#ikemen prince x reader

MAN I HAD TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS I DIDNT WANNA STOP‼️ i want to do oneshots for ALL the ikepri boys (eventually) but here’s the first bit. next on the docket is clavis, yves, and nokto

beastie boys and the hunter — part I (prologue & chevalier) (NSFW 18+);

You are a Child of the Forests, raised in the wilds of the south with your kin, the Blackroot tribe. Four years ago you were honoured with the title of Matriarch, something given to the most skilled female warrior of the tribe. As a Matriarch, your duty is to venture into the worlds beyond the wilds and accrue knowledge for future generations.

prologue;

You broke into the palace.

You, what many of these folks would consider a lowly savage, broke into the palace of Rhodolite.

Perhaps it was a bad idea — it definitely was a bad idea — but you were raised to always protect your friends and allies, so by your pride as a Matriarch you simply couldn’t not do this.

As you were sneaking in, shrouded in the cover of night, you spot an unfamiliar man with hair the colour of lavender. High-born from the looks of his clothes. One of the princes? Seems likely.

For a moment, you consider killing him, but then you think of your friend Emma and decide against it. This was a rescue mission, not a hunt. You creep towards him on the balls of your feet, keeping as low and silent as you could. He hasn’t seemed to notice you yet. Good.

By the time he realises someone is behind him, it’s too late. You sling a cloth around his mouth and yank him backwards, and he immediately struggles against you. He’s stronger than you thought he’d be, most other city-dwellers are soft and squishy, but you continue to overpower him.

You leave him gagged and hog-tied behind a rose bush and enter the palace through the door he left out of. The halls were dark and empty, but you were trained to make use of other senses whenever sight failed you, and you swiftly make your way through the building.

The feeling of cold marble and wool rugs against your bare feet makes you cringe, but you keep your disgust from distracting you as best you can.

Arguably, you should’ve planned better for this. You don’t know where Emma is being held, and city-dwellers always have far too many rooms. You’re out of your comfort zone here, so all you can do is quietly try each door and hope your friend is behind one of them.

It takes longer than you like, but eventually brute-forcing wins the day and you find Emma reading a leather bound book by candlelight. You enter the room and close the door behind you in one quick motion, Emma still enraptured in the contents of her book. You sigh silently, she’s never as aware as she should be.

“Emma,” you call gently as you make your way towards her.

She sits up and locks eyes with you, “[Name]! You’re here— what are you doing here? How’d you know where I was?”

You hold a finger to your lips. “When I came back to town I tried to find you and Rio, but you weren’t there. The city-dwellers told me you’d been taken to the palace.”

“So you broke in?” She finally puts her book away and strides towards you, taking your hands in hers. “You could get into a lot of trouble for this! You need to leave!”

“I know. And you’re coming with me.” 

Before any heroic rescuing can take place, Emma’s door bursts open and light floods the room. Damn it. You wasted too much time searching the rooms. Four men enter, only one of them a familiar face, and you let go of Emma’s hands to draw your bow and aim an arrow at the towering blond’s forehead.

“[Name]!” Rio calls out, eyes wide in surprise.

“I knew it,” the blond said, glancing between you and Emma. “Someone was here for Belle.”

He sees your arrow trained on him and a dangerous glint shines in his dark blue eyes. His sword is drawn and he stares you down. You can tell by his confident movements that he’s well-practiced with that blade, and you keep your eyes locked on him.

“Do you really think you’ll get out of here alive?” he questions, his voice low and threatening.

“Maybe. Do you think you’ll be able to get me before I land an arrow between your eyes?” you answer. His lips quirk up a little in response.

You feel a shaky hand on your arm and look over at Emma, whose body is wracked with fear. “[Name], please don’t do this. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, let’s just talk about it, okay?”

You hesitate for a moment and glance to Rio. He’s also pleading you with his eyes. You scowl and return your gaze to the stranger in your sights. “What’s there to talk about? These princelings kidnapped you.”

“Kidnapped?” the man with dark hair muses. “I assure you it’s nothing so egregious. Please lay down your weapons and let us speak.”

The shorter blond one lays a hand on the taller man’s back. “Brother, please sheathe your sword. It’s clear she’s not an assassin. At least not for Belle.”

The warrior glares at you, but ultimately follows his brother’s wishes and lowers the blade. You follow suit and relax your bowstring, re-holstering the arrow. You don’t trust this, but you’ll try.

The man — who tells you his name is Sariel — leads you to another room teeming with books and paper stacks. Before an arched window stands a sturdy richly coloured desk surrounded by more strange men, and to your surprise the lavender-haired man is here as well. He catches your eye and scoffs, partly in amusement and annoyance, he didn’t seem to be a fan of getting tied up — but not entirely displeased either.

Sariel introduces himself and the eight princes. The ones you met in Emma’s room are Yves and Chevalier, the fifth and second princes respectively.

They explain the situation with Emma. For the past five days, she’s resided in the palace with Rio working as Belle, some kind of commoner that chooses the next King of Rhodolite. It sounded like rubbish to you, but then again so does most “civilised” culture.

In turn you introduce yourself. You are the Matriarch of the Blackroot tribe, roughly eighteen months ago you met Emma and Rio and you became friends. Whenever you came through Rhodolite after an adventure you’d return to the city to meet with them again. You cared for them both, so when you caught word that they were taken to the palace you could only assume the worst.

Sariel seemed strangely empathetic to this (maybe Emma’s influence?), and offered to let you stay for the duration of Belle’s service as an “unofficial knight” of sorts. You didn’t want to leave them alone in the hands of princelings, so you reluctantly agreed.

-

Chevalier Michel;

This wasn’t the first time Chevalier disagreed with the minister’s decision, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t be the last. This whole Belle farce was bad enough, but now she was allowed two guard dogs in the palace? One of them a barefoot savage that preferred to sleep in the dirt rather than a bed, no less.

Ah well. He supposed it wasn’t all bad. Belle would almost certainly be targeted by their enemies, and if someone else was watching her it meant he didn’t have to waste time doing it himself.

A few days after the commotion, Chevalier rises early to head to the training grounds. He’s spent too long cooped up in a study, he doesn’t want his sword arm getting rusty.

He can barely hold back his displeasure when he sees a familiar scant-clad Forest Child already there. You’re training with your bow, lining shot after shot into the straw-stuffed training dummies, and internally he wants to command you away. He feels that you wouldn’t respect his authority even so, but he’ll try regardless. He does not want to deal with another headache right now.

Chevalier heaves a sigh as he runs a hand through his pale blond hair and approaches. “Stand aside,” he orders, “I wish to train, and you’re in my way.”

You turn back and frown incredulously at him. You make a vague motion towards the row of dummies that you weren’t practicing with. “There’s enough to go around, help yourself.”

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I don’t want to get shot by one of your stray arrows. Move aside, now.”

After a few tense seconds of mutual glaring, you relent and put your bow away, stepping away from the yard. He thinks he’s won and turns to the dummies, but soon you return with a couple of crude hand-axes.

“What are you doing?” he grunts, not even looking your way. “Didn’t I just tell you to leave?”

“I decided I’d switch to melee practice. That way you won’t get ‘shot by one of my stray arrows’ right?”

He scowls. What a meddlesome woman.

An idea hatches in his mind, and instead of striking an inanimate object, he grabs a wooden practice sword and raises it in your direction. “If you’re not going to leave, at least make yourself useful. You will spar with me.”

You’re taken aback. Big old high and mighty prince wants to spar with a savage? And a woman, no less. From what you know of city-dwellers, women seemed to be treated as the more delicate sex, so it’s surprising that he’s willing to humour you.

“You want to spar with me, princeling?” you smirk, resting a fist on your hip.

“I’ve heard tales of the Forest Children’s aptitude in combat. If you wish to remain Belle’s protector, show me you’re worthy,” he answers nonchalantly. Then he looks at you with a challenging smirk of his own. “Not that I think you can touch me.”

You’re not too proud to say that you were enticed by his proposal. You drop your axes to the side and pick up a wooden sword like his, and return to face him.

“The rules are simple. Whoever lands a strike on the other one first, wins. And try not to feel too disappointed when you lose, Forest Child. Not everyone is made to be a hunter,” he mocks.

Your fingers twitch in annoyance. What could this prissy little lord possibly know about being a hunter? You look forward to wiping that look off his face.

You ready yourselves and he calls out when to begin. You decide to take the easiest course of action: rush him first and gage his strengths.

You’re faster than he expects, but he blocks your feeble attack easily and flings you back. His movements are fluid and confident, he’s faster and stronger than the average man, you can tell he’s a deadly combatant. But despite all his strengths, you can see an opening. It’s small, but it’s something.

You exchange blows in a flurry of blades, neither of you giving the other any quarter as you attempt to make contact. Finally, you see an opportunity.

You swing at him again and he meets your sword with his, but before he can push you back you kick at his imperfect stance and topple him. He tries to regain his balance before he falls, and you take the chance to fling his sword away. You grab his outstretched hand and twist it behind his back, bringing him to his knees with you standing tall behind him.

With a tap of wood against his neck, you say triumphantly, “Dead.”

Chevalier huffs, or perhaps it was a laugh? And despite not being able to see his face, you can tell he’s not too broken up about losing. “Not a bad showing. Maybe the stories of your kind aren’t all baseless.”

Something in him stirs as you let him get to his feet. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, and it’s almost like his consciousness is fighting against it, but he feels… respect? Admiration? Like he’s found someone useful for a change.

And he must admit, a woman with your kind of strength is… amusing. Maybe even a bit arousing — though he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself quite yet.

You don’t exchange any more words with him that day. And when you’re both in the training yard again the next morning, you say nothing then too. You spar again, another win for you.

The next day, he wins.

The day after that, you win.

It becomes a routine thing for you. Sometimes he manages to get ahead, but for the majority you’re able to best him.

A lesser man might feel emasculated, his pride damaged by the thought of being weaker than a woman, but Chevalier was no such man. Instead of brooding, he found your spars enlightening. Each morning he learned a little more about himself, and a little more about you.

For example, he hadn’t noticed that he guarded the right side of his body more than his left. Or that you reacted faster to sound than you did to sight.

You went from just sparring to discussing tactics, both on the battlefield and out in the woods.

“The ideal way to hunt is for the hunter to have already finished by the time the prey realises it,” he tells you simply as he thumbs through a tome. You bark out a laugh before you realise he’s not joking. “What, pray tell, do you find so funny?”

“I mean that’s… common knowledge isn’t it?” You tilt your head. “Obviously the best outcome for a hunt is to kill your target before it notices you. You can’t hunt something very well if it’s run off. That’s like saying ‘the best way to write a letter is with a quill and paper’, like… yes, thank you, I think everybody knows that.”

He scowls at you and lets out a disapproving snort. “Why did Sariel let a savage live on palace grounds, again?” A subtle glimmer in his eyes suggests he’s being playful, in his own way.

You lean back in your chair and throw your arms up. “Oh, so now I’m a savage. You’re fine with being seen as a hunter when it means you can use cool metaphors, but when the time comes to rip out a boar’s throat with your teeth and drink it’s blood you’re nowhere to be found!”

Chevalier stares at you silently. It’s unclear if he’s trying to determine your seriousness, or if he’s just completely unamused.

You weren’t joking though, you really did drink animal blood. It was a good way to offset the lack of fruits and vegetables in your diets. Roughly 90% of what Children of the Forest ate was meat.

“You…” he begins, but then he stops. He didn’t actually know how to respond to that, so he just decides not to. He turns back to his book.

You slump a little. “That’s it?” You were expecting him to get snarky at you so you could banter a little bit.

He notices your disappointment and smirks to himself. It’s kind of cute how you always want to pick a fight with him— wait, did he just think that?

Over time he comes to notice you more. Your curves, your muscles, the tattoos that sprawled across your body (a mark of being a Matriarch, you’d told him), and soon he became irritated with how little your leathers concealed.

It was common practice for Children of the Forest to run around half-naked or even fully naked, and at first he thought little of it but now it got on his nerves.

Were you intentionally trying to seduce him? Were you and your ilk always so shameless? Did you not know how other men would look at you? Did you not care?

Other men… The thought of them seeing as much of you as he did bothered him. He tried to quash these feelings, but it seemed the harder he fought against them the more they grew.

He lost a lot more in your spars. He’d get distracted at the way your breasts bounced, or the intense look you’d get in your eyes. You noticed something was off, but you paid it no mind. At least, you tried not to.

But it had been three weeks since you arrived, and Chevalier had gone from improving rapidly to making rookie mistakes.

You knock him on his ass — something you normally wouldn’t have been able to do — and stand above him with your sword lined up to his face. “This is getting ridiculous now,” you chide him. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have a death wish? You expect to be King when you can’t even watch your stance?”

He glares up at you. “Hold your tongue, [Name]. My patience only goes so far.”

“So does mine!” you retort. “At first you were a worthy fighter, but now it feels like I’m whipping a new-blood!”

Damn it, you’re right and he hates it. He still fights just as well, if not better, with other opponents but he continuously falters with you. He wasn’t ashamed when he lost to you the first time, but he certainly was now.

He tries to get up to leave, but you knock him down again. “That’s enough, wildling. I’ve had my fill of you for the day, let me leave.”

“Then leave.”

Chevalier eyes you curiously and tries to get up again. Again you knock him down. He snarls at you, rage bubbling in his stomach at the act of being repeatedly humiliated.

When you knock him down again, he grabs the practice sword in your hand and pulls you forward. It’s enough to throw you off your balance and he’s able to stand while you fumble. He gives you a final glare as he spins on his heel and starts to walk away.

He doesn’t get very far before you dash in front of him and block his way. “You can’t own up to your mistakes, so you try to avoid them?” you spit. “Strike me and I’ll let you go.”

“I’m not playing these games with you. I have more important things to do than play fight with a tree-hugger. Stand aside.” His aura is more commanding than it usually is. He isn’t playing with you, not this time at least.

You answer with only two words. “Make. Me.”

“If you think you can threaten me in my own home, you’re sorely mistaken. I am the rightful King of these lands, and savage or not you will respect that.”

You make no attempts to move, and he sees the only way to get through to you is force. He grabs the blade he’d discarded when you knocked him down earlier and readies himself.

Before you can blink, he’s on you. You only narrowly managed to block his attack and he winds back and strikes again. There’s passion in his hits now, something that was lacking these past few days, and you prepare yourself for a hard fight.

He moves faster than you’ve seen him before, but there’s still a sense that he’s struggling with something.

Like he’s running.

“You think you can just come into my palace and treat me how you want,” he grunts, landing blow after blow on your sword until the wood begins to splinter. “Who do you think you are?!”

When he pushes you back, you push him harder. The ferocity in his mannerisms continues to intensify, and you wonder if maybe he’ll win today. You’ll be damned if you make it easy for him.

“What do you plan to do about it?” you taunt, your breath becoming strained as you put more effort into your parries and attacks.

“You’re a fool, [Name], and I plan to put you in your place.”

The fight is the most draining one you’ve had thus far. You’re holding on, barely, and you notice the subtle signs of him struggling to keep up too.

Despite the sweat beading on your face, sticking strands of hair to your skin, you find enough energy to snicker at him. “Are you sure you’re not just horny for me?”

He pauses for a split second, and you knock the sword from his hands. He gains his composure and clenches his hands by his side, waiting for you to land the final hit.

But it never comes.

You toss your sword to the side and forcefully hold his chin between your forefinger and thumb. “Are you sure that you don’t want me to just takeyou?”

A scowl has once again carved into his beautiful features. “I want nothing of the sort. You insult me with these accusations, Forest Child.”

You let go and trail a finger down his jawline, following the contour of his neck and resting at his clavicle. He swallows thickly as a fire stirs in his belly, a primal desire the likes of which he’s never felt before.

“You city-dwellers are so prudish. Sex isn’t something to be ashamed of. You’re not as subtle as you think, prince Chevalier.” You smile coyly at him, you know you’re riling him up. “I see the way you stare at my tits. And my ass. I’m not offended, I’m just amused that someone as strong as you can’t come out and simply ask me to fuck you.”

A trickle of sweat drops down his temple, and despite his best wishes he can feel his excitement growing. “You’re truly trying to seduce me so openly? Your people have no shame. A woman shouldn’t approach so casually.”

Your gaze drops to his lips. “Your backwards social norms mean nothing to me. I have always approached, and I will continue to do so.” The finger resting on his collarbone trails a lazy path down to his lower stomach. “Besides, I can hear your heartbeat quickening. I wonder, if I was to look in your trousers, would you be soft?”

Chevalier knew that was a rhetorical question. You already had your answer, you just wanted him to admit it. He deigned to say nothing, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you as you stepped in closer and undid his belt.

Before your fingers could make contact with his desperately yearning cock, he growled darkly. “If you do this, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

“You’re welcome to try, you wouldn’t be the first,” you chuckle. “But no one’s managed to come out on top, if you get my meaning.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. But his urges will let him resist no longer, and he watches you earnestly as you reach your hand into his pants and stroke the sensitive underside of his dick. He sucks in a breath but lets you continue.

You only stroke him a couple of times before you draw your hand away, and he almost groans in anguish. You hold your hand up to his mouth and say, “Spit.”

For a split second he’s confused, but he quickly gets the picture and leans his face down to your hand. He puckers his lips as a steady trickle of saliva drops down into your palm, and his deep blue eyes are locked on yours.

When he’s finished, he asks you, “Good enough?”

You grin at him. “We’ll see.”

Your hand goes back to his needy cock, and already he can feel the difference. The wet, slightly sticky feeling of his saliva coats him from tip to base, and his eyes almost flutter closed. His lips part slightly as he breathes out steady pants, his gaze locked on you through his long, pale eyelashes.

He’s quite big, you note, and his dick has a slight curve to it. You’re sure no one’s complained with him in the boudoir, but it takes far more than a big dick to impress you.

You twist your hand around him as you stroke, making sure that you touch every inch of him. You’re quite skilled, and Chevalier wonders momentarily if there’s anything you can’t do well.

The answer to that is read, of course. But you’ve never shared that with him.

The heat between you builds as you bring him closer to the edge, and unable to hold back anymore he leans towards you and captures your lips.

You smile into the kiss, and your satisfied snicker is swallowed by him. Chevalier rests his hands on your waist, running them over your hips and your ass as your tongues explore each other’s mouths.

His hips gyrate against your hand, and precum flows from the tip of his prick as you continue to work your magic on him. You part from the kiss and attack his neck with your teeth — thankfully, not to rip it out, but instead to leave a white hot trail of kisses and hickeys.

He groans as he tilts his head forward, feeling his release quickly approaching. “Fuck… just like that… you’ll make me cum, [Name].”

You laugh against his ear. “A prince getting jacked off by a wildling in broad daylight, how embarrassing.”

He grips your shoulders as he pumps himself into your hand. “You are… nngh.. an insufferable woman.”

You smile to yourself and he throws his head back as he shoots ropes of hot cum onto your hand and torso, giving a final grunt as he does so. His mind goes blank at the pleasure, and he slowly winds down as small spurts of cum drop to the ground beneath you.

You part — all too soon for his liking — and you have an annoyingly pleased look about yourself. Chevalier tidies himself up and goes back to his default state of looking mildly irritated. You’re the one who has his cum on you, so why does it feel like you just got the better of him?

“So,” you break the silence, “good talk. I should go get cleaned up, I’ll let you return to your princely duties.”

As you walk past him, you spare a hungry glance at his thick, firm ass and grab a handful. He jolts and twists back to face you, but by then you’re a couple steps out of his reach. “I’ll look forward to exploring the rest of you next time, Chevalier,” you say with a lecherous grin. That ass really seemed magical.

“Don’t get your hopes up, you perverted Forest Child,” he calls back. But you both know that’s a bluff, he’s just trying to maintain a semblance of his pride.

You wave a lazy hand in farewell as you saunter off, and he’s left staring dumbly in your direction.

This won’t work out. He’s sure of it. You’re from two different worlds, ones that can never merge no matter how many kingdoms he unites. Someday you’ll have all you need to fulfil your duty as Matriarch. Someday you’ll leave Rhodolite for the southern forests and it will be the last time he ever sees you, but for now…

At least for now, he knows he’ll see you in the morning.

this has been bouncing around in my head all night i just gotta write it down

how the ikepri boys react when u catch them from falling;

Yves Kloss;

• you’re casual acquaintances. technically he’s your employer as you’re one of the maids in the palace but he never really treats you that way (which you appreciate)
• you’re extremely competent in your work. you always manage to have the right things at the right time, and your sense of duty is almost frightening. somehow, somewhere, you always know what is need and when precisely that is.
• one afternoon Yves is climbing up the steps to the palace. his mind is elsewhere, and he accidentally misses one of them, throwing him off-balance and plummeting backwards
• he curses under his breath at his own thoughtlessness. a prince falling down his own stairs?! he closes his eyes in anticipation for the impact but in its place he feels softness, as a pair of capable arms envelop him and hold him steady
• “Master Yves, are you alright?” comes your ever-pleasant voice. once again you have mysteriously appeared to save the day, thank the gods for you!
• but when he looks up at you it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. your beauty stuns him silent, the setting sun is positioned perfectly behind your head giving you the appearance of a halo. you look worriedly at him, and his gaze is drawn to your intense eyes then down to your beautiful lips
• he doesn’t hear you when you try to talk to him again, instead all he can hear is violins and flutes in his mind playing a romantic ballad. has he perhaps gone mad due to his near-death experience? or did he actually die and get transported to heaven?
• eventually he shakes himself out of his reverie. he becomes painfully aware of his rapid heart rate and his blushing cheeks
• “I-I’m fine, thank you Miss [Name]!” he almost yells as he gets to his feet. “I meant to do that anyway!”
• “You meant to fall?” you lightly tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips. his heart pounds painfully. “Sorry, Master Yves. Next time I shall endeavour to let you tumble down the steps.”
• “Good!” he huffs as he turns his back to you, speed walking up the rest of the stairs. “That is all! Back to your duties, if you please!”
• he doesn’t see the nod you give him, he’s far too busy trying to run away from the situation. he meant to do that? how embarrassing! why did he say that?! and why was he getting so worked up about you holding him like that? it was like he was a princess in a romance novel!
• he’s not a princess, damn it! he’s a prince! and a powerful one, too!
• as much as he tries to rationalise his feelings away, poor Yves finds himself plagued with repetitive dreams of being a damsel in distress and you his valiant knight that comes to the rescue every time. perhaps it is more accurate to the truth than he cares to admit.

Nokto Klein;

• you’re the bodyguard/valet of a powerful merchant lord. while you were born in the slums as a peasant, through your diligence and strength you worked your way up in the world.
• Nokto often sees you at parties, your boss is a man who always wants to know everything and suffers from severe FOMO, so he attends as many soirées and events as he possibly can. you, being his most trusted companion, always accompany him.
• seeing an armed and armoured woman at a party is deeply amusing to him, so he sometimes found himself drifting over to you to try and tease you.
• it never works. you’re a master of keeping a stoic face, and you can hold your liquor better than most drunkards, so you pose a big challenge for him.
• that’s fine though, he’s not a quitter when it comes to bedding beautiful women— he always gets what he wants. honestly, if he could just get you to smile, or look something other than vaguely pissed, he’d count that as a success.
• he challenged you to a drinking contest, since your pride is well-known throughout Rhodolite, and much to his delight you agreed.
• by the time he realised he stood no chance against you, he was too drunk to care.
• “[Name], my dear, it seems we’ll need to continue this elsewhere. Somewhere more… private, perhaps?” Nokto was still surprisingly smooth despite having drunk enough to down an ox. he lingers far too closely to you, just an inch away from kissing your ear.
• it would fluster a lesser person. but you’re unfazed. you eye him neutrally. “Yes. You seem in dire need of a nap, Prince Nokto.”
• he casually waves you off as he begins to walk away. “Nonsense. You’ll find it takes more than a few drinks to—“
• he doesn’t get to finish his sentence as his legs surreptitiously decide to give out and he trips. he hears you call out to him before you catch him in your arms.
• instinctively he rests his hands on your biceps. they’re quite… hard, aren’t they? his eyes widen in shock as he realises what’s just happened, and perhaps it’s the drink influencing him but he could’ve sworn his heart just skipped a beat.
• he composes himself quickly and his shocked expression melts into a lecherous smirk. “Oh my, how gallant. You’ll make me blush if you keep holding me like this, [Name].”
• the last thing he remembers is a small smile on your face. then, he wakes up in his room with a pounding headache and an uncharacteristically empty bed.
• as the memories slowly return to him about what happened that night (you had helped him into a carriage and the servants took him to bed) he finds himself extremely disappointed that he failed to bag you yet again.
• “Ah well,” he says to no one in particular, “next time.”
• at least he got you to smile.

Clavis Lelouch;

• you’re a bartender and a semi-close associate of Jin’s. while you’ve never expressed interest in becoming one of his partners, you’ve been his wingwoman on more than one occasion.
• Clavis likes to stir trouble more than he likes to sleep around, but he always enjoys a good glass of scotch and a conversation with his dear half-brother Jin. your establishment is one of his regular hunting grounds (or did he say watering grounds? he can’t remember) so tonight he invited Clavis along for the ride
• Jin took his regular spot at the bar and Clavis took the seat next to him. when you asked Jin about the new face, he introduced you two, and to say Clavis was intrigued by your good looks would be an understatement
• for a time the three of you were locked into conversation, though you’d occasionally dip out to serve another customer, and Clavis was starting to see why his brother liked this place so much… although maybe for different reasons
• he was so absorbed in shooting the shit with you that he didn’t notice when Jin (so rudely!) abandoned him for a small group of women.
• it didn’t bother him too much though, he was having plenty of fun getting to know a kindred spirit like you
• you talked, and talked, and talkedand Clavis understood why you were a bartender. a big part of the job is chatting to the customers, and you did a damn good job of keeping a conversation going
• when he finished his fourth glass of scotch and his head was starting to swim, he figured he’d had enough for the night
• “Well, [Name], thank you for keeping me company after my dastardly brother deserted me, but I should be going back now,” he said with a pleasant grin on his face.
• “Back to that big fancy palace of yours, huh? Must be nice… all I’ve got waiting for me is an overpriced shoe-box and shitty neighbours.”
• Clavis chuckles. “Is this your way of trying to get me to invite you over, bartender?”
• he half-expects you to get flustered, instead you smirk. “You’re cute, I’ll give you that. But I don’t think you can handle me. Maybe ask me again in a few more years, sweet thing.”
• sweet thing. the way the nickname so effortlessly comes from your mouth is enough to make him do a double-take. should he be offended by it? is it normal that instead he feels flattered… maybe even a little bit giddy?
• it takes him a second longer than usual to formulate a reply, but before he can he’s wrenched from his thoughts by a drunken patron shouldering past him.
• he expects to unceremoniously collide with the floor but instead he finds himself cradled in your arms. your breasts are in his face but you’re too busy scolding the other man to notice.
• all Clavis can do is focus on your chest. your soft… exquisite chest… are all tits as sexy as yours? he can see why Jin is so obsessed with women if so.
• you pull back and he’s met with the almost-as-attractive image of your face as you check over him.
• “You okay? He didn’t wrinkle your clothes did he, sweet thing?”
• that nickname again. damn it, first you shove your tits in his face and now you’re calling him that. there’s only so much a man can take!
• he shoves the feelings down and dons his usual facade. “Oh, I’ll need a maid to iron them out but I’ll live. Barely.”
• you laugh and help him to his feet. you say your goodbyes and he returns to the palace, but when he finds Jin the next day he asks to accompany him the next time he decides to visit your bar

Leon Dompteur;

• you are an established noblewoman who took over your father’s house and increased its wealth and standing tenfold. you’re known as a charming, philanthropic individual and are quite well-loved among nobles and commoners alike.
• you’re holding a charity event and invited Leon to attend, which of course he accepted. it wasn’t really the scene his brothers tended to frequent, so he went it alone.
• he even arrived early to help you set up! what a doll!
• you’d put together confectionary stalls, games, and musical performances where a chunk of the profits would go towards building a new orphanage.
• Leon was surrounded by a small gaggle of kids that seemed to worship the ground he walked on, and he very patiently answered each and every one of their endless questions.
• “Mister Leon, Mister Leon!” a girl no more than the age of nine calls out. “My momma said that you and lady [Name] make a cute couple! Are you her wife?”
• Leon jolts back and laughs nervously. people seem to like the idea of you and him becoming a couple, since you’re both gorgeous, charismatic, and selfless, but it’s not often that he’s confronted with it so directly.
• “No, no, Lady [Name] and I are just friends,” he tells her, much to the children’s disappointment. “What’s more, I’m a man, so if I was married I would be the husband.”
• “Huh? Why can’t men be a wife?” a boy complains. “That’s not fair!”
• you’ve been drifting over to the group since you heard the sound of your name, and much to your amusement Leon is trying (and failing) to explain to kids how gender roles work.
• as you get close another boy tugs at your clothes to grab your attention. “Miss [Name], why can’t boys be wifes? My daddy said wifes are good and nice and I want to be good and nice! Why is Leon not your wife Miss [Name]?”
• “Those are good questions, kiddo!” you say, and to Leon’s dismay you look up at him with a grin. “Why can’t boys be wives, Leon? Are you saying you wouldn’t like to be my wife?”
• the children all agree with you and continue to pester Leon, and he finds it hard to fight the rising blush on his face. desperate for a way out, he spots an older woman struggling to carry a crate of goods and excuses himself.
• “Ma’am, would you like some help with that?” he asks, eager to be anywhere but here.
• she smiles at him gratefully. “Oh yes please Your Majesty, that would be a great help!”
• he picks up the crate with ease, but the sound of pestering little kids picks up behind him and an unexpected weight latches onto his leg.
• he tips, and he tries to angle his body so it won’t land on the (assumed) child but it’s of ill use. all he can do is shout “Watch out!” as he prepares to crash, instinctively squeezing his eyes shut.
• but there is no crash. he doesn’t collide with the cobblestone, and there is no deafening sound of wood clattering on the ground. he opens his eyes to see you leaning over him.
• one of your arms is wrapped around his shoulders, the other is holding the crate above both your heads. if he wasn’t flustered before he sure is now.
• “Prince Leon, are you hurt?” you ask. “I’m so sorry, that was my fault. I got the kids all stirred up then they ran off before I could catch them!”
• his amber eyes are locked on yours. he can’t tear them away, even for a second. it’s like no one else exists except you and him. “It’s… okay…” he says finally. “I’m fine. Thank you, Lady [Name]. I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching what I was doing.”
• you shake your head and let the crate down before hauling him up. “Not at all. Kids can be a handful.”
• he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
• he grabs the crate once again and this time, carefully watches his steps as he carries it off. as the children watch him walk away, one of them mumbles to another, “He’s definitely her wife.”

Chevalier Michel;

• you’re a soldier in Chevalier’s command, and in fact you are one of the best. that you’re a woman never mattered in his eyes, you were worth a dozen regular soldiers and he has always treated you as an equal.
• he likes to run training camps to simulate real war conditions even during times of peace. you never know when someone (*cough* Obsidian) might strike, so it’s good to always be prepared
• he emerges from his tent to watch over the troops sparring with each other. if he finds a weakness in their stance, he’ll bark at them to correct it. his demeanour is icy and strict, but he always knows what needs to be done so his judgement is rarely questioned.
• you have finished your training for the day (immaculate as always. he never seems to find a fault with you nowadays, much to the chagrin of your fellow soldiers) and you’re busying yourself by running errands
• you’re the only woman in Chevalier’s troops, and while women soldiers definitely exist, not many of them (or anyone, really) can handle being under the draconian command of a genius
• at first when the men harassed you, Chevalier would make a show of telling them the dangers of underestimating someone. he didn’t need to do that for long though, because they soon learned that lesson directly from you.
• he makes eye contact with the back of your head as he sees you tending to the horses, and remembers a battle tactic he wanted to go through with you. he makes a beeline for you, but halfway there he hears a yell and a rope snapping. you instantly turn towards the direction of the noise
• one of the soldiers had startled a horse bad enough that it broke free and tried to run through the camp— it had happened fast enough that Chevalier had little time to react
• he managed to get out of trampling range, but the wind is knocked out of him and he fumbles for balance
• “Prince Chevalier!” he hears, though he’s not sure from who. probably multiple troops who are shitting their britches at the prospect of angering him.
• he tries to break his fall, but instead he’s caught. the shocked gasps of his men and the struggles of the horse getting reined in hit his ears, but all he can focus on is the woman whose arms he lies in.
• one of your hands is firmly gripping the dip in his waist and the other cups his head. “That was a close one!” you exclaim. “The ground is pretty much frozen this time of year, if you hit that you could’ve gotten a concussion!”
• he blinks up at you. why does this feel so… weirdly comfortable? he chooses not to linger on it. “You’re right. I appreciate your quick timing, [Name].”
• he gets up and dusts himself off, trying to ignore the unpleasant absence of your warmth. he turns around and glares at the camp. “Now… who was the one stupid enough to scare the horse?”
• the silence is deafening.