#not particularly fond of my other attempts he really deserved princess hair in this one i will atone by drawing him with ugly haircuts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wonlouvre · 3 years

Text

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and angst word count: 3.7k WARNINGS: hospital setting, mentions of surgery/operation, blood, violence

a/n: so, this is it guys. the final part of ifliys :( i would like to extend my sincere thank yous to each and everyone who have read, liked, commented and shared this series. this is the very first fanfic i was able to finish/complete because of the support, love and motivation you all gave as i wrote this. don’t worry! there is an epilogue and i will announce what i have in store for them in the near future. in the meantime, this is part ten. thank you very much!

ten: moonlight | masterlist

The Queen is talkative. That’s one of the many quirks she has that you noticed when you were growing up. It’s not the uncomfortable or annoying kind of talkative. You really don’t know how to exactly put it, but she’s talkative in an elegant and easy-going way. One time, she decided to take a walk on a particularly busy street with only one member of the security detail assigned to tail her a few meters behind. She told you the whole story, excitedly. She was casually strolling and asking typical questions like what time is it to some vendors, passersby and the like. She even held a conversation about olive oil that lasted a good twenty minutes until the stranger she was talking to recognized who she was. You can tell that she had a blast as she laughed all through the evening.

Spending time with her gradually dwindled because of your job paired with your official duties as the Crowned Princess. But when opportunity arises, you make sure to make it worth the wait. Conversations are easy with her because she’s trustworthy and most importantly, she’s your mother. She usually asks you random, yet unexpectedly relevant questions whenever the two of you share a cup of coffee or tea or when you go shopping and even now is no different, as you’re about to choose the right fabric for your wedding dress.

“Describe the person that brings the best out of you.”

Ah, here we go. Your mother is surely not distracting you but her intent stares as she props her arm against the armrest of the white couch she’s sitting on is definitely pulling you away from the matter at hand. The look on your eyes is telling her really? and she fires back with an expecting one telling you a silent, “well? Come on. Tell me.”

You snort and shake your head, bringing your attention back to the table. You’re not denying your mother an answer because you know who to describe. It’s not that hard to figure out and you know she’s smart enough to know.

Jeon Wonwoo.

“How do you want me to describe? Personality or physical features?” You ask back and humor her as you fiddle with one lace material.

“Both,” she challenges with a mischievous grin and you’re not one to back down.

“Well, the person is quite tall and sharp in terms of physical features,” you start, doing your best to describe him implicitly. “Has a way with words, but they are all genuine and honest.”

Unbeknownst to you, your mother’s fond smile confirms your assumption that she is smart and that she knows who you’re talking about. But she presses on, loving how you describe this mysterious person.

“What about those features then? How do they help you?”

You thought for a moment and when the right words came to mind, you didn’t hesitate to say, “They inspire me to do and be better not only for myself but for everyone else. Mostly it’s their genuineness and honesty that inspires me.”

You and your mother laugh together at your last sentence.

It’s true though. After witnessing Wonwoo in the light of his Kingdom, something tugged at your heartstrings. You don’t exactly remember when, maybe it was around high school, but you remember adamantly telling your friends that you would want to be with someone that will bring the best out in you. Someone that can fuel your desire to be of service for the greater good. It sounds awfully used too often and you’re sure you’re not the only one who thinks this way, but as you have already said, it’s the truth.

Despite the circumstances, you found that someone. You found Wonwoo.

A few seconds later, Jeongyeon comes in with a knock and announces, “Your Majesty, Prince Wonwoo has arrived.”

Your eyes spring up at the name, distracted once again. And when you see the “tall” and “sharp” Prince, you’re quick to your feet and run towards him. He stumbles a little when you jump at him in a tight hug, arms clinging around his neck. Nonetheless, he smiles and welcomes your enthusiastic embrace with a soft smooch on the side of your head.

“Wait,” you abruptly pull away. “You’re not supposed to be here, though.”

Wonwoo acts dumb, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean? Her Majesty invited me to be here.”

“Calm down, Y/N,” you hear the culprit say behind your back as she stands up to greet her future son-in-law. “There’s no dress yet. It’s okay for him to be here.”

You subtly roll your eyes. You’re not one to be superficial but if there were a dress already, she’d take her words back. You return your arms back to Wonwoo’s waist and lean your chin against his chest, your lips pulling into a pout. He leans down to meet your lips with a quick peck but your mother was quicker to push you aside and to take her turn in giving him a hug.

Your jaw drops and your pout is exchanged with a scowl.

Wonwoo tries his best to hold his laughter but to no avail, fails as he formally greets the Queen. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“Always good to see you, my Prince,” the Queen replies and gently pats his cheek. “And now that you’re here, I can finally take my leave.”

“Leave? We haven’t even picked a fabric yet,” you remind her and stand in between them.

“Honey, you have been going back and forth since nine in the morning,” she retaliates and walks back to the couch to pick her bag up. “Let’s schedule for another day. Unless you want Wonwoo to leave and we continue.”

Your stance immediately takes a hundred eighty degree turn. “You know what, you’re right. Let’s clear Saturday next week and we’ll take it from there.”

“I thought so.”

With a knowing wink, the Queen takes off.

That memory was from about three weeks ago after your visit and vacation at Wonwoo’s Kingdom. Wedding planning was back and the two of you went your separate ways for the time being to prepare your respective attire and accessories. Wonwoo didn’t know you had that conversation with the Queen not until she told him here at the hospital where you lie unconscious and fighting for your life.

The Royal Hospital was once again swarmed with a plethora of men in black suits because the Crowned Princess of the Kingdom has been shot twice, one on her shoulder and another on her left leg. It was a failed attempt in assassinating the King but Kim Mingyu took the opportunity to target your vulnerability and let his men shoot you instead as if it was his plan b. Kim Mingyu, whom he never desires to meet, is finally in police custody. He didn’t try to elude his impending arrest. In fact, he knew he would get arrested. He just wanted to toy with people until he couldn’t anymore.

Wonwoo has no words to spare to describe him and seeing his face and hearing his name everywhere and everytime is just making his blood boil.

The Queen has never left the hospital from the moment she arrived while you were undergoing operation up to being placed in a private room. She was calm when Wonwoo stood up from the bench to respectfully address her. She just nodded her head when he couldn’t say a word without his lips trembling and enveloped him in a warm hug as he cried on her shoulder.

She told him that the two of you haven’t spoken since your father’s arrest and it has been unbearably painful and challenging. She acknowledges how terrible and neglecting she has been as a mother when she knows how absolutely difficult this is for you. It’s even more heartbreaking because you never once complained. Instead you respected her silence and distance. She regrets her absence and seeing you lying on a bed, looking so cold and fragile is making her world completely fall apart.

“Wonwoo, I’m so sorry that this happened,” the Queen solemnly says and holds his hand tightly. “The Kingdom promises that everyone involved will be held accountable.”

Wonwoo nods. “I understand, Your Majesty. Our Kingdom will do so as well.”

“I also want you to know that Y/N never wanted to end the engagement,” she adds. “She was just afraid that someone like her doesn’t deserve to receive your love.”

Wonwoo didn’t know that you looked up to him. If anyone should be admired, it should be you because you were ready to drop everything just to uphold justice. It’s been three days after the operation and you still haven’t opened your eyes. The operation was successful. No artery nor major organs were damaged, but you did lose a lot of blood. Just like the Queen, Wonwoo has been by your side, patiently waiting. Right now despite your stable condition, he still feels like dying.

The love of his life almost died before his eyes.

Wonwoo rests his head on the small space beside your arm, similar to the first time he took care of you a few months back. He gazes at your peaceful face, silently begging for you to wake up. He wants to kiss, hear and hug you again. He wants to be with you again.

“Wonwoo.”

He sits up straight at the sound of his name and finds the Queen sadly smiling at him.

“How about you go back to your apartment for today?” She suggests, taking the seat on your other side. “Take a long shower and have some shut eye? Hmmm?”

Wonwoo bites his bottom lip, hesitant to leave and not have his eyes on you. He badly wants to stay and be here when you finally wake up. But the Queen is right. You’re safe now so he has nothing to worry about anymore.

Slowly, he stands up from the chair he’s been sitting on for who knows how long. He clasps his one hand around yours while the other sweeps the hair that’s covering your forehead and lands a gentle kiss there. You’re starting to warm up and that’s a relief.

He talks to you every single day, hoping you’d hear his voice. For now, he’ll keep it to himself.

I love you.

Later in the evening, you find your mother quietly dozing off, her head swaying from left to right and vice versa as she remains upright on the couch placed near the wall. You blink your eyes and adapt to the sudden brightness greeting your senses. You try to move your head and take in your surroundings and after a few minutes of contemplating, you recognize where you’re at and remember everything.

Dad.

Your violent gasp immediately roused your mother from her sleep and seeing you struggling to sit made her jolt up and hurry beside you.

“Darling,” she calls and holds your thrashing arms down, worried that you’d worsen your wounds. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Dad,” you voice out against the dryness of your throat. “Mom, where’s dad?”

“He’s okay too.” You can see the tears welling up on her eyes as she caresses your hair and gently pulls you in a hug. “He’s safe.”

Together, you shed the tears of anguish that you have been holding back for so long.

The King couldn’t be here because the court didn’t allow his appeal to accompany nor visit you even just for a day. He couldn’t even carry his daughter’s body to the ambulance because he was handcuffed and heavily guarded. He couldn’t even protect his daughter from the harmful consequences of his mistakes. Your mother told you that he desperately wants to be by your side and you do know that. You’re way past his inability to be here and that’s none of your concern anymore. As long as he is safe, you’re more than content.

The trial has been rescheduled for next week and your father has to be detained until then. You’ll try to visit him again once you’re discharged and together with that, you’d also find the strength to accompany him at his trial.

Your mother was firm on staying and insisting that she’s fine when you tried to urge her to go home, but you can clearly tell how tired she is from the lack of sleep so you didn’t let her win. It’s already late in the night when she finally gave in. Your mother kisses your cheek one last time after the doctor assessed your condition. Jeongyeon would stick around for the evening in her stead. Poor girl cried so much the moment she saw you widely awake.

Once it’s only the two of you left, Jeongyeon helped you sit on a wheelchair and wheeled you next to the window before she left to grab some extra bottled water. You can’t stand properly yet because of the wound on your leg so a wheelchair is necessary if you want to be mobile. You’re starting to feel the back pain after lying down for so long, you need to move. The doctor was a bit apprehensive about allowing you to leave your bed, but gave in when you promised to stay inside the room.

The moon, shining in all its glory, up in the dark sky looked so enticing, you had to take a closer look. The three days went by so fast and running through all that ensued leaves a sickening sensation down to your stomach. You shake your head, not wanting to relive the frightening memories.

Your attention goes back to the moon and one person comes to mind.

It makes you selfishly wonder if he ever visited once or asked and worried about you as you bring your hand up to your neck. When you don’t feel the lifebuoy pendant, your heart skips a beat. You then looked down to your hand, your engagement ring is also not on your finger. You frown, growing upset. They could have removed it, but it should be back to you by now. You looked around the room, hoping to find your precious gems within reach. Just in time before you could wheel yourself around to search for them, you hear the door open.

“Hey Jeongyeon, have you seen my necklace and ring?” You ask to the void as you tilt your head back to the moon.

When you don’t hear any answer other than the sound of heavy breathing, you remove your gaze from the window to see who came in if it’s not your assistant. To your surprise it’s no other than,

“Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo didn’t keep count of the exact times, but he knows how long and how much he begged just to hear your voice call his name once again. He didn’t even have the chance to change from his sweatpants and sleeveless shirt when he received the call from Soonyoung (whom Jeongyeon told to). Honestly? He didn’t bother at all because he just wanted to be right here at this moment.

To be with you.

He takes slow steps as he calms his breathing. Meanwhile, you remained seated and let him come to you. You’d run to him just like you did back then, but your leg wouldn’t appreciate that.

It felt like forever for Wonwoo to get to you. But when he finally drops on the floor and lightly rests his head on your lap, there’s no reason for him to complain anymore.

Your tears fall again for the nth time tonight. You caress his wet locks, probably from the mixture of his shower and sweat. He cries too because you can feel it seeping against the pants you’re wearing. He wraps his arms around your lap, careful from crashing his weight. You, on the other hand, bend your head down to kiss the crown of his head.

Both of your hearts are shouting, finally.

The beautiful moonlight shines on the two of you as you both silently settle down there for a moment, not giving a care in the world because this is just what you’ve been yearning for and you’re not allowing anyone nor anything to steal this away ever again.

Your long face doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo and he knows why you’re pulling it against him. But no, he is not falling for it. Instead he ignores your silent plea and continues tucking you back on the bed. You glance up at him and try to win him again with your attempt at puppy dog eyes and when he doesn’t, you give up.

“You know that this bed is too small to fit two bodies, Y/N,” he states the obvious and drags a chair to sit on. “I know you’re smart enough to see that.”

You huff and pull the covers closer to your chin. If it wasn’t for the wound on your shoulder, you’d turn your back against him.

Wonwoo just rolls his eyes at your antics and holds your hand under the warm blanket.

After your short reunion, Wonwoo decided to get you back to your bed because it was nearing one o’clock in the morning. You haven’t brought up what happened and it’s alright because you still have another chance to do so. Hopefully.

“I’m sorry, Wonwoo,” you whisper under your breath but his ears can hear your words.

He nods and kisses the back of your hand. “I know, baby. It’s not your fault.”

Baby.

You never use pet names or terms of endearment and hearing him say it for the first time almost made you faint. It’s an exaggeration but you’re weak at the moment and anything that flusters your heart can potentially weaken your whole body.

Wonwoo then brings something out from his pockets and your eyes brighten at the sight of the necklace he gave you. He chuckles when he sees your excited expression and stands up. His fingers tenderly graze the skin of your neck when he puts it back to where it rightfully belongs.

“I thought I lost it,” you say, holding the pendant between your fingers.

He sits back down and what he mutters next makes you feel a twinge of guilt.

“I thought I lost you.”

You sigh and coax him to you, grasping the hand enclosed to yours. “Come here.”

This time you let him take the small space on your bed. You sit up as well so that you can reach his height. He helps you and once you’re comfortably situated, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest.

Wonwoo smiles at your affection and lets his hand smooth against your hair. You have always been brave when it comes to touching him and he’ll never forget how you kissed him on the lips first. He’s so glad and relieved you’re finally awake. He doesn’t think he can go on for another day without you. And now that you’re holding each other like this, he wishes for this night to never end.

“I’ll probably not inherit the throne,” you say against his shirt. “I don’t think your family would want you to marry an abolished monarch.”

Wonwoo’s hand drops and he breathes out a disappointed sigh. He is not having this conversation with you right now. Why must you ruin the moment?

When you don’t feel his hand against you anymore, you look up and steal a kiss under his chin. However, that doesn’t suffice because he’s still upset and it’s evident on the frown adorning his handsome face.

“But I realized I love you, so if it means I have to beg all the way to their Majesties for your hand then—”

Wonwoo doesn’t let you continue and shuts you up with a searing kiss. He softly squeezes your cheeks with one of his hands, almost as if commanding you to pucker your lips. Your eyes widened in surprise but when he put his other hand at the side of your neck, you surrendered.

It’s no secret that you and Wonwoo kiss. Oftentimes they’re just quick brushes, but sometimes they get a little bit more intense, deeper. You won’t get into detail though, because that’s a story to tell for some other time.

For now, you eagerly meet Wonwoo’s passion as he lays you back down on the bed, of course with caution. He doesn’t fully drop his weight on top of you, one arm carrying his upper body while the other gingerly cupping one side of your face.

His chest is firm and his shoulder broad as you grip your hands on them and continue kissing him. You should be asleep by now because you are still recovering. But Wonwoo is a doctor himself, right? So if he took the initiative to kiss you until sunrise, then it must be alright.

Okay, maybe it’s wrong to mock his profession like that. But, you’re just grateful to kiss him like this again. Because the last time you shared one, tears were streaming down your face and you two were on the verge of breaking up.

“I should really put you to sleep now,” Wonwoo whispers against your lips, breathless.

You hold your laughter, still basking in his taste. When you open your eyes, Wonwoo is already hoisting himself back up. Your lips draw into a pout again and the cause of it just rolls his eyes.

“I promise there will be more, but for now rest, okay?” He pinches your cheek lightly and sits back on the chair.

“You can take the couch,” you tell him.

“Sleep, Y/N.”

You no longer defy and close your eyes.

You remember the first time he commanded you those words and looking back, they are all fond memories of your then developing relationship. There were many questions when you and Wonwoo got along so well and so fast. There were many doubts and insecurities. The two of you shared those in silence, which could have endangered your hearts. However, even though your relationship was shaken and tested, the two of you persevered.

For you, Wonwoo persevered and words and actions are not enough to thank him. You couldn’t have overcome this without his support and patience. So from now on, against all odds, you’ll do exactly the same.

#seventeen #wonwoo #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo scenario #seventeen scenarios #seventeen scenario #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo imagine #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #wonwoo fanfic #seventin fanfic #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #fic: ifliys

297 notes · View notes

fragileizywriting · 3 years

Text

rain

AO3 | Start here | Next Chapter

Chat Noir hates the rain.

It’s very easy to explain why, and it’s not that hard to understand, because there is that whole cat demon part— because hell doesn’t have rain, so of course it would be his luck that he never got used to it— because it makes Marinette’s scent disappear and wash out of his nose and makes everything all muddy when he tries to sniff the air and, well, he really feels better when he knows where she is.

Marinette herself, the darling little witch, doesn’t hate it as much as he does. She doesn’t use her nose to sniff for him, since she’s only human, so she isn’t too upset when the grass starts to upturn that sappy scent that makes him sneeze— but he does catch her mouth starting to twitch downwards at the sign of the clouds turning dark in the sky, already succumbing to the fact that she’s going to have to listen to him whine about it until it stops raining again.

Ah well. If they’re miserable, they’re at least miserable together.

He relies more on his sense of magic when he’s washed out like this, which is fine— if he’s searching for her, which he often is, he’s able to find her easily just by the way their magic push and pull against each other. His magic searches for hers even without him wanting to, it’s embarrassing. No amount of internal berating is able to stop his magic from curling into the air and wanting to wrap around hers to form a unified ball, because their powers are so connected with each other they fit and nestle into each other like missing puzzle pieces, and his magic wants nothing more than to be attached to hers.

He’s never asked her if she feels it. If she feels the puzzle pieces, and how they fit together. He knows that she’ll just chalk it up to it being because of her summoning him up onto Earth, or that she’ll say that it’s because his magic wants to make sure that the person who he’s assigned to won’t try to run off on him. She’ll skirt around the issue. She’ll completely deflect. Even as their magic push and pull back and forth, curling and uncurling, keeping each other precious company.

He doesn’t need his nose to find Marinette.

But if there’s one of their precious hens on the run, because the thunder scared the little bird off— and Marinette is keen on trying to find the poor thing before any wolves do— well, there’s not much he can do.

Hens do not have magic, as far as he’s aware.

The sound of rain is loud in his ears. It’s not a roaring thunder, but it’s no drizzle, either— it plasters his hair to his face and makes his ears sag down from the weight. He’s miserable, just like he is when there’s water involved and he’s introduced to it unwillingly. He can pick up the noises of water droplets hitting all the leaves in the back woods as he searches the area for Henrietta— it’s loud and invasive to hear the branches whistle from the soft draft.

“Did you find her?” Marinette’s boots sink into a wet and nasty pile of leaves behind him, and he all but finds himself with two heavy armfuls of the witch as she stumbles while trying not to fall over. He tries wiping out some of the water from her bangs with one of his hands, but the strands are so drenched that they end up just curling in the direction of where his hand passed through— he can’t help but smile at her, even if he’s a little exasperated.

He sighs in defeat, looking back into the woods. The clouds above make it so that it’s impossible to see through, even with his night vision. “Maybe it would be better if we go looking for her after the rain is done, Princess.”

“But she could be terrified out here all alone!”

“She’s a tough bird,” He tries to flick his tail free of rain to no avail. Miserable. Absolutely miserable. It’s going to take him forever to dry off. He can see the resulting fight once he tracks water back into their house already, and he’s not excited for it in the slightest. “You saw how she demolished that racoon. There wasn’t any fear in her eyes.”

Chickens are ruthless. He’s thankful he hasn’t tried to show up into the coup in his cat form— he’d be pecked to death. He’s not even sure if he can actually die, but trust in a chicken to make his life difficult and figure that out for him in his stead.

“But—”

“—And any predator who attempts to go hunting right now is a sign that there’s trouble. It’s far too wet to be trying to hunt without a nose, so only the truly desperate go out. We’ll have bigger problems than just Henrietta to worry about if that’s the case.”

Her face pinches as she continues to think about it. “Oh, no. Are you talking about that fisher from last week?”

“We—” Well, “—I killed it. You saw all the bite and scratch marks, remember?”

Marinette hates watching him go hunting. She finds the spectacle almost nauseating, and he can’t really blame her— there’s far too much teeth and far too much hissing for it to be considered a fun thing to watch.

But absolutely under no circumstance is he going to let a dirty animal attack his property without him putting up a fight.

The hens may be a little apprehensive of him, sure, but they’re warming up to him— they’re family, even if the hens don’t agree. He’s really trying his best not to terrorize them anymore, but it’s been a gradual process. It’s taking a little bit of time— they’re aren’t as completely trusting as they are with Marinette and they flee the coup sometimes whenever he barges in on their clearly busy mornings— and Chat’s starting to suspect it might be because of his fangs. Or claws. Maybe his ears. Or his height, even. Something about his appearance makes the hens a little skittish, but they’re still their hens. He’ll do anything to protect them from harm, even if that means getting into a fight with an animal the size of one of his legs and leaves nasty bites.

Trying to figure out if he should fight the animal in his cat form or in his normal form had been exhausting. The fisher was much too big for his cat form, even with a supernatural bite force and supernatural speed— but fighting the fisher in his demon form had just been embarrassing whenever that angry rodent-esque animal decided to weasel out of his grasp. He ended up nearly burning the whole animal alive once he’d gotten a good grip on the tail just purely out of frustration.

“What if it’s another fisher?”

“Princess, I would’ve smelled another one.”

Her shoulders drop. It dawns on him, then, that she’s starting shake like a haphazard leaf on a branch in the middle of the storm, she’s so cold. Her small, fragile hands in his are so ridiculously cold, he’s certain she’s under a freezing spell. “You can’t even smell Henrietta. She’s out here, cold, and hungry— it’s raining too much for her to be comfortable anywhere other than the coup—”

“She’s going to be okay.”

“I miss her so much, Chat. It’ll be my fault if she gets hurt— I’ll never be able to forgive myself. I shouldn’t have kept the fence open— I thought they knew better— but the thunder— Chat, I’m just so stupid—”

“Princess, come on.” He sighs. If he doesn’t stop her soon, she’s going to berate herself until she cries. She’s getting there, he thinks— he can’t tell if the tracks of water on her cheeks is because of the rain or because of her watering eyes, but he doesn’t want it to last any longer than that. “We’re being useless out here, and you’re going to catch a cold in the rain if you stay here longer. Let’s go inside, let’s worry about Henrietta in the warmth of our house.”

“But— but—”

He raises a brow. “I’ll haul you back into the house myself if you don’t go.”

Marinette sags. “Alright. Alright. We’re sitting ducks out here, anyway.”

“Exactly.”

“Henrietta wouldn’t like us getting sick because of her.”

“Perhaps.” He’s a little iffy about it. Henrietta isn’t particularly fond of him.

“Chat,” That brings a smile to her face.

He’s thankful. So, so thankful to see that hint of a smile that turns the sides of her pretty lips up. “Trust me, Princess. Everything will be okay.”

“I do trust you,” She blinks at him, agreeing easily. He tries not to give into rubbing at the mark on his chest as it burns with her honesty. It’s a dangerous thing, he thinks, to have someone like her be so trusting of a demon like him— he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it. And from someone who deserves more than just him.

Either way, he eases her into turning her entire body to face the back of their little house. Hopefully there’s enough firewood to draw a bath for her, or at least get out of those petticoats and aprons that are most likely absorbing so much water and is making it impossible for her to move as swiftly as she usually does. He guides her back into their cottage with a hand on her lower back, careful of any more nasty leaf piles, turning one last time to the woods before ducking his head to enter through the door.

AO3 | Start here | Next Chapter

#marichatmay2021 #day one: rain #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #fire lily au #my fic #fragileizyadrienette

14 notes · View notes

shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.02

A New Princess

09/27/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,910

Warnings: a smidge of abuse, language?, floral baths

A/N: I literally worked on this all day. Haven’t edited much. Did one quick pass through but I probably missed a whole bunch of stuff. Pardon my typos. I was just so eager to get this out. Again, I will not tag you if you ask to be tagged in the comments. Only tag requests sent in ASKS will be answered. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Please let me know what you enjoyed. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work. xoxo

Baths have never been anything that you’ve particularly hated. You don’t mind getting clean, in fact, you like feeling like you’re new after a bath.

However, until today, your experience with baths has been one of need rather than want.

You always had to bathe in cold water from the river. You nearly always bathed without soap. And you only ever came out smelling slightly better than when you went in.

But today...

You sigh with contentment as your body sinks into the large copper basin. Fresh flower petals, peony and jasmine have been spread across the water. Scented oils are still being added as you settle in.

Technically this is your second bath.

You'd been doused in water before, over the a different smaller tub to scrub the layers of mud that had caked onto your skin.

Now, since your skin is mostly clean, you’re lowered into this one.

Your lady in waiting adds the oils to your bath, having shooed the bath preppers—two stocky young men that had taken to staring at your barely covered naked body as they poured cauldron after cauldron of hot steaming water into the tub—she’s taken it upon herself to make everything just right.

Now that you’re seated, you watch her as she calculates the oil before stopping the amber bottle and setting it on the table where your food had been a few hours ago.

Your lady has long straight hair the color of rubies and sunset. Her skin is silken cream. She’s clearly a beauty but you can’t tell if she’s a noblewoman or lucky, like you.

“Natasha?” You ask, tentative as she fetches a maroon bar of soap. It smells like pomegranate and more jasmine.

She smiles at you. “Yes.”

It’s a kind smile but you also saw her eyeing you suspiciously when she came in at first. She also seems to know that you’re checking to see if you remembered her name correctly.

She sits beside you on a slightly lower stool so that she still sits above you but low enough to help you.

“Lean forward, your Highness.” She asks, and your neck flares with heat.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach making you queasy and your chest begins to hollow.

“Your high-?” You probably lose most of the color in your face because Natasha’s eyes flash with concern.

“Are you alright, your Highness?” She wonders, genuine in her concern.

“I…” You look to the shut doorway and know that there’s a guard sitting out in the room entryway between the main doors and the doors to your bedroom.

Natasha leans in closer as you finally lean forward and give her access to your back.

When you speak again, you whisper as Natasha smiles conspiratorially.

“I’m not really a princess, Natasha. The king plucked me from the side of a road, covered in mud. I’m nobody.” You worry, chewing your lip harshly.

Natasha frowns and reaches up to run her thumb across your lip, stopping your biting.

“Don’t do that. Princess do not chew on their lip. And I know.” She assures you. “Tony, that is to say, the King cannot hide much from me. I was the one that gave him the idea to look for a peasant.”

“You?” You lean back, slightly shocked as she really goes at your skin with the smaller towel she'd lathered up.

“I have worked as his Majesty's assistant for many years now. Too many. He’s like a brother to me and Pepper, that is, the Queen, is like a sister.

“His Majesty figured you might find it a little difficult to acclimate which is why he’s entrusted your care to me. Don’t worry, your Highness, I’ve got your back.” She smiles reassuringly but you know she has no loyalty for you yet.

Her loyalty, like yours, is to the crown. You agreed for the sake of your kingdom.

“So, we have a day full of things for you to do. You won’t get much rest today. Or for several days. Maybe weeks, depending on when King Rogers decides he wants to get married.” She informs you.

“What’s he like?” You ask eagerly, desperate for information on the widower. “Have you met him?”

“I have. He’s very upright. Upstanding. Noble. Honorable. A little serious but very sweet. He’s gentle when he isn’t angry but when he is angry he has been known to lash out.” She explains.

You blanch again, feel queasy once more. “Is he violent? Will he hit me?”

“No.” Nat answers, reassuring you with the tough spark in her emerald eyes. “Like I said, he’s honorable, and even if he were inclined to hit you I wouldn’t let him. It’s my job to protect you.”

When she says that it almost sounds like she’s willing to fight. Physically. With punches and kicks.

“What is it that you did for his Majesty, Natasha?” You wonder, suspicious now.

She smirks down at you, pleased with how observant you are. Sharp.

“Never you mind, Highness. Sit back, I’ll scrub your tummy.” She asks but as you sit back you reach up and take the cloth from her.

“I can do it.” You watch her until she releases it.

“Very well. Make sure you get all your nooks and crannies. We need you shining like new.” She says, getting up to rifle through your wardrobe.

“What things will we do today?” You wonder, attempting to mimic the correct way she speaks. Most of your word choices are fine but there’s a posh little tone to her words that you’ll need to learn to mimic.

Right now you sound too much like the country bumpkin you are.

“These dresses will need to be altered to your specific body type. You'll also start training in etiquette and we need to attempt to teach you a little to write and read.

“I’m hoping King Rogers will take his time in accepting you as his wife. It’ll give us time to get you trained a little.” She picks a floor length gown with no hoop which you like. It has an latticework of lace along the bodice and the sleeves over a beige underskirt made of voile and organza.

It’s pretty but more expensive than all of the money you've ever earned sewing up patches and fixing shirts and pants.

“This looks the closest to your size. It might sit a little loose but it'll work until we can get you a proper wardrobe.” She turns towards the bed to lay out your dress and you wonder if she did that on purpose to show off the flowing fabric of the dress.

She proceeds to pull out several undergarments, a long and thin white shirt, and a corset with back lacing to put over it.

Your own well worn undergarments had been discarded, along with your dress.

“Okay.” She says, moving to you and holding out her hand. “Give me that. You’re too slow. I need to get you scrubbed and changed within the hour. We still have to wash your hair.”

“I can do it.” You protest and make to dip under the water.

“No!” Natasha almost shouts. “Not in there. We will wash your hair separately and when we are done with your bath.”

“Why?” You frown, looking down at the now slightly murky water with its flowers and oils.

“Because, you haven bathed in a while and that water is already rife with dirt.” Natasha explains.

“I’ve done it before.” You complain.

“You weren’t a princess before.”

“This is stupid.”

“Stupid as it might be, doesn’t change the fact that you were filthy when I got you. Please, your Highness, let’s do it my way at least a few times. Then after a few washes, when you’ve used soap and I’m sure your body is clean enough, then you may wash your hair at the same time. Alright?”

You consider Natasha for a moment, still standing with her hand outstretched, long red hair braided and pinned up on the top of her head. She doesn’t look upset though and is genuinely pleading with you.

You give in and hand her the cloth then lean back as she pulls her stool over and takes to scrubbing your legs hard.

“You don’t think I deserve to be here, do you?” You ask, feeling shameful for being so dirty.

Nat stops her scrubbing and looks up at you. She blinks, thinking for a moment before shrugging her left shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She says. “What you’re doing is going to be hard. I don’t know if you’re prepared for what taking this on means.

“I don’t know if you’re good at lying which you will have to do on a daily basis, to everyone but myself, the King, and the Queen and often it will have to be spur of the moment.

“Can you do that?” She asks, brow furrowed with worry and curiosity.

“I…I dunno.” You admit. “I’ve lied before but not about something this important.”

She nods. “And we'll have to fix your speech. You don’t sound too bad but sometimes you can really tell you’re not of noble birth.”

More shame draws your eyes down as Nat goes back to scrubbing.

“But you are very brave. You’re choosing to do this from the kingdom when you are not obligated to. You’re giving up your freedom for a life in service of the crown. And it won’t even be our crown.” She says in astonished admiration. “Have you even considered that?”

“I have no one, Natasha. I don’t even own my own home. True, at least I could go out and do what I liked but my life was meaningless. I would grow old, if I was lucky, and I would die alone. At least this way, I might serve a purpose.”

“Didn’t you have parents? Or maybe a beau?” She’s scrubbing between your toes and it takes all of your willpower not to squirm.

“Um…” Your voice shakes, itching to laugh. “No.”

She looks at you and you can’t help it, you burst into laughter.

You throw your head back and the water sloshes around you as she hurries to finish your other toes, smiling wide as you laugh. Your finished leg lifted and bent against your chest as you wiggle.

When she’s done she drops her hands, leaning against the side of the tub, a look of fondness in her eyes.

You chuckle a little more as you settle in the water again. It’s still warm. Will she let you soak a bit longer?

“What?” You chuckle. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“Because now that you’re all cleaned up, with laughter in your eyes, I think you just might make King Rogers fall for you. Genuinely.” She gets up and moves to hold open the thin white robe for you.

Ears burning, neck flaring once again, you rise. The water sloshes around you and several petals stick to your wet skin as you step out onto a small carpet placed by the tub so that you don’t slip.

She wraps the robe around you, and it sticks to you, growing sheer as the wet is soaked up.

You can see everything. You shiver and Steve closer to the fire, but Natasha reaches for you and pulls you to the stool she'd been sitting in.

“Here. Sit.” She moves to fetch a brass pitcher and holds it, waiting for you.

You sit, then naturally lean back on instinct.

“Do you really think he might like me?” You ask her. Eyes wide, heart pounding. “What does he look like?”

Now that you know that he isn’t abusive and is in fact a true gentleman by all accounts, you’re eager to see this possible future husband.

“He’s very handsome. I’ll show you his portrait when we’re done. As far as his liking you, it may be better if you don’t expect too much.” She says sadly.

“Why?” You ask, worried.

“Well, as you know, King Rogers lost his first wife.”

“Yes.” You nod.

“Queen Margaret was the love of his life. I have never known anyone to love someone that much, except perhaps Tony and Pepper.” She explains. “When he lost her, I heard he went into seclusion.”

“How did she die?” You wonder, watching as much of Natasha's face as you can while she works her hands through your long hair, pouring warm water from the pitcher’s until it’s soaked.

She gets the soap and begins to lather it up, pitcher set aside.

“An accident, I think. I don’t know the details but I heard she had to get surgery done and she passed from complications.”

“Oh.” You’ve never heard of anyone actually getting surgery but the rich can afford it so it’s probably more common here. “So you’re saying he may not like me?”

“He might not. He needs to remarry and he needs an heir so, whether he likes you or not, he will tolerate you. Perhaps even grow fond of you? It think that may be the best we can expect but I hope he can see you laugh as you just did.

“Perhaps it will sway his heart.” She smiles.

Grabbing the pitcher, she rinses your hair and you stare at her beautiful face.

“Why do you care? I mean, whether he likes me?”

She looks down at you in slight shock. “You are under my care, your Highness. I want you to he as happy as possible in this new life you are choosing especially because you are doing it for the kingdom.

“If I can make him love you. I will.” She promises and finishes with your hair.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re exhausted.

The day has been endless, and it all began with a fitting for your dresses.

All of the gowns in your closet had to be altered. Then your head was measured for a new tiara and several others to take with you.

The one you are given to use with your dress is silver with a gold inlay, a large ruby at the front surrounded by smaller yellow diamonds.

It belongs to the Princess Morgana and you’re really nervous about wearing her tiara when she isn’t home. What if you lose it?

“It only until your own is made. You’ll have it tomorrow. Were you satisfied with the design you chose?” Natasha asks.

You'd chosen a simple tiara with silver leaf designs that run along the entire front and the center should be two large gems.

You’re not sure what they’re supposed to be as the design was just a sketch but you’re sure that his Majesty will choose the stone.

“Yeah.” You answer.

Natasha frowns at you. “Yes.” She corrects.

“Right, sorry. Yes.”

“Come on. We need to get you to the speech tutor.”

This is the moment that Princess lessons takeover your day. You do indeed begin with your speech. You’re corrected often but after a few hours you begin to understand what the tutor wants, and you deliver.

He’s impressed and you leave the lesson feeling more confident. Etiquette is much more different.

You slouch often, and the new tutor, a stern middle-aged woman slaps the center of tour back several times to make you remember as she teaches you how to hand things to others. How to sit. Stand. Bow. Curtsy. And all the other intricacies of life in the castle.

The long and carefully crafted waves of your hair provide a little cushion, but the smack still stings.

On the sixth hit, you hiss in pain and Natasha’s hand is suddenly there, grabbing the rod she’d been hitting you with.

“Hit the Princess again and I will personally make sure this rod ends up somewhere unpleasant.” She threatens, death in her eyes and a sneer stretching her red tinted lips.

The woman pales but she looks at you as you reach behind you to try and rub at the spot on your back.

“Negative reinforcement works better to create a memory for her to remember.” The woman argues but she’s just barely enthusiastic about it.

She’s eyeing Natasha with fear.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to use negative reinforcement so that you remember not to hit the Princess. Do it again, and I’ll have you sacked. Got it?” And Natasha waits, eyes narrowed at the woman.

“Y-Yes, my lady.” The woman nods then moves on to sitting at the dinner table.

You’re taught how to walk. How to sit with a book. How to relax when you’re told to though really, it’s still just sitting up straight and it’s not a very relaxing position.

You’re taught how to walk in your dresses and how to lift and adjust them when you climb stairs and sit down or stand up. When you asked them what you do before running, Natasha had smiled and looked at the middle-aged woman.

“A Princess does not run. You never run.” She insists.

“Never?” You ask again.

“Never.”

“What if-?”

“A Princess does not run. I think we will end our lessons here. I will see you tomorrow to see what you have retained. Good day, your Highness.” She curtsies and leaves.

You eat in your room and then return to the empty school room you’ve been using to find a new tutor waiting for you.

The alphabet is written across several sheets of parchment paper, and with a quill provided, you are given the task of copying their shapes.

“Once you can write them, we’ll learn what their names are and how to sound them out.” The man says before watching you copy the letters.

This is how you spend your day and soon, darkness takes over the castle once more. Natasha hasn’t left your side all day and with your fingers cramping and your eyes burning, you turn to look at her, massaging your hand.

“I think that’s enough for today, Master Rymond. Thank you for your hard work. We will see you again tomorrow.” Natasha tells him.

“My lady.” He says, nodding to her then he bows to you. “Your Highness. Good work today.”

When he’s gone you really want to sit back and slouch and really relax but the center of your back is still stinging, and you realize that the etiquette woman was right. The smacks are a good way to ensure you remember.

“I don’t think I will ever slouch again.” You whine, reaching up again to rub the sore spot. You’re probably bruised up.

“That’s good news.” Natasha teases. “Are you hungry or would you prefer to go to bed?”

As she stands beside you, hand on your shoulder, you look up at her and think.

“Both?” Are you being greedy?

Natasha however nods. “Okay. Do you know your way back to your room?”

“I will escort her, Lady Romanoff, madam.” A young male voice pipes up from the doorway and you lean around Natasha to get a look.

The young man is wearing a more relaxed suit of armor. Where the majority of the Knights are decked out in full gear, this young man seems to be wearing shoulder guards, knee guards, and sturdy boots all much lower profile than regular armor.

He has wavy brown hair, smooth and light. Peach white skin, sweet and bright hazel eyes, and a thin but tight muscular build. He looks lithe. Like he could outrun anyone simply because he’s lighter.

“Peter,” Natasha says fondly. “I didn’t know that his Majesty was going to give you to us.”

“Yes, Ma’am. He thinks it might be better to have someone like me with you at all times, in case something should happen.”

“Good.” She beams. “I’m going to go get the Princess some food, will you show her to her room for me? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Of course.” He nods, giving you a sweet smile too.

“I’ll be back.” Natasha gives your head a gentle caress and your heart soars at the affection.

Why are they all so nice to you? You’ve never been this loved before. Is it really them loving you or are they just appreciative of what you’re doing? You don’t want to question it, but it all seems to good to be true.

She leaves you, sweeping out of the room in her stunning black gown.

“Shall we, your Highness?” Peter gestures towards the door and you nod with a smile.

There’s silence between you and Peter for a few minutes as he leads you back up the stairs to the floor above. You watch his easy gait and the smile he seems to wear at all times.

“Peter?” You check, afraid to make a mistake in decorum.

“Yes, Princess?” He says, turning to walk slightly sideways but just long enough to give you an expectant look.

“Is it okay that I call you that?”

“Of course.” He smiles at you then faces the front again. “I’m at your service.”

“Why are you at my service?” You check, so confused by everything here in the castle.

“His Majesty, King Stark, thought that it might be good to have me by your side. You’ll need a protective detail and he thought one knight would be better than four.” He explains, beaming with pride at the job assignment.

Why only one of him though? Doesn’t this leave you and him more vulnerable?

“Why you?” You ask, “Not to be rude…I don’t mean to be rude if that was rude, but I’m a little confused as to why his Majesty would send only one guard instead of four and why Lady Romanoff would be so keen to have you with us.”

“Oh.” Peter says, nodding with a knowing smile. “That’s because I’m different from the other Knights. I’m stronger.”

“Stronger how?”

“Well,” He reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “Since we’re going to be spending so much time together, maybe it’s best if I let you know. I would hate to scare you.

“A few years ago, I got lost in the woods. I wandered away from my school group and found myself right smack in the middle of a witch’s hut. See, my uncle died, and my aunt was so sad about it that I thought, maybe, if I can find a good witch, she might help me get my uncle back. I found a spider instead and…well, it must have had a spell on it or something because it bit me and when I woke up the next day I was…different.”

It all suddenly falls into place, making sense in a way that you weren’t expecting.

“Oh my God, you’re the Spiderling.” You realize, looking him up and down again and for the first time noticing the red of his uniform beneath the navy painted armor plates. There’s a hood around his neck which you assume he uses to hid his identity.

“Actually, I go by Spider-Man now, but yes. That’s me. Please don’t tell anyone.” He begs, looking at you with worry.

“I won’t.” You promise, overcome with subtle pride that His Majesty would assign someone so skilled to be your protector.

“Wonderful.” He smiles at you, and you can’t help it. You stare a little as he leads you to your room.

Once you’re there, he hurries forward and opens the doors for you.

“Thank you.” You beam at him and he nods.

“Of course.”

The sight of your bed prompts your exhaustion to catch up with your body. It’s been twenty-six hours since you’ve slept, and you know you’ll have to get up early in the morning for more lessons.

“I’ll leave you to get changed.” Peter says. “Goodnight, your Highness, it was such an honor meeting you. I hope we get along really well together.”

Sweet. He’s really very sweet.

“I’m sure we will, Peter.”

He leaves you on your own, shutting the doors as he leaves but you know he’s probably stationed himself in that entryway.

You want to change. You want out of this dress and this too tight corset, but you know that you can’t take it off on your own, so your best bet is to wait for your lady in waiting to come back.

It takes her only twenty minutes. When she walks in, you sit up from truly relaxing in the chair by the fire, shooting up into your perfect posture.

“Good.” She praises you. “You’re practicing.”

She’s carrying a tray of some cold meats, cheese, and grapes.

“But you can relax when it’s just us, your Highness. I won’t tell on you.” She looks up at you as he places the tray on the table by your chair and gives you a quick wink.

You smile up at her and dive into the food she’s brought you. She pours you a glass of wine and you take a drink to wash the gritty cheese from your teeth.

“If that’s the case, I insist that you call me by name when we’re alone.”

“Your Highness…” Natasha begins to protest.

“Please? This all too much already. I’ve been called Princess and your Highness since I arrived. I’m starting to forget it. Please?” You’re begging wears her down and her gaze softens.

“Very well. Y/N.” She says, her cheeks flushing from the enjoyment of using your name.

You eat in semi-silence, Natasha munching on her own plate of food at your insistence.

“Tomorrow will be just as long.” She warns. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“Yes.” You nod. Certain that you can do this for them. All of them. Your entire kingdom.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Natasha begins, taking a drink of her own wine before setting her empty plate aside. “His Majesty has sent for a painter.”

“Why?” You wonder, finishing up your grapes.

“Well, they’ll need to paint you into the family portrait and King Rogers has replied to his Majesty’s letter.” She smiles at you, teasing you.

“Already?!” You gasp, nervous, heart pounding.

“Yes. He seems very eager which can be both good and bad.” She explains and as you eat your last grape, she gets up and takes your plate and empty goblet.

“Why? Why is it both?” You demand, terrified suddenly.

“Well, for one, it means that he’s accepted you. Mostly. He has requested a portrait of you be sent so that he might know what you look like. So, he seems able to overlook the strangeness of why you’ve been hidden away for so many years.” She seems more satisfied by this than you are.

“What if he doesn’t like the way I look?” You worry.

“You’re beautiful, your High-Y/N. He’ll love your looks.” She promises.

“You don’t know that.” You say under your breath, fiddling with the skirt of your dress.

“Come.” Natasha urges. “Let’s get you changed for your bath.”

“Another one?” You get up and move to her though you don’t understand why you need another bath.

“Yes.” She laughs. “Another one. You will bathe once a day until you are married and then you will bathe as often as they require you to in Broklin. There’s a kingdom in the south where they bathe almost three times a day. It’s ridiculous.”

She helps you out of your dress and begins to undo your corset.

“So, why is it bad?”

“Hm?”

“King Rogers’s eagerness. Why is it bad?” You clarify.

“Oh!” She shakes her head, glancing at you through the ornate mirror before you. “Well, once he gets your portrait, if he’s satisfied with you and calls for you, then our time here is finished. We have tomorrow, then the painter arrives the day after. He’ll paint your portrait in a few hours and then send it to Broklin. That will take a day and if the King likes it, we should hear back from him the day after that.

“That gives us only five days in which to get you ready for him. We may have to make excuses for why you cannot read or write.” She’s already brainstorming, and you feel shame once again for not being educated. “I’ll get with his Majesty and we’ll work something out.”

“I’m sorry.” You nearly whisper.

“For what, your Highness?” Natasha asks, finally pulling you free of your corset.

“For not being better. For not knowing how to read or write.” You keep your eyes down, suddenly hating your upbringing and orphaned state.

“Oh, no.” Natasha gasps. “No, Princess. Don’t say that.”

She turns you around slowly and ducks down to grab your under shirt and lift it up over your head. With it off, she pulls the same thin white robe you’d worn before and after your bath last night and helps you slip it on.

“Never forget that you are doing us a favor by agreeing to this foolhardy scheme. I told his Majesty that it would never work but when I met you, I suddenly realized that maybe, with the right girl, it might actually be something we can pull off.

“You gave me the confidence to take this post without fear. If anyone can marry King Steven Rogers and keep war at bay, it’s you.” She chafes your arms, more affection. “Trust me, Princess. I know what I’m talking about.”

A look into her emerald eyes tells you that she does indeed feel confident in you and it eases your worries a bit.

“I’ll work really hard.” You promise her, and she smiles.

“I know you will.

You fall asleep in the bath, the lavender and jasmine concoction along with the pomegranate soap and rose oils make you sleepy.

The heat from the fire, the hot water, it all lulls you into a truly relaxed state and you don’t even feel Natasha as she scrubs you down.

Suddenly she’s shaking your shoulder gently and your eyes pop open.

“Wake up, your Highness. Just a quick brush of your hair and you can go to sleep.” She says sweetly.

You lick your lips and get to your feet, stepping out as she wraps you up in a warm towel, then proceeds to brush your hair.

You very nearly fall asleep again on the edge of your bed but then she’s finished, and she helps you put on your nightgown.

It’s long and white and almost as sheer as your robe with puffed sleeves and a scoop neck that ties just along your clavicle to keep it shut.

“Um…” Natasha suddenly worries as she pulls the bottom of your nightdress down.

“What is it?” You ask her sleepily.

“I have something for you, but I forgot it in my room. Don’t fall asleep, alright? Lay down but try and stay awake. I will return in just a few moments.”

She bounds from the room, her black dress sweeping behind her majestically.

You slide back along your super soft and plush mattress, your body almost melting into it as your head finds your mountain of pillows.

For a few minutes, you wonder how it is you got so lucky. Sure, as Nat had said, you are giving up a lot of freedoms for this, but you’ve never slept in a bed this comfortable. You’ve never eaten food as delicious as you’ve eaten today. You’ve never fallen asleep in a bath of sweet floral water or smelled this good afterwards. You’ve never gone to bed with a full belly and you’ve never worn silks and jewels worth more than any amount of money you might have made in your lifetime.

You are truly blessed, and you vow to work hard to make certain that his Majesty did not make a mistake in choosing you and that Natasha’s hard work will not go to waste.

Despite your trying, you do end up dozing off. The bed is too comfortable and the fire too warm.

The door opening is what snaps you out of your slumber and you blink away the sleep before sitting up to watch your lady come in wearing her own nightdress and a thick red robe around it to keep her modest.

“Here you go.” Natasha says happily, the tease of a wily smirk on her lips.

“What is it?” You ask, staring down at the small silver compact case she’s holding out for you.

“Open it.” She urges, sits on the side of your bed and lets you take it.

You search for the small clasp at front and flip the lid slowly.

For a moment you forget how to breathe. The man inside, this small portrait, robs you of all rational thought.

He’s beautiful.

“He has blonde hair.” You say breathlessly.

“Yes.” Natasha nods, sounding amused. “It’s shorter in that photo. He’s grown it out some now. He also has a beard now. Very kingly.”

His strong jaw angles sharply. He has a long straight nose. Full rose-pink lips. Stunning storm blue almost gray eyes. His brow is slightly severe in the portrait. Stern. But it only makes him more handsome.

“I…” You begin, worried suddenly. “What if he doesn’t like me? I’m not at his level.”

With a frantic heart, you look at Natasha and she smiles with more amusement.

“I told you, you are beautiful. You are more than a match for him. In four days’ time, we won’t have to worry about that because he will have written about how beautiful you are and how much he can’t wait to marry you.” She lies.

You look back down at him and try to calm your heart.

“I want him to like me.” You admit, admiring his beauty.

“Most women do.” Natasha teases. “I knew you’d like him.”

“I hope he’s as kind as he looks.” You sigh, wishing you could know him already but also scared to disappoint his own expectations.

“He is. He may just need some coaxing. He was very saddened by his wife’s death.” She nods.

“I will do everything that I can to not only ensure the safety of our kingdom, but also to make him happy.” You gush. “I want to make him happy, Natasha.”

Natasha chuckles. “Of course, you do. And I’m sure you will. Now, get some sleep. I’ll be back in here in a few hours.”

Her warning falls on deaf ears however because you’re engrossed in his portrait.

“Can I keep this?” You ask her as she rises to her feet and pulls the blanket out to get you underneath it.

“It’s yours. I had one made for you. If you want a more recent one, you’ll have to get one from him once you’re married.”

Could this Adonis really marry you? Live his life with you? Be your husband? Your King?

“Goodnight, Princess.” Natasha whispers as she shuts the doors, knowing that as you lay down with your eyes glued to that portrait, nothing will break your concentration.

And she’s right. You stare at King Rogers’s portrait until his image is burned into your retinas. You blink and his face is there.

Soft golden hair. Piercing blue eyes. Perfect pink lips.

You fall asleep stroking his face, wondering if you’re foolish to get quite so enamored with his looks when you don’t know him one bit.

But…he’s to be your husband. Better to love him than to not.

All you can hope is that when he sees your own face in paint, that he will not be too disappointed.

1K notes · View notes

queenoftheclluds · 4 years

Text

Charlie Barber Imagine - Strong

Charlie Barber X Reader

1.9K

The number of times you had been strong for Charlie through it all were innumerable. When he first received the news that Nicole was leaving him, he called you while he processed it. You were on standby on days that he wasted in court, arguing over where was best for Henry, waiting for him with open arms and a listening ear. When they finally settled on bringing Henry to California, you supported Charlie every step of the way, even if it meant fewer nights spent with him. You did all of this because you loved him.

Your love even extended as far as keeping your feelings concealed sometimes, for his peace of mind. He couldn’t know that it was eating away at you - watching him struggle with losing his control on the situation, watching the countless tears he shed. You’d leave your own tears for your pillow, when Charlie wasn’t around to witness it, even if it meant biting them back until well after midnight.

That’s exactly what you did. He had been over for the evening after a particularly taxing day of arguing with lawyers. Charlie didn’t even bother to head back to his house, it didn’t really feel like a home anymore - not really. Instead he found himself driving over to your house which was only a few blocks away. When he showed up at your door, eyes rimmed red from crying and a forlorn expression pulling at his features, you pulled him into your embrace and shut the door behind him, effectively securing the two of you alone.

As soon as the door clicked shut he allowed himself to decompress once again. You graciously took in all of his worries as you fixed two cups of tea, feeling the weight of the situation. Eventually the sniffles subsided and you made dinner for the two of you, and finished with a movie. He left with a sigh, leaving you to your own devices and the ability to mull over your own feelings.

The first thing you did was shut off the lamp on the bedside table, allowing yourself to settle in the dark. You had half a mind to pick yourself up and head to the bedroom but it was easier to sink into the couch cushions, to curl up in a ball and just allow the tears to slide down your cheeks. So you did. You allowed the warm tears to finally spill over the brim of your lashes, where they had been waiting for the better part of the hour. The ghost of Charlie’s cries echoed in your memory, haunting each and every free space.

You cried for Charlie, who wanted so desperately to give both Henry and you a perfect life filled with everything good the world had to offer. You cried for Henry, whose mother up and left the family, leaving it shambles in her wake. You cried for yourself, who so desperately wanted to give Charlie the stability he needs, who desperately wanted to prove to him he is worthy of love, and to rid him of all his anxieties.

Before you knew it, you were sobbing, your body retracting into itself as you hiccuped through your cries. It was cathartic and painful all at once, but anything felt better than keeping it in. Your hands trembled as they reached up to swipe away some of the dew that had collected on your cheeks. It was a pathetic sight in your opinion, and you were thanking your lucky stars Charlie wasn’t here to see you like this, it would break his heart.

As fast as you were thanking that he wasn’t here, you were being jolted out of a hysterical haze. Your sobs halted at the sound of your name from that all too familiar voice. Charlie was kneeling on the ground beside you with outstretched hands firmly pressing into your arms to try and pull you back to reality. His form came into view behind the well of tears, the pained concern that contorted his face was enough for your body to attempt to pull away - but he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Y/n, babe, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He questioned, eyes scanning over your form in search of any ailment. When he found none at first glance he moved in closer and took your face into his strong hands. “Y/n, breathe.”

“Breathe.” He whispered into your hair, helping you control your sobs down to soft hiccups. You focused on trying to blow out even breathes which waivered at first as you reached out to hold onto his forearm for support, the contact a reminder that you weren’t in this alone.

Once your breathing evened out into steady, long breathes, Charlie rose from his spot on the ground and scooped your body into his arms and settled atop the couch with you in his lap. One hand splayed across your back, spreading smooth circles into your shirt while the other held your head against his chest. It was a trick he found worked when Henry was worked up as toddler, but worked equally well for instances like this.

Charlie patiently waited in silence, holding back the many questions that were swirling in his mind. Only when he felt your body relax into his did he even consider moving. At some point Charlie had flipped on the lamp again, which allowed him to see how pale and small you looked curled against him. Brows furrowed, speculating what could have set you off like this. A defeated sigh passed your lips as you nuzzle into his neck, accepting that you would have to reveal just how much you were struggling with it all.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, not wanting to push too much. Charlie wasn’t used to this, seeing the woman he cared about cry. Nicole seemed physically incapable of crying, even when her job depended on it, let alone actually showing any real kind of sadness.

“I just,” You blew out a breath to compose yourself, “It’s not fair Charlie. I see you hurting and there isn’t anything I can do about it. This divorce is throwing you through the ringer - and Henry. Little Henry. Neither of you deserve this. I wish I could take away all of the pain, I would I swear, just to see you smile. But I can’t, and it’s not fair to you.”

“Y/n, where is all of this coming from?” He asks.

“Every time you walk through that door, I can see what it’s doing to you. I try my best to stay strong, for you, because you don’t deserve that either. I allow myself to grieve when you are gone.” Your words are soft and quiet against his skin as you try to bury yourself further into him.

“Oh princess.” He breathes, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t quite sure what to say but he knew the thought of you huddled up night after night crying alone made him physically ill. “Why would you hide that?”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me. You have so much hanging on your shoulders, I didn’t need to throw my burden on you as well - I just couldn’t.”

He wanted to cry, but for an entirely different reason than what the majority of his tears were from. “But I can’t have you hiding your feelings from me. We are in this together. It doesn’t matter if I have the entire world on my shoulders, it’s still my responsibility to take care of you - physically and mentally.” His lips found their way to your temple, pressing a chaste kiss to reassure you of his presence.

“I’m sorry-” you started, pulling away from his chest so that you could look him in the eye. He didn’t want apologies though, he just wanted to know that you were going to be okay.

“Shh, it’s alright. How about we get you to bed, hm?”

Sheepishly, you nodded and decided to give in to the drowsy feeling that was cast over your body. Moving seemed like an impossible feat at the moment, and if it weren’t for Charlie being right there you probably would have just nodded off on the couch knowing how bad it was for your back.

Fortunately for you though, he was there, and more than capable of transferring you over a few rooms. Like a little child, he scooped you up once again this time supporting your legs with one arm and whisked you away to somewhere more comfortable. It was his turn to be strong, and was he more than happy to do so, making up for all the times you had pushed through whatever you were feeling in order to focus on him.

Charlie set you down on the edge of the bed before turning over to your dresser to find something more comfortable. A fond smile formed at the sight of the various shirts of his you had neatly folded, interspersed amongst your own clothes. Ever since the moment you had started seeing each other you had started a collection of his clothing that you loved to steal. When you stayed at his house, you occasionally slipped on one of his button downs in the morning. After you showered at his place you’d steal one of his t-shirts to wear with a pair of jeans which would wind up at your place later on. He fished one out from the pile and brought it over to you, helping you peel out of today’s clothes and pulled the cotton fabric over your body.

He marveled at how adorable you looked sitting there in his shirt. You were significantly smaller than him, causing the fabric that would sit comfortably over his broad shoulders to bunch around yours, and drape down to your mid thigh. He could sit and look at you all night, truthfully. But he knew that the best thing for you was to lay down and rest your head. Still beside you, he managed to help you settle underneath the covers, bringing the blanket up just under your chin - the way he knew you liked it.

“What are you doing?” You rolled over under the covers, watching as he toed off his shoes and placed them along the wall.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you sleep alone tonight, did you? Not after that.” He shook his head, pulling off his shirt.

“What about Henry?”

“He’s over at a friend’s house. So I’m all yours.”

After stripping down to his boxers, he peeled back the opposite corner of the duvet and slipped underneath, pressing his body as close to yours as he could. He outstretched one arm, making room for you to snuggle in against him, the other curling around your waist and pressing you into his side.

“What made you come back?” You ask, nuzzling into his chest, your finger meandering a lazy pattern into his skin.

“I forgot my phone on your coffee table.” He answered simply.

It was something so small as forgetting a phone that would ultimately bring you even closer to Charlie - if that was even possible. Because of a small mistake you didn’t have to spend the night alone, allowing your tears to lull you to sleep, only to wake up to swollen eyes and an empty bed. Now you’d have him to wake to.

#charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber imagine #reader insert #fluff #charlie #marriage story imagine #fandom #requests open

163 notes · View notes

queakenstein · 4 years

Note

Queaky, Senpai ! may I please request zelink where Zelda ignores Link for a day to see his reaction.

Everyone has their own interpretations of Zelda and, when I see something like this that comes off as “mean” for no particular reason, it becomes hard to fit it into the typical way that I write her (which is typically very same-y). This should be fun.

Also, yes, I’m finally writing again because of the quarantine... yay (not but yay)

__________

It had been two weeks since they had properly seen each other. The improper part being nothing scandalous unless one counts fleeting glimpses of each other passing through separate corridors. She was working on rebuilding an entire nation from literal ruins and he was attempting to implement the framework for defense. Everything was chaos and Zelda only remembered her name wasn’t “Her Highness” because she finally insisted they call her Zelda until proper titles were imposed.

So, when she got a small respite from financial meetings, reconstruction efforts, civil relations with the other races, and all manner of things. She thought she would seek him out. Find her calm in this crazy storm.

“I’m sorry.” He said, sounding only a tiny bit apologetic and utterly annoyed that she had stepped into his room. “I don’t have time. Sidon is on his way.” He barges passed her and turns, briefly, so that he can actually shuffle her out. “Tomorrow. Maybe.” Link sighs. “Send me a letter next time.” And he’s gone.

If. If he had not mentioned sending him a letter. If he had not made it seem like he had to pencil her in. If he had even just given her a quick peck on the cheek and a tiny promise to make it up to her... then maybe. MAYBE. Her blood wouldn’t have boiled in an instant.

“Send a letter?!” She growls, fists bunching into her skirts and hot tears dropping down her face. It hurts. The pain of such an indifferent and icy reunion stings. Zelda grits her teeth and wipes away her tears with her sleeve, roughly. “What an ass!” She stomps away to where her chambers lie. They’ve made enough headway with the castle that there are many who dwell within the safer portions of the castle. She slams her door and rips off her clothes in frustration. Daydreams of some kind of revenge begins to muster in her mind.

By the morning, she has an idea. She dresses in one of her favorite gowns. One she knows, Link is particularly fond off and let’s her newly shortened hair hang loose except for the small gold circlet that she places atop her head. Zelda takes her time and even applies some of the makeup Riju gifted her on her birthday. She does not attend breakfast with the rest of the inhabitants. Instead, she has her meal in the library and asks that a guard send away anyone who comes to the door.

“Princess, the Captain--”

“Tell him I am busy.” She says, without looking up from the ancient test she’s reviewing. The door shuts. She jots down notes to pass on to Purah when the later visits later in the week. When she finishes she makes a point to travel passed the barracks toward her next meeting.

“Oh!” She hears his voice from below and a clatter of swords but doesn’t dare a glance. “Zelda!” She continues on even when he makes a yelp of pain. No doubt one of his students caught him with his guard down.

She takes the scroll from her advisor as they move along the hallway and begins to browse it. They’ve finally gotten into the deepest Royal Family vault and will be able to enlist a large force now that they can pay. Many have stepped forward to volunteer should the need ever arise but now there’s gold to be put into pockets of the deserving. Her father had been a paranoid man. A willful but he was not a fool... not truly. The vast majority of Hyrule’s wealth had been hidden in the depths of the castle though coffers in smaller vaults had supplemented thus far.

Zelda smiles. This would cement many of her plans and finally be able to pay back debts that were already accruing.

“Zelda?” Link’s voice speaks from ahead of her and her green eyes snap up to his face.

She brushes by him without any more acknowledgement than that. He frowns, looking particularly defeated by the action. There’s a small amount of satisfaction but a drop of guilt washes over her. Zelda ignores that too.

It goes on like this for much of the day. Link attempting to catch her attention by trying to talk to her or make some sort of significant eye contact but she rebuffs him every time. She keeps telling herself that she wants him to know how much he hurt her but finding that his expressions have begun to sting her heart too.

Dinner finally rolls around and she attends with the rest of the Castle. A small, angry voice in her head tells her not to let him sit next to her. She opens her mouth to say something and let her own stubbornness win but he drops into the chair with a frown.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” He asks and stabs a fork into his food with a sigh.

Her blood burns hot through her veins and she glares. “That’s all you’ve got to say?” Her anger must shock him because his mouth pops open in surprise. “No, I’m sorry?” She scoffs. “Tell you what, Link, send me a letter and I’m sure I can find sometime this week to pencil you in.” She takes a large bite of her food and has to bite back the urge to spit it out when it lands on her tongue so hot it burns.

He must take the tears in her eyes as genuine ones because he holds his hands up and stammers. “T-That’s what I’ve wanted to talk to you about all day! I’m sorry! I was a jerk and I should’ve-- Goddesses, Zelda, I didn’t mean to piss you off this bad or make you cry!” His face is red from his own emotions getting the better of him and he reaches forward to grab her hand. Zelda fights to swallow her food so she can speak but he continues to spew words. “I’m sorry, okay? Really! I wanted to make it up to you today and sneak you out to the new dig site they found--”

“Link.” She croaks and slaps her hand across his mouth. She fights the urge not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the present situation. “You’re right. You’re a stupid j--”

“Sufid?” He asks with an insulted tone from behind her palm.”

“Yes, very stupid jerk.” She smiles and removes her hand.” And... I forgive you... just be less of one from now on.” She takes a drink from her water while he slumps back. “Besides, you didn’t make me cry.”

“I didn’t?”

“No...” She laughs. “My food was still really hot.”

#zelink #queaky writes #fanfiction #legend of zelda

40 notes · View notes

degenerate-perturbation · 7 years

Note

what dorf wardens/inquisitors do you have?

quite a few!

Wardens

Magna Brosca is a big ole lesbian with a huge taste of the dramatic. Her card is The World. She wears the lose flippy leather dress armor the whole game, swinging around a Huge Sword, because she feels it contributes to her aesthetic. when she gets out of Orzammar, and realizes upon what precipice she stands, she becomes more and more preoccupied with her legacy. she wants to be a hero celebrated for all eternity; impermanence troubles her. In her main timeline, she romances Leliana. They have an adorable Xena/Gabrielle dynamic. In an AU, she romances Morrigan--unlike Tabris, she is very forthright in her intentions. Her relationship with Morrigan is rather more belligerent and contentious. In another set of AUs, her story is intricately tied to that of...

Igraine Aeducan. Her card is The Tower. I wrote a bit about her canon timeline here. If both she and Magna are recruited, Magna takes charge of their adventure, preventing Igraine from making any of the awful choices she does in her canon, but still forcing her through the character development she would experience anyway. Igraine leaves the experience changed for the better, but in this timeline, gets to live, as Magna chooses to complete the ritual. The two engage in a rather contentious but ultimately sweet relationship as surfacers. (Magna has...a bit of a type.)

But if neither of them are recruited, they run into each other in the Deep Roads following Igraine’s exile and Magna’s re-escape from jail. Igraine manages to convince Magna to join her in a bid to regain the throne of Orzammar, promising her glory and power in return for help. Magna’s desire to stick it to the nobility overcomes her good sense, and she agrees. They embark on a long adventure of twisting skulduggery, blackmail, the Carta, the nobility, growing closer and closer as they do, leading Igraine to feel the first stirrings of real desire in her life. Ultimately, they are successful. Igraine is crowned queen of Orzammar...and immediately reneges on her promise and has Magna thrown in prison again, though she doesn’t have the heart to kill her, choosing instead to visit her often in her cell to feverishly justify her choices. Later, Magna predictably escapes once more...but not before stopping by the queen’s bedchambers to slit her throat.

(I’m planning to eventually write a story about the 4 possibile timelines for these two.)

Petra Aeducan is a sweet middle aged lady who romances Wynne. Her card is the Queen of Pentacles. She is endlessly forgiving of her shitty brothers, and of everyone in general. If she could deal with darkspawn by giving them a talking-to and ordering them into time-out, she would. She is a lesbian; hence her long bachelorhood. Meeting and having the opportunity to love Wynne is a joy to her, though at their ages and in their circumstances, it is an unusually difficult thing to make work.

Brunhilde Aeducan is more or less a typical bubbly beautiful idealized Mary Sue type Aeducan who romances Sigrun. Her card is the Queen of Wands. She’s into opera, activism, and blackmail. We made her up because we felt Sigrun deserved to be shipped with a Mary Sue. Brunhilde takes wooing Sigrun extremely seriously, to absolute excess. Sigrun is initially flattered, but quickly becomes uncomfortable with this level of romantic attention from someone as high as a Paragon and a princess. Brunhilde doesn’t understand why she possibly would be. It takes them a while to settle into something more genuine, where Brunhilde is not performing quite so much.

There is an AU where Petra, Brunhilde and Igraine are sisters, in a kind of Maiden/Mother/Crone situation. This complicates the family dynamics quite a bit.

Igor Aeducan is honestly a bit of a bastard. His card is the King of Pentacles He’s in his forties and he’s more or less an ideal dwarf noble. He is conniving and prideful, convinced of his own eminent worth. He doesn’t do actively terrible things the way Igraine does, but is not particularly invested in the well being of others. He’s here to Win. Despite his amorality, he is a boisterous, energetic person that many enjoy being around. He prefers men, particularly older, larger men with some meat on their bones and hair on their chests. Alistair was never viewed as anything but an irrelevant child; Zevran was a one-time lay out of boredom; Sten was an enduring sexual fixation but one that ultimately did not come to any fruition. However, his obsession with Loghain lasts longer than any passing sexual interest. He views Loghain as a true equal and a worthy opponent, as a kindred spirit. His interest in defeating the Blight is eclipsed by his interest in defeating Loghain--which he would view as an elaborate manner of flirting. Loghain doesn’t take particularly well to being romanced at first, but Igor is extremely persistent.

Also, he speaks with a thick Russian accent for some reason. All my dwarves are at least a little Russian.

Inquisitors:

Red Cadash is an atrocious greedy beastly child, who has no problem thugging her way to power as Inquisitor. Her card is the Devil. She likes gold, rough sex, and having people bow down to her. She’s not really a bad person--she cares about people, especially the downtrodden, though she would never allow that to affect her image--but her materialism and thirst for the validation she was denied her whole life tends to overcome her decision making process. She is particularly young and brash. She romances Iron Bull, but it does not...end well.

Vanka Cadash is Red’s adoptive mother and mob boss. She is a trans lady in her late forties. She wants to change, she really does. She doesn’t want to keep being ruthless now that she no longer strictly has to be. But old habits die hard. She romances Blackwall. It’s an interesting dynamic. Both of them are attempting to leave behind criminal pasts--but unlike Blackwall, Vanka feels little guilt for her actions, and is a lot worse at leaving them behind. But, honest, she’s doing her best to be good this time! Unless you threaten her ‘family’. Then it’s murder time.

Don Cadash is Vanka’s adoptive mob brother. She looks out for him, because he’s family, but he’s not really much of a smuggler. A lyrium accident in his youth left him convinced of his identity as the lost heir to the throne of Orzammmar, prone to bouts of giddiness, and an inclination to tilt at windmills. (Yes, he is an extended Don Quixote joke.) His card is the Knight of Swords. If Inquisitor, he is delighted by Finally getting the recognition due to him as royalty, and flirts persistently with Scout Harding, a Beauteous Maiden in need of Rescue. (She finds it pretty cute. He’s just so harmless and ridiculous.) He is fond of large hats and of challenging people to duels.

Please do ask more about them!!

3 notes · View notes