#florent m.💌

[sunasite]

with loss, comes love.

yandere!concubine x gn!reader

wc: ~1.0k

You were dressed in commoner's clothes, a big change from your usual royal attire. The plain, desaturated colours helped you blend in amongst the many people in the tavern. It wasn't the cheap kind, you're not sure you knew how to navigate those, but it was enough that nobody batted an eye at you.

You were sitting in the very corner of the place with a few empty glasses on the table in front of you. You normally didn't drink this much, and they (your adviser, your personal knight, and... well, everyone else) tried persuading you out of it, but they laid off once they saw your tired eyes, devoid of anything but grief. They could let you off just this once. Grief is very hard to deal with, after all, and everyone grieves in different ways. Maybe this was yours, they thought.

You were sleepy, and bordering drunk. You held your alcohol well, but tonight you had too much in your system. Exactly what you needed, after dealing with the loss of your parents. A distraction. You weren't sure the alcohol was enough, but you didn't need to worry about that. Not when somebody suddenly took the seat in front of you, making you lift your head from your arms, resting on the table.

A vaguely familiar face was smiling at you, sharp yet kind eyes gazing at you far too affectionately for a stranger. Ah, you know him, you think. He's from the one of the rich families whose parents your own were close to. You never bothered trying to get close to them and their only son, who was a couple years older than you, but you knew they were nice if your parents had nothing bad to say about them. They weren't nobles, though they were well off. A family of merchants, if you remember correctly.

"Florent Monet, if my memory serves me right," you murmured, uncaring if your words were slurring together. Now that you got a better look at him, he was very beautiful, even in this dull light; freckles scattered across his tanned skin, perfectly pink lips, expressive dark eyes, and a long blue earring adorning his right ear. His long black hair cascaded down his shoulders, as he runs a finger through it, as if to show 'yes, that's me'.

"What a surprise seeing you here, Your Majesty," he said, with a gentle smile on his face, and perhaps a hint of sympathy in his eyes if you bothered looking closer. "But I suppose grief is kind to no one. I'm truly sorry for your loss, I can't begin to imagine how it feels."

You let out a heavy sigh, as if you were suddenly reminded why you were here in the first place. You take another swig.

"No, I suppose not," you hadn't meant to be snappy, but it's not like you were in the right mind. Florent had both his parents, and they were thriving so no, he can't know how you feel. Immediately after though, you catch yourself, reminding yourself that he was a family friend, "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

His eyes met yours; they were understanding... and kind.

He waved you off, "No, do not apologize. I know you're not feeling like yourself right now, so I understand," Florent's voice was peaceful, but with a teasing undertone that you suspect is always present.

You sent him a gentle, grateful smile, but you didn't notice the way his eyes widened ever so slightly. You didn't notice the way he subtly licked his lips. And you certainly didn't notice the way his heart sped up at the sight of your smile. He's been wanting to get close to you all these years, and now was his chance. You were so close yet so far; you were always within vicinity, yet the second he reaches out... he misses you by a hair, his fingertips chasing the ghost of you. After years of gazing at you longingly, desperately needing your attention (which was always elsewhere, the child of the Emperor was always busy), he finally had his opening.

"Thank you, really. I feel... bad that you had to catch me in this state, but it— it can't be helped," you tripped over your words as you find a way to avoid mentioning your reason for your grief.

Florent takes your right hand in his— his touch so soft and gentle. You can't help but tighten your grip slightly, desperate for any kind of comfort. He seemed to sense that, as he carefully cups your cheek in his free hand.

He's warm, you thought, and kind.

You catch yourself leaning into his touch, as his warmth was just so inviting. Your eyelids feel heavier, but you're not sleepy anymore. You hear your heart racing, and you hope he can't feel it too. Why, you wondered, why is it so fast?

Oh, he's getting closer to you. Your noses were only a hair's width apart, and you can feel him breathe in.. and breathe out shallowly. You don't want to push him away.

"If you'd let me help you, Your Majesty, I will. I'll give you a distraction, if that's what you need," his words were breathy and quiet, and if you were more sober you would probably notice an ulterior motive. But you weren't, and you were hungry for comfort, affection, whatever it may be. "Just allow me, and I will give all of myself to you."

You lean in, slowly shutting your eyes until your lips meet his. His lips were soft, just like his touch. And suddenly you needed more; more of him, more of his lips, more of his words. Tonight, Florent was all you could see— all you could feel.

You brought him back to your room, and anyone could take a guess what happened there. The knowing looks your staff shared didn't go unnoticed, but you didn't have it in you to care nor tell them off. After all, all your attention was on Florent. From his honey voice to his melodious moans, all you could hear was him.

If you were more sober, you would have seen the sheer emotion that clouded his eyes; it could have been something akin to love. Something worse or better than love, it didn't matter, for you've found what you were looking for tonight: a distraction. And if he played his cards right, he would be your distraction tonight, and forever.

you've now met: Florent Monet, your devoted concubine.