#that the carriages will roll over her without hitch :)
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Touch: Spring (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)
Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader
Rated: G, fluff and romance
Word Count: 2.4k
Masterpost
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Summary: A social season in London with an unexpected ending.
Another social season in London. Another parade of dress fittings and balls and concerts, with your mother trying to foist you off onto the nearest baron or marquis, anyone who is still willing to talk to a lady in her fourth season. It would be unbearable without the company of the Bridgertons. Eloise and Benedict Bridgerton, to be precise. You and Eloise resumed your old habits of walking together, visiting bookstores and cafes, and seeking each other out when the ton were all out on a promenade. Benedict would join in on occasion, chaperoning you both away from your mamas and your maids so that the three of you could poke fun at the latest terrible fashions, or commiserate about your lack of control over which engagements you were being dragged to.
The three of you weathered the season tucked away in corners of ballrooms, downing more champagne than would be appropriate and snickering behind your gloves. Benedict would sneak you both snacks as you sat in the back rows at cacophonous musicales, and would tug you tightly in the opposite direction whenever either of you were approached for a dance by a dubious gentleman.
He quickly became your close friend, this cheeky, clever, rebellious man, so much like his sister of whom you were so fond. Occasionally, memories of the snowstorm at Aubrey Hall would flash through your mind and you would find your breath hitching in your throat when you looked at him, but you always scolded yourself. You were reading too much into that moment. Your fanciful mind was running away with you. He was just friendly, as was evident in his interactions with everyone, and there was nothing else to it.
When the city gallery opened a new exhibit, the entire ton turned out to crowd in around the latest paintings. You saw Eloise from afar as she wandered with Penelope Featherington. Desperate to get away from your mothers who saw the occasion as the perfect matchmaking affair, you and Benedict found each other, and he steered you around the halls, his face lit with excitement at all there was to study. You each found your favorite pieces and mercilessly criticized each other’s choice, laughing the whole time. He gravitated toward the most explosive landscapes, pointing out the use of light and the contrast of color.
Your eyes lingered on his fingers as he pointed to the details, slender compasses drawing you deeper into the dreams of the artists. His ruffled shirt cuffs added to the drama as he swept his arm wide, exalting the pieces that made his eyes glimmer with inspiration. He was so full of passion, so insightful and educated. He challenged you to see new perspectives, and looked at you reverently when you pointed out your own. At the close of the event, he walked you to your family’s carriage and helped you step up inside. Again, your throat tightened as he grasped your hand and your fingers curled around his. Then you sat rather speechless as he grinned at you crookedly through the window before your carriage lurched forward and rolled away. Your mother looked at you from the opposite bench, face perplexed.
The next night is the Cowper Ball, as uptight and dismal an affair as its hosts. You are well prepared to spend the evening next to the punchbowl, and are flattered to find yourself in the company of the other Bridgerton brothers, Anthony and Colin. They look as miserable as you feel, but being men, they are privileged enough to be able to show it openly, whereas society dictates that you plaster on a pleasant smile or else be deemed difficult or strange.
You and Colin are on a solid streak of jokes about braided hairstyles - looking like fishing baskets and being so tight as to stretch one’s brain - with Anthony trying to suppress his snorts of laughter behind you, when out of nowhere, Benedict approaches.
“Ah, brother…” Colin starts, but Benedict cuts him off, not even looking in his direction.
“Miss y/l/n, might I have this next dance?”
Anthony goes rigid. Colin’s mouth falls open. You shake your head in surprise, nearly spilling the glass of punch you hold. “Benedict? You hate dancing.”
“Yes, well, there is little else to do, isn’t there?” There is something nervous in his eyes though he is keeping his voice smooth. “I know you’ve kept your dance card deliberately empty so, come on now.” He extends his bent arm for you to take. “Humor me.” The lopsided smile returns.
Flabbergasted, you hand your glass back to Colin and take Benedict’s arm. Looking back as he guides you to the dance floor, both of his brothers shrug at you, as surprised as you are at this unusual turn of events. Somehow, through charm and diversion, Benedict has managed never to dance at a single ball this season. He is so good at drawing one into a story, and so adept at cracking a joke and slipping away with a smile, he spends every ball hovering on the perimeter, keeping an eye on others and rescuing his sisters (and you) when the need arises. He told you that he didn’t enjoy dancing, and that he wasn’t very good at it, but as the musicians start to play, he is sweeping around you with ease, clearly familiar with each step.
You don’t know what to say. There is an intensity burning in his eyes that you have never seen before. He’s not being cheeky, he is genuinely focused on dancing with you. You pivot and step around one another, edged in by all the other dancing couples. The song is low and yearning, something romantic. You rest your arms atop Benedict’s and look up at him as you mirror one another’s steps. His jaw is set at such a serious angle. His eyes are searching. Then you pull back and he twirls you under his arm, your gloved hand pressing up against his bare one. Those large hands, encircling yours once again, then moving to your waist, your back, your shoulder, as you glide through the steps of the dance. He has never touched you so much, so closely. You can feel the heat of his palm through your gloves and your dress, searing imprints that linger on your skin.
You keep reminding yourself - he is just your friend. This is just a dance. But it is so out of character for him to be doing this at all, and to be looking at you that way. As confused as it makes you, you can’t look away, and you spend the dance locked in one another’s hold and one another’s gaze, as if there were no one else in the ballroom. When the dance is over, his hand lingers on the small of your back, his fingers pressing in more tightly than they should. You catch his eyes, grey-green beacons shining out under dark lashes, and you swallow audibly. Then he seems to remember himself, steps back, bows curtly to you and walks briskly out of the room without another word.
Anthony and Colin were watching the entire time, eyes as round with shock as yours, and Colin darts off after his brother. Anthony, seeing you stunned and abandoned in the middle of the dance floor, comes to your side, takes your arm and reassures you that his brother must be in one of his ‘bohemian moods’ or ‘taking tea’ though you’re not quite sure what that means. He keeps you occupied by dancing with you, and then walking with you to find Eloise, but Benedict and Colin never return.
You decide not to divulge anything to Eloise because you would only look foolish. Why should you care that her brother danced with you and then left? You are all just friends and Benedict clearly has things on his mind. You start to convince yourself that you must have upset him in some way. Maybe for ridiculing his favorite painting at the gallery? You had thought it was all in good fun. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. It is all very confusing and you spend the night in a cloud of frustration and doubt.
Two nights later is the Smythe-Smith musicale, hosted at Bridgerton House. It is the last event you will attend for the season, and you don’t even want to go. You don’t want to risk seeing Benedict and dealing with whatever confounding mood he is in, that you have now convinced yourself is entirely your fault. But your parents have insisted, and it is your last opportunity to see Eloise before you both depart for your country homes for another half year, and so you find yourself stuffed in the Bridgerton’s main hall, trying to disappear behind columns or melt into the curtains. You tell your mother you need to powder your nose and manage to sneak out a side door and into the back garden, welcoming the cool night air.
You don’t want to return inside, and wander over to the massive oak tree. You settle down onto one of the two swings hanging there, wrap your hands around the ropes and close your eyes, enjoying the quiet. It only lasts a moment, before a voice softly calls out your name.
Your eyes fly open to see Benedict, looming out of the shadows of the house, walking slowly toward you. He has that same burning, intense look on his face. So different from the easy mirth he normally shows. He is dressed smartly, navy coat and a patterned waistcoat, with a tie of dark blue silk.
“Benedict!” Your heart is pounding, surprised by his sudden appearance and also desperately nervous about what to say. So you state the obvious. “We shouldn’t be alone out here.”
That’s the last thing you would need. To be caught alone with a man and rain scandal down upon you both, when he is already upset with you.
He steps closer, only a few yards away now. His voice is low. “That shouldn’t be a worry for much longer.”
Oh god, his tone is threatening something. Something serious. “Why?” You stutter. “Are you going to cast me out?”
This stops him in his tracks and he scrunches up his face. “What?”
Now you feel annoyed. Does he not remember how he last treated you? Can he not just be forthright with his feelings? Emboldened, you confront him, but keep your place in the swing.
“Are you cross with me?” You ask clearly.
His mouth drops open but he stays silent. You continue.
“I’ve clearly upset you. The Cowper ball? You would barely speak to me, then you ran off.”
Something lights across his face. Realization, understanding. Then his features harden again, but there is a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He starts to stalk toward you again.
“Yes, you have upset me.”
He is standing over you now, looking down with glimmering eyes, their light color piercing through the dark night. It feels like all of your bones have just turned to liquid. You’re finding it hard to breathe under his stare. He is so tall, so imposing, he is everything you can see. You want to rail at him, you want to make him explain himself and his rude behavior, but the strength is leeched from your muscles and your voice.
“How?” You waver.
“You’ve stolen from me.” His voice is dark velvet. Pointed, but not angry.
Your mind reels. Your voice comes out just barely above a whisper. “Stolen what?”
Then he reaches out and wraps his cool, long fingers around your left hand holding the rope, and gently pries until you let go. He guides it toward himself as he sinks down on one knee. Your head starts to spin. You have completely lost control of your breath. You can’t look away from his eyes as he slips your hand under the top of his waistcoat and holds it there. Through his thin linen shirt you can feel his heart pounding against your fingertips, matching the speed and intensity of your own. A smile finally breaks across his face and lights his eyes, the cheerful Benedict you have come to know.
Oh god…oh god…he means… He is glowing looking at you, your eyes now at level height as he perches on one knee. One knee…
You feel a bit dizzy, overwhelmed with what is happening. You couldn’t possibly be this lucky. He couldn’t possibly… But he is grinning so broadly, leaving you with little doubt. There are fireworks whistling through your ears and your stomach is doing backflips. What a cheeky devil to intimidate you up to the last moment.
Breathless, you still manage to quip back at him. “How can I have stolen it if it is still in your chest?”
Then he rubs his thumb across the back of your hand, pressing it harder against him, and he brings his other hand up to cup your face, gently trailing that thumb to trace your bottom lip. His eyes grow soft, soulful.
“It doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
And then he confesses his love for you, his admiration, his adoration. You make him feel like no other woman has. You excite him, challenge him, comfort him in a way he didn’t know was possible. You are his friend and his muse and his love, and he wants you as his wife. You bare your soul to him as well, telling him about the flame he sparked that day of the snowstorm, and how you have fought to keep it hidden all this time. That you had disdained the marriage mart because you assumed you would never find a husband that actually filled you with passion, but that he was the only one who had, the only one you believed ever could.
You laugh and sigh and cling to each other, divulging all of your feelings, all of your truths. Then his large hands gently cup your face and he guides you into a deep kiss, the warmth spreading all the way from your lips to your toes.
You leave the season in quite the most unexpected state. Not disgruntled and lonely, but blissful and betrothed, and to Benedict Bridgerton no less.
#bridgerton#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#benedict bridgerton imagine#female reader#regency#regency era#regency romance#fluff
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Idaña Perzys (Only Fair part iv)
only fair masterlist
warnings: non graphic violence
pronouns: she/her
summary: Y/n is trapped in King's Landing and Rhaenyra worries over her own troublesome mind and memories. Plots of the Crown are made clear.
divider: firefly-graphics
A/N: some more family dynamic focuses, a tad bit of filler so i can properly set up part 5 but i hope you still enjoy! also any harsh words about alicent here are through her own lens, i tend to use the character's perspective a lot to influence my writing and decided to delve into it a bit i swear i love her ♡
wordcount: 3,192
title translation: Idaña Perzys – Twin Fire
Rhaenyra couldn’t pretend that the journey back to Dragonstone was not troublesome, her boys bickered and her patience wore thin. She spun the rings on her fingers until she hissed as one cut her. She slid a crumpled parchment from the pocket of her skirt—it had turned yellow and the edges tore, her eyes tracing it carefully. A grumble emits from her throat and she sighs. Since returning she had thought often of that carriage ride. How odd it had been to travel without her life, how her children didn’t seem as remorseful as they should have been for the strife between themselves and their uncles. She is grateful to the Gods that Helaena and Alicent are with you, you deserve to spend time with the family you had rarely seen since your youth. She dismisses that thought, she barely saw you as a child due to her own prejudice. Rhaenyra swallows and sighs, standing in her chambers and piecing together what little memories she had of you before you both wed. She had visited for your ten and eighth namesday, she recalls though not well, you had been beaming with radiance and clutching a pendant to your neck emblazoned with a blue sapphire no doubt gifted by your brother Aemond. Jace had scoffed and almost turned around and Lucerys was squeamish and hiding in his own skirts. Your own brothers glared at the supposed intruders but as her mind flickers with images, she notes how tightly young Aemond had gripped your hand and although his eyes narrowed in slits and glared at her boys, he too was hiding but within your own skirts, not Alicent’s. She smiled at that, mildly proud of the maternal cocoon you used to engulf him in. Alicent was on his other side but it was you who’s arm he would cling to. While the Hightower-Targaryen clan glared and huffed at their presence; you grinned, all bright and welcoming. She snorts at the memory of you practically dragging Aemond toward them with you, his heels digging into the ground and his frown now on you. Her own arm snaked around Lucerys’ shoulders and both boys averted their gazes.
“Sweet sister,” She remembers greeting with a strained smile. “I hope you have had a pleasant celebration so far.” You raised your chin like a true dragon, she had thought, though impish in that broad smile.
“I have.” You had answered, teeth bared for her and hair tumbling down your shoulders. Rhaenyra nodded, her own smile growing.
“I am glad for it.” She returned with a nod of her head. “I have a gift for you.” Your head snapped up to look at her. “Might you have opened it?” You shook your head and flames at your mother whose own brow furrowed. “Ah. That would be because I have not given it to you yet, turn around.” Giggles spurted from your like the shell of a hatched egg and you obeyed, twisting over and your brother straightening his posture warily. She swept back your hair onto your shoulder and tentative hands caressed your warm skin. Tickles dribbled across you, inciting a shudder when a cold track of metal span across your neck. Your breath hitches and your eyes met with Helaena’s sparkling ones but Rhaenyra wasn’t looking at her, she was looking at you. She lingered as you fingers reached up to dance across it in pensive thought and curiosity. Aemond lifted his head to look at it but his expression remained impassive. Aegon from across huffed and rolled his eyes, garnering a short slap to his arm from Alicent.
“It is made of dragon glass. The finest in dragonstone.” Rhaenyra commented. “I thought perhaps you could keep a piece of me even whilst I am not present."
“How thoughtful.” You breathe, flickers of excitement flickering up your spine. She leaned her lips to rest beside ear. You thought she might grace you with more of her words but instead the fellow princess connected her soft lips to your cheek and pulled back. Cold air flowed around you despite the hot temperature.
“I am grateful, sweet girl. Do write.” You swallow and nod.
“We best attend the tourney.” The Green Queen’s crisp words rolled from her tongue, sniping yet tender. Rhaenyra’s brows raised in amusement and mischief and she nodded.
“I suppose you are correct. Let us take leave.” A gentle hand stroked from your hair to your back before she did as her words suggested and stepped through the large stone walls as though they were made but only for her. Her boys followed at her feet and slipped away from you.
She remembers that day as well as she recalled the rift on which parted you from her for so long though she supposes that it was for the best. Her gaze surveys the window, almost willing you back to her. She wants to soothe your dragon but she knows that it will only bring harm to herself and the keepers. It was one of those days that again she considers what might have been endowed to her if she were born a man as her father had been so desperate for. Perhaps she could have been a knight requesting for your favour. She no longer wishes for it of course, that would mean her sons’ very existence being eradicated. It didn’t do well to dwell on the past, her father had once told her and she knows why now as she watches the clouds conjoin and part as though it were the very image of your bodies consummating for the first time. She can still hear your whimpering pants if she closes her eyes hard enough. At the thought, her heart stutters and ruts against her chest.
Alicent knew every word her father had said about her was true that morning. That she was a pitiful delusionist. That her head weighed more with ideas than with his intellect. Otto Hightower had been right. Because even when Alicent brushed back her husband’s hair the next morning, she still couldn’t fathom that he had passed. Panic seeped through her veins before it charged back out of her throat a show of yellow and green. She could have blamed the smell of his decomposing body but even the servants wouldn’t believe her. Despite all odds, she had never imagined that her husband would die before her. If her life was created for and meant for the duty of caring for Viserys I Targaryen then how could he bear to leave her in such a horrifying position? Had he truly been that cruel or was the exhaustion of watching over seven kingdoms nipping away at him too painfully these past years? Did he know when he called for her when he said what he did? Did he understand what he was saying to her? Did he pretend she was Aemma in his final hours? The last of few battles he had partaken. That she had come to bat away the demons for him? ‘I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen’. Echoes in the back of her mind as she dresses. ‘But I must admit that no one has stood... more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with... unfailing devotion, love, and honour’. A lump forms in Alicent’s throat and her eyes water again. Who is she if not the wife of the King? A forgotten caretaker perhaps? Was she now expected to…relieve her post? Alicent Hightower can’t stop thinking, not even when the doors open and she hears her father’s bellowing voice. Chastising her, no doubt but she doesn’t even hear him. Not now. “We always knew this time would come,” She didn’t. “You should have told me sooner.” Otto huffs, her father and first sworn protector.
“He said…” Alicent’s throat closes up, she is going to have to choke the words out. It was as though they were never meant to rest on her tongue but instead burrow in the depth of my fears. “He told me that Aegon would unite the realm against the cold and dark.”
“Then we must obey his final wish.” Otto replies plainly and quickly. Her son isn’t meant to be King, she knows and he knows that. She scoffs.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Would you prefer him to be slain?” Her blood runs cold.
“What? No, Rhaenyra wouldn’t do that. He is her flesh and blood, he is–”
“Her obstacle. Even Helena, the children, Aemond, Daeron are her threats. Daemon has utilised her all her life, why wouldn’t she obey him his wish. The wish of the crown.” Alicent doesn’t like how perfectly poised her father sounds as he drills the threat beneath her head and into her brain. “Her reign would be worse than Maegor’s with Daemon as her consort and you know this. Nothing can keep him at bay, not even a pleasant wife which we both know is false. She enables him.” He’s sneering at her now and she feels like a lost child. She swallows back her oncoming tears and shakes her head.
“He is not ready to be King.” She argues. She wishes in times like this that her voice could command the same strength as her childhood friend.
“He will grow to. Your husband was never ready, Aegon will listen.”
“No, you mean he will be too inebriated to attend council meetings you mean.” Alicent finally snaps. She looks up into her father’s eyes and narrows them with a ferocity that almost summons authority. Instead of cowering he watches down on her. “All I have ever done is protect you.” Otto states calmly, she flinches when his fingers dance across her forehead and flicks her hair behind her ear. “It is a shame you wouldn’t do the same for your own child.” She can’t speak, her mouth dropping ajar and her resolve fluttering down. “Come.”
Your mother’s familiar hand strokes gentle and trembling fingers through your hair, braiding it away from you. You try to pay it no notice but it is difficult when her words refuse to claw from her throat like they so desperately want to. She’s so torturously quiet, so threateningly observant…And then she speaks, clearing her throat. “I have not heard word from Rhaenyra.” She says clearly and with that shadow in her eyes which hides any semblance of emotion she may have. “Perhaps you could send her a raven.” There’s something calculative that slips from her thick tongue, a hesitation in the twitch of her lips. Her lips close around her teeth tightly, tactfully blocking out any trace of sin. A silence passes but tense and strain seeping from her rigid expression. “Perhaps.” You agree, equally sly but eyes not translating as easily as your teacher. Your mouth dries and your eyes narrow. “However I do believe that my wife is one her way. Dragonback or not.” The firm edges of your voice sharpen until they are perfectly moulded to your mouth. Authority embeds in your saliva. You are not a mere child anymore, you are the wife of a future Queen. The first Queen of Westeros no less.
Your mother gives nothing away but her touch falters on your necklace, hesitant and waiting as she swallows. She takes in a deep breath then meets your gaze in the mirror. “Then you might think to wear this for her return instead. I am quite sure that you are correct, darling.” She unwraps her own necklace from her collarbone and lets it glide through her fingers, dangling before you. Her brows raise and your sight traces it. “Is this the one from my wife’s debut as heir?” You ask, already knowing the answer as her jaw hardens.
“No.” Alicent snips. “It is not. Your brother gifted it to me in his youth. For my namesday.”
“Aemond?” The air is thick.
“Aegon.” A thread of understanding turns into a bridge and you stride across as though it were made of nails.
It is with troublesome fiddling and struggles that your fingers desperately pry at the locks of your chest. It is not because of materialistic desire that you wish to open it but instead because you know Joffrey’s wooden stag is still in there and you need to prey on every hint of loyalty of the houses once sworn to your wife. War is a troublesome affair and not one that you care for, especially not one between your own family. The waft of Aegon’s debauchery and the slick of Helaena’s bathing gel is still thick in your nose but memories mean little when a throne is under attack. So you swallow and pray to every god, old and new, for a swift surrender and your siblings unharmed. Your brother hates duty as much as you hated your last Septa, if you can just visit him before your grandfather’s claws strike too deep, you are sure that all will be well. He may very well let you travel upon Sunfyre with him to Dragonstone and relinquish any title your mother wishes to bestow upon him. You sigh as the lock stays firm. No matter. You will handle this with the wilful determination your mother has bled into you.
You creep through to crack open the door but just as you suspected, two stoic guards stand before it. Ser Farlowe glances back at you, a familiar twinge of distrust and expectancy in his rough gaze. “Princess.” He greets. “You are not permitted to leave your bedchamber.” You smile charmingly.
“Of course,” You agree. “I was merely requesting one of you to return an emblem of my mother to me.”
“Your highness, I am sure that a maid can—“
“No.” You snap, fierce flame in your eyes. “I will not entrust this to someone I do not trust. It is a special finery, so you understand? I want you to hand it to me without any chipping. Gold, green jewels. Think you can handle it, you always managed in my youth.” You lean and hopefully grow a sweetening glimmer. He’s unsure but nods anyway glancing at the guard beside him but before he can speak, you chuckle.
“I was hoping you might get it for me. My brother, Aemond, always speaks highly of you.” He swallows and nods with a huff before bowing.
“Of course, your grace.” Farlowe rises and slowly sweep through the winding hall. The guard now left alone fidgets and bites his lip—you almost feel sorry for him…Almost. Instead you slip out your room and kick him in the shin, sprinting once he howls in pain.
Your throat heaves as you attempt an escape in your condition, gasping oxygen as you tumble through the halls with your rounded belly. The deserted castle is unexpected but not unwelcome but soon enough you find your brother’s chambers and swing the doors open quickly before snapping them back shut. “This brings back memories.” He grumbles, hungover and sweeping back his greased hair. Your brows connect and then your face wrinkles up at the sight of his unclothed form.
“Ew, what is wrong with you?” You almost sneer as he chuckles and lazily clasps a bedsheet across his torso. Then he takes his hand to enclose a fist atop a large jug of wine no doubt and begins pouring into a golden cup.
“Oh, sweet sister, so many things. Would you like our mother to deliver her latest parchment of my faults? I hear the servants have been very good at giving her material.” You roll your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek.
“I must speak with you.”
“Many people do, these days.” Aegon sighs and begrudgingly takes his chalice to brink on his mouth and tip back his beloved as he steps backward to drop on his bed, red splashing from his lips.
“I do hope it is not to do with dancing this time.” Aegon snickers. You huff and stick out an index finger.
“That was before my wedding.” He nods with a wide grin.
“Yes and you’re still shit at it.”
“I do not have time for this.” You murmur.
“Time for me you mean.” He calls as you pace. You frown and turn to him and for the first time you notice his hard gaze.
“What?”
“Because I am not perfect.” His voice is nearly a broken whimper.
“Aeg—”
“No!” He snaps, too sharp for your comfort. It sends you to jump back. Your brother has been angry—outraged even—but he rarely yells. It is simply not in his nature. “You befriend the Strong boys. You marry their wretched mother. You braid Helaena’s hair. You even dance with Aemond of all people and yet still you refuse to partake yourself with me. Even you cannot stand me anymore.” He drains the cup and twitches his nose like he always does when the strange liquid fills his nose.
“Aeg, you are my brother.”
“No I am your nuisance, at least admit it to me.” Your facial muscles trip in horror and disgust. “Brother...”
“You hate me.” He sneers. “You all do.” He swings his cup but there is no more spraying liquid to spill. “I’m a fucking fuck up who whores and drinks. Your resident disgrace.” He doesn’t slur but his mere perspiration reeks of wine. “I didn't want to let you leave us, I didn't want to become mother's the cause of mother's ire, I didn’t even want to marry Helaena but I agreed anyway cause I thought, I dunno, it would make us safe. But still even when I do as any of you tell me, I’m locked away until you find deranged use of me. An amusing fool you like for showy parties but even then you are embarrassed. I know it. I feel it.” He hisses and for the first time you can see the desperation in your brother’s eyes.
“Then you do not know me at all!” You shout back.
“You don’t even love me! You are my own flesh and blood, my twin and you don’t even love me!”
“Of course I love you!” You scream. A tentative silence drops like the rush of a waterfall. “You were my first friend and if you are not my last then I will never forgive you.” His face contorts, brows tilting up and lips wobbling. It’s not the first time that you have seen your brother cry but it is the first time it has been directed at you. Aegon’s eyes water and his sniffles hitch his breath.
“Why?” His quiet voice wavers. “Why?” You sigh and land your hands on his shoulders.
“It matters not why. I will never need a reason to care about you. Do you understand? It is not conditional and nor do I expect anything in return for it.” A slow silence lessens his tense posture and he nods softly. Moments pass.
“They are going to make me King, aren’t they?” He whispers, driving a fist to his mouth and biting on the knuckles. Again you sigh.
“Yes.” You breathe. “Yes they are.”
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#only fair#only fair ff#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#rhaenyra targaryen imagine#rhaenyra targaryen x you#rhaenyra targaryen#hotd#hotd x reader#hotd ff#rhaenyra targaryen ff#rhaenyra targaryen fanfic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon ff#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon fanfic#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra x yn#rhaenyra targaryen x yn#rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader
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Desert & Reward, Chapter 15
[Read on AO3]
Written for @jj-carstairs, whose birthday lies over obiyuki week and thus receives a very unbirthday gift from me whenever I can manage to get it out for her. This year she asked for more of this fic, and hoped for some kissing, but, well...
It may be Master-- Zen-- who herds them out into the hall, his glare resting like a sword’s point against Obi’s spine, but it is Yori who meets them, one black-clad sweeping out toward the endless expanse of marble.
“My lord.” He bends at the waist, the perfect model of a footman, but Obi doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker up, trying to catch a glimpse of Miss. “My lady. If you would come this way.”
His nearly steps stutter, the impulse to pester gripping him as firmly as a mother cat nips her kitten’s neck. It would be so easy to edge the tips of his boots into his valet’s vision, to find some reason to linger while his lack of urgency frayed the well-turned edges of servant and master alike. But a warm weight shifts against his side, and-- and unraveling the hem on Yori’s good manners might round the sharp corners off of his mood, but Miss must be eager to get on with all this. Bad enough that her horse has been hitched to his carriage; she doesn’t need him to draw out the inevitable, not when she can’t possibly care about making conversation with his--
“You were here before weren’t you?” It’s Miss who dips down in front of Yori now, making a point to catch his eyes. “But I don’t think you’re from the palace. Does that mean you are...?”
Her lips press together, and oh, if he hadn’t seen that a hundred times as they made their way through the North; the last ground she’d cede to her nerves before barreling forward into trouble. Those lords always thought they had her backed into a corner, that she might wilt like any bright flower left in those snows, but they learned in time-- caution might keep Miss’s words dammed up, but it took the faintest pressure for those barriers to break.
The same hands that smothered the fires of a rebellion three generations in the making clench in the wool of his coat, and Obi can only be glad that the man in her sights is not an earl with a thousand men at his back, but simply Yori.
Morel’s trained the man too well to wobble, even under the imminent threat of Miss’s disappointment. But his eyes roll like a spooked horse, and there’s only so many miracles locked joints can perform before swooning takes over--
“Aw, Miss, he’s going to faint dead away if you keep up like that.” Obi nudges her with an elbow, and if he enjoys the way she clutches tight when she’s startled, or the sweet way her mouth rounds when she looks up at him-- well, no one has to know. “And it’s so hard to find good help nowadays.”
“I’m not doing anything to him!” she insists, but that confidence fades quickly in the face of Yori’s trembling back. “Ah, at least I didn’t mean to! Please, stand up. Really, you don’t need just...hover like that.”
Yori’s straightens, flushed from ear to ear and distress seeping from every pore. Yet he still has enough presence of mind to glare at him, as if somehow Miss’s irreverence toward protocol is somehow his fault, instead of a natural consequence of being born to a place with Prince Raj in the line of succession.
“You’ll have to get used to this,” Obi warns him. “My lady isn’t one to stand on ceremony.”
Miss puffs up like a particularly fancy robin, hands already hooked on her hips. “There’s no point to it, is there? Even if my great uncle was a margrave, it doesn’t change the fact that I was raised in a bar.”
Yori can glare all he wants; his displeasure only hones Obi’s grin to a dangerous edge. “That’s what I keep trying to tell ‘em, Miss. They do the bowing and scraping all the same.”
“You are a marquis, my lord.” It’s impressive how close his tone can mince around insolent without ever getting it on the bottom of his boot. “You are due the respect accorded to that station, no matter the particulars of your birth. Or your...other eccentricities.”
“Eccentricities,” Obi hums, savoring the word. “That’s one of the nice perks of being in the upper crust, my lady. Everyone’s got to talk nice about you, even if you’re--”
“A bit of a bully?”
Obi blinks, glancing over his shoulder to see if maybe his ears played tricks on him, but no.
“Yori.” His valet winces at the relish in his voice. “Did you criticize your lord?”
“N-no,” he insists, stumbling back when Obi leans in, his hands flying up between them. “I was only, er, anticipating your train of thought...”
Now it is Zen who huffs, arms crossing over the dozens of glittering medals on his chest. “I suppose I’m glad to see you weren’t just like this because I was a prince. You just do it to everyone.”
“Not everyone!” Obi protests, pulling up short. “Just when it’s funny.”
One brow takes a hike toward his circlet, and oh, it’s so easy to remember who his master’s brother is now. “And it’s funny to do to your valet?”
“It’s not my fault he gets so flustered just from a little poke, is it?” He leans back in, close enough to see the hair curl at Yori’s starched collar, and sniffs. “Now, what’s this I smell? Some liquid courage? No wonder you’re getting so mouthy--”
Yori yelps, shuffling just out his reach. “Just a tipple! His Majesty sent a few bottles into the kitchen to celebrate, and it would have been rude if I didn’t have a glass...”
“Oh, drinking on the job. Now what would Mr Morel say about that?” Obi lets loose a grin. “Oh, or Mrs Carre--?”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I wonder...?”
“Oh!” Miss gasps, both her arms squeezing tight around his as she fits to his side. “Valet? Then...that must make you Yori, right?”
“A-ah...” Yori bobs yet another bow Miss’s way, even as he fixes a gaze on Obi that begs him to intervene. As if a proper introduction might salvage whatever propriety’s left. “Yes, my lady, that would. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am--”
“I know who you are.” Her smile is blinding when she seizes his hand, giving it the sort of shake expected from a publican’s granddaughter, but never a lady. Yori turns peaked enough to pass out. “Obi writes about you often! It’s so nice to put a name to a face.”
Yori angles two raised brows at him, stammering faintly, “H-he does?”
“All complaints,” Obi assures him. “Nothing--”
“Almost as much as he talks about Mr Morel.” Miss leans over their hands, voice theatrically dropping as she asks, “Does he have you throwing knives yet?”
“Throwing what, my lady?”
“Ah! I think that’s quite enough, Miss.” Obi plucks her hand from Yori’s failing grip, ignoring how warm it is in his own before he tucks it around his elbow. “You’ve got to leave me some of my secrets.”
“But, Obi...”
Her chest puffs up, a protest brewing beneath that fine lace, but Master-- Zen’s sigh cuts through, weary. “I think you’ve both had your fun.”
“I-- I wasn’t,” Miss splutters, cheeks flushing a tantalizing pink. “I was only--”
“Aw, c’mon, Master.” Obi squeezes her hand where it hooks around him, her words stumbling into silence. “We’ve really only just started--”
“Anymore, and you’ll have half my brother’s court thinking you’re actually ...” One glance at Miss’s curious face, and Zen choke on his own implications. “Ah, never mind.”
Oh, it’s so familiar, this breath’s space between what Master snaps out at him, too used to having only a private audience of two, not three-- and all of them used to the sort of talk a soldier might get up to-- and Miss’s earnest questions. It’d be so easy to insinuate an elbow into that gap, to flash one of his blunt-edged grins as he said something too wild, something bound to get both of them gasping his name.
I think the court already knows what a lord and his lady could get up to, he nearly says, self-preservation only hanging on by a thread, they just aren’t used to it happening with both of them in the same bed.
Even now he can picture it: Master’s angry flush and Miss’s furrowed brow, fading as his words circulated through the more shrewd channels of that mind of hers. Her cheeks might pink up, if he’s lucky, or better yet, she could favor him with one of her flat looks, the kind that said, I can’t bring you into polite company.
How easy it would be to probe at that gaping wound in his belly, to make it ache so sweetly as he said, Can’t afford to go back too soon, then. I’d hate to give any Quality the impression I’m giving it to Miss any less than she deserves.
But that’s a funnier joke when it comes from an up-jumped messenger boy, a bodyguard with one foot still in the gutter and no hope of coming closer than arm’s length. Not from a lord with every legal right to follow through, and only-- only--
Only the knowledge that Miss could never, ever want him back to stop him. His fingers clench, only air between them. Ah, this bit’s no fun when it cuts so close to the quick.
Miss blinks back at him, brows tilted in concern. He must be losing his touch to flinch where even she can feel it. “Obi...?”
The pads of her slim fingers pluck at his sleeve; if there was anyone who could pry back his layers, who could reach into him and find the precise beat of his heart, it’s her. It’s habit to hide it, to shy from whatever touch she reaches out to give him, but today-- today she’s wearing a name that’s barely his, and he’s so tired of holding her at arm’s length. He may be her husband only in name, but maybe, just for a moment he could--?
“All right, we’ve wasted enough time.” Obi had always known that it would be a strain to watch the woman he loved marry another man, but he’d never imagined, not once, that Zen might be the wearier one between them. “Yori, that’s your name, isn’t it?”
The man nearly jumps out of his skin, but as much as Obi may like to-- and still will, once he gets a moment-- he can hardly tease him. It’s not the lot of some country footman to be addressed by royalty. At least, not as much as Yori has these past few days. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Get us to the ballroom.” Master’s smile twitches, too much like his brother. “Even if you have to tie your lord up to do it.”
Oh, he doesn’t like the light that sparks in his valet’s eyes. “As you wish, Your Highness...”
There’s no bondage needed to get him to the grand doors, but even Obi admits, it’s a near thing. With every echoing step on the marble, this day becomes more real, the crux of this terrible plan more inevitable. He may be married to Miss on paper, her husband in the eyes of the law, but papers can be lost. Torn up or burned to ashes or ruined with a good bit of stew. Changed with a few deft strokes of a pen.
But to walk through those doors, to have it be announced to all of Clarines, or at least the part that matters--
“You know,” Zen hums, pitched low enough for only his ears. “Most bridegrooms get cold feet at the altar, not the reception.”
A cold bead a sweat tracks behind Obi’s ear as he stares at the doors, tickling as it trails down his neck. “I don’t have cold feet. I’m just...shy.”
“Shy.” The stare he’s leveled with gallops past incredulous. “You?”
“I’m a delicate flower,” Obi informs him, one arm cradled against his chest. “Too much attention and all my petals might just drop off.”
“Flower.” It’s amazing how his master can grit out such a pretty word. “Petals.”
“Obi.” Miss’s fingers pluck at his fine coat, worry etched between her brows. “If this...if this isn’t what you want, if being married to me isn’t...” Her lips trap the worlds, letting them rattle around before she tries, “I would never make you--”
“Miss.” There’s no way to explain that it’s too much of what he wants, that the only way he could be more happy is if this all were real instead of some ploy to confuse Tanbarun. “I’ve followed you around half this country and more than a few of some other ones, so believe me when I say, I’ve always known the man who got you to the altar was the luckiest man in the world. You’re the one getting the raw deal here.”
Her mouth knits up, a small knot that’s sure to shore up a strong jaw and stronger opinions, but then the grand doors swing open, and--
Ah, well. Master-- Zen really did outdo himself.
Poised at the top step of this grand stair, the ballroom scintillating in gold and crystal at their feet, Obi realizes: he’s never entered one of these through the front door.
Sure, he’s gone to these fancy shindigs, got all dressed up in silks and velvets and cut a romantic figure across a parquet once or twice, but that’s always been part of the job. He might have had a knighthood foisted upon him by the Elder Highness, a title that commands more respect than a simple mister, but it was all in the name of political expediency. Even sirs come in the side door if they don’t have the acreage to back it up.
But now swags of forest green and sky blue adorn the stretch between pillars, and, oh, if only the fine mamas of Lilias had known where he’d end up, they never would have let him out of one of those banquets without a promise to call in the morning.
The herald’s staff thuds heavily on the floor, quieting the crush below, turning every eye on them. Ah, for all his teasing, Zen must have a strong stomach, since all Obi can feel is his making a bid for freedom out the way it came.
“The Most Honorable Lord Obi, the Marquis of Conti,” the man calls out. It’s an effort not to shush him. “The Most Honorable Lady Shirayuki, the Margravine of Entaepode.” The herald allows for a suitable pause before he adds, impossibly louder, “The Lord and Lady Conti!”
Obi anticipates a polite clap, a few soft fingers meeting even softer palms the way nobles do in their boxes when a horse wins at a race. Maybe even a ragged cheer from those who could move themselves to it. He does not expect the thunderous applause, even the chandeliers swaying on their wires.
“Come on, you guys.” Zen’s barely audible above the din, his own hands adding to the cacophony. “You’re holding up the party.”
He grins, and that’s it, that’s all that Obi needs to draw himself straight up and say, “Let’s go, Miss.”
It’s harder than it looks to sweep down one of these staircases; they’re steeper than they look for one, and even with Yori’s expert wrangling in the hall, there’s Miss’s train to contend with. Which means there’s Miss to handle as well.
“No need to rush,” he grits through his smile. “The longer you make people wait, the more important you are.”
“I’m not rushing.” Her words may be measured-- cultured like these nobles expect out of one of their ilk-- but her fingers claw into his sleeve, hard enough that he regrets not slipping one of his bracers beneath his coat, like a falconer handling one of his more anxious birds. “It’s just...it’s heavy like this.”
Obi slants a sly glance her way, enjoying the way her cheeks puff and flush as she struggles against the gravity of her own gown. “Well, that’s one way to keep you from hopping through a window. Or jumping into a pond--”
“That happened once!”
There’s no point in arguing, not when it only takes a twitch of his eyebrow to make her scowl.
“All right, twice,” she admits, begrudgingly. “But the last time wasn’t my fault.”
“I wonder...”
“Obi!” Her elbow knocks into his side, not hard enough to inconvenience, but enough to remind him how close she stands, how part of his warmth comes from what ekes out from the layers of her lace. “You don’t have to say it like...like that.”
They may have given him a whole march for his efforts against the old Marquis Conti, but he deserves a few more acres for how even he manages to hum, “Like what, Miss?”
“Like you know that--” Miss hauls short of incriminating herself. “Never mind. Either way, I doubt I’m going much of anywhere in this thing, even with it bustled. And this hem is so-- oop!”
There’s a slender moment between her first sway and when she tips, just enough time for him to appreciate how she at least saved her misstep for the last stair before he leaps into motion. His arms reach out, seizing her around the waist, pulling her tight against his own body to steady her.
“Ah!” It’s intimate how he can feet the way her chest expands around that gasp, how he can feel it collapse a moment later, bringing her impossibly close. “Thank you, Obi.”
He doesn’t know how to touch her like this, whether he should hold tight or step back. “That’s what I’m here for, Miss.”
“All things considered, I’d rather not fall, but...” One small hand presses to his chest, not to push him away but steady her. Her back bends beneath his hands, just enough so that she can lift her chin and meet his eyes. “I don’t mind so much if you’re the one that will catch me.”
“Haah.” It’s too much having her so close, talking like...like that. Like he means something. “Better not make a habit of it. Then I think my heart might really stop.”
It’s a joke; that’s the way he says it at least, all wry and casual as it’s supposed to be when it means nothing at all. But Miss doesn’t laugh. No, she looks thoughtful, the way she does before she really jumps out some windows.
But she doesn’t bolt on him, not this time. Instead she lets her hand trail down his arm, catching him right above his elbow. Not a grip, but a gentle touch; a caress. “We’re married.”
It’s breathless, the way she says it. A whisper, a gasp, just enough to have her chest expand beneath the shimmering lace that contains her, and it-- it distracts him. Habit might have him stick to those wide eyes, treading the depths he already knows the dangers of, but the glint of gold calls to the basest parts of him, dragging his gaze lower, to where every breath scintillates like a lantern’s flame across a lord’s treasury, and--
And he catches himself. “On paper, at least.”
Her mouth puckers, just for a moment, smoothing out to the faintest smile. “Does that mean we’re the ones who have to open the floor?”
Just a moment ago, this room was filled with thunderous applause, but now its silence is just as devastating, leaving him alone with only the terrible pounding of his heart.
“Dunno,” he manages with a sad excuse for a shrug. “I’ve never been married before. And no one invites me to this kind of shindig. For some reason.”
He feels her sigh rather than hears it, and he’s braced for the scolding to follow, but then--
The herald thumps his staff, the doors swinging open as he calls out, “His Majesty, the King.” Another thump follows. “Her Majesty, the Queen.”
Her Majesty may be far along enough that the contents of her belly could deserve their own introduction, but on His Majesty’s arm she practically floats down the grand stair, never once glancing at her feet. He’d call it uncanny, if he could pull his eyes away long enough to call it anything but beautiful.
“Ah,” he sighs, sweeping them out of the royal orbit. No sense in waiting around to be shooed, after all. “Out done even at our own wedding. Do you think we might get lucky enough to have some knight bust up our party over a girl too?”
“Oh, shush.” Miss slips out of his arms, and he misses the warmth. “At least this way no one has to watch me dance.”
A tease tingles at the the tip of his tongue, ready to two-step off it with more grace than their last attempts at cutting a rug. But before he can impress his miss with the fabulous footwork of his wit, her eyes round, and the flush she’d worked up tumbling down those stairs drains right away.
His Majesty can dress him up in the finest velvets, smother him in the softest silks, but there’s a part of him that’s always coiled, ready to spring at the smallest slip of shadow, or the first twinge of of betrayal. Even now he’s aware of the short sword at his hip, of the handful of smaller knives he’s managed to nestle at the small of his back, and yet--
Yet he doesn’t reach for them, not a twitch. There’s no point when his stomach already knows what shape to knot itself into, matching the smirk aimed at his spine.
“Well, well,” His Majesty drawls, too satisfied for comfort. “Is that so? And here I thought you might help me.”
Miss frowns, the way no one else would dare in front of their king. “Help you? With what?”
Both fingers and smile unfurl in an unmistakable invitation. “Why, to open the dance floor, of course.”
#obiyuki#akagami no shirayukihime#snow white with the red hair#my fic#desert and reward#ans#i was hoping i'd actually get to the RECEPTION part this time but Yori and Shirayuki had to meet#Yori had to suddenly realize what a headache his life was about to become#and mrs carre wants them to have CHILDREN too!#he'll never know peace a day in his life
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Prompt #7: Pawn
A serene light turns snow to gold on a particularly blustery morning on the tundra. Trees heave and bend with the weight of the ice glazing their boughs, sending crisp crackles with every slight shake and jostle of the wind. Overhead, streaked clouds race fast and sweeping tracks through a painted sky toward the horizon. Dawn breaks in defiance of the storm that whipped through overnight in darkness, revealing a landscape that still quivers, but none so much as the armored car nestled against a rock face serving as a windbreak. Even on treads, the carriage of the vehicle twitches with motion, bouncing not with the gusts outside, but motion within.
-
Heavy breathing fills the humid interior, the only sound of life over the grumble of the motor. A middle-aged man with the bulk and muscle of an honest laborer reclines in the back seat with his eyes closed in respite, running a hand through the thick, black tangle under his chin that’s gone unshorn since they set out on this venture weeks ago. His companion swings her tawny legs over his lap and dismounts, coming to rest next to him in a spent slump.
“I haven’t been fucked like that since the last time I was getting ready to die,” Lydia offers, and surely it’s meant as a joke, but the delivery doesn’t quite lift her voice above a flat, raspy murmur. Silence greets her awkward attempt at levity. It stretches so long without answer that she finally turns her glance over at Arius to read his reaction more directly. “No...? You’re right, wasn’t very funny,” she concedes at his lack of expression.
“Stop doing that,” he responds plainly. It’s not annoyance, per se; she’d come to provoke his ire intentionally a number of times, but this disapproval was subtly different enough to cut short the smart-assed remark lined up behind the first and force her to actually listen. “Just...stop talking. Enjoy a moment for once without saying something to make it less vulnerable. Don’t say anything at all.”
She rolls her head forward and stares at the back of the seat ahead, slowly tugging the grey waffle-knit over her bare breasts, just one layer of what feels like a thousand in such an unforgiving environment. The breathing slows and soon it’s only the hum of machinery and the howl of arctic winds pounding to get in. The man’s chiding doesn’t last; he reaches over to take her hand and spares her a look of acknowledgement, as though to say, See? Isn’t that better?
“People like me...” She begins again, this time with a different level of candor. “We’re used to being tools. The person who does what needs doing. I’m a mammet, you know? Wind me up, give me a purpose, and I’ll do it until I break down.” There’s a long pause, hesitation that is unusual for someone who normally fires and forgets. “Every time I’ve been off the clock and left to my own devices, it’s a disaster. I get a notion in my head of doing things differently, and that’s the beginning of the end. I’m not a thinker, I just want a fucking purpose. And I hope...” Her mouth presses together in time with the hitch in her voice. “I just hope you’re right about all of this.”
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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐂.𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 𝐉𝐑
SUMMARY ! in which Carlos won't admit it but he's been in love with his childhood friend, that he likes to tease but at a party he took her it too far, so he ask for her hand in marriage the morning after.
FACECLAIM ! julia.hatchh, TROPE ! somewhat enemies to lovers !
Lana simply can't stand him, he's unbearable and stupid. Carlos sainz jr, is a tease and a flirt, he's the second best rake in london, next to Anthony bridgerton but his rain is now over since he got married.
A womanizer, a man with money and status, the man she hated since birth, and a man she saw sexually. She hate to admit it but his teasing got the best of her.
Lana hated him, but then when he entered the ballroom her heart would beat in a million.
Lana sighed as the time came for yet again another ball.
The maids rushed slightly, bathing her delicate body with the most floral scents. The sun that once leaked inside of her room was now slowly fading away, since the night was taking over.
Her covered nude body sat at her vanity while her maids, patted makeup on her cinnamon skin. The others patted her hair dry until it was dry enough to put in curlers.
They worked to make her presentable, since she was the diamond of her season. Every man wanted to marry her, besides her statues this season, she was a woman of perfection, beauty, and elegance. Of course every man wanted her, who wouldn't?
In the matter of second her body was dressed in a ruby red dress and her arms wrapped around the most purest silky gloves. As her mama came inside her room with jewels she would display today.
"Absolutely stunning darling." Her mother kissed her cheek, Lana looked at herself in her mirror, she wondered 'will this catch his attention tonight?' perhaps.
"Let's go darling, the carriage are waiting." Her mother led her downstairs, where older brother and father were waiting for them.
Carlos would be lying if she didn't look gorgeous when she walked in, his eyes wandered that red dress, his favorite color. He knew that color would look good on her, it drawed him near her, what made it worse that it was on her lips as well.
His eyes widen, every unmarried married man was looking at her as if she was meat. "dammit." he growled. He saw every one of those men ask her to dance with her, in which she said yes.
He smiled and talked with a group of men near her commotion, slowly making his way there. He would say it was pure luck when her mother noticed him, of course he acted natural, he wanted to be seen chatting with men and not looking at her daughter.
"Carlos, how are you?" Her mother pulled Lana towards him, in which she rolled her eyes. "Miss Delgado, i've been good how about you?" Carlos smoothly asked, he knew her mother had a sweet spot for him.
"oh dear, I've been good as well!" Her mother smiled, covering her mouth to giggle. "I'm glad, how about you Lana?" His voice made her snap his attention to him. Her mother had to tap her arm for her to respond.
"I'm doing well, Duke Sainz." She bowed her head, making him smirk. "How about I'll be your last dance of the evening?" He offered his hand, in which her mother pushed her to take.
Lana placed her hand on his larger one, the one she dreamed of touching her. It was the one that pulled her on the dance floor when the music played. Lana didn't dare to look at him, she would falter if she did.
"Did you miss my presence?" Carlos whispered into her ear, as he made their bodies dance. "Miss you? What a joke." Lana said sarcastically. "i've enjoyed my time without seeing your stupid face." She said, twirling when assigned too.
When her body came back from the twirl, his hand slowly crept on the waist, making her breath hitch. "So you missed me?" Carlos saw the blush on her cheeks. "Did you miss me, taking you out to dance?" He said.
"I recall It's the only time I can touch you, and you love it." His deep voice was a melody that would trap you. "Do not start with me Carlos." Lana snarled back, looking directly at it. There was this glint in her eyes that made Carlos hesitant.
They ended the dance in silence, they bowed as respect. After Carlos looked up to see her, she was already rushing down. She needed air, everything or everyone was looking at her tonight, it was insufferable.
Lana gasped air in when she stepped outside, who was he to make her feel this way?
She rushed to a bench a tad bit far from the party, she needed to clear her head of him. Lana groaned as she heard someone step near her. "who's there?" Lana snapped her eyes up, only to see the man she hated.
"Calm down, what was that?" Carlos said in disbelief, why was she so mad? "God Carlos, can't you ever leave me alone?" Lana huffed out, getting up and rushing away. Why was he everywhere?
A tight grip was on her wrist, making her pull back to face him. "Why are you so mad?" Carlos said in a more serious tone. "Why do you care?" Lana snarled back, trying to rip her hand out of his grip.
"God, you're driving me crazy!" Lana laughed, finally getting out of his grip. “Please, you love it when I drive you insane.” Carlos walked In front of her, making her look at him.
“I dare you to deny it, you love my comments.” Carlos smirked, making her heart beat faster. “I bet you love it when I make you sexually frustrated .” Carlos hovered above her. “What did I tell you about your comments?”
Lana glared at him, making Carlos look directly at her. “You love them don’t you?” Carlos whispered stroking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I could tell the moment I put my hand on your waist.”
— You think I haven’t noticed? The way you get red, the way your chest goes up and down?” Carlos said looking at her. “Carlos stop it.” Lana got flustered, trying to get away from him, but he blocked her way.
“you can’t even look at me!” He shouted a bit, making her frustrated. “so what!” Lana finally said it, making Carlos become quiet. "So what if I like it when you tell me such things! when you make me feel butterflies! when you touch me!" Lana dumped out.
"Why do you do it?" She asked, making Carlos inhale sharply. "what?" He simply said, making Lana groan out. "you're the biggest rake this year, why do you play with me?"
"Am I just a plaything to you? If so, don't come near me Carlos Sainz!" Lana snapped at him. She started to walk away from him, but yet again Carlos took ahold of her wrist. "I do it to distract myself from you."
His voice was stern and serious, his eyes were on her, they were going to eat her up. "Everytime you walk in, my eyes go to you--
All I look at, is you." He said sharply, his face inching towards her. "You've been my desire since we were eighteen, i've been dying slowly for you." Carlos poured his heart out.
"I have no innocent thought of you." Carlos huffed out, licking his lips, eyes drawn to her red lips. "You wearing red makes me think of everything!" His eyes on her lips yet again, heads moving closer and closer. "I want you and only you."
"Then take me, make me yours." Lana inched her hand to his lips, finally locking lips on his. Carlos would say her lips were plum, soft and seductive. He couldn't help himself but pull her into him.
They must have been starving, as their lips dug into their faces. Hands were everywhere, hers in his fluffy brown hair, while his were anywhere on her body.
Lips stuck on her neck, kissing her to her bosoms. Making her get slightly vocal, feeling his chest press against hers. Her back bumping into the garden wall, making her arch her back.
Little by little her dress inched up, the show of her cinnamon legs made Carlos growl, pushing himself off. Lana was breathing hard, what has she done..
"Go inside..." Carlos rubbed his face in realization of what he did, making Lana scared. "Carlos what are we going to do.." Lana felt scared, she finally got what she wanted but at what cost?
Carlos stepped near her, grabbing her hands. "Don't be scared, I'll be at your house first thing in the morning.."Carlos said making her confuse. "You're not thinking of.." Her realization made him laugh lightly.
"I took your innocence, it's the least I could do.." His words made her look at him. "You plan to marry me?" Lana said unsure, he looked unsure. "I've been wanting too, I just thought I wasn't your dream." Carlos said.
"Please you been all of what i've been dreaming of." Lana got red, making him smile. "Will you marry me, Lana?" Carlos proposed, making her smile shyly. "Of course Carlos."
It was safe to say Carlos kept his promise, first thing he did that morning was ask for her hand in marriage, in which her father accepted.
The sight of him waiting for her in their garden was like a dream, just with a ring, waiting to be placed on her finger.
MENTIONS ! @landitolover, @moneygramhaas, @d6za1, @ch3rryknots
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#୧⋆｡🕯my stories!!#carlos sainz#carlos sainz jr x you#carlos sainz jr x reader#carlos sainz jr imagines#carlos sainz jr smut#formula one#charles leclerc#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x you#ferrari#forza ferrari#ferrari f1
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hogwarts express | DRACO MALFOY (smut)
Draco Malfoy x Reader (past harry x reader)
SUMMARY: Draco fucks Y/N to prove a point to Harry who he knows is hiding in the storage compartment above, watching the whole thing.
REQUESTED: first of all, i absolutely love your writing!!! ok so you know how on the train in sixth year harry was spying on draco in the compartment? what if draco and y/n have sex in front of him while he’s still under the cloak and draco is like “put on a show.” 👀 i’ve been thinking about this nonstop for days @sapphicnoodle69
WARNINGS: dirty talk, public sex, choking, oral (both receiving), slut shaming, probably more idk
MASTERLIST
“Hogwarts,” Draco scoffs, a sneering look on his face as he fiddles absentmindedly with his fingers on the table in front of you, “what a pathetic excuse for a school. I think I’d pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower if I thought I had to continue for another two years.”
You frown from where you’re leaning your head on his shoulder, your senses consumed by Draco. All you can smell is his expensive cologne and the peppermint of his shampoo, the smooth material of his suit’s blazer brushing your cheek as you stare across at Pansy and Blaise. They look equally as confused as you do. Draco hadn’t been the same since his father had been sent to Azkaban, all thanks to Harry Potter, Draco had said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pansy questions.
“Let’s just say, I don’t think you’ll see me wasting my time with Charms class next year,” Draco mutters bitterly.
Blaise snickers lightly and Draco’s eyes snap to him in an instant-- venomous and daring. It’s the kind of cold look that anybody would dread getting from a Malfoy.
“Amused, Blaise?” Draco sneers, “We’ll see just who’s laughing in the end.”
You miss the tiny metallic clanging noise from above your heads, and so do Blaise and Pansy from where they’d sending you questioning looks, as if you should know why your boyfriend’s suddenly acting like the four of you haven’t spent the past six years exchanging all your secrets and hanging out at any free moment you may have.
Draco knows who’s there. Your ex-boyfriend. His enemy. Harry Potter. He pisses Draco off even more with the way he always stares at you. It gives Draco an idea.
Draco’s gaze flickers down from the storage racks above your heads and back down at you when you finally lift your head from his shoulder. You reach for his hands that are on the table and pull them underneath innocently. You give his hand a squeeze and keep your fingers intertwined on his lap, watching as his shoulders relaxed slightly beside you.
The rest of the train journey is less tense. Draco doesn’t suggest anything else as solemnly as he had been, and you all talk about your summers. Well, you, Blaise, and Pansy do-- everybody knows Draco definitely did not spend his summer eating the finest food in France like he usually did.
As you’re listening to Blaise talk about his mother’s latest fiancé, you feel Draco’s hand snake from your hand and drift to your leg. It’s bare beneath your school skirt, the British September weather not yet cold enough for a pair of tights. You know he’s glad that you decided to get changed early. You shiver at his icy fingertips on your thigh, pursing your lips together when he gives it a rather rough squeeze.
He glides his hand up and down, leaving goosebumps in his wake as he tries to remain as casual as possible, keeping a hard look on his face whilst he stares at Blaise. You’re also trying to appear neutral, cursing your boyfriend for having such a thing for getting off in public. One day you were going to get caught, and that was the day you would also be disowned by your family.
He keeps you in suspense for the last hour of the train journey. At that point, the dark green panties that you’re wearing are absolutely soaked, sticking to your pussy and even dampening the top of your thighs. His hand hadn’t left your leg once, trailing close to where you desired him the most, where your clit throbbed and pulsated, and then back down closer to your knee to give you a breather.
Draco Malfoy was a fucking tease and he would be the death of you-- that was for sure.
Finally, when the train pulled up at the station, everybody starting to climb off of the compartment, but Draco remained sat where he was, also blocking you in from your window seat. As Blaise and Pansy grab their bags and start to head off, they look back at you both in confusion, wondering why you’re not leaving.
“You two go on,” Draco mutters, running his hand across his jaw. “Y/N and I have something we need to discuss.”
Pansy gives you a sly smirk and a wink before she grabs Blaise’s arm and practically drags him out of the compartment. Your heart is pounding as you watch Draco slide out of his seat once your friends have left the two of you by yourselves, watching as he moves closer to the carriage door, sliding it shut. He pulls the blinds down next.
“This might be the last time we get the chance to do this,” Draco smirks as he glances back at you. “Stand.”
You do as he says, watching as he grabs his wand out of his pocket and swishes it, all of the other blinds coming down to conceal you from the outside. Your clit is pulsating so hard and you nearly groan out loud as he starts to march closer to you, rubbing your thighs together for some relief.
Draco’s hand snaps out to grab your neck, fingers gliding down your soft skin before he digs his fingers in slightly, shallowing your breathing. You whimper as his other thumb drags itself down your lip.
“I know you’ve been desperate for this,” Draco mutters, releasing your neck and undoing his tie, flinging it down onto the table beside you both. “And you’ve been a good girl for me. Parkinson and Zabini didn’t suspect a thing, did they?”
“No,” you breathe in agreement, “they didn’t.”
“I think my good little slut deserves a reward for being so patient,” Draco mutters, tilting your head with his hand on your jaw, leaning down to press wet kisses to your neck, sucking hard below your ear and leaving a hickey behind as you grip his arms, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
“Draco...” You pull away from him slightly, finding his silver eyes darker than usual as he stares down at you. “Right here? What if someone comes looking-”
“Colloportus,” he mutters, locking the doors with his wand. “There. We’ll hear if someone tries coming in.”
“And if somebody hears us?”
“Muffliato.”
That’s enough for you. Especially when Draco’s looking as handsome as he does and when he has that grip on your waist. You know you’re in for a good quickie when he grabs you and whirls you around, forcing you down so that you’re bent over the table that they had just been sat at.
His hand drifts between your legs where your school skirt has ridden up, exposing your soaked panties. He tuts as he kicks your legs apart with his foot, gliding his lanky fingers up your leg and towards your ass where he lands a harsh smack. You whimper, your hand clasping over your mouth.
Draco reaches down and dives his hand between your legs, cupping your sex. He pushes your panties to the side and immediately comes into contact with your slick arousal. It coats his fingers and makes him smirk as he glides it between your folds and towards your clit where he rubs circles. When he notices how you’re muffling your moans with your hand, he lands a sharp slap to your clit that makes you jerk unexpectedly against him.
“If I see you trying to keep quiet one more time then I won’t touch you,” Draco swore, returning to rubbing your clit when you peeled your hand away from your lips. “Good girl. I want to hear those pretty sounds you make.”
You moan at a mixture of his words and the sensation rippling through your body, your arms stretching out in front of you and trying to grab hold of anything, but there was nothing for you to hold so you simply clawed at the table as Draco drops down onto his knees.
He whirls you around so that you’re facing him, his face level with your pussy as he yanks your skirt up. He glides your panties down your legs and then thrusts one finger inside your hole, making your breath hitch. You throw your head back, you hands clinging to his bleach blond hair. As another finger slides in, both pumping in and out at a dangerously slow pace, Draco leans his head dow and starts to lick at your clit, looking up at you whilst he did it.
You moan, bucking your hips. “Draco, please. Please, please. Fuck. Fuck!”
That’s right, Potter. He thinks. This is the closest you’ll ever get to seeing her like this. And it’s all because of me.
Draco hums against you and wraps his mouth around your entire clit, sucking hard and licking at the same time. It throbs and feels like it’s going to explode, porn-worthy whimpers leaving you as you throw your legs up onto his shoulders, sitting further along the table as he laps up your juices eagerly.
A third finger slides in and you groan at the stretching sensation as he fucks his fingers into you harder. Your hands move up to palm at your breasts, until Draco grabs your wrist. You huff at the loss of contact. He stands, licking his lip as he pulls his fingers out of you and holds them towards your lips.
“Suck,” Draco demands and knowing Potter is watching, envying him and wishing that he was the one that had you at his will, makes him smirk harder.
You respond eagerly, leaning forwards and taking his fingers into your mouth. You look up at him, eyes all wide and innocent that have Draco even harder in his trousers. He swears to Merlin that you’ll be the death of him as your tongue swirls around his digits, licking yourself off of him and cleaning him up.
“Good fucking slut,” he grows. “Now on your knees. Where you belong.”
You respond quickly, dropping down like he had commanded you to. Without hesitation, you reach for the button and zipper of his trousers, undoing them both. You reach into his underwear and pull his cock out, wetting your lips at the sight. He’s as hard as ever, precum oozing out of the top as he grabs the base of it, smacking your lips with it.
You half open your mouth, making a moaning sound as he smears it across your lips, leaving his precum behind. Your tongue darts out and you lick it up as he smacks your cheek with it. Your mouth opens wider, sticking your tongue out. Draco thrusts his hips slowly closer, his cock resting in your mouth as you take over, grabbing his shaft and jerking off anything that you couldn’t fit into your mouth.
You suck in your cheeks as you bob on his dick, pulling off all of the way to then lick at his tip. Draco’s hand grips your hair like it’s a lifeline, small curses leaving his lips as you take him all the way back in. His tip hits the back of your throat, making your eyes water, but you keep him there for a few second, hearing his breathing grow short at the feeling until you pull him off of you, his cock now covered in your saliva.
“Fuck, you’re so good,” Draco mutters, his fingers going beneath your chin and moving with you as you stand up. “And you’re all mine. Nobody else can have you.”
“Mhm,” you moan in agreement as he lays you across the table that you had been at before. “Don’t want anyone else.”
“Not even Potter?” He refers to the boy you’d dated briefly back in fourth year-- the same one that hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you since, even when you were wrapped under Draco’s arm two years later.
“No, you,” you agree, “Just you. Only you, Draco.”
Draco places runs his tip up and down your folds before he presses it at your entrance, slowly gliding in. You both groan at the sensation. You’d throw your head back if you weren’t already being fucked on the hard surface of the table. Your hands grip the sides beside you, but it doesn’t stop your body jerking as Draco fucks into you hard.
He’s being rough, clearly trying to prove a point as he watches your body wither beneath him from where he stands at the end of the table. He pushes your skirt back up when it falls down a little, and this time his thumb moves to your clit. Draco smirks when your back arches and you cry out.
“Draco!” You nearly sob as he slams into you, your soaking heat making sounds that echo across the compartment. “Draco, Draco. Fuck me just like that.”
Draco groans at your words, rubbing your clit harder and slamming in and out of you like it’s his mission. Your walls clench around his cock and have him tilting his head back, a breathy moan leaving his lips as he doesn’t stop his assault on your nub. Everything feels so good-- you can already feel your orgasm coming, thanks to the foreplay earlier as well.
“You’re so good for me,” Draco growls, glancing down and spitting on your pussy, even though you were already soaked. He rubs it in as he watches his cock drive in and out of your shaking form. “Such a good, pretty, little slut. But just for me.”
“Just--” You squeeze your eyes shut when Draco hits a certain spot inside you, making you scream out. “Just for you, Draco.”
“Do you hear that Potter?” Draco booms with a laugh, but you don’t process what he’s said at first. “Do you see her? The way she comes undone for me. How she would let me do anything for her?”
You realise what he’s saying after a few seconds and several more powerful thrusts. Your eyes widen, realising that Harry must be snooping around in the compartment-- that was why Draco had been so tense after the small blackout.
“Draco--”
Draco leans down and hisses against your ear, “Let’s put on a little show for him, shall we, princess?”
You cum. You scream out and throw your head back, the thought of Harry watching Draco fuck the life out of you guiltily filling you with adrenaline and power and even arousal. You claw at Draco’s blazer-covered back as you call out his name, walls clenching around his cock over and over.
Finally, seconds later, you feel his hips stutter and one last powerful thrust before his cum begins to fill you, hot and fast. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, breathy whimpers leaving your lips as he pulls out of you and yanks your skirt back down whilst you sit up.
“Petrificus Totalus!” He grabs his wand and shoots the spell at the storage shelves above you.
You gasp when you hear a thump. You bend down on your knees and pull up the invisibility cloak that Harry had, revealing the boy himself-- paralysed, of course. Draco grabs you and pulls you back, a smirk on his face.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to eavesdrop, Potter?” Draco spits, grabbing his bag with the hand that isn’t holding you wrist. “Oh, that’s right, she was dead before you could wipe the drool off your chin.”
Harry’s seemingly-lifeless eyes just stare back up at the two of you and you gasp when Draco drives his foot down onto Harry’s face, an audible cracking noise filling the compartment. Blood immediately dribbles down his face as Draco releases you to grab the cloak back off the ground.
“That’s for my father. And stop fucking staring at my girlfriend. I think it might be obvious to you who she prefers now.” He throws the cloak back over Harry, making him invisible again. “Enjoy your ride back to London.”
Draco grabs your hand again and his briefcase and leads you away again, fully satisfied that Potter had learnt his lesson.
#draco malfoy#draco malfoy smut#draco malfoy lemon#draco#malfoy#harry potter#harry potter smut#harry potter imagine#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy oneshot#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x female reader
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Two Homes (part 7/7) - Nikolai Lantsov
Request: no
Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader
Summary: after realising you can have two homes, you rush back to ravka
Warnings: none
Word count: 3.5K
A/N: aaa the last part!! if you’ve read all of the parts I just want to say thank you so much for reading my work, it really means a lot to me! enjoy reading :)
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The trip back to Ravka seems to take longer than the trip to Ketterdam. You kept taking out the tiny watch you kept in your pocket, only to find out no more than a few minutes had gone by. Saints, couldn’t this boat go any faster?
While it is in the middle of the night, you can’t sleep. There’s too much energy in your body.
On the ship, only a handful of crew members are awake, needed to make sure you were still heading toward Ravka. The rest of the people on the ship are below decks, probably fast asleep.
You’re pacing the ship, your mind running at an alarmingly speed. You think about the crows, and Ketterdam. And Nikolai and the palace. Would he be angry you left in such a hurry? Would he not accept your apology? Or worse; would he send you away?
Technically, he could. He’s the king after all. You didn’t think he would do it, but if he wanted to, he could make sure you never set foot in the palace again. What if you traveled back to Os Alta, only to be banned from the city?
You’re so lost in thought, pacing around, you don’t see one of the crew members looking at you. Only when he speaks up, you stop pacing to look at him.
‘Hey! You!’
He’s sweating as he’s pulling on the ropes, to keep the sail in place and making sure you sail toward Os Kervo and don’t end up somewhere in Fjerda.
‘If all you’re gonna do is walk around, you might as well help. Get over here.’ he says.
Without even thinking about it, you walk over to where he’s standing. After all, he was right. You might as well help. And it might take your mind off of everything that’s going on.
You roll up your sleeves, but keep your hood down to hide your face.
‘Grab this rope.’ he says, extending one of two ropes he’s holding to you. You firmly grip it with two hands. ‘And make sure to pull hard. Can you do that?’ he says. You nod and pull harder.
Immediately, you feel the pull of the wind, and you plant your feet firmly on the wooden deck. For the rest of the night, you make sure the rope doesn't slip out of your hands.
You get to talking with the other crew member who asked for your help and when you see the first rays of light and the city of Os Kervo in the distance, you realise you haven’t thought of Ketterdam or Os Alta for hours.
The crew member tells you you can let go of the rope and once you do, you feel your muscles relax. You hand him back the rope and walk over to the edge of the ship, to look at the city slowly creeping closer.
Despite the early hour, it’s already busy on the docks. Fishermen are walking around, loading and unloading their ships. People are waiting for your ship to arrive, probably welcoming home loved ones.
‘You ever been to Os Kervo?’
You look to your side and see the crew member. He looks young, about your age.
‘Once.’ you truthfully say. ‘But only passing through.’
‘And today?’ he says.
‘Also passing through.’ you say.
‘Traveling to?’ he asks.
‘North.’ you say. You didn’t need him to know exactly where you’re going.
‘Ah.’ he says. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Nina.’ you say, blurting out the first name that comes to mind.
He holds out his hand to you. ‘Nice to meet you, Nina. I hope we see each other again.’ he says.
You shake his hand. ‘Likewise.’ you say, but in your head you hope you never see him again. If he would recognise you, and the story would get out that the queen of Ravka illegally passed the True Sea, it would not be very pretty.
Thankfully, you’ve arrived at the docks and can get off the ship, quickly leaving the crew member behind.
You walk around the city, trying to find some kind of transport so you could get to Os Alta. Normally you’d hitch a ride on a carriage, but it seems too risky. So instead, you head for the small cottages and farms on the edge of the city.
At the oldest, shabbiest looking farmhouse, you stop. You walk around the property, and spot a horse.
You walk back to the front door and knock. It takes a while for someone to open. An old lady opens the door to you.
You smile at her. ‘Good morning, ma’am, sorry to wake you at this hour, but I was wondering if your horse is for sale?’ you ask her.
‘He’s not.’ she says.
‘That’s a shame.’ you say. ‘Your house looks very old. Couple of broken windows, wood rot. You could fix that with a generous amount of money, get someone from the city to help you out.’
‘I don’t have that kind of money.’ says the old lady, already moving to shut the door, but you plant your foot in front of it.
‘I can pay handsomely for the horse.’ you say. ‘I don’t think you ride anymore, do you?’
‘No, I don’t.’ she says.
You pull out a bag and shake it, making the coins inside clash against each other.
‘You get this, I get the horse.’ you say. ‘It’s enough to fix your house.’
She eyes you suspiciously. ‘Why would you give me this much money?’ she says.
‘Because I’m in a hurry. And I need a horse.’ you say.
‘Alright, then.’ she says. ‘Give me that money and you can fetch the horse.’
You hand the bag to her and thank her, heading around the farmhouse to the horse. He looks like a strong, healthy horse. You would be able to ride fast, cover a lot of distance. You thank the lady again, and mount the horse.
Without another look at Os Kervo, you start your journey to the palace. You ride for hours without stopping, constantly ushering your horse to go faster. Luckily, he’s a young one, and he can indeed go very fast.
But eventually, you have to stop. Not only to give the horse some rest, but also because your stomach had been growling loudly for the past hour. And now that the sun is up, it’s getting hotter and hotter. You can feel it burning in your neck.
You roll up your sleeves and take off your hood. When you’re riding in the fields, you could allow yourself to be a little less afraid someone might recognise you. And after all, you’re in Ravka now, not Ketterdam. You could only hope word of your absence hadn’t spread too fast throughout the country.
You leave your horse just outside a small village. After finding a bakery, you buy some bread and water with the money you have left. The village is old and charming. Once you finish your bread, you walk back to your horse. You drink half of your water and give the other half to the horse. You then mount the horse again and take off.
The sun is still hot in your neck but you don’t slow down. You needed to get to Os Alta as fast as you could. Sweat drips from your forehead to your neck. You still had a long way to go.
Hours later, you finally see the city of Os Alta appearing in the distance. It had since gotten colder, and it’s late in the evening. At the outskirts of the city, you leave your horse and find a place to wash up.
After washing off most of the sweat, you run your fingers through your hair and roll your sleeves down. You pull your hood further down and resume your way on foot.
Most of Os Alta’s inhabitants had retired to pubs or their homes. A few people still walked the streets, on their way home or loudly singing songs, smelling strongly of alcohol.
You feel relieved when you see the palace’s gates in the distance. As you approach the guard who is stationed in front of the closed gates, you lower your hood.
The cool air feels more than good after you’d kept your hood on for the biggest part of your journey. You smile as you walk up to the guard.
‘Hi.’ you say.
He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. This makes you frown.
‘Are you going to let me in?’ you say.
Now, he does look at you. It feels a bit weird to have him look you up and down and scan your face.
‘No, ma’am.’ he eventually says.
‘No?’ you say. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean no, I am not going to let you in.’ he says.
‘Do you know who I am?’ you say, thinking he was new on the job and you hadn’t been introduced to him yet.
‘No, ma’am.’ he says.
‘I’m Y/N.’ you say. ‘Y/N Lantsov, I live at the palace.’
He raises a single eyebrow at your words. ‘And I’m the king.’ he says.
‘You don’t believe me?’ you say. ‘Go and get Nikolai or someone else to confirm it’s me.’
‘King Nikolai isn’t present at the palace at the moment.’ says the guard. ‘And how do I know you’ve not been tailored to look like the queen?’
Your mouth falls open in surprise. You knew Nikolai made sure the guard are well trained, but this seemed like he’d done too good a job at it.
‘Saints, this is going tot take forever.’ you mumble to yourself.
‘Problem?’ says a familiar voice suddenly behind you.
You turn around and see Nikolai on his horse, accompanied by Zoya, Tamar and Tolya.
‘Nikolai.’ you say gratefully as you walk up to him.
He smiles at you and holds out his hand for you to take, but Zoya speaks up.
‘Wait.’ she says. ‘How do we know you’re really Y/N? She left in a hurry. You could be anyone pretending to be her.’
You look at her. Zoya did have a point. You turn back to Nikolai, who is still smiling at you.
‘When was our first kiss?’ asks Nikolai.
You feel yourself blushing. Of course he would have to ask a personal question to confirm it really is you. But this felt a little too personal for your taste.
‘Right before our wedding.’ you say softly. ‘Because I was nervous.’
When you look up at Nikolai he’s still smiling down at you. ‘It’s her.’ he confirms. You finally take his hand and mount his horse, sitting behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist.
The guard finally opens the gates, and you enter the palace grounds. Nikolai is silent as he heads to the stables. He doesn’t even say anything as the two of you get off his horse.
Even during the entire walk to your shared rooms, Nikolai is quiet. You want to ask him if he’s okay, if he’s okay with you being here, but a part of you tells you he needs this walk to clear his mind.
Once you get to your rooms and you shut the door behind you, you barely have time to turn around before Nikolai pulls you in his arms.
You’re a bit taken back by his actions, but are quick to embrace him. You feel how Nikolai drops his head to your shoulder and shuffles even closer to you. You smile as you hold on to Nikolai.
The two of you stand like that for a while. Just holding each other, glad to be reunited.
When Nikolai pulls back he smiles at you, and finally speaks up. ‘You came back.’ he says.
‘I did.’ you say. ‘Kaz talked some sense into me.’
Nikolai blinks in surprise. ‘Kaz Brekker was the one to talk sense into you?’ he says.
‘Yes. He made me realise I can have to homes.’ you say. ‘And we need to talk about that.’
‘Okay.’ says Nikolai, taking your hand and walking you back to the bed to sit down. ‘What exactly do we need to talk about? Because I can think of a few things, but I want to hear you out first.’
‘I thought I’d be happy once I got back to Ketterdam.’ you say. ‘And I was, for a while. It felt so good to see all of them again. And, uh, help them out every now and then.’
If Nikolai knew what you had really been doing during your life in Ketterdam, he didn’t show it. He didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.
‘It really felt good to be home in Ketterdam. But the more time passed, the less happy I got. I missed the palace, the life I built here, but most of all I missed you, Nikolai. Kaz was the one to tell me I can have two homes.’ you say.
Nikolai smiles at you after you finish talking. He brings your intertwined hands up and kisses your knuckles.
‘I missed you.’ he says. ‘I thought you weren’t happy here, so when you said you wanted to go to Ketterdam, I felt like I had no choice but to let you go. So I did. But I really am glad you’re back, Y/N. The palace felt a lot bigger without you in it.’
‘How boring were the meetings without me?’ you ask him.
Nikolai sighs deeply. ‘Very.’ he says. ‘I didn’t have to make sure you stayed awake, so I had no choice but to listen to every little detail they said.’ he says.
You chuckle, thinking back to the countless of times Nikolai had to keep you awake during the meetings.
As you look at him, it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time all over again. You let your eyes roam over his face, taking in every detail. You had really missed him.
‘Nikolai?’ you say softly.
‘Yes, sweetheart?’ he says.
‘While I was in Ketterdam, I realised something else.’ you say.
‘That the food here is better?’ says Nikolai.
‘They don’t have Ketterdam waffles here.’ you point out. ‘But no.’
You look at him, taking your time once more to take in his face.
‘I realised that over time, all those days we spent together, I’ve grown to love you. I don’t want to leave you like I did ever again.’ you say.
You watch as Nikolai’s face breaks into a huge grin. ‘You love me?’ he says.
‘I do.’ you say. You hold up your hand, showing him the ring. ‘This should be a pretty good reminder of it.’
Nikolai grabs your face with both of his hands, pulls it towards his and smashes his lips onto yours in a passionate kiss. You can tell he’s still smiling. And when he pulls away, there’s indeed still a big and proud smile on his face.
‘I love you.’ he says. ‘I should have never let you go like that. I should have gone with you, or made sure you had reason to stay. I won’t let you leave again, Y/N, you’re my queen, and I love you.’
You smile, leaning in to press a kiss to both of his cheeks.
‘We can make this marriage work, Nikolai. I want to make it work. On one condition, though.’ you say.
‘Name it.’ says Nikolai.
‘I promised I would visit Ketterdam every summer.’ you say. ‘To see all of my friends and spend time with them.
‘That seems like a fair deal.’ says Nikolai. ‘Then I’ve got a condition as well.’
‘Anything.’ you say.
‘You have to accompany me on every boring meeting, otherwise I will fall asleep during every single one of them. And we go for a walk through the gardens every evening.’ he says.
‘Deal.’ you say.
Nikolai smiles and rises from the bed, offering his hand to you. ‘Shall we go on a walk then?’ he says.
You smile and gladly accept his hand and get up. The two of you walk the familiar route to the gardens, and you can’t help but to sneak glances at him. It was already dark outside, but somehow there was still a twinkle in his eyes, and his blonde hair seemed to glow.
‘Are you trying to remember every detail of my face by looking at me so many times, love?’ he says after a while. ‘I’m flattered, honestly. But you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, you can spend plenty of time looking at me.’
‘I know.’ you say. ‘But I missed a few days, I’m catching up on lost time.’
Nikolai chuckles and pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. ‘You’re truly adorable.’ he says, making you blush.
You reach the gardens and automatically walk to your favorite spot. When you sit down on the bench, you look at the familiar bush in front of you.
‘I’m on time.’ you say.
Nikolai looks at the bush as well and nods. ‘You are. David says Summers Week will most likely bloom next week.’ he says. ‘And when it does, I’ll get you a new flower, to keep with the one I got you last year.’
You turn to smile at him. ‘I can start collecting them.’ you say. ‘One for each year.’
‘One for each year.’ Nikolai repeats. ‘I really am glad you’re back, Y/N. It felt weird, not having you around. I felt like some part of me was missing. Maybe because it was.’
‘Well, I’m here now.’ you say. ‘And I don’t plan on leaving soon.’
‘Except for your summer trip to Ketterdam.’ says Nikolai.
‘Except for that trip. You should come with me, I bet they’d love to meet you some day.’ you say.
Nikolai smiles. ‘Some of them have met me.’ he says.
You frown. ‘They have? They didn’t mention it when I was there.’ you say.
‘That’s probably because they didn’t know it was me.’ he says. ‘They also met Genya and Zoya. They were accompanying me but I wasn’t, well, me.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not.’ you say, suppressing a yawn.
‘Oh, darling, I’m not. One day I’ll tell you the story of Sturmhond.’ he says.
‘Sturmhond?’ you say and Nikolai nods. ‘Why not tell me now?’
‘Because you have been trying to hide your yawning since we came here, and I think it’s time you went to bed.’ says Nikolai with a chuckle.
‘You’re right, I should. It’s been a long day.’ you say. ‘I left in the middle of the night and only stopped once when I got to Ravka.’
‘You only stopped once? Saints, Y/N, how come you didn’t collapse on a bed once you got here?’ says Nikolai.
‘Because I wanted to talk to you and spend some time with you first.’ you say.
Nikolai’s features soften and he smiles at you. ‘I appreciate that. But now please let me take you back to our room before you fall asleep in the gardens.’ he says.
You get up and intertwine your fingers with his once more, and you start walking back to the palace. When you walk the halls, you run into Genya.
She looks surprised but happy to see you, as she shoots you a warm smile. You briefly let go of Nikolai’s hand to hug her. She must have noticed your tired state, because she tells you that you’d catch up tomorrow morning.
You’re grateful when you get to your room. After taking a quick bath to scrub the sweat and dirt off of your body, you change into a comfortable night dress. When you get back to the bedroom, you see Nikolai is fidgeting with a piece of rope.
He shows you the small boat he made when you approach the bed. You smile and take it from him, placing it on your nightstand.
The second you lay down under the covers, you feel your body already dozing off. You close your eyes and feel how Nikolai lays down on his side of the bed. You knew the bed was big enough to keep your distance, but you didn’t have to anymore.
You move closer to Nikolai, cuddling to his side. He wraps an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. Nikolai softly traces shapes on your bare arm.
He moves his head to kiss your forehead and mumble a very soft “goodnight, love”.
You feel yourself drifting off to sleep, a very faint smile on your lips. It feels good to be home right next to Nikolai. And you’re glad that you have two homes now. Ketterdam, with your crows. And Os Alta, with your king.
A/N:
If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules
Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist.
Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading!
Much love,
Marit
#:') the last one#why am I emotional#also do not listen to hozier when writing it will make you yearn & feel sad at the sametime#nikolai lantsov#shadow and bone#grishaverse#nikolai lantsov x reader#nikolai lantsov fanfiction#nikolai lantsov fanfic#nikolai lantsov fanfics#Nikolai Lantsov fic#Nikolai Lantsov fics#shadow and bone fanfiction#shadow and bone fanfic#shadow and bone fanfics#shadow and bone fic#shadow and bone fics#two homes series
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INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker
Chapter Seven
If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more. don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!
INEFFABLE – Kaz Brekker
ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of.
Chapter Seven
Now in Kribirsk, East Ravka, the Crows and Arken sat around a table in a pub, mindlessly eating and drinking, thinking about the past days events. Kaz had left them there, leaving Elham in charge of making sure everyone stayed put while he scoped the city out, finding out what he could.
Arken was grumbling, slamming a flyer onto the table. “The Little Palace winter fete. There’s just no way he can find a way to the Sun Summoner without Nina. Especially during this ridiculous party, the place will be crawling with Second Army.”
Kaz suddenly approached the table, in an immensely better mood than the rest of them, despite his disheveled look. “We’re in luck. There’s a good chance we can crack on. Now that we’re three days’ travel from the capital, the next play is finding a way inside the Little Palace. It turns out the Kribirsk archives house the Little Palace blueprints. But, they’re kept under lock and key. Far from the prying eyes of the masses.”
Elham scoffed. “As if that’s ever stopped you.”
Jesper had perked up, high fiving Elham. “Yes.”
Arken looked confused, suddenly uneasy around the group. “What does that mean?”
“Time for a heist!”
“Jesper, I don’t think you could sound any more excited. Excited to get that kruge, finally pay me back all you owe me?”
“Oh, but Elham, isn’t my company a good enough payment?”
She threw her head back laughing. “Oh, honey, you’d have to be around me the rest of your life to pay off your debt. Honestly, I don’t get it, Kaz pays you as much as he pays me, how is it that you’re always asking me for more kruge? I must say, though, the satisfaction of watching you lose almost makes it worthwhile.”
Jesper gasped. “Elham! Rude!”
“It’s my money you’re losing anyways. Now come on, let’s go say goodbye to the goat, and get this show on the road.”
---
Elham stood next to Arken, watching Jesper hand off the goat that he had dubbed Milo, to a barmaid, giving his tearful goodbye. She rolled her eyes, and called out a goodbye to Milo, turning her attention back to Kaz, who was giving Arken instructions. He handed him a wad of money.
“I have a job for you. We need to hitch a ride east to the Little Palace. Make friends.”
Arken nervously chuckled. “But that’s the hardest job.”
Kaz tapped his cane to the back of Elham’s leg, signaling her to follow him. Over his shoulder, he called back to Arken. “You managed to win us over, didn’t you?”
Once out of earshot, making their way out the door, Elham muttered. “Hardly. He was our only option. I still don’t like him.”
“I’m not asking you to like him, I’m not overly fond of him myself. But he’s our only shot. We aren’t getting in the Little Palace without him.”
“Oh, come on Brekker, not with that attitude we aren’t. Now, what’s your big plan here, where are we going?”
He almost smirked. “You’re not going to like this.”
Kaz led them over to the alley Inej and Jesper were standing in. “Alright, Royal Archives heist, here’s the game plan. Watchmen are on guard around the clock. We want to get in and get out as quietly as possible. That means the hardware stays in the holster, Jesper.”
“Ugh, fine.”
“Inej, the dome on the roof is directly above the repository where the blueprints to the Little Palace are kept.”
“Got it, that’s my way in.”
“I’ll set a trail of phosphorus that will lead you straight to the target. The repository is secured at all times behind a two-part lock mechanism. So Inej, you have to leave the way you came in. Two hours after sunset is when you’ll go in, Jesper. You’ll need to blend in.”
“Easy.”
“The lighting valves are on the second floor.”
Inej nodded. “I’ll take my cue once I see the lights go out, and then follow your trail straight to the blueprints.”
“The archivist has to pull them a number of times a day, so we can’t steal them or they’ll know something is up.”
“So? Make a copy.”
“But careful, if you're heavy handed, you'll bleed the ink.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Elham listened to the Crows talk back and forth, and then interrupted. “Well, I don’t. What am I supposed to be doing this whole time?”
The smirk crept back onto Kaz’s face.
“Well first, you’re coming with me to plant the phosphorus. I’m going to need you to keep the sarcastic comments to a minimum while we’re there, you are going to hate this part of the plan, though. I’m sure Jesper would love to hear them after we’re done. After we leave the archives office, I need you to distract the guards if Inej or Jesper get stuck...maybe take out one or two if necessary.”
“How am I supposed to do that? I can’t distract anyone. Kill, yes, but that seems like a bad decision.”
“It’s a last resort. Now, do you speak Suli? Zemeni?”
“No, I grew up in Kerch, I only learned Ravkan before coming to Ketterdam.”
“Well, let’s hope you don’t come across any guards then, otherwise you’re going to have to fake it. Now let's go, everyone get into place. El, you’re with me.”
---
Kaz and Elham stepped out of the carriage in front of the archives building in town. Kaz was dressed in clothes he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in the Barrel. His usual hat was replaced by a beret, his black coat for colorful drapes. Elham, however, definitely got the shit end of the stick. She was wearing a knee length poofy dress, bright fabrics and Suli silk adorning it. She wore a matching drape around her neck, the same one Kaz was wearing.
Elham was grumbling, rolling her eyes. “What, I don’t get a hat too? Honestly, Kaz, I look ridiculous! Not as ridiculous as you, but still, you had to pick this?”
“You have to blend in, El.”
“Blend in? I look like a wedding cake! At least you get to wear something semi-normal.”
“You’re supposed to look like a foreign artist, El, one good enough to be working for the King. You couldn’t show up in your normal attire, could you?”
She huffed, smoothing down the folds and fabrics of her dress, and Kaz stifled a chuckle.
“Oh, this is funny to you? Is that why you brought me, just needed a good laugh? Bastard.”
“I brought you to play the part. You’re here for the guard. Men fall for plots like this much easier when there’s a woman in a dress around.”
“Well, if you’re wanting me to seduce someone, you seriously missed the mark. Should've let me pick the dress.”
Kaz rolled his eyes, sighing. “You’re here to be the distraction. He’s not going to pay much attention to me if he’s looking at you. I don’t need you to seduce him, hence this dress. Stop grumbling, let’s go.”
---
They stepped inside the office, and Kaz greeted the man at the desk. Elham looked around, uncomfortable after having to pass so many people on the way in looking like that.
“Good day to you, sir! My name is Ivanovski, the sculptor.”
Kaz turned and motioned to Elham, who stood awkwardly behind him. “This is my wife, she’s the artist, a very good one at that. She doesn’t speak any Ravkan, she’s Suli, but she wanted to come along and see the archive building, right, love?”
Elham stifled her shock, and gulped, turning to the man at the desk, who, as Kaz predicted, only had his eyes on her. Elham hesitated, before slightly bowing, and nodding her head towards the man.
The man seemed to lose his annoyed attitude, smiling at Elham. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Exotic, there seems to be a lot of pretty women at the capital this year, it must be the winter fete. You’re a lucky man, Ivanovski, aye?”
Elham fought the heat that rose to her cheeks, stepping from foot to foot, flustered. Kaz’s face had gone cold for a second, his jaw clenched. He quickly recovered when the man turned back to him.
“Yes! Yes, she’s very beautiful, I’m the luckiest. Actually, the winter fete is what we’re here for. I am in desperate need of your assistance.”
Elham tilted her head towards the floor, no longer able to look in Kaz’s direction. She pretended to fiddle with the ribbons of her dress, lost in thought, while listening to Kaz talk.
“I am working on a real showstopper for the winter fete. I need the dimensions to the Little Palace entrances. The grand piece may be too grand to fit through the door frame. The King will have my head if his statuary must be parked in the courtyard. Can’t leave my wife here alone, can I?”
The man sighed, looking at Elham, before heading into the archives room to retrieve the prints. “Damned fete. I have to pull the blueprints every day. Wait here.”
Elham watched Kaz reach into his pocket to pull out the phosphorus, and so she shuffled in front of the man, stepping closer to Kaz, a bright smile on her face. She nodded again in the man’s direction, and he smirked, turning to head through the door. Kaz dropped the phosphorus to the floor, using the end of his cane to sweep it under the man’s foot, and it stuck to his shoe as he walked through the door, leaving a trail for Inej to use later.
Once through the door and far enough away from earshot, Elham let the smile fall from her face, whipping around to face Kaz, who looked very pleased with himself.
“I hate you. I can’t believe you made me do this. That man stared at me the entire time, eyeing me. You’re lucky I took my knife off of my thigh for this dress, otherwise I would have been tempted to use it. You weren’t much help either.”
“That was the plan. Can’t say I didn’t want to stab him for having to listen to him speak like that, though, but it worked, didn’t it?”
The sound of footsteps slowly approached them, and Elham quickly moved back behind Kaz as the man walked back in, handing Kaz a piece of parchment.
“Ah, may the Sun Summoner bless you!”
“Oh, I’m not a believer.”
Kaz leaned closer to the man, like what he was saying was supposed to be a secret his wife couldn’t here couldn’t hear. He eyed Elham, before turning back to the man. “No, truth be told, neither am I.”
The man chuckled, leaning in as well. “Why would you, you’ve got enough to believe in standing right behind you.”
Elham saw Kaz go rigid, and she stepped closer to him, getting his and the man’s attention. Remembering she was supposed to not know the language, she spoke brokenly, sounding unsure. “Ready? We go?”
Kaz was relieved to be leaving, placing a fake smile on his face. “Yes, love, we go.”
Elham waved goodbye to the man, smiling. He waved back, eyeing her as she and Kaz walked back out of the building to the carriage.
---
An hour later, and Elham had changed back into her regular clothes, knife strapped back onto her thigh. Kaz had decided the dress was too risky if she were to get caught on the grounds, and opted for the pair to both wear guards uniforms. Still, Elham was to remain scoping for other guards or for Jesper and Inej in trouble. If she had to, she’d attempt talking her way out. The knife was still a last resort.
Kad had also decided to keep her within eye shot near him, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. Elham was stealthy, but she was no Wraith. And truthfully, although Kaz would never admit it to himself, after today’s events, he wanted her close. He didn’t very much like her being the distraction.
They were heading to their positions, Inej already inside, Jesper soon to follow. Kaz and Elham were slowly patrolling, on opposite sides of the courtyard, making their way to the meeting point outside the exit Inej would come out of.
Thankfully, Elham didn’t run into any guards. She had seen one on the way around, and quickly ducked behind a wall, clutching her knife. Kaz had held his breath watching her, but he remained at the door Inej would come out of, releasing the breath when the guard walked away. Elham made her way up the courtyard to where Kaz was standing. She took her place by his side, and hoped that if any other guards came by and saw them from a distance, they would just assume the two had been placed on watch together as an extra security measure.
It was a waiting game at this point. Elham every once in a while glanced at the door, scanning the windows and balconies for any sign of trouble. She let her thoughts shift away from the heist, knowing Kaz would be alert.
She had felt something on this heist.
She always felt something around Kaz, but she so often pushed it away.
She thought about how long she had known Kaz, when he brought her in at 14. He had told her about the girl he met when he was a kid, who turned out to be just another part of Pekka Rollin’s scam on him and his brother. He at the time had thought she was the prettiest girl in the world. He refused to say much else about it, it taking years for Elham to piece together the story.
But when they were 14, and Elham had been part of the Dregs for a few months, he met another girl. Elham couldn’t even remember her name, but she remembered how she felt around her when she would see her on a rare occasion. Jealous. The girl could hold her own in a fight, she was confident around the other members of the gang, and she had gotten Kaz’s attention. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, she was a year older than them, and she showed interest in him too.
The one thing about her that was distinct in Elham’s memory was the girl's walk. She walked like she owned the very place she stood, exuding confidence. Like she knew something you didn’t. Elham by now had grown into herself, she could be confident as well if she wanted to, but it took some time. Imogen was long gone, a fleeting moment in their past, but she left enough impact for her to stick in Elham’s mind.
While lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Kaz’s gaze set on her, trying to figure out what she was thinking. He grew frustrated, finally just asking in a hushed tone.
“What are you thinking about? You’ve got that little crease in your brow, like when you’re really concentrating on one of those books you leave in my office. You’re distracted, so spit it out.”
Elham hesitated, before speaking. She knew he wouldn’t let it go. “Do you remember that girl from when we were younger, who had a kind of sidle when she walked? She had smashed that bottle over that one guy’s head for getting too handsy?”
Kaz stiffened, unsure of where she was going with this. He cleared his throat. “Imogen.”
That was her name. It fit her, Elham decided.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I was just thinking about her. You...you--”
Elham stuttered, and Kaz grew uneasy.
“What, Elham? I what?”
He had turned to face her completely now, and she felt uncomfortable under his gaze, like she wanted to shrink away.
“Today, when the man was looking at me, saying all of that stuff...you looked at me like I would see you look at her.”
Kaz said nothing, but he was fighting to keep the heat from rising to his cheeks, his posture becoming rigid.
“And I was just thinking about where I had seen that look on your face before, and it was when you’d look at her.”
Kaz stayed quiet for another minute, just staring at Elham, who was beginning to regret speaking up in the first place.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t--”
Kaz interrupted. “You know, you don’t walk like her.”
Elham’s face scrunched up, confused. “What?”
Kaz continued, eyes glancing over her. “She walked with confidence and her hips forward, but it was too cocky. She’s going to get herself killed, if she hasn’t already. You don’t walk like that. You walk with your knees slightly bent, like at any moment you could get into a fighting stance. And your weight pivots to whatever side you have your sword on. You walk like a Valkyrie.”
Elham knew she was blushing now, unable to hide it. She couldn’t think of a response, just staring back at him. She was growing and more insecure under his gaze, and he had picked up on it, of course he had, he always did.
He couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t thought about the earlier events of that day, the rage he felt watching the man eye Elham and talk about her like that. He felt a pit in his stomach watching her smile at the man, and fiddle with her dress. He had noticed Elham’s glances at him in the archives office, studying his face.
He couldn’t pretend like, even though he had picked one of the most outrageous outfits he could find for her to wear, that she hadn’t looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful, even with the cuts and bruises on her face from just the events of last week alone. But he had never seen her in a dress, even if it was that dress, and she was a sight to behold.
She was supposed to be the distraction for the guards, but she ended up distracting him. He hadn’t decided whether or not that was a terrible thing yet.
He looked at Elham a moment longer, sucked in a breath, and broke the silence.
“I remember Imogen. She was pretty. Would’ve been good in any gang. But she’s not here. She didn’t stick with me all those years, did she? She’s not my Valkyrie. That’s you, El.”
She felt tears prick at her eyes, and she gave him a nod, her voice shaky. “Yeah. That’s me.”
She stared a bit longer, and then broke their gaze when she heard the door open behind them, immediately getting into a stance ready to attack if need be. Inej walked through the door, Jesper following after her.
Elham cleared her throat. “Are you both alright?”
Inej nodded, sending her a smile, Jesper coming up next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulder.
“One step closer to paying you back, love.”
She laughed again. “I don’t know, Jesper, might not be enough. I may just have to settle for your company.”
“Come on, we have a heist to plan.” Kaz nodded at the Crows, motioning them to follow him off the property and back into town.
Elham took a deep breath, and Kaz turned to her, watching her collect herself, getting more comfortable again. He nodded his head towards the path once more, and she stepped in stride next to him, Jesper and Inej on the other side of her.
---
A/N - hi everyone, this is a longer chapter. i'm starting to put in some elements from the books, mostly involving kaz's backstory, i hope that's ok and not too confusing for those of you who haven't read it and have only seen the show. i'm a little unsure about how to feel about this chapter, so let me know your thoughts. feel free to comment or message me with anything, and thanks for the support!
#wattpad#grishaverse#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker#shadow and bone#six of crows imagine#six of crows#in my feels probably#ineffable#x reader#oc
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Ferris
Summary: You and Chris fight hard, but at least making up is always fun.
Pairings: Chris Evans x Black!Reader
Warnings: Smut, daddy skink, swearing, sex in public
(A/N: Okay so yes. I watched Insecure and decided having sex on a ferris wheel sounded kind of hot. Sue me. Also a little bit of a toxic relationship because I also love Euphoria.)
The original plan for today was simple. Hang out with your girls, have fun at this music festival, and then go to a diner afterward because you knew you’d be drunk and starving by the end of the night. Except like usual you were thinking about Chris and the stupid fight the two of you were having. It was like you couldn’t really have fun.
He’d gotten mad when he saw the outfit you’d picked for the occasion. The butterfly covered bralette and matching skirt was kind of revealing, but that was the point. He didn’t want “other men to see what was his,” or some shit like that. God, he could be so possessive.
Of course, you wore it. You’d already bought it specifically for the occasion. With his credit card, you might add. You weren’t going to change in one minute just because he told you to. Except for your friend Amanda had already tagged you in a picture which he’d clearly seen since he’d been texting you almost non-stop all pissed off that you’d disobeyed him.
Sometimes he irritated you so much. Like, yeah you wouldn’t trade him for the world, but did he have to be such an ass about it. Then it was conflicting because apart of you kind of liked it. Your big mean Daddy putting you in your place. Maybe that’s why he treated you like that. He knew that deep down you had a thing for it. Except right now all you wanted to do was sulk as you argued with him back and forth through your messages.
Yet despite this, you still felt so needy for him. Like all you wanted was for him to hold you. Maybe give you kisses and tell you that you looked good. It was so annoying how desperate you felt for him. Aside from all the fighting, he was a really good boyfriend. He was perfectly affectionate, amazing in bed, wanted to actually have a future with you, and made sure you had everything you’ve ever wanted. He took care of you well.
There were times when the negative thoughts reared their ugly heads. Like your friends. It seemed they only saw bad. Like how he was gone a lot, but like it’s for work and you got to travel with him all the time which was fun. Or the fighting. Which okay, fair enough.
Sometimes it kind of just seemed like they were jealous. Like how’d you manage to snag Captain America of all people. Or why you put up with the things you did. Maybe when they find a boyfriend with a big dick and a bank account to match they’d understand.
Until then your friends' opinions didn’t really mean anything to you. It’s not like you ever asked them for it anyway. They weren’t complaining when he’d pay for the spa trips or even the VIP passes to this thing, though. They loved him then.
You took a sip of the beer Shannon had just handed you. This is going to sound so dumb, but like, the taste of it was making you think of him. It reminded you of those times he’d come home from work and you’d have dinner waiting like the good little girlfriend you are. After you’d curl up on the couch. He’d pretty much down his beer as you unwinded, pressed into his side.
Then at some point, he’d kiss you. It would start out all sweet and nice. He’d end up saying something funny and you’d giggle. He always said he loved your laugh. Then he’d pull you onto his lap, making you straddle him.
Your kiss would turn deeper. Hungry. Like if you didn’t kiss him right now, you might float away. Your tongues would caress while you had your arms wrapped around his neck. You’d feel his bulge grow pressing against your usually covered pussy.
That’s when you’d started grinding your hips because even the friction from his thickness was enough to get you close. He’d usually start out with his hands on your tits because even though he claimed to be an ass guy he always told you how much he loved your boobs. Then he’d pull you away to pull off your top bringing you back into him by putting his hand around your neck. Since you’d rather die than wear a bra at home, your naked body would be pressed against him even though he was still clothed.
As his lips would begin to trail down your body, his hands would rest against your ass. Squeezing it, smacking it, helping you grind into him. Then he’d do this thing where he lifted you up to lay you down. His lips still on yours as he moved kept moving against you.
Then you’d finally get naked and he’d fuck you right there not even bothering to go to the room. His dick hitting every spot all at once because of how damn thick he was. He was the first man to fuck you right. Maybe that’s why you were so crazy about him.
In those moments afterward, you’d have to stop yourself. You could taste the soft ‘I love you’ that you wanted to say so badly on your tongue. It didn’t feel right saying it without knowing if he’d say it back to you. You weren’t sure if he would.
You swayed back and forth to the music, singing along. Amanda was twerking while Shannon and Kim were pretty similar to how you were. If you weren’t one second away from showing everyone your panties with how tiny your skirt was you’d probably be right next to her.
Night had fallen and everything looked beautiful. The way the desert looked with the stage lit. The way they’d light up the ferris wheel. It was all so amazing. Yet your mind kept drifting. He hadn’t texted you back in a few hours which was weird for him when the two of you were fighting.
You’d walked away from the group to throw away the beer bottle you didn’t feel like holding. Before you could turn around, you felt a hand on your waist and groaned because why the fuck do guys do that. Until you looked up seeing the blue eyes of your handsome boyfriend.
Your breath hitched in your throat. Like it usually does because he was so fucking beautiful it wasn’t like you could help it. “Ch- Chris? What are you doing here?” For some reason, it felt like you’d gotten caught red-headed.
He shrugged. His hair was covered by the blue cap he was wearing, but it was so unmistakably him that you were surprised you weren’t being rushed by fangirls. “I missed you,” he replied.
You tilted your head to the side feeling all melty now from the simple phrase. “I missed you, too.”
He pulled you into a hug, nuzzling his face in your hair. “Can we talk? Somewhere private.”
You chuckled. “I don’t think we can really be anywhere private right now.” You glanced over at your friends who were rolling their eyes and such at the sight of him. Except for Shannon that is. She was really the only one on Team Chris.
“The ferris wheel,” he suggested, looking up at the giant contraption.
You scrunched up your nose. Just because you thought it was pretty didn’t mean you actually liked them. And, he knew that because every time you went to Disneyland you’d skip over it. “I don’t do ferris wheels.”
“I know, but just this once,” he said. “Just so we can talk.”
It was hard saying no to that face so you found yourself nodding. “Okay. Let me tell them I’ll be right back.”
Being Chris Evans he got to skip to the front of the line. The carriage was one of those enclosed ones. Similar to California Adventure’s, but of course not as big. Poor Chris looked squished on his side. At least it didn’t swing.
You looked out the window. You were barely off the ground. Neither of you said anything. It was a little quieter here, but not much by much. A part of you wanted to go over there and take a seat on his lap as you went further.
“So,” he started, finally breaking the silence after you were a quarter of the way off the ground. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry... you know for all the fighting.”
You weren’t really expecting that. Your eyes met his and you wanted to swoon, but you needed to keep your composure. “Why are we like this?” You asked.
“I don’t want it to be,” he said. “I know this is going to sound fucking crazy, but I drove all the way here because at some point I realized that you’re more important than losing you over me not liking your outfit, which you look really cute by the way.”
You smiled. “You really think so?”
“You always do. You’re gorgeous, Honey. I’m so fucking sorry if I... if I make you feel like I don’t care because I do.” He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say to you is that I love you, Y/N.”
“Really?” Your heart felt like it was going to explode.
“I have since we met I think.”
“I love you, too,” you said. Leaning forward so you could kiss him. The inside of the carriage was dark so no one could really see into it, but then again people were probably watching it like a hawk just trying to catch a glimpse. He’d grabbed onto your hips like he did when the two of you were on the couch making it, making you straddle his lap. It honestly felt like you might as well be at home with how damn comfy he is.
“I’m sorry, Baby,” he said. His hands rested on your ass he started kissing your neck. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” you replied. He lifted up your bralette so he could kiss down your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth swirling his tongue around. You moaned feeling his dick hardening underneath you.
You reached between both of you to palm him in his jeans. He groaned as you rubbed him. You need to be quick because your carriage was moving again and clearly it couldn’t just end in a makeout session. Not with the way he was kissing you and you couldn’t leave your poor boyfriend all hard with blue balls.
You unzipped his pants and smiled when his dick popped out. “Oh, Daddy,” you cooed.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered in your ear. “Always ready for me, huh?”
“Always,” you repeated before kissing him again.
He pulled your panties to the side as he lifted your hips up to inch you down his length. He felt so fucking good inside of you. “That’s it, Honey. Ride me.”
“Yes,” you mewled. He filled you up so perfectly. You were so fucking full. It never made any sense just how good it always felt. As you bounced up and down his length you could feel your slick dripping out to cover him.
His balls were slapping against your ass every time you went down and for some reason, it felt so damn good. You bit your lip trying to keep yourself from crying out again. Even though you were sure no one could hear you, you still didn’t want to get too loud.
He’d grabbed your hips. Making you tilt back so he could leave hot open-mouthed kisses trailing from your neck to your collarbone to your breasts. You threw your head back trying to keep your noises in your throat. You were holding yourself up with your hands on his knees.
“That’s it, Baby. I know you wanna cum for me.” He grabbed you, bringing your forehead to his. One of his hands squeezed your neck with just enough pressure.
Your pussy was clenching around him your insides fluttering as you felt yourself getting there. “Fuck, Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you whined. Your orgasm was so close you could fucking taste it.
“That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he whispered in your ear. “Cum for me.”
You pressed your face into his t-shirt as you reached your breaking point. You moved your hips harder trying to ride out your orgasm. The way you were moving triggered him to start spilling inside of you. “Fuck,” he cursed, his grip going to your ass again so hard you kind of knew you were going to bruise.
“Yes, Daddy. Yes.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you started to come down from your high.
You laid your head on his chest as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. Your body was shaking and you wanted to calm down by the time you had to get out of the carriage. You looked out the window again. That whole time at the top had been spent fucking and it was almost time for you to compose yourself.
“We probably aren’t the first ones to do this today, huh,” he wondered out loud.
You chuckled, putting your chin on his chest and looking up at him. “Probably not.”
He rubbed your ass sweetly not even realizing before how tender your body was now. He sat back with his eyes closed. “Is it bad that I could sleep like this?”
“No. I think I could, too,” you replied, feeling your eyes all droopy.
You finally got up before the ferris wheel reached the ground to make yourselves presentable. You sat back in his lap melting into him until it was at a complete stop.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too.”
He smiled all sweet before placing a kiss on your lips. You guys were always fighting and making up and as much as you’d say it was water under the bridge, this was the first time it really felt like it. You couldn’t wait to see how things would be from now on. He was your person.
#Chris Evans smut#chris evans x reader#chris evans x black!reader#chris evans x poc!reader#chris evans x you
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I'd Rather Go Blind & Let My Body Go Numb Than To Lose You Or The Weight Of Your Love
Prompt: Jealousy and all its cousins. Fanart Credit here.
Read on Archive here.
Anthony never thought he'd be the kind of husband who needs to know where his wife is at every moment of every day.
(To be fair, he never thought about being a husband much at all until the season he'd pursued Edwina only to fall maddeningly in love with Kate).
But here he is, sitting on the couch with his feet drumming loudly against the floor, staring intensely at the door.
On the table beside the couch sits a cup of tea, cold and untouched. Anthony had someone from the kitchens prepare it for him, but his nerves made him unable to stomach anything.
Anthony looks a mess. He'd been raking his hands through his hair for the past two hours. He'd also slapped his cheeks once or twice to stay awake.
His jacket lay discarded and wrinkled on the ground near the door. He feels guilty, knowing one of the maids would have to press it. However, he can't gather the desire to move from the couch and retrieve it.
Instead, he's glued to the couch as he considers where Kate is. A hundred different scenarios run through his mind—each scenario worse than the last.
For the past month, Kate has been disappearing at night. He hears her footsteps tiptoeing past his study when he stays up to work. He feels the weight from her side of the bed lessen as she stands and departs from their bedroom when she thinks he's fallen asleep.
At first, Anthony questioned her about it. Kate would always make up an excuse about needing fresh air or going to see Edwina. But he knows her well enough to know when she's lying.
However, Anthony hadn't ever called Kate out on her deceit. He feared the truth, especially how it might crush him to hear it.
But he couldn't take the not knowing anymore. So when he heard the door close after Kate told him five minutes prior that she was retiring to bed, he made his way towards the front of the house. Anthony watched at the window as a carriage rode away. A hole had formed in his stomach, making him feel hollow. He then sat down on the couch so he could catch her when she returned.
Finally, after what felt like ages passed, he hears footsteps approaching the door. He quickly jumps up from the couch and makes his way to the foyer. When Kate steps through the door, her eyes widen.
"Anthony!" she exclaims in surprise, putting a hand to her chest to steady her breath. "You're up late."
"So are you," Anthony says, crossing his arms and blocking her way.
"I was only walking around to get some fresh air."
Anthony raises a brow. "Really, for two hours?"
Her eyes shift anxiously from his stare. "Has it really been that long?"
"Yes," he answers through gritted teeth, anger rising within him.
"Oh well, it was such a lovely night the time got away from me." Kate stands on her toes, kissing him quickly on the cheek. "Sorry for worrying you."
As she tries to retreat, Anthony's hand lurches out to grab her elbow, pulling her back to face him.
"I've had enough, Kate," he sighs tiredly. "Where were you?"
"I just told you, I was—."
"You've been going out for fresh air at odd hours of the day for the past month. You'd think you'd have your fill by now."
Kate fidgets. "Well, it hasn't just been out to get fresh air. I've been attending engagements. I have a life outside you and this household, you know."
"Oh, I know that, but your engagements don't usually take place after dark and don't require you sneaking out of the house to attend."
"Darling, everything is fine," Kate says, pulling her arm out of his reach and giving him a nervous smile. "You've probably been working too hard. Let's go to bed."
As she tries to walk away again, Anthony pulls her back. But this time, he holds onto both of her arms, forcing her to meet his eye.
"Kate, I know you—perhaps more than you know yourself, and I know when you're lying to me," he says, his voice turning softer—more fragile. It's as if he's a vase that could shatter at any moment. "What I don't know is why."
"I promise that what I have been going out and doing is not anything scandalous or dangerous." After letting out a long breath, a laugh bubbles from her throat in amusement. "Honestly, where I've been going to is nothing to fret over. You're acting as if I'm having an affair or something."
Anthony's heart sinks in his chest. No matter how ridiculous the prospect sounds, he can't help but whisper the question that's been plaguing his mind these past few weeks.
"Are you?"
Kate's mouth falls open, her face paling. "Anthony, how could you think that?"
"It's the only explanation I can think of," he says, stepping away from her and beginning to pace. "It explains why you've been coming back so late and being so evasive these past few weeks."
"Anthony—."
His legs go weak at the affection in her voice. Anthony falls to his knees in front of her and takes hold of her hands.
"Just tell me, Kate, I cannot bear it," Anthony says, hating the way his voice wavers. "I cannot bear the thought of you finding pleasure in someone else's arms. I cannot bear you leaving our bed because you'd rather be in another's. I cannot bear the idea of someone else touching you, loving you, or kissing you."
He brushes his lips against Kate's knuckles, causing her breath to hitch. Anthony pulls his lips away, but just so his fingertips can swirl circles on her palm. When his thumb skims over her pulse, he feels her heartbeat quicken.
"Most of all, I cannot bear the thought of you loving someone else." Anthony swallows thickly, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "I'd die right now if you told me all of this was true."
Anthony has always feared time. He used to compulsively reach into his pocket to grasp his father's watch. Each time a hand on the clock ticked forward, he felt as if an ounce of his soul got sucked away.
But since Kate came into his life, that fear has dissipated. Suddenly, he didn't spend each moment of his life calculating how much time he had left. Instead, Anthony began counting things other than seconds.
He counts the number of Kate's smiles. He counts the number of laughs they share next to one another at the table surrounded by his family. Anthony counts the number of kisses that were slow, stirring an aching feeling in his chest. He also counts each hungry and passionate kiss that sets every inch of his skin aflame.
Most of all, Anthony counts how many times he's lost count around her. He gets lost in the timeless and wonderful enigma that is Kate Sharma.
Anthony feels that fear of time creeping up on him again. But now, he's not afraid of time passing and leading to his demise. Instead, he's terrified that Kate's time of loving him has run out. Maybe, she's found a more deserving man to spend the minutes with than him.
When Anthony braves a glance up at Kate, he expects to see pity. But instead, he's surprised to see an entirely different emotion reflected in her eyes.
Love.
Pure, unconditional, steadfast love.
Kate gets down to her knees in front of him. But she doesn't let go of his hands, holding them tighter.
"None of that is true, Anthony," she says firmly. "I love you, have only loved you, and will only love you."
Her words release a breath of relief from him. But, he still can't help doubting this, not knowing how else to explain her odd disappearances.
Kate must sense his train of thoughts. She smiles gently, moving one of her hands up to graze his cheek.
"I love you so much that I've been waking up in the middle of the night so I can give you the perfect present."
Anthony blinks in confusion, feeling the room that had been spinning become still.
"What?"
Kate laughs, and she rests her forehead against his. "Do you know what tomorrow is?"
It hits Anthony like a whip. All the clues that he'd gathered up to form a horrible conclusion were, in fact, clues that lead to a more justifiable and pleasant one.
"Our anniversary," he answers dumbly.
"Yes," she nods, her face beaming with a giddy kind of delight. Anthony feels lucky that he gets to see it. Her expressions are free without restraint only when she's comfortable with someone. He's glad to be one of those treasured few. "We've made it a year, can you believe it? It seems like only yesterday, I was stepping on your toes at a ball, and you acted like a madman when I got stung by a bee."
Anthony frowns, his forehead creasing. "I did not act like a madman."
"You did, but it led us to where we are now," Kate says, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "Married and happy."
"I'd like to think it would've happened with the bee or not."
"I'm not sure. You were quite thick-headed about how in love with me you were."
"Oh, I'm the thick-headed one?" he scoffs. "After the night you fell in love with me, you gave your approval for me to marry your sister. How thick-headed is that?"
"Well, I didn't think you'd ever feel that way about me," Kate defends, rolling her eyes. "But I know very well now that you do. You show me with every kind word, every touch, every…" her words drift, cheeks reddening, "Well, you know."
Anthony smirks. "No, I do not know. Please elaborate on everything I do to you that gives you pleasure in vivid detail."
"You're insufferable," she grumbles and puts her hands on her hips. "I have a good mind not to tell you the true reason for my disappearing and keep you stewing in jealousy."
"I don't think you'd like the result of my increased jealousy."
"I don't know, your scowl was fierce, and the fire in your eyes was quite the sight," Kate teases, tracing her thumb over his furrowed brows. "Very becoming, actually."
Anthony stands and pulls her up with him, leading her to the couch. "Why have you been disappearing?"
"As I said, our anniversary is tomorrow, and I was getting your gift ready," she explains. "It's almost midnight. Perhaps I can give it to you a little bit early. I had one of the servants waiting outside for my return. They came in through the back entrance and have already snuck it into your study to reveal as a surprise for tomorrow."
"How sinister of you, plotting with our staff against me."
"Nothing sinister about it. I asked, and they agreed to help me. Unlike you, they think I'm perfectly agreeable."
"Obviously, they don't know you well enough to fear the wicked inner workings of your mind as I do."
Kate stands, gracefully sticking out her tongue and making him laugh. Anthony follows her down the hall into his study. She makes him close his eyes. He feels like a fool, stumbling into the room with Kate chuckling behind him. But, he feels guilty for thinking Kate could ever be unfaithful and indulges her wishes.
He waits for a few moments, hearing her moving something across the floor, before he asks, "Can I open my eyes now?"
"Alright, you bloody impatient man, open your eyes."
As Anthony takes his hands away from his eyes, his heart stops in his chest. He gawks at the painting on a canvas stand in front of him.
"Kate," he utters breathlessly.
Kate chews on her bottom lip, hesitantly watching him observe the painting—no, "painting" doesn't seem like the right word for what it is.
It's a masterpiece, an almost perfect depiction of Kate.
The artist captured the exact fraction that Kate's lips tilt up when she smiles in amusement. Anthony often sees that expression pointed towards him when they're engaged in one of their bantering matches. The color of her brown eyes is just as deep in the painting. They're full of so much that Anthony still wants to explore even after a year of marriage.
In the portrait, Kate's shoulders are bare, the sleeves resting low on her arm. The bottom of the picture shows the scarlet bodice of her dress. But the most alluring part is how the brown curls of her hair flow freely down her neck, cascading like a waterfall.
Anthony has a strong distaste for her bonnets and how society demands she wears her hair up in public. Anthony loves running his fingers through her hair, which probably is why she posed for the painting with it down. That minx knew it would stir a feeling within him that no one else but her has been able to elicit.
"I hired Sir Granville to paint it," Kate blurts out, nervous from how long he's remained silent. "I wanted him to paint it in a private setting because it's a bit…."
"Breathtaking," Anthony answers.
"I was going to say suggestive, but breathtaking is a good adjective," Kate grins bashfully. She steps towards him, her eyes glowing through the dim light of the room. "It's a portrait for your eyes only, no one else's."
Anthony ducks his head. "I'm sorry that I thought you were...I just—."
"Foolishly got jealous of a person who doesn't exist? Yes, yes, you did."
He runs his fingers against the frame of the painting. "I have a mind to hang this in the common area, so everyone can see how lucky I am."
Kate's eyebrows snap together. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, wouldn't I?" he asks playfully.
"It might encourage some men to meet the woman behind the painting," Kate notes with a mischievous glint in her eyes, pretending to consider his proposal. "Who am I to oppose admirers?"
Anthony's smirk fades. "You wouldn't dare."
"Ah, there's that handsome scowl," Kate points at him in triumph.
He swoops forward, his arms going around her waist. "You're maddening."
Kate's smile widens as she looks up at him, looping her hands around his neck. "You love it."
"You're right. I do love you. And, I love this portrait," Anthony adds, bobbing his head towards the painting. "Perhaps I should hang it in here. It can serve as a reminder of what's waiting for me when I finish my work."
She leans up a bit on her toes, her hands traveling lower down his back. "You know, I could come down to your study to remind you."
Anthony begins moving his hands as well. As they skim up her body, brushing her breast, he relishes in the sound of her moan. Anthony leans closer, pressing kisses down her neck until he gets to just the right spot. Kate's fingers curl tighter onto his back as his lips apply pressure there, and her body gravitates further against him.
"You're far too distracting," Anthony murmurs against her skin. "Perhaps, the portrait is too dangerous to be in here. I'd get nothing done."
"Exactly." She leans her face back a margin, so Anthony can see that enchanting tilt of her lips the artist depicted. "Why do you think I commissioned the painting in the first place?"
"To torture me?"
"All is fair in love and war," Kate says, grinning at him. "And hasn't our relationship always been a bit of both?"
In response, Anthony kisses her deeply and thoroughly. The sound of his pocket watch ticking starts to fade away. It gets replaced with the sound of his heart, which beats for Kate more than himself these days.
#kateandanthonyweek#kateandanthonyweek21#katexanthonyweek#kate x anthony#kanthony#kathony#Katexanthonyweek21#kate sharma#anthony bridgerton#kate sheffield#bridgerton series#bridgerton books#bridgerton netflix#Anthony x kate#simone ashley#fanfiction#Bridgerton#fanfic#bridgerton fanfic
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Rita Skeeter Part 2 (Draco x Reader)
This was so highly requested I didn’t really have a choice lmao. Sorry it’s been literally over a year, I have had no idea where to take this at all
Also I’m a horrible person
PART 1
TAGS:
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“Not so fast.” Your head whipped around and met your father’s stern eyes. Accompanied with him was your mother. “Where exactly would you go? You’re fifteen.” You were lost for words.
“Dad you can’t seriously be angry with me–” You begin before being cut off.
“I’m not angry Y/N. I’m disappointed. You know what the Malfoys stand for. You really think Harry will be happy to hear you’re running around with a boy whose parents were responsible for the loss of his family?” Your Dad looked between you and Draco, your mother just stood by his side silently as he let out his anger. “And what about our family?” You shake your head as you let the tears well in your eyes. He was right to be angry with you; your parents stood alongside the Order, fraternising with the enemy would of course have led to your punishment.
“Draco’s different.” You whisper. You look at him for the first time, his head bowed as he stared down at his feet as small tears leaked from his own eyes. You’d never seen him cry before. “I love him. You may not understand but he’s kind, he’s loving. He’s a good person.”
“And you are children. Come on. We’re going home.” Your Dad walks over, grabbing your arm as you resist against his pull. You quickly whip around and reach for Draco’s hand as they gently brush together, your father’s strength significantly more than your own and pulling you away from Draco’s faint touch.
“Home now.” You hear a voice call out from behind Draco; Lucius. His long white hair shone in the light as he threw you a disgusted look. Draco’s eyes streamed faster as he whispered his goodbye.
“I love you.”
You’d been at home now for two weeks. You had sent numerous owls to Harry, Ron and Hermione explaining yourself and writing about a dozen apologies yet had only received a single letter from Hermione, explaining that Harry just needed time and that Ron - of course - was just following suit, claiming Malfoy was a “spoilt git”. Draco, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. You’d heard that he’d already been sent back to Hogwarts by his parents and that he acted as if nothing had changed. A part of you wasn’t surprised - he played his front whilst you were together, nothing really had changed. You knew that for now the radio silence was best.
Your Mum and Dad were still upset with you. They said they had forgiven you and you were due back at Hogwarts on Sunday evening, but you could tell they wouldn’t be trusting you for a long time yet.
“Sweetie,” Your Mother began as you lay in her arms. You were sat in bed reading a book before you went to sleep when your Mum came in, laying down next to you and wrapping her arms around you like she used to when you were a child. “I don’t know what you were doing with Draco but–”
“Mum,” You cut her off. You really didn’t feel like having this conversation right now; you’d already heard it enough from your Dad. “You don’t have to say anything.” Your Mum shook her head, her slender fingers continuing to run through your hair.
“I don’t have the same viewpoint as your Father, Y/N.” Your breath hitched in your throat as you replayed what she said in your mind. Sitting up, you turn to look at her. “I once fell for a Slytherin. Before I became friends with your Father, of course. His name was Oliver Thompson. We dated for over a year and he was amazing. So smart, so loyal and so romantic but he was a bully. He hated the world and he hated anyone who wasn’t a pureblood. It all ended in tears, of course, but he ended up changing his ways. I’m not saying Draco would do the same, but don’t believe exactly what your Father tells you. You’re the master of your own destiny. Just don’t let him break your heart and make sure you’re certain of him before you make any decisions, Y/N.” You stared down at your hands as you thought about what she was saying. Why had she kept this a secret?
You spent the rest of the night and weekend thinking about the conversation until you were getting on the train back to Hogwarts. Dumbledore had promised that Rita Skeeter was no longer allowed at Hogwarts and ensured the topic of your relationship was no longer in circulation.
Harry, Ron and Hermione had welcomed you back with open arms and the four of you acted as if nothing had happened between you and Draco - he wasn’t even brought up. You didn’t see him around school, either.
It remained like that for the rest of the year.
“He’s a death eater, Hermione.” Harry shot, quickly looking down as you pulled your head up from your book. You hadn’t been listening to the conversation in the carriage but Harry’s tone pulled you from your reading.
“What are you three talking about?” You asked, curious now. Ron and Hermione looked between each other before Hermione hesitantly replied.
“Harry thinks that Draco Malfoy is now a death eater.” Your stomach twisted at the mention of his name. Even though the two of you hadn’t talked for two years now, it still hurt to hear his name - you were still upset and angry that he had just managed to move on as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you.
“Hm.” You began, shaking the hurt expression from your face. “I wouldn’t be surprised. His parents are pretty harsh, I mean he told me once–” Hermione widened her eyes at your response and you stopped yourself from continuing, not exactly wanting to re-hash old, painful memories from your nights atop the astronomy tower. “Never mind.” You drew your attention back to the book in your lap, picking up where you left off as you noticed your friends’ conversation drift off into the distance.
The first evening back for fifth year went by so fast; you barely had time to breath as you were being dragged from the hall, to the common room where the annual party had taken place, to your dorm room where you still lay awake. 3am. You sighed, rolling out of bed as you put on your slippers. Thoughts were washing through your mind without giving you a seconds peace. You needed to get some fresh air.
Before you knew it, you were walking up the stairs of the astronomy tower. You knew the way without being caught like the back of your hand - although you didn’t come here as much now as you did a few years ago, you still liked to occasionally watch the stars sparkle in the dark night sky.
A sound stopped you in your tracks however. At first you thought it was the sound of someone laughing but after climbing a few more steps you realised it was someone crying. Deciding whether or not to turn back, you eventually made the last few steps to the top where you saw him.
You’d recognise the pale white hair anywhere; he was wearing his black suit that he seemed to be sporting nowadays, his back faced to you so you saw how ruffled his hair was. Draco’s head was in his palms and his body was shaking with each sob. You’d never seen him cry before, even when you were together.
“Draco?” You whispered, taking a few small steps towards him. He stopped, stood up and turned around, his eyes a sore red as they reflected his pain and his back hunched as if he had lost all hope. “Are you okay?” He shook his head, holding out his arms for you to wrap yourself into his embrace. You were hesitant at first, your anger still residing in your mind as you thought about how he had completely ignored your existence these past years. But you somehow found yourself wrapping your arms around him as he completely broke down on you.
“I can’t do it Y/N.” He spoke in between sobs. “They’re - they’re asking me to kill him. And I can’t do it.” Your heart was in your mouth as you comprehended what he meant. Maybe Harry was right about what he said on the train - but surely Draco wouldn’t choose to become a death eater?
“Who? Who’s asking you to kill?” Draco pulled away, his hands resting on your upper arms as he looked down at you.
“Voldemort. He’s asking me to kill Dumbledore.” Your heart was beating in your ears as tears began to fill your own eyes. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I never meant to hurt you or anyone... I was just trying to do what he wanted me to do. I’m sorry.” You hugged him again, pulling him tight as he cried against your shoulder. You watched the constellations in the sky, remembering how Draco’s eyes used to reflect the stars; now they just reflected his pain. But for one thing you were certain of: you still loved him.
#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader#draco malfoy imagine#malfoy imagine#draco malfoy#harry potter#malfoy#hp#hogwarts#voldemort
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Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 8
*Familiar characters are NOT mine! The original story of "The Swan Princess" is actually pretty muddled as far as origin, but it appears to be based off a Swedish or German fairy-tale*
Warnings: Swan Princess AU, angst, violence?, a little fluff. Kind of long.
Pairings: Viserys Targaryen x fem!reader
"Are you excited, Brother?" a young Daenerys asked Viserys as they waited once more for the yearly visit from your family. "For what? Another summer with that little brat? Not exactly my idea of fun, Little Sister." Daenerys rolled her eyes. Viserys was always like this when the summer rolled around. He hated not getting his way and never once had he gotten his way when it came to you and your family.
"Well I like Y/N. I can't wait for her to become my sister." A frown made its way to Viserys' face. He despised being reminded of the arrangement between your kingdoms. You and Viserys had been arranged to wed practically from birth. In order to make the idea more "bearable", your parents along with Viserys' decided that you and Viserys would spend EVERY SINGLE SUMMER together. And this particular summer would be the last before the wedding planning would begin. Needless to say, Viserys was not looking forward to it at all.
Growing up, Viserys had found you annoying. You were always trying inject yourself into everything he did. No matter what Viserys was doing outside of his own bedroom/bath chambers, you were there. He never knew if you were simply trying to bother him or if you were trying to get to know him the way your parents wanted you to. And as you grew older, you became close to the guards and other servants in the palace. You were constantly talking to them when Viserys wouldn't talk to you. It was almost like you were flirting with them. Viserys hated it and he grew to hate summers.
The sound of trotting horses reached Viserys' ears and soon enough, the carriage appeared. After a soft scolding from his mother, Viserys straightened up to his full height and he tried not to run as far away as possible. That usual feeling of annoyance and dread began to fill up his stomach while Daenerys chatted away. If she kept it up, Viserys was certain he'd box her ears.
When the carriage pulled to a stop, Viserys held his breath. Your father was the first to step out, offering his hand to someone inside. Viserys was struck dumb when he saw you step down from the carriage, smiling at your father. There was absolutely no way this was the same person that visited him every summer. How had he not noticed how beautiful you'd become?
Your eyes met his and you held your head high as you approached on your father's arm. Your gaze never wavered while you greeted Viserys' family. "Good day, Prince Viserys. It is lovely to see you again," you told him softly with a curtsy. Viserys barely managed to bow before you were all swept up into the castle for preparations for the welcoming feast for the evening.
The feast was, as always, a beautiful and probably over-done affair. But Viserys made it through, his gaze often making its way over to where you were sitting. Whenever you caught him looking, you'd given him a soft smile before going back to your meal. Viserys wanted to speak to you, but he had to wait. When it was finally time to begin the traditional after-feast dance, Viserys couldn't get to you quickly enough.
"Princess," he greeted before sweeping you up in his arms as the music started. For a moment, the two of you were quiet and then began making small talk. All-in-all, things were going well until Viserys made a comment about how beautiful you were. "Thank you, though I suppose that isn't a good enough reason to suddenly be happy about our arrangement."
"And why not? Why should my future queen not be beautiful?" You rolled your eyes. "Beauty isn't what makes a queen, Viserys." Viserys' brows furrowed. "Well, what else is there?" You suddenly stopped dancing and shook your head. "You are an idiot, Viserys. A complete and utter idiot."
With that, you ran off and no one saw you the rest of the evening. In fact, no one saw you the entirety of the next day either. It wasn't until evening that it was discovered that you were missing. The state of your chambers indicated that you had not gone willingly. Viserys instantly saw red. Someone had the audacity to sneak into your chambers and take you from him?! And where the hells were the guards when this happened?! Viserys was livid, executing the two guards that were supposed to be guarding you and your chambers. When he anger was finally spent, Viserys set out to find you.
*time skip*
Viserys spent weeks looking for you. Weeks! And there was nary a sign of you. Viserys was beginning to lose hope and when Viserys lost hope, people suffered. As he searched, Viserys realized why his family and yours had insisted on this arrangement and the summers spent together. You were the only one able to calm Viserys' temper. You could make him see sense. You were the compassionate one. You were everything a queen needed to be. Not just beautiful.
After another long day of searching, Viserys came to a clearing with a lake sitting in the middle. The moon was reflecting off the lake as Viserys sat down on a nearby bench. "Where are you, Y/N?" As expected, no answer came to him. Just a lone swan swooping in and landing on the lake. The swan stared at Viserys, making him a little nervous. That wasn't normal behavior for birds. Was it? Viserys didn't have a chance to think about it when a faint light hit his eyes.
The light grew brighter. So bright that Viserys had to shield his eyes. When he brought his hand down, Viserys was once again speechless. "You came for me," your voice was soft and tears welled up in your eyes. There you were, in the place the swan had just been. Viserys whispered your name and stood up. He barely had time to brace himself before you crashed into him.
"Y/N? What happened to you? Are you hurt?" You pulled away a little and Viserys missed the warmth of having you close. "H-He took me. And awful sorcerer used magic to get into the palace and took me. He's trying to force me to marry him so he can take my father's throne. When I refused, he turned me into a swan. I can become human again when the moonlight hits the lake. That's when he comes to ask me for my hand again."
"He cast a spell on you? Where is he? I'll tear him apart with my bare hands if I have to!" You placed your hand over his mouth and shushed him. "He'll hear you. You can't take him, Viserys. He's too powerful. You'll need the element of surprise. He may have magic but he is not a strong fighter like you." A voice calling your name had suddenly had you jumping away from him.
"You have to go. Go back to the castle and come up with a plan. Any plan. The spell should break if he's dead. Go now. Before he sees you." Viserys wanted to argue, but seeing the fear in your eyes made him do what you said. It was the first time Viserys had ever seen you afraid and that was enough to scare even him a little bit. So he did what you said and returned to the castle to plan a strategy. He would save you. He had to save you.
A few days later, Viserys had his plan and he made his way back through the forest to the clearing with the lake. However, as soon as he set foot in the dark wood, something felt wrong. There was something heavy in the air and a feeling of dread came over him.
Viserys tried to brush it off, but as he pushed forward, the feeling grew. Without even seeing you, Viserys knew you were in danger. He picked up his pace only to stop short when he heard a voice, raspy and eerily calm, calling through the air. "Hurry, little prince. Hurry and I might let you see her one last time." Viserys shook his head to rid himself of the voice, but it simply kept calling to him.
"You thought you could outwit me, but I cannot be so easily defeated. Your princess is dying because of your foolishness." Viserys felt his heart beginning to race and he forced his feet to carry him onward toward the lake. He could feel tree branches cutting at his face and nearly getting tangled in his hair, but he paid it no mind. He would worry about his vanity later. You were his priority. Well, you and making the sorcerer pay dearly for taking you. You were Viserys' and NO ONE took what was his. At least that's how he viewed it in his head. He'd never say that out loud to you. You'd probably slap him.
Finally, just as Viserys was about to give up hope, he broke through the trees to the clearing. Your captor was there, a gloating smile on his face. He didn't look like much. In a physical match, Viserys could easily overpower him. Still, he radiated power like Viserys had never felt before. But the dragon was never one to back down from a fight and this time, the stakes were higher than ever.
"Where is she?" he growled out. The sorcerer simply laughed before stepping to the side slightly. The lone swan laid on the ground, breath hitching more and more every second. You were really dying. "What did you do?!" Viserys shrieked and the sorcerer's disgusting grin grew. "You did this. You and the princess. You could have simply given me what I wanted and this wouldn't have happened. But no. You had to go behind my back. Now, she is dying and there is nothing you can do."
If there was one thing Viserys could not standing, it was losing. The only thing worse than defeat in his eyes was his enemy gloating about the fact. Rage consumed him. Viserys felt hot. Fire welled within him and he was not aware of what was happening until it was too late. The sorcerer screamed in fear as Viserys screamed in agony. His bones were shifting. His skin was changing. Sharp talons grew where nails once were. Wings sprouted from his back. A dragon. A true dragon.
The sorcerer was quicker to react the changes in Viserys, firing some magic spell or other at him. It hit Viserys and the dragon let out a screech of pain. He glanced down at your still form. Fueled on by his need to save you, Viserys steeled his nerves and did the only thing he could think of. He blew fire and before he knew it, the sorcerer was gone. Nothing but a pile of ash.
Once his enemy was gone, Viserys looked at you. No longer a swan, your body was still not moving. Where there was once anger, grief hit Viserys like a sudden storm. His wings and scales disappeared, his limbs shrank back, and the fire in his belly was gone.
As soon as he was back on the ground in his human form, Viserys was at your side. "Y/N?" He scooped you up in his arms and held you to him. For the first time in his life, Viserys felt his eyes filling with tears at the thought of losing you for good.
"You were right," he whispered though it was difficult for him, "There is so much more to marriage and being queen than being beautiful. And you are more than just beautiful. You are everything I ever wanted. Come back to me. As your future king and your husband-to-be, I demand you come back to me." He held you closer to him.
"Who gave you permission to order me around?" your voice rasped out. Viserys let his arms drop a little and he looked at your face to see your beautiful eyes staring back up at him. "You're alive." You nodded and smiled as you tried to sit up a little. "Thanks to you. I guess you really are a dragon." Viserys chuckled. You wrapped your arms around him.
"I love you, Viserys. So much." He didn't reply, but held you more tightly as if he were afraid to let you go. After a moment, you released him so you could look at him again. This time, your face was stern. "But seriously, don't think that just because we're to be married that it means you can order me around!" Viserys shook his head fondly and then captured your lips in a bruising kiss.
(a/n: Okay, so I had this ready over the weekend and just completely forgot to post it because I'm silly. That means you'll get 2 tales this week. These will be the only things I post during my hiatus since they're for a celebration. Anyway, I hope you liked it!)
#meg's game of tales#game of thrones#fairytale au#the swan princess au#viserys targaryen#viserys targaryen x reader#viserys x reader
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Love And Lies | 2
Pairing: Kim Seokjin x F!Reader
Summary: You are a simple maid. When your lady and dearest friend need help escaping an arranged marriage with King Seokjin so they might be together, you do the only thing you can - take her place.
A/N: Obviously their manner of speaking is somewhat modernized for easier reading. I don’t think you guys want a bunch of thys, thous, and such in your fanfics lmao.
You and Eleanor had your heads poking out from the carriage window, ungracefully observing the landscape after a guard knocked to let you know your destination was near.
The castle that loomed before you was not just a castle. No, this was a palace. The sheer magnitude of presence this massive pile of stone gave off was intimidating. You could quite easily fit twenty of The Dukedom of Never’s keep across the land this spanned across, and Never’s was vast.
The land that surrounded it was magnificent on its own. Behind the castle was one of the grand seas, with a harbor large enough to contain the Royal Navy - a massive force that was rumored to be over a hundred ships and growing. In another direction was a large forest, one that according to Jungkook was teeming with wildlife and supposedly an evil witch. The fields surrounding the village seemed lush and plentiful and the people they passed appeared healthy and content. You were impressed by the obvious care that was put into the lands by the King.
Jungkook was riding alongside the carriage on his massive black charger, staring at the palace with as much awe as you.
“Do you think it takes him an entire hour to find a garderobe? Or did he just give up after a while and uses a chamber pot every time?” He asks thoughtfully, grinning down at you from atop his horse.
“Why is that your first thought?” You ask with a roll of your eyes.
“It’s a serious concern, sis! Say you just ate some pickled eel that doesn’t agree with your stomach. And the only room they have for such things is in the tallest tower on the other side of the palace…”
You snort, shaking your head at him. “I’m certain in a castle this vast there will be more than one garderobe, Sir Jungkook. I dare say there are perhaps several for every floor and wing. And no doubt the king has one all to himself near his chambers.”
He cocks his head thoughtfully, nodding after a few seconds. “True.”
A trio of guards stops your carriage right at the entrance to the long stone bridge leading to the palace grounds. Jungkook presents them with their scrolls of passage and the guard nods after looking over the seals.
“All clear, Sir. I’ll send word to His Majesty that you’ve arrived.”
Jungkook nods briskly at the guard and turns to the both of you with a wink. It was time to begin your charade.
The two of you bring your heads back inside the carriage in preparation for a more refined entrance once the carriage starts up again, the wheels clicking loudly across the stone leading to the inner bailey. It wouldn’t do to have the servant’s first impression of you to be gawking in wonder like the poor maid you actually were.
And that’s who you knew you would have the most difficulty trying to fool. The nobility had their head too far up their own arse most of the time and you weren’t as worried about trying to pass off your ruse on them. But the servants saw and knew all. Even with you dripping in jewels and rich fabrics you were worried one of them could tell at a glance you were no better than them.
You slide your hand across your gown nervously, picking at the costly fabric. You and Eleanor had spent most of your journey here adjusting each other’s gowns to fit. She was now clad in the finest one that you owned, a simple woolen dress in a blue that nearly matched her eyes, with a brown apron and cape. You were amused by how lovely she looked in such a simple garment as she sat across from you bouncing with excitement like a carefree dairymaid.
You were in a gown that no doubt cost more than you’d ever see in a lifetime. Dark crimson brocade embroidered with gold silk billowed around you like a stiff cloud. The sleeves were nothing more than a flowing golden lace, which also trimmed the scandalously low décolletage. Eleanor had even gone so far as to pile her best jewels on you and you were now glittering in gold and rubies that matched the gown. Broaches, rings, bracelets, even tiny pins placed strategically throughout the massive piles of curls on top of your head. The centerpiece of it all seemed to be the gold-chained necklace from which hung a ruby nearly the size of an egg that settled on the very top of your overly-exposed chest.
She’d even dabbed some of her cosmetics on your face. Your lips and cheeks were pinkened with rose paste and a touch of kohl was rimmed on your eyes. You’d absolutely refused to put the horrid white paste on your face that was becoming popular in some circles of noblewomen.
So, you certainly looked the part of a pampered daughter of a Duke. Your insides were still a mess of jumbled nerves and fear.
Eleanor’s hand lands on your shaking knee, her eyes soft with compassion.
“Are you that nervous?”
“Are you not?”
She sighs quietly, squeezing your knee before bringing her hand back to her lap.
“I am, of course. But I have you and Jungkook watching out for us, so I’m not frightened as I should be, perhaps. I’m more worried about you. So many things could happen and I can’t do anything if I’m supposed to be a servant. What if some nobleman drags you into a dark alcove, or someone tries to poison your meal to eliminate a rival in the bid for being Queen, or...heavens, what if the King falls in love with you?”
You guffaw at that, shaking your head. “There is little chance of that happening, My Lady.”
She huffs, waving her hand dramatically. “I’m not ‘My Lady’, remember. I’m just Ellie. You can’t mess that up. And anyway, you haven’t seen yourself from my seat. You are absolutely stunning. You look like you’re a Queen already and that man is going to take one look at you and beg you to be his.”
“There’s going to be other ladies here, you said?” You ask quickly, changing the subject with your cheeks blazing with embarrassment. As if a King would find you worth a look. No doubt His Majesty had a veritable army of mistresses at his disposal.
She nods distractedly, head turned to people-watch as they entered the busy courtyard. “Even though I was mad at him, I listened when Papa told me what to expect at court. The King’s council declared it was time for him to find a wife. They summoned five ladies in total - three Duke’s daughters, an Earl’s Daughter, and supposedly a Princess from some far off exotic land. Naturally, the Princess is the one the council is trying to push at his Majesty the most, but so far he’s shown no preference for anyone in particular. Papa was only able to suggest putting me in the running because he and His Majesty’s father were good friends. The only reason he didn’t come along with us is because he’s busy with...something about irrigation. I lost interest after that.”
You hum as you digest what she’s telling you. What it sounds like to you is that the King will have to try to stretch his no doubt incredibly busy schedule to accommodate entertaining five different women, most of whom were probably spoiled and not used to having to share anyone’s affections. It shouldn’t be too hard to simply fade into the background and let the other four battle over the King’s attention. With any luck, he’d eventually forget you were even there and you’d be able to escape without issue once Jungkook received the deed to his keep.
The carriage rattles to a stop and your breath hitches nervously. You gulp, the contents in your stomach from breaking your fast that morn lurching dangerously. Eleanor clasps your hand and squeezes.
“Remember that we have Jungkook on our side. He won’t let anything happen to us.”
You nod shakily and exhale deeply. A hand turns the carriage door handle and you stiffen, trying to recall all the lessons in deportment that you’d been forced to attend with Eleanor over the years. Be mindful of your posture, don’t breathe loudly, don’t fidget, keep your head high, and your eyes low. You could do this.
Eleanor leaves first with the help of Jungkook, as he grasps her hand to help her down the carriage steps. Once she is safely lowered and waiting patiently off to the side, he reaches in for you.
“You look magnificent and I have no doubt that you will do well. I’ll be right at your side,” he whispers as he gently holds your fingers to help you gracefully exit the carriage.
You nod and send him a grateful smile before letting your face fall into a façade of polite interest as you look upon the gathered party for the first time.
The appearance of a few councilmembers and a handful of servants to assist with luggage and escort you through the palace was expected. The tall figure standing in the middle, resplendent in crimson and gold attire that mirrored your own was not.
The King himself had come down to greet your arrival.
You eyed him in pleasant surprise as Jungkook escorted you towards him. You knew that he was a fairly young King, but this man was at the very peak of health and good looks. His hair was a dark ebony, although the sun shining on him seemed to bring out flecks of brown. It was surprisingly shorn short, but it seemed to flatter him. And his face...you weren’t the poetic sort, but he seemed to have a face that would belong to an angel. Thick lips and big soulful brown eyes all set in a face of flawless skin. He looked to be nearly as tall as Jungkook, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist atop incredibly long legs.
He was dressed in what you guessed was his courtwear - a crimson tunic over dyed leather breeches, and tall leather boots. Gold accents glittered from his shoulders and waist, with gold embroidery coloring the edges of his tunic and emblazoned over his chest in the form a wolf. His crown was surprisingly simple, as you’d always imagined some huge thing the size of a melon with a mismatched decoration of every jewel they could grab. The one atop his head was a simple golden band inlaid with rubies and diamonds. Perhaps he saved the other one for more important affairs.
His warm brown eyes appeared to widen as you came forth, his mouth dropping open slightly as he seemed to stare at your face.
Was he that horrified by what he saw?
You release Jungkook’s hand after one last comforting squeeze and drop low into a formal curtsy, keeping your eyes on the ground.
“Thank you for inviting me, your Majesty. I am Lady Eleanor Rose D’Aily, the daughter of the Duke Of Nevers,” you say softly, realizing as the words leave your mouth that you’ve just sealed whatever becomes of your fate.
A hand quickly reaches down and grasps yours to help you up, and you glance up to meet the King’s gaze. He still appears a little surprised - about what you didn’t know - but his lips turn in a welcoming smile. You’re surprised to notice the little lines outside his lips and eyes, like he smiles quite often. He also hasn’t released your hand yet, and you note that it’s soft and a little damp, like yours get when you’re nervous. But whoever heard of a nervous King?
“It’s a pleasure to have you, My Lady. We are so glad you’ve made the journey safely. We have made arrangements to have you placed in the apartments in the west wing, nearest my own. When your parents used to frequent court here, that’s where they always stayed. We thought it would be nice to continue the tradition.”
“I thank you, Your Majesty,” you respond quietly, distracted by the way the sun hit his eyes. At first glance they appeared brown, but the way that the sun reflected on them made them appear almost amber. How beautiful.
“Yes, I...err,” he began, and you noticed the way his eyes roamed all over your face, quickly down to your lace-trimmed décolletage, and back up with a blossom of color on his cheeks. “I have some meetings to attend now, but I have some time before supper so we might become better acquainted. Perhaps in the library? My Chancellor, Namjoon, will come for you when I’m free. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable and ask for anything you might need. My Kingdom is at your disposal,” he says earnestly, with a charming grin.
You are overwhelmed by just how genuinely kind and anxious to please he seems to be. You’d thought for certain the most you would receive was a single servant and perhaps a note to tell you when you were required to show yourself. Instead, he stood before you with his hand still gripping yours, seeming to be genuinely apologetic that he couldn’t speak with you sooner.
And he smelled wonderful, like cedar and clove…
The man next to him cleared his throat meaningfully, causing King Seokjin to jump slightly. He released your hand and bowed shallowly.
“Until later, My Lady.”
You curtsied in return, watching as he turned and strode up the stone steps, whispering furiously with the man next to him.
Behind you Jungkook and Eleanor share a look, nervously observing as you follow the King’s retreat with your eyes and release a heartfelt sigh that both of them were intimately familiar with.
“Oh dear,” Eleanor gasps quietly.
#bts#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts scenarios#kim seokjin#seokjin#jin#seokjin scenarios#mxr#jin x reader#historical!au
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🦉𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔅𝔞𝔱 🦇
Tanz der Vampire Krolockxreader
Warnings: Some mild violence and gore (in keeping with the level you might read in classic gothic literature)
🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴
Chapter 11 - A Visitor
You were so close to one another now. You glared up at the count as his stormy eyes were locked upon yours.
With a sudden jolt he pulled you in to his embrace. He tilted your head up towards his own with a cold hand. Your breath hitched in your throat as you leaned in closer, closing your eyes.
At prescisely this inopportune time, Koukol burst through the door. Startled, you both parted and looked to see why he had come crashing into the room. Krolock, who was evidently much less than impressed, glared at his servant.
"Do you not know better than to enter without knocking?"
Koukol groaned and pointed fervently to the window. You crossed over to it, and peeked through the curtains at the castle's entrance below. There was a carriage outside, and an ornately decorated one at that. The rising steamy breath of the four elegant horses curled into clouds from their flaring nostrils and the driver dismounted. You hurriedly beckoned the Count to come and observe the spectacle and his frustration quickly turned to intrigue.
"Who is it?" you asked.
"I do not know" he muttered, and then he was no longer at your side.
Travelling at a mortal pace, you rushed after Koukol, out into the hallway and toward the staircase, coming to a stop at the top step and listening intently.
Koukol shuffled hurriedly down the steps to join his master in the grand entrance hall and you decided to descend a little further. You ducked down to sit on a step and peer between the stone columbs where you could not be seen, watching as Koukol heaved open the enormous wooden door. A man with a silver topped cane which tapped against the stonework stepped in from the night. Your heart froze in your chest as you realised why he seemed familiar to you. It was the rich Duke to whom you had been 'advantageously' matched by your step-mother.
"Good evening sir, my humblest apologies for arriving without invitation," the man began. He seemed to catch sight of Koukol at this moment and his words failed to arrive for a moment as he seemed flustered.
"...but I have come in search of my dear fiancée. She went missing in this area well over a month ago now and I fear the worst."
In truth, it was far more likely he had been too busy alternating between gambling and entertaining prostitutes to notice your absence until a week before the wedding. You rolled your eyes in disgust at his pretences of concern.
"How unfortunate... you have come to me to ask if I have seen her?" Said Krolock in his silkiest of voices, he too could feign concern.
"Indeed, I was told by some villagers that they had chanced upon the wreck of a carriage after a great storm. They reported to have found the driver's body but not that of the young lady nor her possessions..." he said, unable to hide an accusational smirk.
"I did indeed offer her shelter after the accident, but that was some weeks ago and I regret to inform you that she has since departed".
"Where, precisely, did she go?" The duke asked idignantly, failing to maintain his collected façade.
"I am not sure, she would not disclose her destination to me. I hate to be of so little help to you..." Krolock professed in a mournful tone placing a hand over his chest as though it pained him greatly.
You could not help but grin a little upon seeing this.
"You are quite sure?" pressed the disgruntled duke.
"Completely." Krolock smiled, swiftly ushering him back outside.
You watched them disappear out of sight as the count walked him back to his carriage, listening intently but failing to catch any futher verbal exchange between the two.
"Who was that?" came a voice remarkably close on your left.
You jumped and almost overbalanced, teetering on the step for a moment until a strong arm pulled you back.
"Apologies, I forget how easy your kind are to startle," Herbert said with a smirk.
"Only because your kind have less than the normal healthy amount of respect for personal space," you shot back jokingly.
He raised an eyebrow at this.
"He certainly looked wealthy, four fine horses... what was he doing out here?"
"That's the duke to whom I am, unwillingly, engaged to be married. He was looking for me," you admitted in a hushed tone.
Herbert looked pointedly at you then.
"And you're planning on hiding from him here forever, are you?"
"No... well, I don't know. Your father hasn't handed me over to him, for which I am incredibly grateful."
Herbert outstretched his arm, his frilled sleeve cuff falling as he did so, and inspected his nails.
"You don't like the idea of being well kept, with jewels, fine clothes, and a maid to do the housework?"
"Not if it means I'm married to someone so vile, I'd probably end up dying of syphilis if I wed him. Besides he's drinking his fortune away, that's why he needs to marry me. My father had considerable investments."
Herbert looked shocked by your candidness and let out a slight startled laugh.
"Not to mention that his face looks like rear end of a baboon," he added.
Now it was you who was shocked, stiffling a snort.
"Well as much as his age and appearance leave to be desired, worse by far is that he's cruel".
Hearing the familiar clatter of horses hooves and the crack of the coachmans whip, you both stood up to full height again. Herbert looked you up and down for a moment.
"As far as humans go, you're bearable. I'd hate for you to be consigned to such a fate as to marry him. Besides, you're too pretty."
Before you could thank him for his uncharacteristically kind words, he added:
"If only you knew how to wear your hair".
You smiled.
"Perhaps you could show me."
"Perhaps."
As Krolock reappeared in the hallway, he looked up at the both of you standing on the staircase with a concerned expression.
"Is something wrong?"
You shared a look with the beautiful blonde vampire and laughed a little.
"We do talk to one another on occaision you know..." you replied.
"She's not wholly unbearable... in small doses." Herbert added, with an animated swish of his wrist.
Continue to the next Chapter ⬇️
#tanz der vampire#count von krolock#dance of the vampires#gothic literature#le bal des vampires#musicals#musical fanfiction#classic horror#drew sarich#grafdrew#herbert#herbert von krolock#tdv#tanzblr#tanz der vampire fanfiction#vampires#vampire#vampcore#vamplove#reader insert#readerxkrolock#krolock#krolockxreader#graf von krolock#ivan ozhogin#jan ammann#steve barton
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100 Ways to say I Love You Chapter 94
Will you marry me? (Adrinette)
AO3
“Okay Plagg here’s your cheese,” Marinette kept her voice low, looking around furtively as she presented Plagg with his gift. “Now tell me why Adrien’s been acting so weird this week.”
Plagg’s green eyes lit up at the sight of the expensive aged Camembert and he pounced on it, taking out a large chunk in one bite.
Impatiently, she watched him chew, acutely aware of each second that passed by in silence. The shower was still running in the bathroom, and she only had a small window of time before work to get Plagg alone without rousing Adrien’s suspicions.
“Plagg,” she hissed. “Tell me!”
Adrien had been acting incredibly strange for two weeks now, and none of her attempts to find out why had yielded results. Frankly, it was just strange.
He’d been making strange phone calls, going to the bakery without her, even getting jumpy every time she walked into a room.
And she intended to find out why.
Letting out an obnoxiously loud burp, Plagg rolled onto his back, floating in the air. “No,” he said.
“N-what do you mean no?! I got you what you wanted!”
Plagg sniffed haughtily. “You can't buy me that easily.”
“Argh!” Throwing up her arms, Marinette stormed out the room, almost barrelling into Adrien as he stepped out of the bathroom.
“Woah, woah—hey—!” He steadied her “what’s going on?”
Marinette scowled. “Nothing,” raising her voice pointedly, she continued “your kwami is just incredibly annoying.”
“Sorry!” Plagg called after her, though he sounded anything but.
***
Adrien had everything planned, right down to the second. He had an itinerary and everything.
First, they would go for a nice dinner, followed by a nice walk by the Seine, where they would meet with a carriage driver who would drive them through the park and drop them by Françoise Dupont.
There, he would propose. In the same spot that they had first become friends, where he had asked her out years later.
It was perfect.
And as their evening progressed, it seemed as though everything would go off without a hitch.
Threading her arm through his, Marinette leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked. “Tonight was nice,” she said “we haven’t gone out to dinner in ages .
Adrien hummed in agreement, only half paying attention. They were in view of Françoise Dupont now and his muscles thrummed with nervous energy, going over the speech he had practiced with Plagg in the kitchen late at night when Marinette was asleep. His thoughts were derailed however, when he caught sight of the sky.
The previously clear sky had become overcast, heavy clouds gathering above them and Adrien realised with dismay that it was about to rain.
That was the only warning he got. Beside him, Marinette yelped as a fat raindrop landed on her forehead and the two exchanged glances, looking around for somewhere to seek shelter, just as the rain began to fall.
“The school!” Marinette yelled, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind her. “Come on!”
The downpour began in earnest just as they got to safety. Drawing Marinette close, he rubbed his hands briskly up and down her arms to warm her up, holding her close as they retreated further in to avoid the lashing rain.
He almost laughed.
Of course the only thing that was out of control would be the thing to foil his plans.
Shoving a hand in his pocket, he briefly contemplated texting Alya, telling her to put away the rose petals and candles she’d scattered in their apartment after they’d left for dinner.
It was disappointing, but not the worst setback. He could try again next week, maybe set the proposal inside, during a cosy weekend dinner…
Above them, the rain pounded down, drowning out his thoughts. The only thing he could feel was Marinette, her warm body pressed up against his side, the ring box burning a hole in his pocket.
All those nights spent practising for this moment, why should the rain ruin it? In fact, Adrien realised abruptly, the rain was actually perfect . Hadn’t it been raining just like this all those years ago, when he had given Marinette his umbrella?
It was fitting then, that he proposed in the rain as well.
Decision made, Adrien disentangled himself from Marinette’s arms, moving out onto the steps, ignoring her protests.
“Adrien wh—get back here, you’ll freeze! What are you do —” she cut off abruptly, her hand flying to her mouth as he got down on one knee, presenting her with the ring.
“Marinette,” he began, raising his voice to be heard above the rain. His hair was plastered to his face and he pushed it back impatiently, meeting her wide eyed gaze with his own.
“Ten years ago, I gave you an umbrella, right here and asked you to understand me, extending an offer of friendship. It took me a long time to realise that you gave me your heart that day as well. But I figured it out in the end, right?” he laughed a little and Marinette reached out, grasping his free hand. Swallowing, Adrien ran his thumb across her knuckles, and continued “this is where it all started, and…” he trailed off, blinking back tears. Tilting his head back, he let the rain wash over his face, struggling to remember what he had rehearsed. “God, I had a whole speech, but it’s gone!”
Marinette laughed, her own eyes glistening and he smiled, shaking off his nerves. “Okay, just...will you marry me?”
“Yes!” Grabbing hold of his shoulders, Marinette yanked him to his feet, pulling him out of the rain and crashing her lips to his. Thunder rumbled overhead, but they didn’t notice, too wrapped up in each other, in the euphoria of the moment.
Pulling back, Adrien slid the ring onto her finger, and for a long moment, they simply stared at it in almost dumbfounded silence, neither of them able to stop grinning, and probably looking like the most lovesick fools in Paris.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, Adrien lifted Marinette, spinning her around as she whooped, arms circling his neck and dipping her head down to pepper his face with kisses until he captured her lips once more.
Eventually, the moment was interrupted by Plagg, emerging from Adrien’s pocket and fixing Marinette with a smug look that had her cheeks blazing scarlet.
“Bet you’re glad I didn’t spill the beans now , aren’t you?”
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All You See is Blue
→ [3/7] of the Society Series
→ summary: It's true. The skies are so beautiful here when you look up, a vast expanse of cerulean blue stares right back at you. You're in paradise. Right?
→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | PG-13
→ genre: 100% soft angst (🥺✨but make it lowkey 💀🥀⛓) | prince jk!au
→ warnings: underage drinking, death, believing in multiple deities
→ wordcount: 9.2k
cr.
You sniffle.
You sniffle again.
You're about to sniffle a third time when your mother jerks her head towards you, shooting you an unappreciative look.
"But mother—"
"Hush, Y/N. The crops aren't going to harvest themselves," she retorts. "Stop sniffling. And stop daydreaming about the damn sky. You're becoming delusional."
"But mother," you insist. "Today's the Choosing Ceremony! I need to get cleaned and dressed. I'm filthy—"
"You will not be chosen." Your mother turns her back away from you, hunched over and tending to the sprouts that had somehow miraculously found purchase in the dry, dusty soil. "You were not chosen last year. Nor the year before that. Nor the year before that. I could continue on, child. You're 19, now. This year will do you no favor once again. Throw away your foolish high hopes, Y/N. The royal family will not look at you twice."
You grit your teeth, scrutinizing the dirt clinging to your only pair of shoes before scoffing out loud. "It's my last year to make an impression."
"Don't waste your time."
You throw down your basket, glaring at your mother's backside.
"Stop being such an ungrateful child," she says without turning around to face you. "Who will take care of the fields with me if you are chosen? You can miss the Choosing Ceremony. Would you want to abandon your family to live with the spoiled royals?"
Yes.
All your life, you've daydreamed about being admitted into royalty. To spend endless hours looking up at the beautiful blue skies of the blessed Cerulean Kingdom. To admire the dazzling fireworks in the night sky and the glamorous rooms of the castle. To feast on the towers and towers of bountiful food. You want to do whatever you want whenever you want.
To honor the villagers who work tirelessly in the fields, every year, the royal family takes in one lucky girl from ages 13 to 19 under their wing and lets them live lavishly for the rest of their life.
A lavish life is what suits you. You're no good at housework and just barely decent working in the fields. But you tend to daydream often, staring up at the alluring blue sky—before your mother scolds you for sticking your head up in the clouds, that is. You doubt you're helpful in the household. You might even be more helpful when you're gone.
If only your mother understands.
She won't be able to change your already made up mind.
"Mother, I'll help you later." You stretch your back, shading your eyes from the sun beating down upon you. You squint at your mother's hunched back in pity. Years and years ago, she hadn't been chosen in the Choosing Ceremony either—stood through seven ceremonies in silence, clapping bitterly when every year, a girl who wasn't her was chosen. She's still bitter about it. But she should just move on. Let you take one last chance. Shaking your head in dismay, you bite your lip. "Um, I'll be back in an hour."
"Y/N!"
You don't turn back as you run away from the fields. This is your last chance. And something about this year feels good. If you played your strings just right and caught the royal family's attention... then maybe... just maybe, you might become part royalty.
You'll never have to be covered in dirt. And you will have all the time in the world to admire the cerulean skies.
"The prince is coming this year!" the girls chortle giddily.
They're the fifteen-year-olds who hope to snag a chance in the ceremony. You are indifferent to them and their gossipy antics. But the rumor of Prince Jungkook coming does make you straighten your back and stand in your best posture. It's not often the prince comes out in public—his parents raise him as if he is a fragile diamond. Prince Jungkook is their only child, after all. To be frank, you don't think you've ever seen him before in person. But you've heard of him and his devilishly handsome looks.
The easy key to the royal family might be to catch the eye of the prince. If the village rumors are true, he is looking for a wife. Self-consciously, you smooth out your only dress, fiddling with the ends of your sleeves to get rid of the bare strands of thread. The dress is brown. The color of the mud. The dirt. The dust. Consequently, it is also the color you see most often. The color you absolutely despise.
But you try not to let it affect you very much. With your head held high and an alluring smile pasted on your face, you try to act like royalty as much as you can. The other girls are starting to gossip about the last chosen girl. You forgot her name. But she was a beautiful, pale-skinned, daughter of a poor widow; a girl who was notorious for sitting in the house and weaving all day. She (the natural beaut) caught the eye of the king last year. And so she was paraded away in the royal carriage and straight up into the castle.
No one's heard of her since.
In fact, none of the chosen girls ever visit the village again. Of course they don't. Who wants to see dirt after seeing gold?
The girls' chortling grows louder when the familiar carriage rolls up at the very end of the two lines everyone is ordered to stand in. You hold your breath as the inhabitants of the vehicle step out.
The king emerges from the carriage first. He looks regal. A bit older than he was last year, of course, but he's aged like fine wine. The royal crown sits on top of his white head, bedazzled in blue jewels and shining diamonds. He murmurs a few sharp words to the knights behind him, and they immediately dart forward to carry the train of the king's long mantle. The king huffs, nodding in approval before dusting off the bit of dirt that had fallen at the side of his clothes. Then, he turns, calling for someone else inside the carriage.
True to the rumors emerges Prince Jungkook. He's breathtaking. Twenty-two years old. Fairly young. Handsome. Tall. Fit. Majestic. He bears no crown on his head but instead a dainty, silver circlet. His warm, chocolate eyes make you want to melt. And when his face hits the glint of sunlight, his silvery, dangly earrings gleam, drawing your eyes to his neck, where a delicate necklace rests—a sun-shaped pendant that lies between his collar bones. When you've admired his jewelry enough, your eyes trail back up to his face. His lips are colored with just a dash of light pink and his cheeks are flushed with a rosy tint. Gods, his jawline...
You find yourself staring.
Until he meets your eyes. Gasping in shock, you would've looked away immediately—if he hadn't expressed interest in you too. But he does.
The prince's soft doe eyes scan your face, and the corners of his lips lift into a subtle smile. He gazes into your wide eyes, his own pair sparkling in the warm sunlight. He doesn't look at anyone else. Only walks toward you.
Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, and you stay frozen still. This is it. This is it!
You hold your breath.
But Jungkook doesn't spare you a second glance; at the last minute, he turns away from your direction with a barely noticeable crease on his forehead and he occupies himself with looking at his other options.
You let out a deep breath in time with your plummeting heart.
You're beginning to think your mother is right. Why did you think this year would be any different? You weren't chosen for six years straight. What made you think you'd be chosen this year?
You dejectedly sigh, gripping the sides of your dress as you stare at your dirt-covered shoes. Maybe you weren't pretty enough for Prince Jungkook. He did frown as he walked away from you. Ha. And you thought you'd caught his attention.
Pathetic. Maybe he was marveling at how filthy you looked, though you thought you made a good attempt of scrubbing all the dirt and dust off of your face. Maybe you missed a spot on your arms?
I hope they choose someone and go. You're already starting to dread the spiteful words that will spill from your mother's mouth when you come back home. Unchosen. Abandoned.
That's when you see a shadow overlapping your feet, turning the tops of the dirt-covered surfaces even darker than they already are. Your breath hitches when you look up to see the king of the Cerulean Kingdom staring right at you. Nearly wobbling over, you force yourself into a deep curtsy, keeping your head hung down. "Y-Your majesty."
"Her," the king mutters, motioning to the knights who had accompanied him. "You," he says. "Your name?"
"Y/N, your majesty."
"Y/N!" the king warmly smiles. He reaches out but does not touch you. With your eyes wide and heart temporarily stopped, you wait for him to utter the words you've wanted to hear your whole life. "You are chosen," he declares, clapping his hands. The other girls, though clearly disgruntled, clap along politely.
Your head spins. Suddenly, the heat of the once warm sunlight feels scorching, beating down on your head, and the roaring applause makes your knees nearly give out. You've never been congratulated for anything in your whole life.
The king gestures to you in a paternal way, his eyes, though wrinkled, offering you a welcoming smile. "Come, my child. We must get you ready for the celebration of your inclusion to the royal family."
"O-Oh," you gasp when the knights take you by the arms and start to march away. "Oh!" Your eyes light up as your heart feels like it's about to leap out of your throat. Amidst your happiness, you manage to remember your manners. "Thank you, your majesty! Thank you!"
"No, thank you, child," the king answers grandly. "For you will contribute great things to our kingdom."
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook staring at you. A frown is etched on his face.
You have never been surrounded by this much luxury in your whole life. The castle walls are made of white marble. The floors stretch on with off-white tiles and the velvet curtains cascade down to the ground, letting the floor-length windows bare. You stare out of them and up to the clear, blue sky.
Immediately, some maids dressed in pale blue usher you away to a bathroom that is larger than your home back in the village. They scrub the dirt that had eternally been embedded in your skin and wash and condition your hair with soaps and fragrances that smell of blossoming flowers. Then, they bathe you in rich oils that feel too smooth for your skin. You are buffed and shined until when you look at yourself in the mirror, you look like a goddess.
"You will be wearing blue, miss, to honor the emblem of the Cerulean Kingdom," a maid tells you. "And there will be a party held in your honor later tonight."
You can only nod your head, dazed and slightly giddy. The thought that you will be living like this for the rest of your life puts you to the heavens. You won't ever have to hunch over and work in the dirty fields ever again.
It is precisely at 6 o'clock when the celebration begins.
You're escorted to the very edge of the stair steps of the royal courtyard where the party awaits for you at the very bottom. In your sky-blue dress and your hair up with pure-white ribbons, you blend in with the sky.
Men line up to dance with you. The music is lively, only enhancing the entertainment as your feet never cease moving. You never get to learn the names of these men either. They seem to come and go. But you don't mind.
Everything blends in bright colors and happy faces. When the sky turns black, the party turns livelier than before; the stars that had once adorned the night sky are hidden away when they start the fireworks. You've had too many glasses of an amber, bubbly liquid and had one too many dances with merry, attractive strangers.
The white slippers around your feet start to dig uncomfortably in your heels. So you throw them off to the side and continue to dance. The curls in your hair have died down and you've lost some of the white ribbons somewhere, but you don't care. You're the life of a party.
You dance until one o'clock when there is barely anyone left except old men and women who hardly look up to vigorous dancing. That's when you wipe the sweat off your brow and take a deep breath. The night air is refreshing, and now that the fireworks have stopped, the sky looks empty. But even so, the castle twinkles in the moonlight.
You find your white heels under a bush and take both in one hand, walking to the edge of the castle walls and looking out to the village that you had just left today. The Cerulean Kingdom rivals its day-time beauty in the night.
There's a piece of white ribbon that keeps trailing across your back, so you tug it out of your hair and admire it in your hands. It's the purest, silkiest piece of material you've ever held in your life, glowing in the darkness as the delicate ends of it flutter in the night breeze.
You exhale, your breath slightly trembling. A small part of you feels guilty for leaving your mother to fare without you while you bask in these luxuries. But you wave the guilt away. I'll just request for food to be sent to the family. Besides, you were chosen. You belong here, now. Staring up at the sky... Lavishing in regal parties... You shouldn't feel guilty about it... right?
It's a miracle on your part—from peasant to royalty. How funny luck works. I better go to sleep to really test if this isn't just a dream. You're just about to turn around and head to your expansive bedroom when you hear someone clear their throat behind you.
Whirling around, you see the prince.
Without a second thought, you drop down in a low courtesy. "I-It's a pleasure to meet you," you stutter, "your highness." You're slightly wary, especially since at the Choosing Ceremony, he hadn't spared you a second glance. If you close your eyes, you can probably see him frowning at you again.
The prince gives you a slight nod so you stand up straight, suddenly feeling self-conscious about your rather disheveled state.
"I saw you at the Choosing Ceremony," Prince Jungkook says. He pauses, gazing at you from under his thick lashes. "You're beautiful."
You flush. "Thank you, your highness." It makes you wonder why he didn't pick you himself. Or why he frowned at you.
"How do you like it here so far?" the prince inquires, stepping closer to you. You notice that he maintains heavy eye-contact with you, and feeling flustered more than ever, you almost stumble backward.
"I-It's amazing, your highness," you manage to say. "The sky," you breathe, gesturing to the black emptiness above you, dotted with nothing but the twinkling stars and the shining moon, "has never been this beautiful."
Prince Jungkook smiles. He steps forward again, making your breath hitch. Seamlessly, he takes the white ribbon out of your hand. "Oh, there are things that are more beautiful than the sky, darling."
"O-Oh?"
He turns you around wordlessly, softly taking the strands of your hair and tying the ribbon back in. "Follow me, dear," he whispers, taking your hand.
And he leads you away in the darkness. Careful step by step, you're taken away from the royal courtyard and into the back gates of the massive castle. The more you walk, the better it feels to be out in the dark with only the moon and prince to guide you. It's starting to smell nicer too—a nice, natural scent from flowers and trees.
Prince Jungkook stops walking, smiling gently as he looks ahead. You follow his line of sight. "This," he announces proudly, motioning his hands across the expanse of the beautiful green flourished with blue and purple light, "is the royal garden."
Oh, gods. He's right. The garden is absolutely enchanting.
The flowers glow in the moonlight, twinkling almost as dazzlingly as the stars in the sky. Soft blue light rains down on the water lilies next to a pond. There's a quiet sound of trickling water, and you turn your head to follow the noise. When you see it, you gasp.
"A water fountain!" You point excitedly at the majestic stream of blue-lighted water falling into a shallow pond.
"Would you like to dip your feet in there?" Prince Jungkook smiles. "They must awfully ache."
You turn to him in surprise. How did he know...?
"Darling, you have quite the stamina," he laughs and it sounds like shimmering silver chimes. "You were dancing all night, weren't you?" He points at your slightly swollen feet as if showing you proof.
You duck your head down. He's right, your feet are probably going to be sore tomorrow morning. But... "Your highness, I didn't get to dance with you."
The prince chuckles. "I don't like public events. I rather stay inside and watch."
He must be sick of them. After all, he was born into this life, unlike you.
"It's much quieter here, isn't it?" the prince says. He cautiously takes your hand, leading you into the pond. The water is refreshingly cool and so clean that you can see your feet. "I come here often."
"I can see why, your highness," you breathe, marveling at the clear waters and the beautiful lights that surround you. Everything is beautiful. Even the people. You steal a glance at the handsome prince.
His lips are parted, water droplets from the fountain cascading down his chiseled face. His eyes gaze up at the night sky. "You'll have the best time around here," he tells you.
"Thank you, your highness."
The prince grins, looking sideways to stare fondly into your eyes. "We'll become well acquainted."
Your heart leaps in your chest. The prince! Is! Interested! In! You!! "I hope so, your highness."
"So I'd very much like it if you can call me Jungkook."
Your eyes widen and you glance unsurely at the prince who casually sits next to you. But he doesn't take back his statement so you believe he's being serious. "O-Oh," you stutter. "Of course, your h—I mean, um... Jungkook."
The prince laughs. "I look forward to meeting you again... Y/N."
"M-Me too, Jungkook."
The young prince smiles to himself. "I'll see you tomorrow."
It isn't a question, but a bold promise.
You sleep in a grand, mahogany bed with a soft mattress and warm covers. It's the best sleep you have ever had in your whole life.
Waking up with the birds chirping outside and the sunlight beaming in the room is something you can definitely get used to. When you turn your head, there is a bouquet of flowers on your nightstand that definitely wasn't there the night before. You pick up the bouquet and smell them. Roses.
A smile stretches across your lips when a note drops out amongst the sweet flowers.
Meet me in the garden for breakfast.
You don't have to be a genius to find out who that handwriting belongs to. There's only one person who knows you've been to the castle gardens. The prince. And he's waiting for you at the bottom of the steps.
"You look beautiful," he compliments, nodding at your royal blue dress and taking your hand. "I see you received my gift."
You clutch the bouquet of roses in your hand. "Thank you, Jungkook. I love them."
"My pleasure," he says, squeezing your hand. "Come, darling, I've arranged a picnic for us." He begins to lead you away into the depths of the royal garden and you follow him, entranced by his voice, his charm and his face.
Sure enough amongst the healthy bushes and towering trees and blooming flowers is a little white blanket spread out. On it are plates full of all kinds of delicious pastries. You drool just by the sight of it.
Jungkook laughs when he sees you subconsciously licking your lips.
"I wasn't sure if you liked fancy pastries, but now I'm not so worried anymore."
You're broken out of your hungry trance and you giggle. "Well, I've trained myself to eat anything in the village, so you won't have to worry again."
"Anything??"
"Um..." you pause, thinking heavily. "Well, maybe not anything. I've refused bird carcasses, caterpillars, spiders..." you trail off, becoming self-conscious as Jungkook starts to shift uncomfortably in his seat. "Sorry," you apologize sheepishly. "Probably not a great image to paint before eating this, right?"
"It's okay. I don't mind," Jungkook soothes. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry... I didn't know the village was like that."
"Not all of the village." You shrug. "Just the poorer part."
Jungkook's cautious, his head dipping down and his voice raising an octave as he asks, "W-Were you a... um, part of the, uh, poorer sector?"
"Well... I guess," you admit, awkwardly fidgeting with your hands. "I mean, objectively, yes."
"Objectively?"
"In my head, I was already here, in this castle, watching the blue skies without anyone having to nag at me to work." You giggle, gesturing toward the open sky and sighing. "And now I'm not so in my head anymore."
Jungkook laughs. "You can have all the food you want here. And also look at the sky for hours without distractions."
"And I even get you to talk to!" you exclaim. "It's like I've reached paradise... Though," you pause, "you probably think I'm overreacting, maybe."
"I'm used to that reaction."
You raise your eyebrows but don't say anything.
"I know what I have is a privilege," the young prince says slowly and surely. "And I'd give anything to find the courage to spread the wealth evenly..."
"When you become king—"
"It won't matter," Jungkook interrupts. "It never does. I won't be king for years. And by the time I am crowned king, I'll probably rule just like my father."
"Well, I think your father is fair."
"Really?"
"He's the reason I'm here!" you laugh. "Jungkook, he chose me at the Choosing Ceremony!" While you didn't, you want to add. But you don't. "He's generous, Jungkook. I admire him. If you rule just like him, I don't think there will be any problems."
Jungkook stares at you for a very long time. You start to squirm under his gaze.
Then the prince seems to shake out of thoughts and sighs. "I suppose so..." But there's something about the way he says it that you don't think he actually 'supposes so' at all. And then there's another long pause before: "Let's pray to the gods and enjoy our breakfast."
Jungkook clasps his hands together and closes his eyes shut tightly. Though you've never prayed before, you follow his actions, only opening one eye to see him murmuring prayers underneath his breath. It occurs to you that you don't even know how to pray.
And you're not very sure if the gods even exist.
But you stay silent and respectfully wait until Jungkook opens his eyes. He grins at you, holding up a pastry. "The god of sky blessed this meal for us. Especially for you."
"O-Oh. Thank you..." You take the pastry, marveling at the way the fruit sits perfectly on a well-toasted piece of... bread?? You're not even sure what that is, but it looks delectable. "I'm honored. Really."
"Go on, try it," Jungkook says. He doesn't touch the food, waiting eagerly for you to take your first bite.
So you do, careful not to take a large bite that will end up in you embarrassingly spilling crumbs and fruit pieces everywhere. Immediately when the fruity, tarty taste hits your tongue, your eyes light up. "Oh, gods," you groan, chewing slowly before swallowing. "This is amazing."
"Have as much as you want," Jungkook urges. "And then we can go to the kitchen later for lunch," he offers. "We have cakes and chocolate and candies there."
"Yes, please!" The thought of more delicious pastries and baked goods makes your mouth water—even with good food right in front of your face.
"Or I'll just give you a tour of the whole castle," Jungkook hums. "A different room every day. How does that sound?"
The crown prince! Giving you a private tour! He's really turning out to like you! Maybe the gods are really up there. "That sounds amazing, Jungkook!"
The prince smiles proudly. "Usually, I don't like to subject myself as the tour guide but..."
"But?"
"But I have a feeling we'll get along well."
After an extended breakfast, you and the crown prince walk around the gardens, talking and talking until your stomach growls embarrassingly loud. Jungkook had been telling you about the worst tutors he'd had in the castle and how he had pranked every single one of them. To see him reveal the sillier side of himself is adorable—and quite hilarious.
Under his formal, prince-like behavior is a young adult who is oblivious to the outside world; he's been stuck inside the protective walls of the castle for twenty-two years—of course the only problem he'd know is an intolerable tutor. You don't blame him.
It doesn't really matter when the prince is kind. He makes sure to ask you questions about yourself, but you much rather talk about his life, instead. Jungkook catches on fast, and he's been talking about his annoying tutors ever since.
You're actually sad that the fun conversation about Jungkook's heinous geography tutor has to come to a stop because of the rude interruption from your stomach. But Jungkook offers something even better than a story:
"I think it's time for a trip to the kitchen, darling." He grabs your hand and the two of you dash, side by side, back inside the castle. The open double doors reveal a massive kitchen that boasts hundreds and hundreds of royal chefs and bakers—both dabbling in their specialties of savory food and the sweets. The sight and gods, the smell overtakes your senses.
"Oh my gods."
"Right?" the prince grins. "The best bakers in the kingdom live in the castle to bake for us. Look!"
Jungkook resembles an excited child—his cheeks are flushed as he practically dances around the kitchen. "Come on!!" he exclaims, showing you around the massive kitchen and letting you taste-test everything. By the time you leave, you feel like you've gained fifteen pounds and acquired an extra stomach. You and Jungkook are both covered head to toe in flour as well.
"Well, you're quite the sight," Jungkook laughs, gently bopping your nose. He wipes a bit of flour off your chin, his fingers lingering. He coughs politely, drawing his hand away almost sheepishly.
"Thank you," you say, smiling. "But you're quite the sight too!"
Still, you have to admit, something about the prince's disheveled hair and the streak of flour across his cheek is adorable. You would've reached forward to clean him up but Jungkook beats you to it, quickly rubbing his arm against his cheek and subsequently getting rid of the flour stain. He even looks embarrassed about it too.
"Want to wash everything down with wine?" he suggests, shrugging casually. "I'll take you to our cellar."
"Wine!" It's a delicacy you've never had the privilege to try. The day keeps getting better and better.
"I'm assuming that's a yes." The prince takes your hand again and the two of you run down the empty halls of the towering castle. You pass by countless open doors, each promising a new world upon entering. A library, a drawing room, a theater room, a swim room (topped off with a hot tub too) and hundreds and hundreds of guest bedrooms (where the other chosen girls must be)... However, there is one door, you notice, that is locked with heavy chains from the outside. It looks like you'd need a key to get in. Which is strange, considering all the other rooms are open for access.
But your wondering is cut short when Jungkook halts to a stop in front of an open door that leads to what looks like the royal cellar. You squint, trying to get a glimpse at the bottom of the seemingly endless stairs. "Watch your step," Jungkook says in his dulcet tone, holding your hand as he guides you down a rather dark staircase. "The room's dimly lit, but it's worth being in the dark." He turns around to smile. "Wine has a way of relaxing you."
"I'm already the most relaxed I've been in my entire life!"
Jungkook laughs. "Fantastic. Keep that up, darling."
But the prince is right. You thought you were relaxed until six sips of a burgundy-colored liquid, and you've proven yourself wrong. Your head feels like it's resting on the clouds. Jungkook's equally relaxed as you, his legs spread out in front of him (a posture that his nanny would kill him for) as he has a lazy arm around your shoulder. Instinctively, you lean into his chest, letting out a soft whine of approval when he begins to pet your hair.
"Usually I drink by myself," the prince confesses in a low but mellifluous voice. It's almost as addicting as the deep garnet wine left in your crystal glass. "It's nice to have company."
You can smell the wine on his breath when he speaks. Nodding leisurely and pensively, you take another slow sip. "But one day you'll meet a princess from far away and you'll drink with her," you reply thoughtfully. "You're charming. And she'll be charming too. You'll do more than enjoy her company."
Jungkook laughs. And this time, it doesn't sound like silver chimes but dreamy, drawn-out heavy bells. "I'm not going to marry a princess," he snorts. He deliberately runs his fingers through your glossy tresses, shaking his head in denial. "There's nothing outside the kingdom except barren wasteland, darling."
If you weren't so relaxed, you'd think this was bigger news. But you merely laugh, nodding your head drunkenly. "Interesting."
"Quite so," Jungkook draws out slowly. "Well," he hums, pausing dramatically. "There are two neighboring kingdoms. But they don't call themselves that. It's a shame. No kings, queens... no royalty of any kind. They worship nothing. Heartless souls."
"Heartless, yes, heartless," you agree passionately.
Jungkook smiles. "Heartless, indeed."
You reach for your wine glass again but Jungkook stops you. "Come, let's get you to your room. I think you've had enough to drink for today."
"But—"
"We'll have some more tomorrow, darling. How does that sound?"
You nod eagerly. Jungkook looks at you fondly before helping you walk up the stairs and guiding you toward your bedroom. You collapse on your bed, handings splayed on your stomach.
Jungkook sits down at the edge, watching your face unabashedly. A giggle erupts from your lips so suddenly, the prince jumps.
"Jungkoo?"
The prince smiles at the new nickname. "Yes, darling?"
"Will there ever be a new queen?"
"Maybe," he slurs. "Not in a long, long time, though."
"Hmph."
"Why?"
But when you don't answer, Jungkook looks over to find you asleep. He'll have to call over some maids to cook you some hot soup for dinner—if you awake by then, that is. The soup will surely make you feel less queasy. And it's Jungkook's job to make you feel safe around here. As long as you don't ask too many questions, you'll be happy until the day you die.
He carefully tucks you in bed, letting your hair splay around your head in a neat circle. You'd called him Jungkoo. His heart leaps in his chest with the memory. The prince has been trained to stay rigid, regal, formal. He's not supposed to chase after a village girl, but even the gods can't stop him from liking you.
As of now, that is.
It is morning when you wake up to the smell of something delicious. A steaming hot bowl of soup and neatly cut slices of avocado sit on a tray on your nightstand. Though your eyes feel a little dry and there's a mysterious thumping in your head, you seem to have had a good night's sleep.
The breakfast in bed is delicious as expected. But now, you're not too sure what to do. Yesterday, Jungkook had written a note for you. Today, there is no such note anywhere in your commodious bedroom. So you dress in a pastel blue gown, fix your hair with a single white ribbon and begin to wander around the castle by yourself.
I figure I have to get used to this place. I'll be living here for the rest of my life.
There's a part of you that wants to meet the other chosen girls and see how they've been living in wealth. But another part of you wants to find the prince.
Since Jungkook's nowhere in sight, however, you end up knocking on all of the guest bedroom doors in hopes of finding a friend. Soon, it occurs to you that none of the girls are in their rooms. The castle is vast so they must be relaxing in some of the other commodious chambers the royal family has to offer.
It doesn't really matter, anyway.
Alone time is much appreciated too. The ceilings of the hallways are made of glass, letting the morning light flood in and bounce off of shiny decorations, making everything sparkle. You stare at the blue sky in awe.
The gods have blessed the kingdom with clear skies and good weather for years. It's no secret the royal family worships them. You, on the other hand, never had the luxury to worship anything when you lived in the village. Maybe Jungkook can teach you a thing or two about praying to the gods so you can finally thank them for creating something so magnificent.
When the sun starts to sting your eyes, however, you're forced to look away from the ceiling. Your eyes fall upon the locked door you had seen just yesterday. The chains look daunting, almost challenging you to a match. As if in a trance, you walk towards it, hands grazing against the silver doorknob. You suck in a breath.
There's something behind those doors. Something grand. An enigma for now, but maybe you'll find out later. You place your ear against the surface of the white door, trying to listen for anything that might be inside the mysteriously locked room. But all you hear is the light whispers of the wind. Inside, there must be an open window. Which means the sky would be in view.
Interesting...
"Darling, step away from the doors, please."
You gasp, stumbling back several steps upon Jungkook's soft but stern demand. His eyes morph from narrow slits to his normal, alluring doe eyes. "O-Oh! I didn't see you there."
"Of course you didn't," the prince soothes. He grabs your hand. "Come, let's enter the library. I have wine waiting for us there."
"Ooh, wine." But a frown morphs across your features. You look up at the handsome prince curiously. "Why are those doors locked, Jungkook?" He's being so defensive all of a sudden.
"Behind those doors is the sky room," the prince says. There is a cold tinge to his voice that makes you flinch. "The ceiling is wide open and the floor is flat with gravel."
He seems done talking, but he hadn't answered your question. "But—"
"Let's go to the library," he interrupts. You don't protest when he begins to drag you away. After all, you have years and years to figure out that secret. And right now, wine sounds very promising.
Everything is hazy again. Wine on your tongue and ancient texts in your head—it's quite a new feeling.
You and Jungkook share a seat on a regal-looking couch with a book in one hand and a wine glass in the other. Reading isn't exactly your forte, though you do know how to do it. So after a few minutes of staring at the small-print texts, you switch to admiring the pictures. Jungkook pours you wine glass after wine glass until you've drunken more than half of the bottle.
"I think that's enough drinking for today," he tells you. Today, he's not slurring his words. You notice that his wine glass sits barely touched in his hands.
"I am relaxed," you sigh. "I love it here."
Jungkook smiles, setting down his drink and book to wrap his arms around you. "Th-That's... That's wonderful."
You're so drunk you miss the way he stutters.
It's important that you stay relaxed here for the rest of your stay. Jungkook wishes he could do something... anything to help. But he can't mess with fate and what the gods have ordained for the kingdom.
"Do the gods really exist?" you mutter.
The prince jumps. It's almost as if you've read his thoughts. "Of course they do," he answers automatically. "They are the ones who help the kingdom prosper."
"If the other... neighboring kingdoms don't worship the gods..." you trail off, lazily reaching for Jungkook's sun-shaped pendant and playing with the necklace chain. "Does that mean the kingdoms... don't prosper?"
"Yes," the prince answers. "It might as well be a barren wasteland."
"That's unfortunate," you huff. "They should worship the gods."
Jungkook places a hand on top of yours, causing you to pause fingering his dainty necklace. "They should..."
But internally, Jungkook's glad they don't.
You giggle, blinking slowly as you unknowingly bat your eyelashes at the prince. He's trying to maintain self-control, watching you slowly drag your tongue across your lips to taste the remnants of the wine.
"Jungkoo..."
"Yes, princess?"
The nickname has you soaring. "You... At... at the Choosing Ceremony..."
Jungkook gulps. He knows what you're going to try to talk about. And while you're drunk, which saves you a lot of embarrassment and awkwardness, he isn't.
"You didn't choose me." Your lips pull out in a full pout. "Your father did."
"I am not allowed to choose," Jungkook says, petting your hair and holding you close to his chest. "It is not up to me."
It's half true.
But if Jungkook was given the chance, he'd stop his father from choosing you as well.
You wake up to a morning in a foreign bed that only smells familiar. Everything last night is still blurred in your mind. How did I get here?
"Darling? Are you awake?" Jungkook comes into view, holding a tray of pastries in his hands. He smiles at you charmingly, setting the tray down on the bed and sitting across from you. "You fell asleep in the library and my room was closer so..." he trails off, handing you a buttered croissant. "I hope you don't mind. I slept on the couch."
He also hopes you don't remember the conversation you had yesterday with him. He hopes you don't hold grudges against him for not choosing you. But maybe that thought is always at the back of your head. It's why you'd so suddenly brought that up to him yesterday. Being drunk on wine gave you courage.
"Oh..." you answer, rubbing your head. "Thank you, Jungkook." He grins when you take the croissant and bite into it. "Mmm!" you exclaim. "I'll never get used to the food around here."
From the looks of it, you don't remember yesterday's conversation.
Jungkook laughs with both relief and endearment. "So...? What do you want to do today? Something special?"
You chew thoughtfully on the pastry. "What if we just stay in your room?"
The prince frowns, making you wonder if you've crossed the line. "My room? Are you sure you don't want to go anyplace else? The stables... The pool... Not even the garden again?"
Of course, the offers sound welcoming but—"I just want to... rest."
Jungkook thinks you couldn't have chosen the worst timing. But he relents. He can't but let you do whatever you want. Especially when so many other things are out of your control. "Of course, darling. What would you like to do here?"
"I don't know!" you giggle. "Maybe... talk?"
"We've been talking for nearly three days!"
"I... um, don't exactly remember much from those conversations."
Right. You had been drunk. Thank the gods. Jungkook thinks conversation with you is easier when either one of you is drunk.
The two of you finish breakfast with leisure, laughing and giggling about childhood stories and memories. There is no serious talk—only happy tales and funny narratives.
The more Jungkook learns about you, the more he realizes how naïve you actually are. Almost as if the trauma you've faced in the village has activated a self-defense mode in you in which you close off reality and live in a bubble by yourself. But it's better this way. He wishes he were as naïve as you. Oblivious. Happy. Dreamy.
You talk about your mother—who wasn't really your mother, but a woman who adopted you so she could have an extra pair of hands on the field. A woman who would spend the day ordering you around and at night, send you back to the orphanage so she wouldn't have to feed you.
Not once do you explain this with a look of scorn on your face. You tell the story as if you're completely detached from it. Like it's a dark comedy. But you're safe inside your own bubble of comfort. Because in your own little world, you can look up to the bright blue skies. Depend on that to be your solace.
Thinking further makes Jungkook think about how unfortunate it is. Discomfort creeps up from his stomach to his throat, but he can't bring himself to say anything. So the two of you are left in comforting silence.
Then:
"I never got to thank you for keeping me company, here," you say, shyly, cautiously as if testing the waters. The prince smiles.
"Well, it's been a long time since somebody from the village offered good company," Jungkook confesses. "I don't normally come out of my room."
"So this must be like one of the other days..."
"It's better," he says. "Because I'm usually stuck here alone getting drunk."
"Why don't you like the other girls?" you ask. It's an innocent question that isn't laced with any malice or judgment. "You could easily spend time with them too."
"But I pity them."
"Pity?" You raise an innocent eyebrow.
"Yes." The prince doesn't offer more explanation.
"When can I see them?" you ask eagerly. "Maybe I can help you get acquainted with them."
If you weren't so excited, you would've noticed Jungkook flinching. "You may see them tomorrow."
"Tomorrow!"
"Yes..."
You turn your head to stare at Jungkook. He looks a bit lost, eyes glossed over and mouth set in a stern line. "Is something the matter?" you whisper. "Jungkook...?" You place a hand on his arm.
The prince shakes his head, blinking away his haze to look at you. "I'm fine, thank you, darling," he says. "Sometimes, don't you wonder though? What's really outside the Cerulean Kingdom? Beyond the barren wasteland, maybe?"
"No, not really." You laugh, shrugging. "I imagine nothing outside the kingdom."
"But in the slight chance that there is..."
"Are you suggesting we run away, prince? Have you forgotten your title?" you giggle.
"It is merely a title," Jungkook says. "Sometimes I want to escape this place."
"The beautiful skies? The perfect weather? You want to leave that?"
"Especially that."
You huff. "I wanted to leave the village to see the sky. And you want to leave the kingdom because of it."
"You'll understand soon," the prince says, his hand reaching out to play with your silky tresses.
"In a few years?"
"Tomorrow," he answers. His eyes gloss over again but this time, frown lines stretch across his forehead. But you don't see it. Too busy daydreaming about the morning skies and mulling over Jungkook's last words to notice.
If you had been attentive enough, you would've run away with him.
The rest of the day with Jungkook had been almost uneventful. The conversation had flowed easily and comfortably—especially after the prince introduced a new bottle of wine. He had let you fall asleep after pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, mumbling a slurred goodbye which you had accepted, not thinking it was that special at all.
To Jungkook, it meant so much more.
In the morning, you find yourself being shaken awake on your bed in your own room. The maids are urging you to get out of bed. When you reach for a midnight blue dress, they swat your hand away and replace it with a silky white gown that falls past your ankles and trails a few centimeters away from your bare feet. You insist on white ribbons in your hair, but the maids silently shake their heads. Instead, they style your smooth locks in loose curls that cascade down your back. They keep your face bare too, even though you would've liked a little bit of color on your lips and cheeks.
If you didn't know any better, you think they're trying to get you ready to meet the other girls. You didn't know the gathering would be so formal. Jungkook had glossed over the details the other day, so you're not too sure what to expect. Something tells you a delicious breakfast will be involved, though.
You wonder when you'll be able to see Jungkook. And even though it was hazy, you still remember the kiss he had left on your forehead last night. Will your relationship with him ever develop into something... more?
Your daydreaming is halted when the maids who usher you out of your room are replaced by knights in silvery armor. The swords laced into their belts are daunting, but maybe they're trying to keep you safe? They urge you down the beautiful hallways of the castle and stop right in front of the locked doors.
You look questioningly at the knights but their faces are hidden behind their silver helmets. "Are we having breakfast in there?" They don't answer. Biting your lip, you wait for the knights to unlock the door. When they finally reveal the room to you, you realize the Jungkook was right. This is the sky room.
The light breeze you had heard is a result of the ceiling that is nonexistent. The sky gazes back at you. The blueness of it is absolutely mesmerizing. You sigh out in complete contentment.
If you had been less naïve, you would've seen the crowd stands against the sides of the wall. You would've seen the chains bolted to the floor in the middle of the room. You would've seen the traces of dried blood on the rough gravel.
Your daydreaming is put to a screeching halt when the loud chattering of people behind to fill the room. People, the same people you've danced with at the celebration party, flood into the sky room with blank faces. They are dressed in sky blue—the same cerulean color of the sky. It appears you are the only one wearing white.
"Hello!" you try to greet them. "It's nice to see you again!"
The people grumble back their salutations, leaving you feeling a bit rejected. What is going on?
Almost as if the gods answered your question, Jungkook comes practically flying into the room. Immediately, you frown. He doesn't look too good. His usually glowy skin is pale and he looks sick. When the prince catches sight of you, he rushes to pull you into a firm hug.
"Y/N..." he breathes.
"Oh!" you yelp. "Is there something wrong?"
Jungkook doesn't answer, digging his face into your pure white dress. You notice he's wearing a tailored sky-blue suit with golden cuff links. Silver suits him much better.
"I'm so sorry," he whispers in your ear. "I'm so, so sorry... I wish it weren't like this."
You pull away from him, giggling. "Like what? Are you okay, your highness?"
Jungkook doesn't think the situation is funny. Instead, he grasps your hands and pushes them on his chest. You can feel how quickly his heart beats. "Y/N, darling... From the first look, I knew..."
"You knew...?"
"I-I'm sorry," the prince stutters. He desperately looks around. "I should've snuck you some wine."
You frown. It scares you that his usually composed aura is in shambles. "Jungkook...?"
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry."
"Why do you keep—"
Before you can finish your sentence, you're ripped away from the prince. The knights forcefully pull you, your bare feet dragging across the gravel on the ground. Their disrespect appalls you for a split second before you holler a frustrated, "Wait!"
But they don't listen.
That's when you realize the people have gathered in their seats. The seats that surround you. Like they are an audience to a show. Suddenly, you feel vulnerable. As if your white gown is invisible and you're left bare for everyone to stare at and scrutinize.
Your protective bubble pops.
"W-What's going on?" you ask the knights. They're silent.
Instead, they force you on your knees, then push you so your back is against the uncomfortable gravel. "What's going on?!" you yell louder. Your voice seems to echo in the ceiling-less room. Nobody dares to answer. They all stare at you.
The clinking of metal makes you turn your head in shock. They have chains. You scream. When no one answers, you scream Jungkook's name. There are a few murmurs but no one comes to help you.
"Jungkook!" you shriek. "Please!" He watches with a pained look on his face. Unable to lose eye contact, he slowly backs away. Finally, he finds purchase on a special seat bedazzled with blue jewels. And he still watches, biting his lip nervously and clawing at his tailored suit.
The knights chain your limbs to the ground so you're left completely immobile. All you can do is look up.
That same sky you were barely able to gaze at for the first nineteen years of your life... it's all you can see, now. It's easily the bluest sky you've ever seen. For a slight moment, you're pulled into its beautiful trance again, momentarily pausing your struggling against the chains.
There is not a single cloud in the sky.
You are the only one in white in the vast sea of blue.
Your eyes shake when they catch sight of the paintings on the walls. There are graphic pictures—horrifying pictures—of death, blood and... the skies opening up with two outstretched hands. Dead girls with their internal organs spilling out. A cloaked figure holding up a bloody heart to the sky. The crowds mumbling their prayers.
Chills run down your spine.
That's when it hits you.
This is where you're going to meet the other girls.
How could I have been so foolish?
You're a sacrifice.
For the gods.
And when Jungkook said you were going to meet the other chosen ones, he had meant it. You'll surely meet the girls in the afterlife once you're dead.
You feel gutted. And you will be in a few minutes. A deep pain rings in your stomach as if they're ripping you apart right now. The sky looms over you sinisterly. You feel dizzy. Your ears begin to ring.
It's the feeling of betrayal. Tears sting your eyes as you struggle to look at the young prince. The glint in his eyes shows you that he's close to tears too, but he looks away before you can surely tell.
I trusted you, you want to scream at him.
But maybe it's not his fault, though. You weren't his choice at the Choosing Ceremony. He'd liked you from first look... but he hadn't chosen you on purpose. He'd walked away. He'd wanted to keep you safe.
Your attention shifts to the king of the Cerulean Kingdom who sits next to the young prince. There is not a single bit of remorse in his dark eyes. You want to wipe the smile off of his face. He had chosen you. Not Jungkook. He had brought you to your impending demise. Angry tears roll down the sides of your face. You thought he was being generous. You thought he saved you. But he was only putting you to death. A sacrifice for the good of the kingdom.
A man cloaked in a deeper shade of cerulean blue enters your line of sight. He holds a glinting dagger by his side. You suck in a breath. That was the man depicted in the paintings. He's going to kill you.
Your worst suspicions come true as he begins to recite in a piercing voice the offering of your heart to the god of the sky. The cloaked man thanks the god for another year of sunshine and blue skies.
You should've run away with Jungkook yesterday. Or you should've drunken some wine before this. Your senses are too sharp. You'll feel the pain when he rips out your heart.
I should've had wine.
Your eyes meet Jungkook's for a split second before you turn away. You should've run away with him. It's definitely too late now.
Everything he had told you makes more sense now. Why he wanted to explore the outside of this cursed kingdom. Why he didn't want to rule like his father. Why he couldn't possibly marry you—a sacrifice. Why he's so lonely... because he shouldn't get attached to the girls who will die in front of his eyes in three day's time. But he made a mistake with you. His curiosity and instinctive tendencies and your naïveness and blatant trust had been a recipe for disaster.
Now both of you are suffering from it.
But Jungkook is the least of your troubles now.
Your eyes begin to water again when the cloaked man brings up the knife above his head. It glistens and shines excruciatingly brightly. You're just seconds away from your death. Unless the process is slow. But you doubt even the king is that heartless to make you suffer.
You slowly move your head to the side where the cloaked man isn't blocking your view of the sky. The boundless, blue emptiness stares back at you. Mocking you.
This is the price you'll have to pay. You're finally giving what you owe for admiring the cerulean skies.
When you close your wet eyes, you aren't encompassed with a black darkness; bright blue light still filters through.
Gods, you wish to see anything but blue now.
—a/n: to read my behind the scenes thoughts/notes on this story, click here!
—masterpost
—masterlist
#ficswithluv#btswritersnet#btswriterscollective#bangtanfairygarden#btswritingcafe#jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook imagine#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fanfiction#bts#bts fanfiction#all you see is blue#aysib#this story makes me sad 🥴🥴#it majorly connects to one of my other stories#THAT particular story will be published like next year tho#idk if anyone's gonna remember the details then oOp
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