?"
"In–In—In the name of the goddess, I come bearing my sins." The person—Dimitri says, tiredly and so small, "Please, grace me with your benevolent time, Your Excellency. If left by my own whims, I might do something deplorable tonight." He takes another harsh inhale, "Saints, I'm so pathetic. Forgive me for wasting your time. This is a waste of time…waste of time…waste…waste… the goddess never listens..."
There was not even time to be shocked. Dimitri sounds on the verge of sobbing. The tremble of his arms as they rest on the window sill shakes the wall. She wants to go into his booth and bring him into a hug, but the reality is that he is searching guidance from a nameless voice. That…stings, that he would trust a nobody over her, but pushes that selfish, gnawing thought aside.
"Reaching for help is never a sign of weakness." She says, "No matter what you are confronting tonight, you do not have to do it alone. I will listen until dawn if you need me to."
"It's unbefitting that I crumble away like this. If my friends and soldiers saw me in this state…If my professor saw what I truly am…she would not take me into the Holy Tomb. All of them would be so disappointed by my weakness and depravity."
Something stings again.
She understands the sentiment more than he could ever realize, "In here, we are just two people. No expectations from outsiders, no titles. Listen to what lies in your heart and speak freely when it feels right. I'd do anything to help you, sir."
"You should not give your magnanimity away so unabashedly, Your Exce—miss. There are lesser individuals that would take advantage of your sanctified word, forcing you into a sworn oath for their ill purposes." He says bitterly, "Even now I am one of those miscreants, taking advantage of your vows by foisting myself into your hands. I could not possibly ask you to listen to the wickedness of my thoughts and actions. Please, excuse me."
That pisses her off, but keeps her voice even, "I'm here because I want to be with you. I don't give a fuck about any sanctified vow. Your secrets are safe with me, I swear this without guile or deceit on my father's blade and name."
He lets out a dry gasp.
Right, a bishop should not be saying that—less swearing.
"…You have taken lives, too?" He asks hesitantly.
"More than anyone should, more than I can now remember. Swords go dull without blood, like any killing tool."
"I see. Have you…reconciled with the true cost of battle? The killing part, I mean."
Dimitri would never trust someone who kills indiscriminately.
"No. The loss of life should never be glorified or celebrated." She says, "I want to believe that one day, raising blades won't be the norm for change. Until then, I will fight for the safety of those I cherish the most with all my strength."
"Fight for those you cherish..." He contemplates for a bit, "I thought all Seirosi members raised their blades in the name of the goddess."
"Her strength dwells within me, but my choices are my own."
"You are frank and kind, just like my…"Dimitri lets out a long exhale, "I do not even know where to even begin."
"Target the critical points. It's like when you polish a sword: first you remove the impurities, then sharpen the blade, and finalize with a good sealing oil. Follow a different order and–"
"–you will end up with a weak blade, less resources and closer to your grave." He gives a tired, almost amused scoff, "It seems we both have been tutored by the same wise, patient professor, miss."
That brings out a small smile. Even now, he offers her praise and keeps her lessons in his reach, "Maybe. Seminars are open for everyone in this academy, after all. One should not waste opportunities when it comes to personal growth."
"Then perhaps...I should follow on your example, and not fritter away our time together." He lets out a small, self-deprecating sigh, "I am tormented by shadows that do not fade with the light, my lady. I see people who have died in my stead. My father, my stepmother, friends…they demand retribution against those who took their lives. As the only one left who can clear away their sorrows, they will not loose their hold on me so easily."
She had noticed his rapid whispers when he's alone in the training grounds. What seemed to be personal chiding turned out to be quiet plights against those who fell in the Tragedy of Duscur. Dimitri is not the first person she has met that seems to carry ghosts; mercs suffer battle shock frequently, rendering them a liability in the battlefield if they can't center themselves.
It explains why Dimitri would not even tell his professor this.
Not that she would ever abandon him. Never. Less now that she knows what steals his sleep, and even his sense of taste.
"It's not easy sharing the silence of your mind. Less with people who you love and are no longer here." Sothis would definitely know what to say that would ease Dimitri's concerns, but all she has now are her own experiences.
He chokes out a breath,"I wish I knew how I could save them from their despair. All this time I have lived just to clear away the regret of the dead, sacrificing any future ahead of me in the name of revenge, but...these past days they have excelled in pointing out the faults of my resolve. I can no longer deny that my strength is not theirs to wield."
His oath for her beats on her silent heart like a wave. She can only hum in acknowledgment.
"I met someone special, you see. Her smile is more radiant than the sun... she makes me long for more than just a quick end after a life of serving my country, and the dead." His voice perks up ever so slightly, "Her presence always invites joy and warmth, soothing my tired soul."
…Oh, Dimitri is seeing a girl? It seems she was quite arrogant, thinking that she knew him well. No, that's not where her focus should land on. His private relationship is a weak, water drop among all the sea of things he is disclosing, "That's a wonderful thing. Joy. It can be so fleeting, after all. Certainly you're allowed to pursue a path of your choosing, no matter what the dead or living may ask. Your life belongs to you."
His breathing shifts again, and he barks out a cruel laugh, unlike the soft sound she's used to, "Spare me the platitudes.The fallen do not accept them. Besides, they are right to remind me that one such as I does not deserve any indulgence."
"I'm not appealing to the fallen's virtue, I'm appealing to yours. No one deserves anything. Most of what we receive falls to the hands of fate: good and bad." She counters, "We just obtain better odds with acts of kindness and empathy, relying on others that can change the course of our path. Love will always be wiser than hatred or fear."
"Everything that I love gets contaminated by my cursed fate." He grunts, "I have never been able to protect those I cherish deeply. Even if I dared to hold her delicate hands, they would get crushed by my brutish strength. I beget destruction and despair. She deserves a man's love, not a disgusting beast's. Her future should not be wasted on me."
He...loves the girl?
There is an odd pressure building up behind her eyes.
"Does she not get a say?"
"…What?"
"It sounds like you haven't confessed your feelings." Thorns feel like they are lodging on her throat, but this girl takes him away from the darkness."Does she not get a say if she wants to merge her path with yours?"
"Are you insane? Of course I—I haven't. How could I?" He is absolutely bewildered, "You do not understand. She's the fiercest, sweetest, most precious soul I have ever met. Starlight among men. While I am…no. I have no right. Not even her has been safe from my depravity."
"What do you mean?" She asks too quickly, "You can speak of anything here."
Thunder roars across the sky.
"My affections are sick." He says after a long, but not uncomfortable silence, "There is not a day where I do not…take myself by hand at the thought of her." His voice darkens, "I spent almost all the afternoon today thinking of her in ways no gentleman should. Pleasuring myself until my flesh felt raw."
She should not think of Dimitri splayed on his bed, pumping his hot cock until his spend lands on his chiseled stomach, crying out in pleasure with broken breath. Tears caught in his clear, blue eyes.
His musk now afflicts her differently, knowing the full context. The thorns are starting to itch. She should focus on the fact that Dimitri loves another woman. By his description…it must be Flayn. Seems he didn't stomach her monstrosities just by his lack of taste. They would look great together. Seteth could not ask for a better brother in law.
Politically speaking, their union would be celebrated too. Flayn is close to the Archbishop. Faerghus is plenty pious. A delicate, gentle lady with a strong heart is ideal for a battered kingdom. Her white magic restores, not obliterates. Faerghus would be blessed with such a wonderful, amicable queen. Certainly Flayn would be completely safe in a stronghold like Fhirdiad.
There is no way Dimitri would allow his wife to suffer any harm. If he throws himself into the carnage just for his professor, there is nothing he wouldn't give for Flayn. Not that Flayn would accept that crude arrangement. She will probably chide him senseless for his carelessness and little regard for his life, tending away any injury dotingly.
They are good for one another. Their boons and weaknesses work in tandem.
That doesn't stop her from biting her lip until her teeth break the skin.
"Masturbation is a natural, trite part of life. Humans, animals and even beasts partake." Her brain reconnects with her mouth. He physically cringed by the sound of it, "You have done her no ill will that could justify denying yourself a chance of sharing your life with her. Perhaps she's not as delicate as you think she is, nor scared of the darkness." Flayn could bend him over with a measly Nosferatu, "Maybe she even desires you just as fiercely behind closed doors, too."
"Do not dare insult my professor's integrity!" He roars indignantly.
Her jaw goes slack.
"You do not understand! I want her hands on my hips, her teeth on my chest, her eyes locked with my own as she takes what can never belong to another." He heaves, "Be reformed from within by her purest affections and darkest devotions! I want my sweet professor to break me like a rider does to a rowdy gelding, Your Excellency! Be purified from the laments and wants of the dead by the weight of her huge cock inside of me, even if only for one night!"
Byleth can only stay still.
"I need her to claim every virginal hole. Ravage every vein and scar, every thought until there's naught but her." He shudders a hot, hazy breath that probably tastes like sweet cream and spice, "I want her so much my soul aches. It aches everywhere, everywhere…there is not a day I do not want to drag her into my arms and kiss her senseless. Feel the precious, hidden heat between her legs upon my tongue. My love is not sane nor wise. It's selfish, gnarly, voracious." He gives a mirthless laugh, "I spend entire nights fantasizing that my body is capable of growing life instead of stealing it, where I'm able to carry and nurture her children. Children, Your Excellency! By the goddess, would our family be so beautiful…with her big eyes and mesmerizing smile."
Her nipples pebbled. Shit.
"Do you now understand my grief? My voice is the most vile among all the whispers inside of me." He growls, more animal than man, "I need her, I really do. Beyond air, water or even peace. The voices know this, they demand me to forget her, to not drag her away from her perch on the heavens." He breaks into a sob, "Every time I see her giving her light and guidance to others…I want to throttle those fiends worse than a boar! They take her for granted, all of them!" His voice sounds muffled, as if he were hiding himself inside his hands, "I want to live for Byleth everyday. See her eat, smell her hair, hear her laugh, feel her skin crawl by my touch. Be her pillar, hearth, and lance as she blesses the land with her wisdom and tenacity. Just like Wilhelm did for Saint Seiros herself."
"But I am a disgusting beast, not an exalted leader! I could never be her solace and shelter!" He wails. "She's so lovely. Chosen by the goddess, while I have been abandoned by the heavens! Even so, I will not cease loving her. The dead and the kingdom can take everything else, but not her. Not her! I will love Byleth forever, until my very last breath! I do not care if that sends me towards the eternal flames! If it's by her holy light, I will gladly burn until my ashes latch into her lungs!"
By the time Dimitri stops crying, her ears cease buzzing. He now sniffles, trembling worse than a dry leaf that rattles the partition wall again. Many would balk at his belligerence and possessiveness, run away in fear at his fierce emotions and blind devotion, but no type of brutality has ever unsettled her. Messy battlefields are routine, etched into the annals of her life. People scream, pray, curse, and even soil themselves before falling to a blade.
If anything, violence is what catalyzes her bond with Dimitri. Made of different mettle, him and her. A sword and scabbard. Sun and moon.
What fills her with trepidation is his love. So candid, intense, alive. Her silent chest wants to crack open and let him nest inside. Keep him safe from any dread, any assassin or doubt. Push aside all barriers that could keep them apart. Wrap her spine around him with a tight squeeze.
Let him rest his weary spirit against hers.
"Byleth…Byleth…Byleth…" He weakly murmurs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—ase, please…I am such a fool, such a fool…forgive me…for being an uncouth coward…"
His reverence is not directed to the goddess, but to her. He searches for her absolution, no one else's.
That breaks her.
All her life she has been lead by the whims of others. Before coming to the monastery she followed her father and the mercs without any resistance. In this academy, she heeds to the needs of Rhea and Seteth.
Byleth finally swallows the thorns and rises, stepping out of the confessional booth. The frigid breeze of Pegasus Moon feels bleak against the fire in her stomach.
The professor would die over and over again in her students' stead. Give anything for them to live and reach their fullest potential.
The Saint would use Sothis' powers for the good of the world. Give anything for peace and prosperity.
Always fetching the water for others. It's time to fill her own cup. No one has tomorrow guaranteed.
Byleth would sacrifice it all, if her and Dimitri could become a whole—away from prying eyes and expectations, alone in their own little world. Unlike the prince, she feels comfortable with her selfish desire. Let that damming truth die in this cathedral.
They will never be able to escape fully from their duties and obligations, but that doesn't mean they have to be miserable until the day they die. He doesn't have to keep punishing himself any longer.
She steps inside his side of the booth, swiping the curtain away. He's poorly dressed for the weather, no jacket or even armor. Sodden like a stray dog with no shelter, with his clothes clinging to him like a second skin. His hair is greasy, unkempt, yet she itches to pass her fingers through it.
He lifts his blotched face from his scarred hands, fingernails all chewed up, edges raw. Blue overtakes almost everything as his tired eyes go wide, mouth hanging low as he forgets to even breathe.
His face circles through many emotions in an ounce of time. For a moment it seems he tries placing his usual headstrong persona like a guard, but ultimately crumbles with a hurt expression. Her eyes and hair reflect on him far more than his lantern, a reminder of who truly is beastly here.
Dimitri tears the window curtain on a single sweep, confirming the truth that lays before him. He hugs the purple cloth against his face…and starts manically laughing against it. Lost in pain, yet again.
Once he recovers his breath, his fierce eyes meet her, wild and so full of hatred, the first lightning in the sky sets them on fire, "Is this some kind of twisted joke?! Why—Why would I think that the goddess would offer me any compassion?! Of course even here she would not offer me any clemency!"
"That's enough."
He hunches more, unable to stare at her any longer, "Why would she drag you into this?! What does she gain by humiliating me?! Hells to everything! In hindsight I should have recognized the cadence of your euphonious voice..." He shivers an exhale, all fire and curse lost, "Professor, I am…so sorry. I swear I did not know! I did not know! I will accept any punishment that you deem appropriate for my vulgar audacity."
"Dimitri."
"Please, I beg you. Do not leave our class. Do not take me off the mission!" He's absolutely mortified now, "I will not speak to you ever again if you command it. Blind myself without hesitation if you wish it. I swear it on my father's lance! Just please, please…goddess, why is this happening? Why must I always fail reining in my passions? Forgive me for my perverted musings—"
"Alexandre."
That snaps him out of it, staying silent and with a single flinch from his frame. People barely use his first name, probably the last person who said his second was his birth mother or wet nurse. A shame too, because his full name is precious, like all of him. Polished or unkempt, sharp or rusted. Full of intricacies for her to admire and get lost in.
His head lifts ever slightly, perusing her with pulsing fear. Like an injured animal ready to bolt away.
If only she could confess every single thought swirling inside her mind for him, just as he did for her. The reality is that she lacks the right words for all the indescribable emotions that lies in the garden of her mind. The one truth is that he has planted every seedling, and has watered each sprout.
She wants him to enjoy the blooms and fruit.
"The goddess is gone, Dimitri. We are not." She says, offering both hands, trying to salvage the hope that lurks beneath them, "Come with me. We have suffered enough."
He takes a deep breath, face alight. "You can't possibly…I have no right…" His eyes are glistening again, emphasizing the deep, dark circles under them. His mouth and eyebrows are less tight.
"Don't hide away. You are safe with me." She tries instead, taking slow steps towards him until his face cradles inside her hands, "Let this night be quiet for both of us."
His full weight sinks in, like a puppet with all his strings cut. She holds him against her, feeling the coldness of his face against her stomach, his hot breath over her navel. She shivers, unsure if due to their difference in body heat or just by feeling him this close.
His arms suddenly wrap around her legs with a tight grip, clearing away the slight weakness in her knees. Embracing her instead of regret.
"You are so warm…have you always been?"
"Always for you." Her tongue betrays. "All yours, should you accept me as I am now."
His mouth is on hers before the next lightning bolt finishes flashing on the sky.
Time feels insignificant as they kiss each other relentlessly in this booth, growing dizzy when air is not going through them fast enough, but they don't stop. His touch is inexperienced, clumsy, but so real and tender. All instinct with no hesitation. He took each swipe of her tongue against his like the greatest ambrosia to drop into his mouth–the sensation has her more drunk than whatever ale or mead she has ever drank.
He holds her tightly, trying for their bodies to lock like a perfect puzzle even if they were standing. His hands wander on her body desperately, not that hers were less modest or kind. Something fractures inside her mind, but the sensation isn't unpleasant. Nothing he does feels wrong, and she realizes why that is once he moans against her teeth, almost savoring her like he wants nothing else for the rest of his life.
Dimitri is treating her as his lover. Not a doll, saint, or demon. Just his lover.
He breaks off the kiss, snapping the trail of saliva that connected their lips with a clean snap from his teeth, but presses their foreheads together, "You're so radiant, Byleth. May I take care of you?"
She has no idea what he means, but the intensity of his gaze promises nothing but good things. Pure impulse runs in her veins by his genuine praise, settling more heat on her stomach, "Yes."
Without hesitation his face hid into her shoulder, inhaling deeply. His mouth follows the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, and her navel once he kneels again; like a supplicant of her church. He moves part of her dress away, setting one of her legs over his shoulder with almost perfect proficiency. He stares at her bare cunt for a moment, appraising her like a ceremonial dagger. Her skin prickles in anticipation.
He runs his large thumb on her slit in complete silence, spreading her lips that give away a lewd sound by how wet she already is.
Byleth has never felt self-conscious of her pussy's appearance. Right now she hopes he finds it at least somewhat pretty.
"You don't have to do anything." Her vulnerability takes over. "We can stop."
"You are perfect, Byleth." His voice is gentle, but so ragged, "I want to do little else."
He dives in, focusing only on her pleasure like the selfless and kind partner he is. His features are so delicate despite his ministrations are not. His long nose rubs on the apex of her cunt just perfectly, while his tongue explores her with reckless abandon. It is hard to believe that this is the first time he is giving oral by how well he's cracking her wide open. His enthusiasm has her writhing against the wall.
She now realizes why people willingly died for him. Why households have split or fell. She now understands what was missing in her previous sexual encounters. Love. This unique connection that makes her feel safe and adored. Not used.
He sighs against her folds, gripping her ass to the point of bruising while pushing more of her weight against his flushed face; easily keeping her off the ground with both her legs wrapped around his broad shoulders now. "Your taste is maddening." Every muscle trembles in pleasure, not in strain, "So ripe and prime."
Her labored breathing only goads him to lap at her fluids like a rabid cur. There is no time to think of the implications of him being able to taste her when his tongue and lips are so sloppy, ravenously drinking her away with broken breath and even growls. Her core tightens with a familiar sensation of going over the edge, but far better and more intense.
He suddenly gives out a hot, long whimper that breaks her heart asunder. The world goes white for a moment as her orgasm begins filling his mouth. He doesn't move away for a single second, pressing his nose into her curls while his tongue stays inside her cunt, refusing for any drop to escape him.
Then to her surprise, his tongue manages to coax a second orgasm that feels far more intense than the first. His teeth graze her clit, and she's sure his scalp must be burning by how hard she's pulling on his hair. The crash of thunder disguises her howl when the third wave of pleasure hits.
Byleth must look like a debauched wreck. Messy hair, red lips, warm cheeks, but Dimitri pulls away looking far more pleased than she has ever seen him. Her thighs finally stop trying to crush his skull.
His cheeks are wet with tears, the flush on his face and exposed chest downright hypnotic. His smile is wide, plump lips and sharp jaw smeared with her cum. The blue of his eyes is almost gone, reflecting only her.
He looks like he came just by eating her out, his breath tickling her mound. Her sensitive hole clenches on nothing, already missing the feel of his tongue even if she's still basking in the after glow.
"Did I do well…?" He looks for praise like a sweet puppy, nuzzling into her heat again and taking a deep inhale with eyes softly closed, "Did I earn the right for more of you?"
Just then it hits her that he never even tried to take his cock out. Whenever her hands would wander on his ass, he pushed himself against her touch, inviting her nails to grasp harder at the round, firm muscle that has been torturing her for the past several weeks.
Perhaps Dimitri is not as selfless as she thought. Him, becoming selfish for her, unabashedly requesting pleasure…that excites her deeply.
"What do you want?" She asks simply, treading her fingers through his hair. Pushing it back to see his bliss-out face better. "My cock?"
He bites back a weary whimper, voice running low, "Yes. Please. I haven't been able to think of anything else since I felt your harness."
She sometimes uses her harness as extra protection during missions, without the fake cock of course. You never know when someone might kick you in the crotch. What makes Dimitri's statement rather odd is that she doesn't remember ever brawling with him while wearing it. How else could he know?
Though…he did carry her when she fainted after defeating Solon, holding her close as he rode at top speed back to the monastery.
Oh.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⭐⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
By the time they reach her room, the bindings of his clothes break off. Running under the rain with his hand in hers lifted almost every burden from her shoulders. If anyone saw them, she doesn't care. Let them talk until their tongues fall off.
Rhea is in no position to oust her or Dimitri from the monastery, not with most knights away. If trouble comes to their door, she will simply state that the goddess ordered their union. There's no one that can prove she is a false prophet.
Falling together into her bed feels cathartic. She has imagined this scenario too many times whenever he succumbed against one of her feints in their duels. Belatedly, she realizes that the glint in his eyes right now matches perfectly with the one he always has in the training grounds.
More wolf than lamb. A phantom menace. Mold between wooden planks. Indomitable storm.
Any other comparison dies when his fingers get lost in her hair, tender and sure. Pulling her into a deep kiss. A silent confirmation.
She suspends his hands above his head with a common, soldier knot to keep his wrists together; using one of the many ribbons lying around, being careful with his dry skin and newer burns that he suffered in Remire.
Dimitri could easily break away from the bindings he so tentatively requested between caresses, but she knows he would never do anything without her command first.
Unless pleasure and instinct overwrites reason and duty.
She passes her fingers on his burnt palms. He obtained these by breaking into a blazing barn where most children had been hidden by the sane villagers. The pain didn't stop Dimitri from carrying everyone towards safety, and instead of staying back to receive proper treatment, he lifted his lance to come protect her from the Death Knight's scythe.
A gallant savior and executioner.
"I apologize if they are unsettling." He says hesitantly. "I can hide them under the pillow, if that pleases you."
"Warriors without scars are more unsettling than those with." Like her. Another reminder how she's an oddity. She kisses his forehead, then his nose, and another on his cheek, "You are truly beautiful. I will take good care of you. Okay?"
Dimitri, known for being incredibly eloquent, only swallowed hard and nodded energetically a few times. Leaving him speechless gave her a small hint of pride.
Having him almost naked, left only with his shirt garters, fills her skin with goosebumps. She's still fully clothed, but her guard has never been this low. The power she has over him is addicting, his sweet surrender even more delicious.
She tries not to ogle him too much, even if the position frames the power of his biceps and pectorals just right. His waist is graceful, stunning. The dust of golden hair almost everywhere is a nice surprise. Northern men need to stay warm for the long winters, after all.
Beauty is subjective, but she's most certain that Dimitri encapsulates the perfect masculine beauty that artists spend decades pouring into sculptures or stories.
Her tact flies away when his nipples grow taut just by her keen observation. Her thoughts transform into action.
Dimitri's body is warm and malleable in her slow touch as he melts below her, sucking his stomach in with each swipe of her fingers. There is not a single scar or mole on his upper body that her nails or teeth do not mark with avid nips. Every muscle and vein gets peppered with the faint remains of her lipstick.
He says not a single thing, only encouraging her machinations with soft sighs. That changes the moment her tongue grazes a nipple, giving away a pliant pant that invites her to twist the other peak.
"Your mouth feels–ohh!" He grits his teeth and hisses with a furrowed brow.
That expression looks so good on him.
His nipples are puffy and pink by the time she is done having her fill. All blond threads left in disarray as he thrashed his head around, overstimulation granting him an intense orgasm that forces out babbling incoherences, using her name as a guide.
His obscenely huge cock is still imposing, the thickest she has ever seen in her life. The weight of his sac feels perfect in her small hands. She massages and squeezes carefully, receiving wanton little sounds of approval, though he feels quite full despite the large amounts of cum spread across his body now.
Pleasure looks so natural on his handsome face. He glows brighter than any star in the sky. She enjoys slowly kissing him until his chapped lips go soft, no desperation or mad rush this time.
Time to take away even more suffering off their bones.
He's practically trembling, almost salivating, as she finally adjusts her harness. The length of her cock is mockingly small compared to his real dick, but by the way he eyes it, he seems not to mind.
"Have you taken a cock before?" She asks, looking at him directly.
"No, just my fingers." He shudders as she pours oil unto her cock, managing to blush even more but his voice doesn't break. "I wanted to save myself for you."
She is such a hypocrite for feeling a sense of relief. Her free hand wraps around his cock, pulling the foreskin back to see his pink head full of precum again. She leans down, giving it feather kisses until he's sucking little inhales. The lazy swipes of her tongue break out a moan.
Once her tongue presses inside his slit, he keens. A pearly fluid gushes against her lips.
"There is n–no need to deal with that boorish thing." He says, but his head is leaking more fluids into her mouth. "O–oh! I apologize if it's an unpleasant, boarish sight."
"It's lovely. I like how it fills both of my hands and mouth." Her tongue passes over a vein as his hips buck and he lets out a soft, hot hiss again. Every sound he releases makes her feel so good and warm.
She gives him a few licks, swirling her tongue around his head until she wraps her lips around him. There is an urge to get all of it inside, until he reaches the back of her throat, but Dimitri has waited long enough for what he sweetly asked for in the confessional.
Her lips let go with a hot pop, leaning forward until she can hold his face and sink her fingers in the hollowness of his cheeks. She presses her mouth against his without breaking eye contact, sharing his salty taste with him, "I'm...happy that no one else has seen you like this."
His breathing quickens even more, his smile a toothy, charming thing,even if his stare is hotter than Ailell, "Truly?"
"Yes, I'll show you just how much."
Byleth moves back, but his toned legs wrap tightly around her hips, trying to lure her closer to his gaped hole that glistens with weapon oil and his own cum. Supple and ready, needy.
Fuck. She will never be able to polish her swords without thinking of Dimitri's pliable body. His heady musk combining with hers smells so decadent, intoxicating. The more she breathes in, the more she wants, wants, wants.
"Blaiddyd." She warns with gritted teeth, "Not yet."
"Please, professor." He petulantly demands, "Do not refuse me anymore. I might die right here."
Never. She would find a way to outfox fate, break the chains of time if neccessary. The threads of destiny will not steal someone irreplaceable ever again.
"What do you need?"
"You. I need you everywhere." He looks at her enticingly from under his long eyelashes, worse than a feared incubus, "Quit stalling. Enter. Now."
Dimitri may not be an arrogant noble, but he is still a high-born. Bred for leadership. Insatiable and impatient for the mundane things of life.
Good. A future king should not ask, but command.
Mercenaries know how to satisfy a patron. For the very first time in her life, she wolfishly smirks.
"Anything for my favorite student."
His throat bops, "Heavens, Byleth—"
She holds to the natural divots on his hips and pushes the tip inside, forcing him to gasp and whip his head back. So sensitive, but his virgin hole doesn't fight against the intrusion. He hungrily swallows her in, squeezing every new inch that conquers him. She rolls her hips gently, testing how far they can go, but that restraint falls away the moment his face contorts with nothing but wanton desire.
"You're finally here." He pants. "You're home, you're home. Never leave your home!"
Something inside her snaps.
She rides him with reckless abandon now, losing herself to the view of his wet cock slapping his stomach on every push and draw back. His legs go slack briefly, and she takes advantage of that weakness like any good tactician would.
She picks him from under his knees and pushes back, abusing from his reach and flexibility, having a clear view of how snugly his hole is taking her. Dimitri releases little whimpers, spreading his legs more for her, giving away everything without hesitation.
That only gives her the urge to ruin him. Melt together until they become part of tomorrow's dew.
Her cock leaves him almost completely, only resting the tip inside. She spits on his quivering hole and gives a gentle smack to his thigh.
"Pro–fessor!" He moans with broken breath.
A lovely sound, but she wants the beast. She pulls out completely, ignoring his pitiful whine, only to sheathe her entire cock inside with a hard slap that sounds absolutely filthy and wet.
He roars her name.
So, she keeps doing that. Over and over, until the room only bounces his wails and soft curses. Drowning away the screams of his deaths in the back of her mind by replacing them with the sound of his pleasurable pleading whenever her palm smacks his ass.
The whole dorm is probably listening to him, and that goads her into pressing her body closer to his. Most of what he is saying sounds like nonsense, yet his noises are flattering. She hides her face against his sweaty chest, biting and sucking at his nipples again until they are tender.
"Harder, hah–please!" He chokes a whine, bed creaking heavily under them,"Please, Byleth! Fill my belly with your seed, fill me! I want—I want it dripping out of me!"
Goddess, if only. While she can't do that, at least they can consume each other. Let them relax and not worry about their duties or strength for a moment longer.
She thrusts into him mindlessly now, plunging into him like this was her true calling. Both hands claim his thighs, sinking her thumbs into the hard muscle that tightens. Her tits spill out of her gown by their brash movements, lewdly slapping against her ribs. That breaks him from the puddle of his mind, staring at them with a covetousness that tightens her cunt.
"You're so beautiful! So, so!" He gasps, looking at her like she's the whole universe with those beautiful eyes that cajoled her since the first time they met in Remire, "Marry me! Marry me!I love you so much, Byleth! I love you, I—need—need you forever!"
She would kill anyone who dares take away this bliss from her. Man, woman, child, beast, saint. Dimitri would despise that rotten obedience, this dark yearning that belongs to him and him alone.
Even as he climaxes with desperate whimpers of her name, she relentlessly kept pounding his tight hole, hungrily chasing her own edge as the sight of him in complete euphoria is bringing her to true completion. This time his white seed gushes over both of them, covering part of her tits like a mark, invading even her pores.
That's her ruin.
He breaks the bindings just as she's finally collapsing with her own scream, holding her close and still against his hot, safe body that truly feels like home.
Her first friend. Her first crush. Her first lover love.
That's the unadulterated truth. She loves him.
They stay still for plenty of beats, only moving away when their legs begin to cramp. His displeased whimper as she pulls out almost gave her the craving to stuff him again, but listens to reason and just plops beside him like a sack of potatoes, panting heavily. He immediately turns around, nuzzling into her neck and chest.
He wastes no time in sliding a hand below the harness to find the apex of her cunt. Everything is perfect and tingling as his tongue and teeth are lost on her tits, rough fingertips bringing her over the edge ridiculously fast again. Despite that he's the one pleasuring her, his moans are louder and far more desperate than hers.
By the time she descends from the sex haze, Dimitri is giving her a long, slow lick on her neck. Dutifully cleaning his cum until he stays put where her pulse is roaring, with one hand grasping at her breast that didn't have a deep, crimson bite mark.
His brazen touch is soothing.
Not a rowdy gelding. He's a tamed stallion.
"Feeling okay?" She breaks the silence first.
"I'm the happiest man alive right now." He says tiredly.
A man. Alive.
She lazily removes the harness, pulling him closer to her. Let her skin be the air in his lungs. His leg entangled with hers feels nice against the cool sheets.
"My apologies if I mismanaged my...affections. Was it satisfying for you too?"
She pets his jaw with a few fingers, enjoying the new stubble that's trying to grow there. Maybe he would let her shave him, just like she did for Jeralt. Her hand settles on stroking his hair, removing a few knots.
Beyond the physical bliss, there is something more. Something that brings her elation and amusement. A gaiety she never had the chance to experience before becoming a professor, before meeting him.
"I had fun." Besmirching a confessional, running in the rain, giving away inside this room. They did all that just for the joy and freedom of it, not for any other gain. "Thank you, Dimitri. I feel lighter than a water skeeter."
He flinches.
Oh...was that not the right thing to say? She's still not the most acute with these things. Now that she thinks about it, Sylvain is always inviting girls out for a 'fun night'. Does Dimitri think he is just a fling?
Maybe she's the fling. He did only ask for one night of reprieve from the ghosts, after all. She should not take his marriage proposal near climax seriously. People promise and ask for the most outlandish things in the fogs of pleasure.
Her worries wash away by his deep, amused giggles. He sounds almost like a maiden in the prime days of Garland Moon. His wide grin slightly tickles her collarbone now.
"You honor me with your candid responses, as always." He releases her breast and takes her hand instead. His hold is careful, tender on each swipe of his thumb over her knuckles, but then just caresses her promise finger. "I always feel at peace with you, too."
That's right. This is Dimitri. He has always understood her better than most. The first person who extended his hand without having an obligation to do so.
"I do not deserve your kind heat." He whispers, "And yet, I'm eternally grateful to be in your arms right now."
She takes her hand back and flicks him on the forehead, obtaining the cutest 'ow', "Not another word, Dimitri. There is no one else I'd rather hold close." Her fingers follow the shape of his ear, "Stay here."
His breathing is picking up again, "I have no intention of ever letting go unless you dismiss me. Permanently."
"Can't you see I'm the one keeping you tightly against me?" She says, finally lifting his face until their gazes can meet, "I did not tear the sky with my blade just to see you fade away from my arms, Dimitri. Your enemy is my enemy. Indelible shadows or impalpable evils will not rage inside my home without a fight. My blade is yours."
His besotted eyes just stay wide, cheeks aflame.
Her body flutters, but she sinks her commands, gently and firm, "Come back to the front of the class. Be my patrol partner again. Meet me for tea and food. Don't wander in the cathedral anymore, just come here, no matter the hour. Am I clear?"
All pressure in his body leaves with his short, self-satisfied sigh against the inside of her palm, "By your word."
"No resistance?"
"You truly do not realize how your charm enraptures me, do you? However you need me, I'm yours." He crawls upwards with a gentle smile that promised trouble, giving her short kisses on her lips that she languidly reciprocates until he slows down too, "I'd scoop wyvern manure blindfolded and with my hands tied if you ordered it."
"Somehow I know you would be done before Sylvain and Claude."
Her smile is lost against his as he titters, but it goes away soon enough upon noticing the state of her regalia. It's full of sweat, spit and cum. The tights have holes.
The laundresses are going to have a fit. Clara will definitely confess more than apologies.
A problem for the Byleth of tomorrow. Right now, Dimitri is moving his mouth lower, tearing her dress and jewelry away. Demanding her attention with a handsome flush across his body, lightning in his eyes.
"Return to Fhirdiad with me. Be my wife and queen." His teeth nip between her breasts, groaning into her very bones. "Say you'll be only mine forever."
His love and reverence sends her halfway to heaven.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆☀️⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The knowledge of her unbeating heart didn't disturb him or make him run away. On the contrary, he embraced her tighter. Promising to take good care of her and not let Hanneman pester for more blood samples.
The amount of times they fucked became a haze. They are both competitive, after all. Dimitri may have a vigorous spirit and great stamina, but she's far more stubborn and with a healing crest, so he ended up collapsing first into a deep slumber. Maybe this will motivate him into eating better and taking proper breaks during the day.
It's a miracle that the crappy monastery bed even survived.
A trip to Abyss will be needed, though. Her cock presents a bit of damage, rendering it unsafe. She's lucky it didn't shatter inside Dimitri, or else that would have been very painful for him— and quite the embarrassing usage of a pulse.
Yuri will have a field day, but if anyone knows where she can obtain a strap that survives the clench of a Blaiddyd, it's him. Maybe Constance has a spell for durability.
She should probably get a model similar to Dimitri's size and weight. Add a few ridges for extra stimulation. There is also the option to get a few plugs too. That way he doesn't have to worry about using his fingers anymore. The thought of Dimitri attending class with his ass stuffed is certainly lingering quite... persistently.
It doesn't help that his breath feels amazing on her skin right now.
Her body is pleasantly sore even when early sunlight breaks into the room. Clear skies after a rainy night have always been her favorite. Dimitri sleeping against her chest only made the view become perfect.
This intimacy feels so right. Maybe one day she could disclose every secret in Jeralt's journal with him. Come clean about Divine Pulse.
Forfeiting his warmth is torturous, but manages to slip the pillow between them so he doesn't stir as she rises. At least she can come back here after her early duties are over. If she's lucky, maybe he will still be resting in her bed.
He's so comfortably asleep under her sheets, nuzzling into her replacement now. The wrinkles and dark circles under his eyes are gone, not a single muscle in a knot.
Dimitri seems so tranquil in her nest.
Someone knocks distinctively on her door, interrupting the tempting thought that maybe she should drop everything and just stay with him. She was barely preparing a bath basket since only a good soak can rinse away all the dry cum, and ease the tenderness of her holes.
Silphium tea is definitely added to her mental list. She feels creamier than a sweet bun right now.
With only a robe wrapped around her, she opens the door a bit, feeling at ease that her ear did recognize Dedue's knocks.
"Good morning, professor." He greets ever seriously, but his eyes are softer than usual, "I take you slept well?"
"Yes...?"
"Is His Highness sleeping still?"
Shit. They probably...didn't let him sleep until they did. "He is. Listen, I'm sorry about the noise—"
Dedue only moves the door ever slightly, pushing an ornate basket and a big, paper bag into her arms.
"Refreshments for both. Ointments. A change of clothes for His Highness. I will take over your morning duties today, including your tea date with Sylvain and your duel with Felix." He offers a deep bow, "Thank you. I knew he would rest if you were the one requesting him to do so."
Her lips upturn a bit, matching his own little smile.
"Oh, and professor, if I may. Please, do close your windows next time. Rumors spread quickly in these halls...though everyone believes Sylvain is the culprit of the ruckus."
She coughs away a laugh, "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, for everything."
Sylvain is definitely off Sky Watch for the rest of the year. He will need all his strength to successfully escape Dimitri's jealousy, Felix's wrath and Seteth's chiding.
"Congratulations to you both. It will be a pleasure that you shall join us in Fhirdiad."
There was not much of a conversation after that, both of them never giving in to small talk. She plops everything unceremoniously over her desk, searching inside the basket like a famished mouse. The amount of food surprises her, given that the dining hall is not open yet. Dedue may be more popular with the head chef than expected.
"This is a lot of jerky." She muses, "Felix will be a thorn off my ass if I give him some later."
She foolishly doesn't perceive the large predator lurking behind her. A solar eclipse. Sharp teeth sink on her nape, strong hands ensnaring her whole waist.
Dimitri earns fire as a God. His love guides her home, and back to the bed.
