Archive of Our Own

“It’s…”

“A necklace. Yes.” Lorenz seems very proud of himself, as usual. “The ore and jewels were plucked from the mountains in Goneril.”

Goneril. Mountains. Ore and jewels. And it’s heavy to boot. Of course it is—Lorenz has expensive tastes. What Leonie holds in her hands is probably payment for her mercenary band for a whole month, maybe even two depending how she stretches it.

Leonie twists the necklace in her hands, the many shimmering in the lantern light, catching the flames beautifully. It looks so delicate, precious, pretty the way it dangles. It’s meant for a greenhouse bloom, not a rustic wildflower.

Leonie tenses, never having received such a lovely—and expensive—gift before. Her gaze meets his and Lorenz smiles, happy with his hard work and thought. An anniversary gift, well-picked, he’s probably congratulating himself for it. He looks equally pleased with Leonie’s gift to him, a silk handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it. She called in a favour from the local haberdasher in Ordelia, to which she’ll be slugging heavy, empty spools of fabric for months. 

But the smile on his face is more than worth it. He gleams and glows with pride, looking at the handkerchief with such a warm expression. Her eyes wander back to the gaudy, expensive necklace, and in the back of her head, she worries.

Five years with Lorenz and the conversation has come up a few times, and he had made his intentions clear from the start: someday, Lorenz will propose with the hope that Leonie may become Countess Gloucester, and she both fears and looks forward to the day.

She won’t change for him, or more aptly the court and Roundtable she’ll be expected to appease if she does eventually say yes. She doesn’t want to have to. And deep down, Leonie knows that Lorenz would never try to make her change to fit an ideal… However, one day she may be Countess Gloucester—

A shiver of anxiety runs through her at that thought. Wedding bells and h’or d’oeuvres and flowers and all that planning. And oh Goddess, the thought that she may not be Leonie Pinelli, Blade Breaker II anymore..

She probably wouldn’t take his name. It would be too weird. Besides I spent too long becoming Captain Pinelli just to lose it over a change of status. Leonie thinks. 

“Would you like help putting it on?” Lorenz offers with hopeful eyes. “I wish to see what it looks like on you.”

Leonie tenses then shakes her head. It’s not like her to lie, however, this necklace is way too nice for the loose blouse for a post-fuck, pulled up sleepshirt and morning breath. It deserves a ball gown, high heels, painted eyes and red lips—things that make a woman a lady.

She shakes her head. “Not now.” She unknits her brow, and meets his eyes, turning the necklace over in her hands. “I’m all sweaty right now. I don’t want to damage the metal.”

Lorenz’s face falls for a split second, but a smile surfaces in place. “That is very prudent of you.” He says. “I am impressed.”

“Can’t go ruining something as pretty as this,” she insists, about to leave it on the bedside stand. She stops short of setting it down and returns it to the velvet case. “It wouldn’t do.”

He nods in approval. “I agree.” 

He begins to ask of her next mission out to Sauin. It was part reunion with her beloved little village, part actual mercenary job—the village had problems with some monsters and Leonie took the contract. Lorenz asks how the ride was, if the roads were dry, about the lovely Pinelli family and how many men his darling wildflower Leonie bested alone. 

He watches with intent and pure interest as she talks about how she got the bed all to herself when she reached the Pinelli Farmhouse; her siblings are all settled now and her mother is going half-crazy with the quiet of the house. Leonie tells him all about the monsters she routed, how the village was in awe of her riding, her bowmanship, her lance techniques and Lorenz listens intently with a small, proud smile on his lips. 

In the back of her mind, Leonie worries if he really wants a wildflower, and not a pretty greenhouse bloom.

The necklace finds a home in the back of Leonie’s jewelry box. 

Well, the word jewelry box is a stretch. A long stretch. In truth, it’s nothing more than an old wooden box with a busted latch and some plaited bracelets that she and her siblings made as kids, leather ties that her father had worked for her and used hair ribbons from her childhood. The fancy-schmancy blue sapphire necklace looks completely out of place amongst the scraps of a poor existence.

C’mon Pinelli, just wear it to dinner, yeah? Lorenz’ll be gone soon after, and it’s rude to not at least wear it once… She thinks as she looks at the velvet box that holds the necklace beside her… knickknacks. 

But Leonie cannot bring herself to wear it. It’s too… nice. To reference Hilda and her immaculate taste, it doesn’t “go” with anything she owns. Her wardrobe mostly consists of worn trousers that she insists have some wear in them, blouses that are a couple sizes too big and the odd overcoat that’s been patched up over and over. 

Yes, she does own one nice dress. Nice by her standards means there’s no rips or tears, but it can be a little worn, and yeah, this is worn. It’s a little big, but nothing some leggings underneath and a belt around the waist can’t fix! And who cares if she has to shrug it backwards to keep the décolletage at an appropriate level? Leonie doesn’t.

However, that’s not to say looking and feeling pretty isn’t… Overrated. Leonie thinks.

Not that she owns what one could classify a vagabond’s wardrobe, but the fact that she now owns such a nice necklace brings an expectation to look a certain way. Funny, Leonie thinks, years ago I would’ve thrown the box right back at Lorenz and told him that my affection couldn’t be bought. Still the worry that she’s a plaything to be dressed up nicely and paraded around in front of court lingers in her mind…

Though, this ain’t it. Leonie thinks. This is not that. Far from it.

The last big thing—she doesn’t know the names of the social events they attend—she wore a fine suit combo, much to the confusion of the former Count Gloucester. Lorenz insisted that she looked lovely in it, even doing up her hair in an intricate braid with pretty dyed ribbons from Sauin.

Lorenz didn’t try to change her then, not at all.

Why the fuck is this bothering me so much? She thinks tiredly. I know what I am and what I’m not.

Leonie traces her room, breathing a sigh as she grabs the velvet box and shoves it under—what for all intents and purposes should be—her bed, half-hoping to never see it again, another half waiting to pull it back out and wear it, gawkers be damned.

Leonie isn’t sure why, but wearing it would feel… Feel…

How the fuck could I know? Leonie thinks. I’ve never worn it before.

She reaches under the bed, pulling the box out. She opens the case, then plucks the necklace from the tray. It looks bigger than she remembers. The sapphires are quite big and tracing up the sides are clear jewels—probably diamonds or something.

Cautiously, she lifts the pendant up and latches it around her neck. It rests perfectly along her collarbone, over the old necklace she made with Jeralt when he visited Sauin. She stares into the mirror, her freckles and notched brow and tired eyes greeting her. Funny, in some weird way, she expected someone else; as if putting on this necklace would change her completely. Somehow, someway, changing her from Leonie Pinelli to someone else, someone who she didn’t know.

Her fingers trace the largest sapphire that rests just below her sternum, between her breasts. The jewels catch the sunlight that slips through the silken curtains, glimmering as her chest rises and falls with her breath.

Still, it’s too… not Leonie. Really, just not Leonie. Too big, too flashy. And, summoning forth Hilda once more, doesn’t go with anything she wears, especially not the shirt with the torn-off sleeves that she wears now.

And yet, Leonie sort of doesn’t care, because some odd emotion glimmers deep below.

She feels pretty.

In what most would call desperation—Leonie Pinelli would never use such a word—Leonie writes Hilda requesting something that befits the necklace, and in between the lines, how to feel, um, prettier. She lets Hilda know that she’s headed out to help Felix with a problem in Fraldarius, and the entire way there, Leonie’s mind runs wild with what Hilda will respond with.

Lorenz is bound for Derdriu again. She leaves first and when she leans in to kiss him goodbye, Leonie recognizes the silk handkerchief is affectionately tucked into the chest pocket of his velvet vest. 

Damn. I should’ve worn it. Leonie thinks, knowing fully well that her men would laugh at her if she wore such a fancy thing to go rout a bandit situation or put some rowdy rabble-rousers in line.

Then they’d probably jeer for her to sell it off and finally kick her tavern debts so that they could finally go somewhere decent for a pint.

Her mind runs wild with the thought of a stupidly big ballgown, something she’d wear at a cotillion or whatever they’re called or a finely tailored vest and trousers, the buttons of her blouse popped a little too low to show off that gorgeous necklace. That’s what it calls for.

Hilda writes back rather promptly. Her letter reaches Leonie before she’s even at Fleur de Lys Park, the ancestral home of the Fraldarius family. Hilda writes that she would send it by express post on the back of the fastest colt in all of Fódlan—

Damn nobles with their money to burn. Leonie thinks as she tips the messenger with a gold mark. Her men jeer at her, suspecting it’s another letter from Lorenz—he writes often—but Leonie only has to give one stern glare and Cato’s telling them to walk on, that payment is in Fraldarius, not on some frigid highway.

With Bennet, her steed, following the path of the highway, Leonie practically rips the letter in half. Between coy questions of how she does, a reprimand for not writing her sooner, and then a suggestion for her next job, Hilda give hers answer:

Le, hon, it’s not what you wear with the necklace. It’s how you wear it. Let the jewels speak for themselves. And if you want to experiment a little with your feminine side, maybe talk to Bernadetta. She’s a wealth of information and would be happy to help!

And that is all the encouragement Leonie needs.

“Here.”

Lorenz drops a wrapped package by the bench she sits on. She looks up where he stands, blocking the sun’s harsh rays as she squints. 

It’s weeks after the Fraldarius mission and Lorenz’s departure and return from Derdriu. He’s bound for it again in a few days time—more kinks to work out with Sreng and Sylvain before they can even begin to consider trade negotiations. Margrave Gautier is a people-pleasing, flirty daydream of a man, but peace treaties require… Firmer tact and a scrupulous eye and someone who doesn’t chase the skirts of the servants.

“What’s this?” Leonie asks. She wipes the sweat from her brow, barely having caught her breath from trading blows with one of her men.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, the proud noble count he is, blushes a warm shade of red. And not the usual flush she sees in the warm glow of candlelight as they couple; it’s one of embarrassment.

“I realize that my gift to you was… not of the usual fanfare.” He begins, clearing his throat. “I should have realized that you prefer gifts of value and purpose, not substance. That was my error.”

Leonie’s brow knits. “Lor, I love that necklace, I swear I do.” 

“I do not doubt it.” He says softly. “However, I think you will love this gift more.”

She gives him a hard look, her lips pursing.

“Open it.” He insists. “Please, Leonie.”

Leonie sets down the sword and picks up the package. Unlike the necklace, it’s not wrapped with fine papers and silk ribbon. Instead, it’s wrapped in brown paper and knotted with string. Simple, plain, purposeful.

She tugs the string and it all unfurls. Peeling back the paper are a pair of brown leather gloves and her eyes widen. There’s a small detail, an orange button, that clasps the material together.

Her last pair had delaminated and were rendered useless shortly after the first break. And Leonie, now up to her eyes in a new type of debt, really can’t afford to purchase a new pair. 

“I spoke to Commander Burnhilde and he guided me in the right direction.” He says. “They’re from a leather maker south of Sauin.” 

The leather is soft and buttery in her hands. So smooth, she’s never felt anything so lovely. “If they are a little small, I can send them back and request new ones. However, they should give a little with some wear.”

“No. No they’re perfect.” Leonie insists before glancing up at him. “Absolutely perfect.”

“You’re certain? It is no trouble to courier them back.”

“I’m absolutely sure.” She says. “Positive.”

“Then will you have dinner with me tonight?” He asks. “And wear them? I would so like to see how they fit. And if… they bring you joy.”

Leonie smiles, raising a brow. “Is the look on my face not enough?”

Lorenz shakes his head. “Of course it is.” His voice is apologetic. He tenses. “I just… I would like to see you for dinner. With them.”

She gazes at the gift. “Then I guess I better find a nicer blouse.”

She can’t find a nicer blouse, but she does find one without any holes in it.

Which, sure, can qualify as nice. But it would be better if there wasn’t any pulls or the oil stain at the hem. She hides it by tucking it into her pants.

Dinner is wonderful. A plump roast pheasant, served with Noa fruit jelly. There’s fresh bread from Gloucester’s fields, and a fine bottle of berry wine from the vineyards of Edgaria. It dances across her tongue, fulfilling her with the courage she desperately needs for what’s next.

“We’ll take the dessert tray in the bedroom.” Lorenz tells the servant. “Along with a pot of Angelica tea.”

They retreat upstairs and Leonie slips off to the wash closet to prepare herself and Lorenz is more than just a  little astonished, when Leonie emerges wearing nothing but his personal silk robe and the necklace. 

His mouth is agape, he closes it and sits stiffly before the teapot and dessert tray.  

Leonie laughs at how stilted her lover has become. “C’mon, won’t you use that silver tongue of yours and tell me that I look pretty with this very fine necklace?”

He snaps back to attention, his eyes demurely meeting hers. “Pretty fails me. You look absolutely sublime, my darling. You rival the Goddess with your ethereal beauty.”

“Easy Lor,” she crosses the room and smiles through her slight nerves. “Aren’t nobles supposed to be pious and proper?”

He takes her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “I find I’m unable to carry out noble duties before you, Captain Pinelli.” He whispers, his breath hot against her palm. “I’m entranced by you, as per usual.”

She smiles, the necklace shimmering in the warm firelight. “Then show me.”

He pulls her down to him, a smile that makes him look less the part of a nobleman, and more the part of a wolf—

“Gladly.” He purrs, his lips upon her freckled shoulder.

As Lorenz said, the leather is beautiful, very high quality stuff. It’s been well-tanned and treated with care, and feels likelike a second skin against Leonie’s hands.Leonie  slips them on over her cracked hands, remedying to buy more salve when she travels into Edgaria’s town centre next.

Lorenz turns over in bed, the predawn light illuminating his sharp features. She fights a smile as he blindly gropes for her. “Leonie…” He murmurs, his voice hazy with sleep.

“I should get out of your hair before the morning staff come in.” She says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I wanna spare your pristine reputation after all.”

Though nobody really cares about that around here. I mean, the pearl-clutching and looking away is all for show. Leonie thinks. She stretches and sighs and hears him grumble something.

“Didn’t catch that, Lor.” She murmurs as she runs a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“Damn my reputation. As if I care for the sordid thing.” he says a little louder, his voice hoarse with slumber. She smiles a little at the sight of him sleepily turning over in bed, dragging her along the sheets with his hand in hers.

“Lorenz, come on, I should go.” She insists, trying put distance between them despite the desire to remain curled up against him. “I need a bath before my day starts, and then I have training to go to, and got a beauty regimen to get to before more policy work.”

He turns back to face her, his violet eyes taking in her beauty. Even half-awake, unmoisturized and frankly exhausted, Lorenz is absolutely breath-taking. Her heart beats in double-time as she clumsily realizes that she is his, and he is hers, title or not.

That’s… Kinda scary. Leonie thinks as a thrill of excitement knots in her stomach.

Her heart starts thundering when he uses his teeth to take off those new gloves. Her eyes widen as his front teeth graze the fingertips of the leather, one by one, and then swiftly pulls it off. The glove dangles from his teeth, falling into the sheets as he holds her gaze and brings her rough, scarred hand to his lips and kisses the back of her knuckles tenderly.

“Stay.” his voice is muffled against her freckled skin. “Please, my beautiful Sunflower.”

She feels her heart skip a beat at the praise, the plea, the look in his eyes.

And Leonie Pinelli, Blade Breaker II, the woman who never skips her morning workout, finds herself abandoning the search for clothes and crawls back under the sheets with him. 

“Only if you kiss me like that, but on the lips.” She barters.

“Of course, my lady.” He says most reverently. Leaning over her, he takes off the other glove in a similar fashion, his eyes on the plump pendant that rests between her breasts. Lorenz trails his praising lips down her arm, along the soft of her waist, the muscle of her stomach as Leonie lets out a soft laugh, her hands knotted in his hair.

After they both climax and Lorenz calls for a bath to be run for them, Leonie turns back to that damn necklace and those stupid gloves. She stares at the fancy jewels and the new leather as Lorenz begins to murmur about all the passages he must rephrase for Almyra, and then the clauses he must re-examine with his loupe for Sreng.

But all Leonie can think about is being called beautiful, the tense knot it leaves in her belly and what she’d do to be called such a word again. 

Leonie does her damnedest to be natural. 

She can be straight-faced and professional when reviewing the plans to escort a noble couple’s bickering lovers separately from each other. She can be cool-headed and rational when discussing how best to handle something as sensitive as explaining that someone on the job has died. She is completely capable of discretion and understanding when dealing with children on a job.

And when she’s talking about herself? Shoot, Leonie can and will barter the price of her health and safety on a job. The riskier it is, the easier it becomes, the higher the rush, the more fun it ends up being… Usually. 

But this? She shakes like a leaf, her face feels distinctly warm and Leonie thinks that the little old lady enjoying her pot of tea in the corner has some crazy vision and can see through the back on Leonie’s back, right through to the leather and would-be lace.

Goddess Leonie, get a hold of yourself. She thinks tiredly. She leans against the doorway, willing herself to be as natural as she can be. Bernadetta seems to still be busy.

Leonie had ridden in from Edgaria on the way into the heart of Derdriu to lead a caravan for Lady Hilda Goneril—er, Bergliez. 

(Gotta remember that. Bergliez, Bergliez, Bergliez! Leonie thinks tiredly. You’re skipping a few words: Lady Hilda Bergliez of Goneril.)

Anyways, Goneril. Right. Leonie had been commissioned to lead a small contingent of Goneril soldiers after the captain of the Goneril Valkyries had fallen ill while in Derdriu and wouldn’t be able to escort Hilda and her little ones home, and after the recent advice Hilda had imparted to Leonie, well it only seems fair to come running when she calls. Besides, the Goneril coffers are deep and Leonie is still working her way outta that debt, even a decade later. Well, it’s a different debt… To taverns. And bars. And alehouses. Oh also brew houses, watering holes, taprooms, public houses, rathskellers, gentlemen’s clubs and literally anywhere that will pull a half-decent ale that doesn’t taste like piss, puddle water, skunky or a mix of the three. The lesson here, kids, is to always pay for what you drink, lest you wanna be barred. 

Lorenz, bless his heart, had offered to pay it several times over, but to Leonie it’s a matter of principle. Soon enough the debts will be paid. Eventually. Sometime. Hopefully before she’s dead. 

Too bad the mercenary business is beginning to dry up with all this peace and quiet… Well, aside from the assassination attempts. Roundtable members have beefed up security on their leaders after some old Empire loyalists have begun to creep out of the woodwork. Goddess knows, Leonie’s gotten letters from Lorenz signed hastily at the bottom with, Oh and there was another attempt on my life, but have no fear darling—the guard kept me safe as they ought to do!

Fucked up, but I suppose that’s the life of nobles. Leonie thinks and is reminded of how she’s signed letters in a similar way. Sitting around in their fancy castles, avoiding arrows and black magic doin’ little else.

Bernadetta crashes through Leonie’s thoughts of Lorenz and Rosedale and the Roundtable and escorting Hilda’s caravan with her three young ones. The lilac-haired, grey-eyed innkeeper hurries so fast out of the kitchen door that Leonie thinks it’s gonna hit her with the swing backwards. On her bended elbow, she carries an earthenware dish of Grilled Albinean Herring and an order of Fish and Bean Soup. Leonie’s stomach growls with hunger as she watches Bernadetta hurry over to the waiting customers. Her trembling voice fills the dining room:

“I-If you need anything else, Maya will take care of you!” 

In the blink of an eye, Bernadetta has offloaded the dishes, is wiping her hands on the yellow apron that contrasts her soft purple dress oh-so nicely and is dashing towards Leonie with open arms. A smile spreads across her face as she throws her arms around Leonie’s neck and sighs.

“I-I’m so sorry for the wait…” She says. “We had a rush of customers, I don’t know where they all came from!” She says as her hand worms its way to loop around Leonie’s elbow and pulls her back into the grand hallway of the new Kirsten Inn. It looks better than the last time Leonie saw it—worn in, more loved, homier.

“It’s fine Bern. No rush.” Leonie assures her little friend.

“What did you want to talk about?” Bernadetta asks. “I figured that you’d be out on a job! Raphael said he saw your banners pass by the other day while in town.”

“I’m on the way to do a job for Hilda and her ankle-biters. Escort work to Derdriu. I sent my men on ahead.” Leonie replies. “I figured I’d stop in and say hi.”

Bernadetta’s face brightens. “H-How nice! Please give her my regards when you see her! A-And Caspar too, of course, if he’s there…” She says. “Oh, come upstairs, we can sit for a little bit in my Boudoir.” She glances over her shoulder and nods to Maya, who has emerged from the kitchen. The young Kirsten lady looks hale with her thick, straw-blonde hair pulled back into a poofy ponytail. Maya lifts her hand in a massive wave towards the ladies before carrying a carafe of tea out to the sole diner. “I think Maya can handle the place for a bit, and Raphael should be coming back in from chopping firewood soon. They’ll hold down the fort.”

Leonie laughs. “This place is sounding more and more like our old war days.” Leonie laughs and follows Bernadetta’s excited steps up the grand staircase. 

The new Kirsten Inn—located in Derdriu—is a fine place. Leonie and Lorenz has been invited as guests to come and celebrate the opening of Bernadetta and Raphael’s shared dream, and they had… Just at separate times.

Lorenz’s schedule is currently at the mercy of leading both Riegan Duchy and Gloucester County which includes Roundtable visits, meetings, schmoozing and lots and lots of paperwork. Leonie’s work takes her everywhere. Less than two weeks ago, she was in the former states of Belinus, routing out bandits from some holy sites after traipsing around Fraldarius dealing with monsters for Felix.

It seems nowadays Leonie and Lorenz are always just missing each other. 

Except that Leonie knows that Lorenz is set to remain in Edgaria prior to the signing of the Sreng-Fódlan peace treaty and trade agreement with Almyra. Apparently a backlog of Gloucester administrative papers and Riegan affairs must be undertaken before he may enjoy “the fruits of his labour” and “a much deserved rest at the height of his storied political career”.

(Leonie usually shuts him up with a kiss at this point, but he’s not around and his stupid way of talking has grown on her like moss on a rock.)

Leonie stares at the repurposed wagon wheel chandelier and follows Bernadetta’s hurrying form up two flights of stairs to the staff quarters. Four rooms, including a wash closet, are on the private floor, shrouded away from their guests: Raphael and Bernadetta’s room, two guest rooms, and a sewing room, known to a select few as Bernadetta’s Boudoir. On the outside, it’s simply known as the Kirsten Atelier.

Bernadetta pushes the door open and then shuts it with her hip. She beckons Leonie to take a seat on the work chair—Bernadetta takes the little stool before remembering that she has cookies in the cupboard and fluttering to it, pulling out a metal tin of all-butter shortbreads that a particularly-dazzled customer gifted her. 

Leonie allows her friend a few peaceful moments of chatter: discussion of the roads, talk of the Derdriu courts, Leonie’s latest travels to and fro and Bernadetta’s newest crafts project: a stack of small squares, in preparation to be sewn into a larger blanket.

Leonie watches her work at it—Bernadetta works constantly—and knows better than to ask. I think I already know what’s going on, but I’ll let her tell me when she’s ready. Leonie thinks. Though, it could be the fact that I’m about to be called “Auntie Leonie” nonstop for the next few days by Hilda’s rugrats.

“I actually have a request for you.” Leonie says at last.

Bernadetta stops her knitting. Her eyes flicker for a second. She swallows nervously, her eyes wide. 

“Lorenz said he bought a custom suit from you a while ago.”

Bernadetta’s face begins to colour. She nods and waits for Leonie to continue.

“I was hoping to commission one for myself.”

“R-Really?”

“Yep. Your craftsmanship was something to behold, Bern.” Leonie says before quietly admitting, “I think I’d like something like that for myself. You know, be pretty and frilly and all that stuff…” She garners all her courage and meets Bernadetta’s wide eyes and says, “I wanna feel pretty, and y’know, look it for once.”

“Oh. Oh Goddess…” Bernadetta breathes. She’s suddenly on her feet, face bright red and pacing the room. 

“I mean, can I commission you?” Leonie asks, now worried that she’s offended sensitive Bernadetta. “Or would that be too weird?”

“N-No! No, I mean, no. N-No I mean, it’s not weird, it’s totally fine!” Bernadetta insists readily. She just looks at Leonie, her eyes flickering from her face and then, very obviously, to her ample cleavage. “You’re, um, just the last person I thought who would, ah, want something like this..”

Leonie’s brow knits and she sits a little taller. “Should I be offended? It feels like I should be offended.” Being called tomboyish and masculine is something she’s used to, but doesn’t… Well, quite enjoy. She’s numb to it now, of course: being a mercenary will do that to a girl, but hearing it from Bernadetta stings a little. 

But that’s why I came here. Leonie thinks. To get all dolled up and look and feel cute. That’s the goal, Pinelli! Don’t back out now, when you’re almost at the finish line!

Bernadetta shakes her head quickly, eyes wide. “No!” Bernadetta insists breathlessly. She hurries back to her seat and takes her friend’s hands. “I would be o-overjoyed to do this for you… It’s just… Um…” She looks sheepishly into her lap. “Is Lorenz paying for this?”

“Nope.” Leonie says proudly. “Pretty boy doesn’t know that I’m even here.”

Bernadetta’s eyes go wide. “Is this a surprise?”

“Bang on. A little treat.” Leonie says conspiratorially. “Poor guy’s wound up tighter than a ball of yarn over some business between Fódlan and Almyra. I figured that he needed a distraction, stress relief, really. What better than dressing myself up in a bow and presenting myself to him?”

Bernadetta turns crimson, as if the thought had never occurred to her. “I-I don’t need, ah, the details, Leonie.” She stammers, quickly looking away.

Shit, right. Professional conduct, Pinelli! You’re a customer and a seller, not friends right now. Leonie reminds herself. She then pulls the bag off her back. “I even brought supplies! I know your work ain’t cheap, and I’m not looking for a discount, but I found some pieces that might be able to be worked in… If, you know, you can salvage them.”

”Y-You are the sorta person who hates to waste things.” Bernadetta muses.

She watches as Leonie pulls up the flap of the bag: she hefts out a large piece of jagged, worn leather that she purchased from a merchant on her travels. The second Leonie touched it and felt the buttery-soft texture, the ideas started churning. She lays it out and Bernadetta is touching it, admiring it’s smoothness, the gears in her head already turning. There’s also some vibrant orange fabric that Lorenz thought was most comely and gifted to Leonie, thinking that she could do something fine with it; oh and extra thread, never can have too much of that. Bernadetta surveys the materials thoughtfully, touching them, testing them and roving her eyes over them with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Think you can do anything with them?”

Bernadetta’s eyes flash with determination. “I can try.” 

Leonie feels herself grin.

“But first, I need your measurements.” Bernadetta insists. Despite her short size, she almost pulls Leonie off her feet and dives into a nearby drawer for her faithful measuring tape, snaking it around her neck. She buzzes around Leonie, sliding the tape around her hips, her waist, her bust, then taking the length of her torso. Between each careful measurement, from tail to tip, she scratches down numbers and ideas on a nearby notebook. 

“D-Do you have a shape or style in mind?” Bernadetta asks as she encircles Leonie for the fourth time. Visions of what she could look like must dance through Bernadetta’s mind.

Oh, I guess I should’ve come with an idea. Leonie thinks. “Not really.”

Bernadetta’s eyes glitter with excitement. “C-Can I go wild?”

Leonie almost laughs, but then remembers that she’s around Bernadetta. Leonie settles on an encouraging smile and instead nods proudly. “Dress me as you see fit, Bern!”

Bernadetta begins murmuring ideas under her breath.. “Maybe a basque, corset for her? Ooh, maybe a babydoll, chemise, play against type… What about garter belts with a bustier or a negligee…”

Bernadetta stares at her notes intently, tapping her little pencil to an imaginary beat inside her head. Leonie feels her face heat as she glimpses the notes: rack on display, is the first to catch her eye, emboldened with underlines.

A glimpse down at her—well, rack—and she gets it. She does have a killer set of boobs, as a few former lovers have mentioned before. In fact, one even said it was the thing she’d miss most about Leonie. Lorenz’s father, in what Leonie supposes is a well-meaning way—has even made a comment about her… Very comely feminine physique, tall and strong like a good country girl.

(Leonie returned the compliment by making Lorenz cry out that good country name all night. The older Gloucesters moved out to Camellia Manor in Derdriu shortly after that) 

“Lots to think about?” Leonie teases Bernadetta as she stares intently at her paper.

“I mean…” Bernadetta gulps and turns red. “You’re… Uh… Kinda… Oh Goddess… You’regorgeousLeonie!”

Leonie can’t fight the laugh in her throat. She concedes to it and smiles at her little friend. “You’re not so bad yourself, Bern.”

“I-I mean, your proportions are perfect. An hourglass figure, tall and with a perfect amount of muscle… You’re like the perfect canvas for a designer.” Bernadetta says. “I… I have to confess, Lorenz is a lot of fun to design for, but I was waiting for the day he’d bring you in.”

That charms Leonie a little. Maybe an idea for down the line. She thinks, then fantasizes briefly, about a wedding anniversary in the future.

First he’ll have to propose. Leonie stops herself from laughing at the thoughts of what that would look like. Suddenly her mind is filled with visions of rose petals and handwritten sonnet and bottles of wine and a ring that makes her debt to Sauin and unpaid bar tabs look like nothing.

“Did I catch ya off guard by bringing myself in?”

“In the best way!” Bernadetta exclaims, then hums happily—it’s adorable and bewildering to see her get excited about making lingerie for her friends. “Sunflowers, oh my goddess, I have to embroider sunflowers on it… Wait, what’s your price range?”

Telling Bernadetta that her price range is somewhere between flies flying out of her pocketbook and reserving her next paycheque to pay for fucking lingerie over her unpaid tavern tabs feels like clipping a bird’s wings. Bernadetta is soaring so high now, cutting down her hopes with a price tag is cruel.

“Uh, well, don’t go wild, but don’t be too frugal. Make it cute, yeah?” Leonie pauses. “Or sexy, I guess.”

Bernadetta snorts with delight. “With you? That won’t be hard.” 

Leonie and her crew escorts Hilda and her children from Derdriu, along the well-traversed Leicester highways to Kent, Goneril’s capital. Leonie’s work is leading the way so that the Valkyries can protect the Goneril caravan from the skies above, while half of her crew clears the road ahead and the other half follows the carriage, weapons at the ready. When they break to let the horses and wyverns rest, Leonie is practically tripping over Hilda and Caspar’s baby blue and blush pink kids, asking her all about their parents and their service, all about her, all about her horse. 

It only takes two days. There’s no attempts made on Lady Goneril or her children, and if there was one, suffice it to say between Leonie and Hilda, there would be nothing to worry about. 

Hilda insists that Leonie rest at Marganus, the seat of the Gonerils for a while and with no work, Leonie is inclined to. Her band, as they always do, divide up and search for solo work, with Cato being the one to round them all back up again if there’s another big job. It makes no sense for all of them to be idle, despite the Gonerils’ kindness and hospitality.

Marganus is a draughty old castle, built right into the mountains and Leonie can’t lie, sleeping in a real bed is something she will never, ever take for granted again. But after almost seven days with the rugrats and Hilda, Leonie’s ready to move on.

As Hilda mentions with a bat of her lashes and a sigh that “Dear Leonie’ll have to head home soon. Kinda sad, she hasn’t been here too long, and she’s always on the move…” A rather astute servant catches his idle lady’s meaning and quickly begins preparations for Leonie’s faithful white stallion, Bennet, on the ride back.

Well I guess I’m headed back to Edgaria. No other work right now. Leonie hums as she sits in Hilda’s dressing room. Hilda sits at her dressing table, checking her already-perfectly painted face and her eyes catch Leonie’s in the mirror.

”You know, I could use a personal guard for a bit.” Hilda suggests as she peruses her expansive collection of makeup, organized perfectly across the surface of her vanity. “Just until Caspar and my brother return. Leaving me all alone and defenceless would be a cruel thing for such an old friend to do, Leonie.” 

“I’ll have to pass.” Leonie says as she gets up and walks towards the window that overlooks the mountains, facing Almyra. “You know me, I’m not the type to be holed up in one place for too long.”

”Wild as the wind, even after all these years.” Hilda sighs. She rests her cheek on her hand and gazes at Leonie, the wand for her mascara in her hand. “How do you find the energy?”

”For starters, I eat well and get my rest when I can.” Leonie says pointedly, before leaning into Hilda’s cheek. She catches their reflections in the mirror: one looks like a lady in waiting, the other like a rogue from some sort of fantasy. “And I don’t have three little ones pulling me in every direction at all hours of the day. I’m sure it takes a toll on you.”

Hilda smiles. “In the best ways, I assure you.”

There’s another knock on the door and this time a servant enters with Hilda’s consent. Dressed in the tell-tale pink and blacks of Goneril, she carries a letter on a silver tray. ”Captain Pinelli, mail for you.”

Hilda’s brow raises in a curious arch. She turns her gaze to the servant. “Thank you, Kimi. You’re dismissed.”

The servant leaves as Hilda turns over the letter and recognizes the writing. Bernadetta already? She thinks, certain that there is always a longer wait time between putting in an order and actually getting the… er, product.

That or Lorenz just squirrels it away and hides it without my noticing. Leonie thinks. She pops the seal—a delicate wax image of a venus fly trap—and reads Bernadetta’s fine handwriting.

29th of the Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1189
Kirsten Inn, Derdriu, Riegan Duchy

To my delightful buzzing hornet Leonie—

I hope your journey has been good and that Hilda has been kind to you so far! Please give her my regards and lots of hugs to the littles! I’m making them all matching sweaters for the new year!

But that’s not why I’m writing: your order is complete! Please come back to the inn for final touch ups and payment. I’m so excited for you to see your new linger battle armour.

Love and hugs,

Bernie-Bear.

Hilda wears a smug smile from the moment she sees the wax seal. “Stopping by the Kirsten Inn?” She enquires.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Leonie shoots back with a smirk.

Leonie is certain that Hilda also frequents Bernadetta’s Boudoir. How could she not? Now that I think about it, Hilda and Bern should go into business together! Leonie thinks. They’d make a killing at it! Bern makes the lingerie, Hilda makes the accessories…

“Well, if you are going by the Kirsten Inn, could you do me a solid?” Hilda purrs as her fingers dance across the menagerie of makeup. “Last time I saw Bernie, she said she was looking for a specific shade of lipstick… Mmm, I think it was coral.” She plucks a jewelled tube of lipstick up and shows it to Leonie. “Yes, that’s just the right shade Bernie asked for! Could you carry this to her for me, since you’re going to Derdriu, of course. I’d go myself but I can’t go back out there after just coming back…”

There’s a glint in Hilda’s eyes as she says this. It ain’t for Bern. Leonie thinks, not as dense as she once was. 

“Of course.” Leonie says and picks up the lipstick. 

“Aw, thanks Leonie. You know, I’d wait to send Caspar—he loves to hang with Bernie and Raph, but he isn’t back from Bergliez yet.. Family business again, his brother keeps him on the move too much for my liking.” Hilda sighs, absentmindedly twisting a lock of her pink hair around her index finger. “And I miss him so much. I don’t think I’d be able to part with him again so soon.” 

Leonie pushes out the frankly vivid images of Caspar and Hilda fucking. Goddess knows she heard—and on occasion, saw—enough of it during the war: on the battlefield, off the battlefield, in the infirmary, the sauna, the training grounds, Hilda’s dorm which was on another level than Leonie’s room…

”I’d pay you too for the trouble?” Hilda offers.

Leonie raises her palm, her thumb clasping the tube against it. “It’s on the house. Just this once.” 

Hilda winks conspiratorially.

“But next time,” Leonie says, leaning close to Hilda, “I’d be less forgetful, Lady Goneril.” She pauses. “I mean, Lady Bergliez.”

Hilda agrees wholeheartedly with a coy wink. “Oh of course, silly me!” 

Raphael is first to greet Leonie. They meet at the gates of the inn where he sees Bennet through the early morning fog. They razz each other back and forth and Raphael’s spirits are higher than ever: he bear-hugs Leonie, he asks about Hilda when he finds out where Leonie’s coming from, and then asks all about Lorenz and House Gloucester after that. Leonie asks about the inn, about the spring menu that Raphael’s dutifully working on, his training regimen—you look even more ripped than the war, man, how do you do it?—and then takes Bennet to the barn while Leonie goes inside.

Bernadetta is helping a family of four check out of the inn, ensuring they have all their belongings—and when the youngest cries out that her beloved teddy is missing, Bernadetta is running up the stairs to retrieve it from their rooms. She returns with it a second later, quelling the child’s cries and even saying, “Don’t be embarrassed, I’m exactly the same way when I’m without my stuffies.”

Leonie smiles at that with a glow of friendly pride. She’s come into her own so much… Damn, I’m so proud of her.

Bernadetta stands up and waves goodbye to her guests. When she finally looks at Leonie, her smile is accompanied by a crimson blush.

Wordlessly, Leonie follows Bernadetta up to the Boudoir. Bernadetta shuts the door and then goes to the closet, pulls down a hatbox and produces the garment from a wad of tissue paper.

Apart of Leonie wilts—no, screams—when she sees the finished product. 

It’s… well, suffice it to say that Bernadetta is a mastermind with a needle, thread and whatever scrappy pieces Leonie brought her. Bernadetta wears an expression of nervous excitement as Leonie picks up the garments. 

“It’s a lot, I know!” Bernadetta explains, holding her palms before her as if to calm a rearing horse. She draws a nervous breath as Leonie holds the first piece. “I… I thought this would look best on you. It’s simple, I know, but… I just thought, why over-complicate it?”

Bernadetta devolves into mentioning Lorenz and how much fun he is to dress, with his love of artisan lace and embroidered roses and delicate finery. She talks about how she almost made her something called a teddy—nothing like the stuffie, of course, she trills nervously—but opted for the garterbelts, and insists that she’ll throw in a pair of stockings on the house.

“T-The number one rule of lingerie is that it should make you feel good!” She proclaims before going on a quick diatribe about it being her duty to make Leonie look and feel good. “You can try it on and I can make any adjustments if you need it! A-And if you hate it, that’s fine too!”

Leonie holds up the lingerie and finally looks at it in the early morning light. It’s three pieces: a brassiere, underwear that will show more cheek than her usual boy briefs and a garterbelt. Somehow, some way, Bernadetta managed to incorporate both the leather and cloth in all the garments. Leather lines the band of the brassiere, the waistband of the underwear and forms the straps for the belts of the garter. The cups on the brassiere use the orange fabric and even have teeny tiny sunflowers embroidered along the back of the band. There’s a criss-cross, using the leather, above the cups and along the back. It’s not too revealing, but Leonie imagines that when she tries it on it will definitely emphasize her rack. The underwear are cut in a low V, with a slight frill along the sides, and the garterbelt—which Leonie has no clue on how to wear—is made of simple orange lace.

Bernadetta notices Leonie’s scrutinizing gaze on the frills. “I-I can cut those off!” She insists, then murmurs, “They don’t go at all… Stupid Bernie…”

“Oh no you won’t.” Leonie says. She clicks off her single pauldron and shoves it off as Bernadetta turns crimson and squeaks loudly. “How many adjustments before you start charging?”

“T-Three!” Bernadetta replies, suddenly hiding her face in her hand as Leonie begins to strip down. Leonie throws off her cuirass, her shirt, her undershirt and gloves before kicking off her pants and then realizes, “Dude how in blazes do I wear this? If I’m at dinner and need to pee, like do I take off the garterbelt and then my underwear and lift my skirt up or…”

Bernadetta squeaks, bright red with embarrassment as Leonie looks more confused than ever at the lingerie.

”You, um, can uh, just wear it…” Her voice grows higher as Leonie begins to pull off her socks. “W-Wear the be-belt under your underwear! Aah!”

Bernadetta is a blushing mess but pulls herself together to help Leonie with the straps. She gawks at Leonie for a minute before she snaps back to the role of a moonlighting modiste and reaches for the leather ties on her back, which secure her bra, and tries them up at the top of her neck.

Leonie glances at herself in the large mirror, probably used to the sight of women in gowns or men in finely-tailored suits. Just like in Bernadetta’s notes, the goods are, well, on display.

Holy Seiros. She thinks. I look hot.

“D-Do you like it?”

“Bern, I love it.” Leonie replies breathlessly.

“R-Really?” Bernadetta gasps, “You aren’t just saying that, ri-right?”

“I would never lie to you, Bernadetta.” Leonie turns and takes a peek at her ass—as suspected, the underwear show off more than a little bit of cheek—and blinks twice, feeling her cheeks grow distinctly warm. “Sothis’s fist, this is amazing.”

“Leonie!” Bernadetta winces, “Language…”

Ah, forgot the raised by the minister of religion bit. Gotta love the religious guilt of Adrestia. Leonie thinks. She turns back to Bernadetta. “It’s perfect. Don’t change a thing about it.”

Bernadetta’s eyes glitter when Leonie says that. She flies into Leonie’s arms with delight and the two embrace before Bernadetta quickly insists a strap is way too loose—borderline dangerous for the bedroom really—and sets about fixing it. She changes the ties on her back to a snap button, much easier to do herself, and sews a bow over the top for good measure.

It’s another ten minutes before Leonie is getting back into her clothes and feeling around for the change in her pocket. She tries not to wince too loudly when Bernadetta tells her it’s four hundred gold marks for the entire thing, including the discounts from bringing her own materials and being a good friend—which Bernadetta accepts no refusal for. Leonie hands over the majority of her pocketbook, left with barely enough to cover a half-decent inn room for the night on the way back to Edgaria.

Well at least it’ll pay for the mortgage on this place. Leonie thinks as Bernadetta gratefully takes the clinking sachet of coin. Leonie rationalizes against the bitter feeling that spending a whole paycheque on an outfit she’ll only wear once—scratch that, Leonie will wear it until it’s falling to pieces and threadbare and Lorenz rolls his eyes when he sees the orange embroidery and the sunflowers Bernadetta painstakingly made.

Leonie smirks as she thinks of the expression on his face when he sees it. 

Maybe the price tag’ll be worth it in the end.

Rosedale, the seat of the Gloucesters, became Leonie’s home roughly five years ago, following the end of the war. She lived off of Bennet’s back for a year, slept under the stars more often than not and by that winter, was promptly done with that hand-to-mouth life. Five years of merc-work in the war, and a year running here, there and everywhere in the post-war chaos wore out it’s charm pretty quick.

Sauin wasn’t exactly an option to be Leonie’s home base: it’s too far out of the way, nestled in the vast Gloucester woods and removed from society and good paying work. If it was, Leonie would’ve been there in a flash, but with the Pinelli Farmhouse packed to the gills and so out of the way, she spent most of her days camping with her mercenary group members.

Besides, the lack of place to return to is what Leonie thinks earned her the name Blade Breaker II; a constant need to move and to do a damn-good job will do that to a mercenary.

So when Lorenz wrote with a security job in Edgaria lasting a week, Leonie went running. It was some hunting retreat that the Gloucesters were prevailed upon to host and garner good favour from. Lorenz, only recently having assumed the role of Count Gloucester, needed someone to do security, and who better to do that than Leonie?

Hearing that she was essentially, er, homeless, Lorenz insisted that whenever she was without work that illustrious doors to Rosedale would be open to her. His father wasn’t exactly happy when he first met her but if there’s anything to be said for exposure therapy is that under specific circumstances it works… Especially when one party is a rather exceptional individual and quite stubborn.

It only took a few months of crashing at Rosedale for Lorenz to finally request the honour and privilege to properly court her. 

The steward, whom she has to remind that “just Leonie” is fine, tells her that Lorenz is scheduled to return from Roundtable business. Not an uncommon circumstance, especially now as the de-facto head of the Alliance. Claude’s border-hopping routine got old pretty quick and instead of establishing a new head of House Riegan, Claude had floated the idea of making Lorenz the interim leader until further notice. Lorenz’s restoration of Gloucester County to a new prime and his reform work across Fódlan from negotiating border treatises within the old territories of Adrestia, helping to recognize Brigid as Fódlan’s equal to improving agriculture practices in Faerghus made him quite the figure in the political world.

Besides, Lorenz’s old money, high class ways appeal to the people of Riegan, and pleasing the people seems to be Claude—and Byleth’s—desire.

While Leonie had been contracted for the Goneril mission, Lorenz had been leaving for Derdriu to attend a Roundtable meeting and reunite with Claude, who had returned from Almyra for business. The back and forth between Edgaria and Derdriu is… a lot, to say the least, but just knowing that Lorenz is home makes hallowed old Rosedale that much warmer.

“His excellency is in his study completing some work, he asked not to be bothered.” The steward tells Leonie as she shucks off her new leather gloves.

“Good to know. I’ll let him finish up.” Leonie says. In the meantime she sets about cleaning her boots, takes a bath and prepares to meet him for dinner. She even slips on the lingerie beneath her tunic and trousers, hearing Bernadetta’s voice in her ears: “It’s meant to be worn for longer than a half hour, after all.”

That is, if Lorenz would show up. Leonie waits for a good twenty minutes before taking her plate from the rather depressing long table in the dining room and settles in the kitchen with the staff as her company. She leads them in a rousing, bawdy song, walks through the rose garden during nightfall as a pre-bedtime easer before finally retiring to their bed chamber. 

She feels the ozone in the air thicken as she enters the darkened room. It begins to grow very, very hot. Agnea’s Arrow.

“Just me, Lor.” She calls out into the darkness.

Lorenz heaves a sigh and collapses into the many pillows of the four poster bed. Having grown used to… Well, being blunt, the assassination attempts Lorenz has experienced since overtaking the title of Riegan and Gloucester have increased. Some people still have negative opinions of the Gloucesters, mostly old Empire loyalists who aren’t too happy with the state of Fódlan. Though Leonie can’t lie, it’s hard to not feel… upset. She can understand why some people—especially the poor and villagers with little prospects—witness Count Gloucester gain another territory. 

“You know, you’d think a woman creeping into your bed would be a welcome surprise.” Leonie jokes.

He shakes his head and laughs softly as she rests a knee on the incredibly plush bed. It dips with her added weight. Oh yeah, I’ve missed this. She thinks, smelling his rose-scented soap and feels his lips, just barely missing hers. She meets his with a teasing little smile. I missed this even more. 

“I did not realize you were home. Please forgive me. I’ve spent the better part of the last day rereading policy documents for the trade negotiations with Almyra.” He breathes.

I can only imagine how boring that shit is. Leonie thinks. “Come here, hon.” She beckons and Lorenz eases against her with a deep sigh. His eyes flutter shut as he curls against her warm form, capturing her hand in his and placing reverent kisses along her freckled knuckles.

“How was the latest contract? How is Hilda?”

“Good. And good. She sends her love. She wants to see you for tea and a mani soon.”

“Very well.” Lorenz nods. “And you? No new scars, I hope?”

“Nope, and no exciting stories.” Leonie lies. I’ll save the surprise for tomorrow night. Poor guy’s too tired for anything. I just hope the lace doesn’t leave an itchy imprint on my ass.

And besides, Leonie herself is rather tired too. Travelling will do that to a person, even a seasoned camper like herself. She presses a kiss to his brow and curls against him before falling into a welcome, dreamless sleep.

Leonie fletches new bows, makes some soap out of cooking oil scraps to donate to a church in town, helps the kitchen staff peel potatoes—and teaches them another bawdy sing-along—and even hunts down some dinner in the span of a day.

Lorenz, however, remains chained to his desk.

Leonie observes as more and more documents arrive, carried up to his study by the family steward. It’s countless—probably more revisions from Almyra and Sreng—and not for the first time, Leonie’s glad that she isn’t in politics.

Though, she does regret not having the big impact that Lorenz does. Hers is more… Well, isolated. Sure, she’s had the one or two Jeralt moments with a few other kids in the villages and towns she passes through—teaching them some basics with a lance and feeling an unmatchable sense of pride when they smile up at her and call her Captain Leonie—but in truth, the peacefulness between the states is putting a damper on her business. Sure, she’s a renowned mercenary—not just anyone is called the Blade Breaker II—but the gigs she takes are becoming sparser and sparser.

Besides, politics aren’t all that bad. A few times she’s followed Lorenz to Derdriu and watched Roundtable meetings—particularly where they yell and bicker and threaten each other and throw around old-age insults that make the others gasp. Aside from the formality of it all, Leonie’s found it somewhat amusing. But what’s more catching is when Lorenz—well, it’s not exactly romantic—asks her to read the policies that still follow him, long after the time when he’s eyes have grown tired from reading. A trade occurs then: Leonie reads those horrible documents and Lorenz rubs her feet and hms and hahs over her words. Most of the time, Leonie interrupts with her own commentary—bollocks, this is bullshit, Lor—with her own perspective that hadn’t yet been considered. Together they find a compromise, and make the other see what they cannot.

(Hey, he’s getting better but sometimes he still needs to be cracked over the head with the reality stick.)

So when Leonie misses him at lunch and dinner, she decides he needs a break. Or more aptly a distraction.

In one of the many dressing rooms of Rosedale, Leonie dons the lingerie like battle armour. It’s reassurance, because deep down she knows that Lorenz, even when presented with… well, the goods on display, may still cite his unending devotion and duty to the people over… earthly delights of the skin. 

Leonie snaps on the brassiere, admires the sunflower embroidery that must have taken a long time for Bernadetta to do. She smirks thinking of little Bernie hurriedly making it under watchful candlelight. Her fingers run over the buttery leather straps across her sternum. Damn, this is a real confidence booster, she thinks as she looks at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She makes sure to put on the garter before the underwear and snaps the clips onto a pair of black stockings that Bernadetta gave her. For a moment, Leonie is glad that the sole pair of heels she owns—kitten tall, black and barely over 2 inches—go with the outfit. 

The finishing touch is the coral lipstick that Hilda gave her. Mind reader, Leonie accuses as she swipes it on and admires how the shade matches the orange of her hair which she leaves down and compliments her countless freckles. Briefly00but only for a moment—Leonie thinks about filling in the notch on her brow, a scar she got during the five years’ lull of the war. It looks out of place within such a put-together outfit: the brassiere, garters, stockings, underwear and even the little heels scream elegance and finery during orgasm, while Leonie’s freckles and scars say more roll in the hay before the foreman returns.

But she pushes away the idea to cover up the notch—after all, it makes her all that more unique! She wastes no time in riding that high in donning Lorenz’s embroidered silk robe and walking past the surprised guard posted at the door of the study. She gives a coy salute, saying, “At ease.” And dismisses them.

Probably not a good idea in case there’s a surprise attack or another attempt, but I imagine seeing Count Gloucester and Captain Pinelli going at it like rabbits would be more shocking. Leonie thinks then glances down. Maybe I can get Bernadetta to outfit the garter with a support for a real knife. Mm, that would be hot. The last sight of the assassin sent to put a hit on Count Gloucester is his hot girlfriend flinging a short blade between their eyes as he’s halfway to busting one.

She smirks at the thought. Leonie knocks twice, hears the tired huff and then a dim, “Enter.”

She opens the door, shuts it quietly and watches his expression change from plain old tiredness to tired delight. “Ah, hello Leonie. Is something the matter?”

Leonie glances around the study, taking in the book-covered walls and fine gilded ornaments. She doesn’t often visit Lorenz’s study this late, because usually he’s not there. The Sreng-Almyra-Fódlan peace treaties necessitate the late night visit. The study houses dark violet upholstered furniture, silver teapots, massive portraits and things that cost so much more than anything she’s ever owned.

(Suddenly, the pricey lingerie is a bargain.)

“Nothing. Just came to say hi.” She says as he peers—and finally notices—the coral shade of lipstick and her hair left down. His lips part and Leonie, never one to be shown up, undoes the sash of her robe just as she approaches the desk. It’s enough to see the brassiere, or more aptly, the cleavage. 

Lorenz glances up to her as she leans against the desk. Lorenz tears his eyes away from the documents that have so taken up his attention. His violet gaze traces along the muscles and curves of her body, his high-set cheeks turning a distinct shade of red before he meets her gaze. Suddenly, all of her reservations about such a frivolous purchase leave her.

Lorenz clears his throat and lowers his quill. 

“I… I hazard a guest that you have visited Mrs Kirsten?”

Leonie nods. “Mmhm. Between gigs. After your latest outfit, I decided I wanted something for myself, she’s a legend with that needle and thread.”

His eyes flicker down her body. He nods. “Indeed, she is.”

“A little tongue-tied there, eh Lorenz?” For good measure, she draws back one side of the robe behind her as she rests a hand on her hip. 

“Forgive me.” He says, composing himself. In the blink of an eye, his gaze turns harder, more searing. “Indeed, Bernadetta is a fine seamstress, but I find the person wearing the clothes more fetching than the clothes themselves.” 

She bites her lip. He reaches for her hand, takes it in his and kisses her knuckles quite reverently. 

“Charmer.” Leonie accuses him as he turns her arm over and kisses her palm, then up her wrist. With a swift pull, Leonie is off the desk and into his lap. A delighted gasp escapes her lips as his lips meet hers with a little more tongue than she expected.

His lips crest along her neck, his voice warm against the shell of her ear. “What, pray tell, do you suggest we do, my darling?”

Leonie’s heart beats in double time. She feels the outline of his hardening cock press against her thigh as she sits like a proper lady should. Leonie even crosses her ankles to make a point.

“Well, it all depends.” She says, poking him playfully in the chest. “I think you need to blow off some steam, a distraction, really. You’ve been spending too much time looking at papers, and I’d be more than happy be the… oh how would you describe it?” She asks, running a hand through his hair, teasingly before humming. “Ah, I know: the object of your most keen interest and desires.”

His lips curve into a delighted smile. “How thoughtful of you to be so kind.”

“I am a generous person, after all. Like some sort of folk hero.”

”The bards will sing of your gallant actions, my love.”

She feels her breath hitch. He leans in to kiss her cheek, Leonie’s lips dart to his ear, skimming past his lips. “But I do have a request before we begin.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to fuck me against this desk.” She tells him. “Have some good flashbacks when you’re chained to this thing for the next couple-a weeks.”

He grimaces at the mention of the future: more debates, more consultations at the Roundtable, more travel… Leonie doesn’t like the idea much either, but hey, getting railed against a desk—specifically the one that has Lorenz curses when they get a moment together—is more than titillating to Leonie. The heady desire, the lack of care… It’s like an aphrodisiac of the strongest variety. 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” She dares him.

“Do not be mistaken, I have thought about taking you against this many a-time.” Lorenz warns her in a low voice. A thrill goes down her spine when he shifts from the dork with a terrible haircut and a pompous attitude to Count Gloucester, holding his own at the Roundtable as lord and master of both Riegan and Gloucester. “I just regret that it’s taken this long for the idea to be realized.”

Good things come to those who wait.

Leonie smiles and kisses him hard: her kiss is searing, exploratory and steals his breath away. She moves her lips to his ear.

“And when you fuck me, dearest,” Leonie whispers in his ear, and grinds against his crotch, “I want you to tell me how pretty I am. Use that big old vocabulary of yours and silver tongue to make me feel good, yeah?”

“That,” Lorenz replies. “Is something I would be most happy to do, my beloved.”

His cool hand moves up her thigh, grazing past the leather straps of the garters, along the netting of the stockings. His lithe fingers slide back to play with the garters, pulls one back and lets it softly snap back against her skin. Leonie feels her breath hitch softly. She feels her blood sing with his touch. Slow down, slow. Enjoy this, she thinks, not knowing when he’ll be slogging back out to Derdriu yet again and she’ll be running out to Goddess-knows where for her next paycheque.

His hand squeezes her thigh, where the garter straps sit prettily. “Beautiful Leonie.” He whispers. “How gorgeous, like a blooming sunflower.”

Okay, floral comparisons… I’m not above it. Leonie thinks with a smile. Briefly, she thinks about how if he had’ve compared her to a sunflower when they were students, she probably would have laughed in his face and then cuffed him before asking if he was in cahoots with Sylvain.

But now? It makes her hold back her breath hitching. Being compared to a flower is sappy and saccharine and overdone and exactly what she wants to hear. His hand traces up her torso, along the hard abs of her belly and gropes her breasts. His lips press a gentle kiss along the swell of her tits.

Leonie presses her thighs together, warding off his hand and intensifying the growing throbbing sensation between her legs. It lingers to the plush of her belly, his touch gentle and exploratory, teasing, even. Lorenz presses his lips to her neck, leaving less than prudent love bites along her freckled skin. Leonie will wear them as proudly as she wears her war badges and scars.

“Long have I adored you my sweet. My heart is not a fickle thing, but I always feel it grow fainter when you are near.” He tells her warmly. “One of these days, I swear I will simply keel over with just a look at you.”

A little moan escapes her lips. 

“Good girl. That sound is precisely what I wanted to hear.” He whispers lowly, his voice warm against her skin. Instinctively, her thighs clench together, against the throbbing of her cunt. It reminds her of their war council meetings when he would get especially bossy, or authoritative, as he would call it. Lorenz laughs softly, right in her ear. “So easy to please, I adore that about you, my dearest, most lovely Leonie.”

Lorenz’s mouth wanders up to kiss the angle of her chin, his lips playfully grazing her freckled skin. She feels his hand move down and past the garters, and bites back a whimper when he strokes her cunt through her panties. 

“Excited, are we?”

“M-Maybe just a little.”

Goddess don’t stutter, Pinelli!

“Then I will endeavour to please you, my darling.” He promises.

Leonie opens her eyes and looks down at him through her lashes, the vision of a smirking nobleman with one hand on her hip and hovering just above her pelvis. Leonie lets out a most unbecoming squeak for a mercenary when he draws slow, deliberate circle around her cunt. 

“Tell me, have you been fantasizing about this?” His voice drops in volume. “No lying now, dearest, I do so abhor liars.”

“Yes.” She admits. 

Lorenz laughs. If I weren’t so turned on, I’d rake him over the coals. Leonie thinks, then promptly remembers that she’s pretty much putty in his hands. Ah well, next time I’m on my knees, I’ll get even… She thinks wickedly. 

“Open wide.” 

“T-That an order?” She dares.

“Indeed. Now do not make me repeat myself, dearest.”

Hot damn. Leonie’s face heats with a blush. She opens her mouth and he brushes his thumb along the plush of her lower lip. When he slides his index finger in slowly, then his middle, Leonie lathes her tongue up and down them. She puts the same vim and vigour into sucking his fingers as she would his cock, even moaning a little for good measure. 

A short moment later, he pulls his fingers from her mouth and tears his gaze from hers to scrutinize them accordingly. “Exactly as I requested… Keep being good for me, dearest.” He says at last and by the Goddess does it make her tremble. What would her mercenary troop say if they saw her now?

“Lucky Leonie. Renowned mercenary and has Count Gloucester in her bed? What can’t she do…”

“You are simply ravishing, Leonie. A country beauty like yourself puts all the other young blooms to shame… and if I were a less pious man, I’d compare you to the Goddess herself… But your name could never be a bedfellow with blasphemy.” He whispers in her ear as his hand swifts down her torso, and slips into her underwear. She moans loudly when he finally teases her clit, only briefly, then traces her folds and slips a finger inside her. “I am certain you are aware of that, but you are never so proud of your looks, though you should be.” 

His other hand squeezes one of her breasts. She bites down on an uncharacteristic whine. “I do so wonder how you’re able to pass by looking glasses and mirrors and not gape at your reflection. Whenever we are close, I find myself finding excuses to look at you.”

“R-Really?”

He laughs again. “And here I thought I was being obvious! My eyes flock to you at every available possibility, my love. You are simply too eye-catching. It is most inopportune and unbecoming of me, but alas, I too am a fallible man.” His eyes flicker down her once, twice and he adds: “Especially now. I simply cannot help but be enraptured by your beauty and otherworldly grace.”

She blushes red hot. Between the praise and his fingers fucking her, another moan slips through Leonie’s lips.

“And you make the loveliest sounds; by the Goddess I’d burn all my sheet music and forsake my instruments if it meant I could only ever hear your moans, my love.” He tells her as he curls his fingers inside her, like he’s beckoning her to come closer.

Leonie whines as his fingers slips out. He chuckles again, lowly, “So wet already. Did you touch yourself before deciding to inflict your wrath on me, my goddess?”

Wrath, she wants to laugh at him. You make it sound like I’m out for revenge.

His grip tightens on her breast, reminding her that she’s been spoken to. “My dearest?”

“Yeah.” She replies breathlessly, and it’s not a lie. “I mean, you said it yourself, I’m a knockout in this. Bern did a killer job.”

“Indeed, I shall make sure to pay her the highest compliments next time I see her. But alas, Bernadetta is only one small portion of this ensemble.” Lorenz says as he swirls his fingers outside her cunt, grazing her clit briefly. “I would much prefer to see you out of it.”

“You’ve seen it a dozen times.” His fingers dive back into her cunt and Leonie squirms in his lap. Her hips move of their own volition. Her ass brushes something hard, and she realizes that it’s his cock, straining through his trousers. A gasp escapes her lips as Lorenz’s hand drops from her tits to tighten around her waist. 

“F-Fuck.” Leonie winces.

“I must admit,” Lorenz struggles briefly to regain his composure, “that tongue of yours is something I so adore.”

Leonie is about to shoot back about the time where she called a visiting noble a rather… unpleasant word, and Lorenz had admonished her. After their visitor left, Lorenz taught her much more appropriate and acceptable insults to launch at nobles. As thanks, Leonie had taught him how to sling cusses like a true baddie from the boonies and thought him rather adorable when he blushed bright red at the words she’d picked for their vulgarity and punch. 

Her train of thought derails as soon as his fingers graze her clit and focuses on it for longer than a teasing moment. Another whine escapes her lips as she lurches in his lap, grinding against his erection again, in search of any small bit of pressure to alleviate the tension. 

He groans and then whispers, “You never cease to use your voice for others. It is an admirable trait, to say the least. Quite admirable. I am in awe of you.” Leonie tenses up tight as he finger fucks her, chasing that elusive wave of pleasure. “But it is not your looks and manner of speaking that make you so… exceptional. No, it is the measure of your character.”

Damn, I ask him to call me pretty a few times and he’s writing sonnets… She thinks as his mouth finds her neck. Overachiever. 

“G-Goddess above, you know how to make a girl blush.”

“I’ve had much time to master the art.” He blushes and then corrects himself. He stops fingering her, the chase of the orgasm beginning to die off as Lorenz trips over himself. “That is to say, er…”

She presses a kiss to his nose then nuzzles up to his ear. “Don’t worry hot stuff, I knew what you meant.” She bites at his ear. “Now if I asked you to hurry up and fuck me, would you do it or just call me a brat?”

“The prior, my loveliest Leonie. Though you must forgive me, for once I start singing your praises, I find myself barely able to stop.” He replies. His fingers trace her slick folds. “But I must attempt to restrain myself. Allow me to oblige, dearest.” He whispers. He pulls his hand out from her cunt, licks her off his fingers and kisses her deeply. His hand slips back in between her legs, strokes her again teasingly and Leonie lets out a little gasp against his lips. His mouth travels up the hollow of her cheek and to her ear as she submits to his touch. “This outfit is quite fetching on you. I imagine I am not the only one to think that.”

“Hah,” is all she can respond with, though in her right mind Leonie would tell him all about Bernadetta’s comment on her rack—

He presses a sharp kiss to her neck and she feels teeth graze against her skin. He breathes in her scent deeply as he rubs a slow, firm, deliberate circle around her clit. His hips cant upwards and she feels his erection against her ass again. A whine escapes her lips.

“L-Lorenz, please—”

He’d probably lay it on even thicker if she got on her knees and sucked him off. 

“Though I am convinced that you could even make a burlap sack look divine.” He breathes. “I am not a cruel man and will not dare to test that theory.”

She squeezes her thighs together, probably crushing his hand. Lorenz doesn’t even flinch. Just a little pressure—she wriggles when he rubs another agonizingly slow and firm circle around her clit. Another gasp slips through her fused lips and barely holds back from begging him to just fuck her already.

“Your restraint is something to admire too, my dear.” Lorenz whispers in her ear. “Some would call it stubbornness, I would have once long ago, but it is determination. It is one of your finest qualities.”

He presses kisses down the side of her cheek, the freckled column of her neck and down to the valley of her breasts. His fingers pump in and out of her quickly. “Surprised are we, my darling?”

She bites down on her lip again as he strokes her. His voice is like velvet. “You look so pretty when I finger you like this, trying to keep control over yourself.” Lorenz tells her. He pulls his fingers up, grazing her clit and making her gasp. “Even more beautiful when you come, all flushed and undone. Who knew Captain Pinelli was such a…”

He pauses. She feels herself tense with anticipation.

“Beautiful slut.” He whispers in her ear before kissing her neck. “Accomplished, gorgeous and wise, and my perfect girl. A renowned mercenary outside, with songs sung about her, but here…” 

His fingers draw another deft circle, then he pats her clit with the flat of his fingers and her hips thrust up, following his hand. Leonie cries out. 

Lorenz laughs darkly. “All mine for the taking. Yes dear, you follow my orders so keenly, bending to my will like a blade of grass against the wind.” His breath is warm against her cheeks as he says, “Goddess, I cannot wait to be inside you. A little longer, my sweet; patience, patience. Just keep being good for me.”

Leonie opens her eyes, trembling already with want. When she opens her eyes, he gazes at her warmly. “I know you can do it, Leonie. A little longer.”

Leonie feels the orgasm linger back around, like that foreboding instinct in her stomach she trusts when hunting. She bucks against his hand, desperate for more.

“My gorgeous captain, like a knight from a fairytale.” He tells her before slipping another finger into her cunt. 

Leonie cries out. He beckons her to come closer. She follows him, falling into his broad shoulders.

“Have you fantasized about that before, my dearest wildflower?” He whispers. “Faerghan knights tales are quite salacious… If you know the right ones to read, of course. I must confess that on many a lonesome night, I have thought of you as my knight, ready to slip into my bed chamber and take me.”

Good fucking Goddess and her weeping saints. Leonie whines loudly. “Lor… Lor, please…” The desire is growing more heady with that stupid, cunning tongue of his. 

I never want it to stop. She thinks as she bites down on a cry as he beckons her to come closer. 

“What is it my dear?” He asks not-so-innocently. “What could have you so… tongue tied? The proud Leonie I know and adore is rarely without a word.” 

“F-Fuck—” 

His lips mark up her jaw, painting a picture with his tongue. “Might I… Indulge myself?” Lorenz asks lowly. His tone is serious. 

She’s so desperate for relief that she nods hopelessly. “Y-Yeah, sure.” She replies, somewhat interested to see what his indulgence might be but more concerned with finishing.

He pats her thigh twice, removes his hand from between her legs and licks them clean again.

“F-Filthy.” She can’t resist teasing him just a bit. “What will the county think of you?”

“Damn what the county thinks. I care not for idle rumours and wagging tongues.” Lorenz replies, taking her by the hips and pushing her against the desk. He kicks back the chair and it skids away with a clatter. “Why should I care?” He dares her darkly, eclipsing her frame. “After all, you are mine. What else could I ever desire?”

Leonie flushes and then squeaks when Lorenz helps her up onto the desk, her ass crinkling documents and papers detailing the Alliance’s—or more aptly Fódlan’s future—which mean little compared to lust. His gaze flutters across the ensemble and Leonie feels certain now that this was her best purchase… Well, barring her horse, Bennet.

Lorenz’s hand runs teasingly up the stockings, snaps the garters again for good measure before he works off her panties. Slung off to the side, he parts her thighs and kneels between them. He brings his lips to kiss her cunt deeply, enclosing his mouth around her clit.

Leonie smudges her lipstick when she brings a hand up to stifle the loud gasp that comes from her lips when Lorenz pulls one of her thighs over his shoulder and wastes no time in devouring her. 

If Leonie is determined, Lorenz is unswerving, unstoppable, firmly resolute. She feels herself approach the edge of her orgasm, teetering towards it. He presses himself further into her, and when she opens her eyes and looks down at him, his gaze is fixed on her, determined, unmoving and—

“Ah, ah, Lor, right there, right—”

He works her over, fiercer than most of her recent workouts and training sessions. Her wavering voice cracks into a loud cry, a staccato flying off the bookshelves and gilded furniture and desk. One hand grips the desk with a terribly-tight grasp, while the other clenches his scalp as she climaxes. Relief washes over her, long overdue; it leaves her in a trembling, moaning mess. His tongue is relentless, pointed and flat, his fingers pressing into her thighs until red marks form. She bucks into his mouth, chasing the last bits of the high, her body trembling when there is nothing left to chase.

Lorenz pulls his mouth from her cunt, heaving a deep, and probably much-needed breath. He presses a kiss into her inner thigh. “Perfection.” He smiles, locks eyes with her and says, “Goodness you are so ethereal when you cum for me.”

Leonie breathlessly laughs, feeling her heart skip a beat. “You tease. Keep praising me like that and I’ll do it again, probably even quicker.” 

She runs a hand along his jaw, and he turns his face so that he kisses her palm and fingertips. Lorenz cocks a brow. “What was that now, dearest? Have you something to say?”

She turns around, her ass to him and braces herself against the desk. “Come on, back to it.” She hits the old desk with a resounding creak as a burning sensation runs through her hand. “Gotta give us spankbank fodder for when you’re back in Derdriu and I’m off elsewhere.” She says breathlessly, her legs still trembling from the high. “Letters can only do so much, and I know you’re not one for writing down something so, well I guess the word you’d use is ‘salacious’.”

“Do you wish me to write you a letter on how I’d seduce you?”

Leonie blushes, knowing that he would do it if she asked nicely. “Maybe… But I guess you have a point, it’s hotter when I imagine it.”

“To reunions, then.” Lorenz says as she hears the rattle of his belt against the desk drawers. 

She waits for the feeling of his cock sinking into her. When he doesn’t, she turns back expectantly. 

“Are you certain?” He asks, a little unsure. “About my fantasy.”

“Well you’re making it sound quite serious.” She laughs to lighten the mood. “As long as you’re not getting off to something super freaky, dude, go for it. I’ll shout the safe word loud enough for the whole estate—hell even the county to hear if need be.”

”Thank you, my darling.” Lorenz whispers in her ear, before adding, “But I’d prefer you’d shout my name at such a volume.”

Leonie blushes then twists to kiss him to coax him into a state of ease. He relents, shuts his eyes and melts into the kiss. When Leonie breaks away, turns back to stare down those terrible papers and place her hands on the damn desk that’s become his ball and chain, she feels his lips trace her neck, down her shoulder and along the straps of her brassiere. His forehead presses between the blades of her shoulders and she hears him inhale and exhale deeply.

Whatever this fantasy is, dude’s wound up about it. Leonie thinks. 

He gives a few tentative strokes, a brush against her cunt to tease her. Leonie’s hand slips down her front and rubs at her clit, already desperate again for another high.

When he sinks into her, Lorenz winces in her ear. Leonie makes out the sound of his voice between the high sound of her voice and the desperate pitch of her cry. “Ah, ah… You feel so amazing, my love.” He presses a kiss to the back of her neck before giving a tentative thrust, slow and hard. The desk handles clang like church bells when she hits the table.

She feels his breath against her neck, sending a shiver through her trembling body. Leonie’s body rocks against the table. “I do so adore how you take me, so perfectly. Just like we were made for each other, Leonie.” He whispers. “Almost like we were both created by the Goddess to find each other… Two halves of a greater whole.”

Her eyes shut tightly as he thrusts into her again, rocking her body against the desk. Maybe he’s right. Leonie’s never been the pious type—it’s hard to be that way when you grow up with bandits at the back door, a half-full dinner plate and uncertainty lurking at every corner. However, the thought that some invisible thread, or some divine writing in the stars brought them together is a pretty romantic idea, and not one that she laughs at.

“My beautiful sunflower. A wildflower in bloom. Your beauty is ethereal, nothing compares...” He moans in her ear. “The only way your beauty could increase is if you were pregnant.” 

Leonie turns red and tightens around him. He cries out and tries to bite it back but fails, hissing lowly. His fingers press into the dimples of her back, his hands digging into her skin like he’s trying to restrain himself.

He pulls her hair back and Leonie blushes hard. Good Goddess. She thinks as she turns to face him and he captures her lips against his. She whines loudly when he thrusts into her again; her hands clench around documents. A cry escapes her lips.

“Don’t stop talking, Lor…” She whines. “T-Tell me more.”

“S-Should I?” He asks, unsure. “It… It is not too much?”

“Please.” She cries out.

“You’d glow brighter than the sun. You would rival it’s light, my dearest Leonie.” He says rolling his hips against her ass. “Your stomach full and heavy with my children.”

She fuses her lips shut, knitting her brows together as she imagines it. It isn’t…

Okay, it is doing it for her.

A hand ghosts up her breasts and she lifts a hand from her grip on the table to pull up her brassiere; she whines when Lorenz’s lithe fingers run up the swell of them. “Your breasts full with milk.” He hums. “I was unaware that such perfection could be surpassed.”

“Ah,” She whines and hears her heartbeat thunder in her ears. Her fingers crinkle up vellum and ink and parchment, hundreds of dollars in writing materials. “Oh, oh Goddess…”

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Lorenz asks tentatively. “Bearing our children? Carrying them, adoring them, nursing them…”

“Y-Yeah.” Leonie’s voice cracks through. Her face goes hot when she admits it. Well that’s something to analyze at a later date, Pinelli.

Lorenz laughs. “Heavy with our children.” A hand ghosts over her abdomen, along the useless garterbelt. “They’d be strong and proud and determined just like you, all your best qualities.”

Leonie stifles a moan as he pulls out. Her breathing uneven, she feels his cock teases against her cunt. She swallows hard. 

“Or,” His voice goes lower as he grinds his erection along her ass and she whines loudly. “would you like it better if I bent you in half and left you dripping with my seed?”

She gasps, feeling another swell approach. Already? Damn, new kink discovered. 

“You’d look absolutely gorgeous, all undone like that, Leonie.” A dark laugh ghosts in his voice. “In truth, I’ve thought about it much while we’ve been parted.” 

“Lor,” She cries out as he thrusts back again, this time teasingly. Her voice warbles. “Ju-Just, a little, please. Just…”

“I’m sorry dearest, I couldn’t hear that…”

“Fuck me already, Lorenz.”

He raises a brow. “Impatient girl!” He chides. “Have I been a cruel lover?”

She shakes her head. Just a little relief, a little pressure and she could…

“T-Tell me more.” She pleads and moans when he effortlessly slides back into her. “Please?”

“Once wouldn’t be enough. Rosedale is so wide and vast, and it has been too long since children roamed the halls. It was built with the intention of housing many heirs, after all.” His voice darkens. “I think a dozen will do just fine, my darling. Would you like that? To be the mother of my children? Goddess knows you’d be wonderful at it.”

She sighs, shutting her eyes tight. She trembles and finds herself against her elbows on the table, whining loudly. 

Her right hand skirts over the documents, towards her cunt. Lorenz snatches it. His fingers tighten over her’s in a harsh grip against the vellum and ink spilled on the desk. “Not yet, darling.” He chides. “I must insist you wait.” 

“Ah, bastard.” She winces, her brow knit together and desperate for release. 

He ruts slow and teasingly—his restraint is a marvel, just like that snatched waist—and says: “A lady of good breeding, awaiting to be bred.” Lorenz thinks. “My Goddess, I cannot wait to see you show your pregnancy. Your breasts swelling in anticipation for our child, positively glowing…”

A hand peeks around and ghosts her nipples, pinching one. She cries out. “I would take fine care of you. I would wait on you hand and foot, my love. Anything you desire would be at your beck and call during your pregnancy.” He presses flush against her and she whines as she feels him coming close to bottoming out. “Everything Rosedale has to offer for my darling, the mother of my children… My hand, my heart, my cock. Goddess knows your libido will only increase.”

Leonie shuts her eyes tightly, thinking about the image of her pregnant. Stories from Hilda describe it being… well, a time, but…

Leonie can’t help but think, Fuck, it sounds hot. 

“I would give you anything you desired Leonie.” He promises her. “I’d have portraits taken of your likeness, held in our boudoir immortalizing your beauty in those precious few months. And after you deliver, I would leave my post as Count Gloucester to wait on you, hand and foot.”

Damn, okay, he’d be an active father, good to know. Leonie thinks. She laughs, her voice cut off by a moan. “For how long?” She asks. “A dozen kids… is a lot. From the sound of it, you’d never be able to retire with all the parental leaves you’d need to take, Count Gloucester.”

He smiles darkly and she can hear it in his voice. “Then I suppose we best start now to stagger them appropriately.” He hand grips her hair and tugs it firmly. Leonie cries out and feels her cunt clench around him, eliciting a clipped gasp from Lorenz. “Dearest Leonie, I’d make you mine forever this way.”

Hot damn. Leonie thinks.

”If I had my way, I’d keep you from going back out to Goddess-knows where and breed you until you dripped with my seed. I’d let you go after we were certain you were with child, of course. A good month or two, perhaps three.” Lorenz hisses. Leonie flushes bright red, bites on her lip and lets out a growing moan as his thighs clap against her ass with each thrust. “What will your mercenary band think when they see you, visibly carrying my child?”

Her pussy tightens around his cock. He hisses lowly. “It would take them all of one minute to decipher what had happened back at old Rosedale. The Roundtable would also be aghast at my long disappearance… They’d both question what we saw in each other, but neither party could understand that you are the only woman I could ever see myself having children with.”

Leonie stops fighting herself, giving over to this delusional fantasy.

“Oh sweet sufferin’ Sothis.” Leonie moans, feeling her face heat. 

“Goddess,” he groans, “you feel divine Leonie.”

“T-Then hurry up and show me how divine I am.” She dares, encroaching on her third orgasm.

“My dearest Leonie,” He kisses along her neck and whispers in her ear. “Answer me this and I’ll let you cum.”

“F-Fine.” She forces out, desperate for relief.

“Have you ever considered it?”

“A-About what?”

“Having my children?” His voice is warm against the shell of her ear. He ruts slowly, teasingly. His restraint is a marvel. “Do not lie, tell me the truth, my love.”

Lying: no, absolutely not! A renowned mercenary known for her lance work and archery becoming the hidden away wife of Count Gloucester, raising his heirs? Ha! What a joke.

Truthfully… Well, it’s something that’s creeped into Leonie’s head in between gigs and odd jobs and well, even when working. A settled life. She loves being a mercenary more than anything: wide open skies, clear paths, the endless possibilities of tomorrows.

Once, she would have abhorred the idea of being tied down to one place—children necessitate that—and she would have shied at the idea of being a mother. Maybe it’s the hormones, maybe it’s the lingerie, maybe it’s the feeling of Lorenz filling her, or the hopeful sound in his voice or the tentative nervousness in his thrusts before giving over wholeheartedly to this fantasy.

But the idea of giving that gift, that love of nature, teaching her children how to string a bow properly, the pride in a good fishing trip, the beauty in a warm evening breeze and catching fireflies to show them… And Lorenz advising the child—or, she supposes now, children—on their duties to being just and upright, instilling them with his love of poetry, the arts, and a proper perfect teatime.

It’s a beautiful dream.

Okay, and she’s thought about how hot they would be as parents. A fine couple, a handsome match, Lorenz would call them; hot as fuck are the words Leonie would use.

“I-I have. A lot. So mark me.” She demands, feeling her face grow warmer. “Breed me, Lorenz.”

He groans with her talk. His fingers dig into her hips. He pulls her flush to himself, her rear against him. He grunts lowly and says not a word more. Leonie cries out as his hand slips down to her front and rubs her clit as his hips cant into her cunt at a punishing speed.

A wave of sensations washes over her. She feels the cry crack from her lips. She feels his hand clench around hers. She hears the warning—darling Leonie, I’m so close—and hears her response—Lorenz, love, put a baby in me already.

Leonie feels a third orgasm, stronger than the last one, brew within her core. Her other hand clamps over his and guides him to move faster, harder and cries out loudly, shuddering hard when she feels the floor give out beneath her and she rises onto the tips of her heels. Lorenz follows shortly after, throwing his head into her shoulder with a desperate cry, his thrusts growing harder, deeper until they reach a visceral finality. The desk creaks in protest as they brace themselves against it, trembling messes that struggle to catch their breaths.

It is a saintly feat for Leonie to turn and look over her shoulder, but when she does, she’s rewarded with a kiss. Lorenz rests his head against hers. “Thank you, my dearest.”

Leonie laughs. “For what?”

“Indulging me. I know… It was… well most inappropriate would be slighting it most egregiously…”

“Dude,” Leonie sighs, “you’re not the one who spent a paycheque on lingerie because she was so desperately horny, wanted to feel pretty and then demanded to be praised.”

Lorenz shakes his head and chuckles softly. “Perhaps I am not, but I am more than happy to spoil you whenever you wish it, my love.”

“Appreciated babe.” Leonie says as she feels him push her hair over her shoulder and presses his lips along the curve of her neck.

“As for the comment about your looks and… desire to be praised for them, I will ensure to sing your praises each and every time the opportunity presents itself, my love.”

“Doubly appreciated. Not to put a damper on this post-fuck high, but can you uh, pull out? My leg’s locking up.”

“Ah! Of course, apologies.” Lorenz says and then pulls out of her with a gentle hiss. Leonie breathes a sigh of relief, easing onto her heels and then looks down seeing his seed leak out of her and down her thigh.

Okay, that is kinda hot. She blushes.

Then he leans down, teasingly drags two fingers along her pussy, and licks one clean like a rake. Leonie bites down on her bottom lip as he runs the other along the bottom of her lip. “Taste.” He orders, and she does; the saltiness of their arousal runs along her tongue and she feels herself get wet again. 

“Hope you’re ready for another round soon.” Leonie says. “You’re such a tease when you get like this.”

“I could say the same for yourself.” Lorenz says before admiring her lingerie—more likely her tits, as the brassiere is pulled up over them. He drags his eyes to meet hers. “This is a fine design. Bernadetta did outdo herself. What a gorgeous distraction.”

Leonie shoots a glare to the offending desk, and hopes that Lorenz has duplicates of the documents that they fucked on because of sanitary reasons and ew. She feels more of his semen dribble down her thigh and swipes it up then licks it off her fingers. 

Lorenz stares at her for a moment and only looks away when Leonie winks at him. “Guess you’re headed back to work now, your excellency?”

“I fear you are incorrect, Captain.” Lorenz replies. He takes a step closer, takes her chin in his hand and—oh damn, okay—“I still have much more work to do with you.”

“Me?” She laughs him off. “Hate to remind you, but I’m not exactly the person who makes the rules, babe. Our work doesn’t exactly match up.”

“I’m not done with you yet, Leonie.” Lorenz whispers lowly into her ear and when Leonie laughs him off, he adds, “My dear, I will find no comfort until I have utterly destroyed you.”

“That a challenge, Lorenz?”

“No, it’s a promise, my darling. I won’t be sated until you can barely say my name.”

Leonie feels her face grow hot. She smirks up at him. “Good thing I’m made of tough stuff.” She throws back before he pulls her by the arm, laughing and blushing, to their bedroom.

Two more rounds after a rather early wake up—blame it on exhaustive work schedules—and Leonie finds herself sliding off Lorenz with a relieved sigh. Her leg remains splayed over his and he stares blankly up at the crown-moulded ceilings, his chest rapidly rising and falling as Leonie tries to catch her own breath and feels his seed slowly drip out of her. She makes a note to use the spell that one of the clerics taught to her during the war and to brew a cup of pine needle tea… Maybe also make a point to pop by the local physician’s office, if she can afford it.

“That is, indeed, one way to say good morning.” Lorenz sighs. His hand rests on her very sore thigh, his pale, porcelain skin contrasting against her freckles and scars and stretch marks.

“Hey,” she laughs, “you were the one with the morning wood.”

He winces at such words and pinches the bridge of his nose dramatically. “You are lucky it is early and that you have, what you so charmingly call, ‘a death grip’ around my heart.”

Leonie smirks as she lays on her crossed arms. “You’re a kinky fucker, you know that?” She prods with a smirk and adopts a posh manner of speaking: “‘Wouldn’t you like to bear my heirs? Shall I breed you like the slut you are, my dearest?’”

Lorenz harrumphs with a look of moderate embarrassment. “Desiring offspring is not a kink.” He insists.

“I mean when you start saying you want me to drip with it and that you’re gonna fold me in half, I think that’s a little kinky—”

Lorenz turns beet-red with mortification and Leonie laughs. “I do not recall you asking to stop.” He shoots back lowly. “In fact, was it not you who told me to, to, to—“ His voice drops in volume. “—breed you?”

“Yep.” Leonie says with a smirk. “And I’ll be the last to deny it!”

Lorenz groans. She turns to face him and presses a kiss to his arm. “Hey, its nothing to be ashamed of!” She says pointedly. “Besides, I wouldn’t take it too seriously from the person who came by being told she’s a good girl.”

He smirks and then leans down to press a kiss to the notch in her brow. Leonie smiles as his lips ghost her ear and he says, “I do think that you’d be an excellent mother, Leonie. I must confess, I do find myself thinking about that… possibility more than I should, perhaps.”

Shit. She thinks as another thrill goes down her spine. Okay, okay, no more teasing him.

“Well, if you want that, you’re gonna have to do something first. Plans to be made, procedures to be followed, traditions to be honoured, yeah?” Leonie jokes then turns over and curls into his frame, allowing herself a few more precious moments before she has got to bathe off last night’s adventures, dress and then set about on her mission for proper contraceptives.

But Lorenz wraps his arms around her and she melts into the warm, sharp angles of his body, Leonie thinks that she’s got enough pine needles stashed away somewhere. Maybe we’ll have a bath together before the poor guy has to go play Count again and put out fire after fire—

“Leonie, my dearest Sunflower, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

She laughs and then when he doesn’t laugh along pushes herself up and stares at him. “Seriously?”

Lorenz nods. “Indeed. Seriously, as you said.” He adds, “I had.. Hoped to make a more proper proposal, forgive me…”

She gropes for something. She expected his proposal to be more… Well, Lorenz-y. Dramatic, flamboyant, a real social affair to be spoken about in the courts. 

“But you don’t even have a rock…” Leonie realizes how stupid it sounds. Of course he’s got a stupidly-big one squirrelled away somewhere. What did I expect? Him to pop it out of nowhere first thing in the morning after fucking?

“Not on my person at this moment in time, but I assure you that I have one here in Rosedale.” 

Leonie stares at him blankly. “You really want to marry me?”

“Why ever else would I ask? I am not the kind of man who would play with a person’s heart so idly!” He takes her hand and presses it to his smooth chest. She can feel the gentle, worrying thud of his heart and the warmth of his hand over hers. “I have long desired to request your hand for sometime, but nothing has ever… The timing has never been right, so to speak.”

“And it is now?”

“I believe so. Politically, at least.” Lorenz says. “The peace pact with Almyra and Sreng is slated to be finalized within the next two moons. This is, what I believe, will be the zenith of my political career. I will still need to be in Derdriu for Roundtable meetings, but you may accompany me, should you choose to. In fact, I think you’d bring a fresh perspective from the ground. If I’m not incorrect, I think you’d delight in the prospect of telling other nobles to, ah, stuff it.”

Leonie stills. It’s one thing to call Rosedale home, and it’s similar to call Lorenz her own behind closed doors; but it’s a completely different issue to take the mantle of Countess Gloucester and enter a shaken up world of postwar politics where several loyalists of the old aristocracy can and will make their displeasure known about the new Countess Gloucester, whilst dodging assassin’s blades. Besides, her renown as a mercenary might… it might be all gone with this.

But… I’m kinda tired of that hand-to-mouth life. Sure the adventures are fun but… She meets Lorenz’s gaze. 

Her decision was made up even before he asked. Hell, it was made up the second he gave her that stupid necklace. Aw shit, she realizes belatedly, I should’ve worn it with the lingerie!

But the answer to his question is as clear as crystal.

“Yes.”

“Y-Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you, Lorenz you goof.” 

A delighted laugh escapes his lips as he pulls her into his arms and kisses her brow, her temple, the scar through her lip and her freckles. Before she knows it, Leonie is covered his kisses and Lorenz is promising to give her a proper proposal at a later date, then is vowing that Rosedale, Edgaria, Derdriu, even Fódlan at her feet—

But she catches his babbling face in her hands, kisses him and assures him that he’ll be more than enough.

“Besides you goof,” Leonie says, pressing her forehead against his, “you’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

Leonie decides to deliver the invitation to Bernadetta herself. She’s headed out to Derdriu to follow Lorenz for the proper announcement anyways, and the Kirsten Inn isn’t far from where they’re headed: Camellia Manor, the Gloucesters’ second residence, in the heart of Derdriu. Lorenz’s parents reside at Camellia and ought to know. Leonie will tell her parents after the peace treaties are signed and Lorenz’s schedule is more freed up. It’s Sauin tradition for the wedding to take place in the village of the one who is marrying out… Besides, it’ll be funny to see her parents gawk at her becoming Countess Gloucester, so to speak.

They take the carriage, because there’s two of them and riding on horseback isn’t, well, what a Count and Countess typically do. Besides, sitting in a seat rather than on a saddle is much better for her aching thighs. The carriage creeps up the drive, the gates to the Kirsten Ibn already opened and beckoning them in. 

The driver parks the carriage not far from the barn and Leonie and Lorenz trudge through the half-melt and muck up to the inn, hand-in-hand.

Leonie fights off visions of ladies at court judgingly asking her just who she is whilst looking at her poor choice in wardrobe and gauche jewels. Who gives a shit anyways? She thinks happily and then briefly wonders if one can die of such joy.

Raphael is the first to see them, rather happy to have two of his old friends at his inn. He calls out for Bernadetta, who emerges from the office where she does bookkeeping.

Bernadetta throws her arms around Leonie’s neck and cries, insisting that she’s overjoyed to see her friend. Though Leonie not Lorenz has said a word, there’s a certain something in the air: something that says everything is about to change. 

Raphael scoops both Leonie and Lorenz up—the latter who insists that he must be let down. “Come now Raphael, please have some propriety! We are in public!” He protests, patting Raphael’s shoulder for emphasis to listen. “Think of your reputation as proprietor!”

“Funny, you didn’t seem to care about reputations not too long ago…” Leonie cracks.

Lorenz shoots her a warning look and Bernadetta snorts, then hides her laughter behind her hand. “W-Welcome to the Inn,” Bernadetta says, wiping away her tears. “Do y-you both want to come in for tea? Are you, um, staying?”

“Yeah! We can totally make room for you guys upstairs!” Raphael insists and begins towards the grand staircase, ready to run up it and stoke a fire for them. “I’ll get a fire going in one of the rooms right now!”

“Alas, we must decline. We are bound for Camellia very shortly.” Lorenz insists. 

“Roundtable business.” Leonie tells Bernadetta. Her grey eyes go wide as she blinks twice, already connecting the dots.

“But only one of you works for the Roundtable...” Raphael thinks aloud. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen both of you together in the same room in like years!”

Leonie is rather glad she wore her leather gloves despite riding in the carriage because Bernadetta is staring at her left hand looking for a giveaway. 

At last, Lorenz glances to Leonie and asks, “My darling Leonie, will you do the honours, or shall I?”

“Together, you dummy.” Leonie says.

In an almost perfectly synchronized movement, Leonie pulls off her leather glove and shows off her small boulder of an engagement ring as Lorenz proudly proclaims, “I have asked Leonie for her hand and she has given her hearty consent. We shall be married before the year’s end.”

Bernadetta squeals with delight and Raphael hollers happily. Leonie feels Raphael scoop her and Lorenz up in a huge hug again—this time Lorenz doesn’t protest, just makes a face before Raphael dances in place with both of them in his arms and insists that they have to have a celebratory pint. Raphael hurries to the kitchen and Bernadetta follows in his wake, warning him that they’ll need to open a fresh cask.

“Enjoy it, because I doubt there'll be as many happy congratulations as these when we get to Derdriu.” Leonie whispers in his ear, preparing for the strained, thin smiles from Erwin and Rosalind and Lorenz’s older sister, Marguerite. At least Priscilla, who’s up to her eyeballs in Roundtable affairs, will be giggly and happy. Likewise, Leonie’s pretty sure her parents and grandmother—Valentin and Julie and Radia—will have some questions following the announcement. 

But what’s more is the public. Silently, Leonie is preparing herself for the gasps and questions at Gloucester’s ethereal court and around the Roundtable—whatever could a Crest-bearing nobleman in charge of two territories and a backwater mercenary from a no-name village have in common?

“I have little care or concern for what other people think of our engagement.” Lorenz says before taking her hand and raising it to his lips. He kisses her knuckles, narrowly missing the rock the size of the Monastery and then admires the ring. “My, Hilda did a fine job.”

“I’ll give her my compliments when I see her next.” Leonie laughs.

Clustered around the long dining table—amongst other smaller tables—Raphael brings out the tankards for him and Leonie, and Bernadetta comes hurrying out with a pot of tea and mismatched china teacups for Lorenz and her. They toast to the prosperous engagement and the future young Kirsten that will join their parents shortly. The friends enjoy their celebration with most sincerity and happiness.

The conversation takes various shapes: Lorenz and Bernadetta discuss Leicester politics, Raphael and Leonie talk about the ale, Lorenz enquires about Maya, and Raphael asks how the Gloucesters as a whole as doing, and Bernadetta tells Leonie all about the new novel she’s planning. There’s chatter of wedding plans and Lorenz is more than happy to share his ideas of gossamer and extensive wine lists and handwritten vows while Leonie laughs and says that if Bernadetta doesn’t graciously lend a hand to design a dress that she’ll walk down the aisle in a torn slip.

Then, Leonie leans into Bernadetta’s ear and says, “By the way, I’m interested in commissioning another piece.” She says. “Several, actually.”

Bernadetta colours and sips her tea distractedly. “Do you, um, have an idea?”

“Between Lor and I, we have a laundry list.” 

Bernadetta snorts when Leonie slides a folded up piece of paper across the table to her. 

“Y-You do know how much this’ll cost right?”

“Lorenz wants to open up a tab.” Leonie replies. “Besides, I know I’m barred from most places on account of, you know…”

“Failing to pay your debts?” Bernadetta supplies. 

Leonie smirks. “But Lor isn’t! The Gloucester coffers are deep, and besides, it contributes to the local economy.” Yep, that’s how I’m gonna justify it—local business, local economy, and I get to look cute as fuck in it.

“Maybe with this, we’ll be able to redo the servants’ quarters…” Bernadetta hums. “I suppose so.” Her voice lowers. “What, um, were you thinking first?”

Leonie smiles like it’s the best question she’s ever been asked.