Chapter Text
Dimitri doesn’t consider himself a believer when it comes to the goddess. She’s unreachable. Even if he believed, his hands are stained, and the path before him can only be meant to serve the fallen. He’s too wretched and undeserving, even if the goddess were to appear miraculously on the eve of the ball.
Why would Sothis appear just to bless two people with endless love and merriment? It’s truly a silly notion and legend;however, he’s even more pathetic for actually standing here in the goddess tower, praying the legend is legitimate. Even with his wry faith, even with his obscure future—he dares to challenge both in exchange for a glimpse of having his professor stand with him as two lovers would in the quietest spot of this tower.
He knows that it’s a weak dream, a pathetic wish for his selfish existence. Someone as him deserves no trust and compassion, less love. Yet here he stands, a few centimeters from Byleth; staring at the stars that sadly seem more beautiful on tonight’s sky. They twinkle, just as her eyes do now that he has made the inappropriate statement that maybe they should be together forever.
Sharing the wish of nobody being taken unjustly from them should have been enough. Dimitri refused to comply with reason, and now he is ready to accept her rejection.
He pushes aside the blush on her face, the small curve on her lips. She is beautiful, but moonlight transforms her into a heavenly sight. Ephemeral and sublime. Her bottomless eyes are now so full of him. She’s studying him with every passing second, each skip of time adding a more lucid shine to her cheeks.
He wants to get down on his knees. Is she truly considering his marriage proposal? Pathetic and unromantic as it was?
Yes!
No.
No...
He takes his statement back. He must, or their fates will intertwine and she shall be sullied. The stars dim after that; he believes. Just as her eyes when he handles his confession, his plight for her love, as a banter— masking it, just as his desire for revenge. He’s caught off guard by the sudden anger that her voice and gaze host when she chides him. His professor, who’s usually patient and attentive, now appears...wounded.
He has wounded her. His thoughtless desire has guided him to harm someone he respects and admires deeply, someone that he desperately loves.
“There are certain things that I must accomplish, even if that means risking my life. I may not even have a future to promise to someone.” With a hand over his heart, he apologizes and explains the reason for his actions— deep down, he feels this explanation is more a reminder to himself. Her expression goes neutral anew, accompanied by the ever-silencing patience that she offers.
It’s hard not to find her charming, even within this heartache.
A small chuckle escapes him, “We should head back soon. It’s rude of me to keep you all to myself.”
He steps closer and courteously offers an arm, “Shall we, professor?”
Her expression proves to be difficult to read. Her eyes avert from his for a split second, “My existence as a mercenary made discerning people at first glance a skill of survival.” Byleth says monotone before staring at him, defiantly, “You’re lying, Dimitri.”
His mask shatters slowly, starting by how weakly his lips twitch by the corners until they lie flat. The rush of blood heats up his face and ears. “Professor…” He finds strength to speak, “I assure you. I would never mean to deceive you, not on purpose. ”
Her eyebrows furrow, creating deep lines. She’s even more unsatisfied with that answer, it seems, “I never expected for you to use people’s feelings and expectations in favor of a lark.” A hand rests over her chest, “Sylvain, perhaps. If you were him…” She sighs, “I wouldn’t be doing this. Forgive me.”
Dimitri stares in confusion, and only the hot strike on his left cheek finally wakes him into a shocked expression. Out of instinct he goes to touch where Byleth’s hand had just been, still trying to grasp what has just happened. The physical pain is fleeting, while the shame in his core stays.
“Good evening, Dimitri.” She says with a calmer composure, “See you in tomorrow’s class. Do not forget your exercise log if you’re still interested in a private seminar during the weekend.” It’s all she says before departing, becoming one with the darkness that soon becomes his haven as he’s too astonished for any movement. For a few minutes all he can do is breathe as he rests against a wall, recalling her words and face in a loop.
There was a special intensity in her eyes as she bid her farewell. Stronger than that of her slap. What could she mean by accepting Sylvain’s banters and not his? Do they share a closer connection that he has failed to see before?
Or is it the fact that he pulled on her heartstrings of a future with him that caused this reaction?
Both options were dangerous, they equally caused his stomach to boil even if one was fueled by jealousy while a special glow of affection and desire nurtured the other. He bites his lip, trying for the buzzing in his head to cease;unable to taste iron as he pierces his flesh finally with a canine.
All he dwells in now is in the possibility that his professor wanted him as much as he wanted her. Where to go with this information? What to do now?
The voices only whispered ‘ignore and pierce forward’. His rushing heart and sweaty palms challenge that chant when he finally leaves the goddess tower with lighter feet; ignoring the song of fiddles and laughter throughout the halls that do not host her presence anymore. It’s then when reality shocks him that his professor had only rejected his abuse of authority and distasteful lark.
A reasonable voice tells him not to hope, but a louder one that he recognizes as his begs for him to press further; pierce through the last walls that lie between them and ignore all wise thoughts.
His entire body is now covered in goosebumps as he crashes into the privacy of his dormitory and room, where he can lie flat against his bed and stare at the ceiling that hosts nothing. During other nights he would have met with the faces of those who he continues to fail, but tonight there’s nothing but her intense eyes and her hot strike.
Little rushes of self-pity and hatred push him at the edge, but the flame of her disappointment keeps him within a frame where he still has control. Within a dream that keeps him sleepless for kinder reasons.
Unavoidably, thinking about her during most of the night, awakes a darker side of his feelings. A wretched desire he can’t ignore when in privacy and silence. “I want you, professor. I want you...I’m sorry, please…” Between mumbles of forgiveness and pleasure, he whispers her title as his hand slides down his abdomen and below his pants, finally attending his erection that was notorious by the stretch of fabric from his evening attire.
“Professor Byleth,” He feels daring, moaning her name as he finally grasps his half-hard cock. He needs to mind the volume of his voice, but the rush of adrenaline and the tight pressure in his balls clouded his judgment with simple pleasure. “I’d do anything for you. Remove any filth that dares block your path." He tugs his cock over the moist fabric of his pants, slow-paced until he needs more.
His cock springs out into the cool air, imposing and angry. He squeezes the base of it, imagining softer and smaller hands touching him instead. Would his professor be impressed with his size, or disgusted? As much as Sylvain believes he's a prude, he has enough awareness to know that his cock is longer and thicker than most.
The seamstresses always give him disgusting, heated stares after fixing tears from his pants, or making adjustments for extra room between his thighs. More than once he has courteously ignored their invitations for extra help or tea. Unlike Sylvain and His Uncle, he would rather die untouched than to give himself to someone else that isn't his professor.
He's already having a hard time breathing evenly. His thumb swirls over his head, smearing pre-cum around, fueling his shame. The sting of Byleth’s hand on his cheek reminds him of her strong-willed eyes. “You’re...the one I…” The realization that he was touching himself using Byleth’s anger for his pleasure almost froze him on the spot, but a twisted sense of pride made him continue. "hah...You always smell so good, professor. I want you, I love you, professor. I'm yours!"
He no longer thinks of just her eyes, now he’s captivated by the memory of her beautiful body caught in sweat during a training drill; her warm hands as she fixes his battle position; her calm laugh when they share tea together. “Byleth…just mine, you’re mine. Byleth! No one should...no one should have the honor of tasting you...” He moans louder for her, leaving her title behind— he was already acting as a beast for using her image and emotions for private gratification. Why keep up with the facade of titles? "Not even me, never me..."
He made her experience something, react towards something he did. It’s disgustingly addictive. His mind is now clouded by fantasies of how his hands could massage the strong build of her legs, appreciate the soft curve of her hips and waist; admire and drown in the sensation of her breasts being against his face. Her tits would fill his mouth and hands perfectly. "I can't, but I wish I could, Byleth...I would love you forever." He clenches his teeth, savoring the fantasy of him tearing away those shorts and stockings, not missing a beat before his mouth meets the hidden warmth between her legs. Quivering, he lets out a whimper just at the thought of kissing and licking between her folds, finding the apex of her pleasure until she rewards him with chants of his name.
Sweat traverses down his forehead, gasping softly as he feels close to a disgusting orgasm. He imagines her decadent expression as his lips slowly glide over her stomach and between her breasts, finding a comfortable spot in the crook of her neck where he finally sinks his canines in. Marking her, claiming her. Would she enable him or push him away? He can't imagine that far, but he’s sent over the edge at the thought of her saying ‘I love you’ with a smile, face flushed and eyelids heavy by how enraptured and spent she was with him.
She would love him. Not the prince, not the beast nor his bloodline. Just him.
A fire is nestling in the pit of his stomach as his hand doesn’t cease; he brings a hand over his mouth and bites hard unto it, masking his pitiful wail as his cock spasms and thick streams of cum land over his abdomen. Warm and wet, he slowly lets go of his abused flesh and gives up with a long sigh.
He stares at the ceiling until there are no stars. A small headache settles in. As usual. Descending from his heaven, he finally coils until he turns on his side and stares at the wall. He’s a disgusting monster, insatiable. His fate is to meet demise after fulfilling his path of revenge.
But just for tonight, on the eve of the ball, he dreams of his duty being different. He could be her sword and shield, her moon and stars. Her plaything and friend. Her partner and lover. Her everything.
Tomorrow, things will go unchanged. He will just be her useless, cowardly house leader and student. He prays his eyes don’t grow weary and weak against hers.
"I love you, professor. I love you..."